Body Armor Page 4

  He had returned to Cedarwood three days ago and had been watching Anna from a distance ever since. He had told himself that he was merely fulfilling Owen’s last wish, had come here only as a favor to his fallen friend.

  But he knew that he was really here for Anna.

  While he was gone, he’d kept tabs on her. Knew that she had married Frank and they’d had a son. He’d be the first to admit that he’d envied his old rival, had been torn apart knowing that Frank was sharing Anna’s bed and raising her child. When word of the divorce finally reached him, he’d been saddened for her but overjoyed for himself, even though he knew he’d never take advantage of the situation. Returning home was not an option at the time. He had no desire to exploit Anna’s loss, and there was too much pain involved for everyone concerned. Too much history.

  But Owen’s note had changed everything. Had given him an excuse to come home again.

  Trouble. Too late for me.

  Protect Anna.

  That was his mantra now. Protecting Anna.

  And finding the men who sent her brother to an early grave.

  HE STRETCHED AT REGULAR intervals, but after a while, he realized he couldn’t sit any longer. Too much nervous energy. He could blame the coffee, but he didn’t think that was it.

  He went downstairs and checked windows and doors as he turned the events of the night over and over in his mind, thinking about what he’d seen and heard as he sat on his Harley in the shadows of the mall’s underground parking lot—

  —Anna walking to her car.

  —Santa Claus grabbing her.

  —Her startled yelp as he pushed her toward the van, his voice echoing—

  “The button. Where’s the button?”

  Santa had seemed desperate for an answer, and Brody wanted one, too.

  What exactly was this button?

  The only thing that came to mind were the buttons on a shirt, or a campaign souvenir, or maybe the power switch on a piece of electronic equipment. Or if you really wanted to stretch it: the protective knob on the end of a fencing foil—how was that for an obscure bit of knowledge?

  Yet none of these fit.

  “I know he gave it to you. Where is it?”

  The he being Owen, of course. A point that Brody and Anna had agreed on when they rehashed the event.

  Who else could it be? And if these creeps had known Owen well enough to make such an accusation, then Brody could only conclude that his friend had somehow gotten himself involved in some very bad business.

  Trouble.

  Too late for me.

  But why was it too late? What had Owen done? What did he know that had pitted him against these men?

  Had he stolen from them? Was this button a rare artifact of some kind? An antique that was valuable enough to kill for? Enough to make grabbing Anna seem like a reasonable way to obtain it?

  And if this were true, and if Owen had passed it on to her, then why didn’t Anna know this? Why was she completely clueless about it?

  Brody had met Owen when they were juniors in high school. Brody’s family had recently moved from another district, and he and Owen had become fast friends when they both tried out for the varsity football team.

  After practice most days, they would grab sodas from a nearby Frostee’s then hike across the street to the comic book store to stock up on the latest releases.

  But Brody’s interest in comic books disappeared the moment he met Anna. She was sixteen years old and had just returned from a semester abroad, part of a student-exchange program.

  Brody could remember that moment with exquisite clarity. He was sitting on Owen’s bedroom floor, poring over the latest issue of X-Men, when the door flew open and Anna stood framed in the doorway.

  “Hey, Owen, guess who’s…”

  The words caught in her throat, and Brody knew she was surprised to see a strange boy sitting on her brother’s floor. Owen had gone to the bathroom, so it was just Brody and Anna, staring at each other awkwardly.

  But Brody immediately liked what he saw.

  Anna was not only flawless in just about every way, but she had startling blue eyes that seemed to see things that most girls her age couldn’t. Maybe it was the trip to Europe, but she carried herself with a kind of feminine sophistication that Brody wasn’t used to, and he instantly fell in love.

  As he thought about that moment, he couldn’t quite fathom how he had managed to screw things up with her. He also realized that his mind was starting to drift. He needed to focus on the crime now, focus on that button.

  What had his friend gotten himself into?

  HE WAS BACK IN THE CHAIR and dozing by 6:00 a.m. A sound awoke him and he opened his eyes to see a small boy standing less than a yard away, dressed in footed pajamas dotted with multicolored dinosaurs. He had a toy sheriff’s car tucked under an arm.

  “Who’re you?” the boy asked.

  He looked just like Anna. Same intelligent blue eyes. And his voice had an underlying maturity that Brody doubted he himself could have mustered at that age. He sounded like a little adult.

  “I’m a friend of your mom’s,” Brody said. “You must be Adam.”

  “Uh-huh. Were you sleeping out here?”

  “Yeah, I guess I was.”

  “Why?”

  Brody debated how to answer this. “I’m on Santa watch. Just in case he comes early this year.”

  Not strictly a lie.

  “Santa comes on Christmas Eve,” Adam said. “He leaves me presents and eats all our cookies. He’s big and fat and likes chocolate chips. Do you like chocolate chips?”

  Brody smiled. “Love ’em. Especially in pancakes.”

  The boy’s eyes lit up. “Pancakes?”

  “Yep,” Brody said. “They used to be your mom’s favorite. She never made them for you?”

  Adam shook his head. “Unh-uh.” He scrunched his face up, as if remembering something, then said, “You ride a motorcycle.”

  Brody was surprised. “That’s right. How did you know?”

  “Uncle Owen showed me your picture. He had it in his wallet.”

  Brody felt the stab of grief. He knew exactly the photograph Adam was talking about. It was a shot of him and Owen down in Nuevo Laredo, after a long weekend of barhopping to celebrate Owen’s new job with Northboard Industries. Anna had been scheduled to join them, but she had caught a cold just before the trip and had insisted they go without her.

  They had both been wiped out when the photo was taken, not looking forward to the twenty-hour ride back to Cedarwood. And it was shortly after their return that Brody’s troubles with the department began.

  “My daddy drives a sheriff’s car,” Adam said, as if somehow picking up on Brody’s thoughts. “Uncle Owen says he’s one of the best deputies ever.”

  Brody assumed that Owen was being charitable when he’d said that. Owen had never thought much of Frank, and Brody knew the marriage to Anna must have been a tough pill for his friend to swallow. Frank was a good deputy, but Brody couldn’t imagine Owen ever admitting that out loud. Maybe it was easier to say it to a three-year-old child.

  Whatever the case, this boy was about the cutest thing Brody had ever seen, and he felt an instant warmth toward the little guy.

  Frank must be very proud, he thought.

  Brody got to his feet. “So you’ve never had chocolate chip pancakes, huh?”

  Adam shook his head.

  “Well, you don’t know what you’ve been missing, my friend. What d’you say we go down to the kitchen and see if we can whip us up a batch?”

  “Really?”

  “I’ll even let you pour in the chips.”

  A slow smile crept into Adam’s face, reaching all the way up to his eyes, and at that moment Brody knew that he had made a friend forever.

  He stood up, patted the boy’s head. “Let’s get to it.”

  ANNA AWOKE THAT MORNING to the sound of Adam’s laughter. His familiar high-pitched trill floated up from downstairs, muffl
ed but clearly identifiable behind her bedroom door.

  It was a sound she hadn’t heard in over a week.

  Climbing out of bed, she pulled her robe on then padded to her door and opened it. Brody’s chair was empty, and she thought she heard his laugh, too, coming from the kitchen.

  What was going on?

  When Anna got downstairs, her mother, Sylvia, was sitting on the sofa, already dressed for the day, a sour, intolerant look on her face.

  “When did he come back?”

  “Mom, please, don’t start.”

  “I can’t believe you let that man in this house. After everything he put you through, you take him back with open arms?”

  “It’s not like that,” Anna assured her. “He’s here because of Owen. He heard what happened and he wants to help.”

  “Help himself right into those pants of yours.”

  “Oh, for God’s sakes, Mom, nothing happened. We’re long past all that.”

  “Are you?” Her mother looked skeptical. “I know how you feel about him, young lady. You’ve been carrying a torch since you were a teenager. Even after he deserted you. Even during that preposterous charade you and Frank called a—”

  “Enough, Mother.” Anna felt her face growing hot. “I know you’re hurting about Owen, but that doesn’t give you the right to be so cruel.”

  Sylvia caught herself, looked stricken, as if she’d suddenly realized the venom in her words. She brought a hand to her mouth as tears filled her eyes. “Oh my God, Anna. I’m so sorry.”

  Anna calmed herself. “It’s okay, Mom. We’re all on edge. But let’s try to pull it together for Adam, all right? He needs us.”

  They both listened for a moment to Adam’s giggles. Then Anna said, “It sounds like he’s feeling better. Maybe we should take our cue from him.”

  Sylvia nodded and wiped her tears with her shirt sleeve. “It’s just so hard, hon. I miss your brother so much.”

  “I know you do. So do I.”

  She squeezed her mother’s shoulder, forced a smile and finally got one in return.

  Her smile disappeared, however, when she went to the kitchen and saw what Brody and Adam were up to. Brody stood at the table, stirring batter in a mixing bowl as Adam poured in a bag of chocolate chips.

  They were making pancakes.

  Brody’s famous chocolate chip pancakes.

  As they worked, there was a natural camaraderie between them, both smiling broadly, obviously enjoying this time together. A few of the chips spilled onto the table and Brody snatched one up, popping it into Adam’s mouth.

  “Good for the soul,” he said, and Adam giggled.

  Despite what Anna had just told her mother, this scene was simply too much to bear, and tears flooded her own eyes. She was suddenly awash in memories—memories of the life she had once dreamed of but had never come to pass.

  A life with Brody.

  She started to turn away. He looked up and saw her crying, his face reflecting surprise and concern.

  “Anna?”

  Then she was out the door and crossing toward the stairs, not wanting him to see her like this. She knew she was being ridiculous, that reality rarely matched the hopes and desires people often wrap themselves in, but she couldn’t help herself. With sudden, gut-wrenching clarity, she realized that she would never have that dream.

  Brody caught up to her on the stairs, grabbing her sleeve. “Anna? What’s wrong?”

  “What isn’t wrong?” she cried, yanking her arm free, unable to keep the sarcasm at bay. “I’m happy you went out into the world and found yourself, Brody. I’m happy you were able to help people who needed it. But what about me? I needed you, too, and you were nowhere to be found.”

  She continued up the stairs, but Brody reached out and grabbed her sleeve again, stopping her.

  “Anna, listen to me, please.”

  She turned. “I don’t want to have this conversation. Let go.”

  “Not until you listen,” he said. “I need you to listen.”

  She gave in. Didn’t move. Just stood there, sniffing back her tears. Waiting.

  “I can talk from now until forever,” Brody continued, “but nothing I say will ever make up for what I did to you. I know that.” He tried to clear the hoarseness that had overtaken his voice. “You don’t know how many times I wanted to pick up the phone and beg for your forgiveness. To tell you how sorry I was. But I knew that wouldn’t erase what I’d done.”

  “You could have tried,” she said.

  “Maybe. But I was so full of poison after the trial. Had become something I didn’t want to be, and the last thing I wanted was to drag you down with me.” He shook his head. “I was too stupid to realize that you were exactly what I needed. And by the time I finally did, it was too late.”

  Anna was silent. She could plainly see the regret in his eyes, but that didn’t ease her pain, and Brody seemed to sense this.

  “Saying I’m sorry will never be enough,” he told her. “I know that. And I don’t ever expect you to forgive me, but I’m not here for forgiveness. I’m here because Owen wanted me to be, and I’m hoping we can both put the past behind us and do what needs to be done to find his killers.”

  Anna said nothing. She knew he was right.

  She looked at her mother, who still sat on the sofa, a fresh set of tears glistening. Anna knew that while she might not approve of Brody, she wanted an answer to her son’s death just as much as they did.

  This was a time for strength, not weakness. There were things Anna and Brody needed to talk about, yes. Things that needed to be said and understood—but now wasn’t the time for it. The past was a distraction, and they had to focus their energy in another direction.

  So despite the conflict still raging inside her, Anna nodded. “For Owen, then. But where do we start?”

  “Same place I’d start any investigation,” he said. “At the crime scene.”

  Chapter Six

  Anna hadn’t been to Owen’s condo since before he died. She still had to pack up his things and either donate or move them to storage and possibly put the place up for sale, but she just didn’t have the will to deal with it yet.

  Frank had given her the number of a crime scene cleaning service, but she’d put off calling them and was starting to regret it. She had no idea what she and Brody might be walking into.

  The condo was located in the center of town, a tall, modern tower of cement and glass that was well beyond Anna’s budget. Until recently, Owen had worked in research and development for Northboard Industries, a weapons manufacturer with several lucrative government contracts, so money hadn’t been an issue for him, and his choice of dwelling reflected that.

  They rode there on Brody’s Harley, Anna wearing her old helmet and doing her best to keep her memories at bay. She hadn’t been on the back of a motorcycle since he left, and she was surprised to discover that she felt right at home, riding with her body pressed against his, her arms wrapped around his waist, the winter wind chafing her skin. She felt the familiar ripple of abs beneath her palms and would be lying if she’d told anyone it wasn’t affecting her.

  There had always been an undeniable chemistry between her and Brody, both mental and physical. That didn’t mean she was planning to act on it—far from it—but she was well aware of its existence, and the feel of his body didn’t exactly repulse her.

  She had brought Owen’s keys with her, but it turned out they didn’t need them. When they stepped off the elevator, they both instinctively froze.

  Down the hall, the crime scene tape had been pulled aside and Owen’s door was ajar. It was open no more than a crack but was clearly visible from where they stood.

  Anna glanced at Brody. “A break-in?”

  “That would be my guess,” he whispered then held up a hand, warning her back as he drew his gun from his waistband. “Stay here.”

  She watched him step toward the doorway, his body tense but fluid, moving with the assurance of a man who had d
one this kind of thing many times before. As he reached the end of the hall, he brought the gun up then nudged the door open with his foot and disappeared inside.

  Anna waited. Felt a vague sense of panic rising.

  What if Santa Claus and his van-driving partner were in there?

  Her stomach tightened as she started running different scenarios and their possible outcomes through her mind—most of them bad. She half expected to hear gunshots and wondered how she should react if she did.

  Should she flee?

  Try to find building security?

  Or try to help Brody somehow?

  Her fears were put to rest when he stepped into the hall again and gestured to her.

  “It’s clear,” he said. “But somebody’s definitely been here.”

  Releasing a breath, Anna entered behind him. Owen’s condo had always been immaculate, with sleek, postmodern furniture arranged in a way that gave the place a sense of spaciousness despite its relatively small size. Her brother had been something of a clean freak, and the condo usually reflected that—but not so much now. Now it was a mess. Furniture overturned. Stuffing ripped out of the sofa and chairs. Framed artwork and photographs torn from the walls and scattered on the floor. Drawers yanked open and emptied.

  Completely trashed.

  “Okay,” Anna said, “that’s it. We need to call Frank. He needs to see this.”

  “Don’t waste your time,” Brody told her. “He’ll just blame it on vandals. And we need to take a look around.”

  “For what?”

  “The same thing the people who trashed this apartment were looking for. The button. I’m guessing they did this before they came after you, which means they didn’t find it.”

  “And you think we can? We don’t even know what it is.”

  “But if we get lucky and we can figure it out, we might be able to trace it back to its origin. And the more we know, the more likely we are to find the people who did this.”

  “That’s a lot of ifs,” Anna said.

  “There are always a lot of ifs in a murder investigation. Doesn’t mean we can’t try.” He gestured to the room. “You stay in here and I’ll take the bedroom. Work a grid, look through everything. If anything jumps out at you, let me know.”