Free Murder on Lovers' Lane (Brody and Hannigan Mysteries) by Paula Graves Page B

Detective?"
    Brody shuddered with rage.  Had he been there tonight, at Magnolia Park?  Had he been spying on them?
    He eased closer to the bungalow porch, wishing he had a way to let Hannigan know he was hearing her, loud and clear.  But any noise he might make would give him away to Silor as well.
    "Fine.  You want me to call him?  I'll call him.  But you're not going to like what happens when he gets here."
    Brody smiled grimly at the conviction in his partner's voice.  She always had possessed far more confidence in his heroic qualities than he'd ever felt himself.
    He'd move heaven and earth to live up to her expectations.
    "I need to cross to the phone," Hannigan said.  Brody's fading smile broadened again.  She was going for the landline, which was a brilliant move.  She couldn't be sure he was the one who'd called her cell phone, not if it were hidden in the pocket of her jeans.  But if he wasn't the person hanging on the other end of the line, calling him using her landline was a sure signal that something was wrong.  She never used her landline; in fact, she'd often threatened to get rid of it altogether, so seldom did she use it. 
    "I'll listen in."
    Damn.  He had to hang up his cell phone or she wouldn't be able to reach him.  If Silor was listening in, he'd know if Brody didn't answer, and from what their profile told them about the Lovers' Lane killer, any change to his carefully scripted plans would send the man into entirely unpredictable territory.
    But disconnecting that tenuous cord of connection between him and his imperiled partner was the hardest thing he'd ever had to do.
     

 
     
     
     
     
     
    Chapter Seven
     
    What happened next, Hannigan knew, would hinge on Brody's quick thinking.  The thought gave her an unexpected measure of comfort in the middle of escalating danger, because if there was anything she could depend on where Leland Stafford Brody, III, was concerned, it was his swift and agile mind.
    She wasn't surprised when he answered his cell phone on the second ring, his tone carefully casual.  The way Silor was making her hold the phone, sharing it with him so he could hear her partner's voice, made it impossible to discern whether he was in his apartment or elsewhere, but that meant it was equally impossible for Silor to discern as well.
    "Hey, Brody."  She darted a quick look at Silor.  He was listening with his eyes closed, as if savoring the moment.  The temptation to kick him in his clearly underused gonads was almost more than she could resist.  But the gun was tight against her ribcage, the hammer cocked and ready.  Any dumb move on her part could be a disaster, and Brody would never forgive her for it.
    "I was hoping you'd call," he said.  "I had a thought on the killer.  I tried to reach you, but your cell phone kept going to voicemail."
    "I turned it off," she answered, knowing that statement would ring warning bells for him if nothing else did.  She never turned off her cell phone, except on planes or in blast zones.  Brody knew that fact better than anyone.
    "Then I'm doubly glad you called," he answered in a tone entirely too casual to be true.  But would Silor know that?
    "You said you had a thought on the killer?"  She realized, with a faint rush of pleasure, how easy it was to trust him not to say the wrong thing.  In the span of seconds, and a few shared words of innocuous conversation, she'd heard what she needed to know from her partner.
    He knew she was in trouble.  He knew who was behind it.  He had her back.
    "I went back to the collage you put together, and I remembered something from that first class.  Remember Alan Dombrello, that skinny kid in the front row?"
    She didn't, but she knew without question that there was a skinny kid named Alan Dombrello who'd sat in the first row of Dr. Flanders' class, because Brody knew that Silor would know, and he wouldn't say anything to tip the man off.
    "I think so," she answered.  "He's our