“Aren’t you coming?” she asked in alarm.
“Not yet.” When she hesitated he said, “Get out of here. Hurry.”
“But—”
“Go.” He slammed the door and stepped back. Valerie started the engine and peeled out of the parking lot. In her rearview mirror, she saw Brant run across the street, heading back to the warehouse.
Was he searching for the gunman? she wondered. Or meeting an accomplice?
BRANT DREW HIS GUN and entered the building through the front door. He paused at the foot of the stairs, listening for sounds of the intruder, but all he heard was the dull hum of the air-conditioning system. He started up, watching the shadowy corners and crevices above him. When he got to the fifth floor, he pushed open the stairwell door and peered out into the deserted hallway.
As he stood listening, faint sounds came to him from the end of the corridor. Shuffling papers. A voice muttering an oath. Brant stepped cautiously out of the stairwell and made his way down the hall to the open door of Harry Blackman’s office.
Blackman stood behind his desk, cursing a blue streak as he flung files around the office helter-skelter. A small trickle of blood oozed down the side of his face unnoticed.
For a moment, Brant went unnoticed, too. Then Blackman looked up and saw his gun.
“Well, hell,” he said and sat down heavily in his chair. “Who are you?”
“Police officer,” Brant replied, flashing his badge.
“Who the hell called the cops?” Blackman demanded. “The chick? Where is she?”
“Safe, for the moment. And no one called me,” Brant said. “I was in the area and heard shots.”
Blackman gave him a skeptical look. “No cop is ever in this area unless he has extracurricular business to attend to.” His gaze narrowed. “Wait a minute. Wait just a damned minute. I know you.”
“Sergeant Brant Colter. Memphis Police Department.”
“Colter. I knew it.” A string of expletives burst from Blackman’s mouth. He looked at Brant in disgust. “You wouldn’t happen to be Raymond Colter’s boy, would you?”
“Nephew.” Brant put away his gun and walked into the office, stopping just short of Blackman’s desk, which was littered with papers and files.
Blackman sat back in his chair and steepled his fingers beneath his chin. “That’s right,” he mused. “Raymond’s boy is some kind of hotshot D.A. or something. I read about him in the paper the other day. Said he’s running for Congress. Who would have thought a little snot-nosed brat like him would have ever amounted to a hill of beans? But then, that kid had the makings of a politician, even back when I worked for Raymond. Always real devious-like. Always snooping around in other people’s business.”
If Blackman expected Brant to come to his cousin’s defense, he was in for a big surprise. “Looks like you took a pretty mean hit,” he said grimly. “Mind telling me what happened here?”
“You know as much as I do,” Blackman growled. “You heard the shots. Someone fired into my window. I went after him, he coldcocked me and got away. End of story. At least until I get my hands on the slimy little bas—”
“Did you get a look at him?”
Blackman shook his head. “Hell, no. Sucker jumped me from behind. Hit me in the back of the head.”
“Then how did you cut your forehead.”
Blackman’s expression grew even darker. “I was standing at the top of the stairs when he jumped me. Damned lucky I didn’t break my neck.” He wiped a sleeve across the cut without flinching.
Blackman was tough, no question. At least two hundred and fifty pounds of solid muscle. Taking him out, even from behind and in darkness, would have been no mean feat. It would have been easier just to shoot him, but obviously, he hadn’t been the target.
Which meant Valerie had been.
“What kind of work are you doing for Valerie Snow?” Brant asked.
“That’s privileged information.”
“This is a police investigation. Valerie Snow’s life is in danger, and I’d appreciate your cooperation. In fact, I’m going to have to demand it.”
“That so?” Blackman leaned forward, his eyes flashing fire. “All right, let me level with you, then. Valerie Snow has a thing about the police. She doesn’t trust cops, especially ones named Colter, and neither do I. Your uncle did a real number on me, and I haven’t forgotten. You’re the last person I’d tell squat to.”
Brant could feel his own temper rising, but he tried to hold it in check. “You may not have a choice. I could get a warrant to search your office, seize your files, shut you down indefinitely. In short, I could make your life miserable, Blackman, if I’ve a mind to.”
Blackman cocked a dark brow. “Yeah? Well, what else is new. The cops have been harassing me for years, ever since Raymond fired me. If you’ve got questions, you go to my client for answers. But I doubt she’ll tell you anything.”
Brant doubted it, too. Blackman was right. Valerie Snow didn’t trust him, and for one simple reason: he was Judd Colter’s son.
He had a sudden flash of the way she’d looked earlier, gazing up at him. The way she’d felt in his arms. He’d wanted to kiss her. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d wanted to kiss a woman so badly. She was beautiful and mysterious and tough as nails. A potentially lethal combination if Brant had ever seen one, but that knowledge didn’t lessen his attraction for her. Just the opposite, in fact.
Who was she? he wondered again. Who was she, really?
Brant started to question Blackman further, but then he spotted the corner of a file jutting out from beneath Blackman’s desk. Brant stooped and picked it up, glancing at the handwritten label on the folder. Naomi Gillum.
He handed the folder to Blackman. “This what you’re looking for?”
Blackman grabbed the file and opened it. The contents, whatever they had been, were missing, and with another explosion of expletives, Blackman flung the empty folder to the floor.
VALERIE LET HERSELF into her duplex and turned off the alarm system, thankful she’d had the presence of mind to have one installed when she’d first moved in. Her apartment had been broken into numerous times in Chicago, and she’d learned the hard way that a good security system could save a lot of wear and tear on her nerves.
Well, her nerves had certainly taken a beating tonight, she thought wearily, slipping out of her shoes as she headed for the kitchen. Someone had shot into Harry Blackman’s office while she’d been inside. There was a chance, of course, that Harry had been the target, but she didn’t think that was likely. Not after the bus incident yesterday.
Twice. Twice in two days her life had been threatened.
Or maybe someone was just trying to scare her. When she thought about it, that seemed the more reasonable possibility. After all, she lived alone. Other than the alarm system, she took no particular safety precautions. If someone really wanted to kill her, would it be all that difficult to do?
Valerie shivered. In fact, it would be quite easy. She was all alone. She could go missing for days, and there wouldn’t be a single, solitary soul to look for her. To ask questions. To worry and wonder about her whereabouts.
The only person who had ever really cared about her was her mother, and she was gone now. Valerie had no one.
No, that wasn’t really true, she thought, as she poured herself a glass of wine. Her father cared about her. At least, he once had. Maybe he would again if she