Minutes to Kill (Scarlet Falls #2)(71)

This was happening too fast, and yet there didn’t seem to be any way to stop it. She needed time to process the day. The week. The year.

She poked him in the ribs. “I can’t breathe.”

“Sorry.” He rolled to his side, his chest still heaving.

Sweat coated Hannah’s skin. “I need another shower.”

He grinned down at her. “We only had the one. I wanted to make it count.”

Her heart swelled.

Brody threw his head back and laughed. “I’ll buy a case tomorrow.”

“Good idea.” Happiness bloomed inside Hannah. The emotions felt strange, as if it had been a very long time since she’d experienced it. So long she barely recognized it. She held it close. In her life, joy was rare and elusive. Not that she was an inherently unhappy person, but Fate had a way of snatching happiness just before she had it in her grasp. She was more familiar with suffering, determination, and fortitude than joy. Barretts barreled over obstacles, and they didn’t stop to appreciate their triumphs. Another impediment always lingered on the horizon, waiting to be overcome.

“How can you be so calm after all that happened today?”

“Maybe today made me realize I need to appreciate every moment of happiness. Life is uncertain. Bad things will happen, and that makes the good times all the more precious.” And with that he kissed her, as if she were the most precious thing of all.

“I’ll be right back.” Brody got up and strode into the bathroom. Watching him, she drank in the sight of his naked body.

Hannah settled back on the pillows, determined to savor every second with Brody. It was only a matter of time before she would be back at work. The thought of leaving Scarlet Falls disturbed her instead of filling her with relief. The feelings that Brody elicited from her were simultaneously terrifying and beautiful. Most of the time, she didn’t think about her personal life. Professional ambition directed her decisions. Like all things rare and precious, personal happiness was fleeting.

He sat down on the bed, and she curled against him. “I don’t have much time.”

He’d barely gotten the words out when his phone vibrated.

He picked up his phone. “Excuse me.” He got up and walked toward the window. “Yes, sir. I was just getting cleaned up. I’ll be right there.”

“I’m sorry.” He went back to the bathroom and picked up his toothbrush. “That was the chief. I have to go back to work.”

“Right now?”

“Ten minutes ago.” Brody sighed.

“It’s all right.” Hannah stood. “I have to meet with the prosecutor about Lee’s case early in the morning. I should go home.”

“I wish I could stay.”

“Me, too.” She glanced at the pile of wet clothes in the hallway. “Do you mind if I wear your clothes home?”

“Not at all.” He went to the closet and started dressing while Hannah went downstairs and found the dog’s leash on the kitchen table. AnnaBelle and Danno were curled up together on Brody’s overstuffed sofa.

“Time to go, girl.”

AnnaBelle looked disappointed. Hannah knew how the dog felt. For once, she was the one who was being left. She didn’t like it. Not one bit.



Brody hunched against the cold. The door of the mobile home outside the kennel opened, and a crime scene tech entered, his hands full with a box of small envelopes and a roll of evidence labels. Outside, rain beat against the windows, and the temperature had dropped since Brody had been at the crime scene earlier. The front yard was filled with emergency vehicles and news vans. What he wouldn’t give to be in a warm bed with Hannah right now.

“Our suspect is a cocaine addict.” Officer Carl Ripton pointed at a laminate table littered with small packets of white powder. A crime scene photographer snapped a close-up of the drugs next to a yellow evidence marker.

With a gloved hand, Ripton lifted a driver’s license. A pretty young brunette smiled at the camera. “The homeowner’s name is Joleen Walken. Joleen leases the property. The kennel business was hers.”

Brody followed Ripton out of the kitchen into a living room. A rectangular patch one shade lighter than the wall-to-wall indicated where an area rug once lay. A dark red stain marred the middle of the lighter area. Ripton pointed to the wall and ceiling. Lines of rusty red streaked the white paint. Brody envisioned the bat hitting her face, blood splattering the room on the killer’s backswing. “He didn’t even bother to clean up.”

Brody’s gut twisted. This guy had been living in a dead woman’s house, presumably since Saturday night, surrounded by blood spatter. “Who is he?”

“We don’t know. No sign of a boyfriend in the house.” Ripton’s lips compressed. “Her father showed up a half hour ago. He saw the house on the news. The mother died a few years ago.”

Brody closed his eyes for a second, not allowing himself to imagine the father’s reaction. “Where’s the father?”

“At the station. The chief said he’d do their interview personally.” Ripton’s face remained impassive, but irritation flashed briefly in his eyes. “Before he was escorted to the station, the father said he’d been on a business trip for the past week. Just got home yesterday. He hadn’t talked to Joleen, which wasn’t unusual. They were both busy. He was supposed to see her on Monday for their standing weekly dinner. From their last dinner, he didn’t think there was a current boyfriend. She was focused on building her business. I got the impression the father was helping her financially.”