Brody & Hannigan 02 - Grand Theft Lotto Read online

  "Yeah, check out those files you guys found at the gym," Sullivan said darkly. "You'll find that guy's name there. He gave the bike to Becky in exchange for her keeping his little spanking fetish quiet."

  Brody tried not to react, but all she could think about was Hannigan on her way to the beauty shop to meet Becky. Alone.

  Son of a bitch.

  He rose to his feet, grabbing his weapon from the table by the sofa. "Sully, before we go any further, I should tell you that you're under arrest for extortion and possibly a gun charge. You have a right to remain silent. Anything you say from this point forward can be held against you in a court of law. You also have the right to an attorney, and if you can't afford an attorney, one will be appointed to you. Do you understand what I've just told you?"

  "Yeah," he said bleakly. "And I guess I should call a lawyer, huh?"

  Brody didn't care at the moment. "Just answer me this," he said as he pushed Sullivan toward the door ahead of him. "Consider it a freebie. Why would Becky kill Dwayne and Anton?"

  "Dwayne had won the Lotto," Sullivan answered with a smile that looked more like a grimace. "He wanted out, and Becky didn't trust him."

  Brody's gut twisted in a knot. "And Anton?"

  "Because he didn't know about it until you came around asking questions," Sullivan said morosely. "He wasn't in on the ring, you see. The manager before handled things. Anton didn't even have a key to that back room, but I guess when you started asking around, he got curious. So he dug in the old manager's desk until he found the hidden compartment. Found a key in there, and he was all freaked out about the pictures he found. He was going to call you, but I tried to talk him out of it, you see—"

  "How did Becky find out?"

  "I think Clay Prentiss called her. He's another guy who hangs at the gym sometimes. He does the guys who like guys, Dwayne and I did the women, Becky and one of her friends from the beauty shop do guys who like girls. The other girl, Lana, also does girls and threesomes. Kinkier the better." Sullivan shrugged. "People like what they like, and that's fine. But if they don't want people to find out about it, maybe they should think twice before some of the freaky shit they do."

  Despite having taken a shower less than an hour earlier, Brody felt the need to bathe again. Hannigan's cousin Becky was one of the blackmailers? But why hadn't she recognized her cousin?

  Of course, some of the people in the photos had kept their backs to the camera. On purpose? They'd have known where the cameras were, after all.

  He pulled out his cell phone and tried Hannigan's phone. It went straight to voice mail, and he growled a low profanity. Trying the lieutenant at home, he had better luck. Crane sounded annoyed, but his attitude changed quickly as Brody outlined the events of the last few minutes. "I can't wait for uniforms to pick up Sullivan. I'm closer to the beauty shop. I'm leaving him cuffed to the bottom rail of the stairs."

  Sullivan started to protest but Brody's look shut him up. He hooked one cuff around Sullivan's wrist and the other cuff around the metal railing of the stairs leading up to his loft. "Don't give the nice policemen any trouble, understand?"

  Sullivan nodded, looking resigned. "What if she finds me here? I can't even run."

  His jaw tightening to stone, Brody shook his head, already halfway out the door. "It's not you she's after tonight."

  Pearl's Cut and Curl was dark, the plate glass windows reflecting the muddy yellow glow of the streetlight on the corner as Hannigan stepped from behind the Impala's steering wheel and closed the car door behind her with a metallic thunk. The hair on the back of her neck prickling with warning, she reached under her jacket for her M&P compact .40. Out of habit, she checked the magazine and the round in the chamber, even though she'd loaded the weapon that morning and hadn't fired a shot since.

  She looked at the darkened window of the beauty shop, weighing the possibilities. Maybe Becky hadn't called from the shop. Maybe she'd been on her way and something had delayed her. Maybe she'd gotten a call from her mother and had to leave.

  Slipping her hand into her jacket pocket, she pulled out her cell phone and checked. One missed call, but it wasn't from Becky. Brody, of course.

  She pressed his number on speed dial. He answered on the first ring. "Hannigan. Thank God."

  The frantic tone of his voice set her nerves humming like a well-struck tuning fork. "Brody?"

  "Becky's the killer," he said without preamble. "Tell me you're not at the beauty shop yet."

  "I'm here," she said, her mind reeling. "Becky's not the killer. We saw the killer—"

  "We saw a black-clad person on a motorcycle with a tinted helmet," Brody said urgently. She heard the motor engine noise on his end of the call. He was driving.

  "What makes you think Becky's the killer?" It took a moment to realize she was hearing motor sounds on her end of the call as well. A car was approaching. Or maybe—

  A motorcycle.

  The sound grew louder, a familiar, air-ripping sputter that seemed to burst into full volume impossibly close behind her. Whirling, she saw the black Ninja whip out of the alley three storefronts down the street from her, speeding through the turn on a forty-five degree slant.

  The rider was clad in black, as before, riding close to the curb where Hannigan stood. As she squinted against the bright glare of the motorcycle's headlights, Hannigan spotted the rider's hand come up, holding something long and thin.

  For a split second, the image of Dwayne's ruined throat flashed through her mind. Before the image faded, her hand came up, gripping the M & P and taking aim.

  The motorcycle swerved. The rider's hand swept toward her, swinging the object he held through the air in a forward whipping motion, straight toward her face. Ducking down and sideways, she managed to evade whatever whiffed by overhead and fired her pistol, not at the rider but at the motorcycle tire. The rubber tire expelled air in an explosive rush, and the back of the skidding bike careened toward her.

  She threw herself forward. Felt the hard rush of air as the tail of the motorcycle passed within heart-stopping inches and slammed with a crunching shriek of glass and metal against the front panel of her car.

  Three hard thuds later, the night stuttered into silence so harsh and deep Hannigan might have thought she'd gone deaf, were it not for the rattling cadence of her own pulse in her ears.

  She turned in quick, adrenaline-fueled twitches, scanning the world around her for further threats even as she assessed the current state of things.

  One black and chrome Ninja motorcycle lying on its side in the street where it had skidded after bouncing off the front of her Impala. One black-clad rider, lying on the sidewalk near the front window of Pearl's Cut and Curl, one leg twisted in an unnatural position. Front panel of the Impala crunched and accordioned by the impact. Another deep dent on the front hood—where the rider had hit after impact?

  A faint voice, rising in tenor, wafted toward her from somewhere nearby. She'd dropped her phone at some point. She still had her pistol. It sat hot and heavy in her clenched fist.

  As she bent to see where the errant phone had ended up, she saw something long and thin sticking out from behind her front tire—a fire iron, sleek and sharp at one end. The muscles of her neck twitched as she remembered something swinging toward her out of the darkness.

  "Hannigan!" Brody's voice was louder as she crouched by the car. She spotted her phone by the back tire and reached for it. "Brody?"

  "Oh, my God." His voice was raspy with relief. "I thought—"

  "I'm okay. The guy on the Ninja, not so much." She stood and looked over the battered hood of the Impala, watching for any sign of movement in the crumpled body on the sidewalk. There was nothing. The leather-clad body lay twisted and still, the helmet scuffed but still in place.

  "Stay right where you are. I'm about a block away."

  She heard the sound of his car engine now, humming in the stillness of the night. Closer and closer, until she saw headlights, then the familiar lines of his
Dodge Charger. "Oh, look at you," she said with a faint smile as he pulled up next to her. "You brought the muscle car."

  He didn't cut the engine, just jammed it park and was out of the car before it finished rocking. She forgot, sometimes, how freakin' tall and imposing he could be, how he could tower over her and make her feel tiny and fragile.

  Then his arms roped around her, pulling her against him until she thought she might smother in the soft, worn cotton of his T-shirt. He smelled like coffee and fear, and she hugged him close, deeply glad to be in his arms. He pressed kisses to the top of her head, to her forehead, her temples, the curve of her ear, before crushing her mouth beneath his. There was no sensuality to his kiss, just a fierce desperation that rattled through her like an earthquake.

  Only when she felt herself growing lightheaded did she push him away so she could take a long, deep breath.

  He closed his eyes a moment, as if finishing a prayer, then looked over at the biker's body. "Is she dead?"

  "I haven't checked," Hannigan said, not missing his choice of pronouns. "You said she. You really think it's Becky?"

  "It's a long story, but yeah. I think it might be." He put out his arm as she started toward the body. "I'll check."

  "You don't know what she looks like," she pointed out.

  He sighed, nodded and caught her free hand in his as they walked up on the curb and warily approached the body. Somewhere in the distance, she heard sirens wailing, slowly increasing in volume.

  "I called for back-up," Brody told her as they stopped by the body. "Keep your weapon on her. Just in case."

  Hannigan leveled her pistol at the still form, bracing herself. Her heart rate had slowed after the initial adrenaline surge, but it still continued to pound out a dirge-like cadence of dread. Please don't be Becky, she thought as Brody bent and flipped up the visor.

  But it was.

  Brody made a humming sound low in his throat as he felt for a pulse. He looked up at Hannigan, his gaze sympathetic. "I'm sorry."

  Hannigan stared at her cousin's body, feeling strangely numb. She knew that sensation wouldn't last, but for now, she supposed, it was a blessing. As she looked away from her cousin's slack features, she saw a piece of paper sticking out of the half-zipped pocket of the leather jacket. "What's that?" she asked, pointing.

  Brody took the corner of the paper carefully between his thumb and forefinger and pulled it free. He stared at it a moment, his head lowered, then held it up for Hannigan to see.

  It was the missing lotto ticket.

  Epilogue

  "I doubt my mother will want to claim the prize."

  Brody stirred from a half-doze and looked down at the top of his partner's head. "It's not her fault her cousin's kids were criminals."

  "She'll think it's tainted money."

  "Then accept it and give it to charity."

  He felt her soft, warm breath against his chest. "I'll suggest it to her."

  Hannigan fell silent again, but he could feel the tension in her body where it nestled in the curve of his own. They'd been at the crime scene until well after midnight, then broke the news to her mother soon afterwards. Morning was a gray promise out his loft window by the time they'd made it back to his place and sank into a tangled knot together on his sofa.

  "I'm sorry for what you had to do tonight. I'm sorry your cousin put you in that position."

  She rubbed her pointed little chin against his breastbone. "Me, too. And I'm sorry that once again, we end up in your place with all our clothes on and our virtue intact." Her soft gray eyes glittered up at him in the dim light seeping through the windows. "Are we doomed?"

  He laughed at the question. "No, not doomed. Just too tired to do anything about it at the moment."

  She looked up at him, her dark eyebrows peaked. "Oh, Brody. You slacker."

  He let his hand slide down her back and come to rest on the curve of her buttocks. He gave her backside a light slap. "I could be persuaded to give it my best shot, but only if you promise to grade me on a curve."

  For a second, alarm flickered in her gray eyes. "We're giving grades?"

  He realized, with surprise, that it was a serious question. "I don't have any expectations, if that's what you're asking. I know I want you. I know you're sexy as hell and you're smart and inventive and everything in the world I have ever wanted from a woman."

  Well, damn, he thought, as tears welled up in her eyes. He made her cry? He hadn't meant to make her cry.

  She swiped at the tears with her thumb. "I ought to do you right now just for saying that, but honestly, I'm feeling a little blue after all that's happened in the past few days. I don't want our first time together to be comfort sex. Do you?"

  "I'm for sex with you however and whenever it happens," he confessed with a sheepish grin. "But I agree the first time should be special."

  She pressed her cheek to his chest. "We could fool around a little if you want, though. You haven't been to third base yet."

  He gave another light pat to her bottom. "Are we talking the traditional third base or the new version?"

  She looked up at him with alarm. "There's more than one version?"

  He whispered the more modern definition in her ear, grinning as her eyes widened.

  "That might as well be a home run," she said, looking comically shocked. "Kids today!"

  "Why don't we do this?" he suggested, moving his hand up her back to cup the nape of her neck. "We'll go with traditional rules for now. Oh, look! First base!" He kissed her softly for a moment, then parted her lips with his tongue. She tangled her tongue around his, her hands tightening in the fabric of his shirt.

  "Wow," she murmured against his mouth when he let her up for air. "Nice base hit there, slugger."

  "Wasn't it?" He kissed her again. "Why don't we spend a little time on first base for now."

  She kissed him back, snuggling closer. "I like first base."

  "Me, too." He brushed his lips against her forehead, not missing the melancholy tone of her voice, even as she played along with the game. She might be putting on a pretty good front, but her heart had been banged up pretty badly by her cousin's betrayal. Family was a touchy subject for both of them, but for Hannigan, it could be a minefield.

  He knew there were things she hadn't told him about her life before Weatherford. Bad things. He'd been tempted, more than once, to look into her past on the sly, but she'd never forgive him such an invasion of her privacy. When she was ready to tell him what it was that haunted her gray eyes sometimes when she didn't know he was looking, she'd tell him.

  Meanwhile, he had a few secrets of his own he supposed he needed to share with her if they were ever going to have any kind of relationship.

  "You know," she murmured against his jaw, "you could try to steal second. I don't have that good an arm. I might not throw you out."

  He slid his hand down to her breast, his thumb brushing over the tight peak evident even through her clothes. "And he slides under the tag. Is he safe or out?"

  She arched into his touch. "Safe. Definitely safe."

  For now, he thought.

  We're safe for now.

  Thank you!

  Thank you for reading Grand Theft Lotto. I hope you enjoyed spending time with Brody and Hannigan.

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  Other books by Paula Graves

  Harlequin Intrigue Series

  Forbidden Territory

  Forbidden Temptation

  Forbidden Touch

  Cowboy Alibi

  Case File: Canyon Creek, Wyoming*

  Chickasaw County Captive*

  One Tough Marine*

  Bachelor Sheriff*

  Hitched and
Hunted*

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  Cooper Vengeance*

  Major Nanny

  Secret Identity †

  Secret Hideout †

  Secret Agenda†

  Secret Assignment †

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  Secret Intentions †

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  Smoky Ridge Curse‡

  *Cooper Justice series

  †Cooper Security series

  ‡ Bitterwood P.D. series

  Independently Published:

  Code Name: Willow

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  Murder on Lovers' Lane**

  **Brody & Hannigan Mysteries

  Published by Paula Graves

  Copyright 2013 Paula Graves

  Cover Art Design

  Copyright 2013 Paula Graves

  All rights reserved. Except for the use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or part in any form by electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the author, Paula Graves, [email protected].

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblances to the actions persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five