Fatal Exposure by Gail Barrett Page A

leaped from her chest. And for a wild moment she wondered if she should push him away—or pull him close.
    But then a gunshot erupted in the distance, jarring her back to earth. Hunters. A reminder that predators prowled in the forest—like the enemies pursuing her.
    Parker stepped away. “We’d better go.”
    “Right.” Somehow, she managed to breathe. But as she climbed into the truck, her pulse still wildly out of rhythm, she had the feeling that something had changed inside her. A decade of survival instincts were now at war with her heart.
    And for the first time, she didn’t know which would win.

Chapter 7
    H e’d nearly kissed a potential suspect.
    Parker leaned against his kitchen counter in his condo on the outskirts of Baltimore a short time later, unable to believe what he’d just done. He knew he had to stay detached. He knew he had to keep a level head. And yet he’d ignored his protesting conscience, let his hormones override his judgment and nearly blown his impartiality to shreds. If that gunshot hadn’t stopped him, he would have violated every principle he believed in—his oath of honor, the police officer’s code of ethics, the high moral standards that had kept him from becoming his father’s clone.
    Thoroughly disgusted at his behavior, he speared his hand through his hair. He’d nearly screwed up, all right. But now he had an even bigger problem on his hands. He’d seen that photo of Brynn on the file cabinet, the one she’d taken pains to hide. And Ruth Gibson was nobody’s fool. The next time she looked at her file cabinet, she’d link that photo to Brynn. Then she’d notify Hoffman that his long-lost stepdaughter had been nosing around the camp with a man fitting Parker’s description, asking questions about the dead girl’s case—the case Hoffman had warned him to leave alone.
    And Parker could kiss his job goodbye.
    Searching for a way to contain the damage, he put the tuna fish sandwiches he’d made on the table, then added napkins and plates. Maybe he could spin his involvement with Brynn, pretend he was following Hoffman’s orders and trying to earn her trust. That might mollify the Colonel, buying him enough time to investigate this case.
    Assuming Brynn didn’t catch on first.
    He glanced at the door to the downstairs bathroom, the sound of running water signaling that she was still busy freshening up. Deciding he had to chance it, he took out his cell phone and punched in Hoffman’s number. The administrative assistant answered on the second ring.
    “Hi, Debbie. This is Detective McCall,” he said, keeping his voice low. “Is the Colonel in? He’s expecting my call.”
    The assistant put him on hold just as the bathroom tap cut off. Not wanting Brynn to hear him, he strode down the hall to the guest bedroom and shut the door.
    “Hoffman here,” the C.I.D. chief said a second later.
    “I found your daughter.”
    A pause pulsed over the line. “Already? Good work.” Pleasure suffused his voice. “I knew I could count on you.”
    “But I can’t bring her in yet,” Parker added quickly.
    “Why not?”
    “She doesn’t trust me yet. I need more time.”
    “How much time?” Hoffman sounded annoyed now, and Parker winced. His boss wasn’t a patient man.
    “Not much. A few days at most. She’s still nervous. If I make a move now, she’ll bolt.”
    Hoffman didn’t answer at first. “Two days,” he finally said. “I want her in custody by then. If she won’t come in freely, we’ll haul her in for questioning for your brother’s death. But I’m hoping it won’t come to that.”
    “I’ll call you as soon as I can.”
    “You’d better. And Parker...” Hoffman paused. “Watch out. She’s clever. She’ll play on your sympathies and twist the truth until you don’t know what to think. Make sure you don’t fall for her act.” He disconnected the line.
    Parker slipped his phone back into his pocket, suddenly besieged by doubts. Was Brynn