Minutes to Kill (Scarlet Falls #2)(73)

He checked the time on his phone. Six thirty. Would Hannah be awake? Probably. She had an early morning meeting with the prosecutor. His morning, maybe his whole day, would be consumed with Joleen’s murder case and assisting the task force formed to find her killer. Good luck to him in trying to make sense of a total cluster of a night. What he needed was twelve hours of solid sleep. But how would he get the image of that girl out of his head? Sure, there were plenty of women with short blond hair, and the other victim had been a brunette, but Brody was still uncomfortable.

He dialed Hannah’s number.

“Brody.” The sound of her voice smoothed his rough edges. It also highlighted the horrors he’d witnessed in the last few hours. “I assume you had an awful night.”

“Good assumption. I didn’t wake you, did I?”

“No. Where are you?” she asked.

“Outside.”

She paused. “Well, come in.”

The front door opened as he climbed the steps. She was in full lawyer mode. Tailored gray slacks and a charcoal blouse draped her slim body. A single strand of pearls encircled her neck. Her hair was polished rather than tousled. When was the last time he’d seen her wearing makeup? She was stunning, but seemed less touchable, less approachable, in her corporate attorney persona. He suppressed the urge to ruffle her hair.

“Do you want some coffee?” She led the way back to the kitchen. A mug of coffee cooled on the counter. Next to it, a plate held a slice of toast.

Brody followed her. “Sure.”

“Are you hungry?” She pushed the plate of toast toward him then poured a mug from the thermal carafe.

“Not really.” He wandered to the window and watched the treetops sway in the morning breeze. A squirrel raced across the grass and ran up the trunk of the big oak in the backyard.

Hannah’s arms slid around his waist, and her body pressed against his. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah.”

She rested her head on the back of his shoulder. In her heels she was only a couple of inches shorter than him.

“He’d been living in her house, sitting on her sofa, watching her TV, without even cleaning her bloodstains off the walls.” Brody turned around. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have told you all that. You don’t need those images in your head.”

Her eyes sharpened. “Don’t ever think you can’t be honest with me.”

“Thankfully, I rarely see cases this bad.”

“Still, if you need to unload, unload.” She reached up and cupped his jaw. “I’m tough.”

“You are.” He leaned into her hand. “But I prefer to leave the violence at work.”

“I understand that, too,” she said.

“Be careful today.” He told her about the second victim’s haircut. “It’s probably a coincidence, but . . .”

“I should be safe enough at the courthouse.” She registered the information with a tight nod. “How is Chet? Relieved?”

“I think so, but his reaction wasn’t as joyous as I expected.” How would Chet have fared if his wife hadn’t died? If he’d had someone to support him in his time of need? Brody had seen marriages torn apart by tragedy, and other couples brought closer. “He was drinking last night.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Thanks.” Brody squeezed her hand.

She moved to the counter, picked up both mugs of coffee, and handed him one. When he perched on the edge of a stool, she nudged the toast toward him. “Want me to check on him on my way home?”

“I’ll do it later. He might be in a state.”

Hannah put two more slices of bread into the toaster. “I grew up with a disabled father, and I nursed my mother through hospice. Trust me. I’ve seen worse than a man with a hangover.”

She hadn’t had an easy life. Brody resolved they’d talk about her past, just not today. But when? It wasn’t likely she’d be here much longer. She looked and seemed recovered. Even though the neurologist hadn’t cleared her for work this week, it would have to be soon. Then she’d be on a plane. Brody wouldn’t see her for weeks. Maybe digging into her emotions wasn’t the best idea.

“Chet would be embarrassed if you found him like that,” he said.

She nodded. “All right, but if you change your mind, call me.”

“I will.”

Her toast popped up. She buttered it and bit a corner. “Mac is supposed to be home today.”

“Have you heard from him?”

Hannah snorted. “Of course not. It’s Mac we’re talking about.”

“What is up with him?”

“He’s Mac.” She shrugged. “Of the four of us, Mac was the one who really needed a firm hand. Unfortunately, by the time he came along, there wasn’t one available. Mom was overwhelmed, and the Colonel wrote off his wildness as boys-will-be-boys behavior.”

“What do you think it was?”

“Escapism. Mac loved being in the woods because the forest wasn’t filled with medical equipment and suffering. My father was paralyzed. He was also in constant pain. Therapists and nurses were in our house all the time. The Colonel was tough, but he was also obsessed and bitter. Our home wasn’t always a pleasant place to be.” Hannah crumbled the remaining corner of her breakfast. “Grant was away at the military academy at least part of the time. Lee and I had our books, and Mac had the woods.”