LITMIR.BIZ

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could definitely afford better, given the money her photos earned. “So what does the B in B. K. Elliot stand for?” he asked.

      “Brynn.”

      That suited her. “Why the pseudonym?”

      “I like my privacy.”

      “Most people would like the fame.”

      “I’m not most people. Is that a crime?”

      No, but running away from a murder scene was. Not to mention pulling the trigger. “I’m here about Tommy McCall,” he said, getting down to business. “What do you know about his death?”

      “Nothing. I don’t know him. I told you that before.”

      Right. He set the tumbler on the granite counter, pulled his brother’s old photo from his wallet and slapped it down. Then he pinned his gaze on hers.

      For a minute she didn’t move. Her gaze dueled with his, her chin rising to a stubborn angle as she held her ground. But several seconds later, she broke the connection and glanced down.

      The color leached from her face. Freckles stood out on her suddenly pasty skin. Fearing she might faint, he lunged across the kitchen toward her, but she grabbed the edge of the counter and held on. Emotions rippled through her eyes—shock, sorrow, regret.

      “Where...” Her voice cracked, and she cleared her throat. “Where did you get this?”

      “He’d hidden it under the insole in his shoe.” The shoe Parker hadn’t inspected until years after his death, when he’d finally decided to dispose of his brother’s clothes.

      He’d shown the photo to the head of C.I.D.—by then, his boss—who’d agreed to reopen the case. But no one remembered the girl by then. The witnesses who’d seen her leaving the crime scene had long since disappeared. And after several futile months spent canvassing the area, the case was closed for good.

      Until now.

      He pocketed the photo again. “How well did you know him?”

      Her hand shaking, she picked up her glass and drained it in a single gulp. “Not well. We talked a few times on the streets, that’s all.”

      He doubted that. Tommy wouldn’t have kept that photo unless she’d mattered to him. But she’d barely been a teenager back then, far too young to be his girlfriend. More of a kid sister, perhaps?

      “So what can you tell me about his death?” he pressed.

      “Nothing.” She shook her head, the expression in her eyes still stark. “Why? What does it matter now? Why start asking questions after all this time?”

      “His murder’s never been solved.”

      “A lot of murders aren’t.”

      True enough—which was exactly why the Colonel had made the homicide cold case squad his priority, allocating extra resources to the cause. But Parker had another reason to care. He took out his business card and tossed it down.

      Brynn picked it up. Her face went pale again. “You’re Tommy’s brother?”

      So Tommy had mentioned him.

      “And you’re a detective.” She sounded numb.

      “That’s right. And I want answers. Justice.” No matter how many years had passed.

      “Justice?” She barked out a strangled laugh. “That would be a first, coming from a cop.”

      Parker gritted his teeth, her accusation striking home. His father had been corrupt. He’d paraded as a model citizen—a decorated cop, a dedicated family man—until a police corruption sting had stripped away the illusion, exposing the truth behind the facade.

      And then he’d taken the coward’s way out, leaving Parker to deal with the mess.

      His suicide had ripped the family apart. Parker’s mother had turned into a recluse overnight. Tommy had rebelled, lashing out against authority and getting hooked on drugs. As a rookie cop, Parker had battled to save his job, struggling to live down his father’s reputation and prove that he wasn’t the same—a doubt that still lingered in the force, even after all this time.

      “All cops aren’t bad,” he said, his voice flat.

      “No?” She jerked her chin toward the photos on her walls. “Ask those kids about that. They can tell you about justice and the police.”

      “They’d be wrong.”

      “The hell they would.” Her voice turned hard. Her gold-flecked eyes darkened to steel. “They know a lot more about reality and justice than you do. They’ve been raped, robbed and abused—and the police don’t give a damn. The only thing they care about is power.”

      He wanted to argue the point, to defend the life he led. But he didn’t have to justify his choices to a suspect. He hadn’t done anything wrong. And he wasn’t about to let her distract him from his brother’s murder—the reason he was here.

      “You’re entitled to your opinion,” he said.

      “That’s generous of you,” she snapped back. “But it’s not an opinion. It’s a fact.”

      “Regardless, I still want answers about my brother, and you were the last person to see him alive.”

      Her head came up. “What makes you think that?”

      “Witnesses saw a girl matching your description running from the scene.”

      Her jaw went slack. “You think I killed him?”

      “Didn’t you?”

      She stared at him, her eyes sparking with a kaleidoscope of emotions—shock, outrage and something else. Something that looked a lot like guilt. “Get out.”

      “The hell I will.”

      “I said to get out of my house.”

      “Not without answers.”

      “I don’t have anything to say to you.”

      “I think you do.”

      “You’re wrong.”

      Not this time. This woman knew what had happened to Tommy. And after fifteen years trying to find her, he wasn’t going to back off now.

      “Tommy was your friend,” he fired back. “He carried that photo around in his shoe. Doesn’t that mean anything to you? Don’t you care what happened to him?”

      “Care?” A flush climbed up her cheeks. Fury vibrated her voice. “You’re the one stirring up trouble. You’re going to get people hurt—innocent people who don’t deserve this grief. So don’t accuse me of not caring!”

      “What people?”

      Her lips pressed tight.

      “What people?” he demanded again, stepping forward.

      She bumped against the counter and stopped. “Leave me alone.”

      “I can’t.”

      “Everyone has a choice.”

      And he’d made his. He’d vowed to bring his brother’s killer to justice, and he refused to stop until he did.

      A shrill ring split the air. Their eyes waged a silent battle, tension crackling between them as the telephone rang again.

      “I need to get that,” she said.

      Parker braced his hands on his hips and scowled, refusing to let this drop. If Brynn hadn’t killed his brother, she knew who did. He’d bet his badge on that. He had to convince her to talk.

      The telephone trilled again. When he still didn’t move aside, she arched a brow. “Do you mind? I really need to answer the phone.”

      Cursing

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