Minutes to Kill (Scarlet Falls #2)(59)

He slid behind the wheel. With the window lowered, he waited until he heard two vehicles pass before he started the engine. Then he nosed the car out from behind the trees. He could just see the taillights of two vehicles far down the road. He waited until they were nearly out of sight before pulling out onto the road. He had no intention of letting the cop spot him.

A cop will spot a tail on an empty road in a minute. Irritation buzzed over Mick’s excitement. He used the binoculars to keep them in sight.

Mick wasn’t taking chances. The cop could be her boyfriend. Hell, he could be her husband. The thought of stealing a cop’s woman sent an extra thrill straight to his groin. She’d be one of his spoils of war.

He thought of the gun on her hip. Why would a lawyer who lives in the middle of fucking nowhere carry a gun? Bears? Mick snorted. Just who was Hannah Barrett?

He wasn’t calling off his hunt just because there was a cop involved or because the blond had a piece. This went far beyond him wanting a woman. This was a matter of pride, of being a man, of getting what he deserved. No bitch hit him in the nuts and got away with it. Despite exorcising his demons on the pretty little blond girl last night, Mick had saved plenty for the lawyer.

He eased up on the gas. Far ahead, the sedan made a right turn. The pickup followed. Mick took his sweet time approaching the intersection. Giving the two vehicles in front of him plenty of room, he followed them to a quiet neighborhood close to the center of town. They parked in front of a small, tired house. Mick circled around the block and pulled to the curb a few lots down. A generous curve in the road gave him a straight view of the house. He took his binoculars from the console. The blinds were up in the front of the house, and he had a clear view within.

He slid down in the seat and watched the cop and the blond lead the dog up the front walk. The ease of last night’s grab reinforced Mick’s belief that opportunity would come to those who were patient. If he watched and waited, he would find Hannah Barrett’s weakness.





Chapter Twenty-Two Brody escorted Hannah and the dog up Chet’s front walk.

Chet’s car was in the driveway, but the house was dark and still. The lawn needed mowing, and the clear morning light highlighted dirt coating the windows. The place looked almost vacant, which was appropriate. Chet existed here, but he didn’t live. Would he let Brody in? “I’m worried about him.”

“Nothing will happen to him today.” She leaned over and scratched AnnaBelle’s head. “We’ll see to that. Won’t we, girl?”

“He might not remember you were here last night.”

“In that case, we won’t remind him.” She smiled.

Brody’s heart did a double tap. He knew without a doubt she would take care of Chet. A verbal promise from Hannah was as good as a signed and notarized contract. She wouldn’t let him down, and he was really hoping that, with Hannah here as a buffer, Chet would actually open the door to the man who had destroyed his career.

Here goes.

They rang the bell. Footsteps approached. Chet’s face appeared in the sidelight. He stared at them for a few seconds, his face contorted by the swirls in the safety glass. Brody held his breath. The dead bolt slid away, and Chet opened the door, dressed in jeans and a flannel shirt. Brody had seen corpses that looked more alive. Chet’s skin was gray. His eyes had been bloodshot when Brody had woken him that morning, but now they were lifeless.

With a questioning glance at Hannah, he stepped back to let them into the foyer. He squinted at her. “You look familiar.”

“Hannah was with me last night at The Pub,” Brody said.

“Ah, shit.” Chet scrubbed a hand across his scalp. “Can we talk for a minute?”

He’s going to kick me out.

“Sure. Would you excuse us?” he asked Hannah.

“Certainly.” She took the dog into the kitchen.

“I’m sorry, Chet,” Brody said.

“What the hell are you sorry about? I’m the one who fucked up. I shouldn’t have put you in that position.” Chet pressed the heels of both hands over his closed eyelids. “I can’t do anything right these days.”

“Chet . . .”

“Don’t make excuses for me.” Bitterness sharpened Chet’s tone. “I should have called my sponsor last night instead of driving down to The Pub. I’d been drinking the other day, too. I knew I was in trouble.”

“What happened with the chief?”

“He called me into his office this morning and strongly suggested I retire. I left my gun and badge in his desk drawer.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Stop fucking apologizing.” Chet paced a three-foot square. “This is entirely on me.” He pivoted. “I don’t know how much longer I can keep my shit together, Brody.”

A rattling sigh rolled through Chet’s skinny chest. He shook like a dog shedding water from its fur. “So, who’s the hottie?”

Change of topic. Chet really needed a distraction.

“Hannah Barrett.”

Chet’s brow shot up. “Really?”

“Really.”

“Can I ask why she’s in my kitchen?”

“I thought you might be able to help her.” Brody gave him the rundown on Hannah’s assault and her search for the young girl in Vegas.