Brody Law. Carol Ericson
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He relaxed his jaw enough to speak. “Everything’s fine, except we have a diabolical killer loose in the city.”
“What was the call about?”
“Murder and mayhem—just an ordinary day on the job. That’s my life, Elise, and you don’t need to hear about it.”
Did he think she couldn’t handle reality? She grabbed his arm and his biceps felt like granite. “You can tell me. You don’t have to push me away.”
He cupped her face in one large hand and stroked his thumb across her cheek. “Yes, I do.”
His touch belied his words, and his proximity had her breath coming in short spurts. “But I don’t want you to.”
The harsh kiss he pressed against her mouth came so suddenly, it took her breath way. Just as quickly it ended and he turned on his heel and disappeared into the stairwell.
Elise put two fingers to her bruised lips and backed into Courtney’s condo.
“Sean Brody is one hot detective.” Courtney’s words sang out amid the banging of cupboard doors and pots and pans.
Closing her eyes, Elise took a deep breath and then turned and joined her friend in the kitchen. “Good-looking guy, but still a cop.”
Courtney dropped a package of pasta on the countertop. “Are cops off-limits for some reason?”
“Oh, you know.” Elise waved her hand in the air. “Control issues.”
“Small price to pay, girl. And I’d say you’re the one with control issues. He’s obviously interested.”
“Why do you say that?” Courtney involuntarily brushed the tips of her fingers against her chin where Sean’s stubble had scratched her.
“I’m a therapist, remember? I’m trained to read people, even people as zipped up as Detective Brody.”
“Do you think he’s zipped up?”
Courtney bit her lip as she filled a pot with water. “He holds himself very still, holds his emotions in check. But, come on. What cop goes out of his way to escort a witness around? Even a cute little girl-next-door like you?”
“I think he’s just doing his job and he’s thorough.” Elise tugged on the ends of Courtney’s hair. “How was your client this afternoon?”
“I had to talk her down from a ledge, but she was okay.”
“Not literally?”
“An emotional ledge.” Courtney presented a bottle of wine to Elise, label out. “I think you need a little vino tonight.”
“I think you’re right.” She took the bottle from Courtney and held out her hand. “Corkscrew.”
Elise poured two glasses of wine and sidled next to Courtney at the sink. “Let me make the salad since you’re sacrificing your Saturday night to stay in with me, and don’t even deny it. Did Derrick ever call?”
“He texted me. We’ll probably get together sometime this week. He’s out of town this weekend.” She stirred the pasta into the bubbling water as steam rose to the ceiling.
They worked side by side in the kitchen for several minutes, and Elise soaked in the normalcy. She had a hard time grasping the events of the past twenty-four hours. She’d been abducted, had escaped and had been attacked again—and she’d met Sean Brody. This time yesterday, she’d been getting ready to go out with Courtney.
As her friend dumped the pasta into a colander in the sink, Elise carried the salad to the table. “Do you mind if I turn on the local evening news?”
“Really? I don’t mind but it’s the last thing I thought you’d want to watch.” Courtney wiped her hands on a dish towel and retrieved the remote from the coffee table in the living room.
They settled at the kitchen table, and the smell of the garlic mingled with the hint of fennel in the sausage to make Elise’s mouth water. She took a sip of red wine, lolling it on her tongue before she swallowed.
Then she clicked on the TV and muted the sound. She kept her eye on the commercials as she stabbed a couple of rigatoni with her fork. “Yummy. You’ll have to give me...”
A wind-blown reporter was speaking into a mic, a shot of the Golden Gate Bridge behind him. Elise pointed the remote at the TV and stabbed at the volume button.
“...found this morning by a couple of fishermen.” The reporter backed up to the yellow crime tape flapping in the breeze. “Detective? Detective? Ray Lopez, KFGG News. Can you tell us anything about the victim? Does this murder have anything to do with the transient murders in the Tenderloin or that woman found near the Presidio?”
Sean’s profile looked carved from stone. He barely moved his lips when he said, “No comment at this time.”
“What about the attack on the woman last night? Is this related, Detective?”
“No comment.” Sean turned his back on the reporter and bent his head to talk with one of the cops on the scene.
“There you have it, Jan. The police are keeping tight-lipped about this one, but the women of this city want to know. Is it safe to go out at night?”
The anchor and the reporter prattled on for several more seconds before Elise muted the TV again. “I guess my story’s already out there.”
“Sounds like it.” Courtney raised her glass and swirled the contents. “But if those vultures ever get your name, make sure you follow Brody’s example. No comment. They’ll tear you apart.”
“The last thing I need is publicity.”
Courtney ran her fingertip along the rim of her glass. “Detective Brody sounds familiar to me. Did he write a book or something? Or maybe he was involved in a big case.”
“If so, it was before my time here.”
“Brody, Brody.” Courtney’s brow furrowed. “He must’ve been in the news.”
“Probably. More wine?”
“Sure. It’s Saturday night. Why not live it up?”
“You don’t have to babysit. My leg feels fine, and I’ll probably just go to bed early.”
Courtney tossed back the last of her wine and held out her glass to Elise. “No problem. I’m tired from last night anyway. Besides, what did that reporter say? Is it even safe to go out at night?”
Elise took the glass by the stem and padded back to the kitchen, running her tongue along her lower lip. Apparently, it wasn’t even safe for her to go out in broad daylight. At least not without the protection of Detective Sean Brody.
And how long could that last?
* * *
SEAN STARED AT the severed finger with the blue nail polish nestled in cotton. The package in which it had been delivered had come addressed to SFPD—Homicide. But when the front desk opened the box, they’d found the gruesome souvenir with a note pasted in the lid of the box: This finger is pointing at you, Brody.
“What does it mean, Brody?” Captain Williams’s dark eyes drilled him. “This along with the note at the escaped victim’s house make it clear that this is the same guy—and for some reason he’s got it in for you.”
“I’m supposed to know why?” Sean closed the lid on the finger and pushed it across the captain’s desk. “Has the lab tested the finger yet?”
“Not yet, but who else’s could it be?” Captain Williams steepled his own fingers and peered at Sean over the pinnacle. “I don’t like this communication business, Brody.”
Sean pinched the bridge of his nose. “That makes two of us.”
“We