grooming him for a future congressional run.
He turned at Parker’s approach. “Detective.” His eyes were devoid of warmth.
Stopping beside a chair, Parker braced himself for the coming storm. He didn’t have long to wait.
“Just what the hell do you think you’re doing?” Hoffman demanded.
Parker stiffened his spine. This didn’t bode well. He’d seen Hoffman in a lot of moods but never this livid before. “Sir?”
“Don’t act dumb. Lieutenant Lewis called me. She says you’ve been looking at the Walker girl’s file.”
“I was exploring a lead that didn’t pan out.”
Hoffman’s face turned a mottled red. A vein bulged in his florid cheek. He gripped the back of his desk chair, as if it cost him to stay in check. “Do you have any idea who that kid was? Erin Walker. Daughter of Dean Walker, head of Walker Avionics.”
Which sold weapon systems to the military, both home and abroad. Parker’s heart took a nosedive. “Big money,” he guessed.
“Big?” Incredulity rang in the Colonel’s voice. “We’re talking billions of dollars a year. And he’s a bundler for Senator Riggs, the single biggest donor to his campaign. And in case you haven’t been paying attention, the senator’s up for reelection next year.”
Parker closed his eyes. Hell. No wonder the Colonel was ticked.
“Now you listen to me,” Hoffman continued, his voice a dangerous growl. “Because I’ll only say this once. That case is closed. That girl took drugs and died—whether by accident or suicide, we’ll never know. Now leave it alone. That family doesn’t need you stirring things up after the grief that they’ve been through. And neither do I! If Walker gets a whiff of this, all hell is going to break loose. And I’ve got enough trouble right now with the media breathing down my neck.”
“I understand.”
“You’d better. I’m giving you an order, Detective. Leave that case alone. And I don’t think I need to remind you what will happen if you don’t.”
Parker’s face burned. “No, sir.” The message couldn’t be clearer. Hoffman would fire him if he disobeyed.
Hoffman held his gaze, letting his warning sink in. Then he pulled out his desk chair and sat. Parker fixed his gaze on the window, his pride still smarting as he waited to be dismissed.
But Hoffman seemed determined to make him squirm. He unwrapped a roll of antacids and popped several into his mouth. An eternity later, he sighed. “Sit down, Detective.”
Expecting another lashing, Parker lowered himself into a chair. The Colonel continued to watch him, as if debating what to say. Then he reached down and pulled a folded newspaper from his desk drawer.
“Since you seem to have time on your hands, I’ve got a project for you. A favor, if you will.” Shifting his big body forward, he held the paper out.
Curious, and relieved that the Colonel’s temper had run its course, Parker took the paper and opened it to the front page.
On it was the photo of Brynn. Parker forced himself to breathe.
“The woman in that picture,” the Colonel continued. “She goes by a pseudonym, B. K. Elliot. But her real name is Hoffman.”
Parker jerked his gaze to his. “You’re related?”
“She’s my stepdaughter.”
Parker’s jaw dropped. He stared at the C.I.D. chief, too stunned to speak.
Hoffman folded his hands, his eyes turning pensive now. “You’ve probably heard the stories. She ran away from home when she was twelve. She was a troubled kid, to say the least. We tried everything—tough love, counseling...but nothing we did seemed to help. God knows we tried. She snuck out at night and lied, accused us of all sorts of terrible things. The situation got ugly, I’m afraid.”
He let out a heartfelt sigh, as if the memories still caused him pain. “She directed most of her anger at me. That was normal enough, I suppose. I was her stepfather—I’d taken her father’s place when he died.
“She’s the reason I started that camp. I was determined to help these kids, even though I’d failed with her.”
Feeling completely staggered, Parker tried to process this news. Everyone knew the C.I.D. chief’s story. Hoffman’s walls were covered with the awards he’d won for his work with troubled teens. But to think Brynn was that runaway stepdaughter...
“She’s a photographer now,” the Colonel said, nodding toward the newspaper in Parker’s hand. “Quite a good one from what I’ve read. But she’s still unstable. A mental illness like that doesn’t go away on its own. And that’s where you come in.”
“Me?”
“I’m worried about her, Parker. She’s a very troubled young woman. And she needs help—counseling,