Body Armor Read online

  “As sure as I can be.”

  Frank took his hands off the wheel, put one on her shoulder. It was meant to be a gesture of support and reassurance, but Anna was long past being reassured by his touch. If she ever had been.

  “Look, babe, I know this whole thing has been tough for you, but you’ve gotta get your head on straight about your brother. Even if I thought there was foul play, I don’t have the authority to reopen his case.”

  “Why am I not surprised?” She pulled away from him and opened her door. The cold December air filled the car as she held out a hand, palm up. “I’ll take my keys now.”

  Frank ignored the request. “What I can do,” he said, “is catch the punks who attacked you tonight. And if this button business has anything to do with Owen at all—and I’m not saying it does—I’ll try to convince the brass that we need to take another look at his suicide.”

  This was the first sliver of hope Anna had gotten out of him, and her anger suddenly dissolved. “Is that a promise?”

  “Cross my heart and hope to die.”

  She managed a smile. Genuine this time. “Thank you, Frank.”

  He shrugged. “You’ll always be my girl.”

  It was a phrase he’d used over and over again during their marriage. One that had turned out to be decidedly untrue, but she didn’t feel the need to remind him of that. No point in stirring that particular fire.

  He took her keys from the ignition and handed them to her. “I don’t think it’s anything to worry about, but I’ll have a unit patrol the area, to make sure you guys are safe.”

  She nodded her thanks and was about to climb out when she had a sudden thought. “Adam’s asleep, but I bet he’d be happy to wake up long enough to say good-night. You want to come up for a minute?”

  Frank’s expression darkened. “It’s late and I need to get home. Maybe some other time.”

  Then they were out of the car, Frank moving to his cruiser to join Joe. She watched them drive away, wondering how much more emotional turmoil she could go through before she collapsed under the weight of it all.

  Collapsing wasn’t an option, however. She needed to be strong for Adam. To follow up on her promise to herself and make this as normal a Christmas as she possibly could.

  So far that wasn’t working out too well.

  Maybe life would look a little brighter to morrow.

  MOM WAS ASLEEP ON THE sofa, the TV tuned to a shopping channel. The woman on-screen was hawking a bath and body set that Anna sold for nearly twice the price in her shop. Between the internet and these discount shows, it was a wonder she could make a living at all. Maybe she should join the modern age, open a website and throw customer service out the window.

  Anna took off her jacket and hung it on the coat stand. Grabbing a blanket from the pile next to the armchair, she laid it over her mother then gently kissed her forehead. She didn’t want to wake her. Mom had been having a rough time of it, too, and sleep was therapeutic.

  After turning off the TV, she went upstairs to check in on Adam. His night-light was on, and he was curled up into a tight little ball atop his bed, hugging the toy sheriff’s car that Owen had given him for his third birthday.

  The sight almost broke Anna’s heart.

  She moved to the bed, carefully pried it from his arms and set it next to him on the pillow. Pulling the blankets up around him, she tucked him in, kissed his cheek and thought about how blessed she was to have him.

  He was her life. Her reason to be strong. When he smiled, she smiled. When he laughed, she laughed. And when he cried…

  Helping him heal was more important than anything else right now.

  She placed her palm against his narrow chest, feeling it rise and fall, hoping that his dreams were good ones. She was about to turn back to the door when she heard a car outside and went to the window, staring down at the street below.

  As Frank had promised, a sheriff’s patrol unit approached, slowing as it reached the house. The deputy shone a light across the yard before picking up speed and moving on.

  But as it rolled away, Anna’s gaze was drawn to a nearby street lamp and the pool of light beneath it.

  There was a familiar-looking black motorcycle parked there. A Harley.

  As the patrol car rounded the corner, the shadows behind the bike began to shift, and Anna once again felt her heart kick up as all the emotions she’d been battling tonight renewed their relentless attack on her.

  Then Brody Carpenter stepped into the light and looked up toward the window.

  Chapter Four

  She was out the door and crossing toward him before she could even think. She’d forgotten her jacket, and the night air bit into her. She hugged herself to keep from shivering.

  “What are you doing out here, Brody?”

  He gestured to the porch behind her. “You left your door hanging open. Not a good idea.”

  “What do you want from me?”

  “Same as that patrol unit,” he said. “To make sure you’re safe.”

  “Is that why you were at the mall tonight?”

  He nodded. “More or less.”

  “So why now? You didn’t seem to care much four years ago.”

  She could see that the words hit home, but she didn’t regret them. Rational or not, the resentment she felt outweighed any gratitude she had for what he’d done tonight.

  “I’m not here to ask for forgiveness,” he said.

  “And you’re not about to get any.” She moved in close. “You told the deputy you wanted to talk to me about Owen. Was that the truth?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then tell me what’s going on—or should I call Frank back and have him ask you?”

  The lowest blow yet, but she didn’t care. She wanted to hurt him.

  “Look,” he said, “can we go inside? It’s getting colder and you’ll freeze to death out here.”

  “I’m not sure I want you inside my house.”

  “Come on, Anna, this isn’t about us. It’s about Owen.”

  “How could you possibly know anything about him? You haven’t seen him in years.”

  Brody looked at her. A look she remembered well from their days together. One that meant it was time to stop arguing and listen. This was serious business.

  “Owen sent me a message just before he died. A message about you.”

  “Me?”

  Brody nodded again. “That’s why I came back, Anna. That’s why I’m here.”

  HE SAT AT HER KITCHEN table, watching her put a kettle on the stove. She was still shivering. Her anger kept her from realizing just how cold she was.

  It would take a while for the warmth of the kitchen to settle into her bones, and he wanted more than anything to go to her right now and put his arms around her until the shivering stopped.

  But he knew that would be a mistake.

  Once she had the burner going, she turned to him. She was as breathtaking as ever.

  “So what was Owen’s message?”

  “There wasn’t a whole lot to it,” he told her. “And it came to me secondhand. I was in a refugee camp in Chad when I got it.”

  She was surprised. “Chad? As in Central Africa?”

  He nodded. “The message came through the Red Cross. I was in an area called Farchana. I have no idea how Owen did it, but I guess he must have worked up a network of contacts over the years and somehow managed to locate me.”

  “What on earth were you doing in Africa?”

  “Trying to help,” Brody said. “After I left Cedarwood, I just wanted to get as far away from my life as I possibly could. You know how bitter I was.”

  She didn’t hide her own bitterness. “I guess I found out, didn’t I?”

  Brody released a breath, but it did little to assuage his guilt. “Look, Anna, I know how badly I hurt you, and I’ll never forgive myself for it. Never. But I was in a different frame of mind back then. My entire world had been turned upside down and I just wanted to get away.”<
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  “Africa’s away, all right.”

  “It didn’t start there. That’s just where I wound up.”

  “So where did you go?”

  “My first stop was New York. I figured I could get lost in the crowd there, be as anonymous as possible. Nobody looking at me as if I were a disappointment.”

  Anna frowned. “Is that what you thought? That I considered you a disappointment?”

  “No, not you. But a lot of people in Cedarwood did. People I once considered friends.”

  “You were acquitted, Brody. Everyone knew that.”

  The kettle started to boil. Anna turned off the burner then poured hot water into two cups and dunked a tea bag into each.

  “Maybe so,” Brody said, “but it sure didn’t feel that way. My career was finished, I couldn’t get work and I just didn’t want to be a burden to anyone. Especially you. So I wound up in New York. And after a few months there, I ran into an old college friend who set me up overseas. In London.”

  Anna carried the cups to the table, a renewed look of surprise on her face. “London? What did you do there?”

  “Bodyguard work, mostly.”

  “For who?”

  “I had a lot of clients. Actors, businessmen, politicians. You ever heard of Clive Banks?”

  She nodded. “The movie star.”

  “I worked for him on and off for a couple years. Premiere parties, public appearances, that kind of thing.”

  Anna sipped her tea. “I’d already given up on you by then. I was desperate to talk to you, and Owen had been trying to find you for months, but…”

  She let the words trail and Brody once again felt guilt overcoming him. “I guess that’s when Frank stepped in?”

  “Can you blame him? He’d always had a thing for me. Ever since freshman year.”

  “Believe me, I know. And you?”

  She hesitated. “Finish your story.”

  Brody finally took a sip of his own tea, its welcome warmth radiating through his body. “Between gigs with Banks, I started doing work for a British MP. One day I was sent to do the advance security for a humanitarian trip to a refugee camp in Chad, and when I got there, I was pretty devastated by what I saw.”

  The disenfranchised families, the hungry children. The desperation in their eyes.

  “I guess I felt a kind of kinship with the people there. Their lives uprooted by genocide. My own problems were so pale in comparison, it wasn’t even funny.” He took another sip. “So I quit the security gig right then and there. Joined in the effort to pull refugees out of Darfur and smuggle them across the border. And that’s what I’d just finished doing when Owen’s message came.”

  “When was this?”

  “Less than a week ago.”

  “He was already dead by then.”

  Brody nodded. “I didn’t know that at the time, but yeah, the message probably passed through several different hands before it got to me. A Red Cross worker had tried to deliver it earlier, but I was in Dar fur. I took the first flight home, but by the time I got here Owen was already gone.”

  “So what was the message? What did he say?”

  “Why don’t I show you?”

  Reaching into his shirt pocket, Brody pulled out a small slip of paper. He had folded and unfolded it so many times in the past few days that it was threatening to fall apart.

  “It’s brief and to the point,” he said, “but it’s the reason I’m here.”

  He handed it to Anna and she pulled it open, staring down at the words that had been written by a stranger’s hand, dictated over a static-filled phone line from several thousand miles away.

  Brody knew those words by heart:

  Trouble. Too late for me.

  Protect Anna.

  Owen

  ANNA SUCKED IN A BREATH.

  These words only confirmed what she had suspected all along: Owen hadn’t committed suicide. He’d been in trouble and someone had murdered him and staged the whole thing to make it look as if he’d shot himself in his own bed.

  She had been right to question the official findings, and this note was proof of that.

  Her scalp prickled and something toxic blossomed in her stomach, spreading through her bloodstream, making her whole body go numb.

  “My God,” she said. “We have to show this to Frank.”

  Brody shook his head. “Consider the source. He’s never thought much of me and he’ll probably think I’m running some kind of scam.”

  “Well, I don’t. And he’ll listen to me.”

  “Oh? Has he so far?”

  The question gave Anna pause.

  “You knew Owen better than anyone,” Brody said, “and I can’t believe this is the first time you’ve considered he didn’t take his own life. You must have mentioned it to Frank.”

  She nodded. “He thinks my doubts are all part of the grieving process, but this should convince him he’s wrong.”

  “Come on, Anna, you know how he is. He’ll take one look at that thing and either call foul or claim it’s some kind of suicide note.”

  Anna looked at the worn sheet of paper again.

  Trouble.

  Too late for me.

  If you read these words with the preconceived notion that Owen had killed himself, then yes, Brody was right. But there were other things to consider, as well.

  “What about the men who attacked me?” she asked. “I told Frank I thought they had something to do with Owen.”

  “And I have no doubt that they did. But I’d lay odds that if you show Frank that note, it’ll only convince him he’s right.” Brody paused. “Worse yet, he may try to stop us from finding out what really happened.”

  Anna’s heart froze in her chest.

  Had he really just said what she thought he had?

  “What are you telling me?”

  “I may be a little rusty, but I still know my way around an investigation, and I still know how to follow my instincts.”

  “Then you’ll look into Owen’s death?”

  “My first priority is protecting you. Just like your brother asked me to. So you’ve got a bodyguard whether you want one or not.”

  “I don’t care about me,” she said. “What about Owen?”

  Brody looked directly at her now, his expression dark, his gaze unwavering, and she knew he wasn’t playing games, wasn’t making idle conversation or halfhearted promises.

  He was deadly serious. And anyone listening to him should pay very close attention.

  “As far as I’m concerned,” he said, “the best friend I ever had was brutally murdered in his own home. And I’m not about to let those punks get away with it.”

  Chapter Five

  Anna had offered to put him up in Owen’s room, but Brody wasn’t about to let himself be confined.

  He wasn’t here for a sleepover.

  His mission was to protect and defend, and if Anna’s attackers were to track her here and show up in the middle of the night, he needed to be ready for them. He didn’t expect another attempt so soon, but it didn’t hurt to be prepared.

  After telling Anna to get her mother safely into her own room, Brody took one of the kitchen chairs to the upstairs hallway and stationed himself near a window overlooking the street.

  It was past two in the morning when they finally said good-night, and the sky seemed darker somehow, as if a storm might be coming. Cedarwood had thankfully been free of snow since Brody had arrived, but he had to wonder if it would soon be falling, or if the turbulence in the air was a signal of another kind of storm altogether.

  Brody decided to allow himself to doze, but nothing more than that. Catnaps would keep him fresh and alert. The tea would help, too, but before they’d left the kitchen, Anna had surprised him by preparing a thermos full of coffee for him.

  It was a ritual she had performed at least a hundred times in the past, back when they had lived together in their small apartment downtown. Brody would be heading out on night patrol and Anna
would stand by the doorway, holding the thermos out to him.

  “Come back to me in one piece,” she’d say then pull him into an embrace, kissing him, pressing her body against his as if to remind him what he’d be coming home to.

  Not that he’d ever needed a reminder.

  This time, however, there was no embrace. No press of the body. She had filled the thermos and set it on the kitchen table without comment, not quite willing to look him in the eye—as if she, too, remembered those nights but wasn’t sure she really wanted to.

  Brody’s regret was a festering wound in his gut. He knew it did him no good to obsess over the past, but if there was one thing he could change, one course of action he could go back to and revise…

  Leaving her was his greatest mistake.

  As he settled into the chair, the sheriff’s patrol car did another drive-by. If it were up to him, the deputy would be sitting at the curb all night, but the department was undoubtedly stretched thin. This was the best they could do.

  He watched the car pass then sat back, looking toward the long hallway in front of him—the bathroom at the far end, the carpeted stairs to the left, the closed bedroom doors on the right.

  The Sanford family home hadn’t changed much over the years. He’d been up here many times as a teenager. First with Owen, the two of them reading comic books and playing video games, talking about girls at school. Then later with Anna, sneaking into her room late at night. A time that played in an endless loop in his mind: the anxious moments, the quiet kisses, the feverish exploration of each other’s body. The feeling that they could never get enough.

  Could never give enough.

  Brody looked at Anna’s bedroom door and saw light seeping out from the crack beneath it.

  Still awake.

  He couldn’t help wondering what she was thinking as she lay in bed. About Owen, no doubt. About the men who had attacked her.

  About him?

  No matter how he tried, he couldn’t keep from imagining himself throwing that door open and crossing toward her, tearing at his clothes as he moved, then pulling her off the bed and into his arms. Feeling her lips pressed against his.

  Her warm flesh…

  He knew it was a pipe dream. Nothing more. But something ached inside him, a deep carnal desire that was difficult to ignore. It took everything he had to stay seated in that chair.