Allison Brennan - Silenced

“What the hell are you doing?” Brian pulled the plug out of the wall.

“The Yankees are playing-come on, Bri, you told me to lay low, this is how I lay low. I can’t just sit here and do nothing.”

“You’ll do what I say if you want to stay out of prison.” Why did Brian even care if Ned went back?

Because he loved his brother, warts and all. And he didn’t want to see his mother cry. Even though deep down he knew his mother had manipulated him most of his adult life, he still had a deep need to please her.

Protect Ned at all costs. Even if he was so stupid he’d get them all tossed in prison.

Ned pouted and lit another match. Brian watched it burn out. The heat didn’t bother Ned-his fingerprints had been burned off his thumb and index finger. But the police had all five fingers, plus a palm, and probably DNA for all Brian knew.

Brian was no saint, he’d done his fair share of bad things, but Brian had never been caught. Because he knew how to be careful.

“Let’s think this through,” Brian said. “The good news is she went back to her neighborhood. That means she’s staying local, at least for now.”

“She’s probably long gone.”

When Brian first learned that Poison Ivy-his pet name for the wily bitch-was with the cops, he panicked. If Wendy told her everything, the girl was an immediate threat. That’s why he planned on getting out of town now. He had a train ticket for New York that he could use anytime, and from New York he could go anywhere in the world.

He needed to leave before the cops got smart and flagged his name. Let someone else clean up Ned’s messes. Mom loved him so much, let her track down the bitch. Or get her pretty-boy husband to do it. Why did it always have to be him ? It wasn’t like it was his idea to use Wendy to gather information. He’d never trusted her. Like Ned, she thought she was better, smarter than everyone else.

Neither of them were as smart as he was. Which was why he was alive without a criminal record, and Wendy was dead and Ned had been to prison.

But when he was in the middle of packing, he had the radio tuned to his favorite twenty-four-hour news station. As soon as the report came on about the crash, he turned it up. Two cops transported to the hospital. One civilian may have fled the scene. May have? Damn straight Poison Ivy ran away. That meant the game was still on. And though Brian didn’t want to go to prison, the thought of losing to that little whore made his head hurt.

He just wanted to kill her so he could disappear.

What he didn’t understand is why she was still in town. If it were him, he’d be halfway to the islands by now.

Which meant she had something here, or no way of getting out of town. No money? No car?

He considered why she’d come back, exposed herself.

She was desperate.

She was hiding locally. Why?

What was keeping her here when she knew he wanted her dead?

“Ned, why did you think she’d go back to her house?”

“I dunno. Maybe because I’d go home if I were in trouble.”

But the house was gone. She must know someone in the area, someone she could trust.

“You followed her for a few blocks before she saw you.”

“Yep. I was so close to grabbing her. But there were people around, I didn’t want her screaming and causing a scene.” Ned lit another match. Brian extinguished it himself and grabbed the matchbook.

Then he closed his eyes and counted to ten. Slowly.

Your chasing and shooting a cop caused far more problems than some bitch being grabbed off the street could ever cause.

Brian pulled a map out of his desk and spread it out. He circled Hawthorne Street. “You show me where she went. What streets she walked, if she made any sudden turns, if she stopped for more than two seconds. Then we’ll go back. Smoke her out, so to speak. We’ll find her, or we’ll find the other girl, but we’re going to find somebody and Poison Ivy will regret fucking with the Abernathys.”

When this was over, he’d fly to Hawaii, or better yet, an island that didn’t have an extradition agreement with the U.S. He hoped that this time, six thousand miles was far enough.

Sean drove too fast to Alexandria, but he needed to calm down before he met with Paxton. His custom Mustang GT gave him the power necessary to purge his anger.

Noah was a prick, he decided. For the last six months he’d been worried that Noah had a thing for Lucy, and Sean didn’t like them spending so much time working together. Stupid jealousy. Lucy sensed it, but not the cause, certainly not that Sean was jealous of Noah. She thought it was all about Noah being a rigid cop. But after they returned from the Adirondacks, his jealousy had lost its edge. After all, Lucy told Sean she loved him, not the damn fed.

If Noah did have feelings for Lucy over and beyond a professional friendship, Sean hoped he continued acting like the jerk he was tonight.

Except Sean couldn’t stand to watch Lucy struggle with the harsh, unwarranted criticism. And Sean couldn’t do anything for fear of messing with Lucy’s career goals. Once she went through the Academy and had her badge, he’d be relieved. Her confidence in her abilities would be validated.

Sean’s left hand gripped the steering wheel tightly as he downshifted to avoid rear-ending a jerk who thought he needed to stop twenty feet behind the red light. He breathed deeply, forcing himself to relax, and prayed Lucy never learned the truth about how she got into the Academy. If Paxton was telling the truth. Sean was fifty-fifty on believing him, and he planned to do his own digging on that angle. But he had to tread carefully. Two of Lucy’s sisters-in-law were Feds and Noah had ins with people Sean didn’t know. He couldn’t afford to let anyone learn he was snooping.

A pleasant breeze had come in with the night, a harbinger that the heat wave might break. As the natural light dimmed and the horizon’s glow darkened, the old, tree-lined street full of narrow, three-story brick homes on which the senator lived became a sepia-toned nostalgic snapshot.

Sean parked around the corner from Paxton’s house. Paxton said he’d be there by nine; it was already eight thirty. Sean didn’t care if Paxton caught him inside-he just wanted the time to find what he was looking for.

Unfortunately, he wasn’t sure what he was looking for.

He’d come early for two purposes. The first, to find out what the senator knew about his crime in Massachusetts and, more important, how. The second was proof, one way or the other, that Paxton had pulled strings to get Lucy into the Academy. Sean wanted to know who was in Paxton’s pocket.

Paxton’s security was decent enough to thwart would-be burglars, but Sean wasn’t a thief. After a quick assessment, it only took him ten seconds to bypass the alert system, then another ten seconds to crack the alarm code. He was inside in less than a minute.

Sean’s eyes adjusted to the dark and he kept his penlight low to the floor. He was familiar with the general layout of these older homes. The bottom floor was usually storage, an office, utilities. Sometimes the area was a large open space, sometimes an in-home office, sometimes an added bedroom suite.

On the middle level was a large living room overlooking the street, a dining area and kitchen overlooking a small postage-stamp-sized yard, and the alley beyond. The detached single-car garage was accessible only through the alley or backyard. The middle level also had a den and small utility room.

Sean went upstairs mostly to ensure he was in fact alone. Two large bedrooms, each with their own bath, completed the home. One bedroom was sparse with a bed, dresser, and small, empty desk. The closet was full of winter suits and coats-Paxton was a clothing hog. The master bedroom was crowded with more furniture and obviously lived-in. The closet was also packed with suits, pressed shirts, casual clothing, and at least a dozen shoes.