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As he piled fresh fruit and veggies, cold canapés and steaming gourmet concoctions onto his plate, he studied her. She stood flushed and laughing amidst faces he knew from work and many he’d never seen before. Hallie stood half a head taller than most of the women and at least as tall as some of the men. Brody only topped her by a couple of inches himself. With her brand of class, she could walk the runway as easily as Alicia had done.
By the unclouded expressions on everyone’s faces, she was keeping mum about her experience this afternoon. A movement by the door caught his eye. Uh-oh, peaceful ignorance wasn’t going to last long now. Stan sauntered into the festivities. The lanky cameraman was never one to hang onto juicy information, at least not after it had already been reported.
Brody looked around. Vince Graham wasn’t here at all. Probably wouldn’t make it since he’d be haunting the police for breaking developments on the Drayton case. And none of the other evening news staff was present. Since the rest of the guests seemed to be ignorant of events, there was no reason for Hallie’s party to be darkened by murder talk, unless…Stan’s gaze stopped on Hallie’s group, and he headed that direction like a man on a mission.
Brody intercepted him. “Here you go, Stan the Man.” He held his brimming plate toward his coworker. “Chow down.”
“Helloooo delicious sustenance.” The cameraman took the plate. “Thanks. How did you know the smells were already driving me crazy? I haven’t eaten in at least…” He glanced at the wall clock…“four hours.”
Brody chuckled. “That’s forever to you.”
“I’m hypoglycemic.” He bit into a seafood and veggie wrap. His freckled face went slack and he moaned. “Whoever made this must be a five-star chef. Believe me, I know good eats.”
“Around here, a food aficionado should have no problem satisfying the beast. Though the way you eat, you should be a heavyweight not a welterweight.”
“Don’t begrudge me my great metabolism.” Stan looked up from the plate. “Maybe I’d better say happy birthday to Hallie before I get lost in gourmet-land. It practically killed me to keep quiet about the party when I was working with her today.”
“Between you and me, I think she’s more than a little shook up about her experience this afternoon. We’d probably be doing her a favor to let her enjoy the party without any nasty reminders.”
Stan bobbed his head. “Gotcha! You can count on me to zip my lips—especially when I’m filling them with stuff like this.”
“Hi, guys.” Jenna wandered up to them. “Are you finding everything to your satisfaction?”
“Stan here fell in love at first bite,” Brody said. He performed introductions between the cameraman and one of Hallie’s best friends. “I’m told that Jenna’s the lead chef and part owner of The Meridian.”
“You made this ambrosia?” Stan gestured with the piece of seafood wrap between his fingers. “The touch of cumin draws out the natural sweetness of the crab meat. Perfecto!”
“Spot on.” Color tinted the woman’s cheeks. “What an amazing palate you have.”
Stan’s face lit like she’d handed him an award. She gazed back, a tiny, bemused smile playing around her mouth.
Okay, third wheel here. Brody turned away, shaking his head. Did Hallie notice how he ran interference for her? He looked her direction and found her staring at him, the corners of her lips turned down. She might as well have shouted at him—what are you up to? Brody sighed. He’d known thawing the Queen of Sheba would be a tough task.
He kept his distance through the birthday song, the cake and the cards, but as people began to leave, he edged closer to his target. At last, with only a couple of die-hard guests left, he noticed Hallie stifling a yawn.
Nearby, Jenna laughed, Stan at her elbow, where he’d hovered most of the evening.
“Tough day?” Jenna asked.
“And then some.” Hallie’s gaze met Brody’s then darted away.
That determined smile materialized. Was he the only one who picked up on the shadows in her eyes? Or maybe he only imagined the hovering hurt because of his own concerns. He should wait until another time to ask his questions…No, he couldn’t. Damon was out there, a fugitive, and this woman’s testimony could end his freedom and his career.
“This was great.” Hallie swept a hand around the room. “I can’t believe you guys went to all this trouble.”
Samantha walked up, and threaded her arm through Ryan’s. “Just wait and see what we do for the big three-oh.”
Hallie planted a hand on her hip. “You have a death wish?” Everyone laughed, but Hallie’s chuckle cut off short. “Methinks it’s this old woman’s bedtime.”
“That statement coming from the night owl?” Samantha shook her head, grinning.
“We’ll walk you to your car,” Ryan said. “It’s dark now.”
“No need.” Brody stepped forward. “I’m heading out anyway.”
Hallie blinked like he’d snapped his fingers in front of her face, but didn’t object when he took her elbow and guided her to the door amidst a chorus of goodbyes. Outside the private room, she disengaged herself from his grasp and walked ahead of him through the restaurant. Male heads turned as she went past. Brody drew himself up taller and stayed close on her heels.
They exited into the halogen-lit parking lot, and Hallie glanced over her shoulder at him. “Thank you.” The words came out pinched, but at least she said them.
Questions pooled behind his lips as they crossed the asphalt, but he held them in. The darkness smelled of car exhaust, cooking fumes and cooling tar.
She walked around to the driver’s side of her coupe and gazed over the car roof at him. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Cruise me around to my car. It’s on the other side of the lot.”
She grimaced, but the sound of electronic locks releasing met his ears. He hopped in on the passenger side before she could change her mind.
“Don’t start it,” he said as she inserted the key into the ignition. “We need to talk. Damon didn’t kill Alicia.”
“So that’s what this was about. Attending the party. The emergency napkin. Walking me to the car. You want a private interview with the witness to a crime involving a sports figure.”
Her cynical snort sent his nostrils flaring. The woman could rile a sleeping turtle. “Sure, I came to the party to talk to you, but I don’t care about an interview. Vince is handling the story.”
Her brows disappeared beneath groomed bangs. “Then what’s your interest?”
“The police are looking for the wrong man. Damon’s no murderer. I need to know exactly what you saw in that house.” Did he sound as frustrated as he felt? Why had he thought Hallie might spill her guts to him, of all people?
Hallie’s shoulders slumped. “I keep replaying that scene in my head.” Her gaze was fixed straight ahead. Weariness hung on her like an old coat.
Brody’s conscience stirred, but now was not a good time to go soft.
She turned her face in his direction, chin jutting out. “I walked in on Damon crouched over Alicia’s sprawled body. He was moaning and carrying on like someone who’s done something terrible and can never take it back. When he heard me, he leaped up with a braided cord in his hand. Alicia was strangled, so don’t tell me Damon didn’t kill her.”
“You didn’t actually see him put that cord around her throat and pull it tight.”
She shuddered visibly. “If I had, I would have clobbered him.”
“I can believe that.” Brody let out a dry chuckle. “But I still don’t believe Damon killed Alicia. Did you notice anything about the scene that didn’t add up?”
“We-e-ell.” Hallie frowned and looked way. “I don’t suppose these things are ever neat little slam dunks, but there were a couple of things.”
Silence fell for several heartbeats. “What things?” Brody prompted.
She met his gaze. “I did wonder why bits of glass were scattered on top of the body. If there was a struggle before the murder, why wasn’t all the debris under the body? And why didn’t she have defensive bruises on her hands, which she would have used to shield her face? I think somebody stronger than she was sat on her, beat her and strangled her, and then they trashed the room in an excess of fury. Anger followed by regret is Damon’s modus operandi, considering the numerous times he’s blown up and apologized later on the basketball court.”
“Impressive. Even the assumptions about Damon are detective level observations.”
“More than you expected out of someone like me?” Her tone had an edge he couldn’t define.
“I’m not sure I know what you mean by that question, but Vince would probably tell you it’s amazing for anyone unused to dealing with crime scenes to keep so much presence of mind.”
Her eyes widened. “Thank you.”
Brody’s insides warmed. Mark this one down in the history books. Hallie Berglund expressed sincere gratitude to Brody Jordan. He opened his mouth to ask what more she’d noticed, but his cell phone began to play. He popped the phone open and answered. Heavy breathing came over the line, and his belly muscles tensed.
“You’ve got to help me,” a familiar voice whispered. “I don’t know what to do.”
“Damon?”
Hallie gasped and her huge, dark eyes riveted on him.
FOUR
How could Brody sit and talk so calmly to a brutal murderer? Oh, that’s right. Hallie curled a lip. He didn’t think a talented basketball star could also be a supreme creep.
“That’s not an option, Damon.” Brody’s fingers drummed against the console between the driver’s and passenger seat. “You can’t run from this. You’ve got to—” Paused. “I know it, and you know it, but now we need to convince the police.”
Shouted curses from the opposite end of the connection carried to Hallie. She winced. Creep, all right. Kills a woman and then only cares about saving his own skin.
“Get a grip!” Brody’s icy tone sliced through the heated explosion. “There’s only one right alternative at this moment, and you’d better take it.” Pause. “When and where?” Pause. “I’ll be there.” Brody snapped his phone shut then turned toward Hallie. “I’ve got to go. We’ll have to finish our chat later. Can you swing around to my car?”
“Don’t tell me you’re going to meet with a wanted fugitive. You could get in big-time trouble. Not to mention, since he’s capable of murder, you’re risking your life.”
One side of his mouth lifted, and the trademark dimple flickered. “Thanks for your concern. I appreciate it, but this is something I have to do.”
Hallie shrugged, bitter protest burning on her tongue, but what was the point of wrangling with this stubborn man? “I hope it’s not your funeral…literally.”
Brody laughed. “I think you’re doomed to see me in the office tomorrow, not a casket.”
Gritting her teeth, Hallie started the car and backed out of her space. She should boot him out and make him walk, but she was raised to be Minnesota nice, a code of courtesy that had trickled over the border to her Eau Claire, Wisconsin family address. “Where’s your vehicle?” She guided the compact around The Meridian.
“It’s the Impala right there.”
Her gaze followed the direction of his finger, and she punched her brakes. They lurched forward against their seatbelts. “You’re the one who was following me in a new car.” She skewered him with a glare.
Brody’s storm-cloud eyes studied her like she must’ve fallen off the turnip truck. “Is there something criminal about trading fresh every couple of years? Lots of people do it.”
“That’s not the point. You scared—I mean I thought…” She trailed away on a huff. Nothing like making an idiot of herself in front of a guy who already considered her little better than window dressing at the station.
“Ahhhh.” That viewer-popular dimple took up residence in his right cheek.
Would Aunt Michelle approve if she slapped it off? She looked away and scowled out her window toward a young couple leaving the restaurant hand-in-hand.
“Given what you believe about Damon,” Brody said, “you thought my car might contain the killer looking for the only witness.”
She turned a hard gaze on him. “So I’m a little skittish after what I saw this afternoon.”
“Actually, I don’t blame you. Under the circumstances, that was sharp thinking and a good reaction to ditch me. Though I did wonder where you disappeared to when I arrived at the party, and you weren’t here yet.” He laughed.
The tension in Hallie’s muscles eased. The guy could be charming. Not that she cared about that, but maybe he was starting to get that she wasn’t a total airhead. “I had intended to report the incident to the police tomorrow. Guess I won’t have to now.”
Nodding, Brody climbed out of the car, then bent and poked his head inside. “Rain check on our conversation.”
“You’re not the only one with questions to ask. I want to know what makes you so sure your golden boy’s not a killer. And it better be good.”
He smacked the top of her vehicle with his palm. “Deal. And it is.”
Her car door thunked shut, and the sportscaster strode into the dusk. She’d find those broad shoulders appealing if they didn’t bear that “I’m all it” swagger she’d detested in Teresa’s fatal tormenter. Hallie shook her head. She thought she’d come so far in erasing those images from her mind—getting on with her life—but they’d only been hiding. Lurking for an opportunity to pounce. She had to put the memories back in their cage. How would she cope if she started having those nightmares again? A shudder rippled up her spine.
She needed to make sure today’s monster was taken off the streets as quickly as possible. No way could she trust Brody to do the hard thing with his Wunderkind. She slipped her vehicle into an empty spot near the restaurant exit but behind the cover of an SUV. A few seconds later, Brody’s new car cruised past and turned onto the road. Hallie maneuvered out of the parking lot and crept up behind him, allowing a car between them. Shortly, all three of the vehicles glided onto the interstate going north. Hallie took a different lane than Brody and stayed behind the other car as a buffer.
Minutes ticked past. Was it stifling in here, or was she just nervous? She turned up the air conditioning and repositioned her sweaty hands around the wheel. Find out where Brody was meeting Damon and call 9-1-1, that’s all she had to do.
But what if the killer spotted her? He’d know for sure she wasn’t going to back off from her testimony. Did that matter? He’d be behind bars. Unless, of course, they let him out on bail. They wouldn’t do that, would they—not after he’d already run once?
Hallie slid her cell phone from her purse and placed it at the ready in the cup holder on her console. Doubts and fears made no difference. She had to do this.
For Alicia. For Teresa.
What did that woman think she was doing? Brody checked the driver’s side mirror again. It wasn’t so pitch dark he couldn’t make out the shape of her little car a couple of lanes to his left. When she’d followed him from the restaurant onto the interstate, he hadn’t thought much about it since their routes coincided for the moment, but she should have veered off on 35E toward St. Paul instead of tailing him on 35W toward Minneapolis.
One thing he’d observed from afar during their time together at WDJN, Hallie Berglund chose the high road toward whatever she perceived as truth and justice, regardless of personal risk. He’d admired her more than once for putting action to her convictions—and wanted to shake her more than twice for the chances she took. Like the time she didn’t tell a soul at the station before she posed as a waitress and sneaked into a backroom meeting between high-level management of a major corporation and top union representatives. Her story had exposed corruption on both sides of the table, and big heads had rolled. If she’d been caught pulling that stunt, she’d probably be wearing a cement straightjacket at the bottom of the Mississippi River.
A familiar chill flowed through Brody’s veins. Yes, a reporter sometimes needed to take chances to get a story, but they also needed to make sure their backside was covered if things went south—not go freelancing after a dangerous scoop without someone in the know.
Tonight, she no doubt figured on catching herself a murderer. He’d have to disappoint her. He was going to see Damon alone and without interruption. What happened after that was up to Damon. If Brody had done half the job he hoped with the kid, the young man would make the right choice.
The exit to France Avenue came up, and he took it. Hallie’s car lurked behind a Lexus sports coupe that would have had his ex shooting him eyeball daggers because they couldn’t afford one on a sportscaster’s salary. Like she couldn’t get a job? Brody shrugged off the residual resentment. Deborah was no doubt driving whatever she liked ever since she’d snagged the sort of sports idol she craved. The guy was rich and famous…and headed either for a breakdown or the hoosegow, from the inside information that had come to Brody’s ears.
He glanced at his rearview. Yep, Hallie was still back there. Now she’d put a Papa Morelli’s Pizza delivery car between them. If she could lose him on the mildly busy road in suburbia on the way to the restaurant, then turnabout was more than fair play. She didn’t stand a chance of staying with him in the downtown Minneapolis maze of stoplights and one-way streets. Brody grinned and pointed his vehicle into the heart of the city.
Forty-five minutes and one phone call later, he pulled the Impala over to the crumbling curb in front of a seedy stucco home in a rundown neighborhood. A single light glowed in a front window. Brody stepped out of his car. Garbage smells assaulted his nostrils. He looked upward and stars sparkled back at him, visible only because most of the streetlights were out. From a house across the street, rap music thumped through quality speakers. A car belched smoke and screeched away from in front, leaving two junkers at the curb and a low-slung sedan in the driveway. Drug house.
Brody headed up the walk toward the stucco dwelling. The doorway eased open several inches, and a narrow pillar of light spilled onto the tiny ragweed lawn.
“That you, bro?” Damon’s voice quavered toward him.
“In the flesh.”
The door opened wide, and Brody stepped into a musty-smelling foyer that barely contained the two of them. The towering basketball player wrapped him in a bear grip and dropped his head to Brody’s shoulder. Sobs shook Damon’s whipcord frame.
“I shouldn’t have done it…” Gulp. “But that woman, she—”
“What are you talking about?” Brody shoved Damon against the wall. “Don’t tell me—”
“You didn’t see Alicia. You don’t know anything!” Damon’s muscled shoulders drooped. If despair had a face, Brody was looking at it. “That other woman,” Damon continued. “The way she looked at me made me want to hurt her, but I just—”
“Brody Jordan.” The hoarse words brought both of their heads around. In an interior doorway stood a rail of a woman dressed in a stained T-shirt and dirty jeans that sagged around bony hips. Thin lips stretched away from yellowed teeth, and the acrid taint of cigarette smoke, mingled with a harsher kind, wafted from her body. But Brody’s stare riveted on the .45 pistol she clutched in white-knuckled hands. “I never thought I’d say this to you, but get out of my house. You’re not taking my boy to jail. They’ll never let him out.”
