Gail Barrett - Fatal Exposure

No sign of a partner. Maybe the cop really had come alone.

Unwilling to take that gamble, she scrambled onto the windowsill and grabbed hold of the nearest branch, the cold bark rough on her palms. But then she paused, her throat tightening with a stab of regret. She was so damned tired of this. She’d spent more than half her life on the run, always looking over her shoulder, always terrified she’d be found. This row house was her first-ever attempt to set down roots, to lead something even remotely resembling a stable life. To have a garden, a home. To put an end to the utter loneliness that plagued her in the dead of night.

But she knew the futility of dreams. Predators ruled this brutal world, a lesson she’d learned at an early age. And unless she wanted to end up a victim, she had to go on the run again.

Jerking herself back to reality, she adjusted her grip on the tree branch and swung onto the sprawling limb. She crept to the trunk, inched over the huge, gnarled branch that stretched across the neighbor’s fence, then dropped onto their patio, landing with a muffled thud. Her heart racing, she darted into the bushes and hid.

For several seconds, she didn’t move. She held her breath, listening for signs that she’d been seen. But no one looked out the neighbor’s window; no one raised an alarm. Praying her luck would hold—and the cop would keep ringing her doorbell instead of circling around to the back—she snuck through the shadows to the gate and pressed her ear to the wood.

Silence.

Now came the risky part.

She had to exit through the alley. There wasn’t another way out. And she couldn’t wait; once that cop realized she’d fled the house, he would search the entire block—including the neighbor’s yard. She just hoped that if he did have backup, his partner would be watching her back door instead of the neighbor’s gate. Her pulse quickening, she cracked it open and peeked out.

She swept her gaze down the dark alley, over hulking, tomblike cars, past trash cans looming like phantoms in the quiet night. The cold wind gusted, ruffling the bushes lining the fence, but she seemed to be alone.

Now or never.

She sucked in a breath, swung the gate open wider and stepped through.

Just as the shadows leaped.

Chapter 2

Parker lunged at the woman fleeing the alley, a hot rush of fury fueling his steps. There was no way she was going to escape him, not after all this time.

“Stop! Police!” he ordered, grabbing hold of her shoulder. But she whipped around, catching him off guard, and rammed her elbow into his head. He staggered back at the sharp jolt of pain.

Damn. The woman could fight. But she still wasn’t getting away.

Shaking off the pain, he surged forward as she took off running again. His feet jackhammered the pavement. Shadows zipped past in the night. He put on a burst of speed, catching up to her in a few long strides. Then he went in low, locking his arms around her waist, and lifted her off her feet.

She twisted and thrashed like a hellcat, but he gritted his teeth and held on. She dropped her pack, snapped her arm back in another attempt to hit his head, but he ducked and dodged the blow. Then she reached down and grabbed his leg, jerking it up hard between hers. Thrown abruptly off balance, he fell.

Hell. He’d underestimated her. Again.

But this time he didn’t let go. He dragged her down to the pavement with him, his arms encircling her waist. She landed atop him a split second later, knocking the breath from his lungs. Grunting, he rolled over and pinned her down.

“Stop fighting,” he rasped between gasps for air. “I’m not trying to hurt you. I’m a cop. I only want to talk.”

But she wriggled and squirmed, managing to pin his arms to his sides with her legs before he anticipated her intent. Then she jabbed her finger beneath his ear, sending excruciating shocks sizzling through his nerves. White spots danced behind his eyes.

So she wants to fight dirty. He could accommodate that.

Furious now, he wedged his elbow around her knee and swung his leg over hers. Then he flipped her over, reversing their positions, and trapped her between his legs.

For a moment she went stone-still, her uneven gasps filling the night. Then she shoved against his chest, struggling to gain enough space to break free. But he bore down even harder, using his strength to make her stop.

Sweat trickled down his jaw. His breath seesawed in time to his careening pulse. After several futile attempts to get loose, she stopped.

“Let me go,” she cried, her voice muffled.

“Why should I?”

“I can’t breathe.”

He didn’t doubt it. He probably had seventy pounds of muscle on her.

“Please.” She sounded desperate now. “I...can’t...breathe.”

Unable to dredge up any sympathy, he steeled his jaw. “You going to talk to me this time?”

“Yes.”

“Somehow I’m not convinced.”

“I said I would.” Despite her predicament, temper flared into her voice.

“You’d better,” he warned. “You try running again, and I’ll hurt you for real this time.”

Too ticked off to trust her, he rolled over, positioning himself on top. Then he lumbered to his feet, every sense alert in case she tried to bolt. When she didn’t make a move to join him, he reached down and pulled her up. Still breathing heavily, he pulled out his badge and held it up.

“Put your hands behind your back and face the fence,” he ordered, taking out his handcuffs.

“What?”

“You heard me.” He wasn’t taking the chance that she’d run again.

“You have no right—”

“You ran from the police. You assaulted an officer. I don’t need another reason than that. Now turn around—unless you’d rather I haul you in.”

Her gaze flicked to his shield again. Even in the dim light trickling from a nearby row house, he could see her jaw go tight. But she turned and held out her hands.

Wary of another trick, he slapped on the handcuffs, the delicate feel of her wrist bones causing a startling burst of heat in his blood. Forget that she’s a woman, he reminded himself as she whirled around. She was a possible suspect in his brother’s death, the last one to see him alive, not a potential date.

He picked up the backpack she’d dropped and searched it, unearthing the small, semiautomatic pistol she’d hidden inside. Still keeping one eye on her, he removed the magazine. “You have a permit for this?”

Her gaze skidded away.

“Right.” Stupid question. He stuffed the gun in his jacket pocket and shouldered the bag.

Her eyes returned to his. “So what do you want?”

“Information.”

“You always tackle people you want to question?”

“You always climb out the window when someone knocks on your door?”

Her mouth pressed into a line.

“I’m here about Tommy McCall,” he added.

“Never heard of him.”

He ignored that blatant lie. “I suggest you remember fast, or I’ll haul you in for questioning.”

“On what grounds?”

“On the grounds that you have information about his death.”

“I told you. I don’t—”

“Your choice.” He pulled out his cell phone and punched in a number, calling her bluff.

She held his gaze. Several tense seconds ticked past. “Fine,” she bit out at last. “You want to waste your time on useless questions, ask away.”

He pocketed the phone with a nod. “Let’s take this inside.”

Her jaw dropped. “You expect me to let you into my house?”

“You expect me to believe you won’t run if we stay out here?”

“How can I? You’ve got me in cuffs.”

“I’ll take them off inside.”

Her lips tightened again, distrust flickering in her shadowed eyes. Then she huffed out an angry breath. “All right, but I’m telling you, you’re wasting your time.”