Fatal Exposure - By Gail Barrett Page 0,37

down. Parker jumped up and got off several more rounds.

The car’s engine roared. Tires screeched, a thick, choking cloud of exhaust billowing past as the driver gunned the accelerator and peeled off. Her heart still stampeding wildly, Brynn rose and peered around. Smoke swirled through the haze from a nearby porch light. The stench of sulfur permeated the air. She drew in a breath, the abrupt silence reverberating in her eardrums, her legs trembling so badly she could barely stand.

“Why didn’t you stay down?” Parker raged. “You could have been killed.”

“He was going to shoot you.” She heaved in another breath. “Did you get him?”

“Yeah.” His expression still fierce, he took her arm. “Come on. We need to get out of here before they come back.”

The gang would retaliate, all right. Parker had just provided them with another reason to want them dead.

But why had the gang attacked them to begin with? And why had they done Jamie in? Her thoughts winging back to the teenager, she raced after Parker down the empty street, her feet crunching over broken glass. This couldn’t be a coincidence. That gang had gone after Jamie right after Brynn had talked to her.

Jamie was dead because of her.

Hardly able to grasp it, she hurried toward Parker’s truck. He beeped it open, and she dove inside, but she couldn’t avoid the truth. All these years she’d guarded her secrets. It had been the only way to keep her friends safe. Even now, years of ingrained caution were clamoring at her to run, stay quiet, hide. But that strategy no longer worked. Innocent people were dying because of her. First Tommy. Now Jamie. Even her agent had nearly lost her life.

She might even be responsible for Erin’s death. Her continued silence had enabled a dangerous predator to operate undetected, harming untold numbers of kids.

She stole a look at Parker’s profile, her stomach a flurry of dread. But no matter how much it scared her, she knew what she had to do. She had to reveal what she’d witnessed that awful night, why she didn’t want him to call the police.

And how she’d caused his brother’s death.

Parker cranked the truck’s powerful engine and sped away from the curb. Fastening her seat belt, she scoured her mind for another option, but that gang had forced her hand. She had to make a leap of faith and confess the truth.

She just prayed that Parker would believe her—or neither of them would survive.

* * *

Brynn was still gathering her courage half an hour later as she huddled on the leather sofa in Parker’s condo, clutching a throw blanket over her shoulders in a futile attempt to warm up. Her hands were like blocks of ice. The adrenaline dump from that shooting had left her so shaken she could hardly hold on to a thought. But she had to pull herself together fast.

Parker came through his kitchen doorway, cradling a crystal tumbler in each big hand. “Vodka,” he announced, handing her a glass. He took his seat on the sofa beside her, making the cushions sink. He’d removed his leather jacket and pushed up the sleeves of his faded blue Henley, exposing the sinews of his muscled arms. Warmth beckoned from his solid frame, making her yearn to lean close.

Instead she sipped her vodka, shuddering as it burned her throat. “Did you find out anything?” She’d heard Parker phoning his coworkers for information as he’d poured their drinks.

He nodded, his dark eyes grim. “They received a discharge call, a report that shots were fired. They sent a patrol unit to investigate.”

“Do they know that you were involved?”

“They’ll figure it out eventually. They can trace the shells to my gun. But unless they find something that connects it to Jamie, they won’t investigate it for a while. They’ve got too many homicides to deal with first. That buys us a couple of days, at least.”

Brynn took another swallow of vodka. Baltimore was a violent city. Unless there was a victim, a simple report of shots fired would be a low priority. “What about Jamie?”

“They found her in Lincoln Park. That’s a standard spot for a dump job. Rigor mortis puts her death at around six last night. She still had money—several hundred bucks—so it wasn’t a robbery. All signs point to the Ridgewood gang.”

“That’s what the hooker said, that the gang killed her.” Like the execution she’d witnessed years ago. Brynn closed her eyes, bile swarming through her belly at the thought. She