The Hero's Son. Amanda Stevens

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СКАЧАТЬ gaze hardened on her. “And in the meantime, you’re perfectly willing to ruin three good men’s reputations for the sake of a headline.”

      “Those three good men once craved headlines.”

      “The Constitution says a man is innocent until proven guilty. Cletus Brown was found guilty in a court of law. You’re trying my father in the pages of a sleazy tabloid,” Brant accused.

      “If your father is innocent, he has nothing to worry about from me,” Valerie said. “And neither do you.”

      “Who says I’m worried?” But the edge in his voice betrayed him. He was as angry as she was—maybe more so. Valerie shivered, wondering if she had awakened the proverbial sleeping giant. She had a feeling she didn’t want to be around if and when Brant Colter ever lost his temper completely. He was cold on the outside, but she’d glimpsed a fire inside.

      He rose to leave. “I’ll get a statement typed up for you to sign as soon as possible. In the meantime, if you think of anything else, give me a call at headquarters.”

      “Sergeant Colter?”

      He paused at the door and glanced back at her.

      “If you’re not worried, why don’t you ask your father about Naomi Gillum?”

      His gaze narrowed on her. “What?”

      “Ask him about Naomi Gillum. Ask him what happened to her.”

      THE PRESS CONFERENCE, which had started late, was winding up by the time Brant got to city hall. He stopped at the edge of the crowd, watching his cousin at a podium that had been moved outside, to the top of the building’s steps.

      “So you’re saying there is absolutely no truth to the allegations that appeared in yesterday’s Journal?” a reporter shouted.

      Brant watched as his cousin fielded the question with expert aplomb. “That’s exactly what I’ve been saying since the start of this press conference. I think we’re all familiar with the Journal’s reputation, gentlemen. And ladies,” he added with a smile for the three women reporters in the group. Then his expression turned earnest again. “Just as we’re familiar with the reputations of the three men targeted in that article. My father, Raymond Colter, was a policeman for nearly ten years before a bullet in the leg took him off active duty. But did he sit around feeling sorry for himself? He did not. He started a security business, parlaying his expertise in law enforcement into a thriving, successful concern, and he has shared his success with the less fortunate among us, funding community centers and midnight basketball for our inner-city kids.

      “Captain Hugh Rawlins, a very close friend of my family’s and one of our city’s finest and most decorated police officers, has devoted more than forty years of his life to law enforcement.

      “And is there anyone among us who hasn’t heard of my uncle, Judd Colter, one of the most famous policemen this city, indeed this country, has ever produced? Judd Colter’s name is legendary in the ranks of law enforcement everywhere.

      “He, along with my father and Hugh Rawlins, has done more to fight crime in this city, more to prevent crime, than any three men I can think of, and I have been proud to continue their tradition in the district attorney’s office, garnering the highest conviction rate of any prosecutor in the state.”

      His cousin was a consummate politician, Brant had to admit. Austin had managed to turn what could have been a hostile press conference into a rousing campaign speech.

      Contrary to what he’d implied earlier, Brant hadn’t even known about the press conference until Valerie Snow had mentioned it. He’d tried not to act surprised because he didn’t want her to think the Colters were anything less than unified. But the truth was, he and Austin hadn’t been close for a long time. They’d been friends as kids, had gone to Memphis State together, and had graduated from law school the same year. But then a woman had come between them, and they’d never reconciled. They’d gone in completely different directions, both professionally and personally.

      Austin had married the woman and gone to work in the D.A.’s office, refining his skills for the political career he’d always dreamed of. And Brant had entered the police academy, much to the chagrin of his father.

      Brant grimaced, thinking about the arguments he and his father had had over Brant’s decision to become a police officer. Though he hadn’t come right out and said it, Brant knew the reason his father hadn’t wanted him on the force was because he’d thought Brant didn’t have what it took to become a cop.

      But Hugh Rawlins had. Hugh was the one who had had faith in Brant. Hugh was the one who had taken him under his wing in the department, shown him the ropes and made sure Brant was eventually welcomed into the Brotherhood. The fact was, Hugh Rawlins had been more of a father to Brant than Judd Colter ever was.

      But in spite of everything, Brant knew his father had been a good cop—the best—and he couldn’t believe the things Valerie Snow had written about him. Or about any of them.

      The problem was she seemed convinced of her own story.

      And someone had pushed her in front of a bus this afternoon.

      The press conference ended, and Austin’s wife, Kristin, joined him at the podium. They made a striking couple—Austin with the Colter dark hair and dark eyes, and Kristin, a beautiful, blue-eyed blonde. No one would have guessed that two months ago, the two had been separated, and that Kristin had called Brant night and day, trying to worm her way back into his good graces.

      And into his bed.

      As Brant turned away, he saw Hugh Rawlins standing at the fringes of the crowd. He was in uniform, his hat pulled low over his eyes, so that he wouldn’t be recognized. Brant walked over to him.

      “Some show, huh?” Hugh clapped a hand on Brant’s shoulder. “Austin’s going to make a helluva congressman.”

      “A helluva politician, anyway,” Brant conceded. “What are you doing here?”

      Hugh shrugged. He wasn’t a tall man, nor was he particularly muscular. Rather he was of average height and average weight, his appearance completely nondescript except for one distinguishing feature—a jagged scar ran the length of the right side of his face, from his temple to his chin, turning what otherwise would have been a pleasant face into one that looked faintly menacing.

      His hand tightened on Brant’s shoulder. “Let’s walk,” he said.

      They headed toward Main Street, which in the seventies had become the Mid-America Mall in an attempt to revitalize downtown. Hugh stopped at a stone bench and propped one foot on the seat. He leaned his arms across his leg, gazing at the pigeons who were busily pecking at a bag of popcorn someone had thrown at a trash bin.

      “I was still at headquarters when you called in earlier,” Hugh said. “I heard about the Snow woman. How bad was it?”

      “Not as bad as it could have been,” Brant told him. “A few cuts and bruises. Nothing too serious.”

      “What happened?”

      “She says she was pushed in front of a bus.”

      Hugh turned to Brant. “Think she’s lying?”

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