Fatal Exposure - By Gail Barrett Page 0,31

exactly what Hoffman had warned him about and playing him for her own ends? Or was the Colonel lying to him?

Even more unsettled, he strode back into the kitchen. Brynn stood at the counter, holding her camera, and she raised her gaze to his. And that quick lurch of attraction tripped through him, that inevitable surge of adrenaline that knocked his pulse off course. His belly went taut, his breath quickening.

And damned if he didn’t feel guilty, as if he’d betrayed her somehow.

But that was ridiculous. He didn’t owe her a blasted thing. So what if her talent intrigued him? So what if her uncommon beauty provoked instincts hard to resist? He was a cop, a professional. He knew better than to let his hormones rule his head. And his duty was clear—rule out foul play in that young girl’s death, get Brynn to fulfill her part of their agreement and then hand her over to her stepfather and be done with her for good.

No matter how much she tempted him.

He motioned toward the kitchen table. “I made some sandwiches. Help yourself if you’re hungry.”

“Thanks.” Her gaze skidded away. A blush tinged her cheeks, more proof that she felt this reckless pull. But she seemed determined to resist it, which was good. Because when she found out he worked for her stepfather...

She sank into her seat and set down her camera, then took her laptop from her bag. “I’ll transfer those photos to my computer while we eat. We lucked out with their camera. It uses the same kind of memory card mine does.” She inserted the memory card into her camera and got to work, still not quite meeting his gaze.

Needing a distraction, he took the seat across the table and devoured half of his sandwich in a few quick bites. Then he uploaded the photos he’d taken to his own tablet computer and turned his focus to finding clues.

He examined the camp’s map first. The grounds were bigger than he’d expected, sprawling for several hundred acres over South Mountain where it merged with the Catoctin range. The main cabins were near the office. They consisted of half a dozen buildings clustered around a central dining hall. Trails fanned out from the compound, meandering through the hills like crooked spokes. One path led to a river, where kayaks and canoes were stored. Another went to a rock climbing area and zip line course. The bulk of the trails ended at a lake, where there was a fishing dock, beach, several rustic campsites and a shower house.

The old Forest Service lookout tower where Erin Walker had died was in the opposite direction, near the southern perimeter of the camp. Next to it was an abandoned farmhouse. A faint line connected the farmhouse to the nearest road.

Parker frowned. “Look at this.” He angled the tablet so Brynn could see. “There used to be a road to this farmhouse. If it’s still there, you can enter the camp near the lookout tower.”

“Is that important?”

“Possibly. A couple things have been bugging me about this case. One is why Erin went to the tower. It’s not near her cabin. And it was dark. Why would she hike that distance through the woods at night alone?”

“We don’t know that she was alone.”

“True.” Although the absence of other footprints would suggest as much. “Either way, it’s quite a trek. The other question is where she got the drugs. The autopsy said she had meth in her system. So she either brought it in herself—”

“No.” Brynn sounded sure. “The staff would have searched their bags. They’d want to make sure the kids weren’t smuggling in alcohol or drugs.”

“Then someone else brought it in.” But who? “We know she ended up at the tower. So maybe she met her drug supplier near there. That gives her a reason to make that hike.”

Brynn studied the map, her eyes reflecting her doubt. “You’re right about the distance, though. That’s a long hike in the dark. And she had to cross that creek. I wonder if there’s a bridge somewhere.”

“It isn’t on the map.” Curious now, he rose and retrieved Erin’s file, then took his seat again. He skimmed the autopsy report, pausing on the description of her clothes. “Her shoes and socks were wet. So she probably waded through the creek.”

Brynn looked even more skeptical now. “She was twelve years old. Those woods would be scary at night. And then to wade across a creek with the water all black