Fatal Exposure - By Gail Barrett Page 0,74
run into the woods—not too far—and hide until the police get here. Do you understand?”
Her eyes were huge, but she managed to nod, and his admiration rose. Even badly traumatized, she was a fighter.
Like Brynn.
He shut down that thought fast, needing to focus on freeing this child. “Okay, I’m going to untie your hands now. Don’t be afraid.” She flinched as he reached for the rope, but didn’t make another sound. He quickly worked the knots loose, mentally cursing when he saw her wrists. The bastard had tied her so tightly that her skin was raw.
Suddenly footsteps sounded in the other room. Tensing, Parker reached for his gun, his gaze locked on the bedroom door. But then the footsteps retreated, and he eased out his breath.
With no time to waste now, he undid the final knot and rose. He started to help her stand but stopped when she jerked away. Instead, he stripped off his leather jacket and held it out. “Here, put this on. It’s cold out there.
“I’m going to lower you out the window,” he continued as she shrugged his jacket on.
“Okay,” she whispered, still trembling.
He crossed the room to the window and held out his hands. “Ready?”
She grabbed his hands, and more respect for her swelled inside. He could only imagine how much it cost her to trust a man right now. He lifted her over the sill, releasing her when she reached the ground. She stumbled, but regained her balance and darted into the woods.
One down.
Drawing his weapon, he turned around. But the wind gusted again, blowing through the open window and knocking papers off the dresser beside the door. Parker lunged forward to grab them, but something plastic clattered to the floor.
Oh, hell. He leaped toward the wall, intending to hide behind the door. But the door crashed open and the overhead light flicked on. Hoffman stood in the doorway, holding Brynn in front of him like a shield, his gun wedged under her jaw.
Parker’s world spun away at the sight of the gun pressed to her fragile throat. He took in her terror-glazed eyes, the dark bruise puffing her cheek. She was trembling so violently he could detect it from across the room.
A frantic feeling took hold inside him. He met his boss’s glittering eyes—the eyes of a man teetering on the edge of control—and his hopes plummeted even more.
His worst fear had just come true.
Hoffman knew that the kid was gone. He knew that he’d been exposed. He had no chance to escape arrest, no reason to stay alive.
In seconds they’d all be dead.
“Put down your gun,” Hoffman ordered.
“Don’t do it,” Brynn cried. “Don’t—” She gasped, her body stiffening as the gun dug into her neck.
“Right now,” Hoffman said.
Parker’s palms turned slick. He lowered the gun slightly, struggling to think. Brynn knew how to fight. She’d nearly bested him in the alley the night they’d met. And Hoffman was older, fatter, slower. If Parker could give her an opening, she could break free.
But he had to be careful. Hoffman barely had a grip on his nerves. If Parker blundered, he’d snap.
“All right,” Parker said. “I’ll put it down. But you owe me some answers first.”
“Answers?” Hoffman scoffed. “About what?”
“Tommy. How you killed him.”
Hoffman blinked. “I didn’t kill him.”
“The hell you didn’t. You executed that guy in the warehouse. You went after Brynn, then killed Tommy when he got in your way. You were there with that gang, the City of the Dead.”
Incredulity crossed Hoffman’s face. “You’re nuts. I wasn’t there. I had nothing to do with that.”
Parker frowned, doubts worming through his anger, but he shook them off. The evidence pointed to his boss. “And when those photos showed up in Homicide, you destroyed them to cover your tracks.”
“You’re crazy. I’ve never killed anyone in my life.”
Until now.
The unspoken words hung between them. Parker’s gaze connected with Brynn’s, the desperation in her eyes wrenching his heart. And it took every ounce of willpower he possessed not to rush over and grab her away. But he’d never make it. She’d be dead before he went two feet.
“You killed Erin Walker,” he pointed out.
“Erin?” Hoffman’s indignation rose. “I did not. I wasn’t anywhere near her when she died.”
“You brought her here that night. You gave her drugs.”
“She wanted to come. But then she went berserk. It had nothing to do with me.”
“You abused her.”
“That’s a lie. I never hurt her. We were friends. She liked what I did.”
Parker realized that he believed that. In his