Sandra Brown - Smoke Screen

“See, his dad had taken him to the supermarket with him. When they came out, the kid set up a howl about getting back into his car seat. His dad was embarrassed because the kid was yelling, everybody in the parking lot was staring, he didn’t know how to deal with a tantrum.

“So he gave in and told the kid okay, he could ride in the front seat. They weren’t that far from home. And it was just for this one time that he’d be allowed to sit there. But it only took one time, one bad decision. A truck ran a red light and T-boned the car.” After several seconds, he added, “That kid would be eleven or twelve now. I imagine his dad thinks about that a lot.”

Britt let moments pass, then said, “Have you had many experiences like that?”

“No. Thank God. But you asked me my most memorable. That’s it. By far.” Turning his head, he said, “What about you?”

“Me?”

“Are you passionate for your work?”

Her reply was slow in coming. “Yes.”

Her hesitancy raised his eyebrows. “I know what passion sounds like, and that’s not it.” He gave her a long look, and she remembered the hungry, sexy sounds that had filled his bedroom the night before last.

She looked away and in a quiet voice asked, “Want to know a secret, Raley?”

“Hmm.”

“Are you sure? If I tell you, I’ll have to kill you.”

He smiled.

“Shelley Britt Hagen.”

He looked at her blankly. “Okay.”

“That’s my real name. But sometimes even I forget I wasn’t born Britt Shelley, because I adopted it as my professional name even before I graduated college.”

“You don’t have to kill me to protect that secret.”

“Well, that’s not the big one.”

“Oh. You have a darker one?”

“Um-huh.”

“Well, whatever it is, it’s safe with me.”

He said it in all seriousness. Meeting his gaze full-on, she said, “I’m certain of that.”

She thought that loyalty was probably one of his strongest qualities. In that regard, being muleheaded was an attribute, not a flaw. If someone told him a secret, he would take it to his grave. If he made you a promise, he would keep it. A commitment would be a commitment for life. He would be faithful to a woman.

Frankly she thought Hallie was a fool for doubting, even for an instant, that he wasn’t in control of his faculties when he was with Suzi Monroe. His body had functioned as conditioned, but his brain was shut down. Certainly his heart hadn’t been involved. If his fiancée truly had loved him, if she had known him at all, she would have accepted his explanation without question.

But she herself had deemed him guilty, hadn’t she? She’d doubted nothing Jay told her, but had believed the worst of Raley Gannon without so much as a single meeting. When he dodged her microphones and cameras, she had concluded that his avoidance was as good as an admission, and taking it one step further, she had swayed her viewing audience into believing likewise.

For five years, his unfinished investigation had haunted him. He’d borne the weight of eight murders that had gone unaccounted for. With sadness and shame, Britt acknowledged that she was partially responsible for that.

“I’m sorry, Raley.”

“For what?”

“For my partial reporting.”

“You already apologized.”

“Yes, but when I did, I was still working an angle. I was trying to weasel more information from you. I wanted this new, bigger story, and I wanted to stay with you until I got it. This time I mean my apology sincerely.”

After a beat or two, he said, “That’s your secret?”

“No.” She took a deep breath as she turned onto her back. “My secret is that I’ve had job offers in larger TV markets. One was even a network job. A contributing reporter on weekends, but it would have been a good start. I’ve turned them all down.”

“How come?”

“Fear of failure.”

She glanced at him but quickly cast her eyes back toward the ceiling. “I called you a coward, but the truth is, I’m the coward. I’m afraid to leave my small pond here, where I’m a big fish. In a larger market, the competition would be tougher. The expectations would be greater. What if I couldn’t hack it? What if I made a colossal fool of myself? So every time my agent came to me with an offer, I turned it down.

“I always had a reasonably valid excuse, but the bottom line was that I was afraid to give up my star status here. Anywhere else, I may discover I’m only average, and then what?

“I’ve been working without a net since I was eighteen, and it’s been good for me. I’m independent and self-sufficient. When everything is going well, I tell myself I’m capable of anything. But if things were to go terribly wrong, I don’t have anything or anyone to fall back on, even temporarily, even long enough for me to get back on my feet and dust myself off and try again. That frightens me.

“When I was younger, I could afford a career setback or two. I moved frequently, and the risks always worked out in my favor. But I’m not so young now. I’m no longer the fresh face. I’ve got more to lose and can’t afford a major setback. So I don’t gamble with my career. I stay well within my comfort zone.” She took a deep breath and looked over at him, expecting a comment. When he didn’t say anything, she said, “That’s it. That’s my secret.”

“You’re full of shit.”

“What?”

“You’re not giving yourself enough credit.” He looked almost angry as he swung his feet to the floor and stood up. “First of all, your face is fresh enough. You could take it anywhere and become a star.” Turning away, he stalked to the window and parted the curtains, looked out, drew the curtains together again, came back around.

“Second, you’re alone because that’s your choice. You could have a safety net if you wanted one. You may not want to leave this TV market for a larger one, but that doesn’t mean you couldn’t, and do it successfully.”

Britt angled herself up, supporting herself on her elbows. “I appreciate the vote of confidence, but I’m not sure I can trust the opinion of a man who doesn’t even own a television.”

“I’ve seen you enough times to know you’re good. I saw a replay of your press conference. You had them eating out of your hand. You convinced me of your innocence, and I was your most skeptical viewer.”

“The police weren’t convinced, though, were they? Clark and Javier believe I killed Jay. Pat Junior believes I did.”

“Does he?” His eyes moved down to her chest, and he stared at it hard enough to make her uncomfortably aware of the snug fit of her T-shirt. Then his eyes snapped up to hers. “Does he believe you killed Jay? He accused you of it, but…” Muttering an expletive, he began to pace. “That whole scene with him was off. I don’t know how, just off.”

“I know what you mean. You said he was squirrelly. Maybe that’s what we’re picking up on.”

“Maybe.” Suddenly he checked his wristwatch, then, moving quickly, he worked his feet into his sneakers. “This should time out about right. Come on. Hurry. Put your shoes on. Get your cap.”

“Where are we going?”

“To the police station.”

“Anyone who passes this way could spot this car,” Britt said. She was hunkered down in the passenger seat, her hair tucked up underneath the baseball cap.

The central police station sat atop a rise overlooking the Ashley River. Adjacent to the campus, which also housed the DMV, was a Marriott hotel. It was in the parking lot of the hotel that they were parked beneath a row of young live oak trees. From there, they could see the police department employee parking lot.

“I don’t think anyone in that building knows to look for this car,” Raley said.