the police.”
Shouted curses from the opposite end of the connection carried to Hallie. She winced. Creep, all right. Kills a woman and then only cares about saving his own skin.
“Get a grip!” Brody’s icy tone sliced through the heated explosion. “There’s only one right alternative at this moment, and you’d better take it.” Pause. “When and where?” Pause. “I’ll be there.” Brody snapped his phone shut then turned toward Hallie. “I’ve got to go. We’ll have to finish our chat later. Can you swing around to my car?”
“Don’t tell me you’re going to meet with a wanted fugitive. You could get in big-time trouble. Not to mention, since he’s capable of murder, you’re risking your life.”
One side of his mouth lifted, and the trademark dimple flickered. “Thanks for your concern. I appreciate it, but this is something I have to do.”
Hallie shrugged, bitter protest burning on her tongue, but what was the point of wrangling with this stubborn man? “I hope it’s not your funeral…literally.”
Brody laughed. “I think you’re doomed to see me in the office tomorrow, not a casket.”
Gritting her teeth, Hallie started the car and backed out of her space. She should boot him out and make him walk, but she was raised to be Minnesota nice, a code of courtesy that had trickled over the border to her Eau Claire, Wisconsin family address. “Where’s your vehicle?” She guided the compact around The Meridian.
“It’s the Impala right there.”
Her gaze followed the direction of his finger, and she punched her brakes. They lurched forward against their seatbelts. “You’re the one who was following me in a new car.” She skewered him with a glare.
Brody’s storm-cloud eyes studied her like she must’ve fallen off the turnip truck. “Is there something criminal about trading fresh every couple of years? Lots of people do it.”
“That’s not the point. You scared—I mean I thought…” She trailed away on a huff. Nothing like making an idiot of herself in front of a guy who already considered her little better than window dressing at the station.
“Ahhhh.” That viewer-popular dimple took up residence in his right cheek.
Would Aunt Michelle approve if she slapped it off? She looked away and scowled out her window toward a young couple leaving the restaurant hand-in-hand.
“Given what you believe about Damon,” Brody said, “you thought my car might contain the killer looking for the only witness.”
She turned a hard gaze on him. “So I’m a little skittish after what I saw this afternoon.”
“Actually, I don’t blame you. Under the circumstances, that was sharp thinking and a good reaction to ditch me. Though I did wonder where you disappeared to when I arrived at the party, and you weren’t here yet.” He laughed.
The tension in Hallie’s muscles eased. The guy could be charming. Not that she cared about that, but maybe he was starting to get that she wasn’t a total airhead. “I had intended to report the incident to the police tomorrow. Guess I won’t have to now.”
Nodding, Brody climbed out of the car, then bent and poked his head inside. “Rain check on our conversation.”
“You’re not the only one with questions to ask. I want to know what makes you so sure your golden boy’s not a killer. And it better be good.”
He smacked the top of her vehicle with his palm. “Deal. And it is.”
Her car door thunked shut, and the sportscaster strode into the dusk. She’d find those broad shoulders appealing if they didn’t bear that “I’m all it” swagger she’d detested in Teresa’s fatal tormenter. Hallie shook her head. She thought she’d come so far in erasing those images from her mind—getting on with her life—but they’d only been hiding. Lurking for an opportunity to pounce. She had to put the memories back in their cage. How would she cope if she started having those nightmares again? A shudder rippled up her spine.
She needed to make sure today’s monster was taken off the streets as quickly as possible. No way could she trust Brody to do the hard thing with his Wunderkind. She slipped her vehicle into an empty spot near the restaurant exit but behind the cover of an SUV. A few seconds later, Brody’s new car cruised past and turned onto the road. Hallie maneuvered out of the parking lot and crept up behind him, allowing a car between them. Shortly, all three of the vehicles glided onto the interstate going north. Hallie took a different lane than Brody and stayed behind the other car as a buffer.
Minutes ticked past. Was it stifling in here, or was she just nervous? She turned up the air conditioning and repositioned her sweaty hands around the wheel. Find out where Brody was meeting Damon and call 9-1-1, that’s all she had to do.
But what if the killer spotted her? He’d know for sure she wasn’t going to back off from her testimony. Did that matter? He’d be behind bars. Unless, of course, they let him out on bail. They wouldn’t do that, would they—not after he’d already run once?
Hallie slid her cell phone from her purse and placed it at the ready in the cup holder on her console. Doubts and fears made no difference. She had to do this.
For Alicia. For Teresa.
What did that woman think she was doing? Brody checked the driver’s side mirror again. It wasn’t so pitch dark he couldn’t make out the shape of her little car a couple of lanes to his left. When she’d followed him from the restaurant onto the interstate, he hadn’t thought much about it since their routes coincided for the moment, but she should have veered off on 35E toward St. Paul instead of tailing him on 35W toward Minneapolis.
One thing he’d observed from afar during their time together at WDJN, Hallie Berglund chose the high road toward whatever she perceived as truth and justice, regardless of personal risk. He’d admired her more than once for putting action to her convictions—and wanted to shake her more than twice for the chances she took. Like the time she didn’t tell a soul at the station before she posed as a waitress and sneaked into a backroom meeting between high-level management of a major corporation and top union representatives. Her story had exposed corruption on both sides of the table, and big heads had rolled. If she’d been caught pulling that stunt, she’d probably be wearing a cement straightjacket at the bottom of the Mississippi River.
A familiar chill flowed through Brody’s veins. Yes, a reporter sometimes needed to take chances to get a story, but they also needed to make sure their backside was covered if things went south—not go freelancing after a dangerous scoop without someone in the know.
Tonight, she no doubt figured on catching herself a murderer. He’d have to disappoint her. He was going to see Damon alone and without interruption. What happened after that was up to Damon. If Brody had done half the job he hoped with the kid, the young man would make the right choice.
The exit to France Avenue came up, and he took it. Hallie’s car lurked behind a Lexus sports coupe that would have had his ex shooting him eyeball daggers because they couldn’t afford one on a sportscaster’s salary. Like she couldn’t get a job? Brody shrugged off the residual resentment. Deborah was no doubt driving whatever she liked ever since she’d snagged the sort of sports idol she craved. The guy was rich and famous…and headed either for a breakdown or the hoosegow, from the inside information that had come to Brody’s ears.
He glanced at his rearview. Yep, Hallie was still back there. Now she’d put a Papa Morelli’s Pizza delivery car between them. If she could lose him on the mildly busy road in suburbia on the way to the restaurant, then turnabout was more than fair play. She didn’t stand a chance of staying with him in the downtown Minneapolis maze of stoplights and one-way streets. Brody grinned and pointed his vehicle into the heart of the city.
Forty-five minutes and one phone call later, he pulled the Impala over to the crumbling curb in front of a seedy stucco