existed, he intended to find them. Because if they could provide a clue to Tommy’s death...
Suddenly needing another drink, he walked over and retrieved his glass. “More vodka?”
When she shook her head, he returned to the kitchen and poured himself a refill, still mulling over the case. He’d been a patrol cop when Tommy had died. He hadn’t known many people in the homicide unit back then, aside from Hoffman and Vernon Collins, the lead investigator on his brother’s case. It wouldn’t hurt to check his background for a possible connection to that gang.
Parker knocked back a slug of vodka and swore. Complicated didn’t begin to describe this case. Implicating Hoffman in Erin Walker’s death was risky enough. If Parker tried to tie him to his brother’s crime scene, he’d ignite a firestorm, thrusting the entire Baltimore police department into an uproar, causing repercussions that could last for years.
And what if he was wrong? What if a cop wasn’t involved in Tommy’s death? All Parker had were random incidents he couldn’t connect—two dead girls, missing photos from his brother’s crime scene, a mysterious, hand-engraved necklace and a gang who wanted them dead. And he couldn’t accuse anyone without proof.
Brynn strolled through the kitchen doorway and set her glass in the sink. She leaned against the counter beside him and crossed her arms. “So what do you want to do next?”
“I’ll make some calls, find out who worked in Homicide when Tommy died. We can see if anyone had connections to the C.D. gang.”
A frown creased her brow. “What I don’t get is why the Ridgewood gang is after me. They weren’t even around back then. Why would they care what I’d seen?”
“Good point.” And a disturbing one. “I doubt many City of the Dead members are still alive. Fifteen years is a lifetime on the streets.” So how were the two gangs linked? And if they weren’t connected, why was the Ridgewood gang after Brynn? Unless they wanted Jamie’s necklace... But that made even less sense.
“My supervisor transferred over from the gang unit,” he told her. “I’ll ask him what he knows.”
Brynn tilted her head, her eyes curious. “Where do you work? You never said what unit you’re in.”
Realizing what he’d let slip, he took a swallow of vodka to buy some time. “Homicide,” he said, deciding to stick close to the truth. “But I didn’t join the unit until years after Tommy died, and there’d been a lot of turnover by then. The burnout rate is pretty high.”
It wasn’t a total lie. He had worked in Homicide until Hoffman had decided to prioritize the cold case squad and invited Parker on board. Still, deceiving Brynn felt wrong.
But he couldn’t tell her the truth. She’d never trust him if he did. And she was keeping secrets, too. She hadn’t revealed that Hoffman was her stepfather. She hadn’t told him why she’d run away from home—even if he’d guessed the reason behind her flight.
But could he blame her for not coming clean? If no one had believed her before...
He skimmed her glossy, auburn hair, the beckoning lilt to her bowed lips, the sweater molding to her slender curves. Then his mind flashed back to the photo of her standing in the alley beside Tommy—a scrawny, underfed kid with torn jeans and untamed hair. She’d been so damned young, her eyes so wounded and hollow, with the same raw, traumatized look of the victimized kids she photographed now.
His thoughts swerved back to her file, and the doubts he’d been harboring returned with a vengeance, impossible to ignore. What if she’d told the truth about the sexual abuse? What if no one had believed her back then? What if no one had looked for the cause behind her angry behavior and listened to her cry for help?
And what if no one had stopped a dangerous predator who’d continued racking up victims for years while he pretended to champion their cause?
That thought shuddering through him, he gazed into her blue-gold eyes. And despite not having proof, despite Hoffman’s warning that Brynn would manipulate him, the temptation to believe her grew. It explained why she’d acted out, why she’d run away from home. She’d been desperate. Abandoned. Alone.
He ran his gaze over her face, the delicate lines of cheeks and jaw. She was so beautiful. So determined. So strong.
Because if he’d guessed right, the terrified child who’d fled an abusive home had not only survived; she’d grown into a formidable woman—a woman who’d dedicated her