Page 57 of Three Steps Behind

Deckard took in the man in his late thirties—if he was guessing—chugging a bottle of water. “Brookes?” he asked.

Harper nodded, then knocked on the door before opening it.

Brookes turned, smiled, and started to wave. Then he lowered his hand, deep concern scrunching his brow. He strode to the door. “Harper, what on earth happened?” He inspected her face, then glared at Deck.

“It was from an incident overseas.” She shrugged.

“Oh.” He removed his death glare from Deck. “Tay worried about you on those trips. Now I see why. What happened?”

“It’s a long story.” She stuffed her hands into her cream corduroy pant pockets.

“Okay, I won’t push.” Brookes gave a soft smile. “But if you need anything, you let me know.”

“Thanks. We—”

“Aren’t here for a lesson in those clothes?”

“Correct.”

“So what’s up?” He took another sip of water, drinking slower rather than guzzling this time.

“Could we talk in your office?” Harper asked.

His gaze narrowed. “What’s this about?”

“Your office, please.” She inclined her head.

“All right.” He led the way.

Everyone they passed whispered or stared at Harper’s bruised face.

“Take a seat.” Brookes gestured to the navy love seat against the far wall of his expansive office. He rolled his desk chair over. “I’m guessing this is about Tay?”

“Yes.” Harper swallowed.

“I can’t believe she’s gone.” Moisture misted his eyes. “We’d just played tennis that morning, and she was perfectly fine. . . . I know athletes have died suddenly from heart attacks. I guess it was the same thing.”

“I’m not convinced.” Harper linked her arms across her chest, tight against her burgundy sweater.

Brookes cocked his head. “What do you mean, not convinced?”

Harper squared her shoulders. “I’m concerned foul play might be involved.”

“Foul play?” Brookes’s slack expression exuded bewilderment. “I don’t follow.”

“There are some . . .” Harper glanced at Deck, then focused her attention back on Brookes. “Some questions have arisen.”

Brookes’s body tensed—his shoulders growing taut, an edge setting his jaw. “From Nick?”

Deck studied the man. Interesting leap to Nick. And not a happy one. No love lost there.

Harper shook her head. “No. From me.”

“You?” Brookes shook his head. “Why?”

Harper kept the details vague and minimal but gave enough information to keep Brookes talking.

Brookes glanced at the clock on the wall at what Deck would guess was only partway through the conversation. A few kicker questions remained—at least two.