The Hero's Son

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. Brant stooped and picked it up, glancing at the handwritten label on the folder. Naomi Gillum.

He handed the folder to Blackman. “This what you’re looking for?”

Blackman grabbed the file and opened it. The contents, whatever they had been, were missing, and with another explosion of expletives, Blackman flung the empty folder to the floor.

VALERIE LET HERSELF into her duplex and turned off the alarm system, thankful she’d had the presence of mind to have one installed when she’d first moved in. Her apartment had been broken into numerous times in Chicago, and she’d learned the hard way that a good security system could save a lot of wear and tear on her nerves.

Well, her nerves had certainly taken a beating tonight, she thought wearily, slipping out of her shoes as she headed for the kitchen. Someone had shot into Harry Blackman’s office while she’d been inside. There was a chance, of course, that Harry had been the target, but she didn’t think that was likely. Not after the bus incident yesterday.

Twice. Twice in two days her life had been threatened.

Or maybe someone was just trying to scare her. When she thought about it, that seemed the more reasonable possibility. After all, she lived alone. Other than the alarm system, she took no particular safety precautions. If someone really wanted to kill her, would it be all that difficult to do?

Valerie shivered. In fact, it would be quite easy. She was all alone. She could go missing for days, and there wouldn’t be a single, solitary soul to look for her. To ask questions. To worry and wonder about her whereabouts.

The only person who had ever really cared about her was her mother, and she was gone now. Valerie had no one.

No, that wasn’t really true, she thought, as she poured herself a glass of wine. Her father cared about her. At least, he once had. Maybe he would again if she were to free him from prison.

Is that the real reason why you’re doing this? she asked herself grimly, pausing to stare at her reflection in the window above the sink. So you won’t be alone?

Valerie wanted to believe her motives were completely altruistic: that she was working to free her father because he was an innocent man. Truth to be told, however, she knew her reasoning was a lot more complicated than that. She knew that freeing her father was a way of freeing herself—from the feelings of guilt and unworthiness that had followed her throughout her entire life.