The Hero's Son. Amanda Stevens

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СКАЧАТЬ she would, but at the moment, that didn’t seem a likely prospect. Not with her heart pounding away inside her. Not with her skin tingling in awareness where he touched her.

      “We shouldn’t be here like this,” he said softly. “It’s too dangerous.”

      “I know.” Her teeth chattered in spite of the heat. He wasn’t talking about the gunman, and they both knew it. But he took her arm anyway, and pulled her into the deeper shadows of the building. As quietly as they could, they made their way around to the street.

      “Where do you think Harry is?” Valerie whispered.

      Brant shrugged. “Harry Blackman can take care of himself. Right now, we have to get you out of here.”

      “How do you know Harry?” she asked in surprise.

      “I could ask you the same thing,” he said dryly. “But another time. Come on.”

      He pulled her out of the shadows, and they ran across the street to the parking lot. Valerie dug her keys out of her purse and used the remote to unlock her car. Brant opened the door for her, and she slid in.

      “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. СКАЧАТЬ