Protection Detail
Julie Miller
A seasoned cop becomes the target of a killer. And so does the woman he's falling for.Jane Boyle's life depends on her ability to keep secrets, and detective Thomas Watson doesn't realise the nurse caring for his ailing father is in the witness protection programme…or that the sparks flying between them put them all at risk.
A seasoned cop becomes the target of a killer. And so does the woman he’s falling for.
Detective Lieutenant Thomas Watson had been off air force active duty so long, he thought he was safe. Until a gunman crashes his daughter’s wedding, reawakening the warrior inside him. He hires nurse Jane Boyle to care for his injured father so he can focus on bringing the gunman to justice. While Jane is the ideal caretaker, her dark past has landed her in witness protection. And the more she’s embraced by this family of cops, the more danger she’s in. For a shadow from Thomas’s own past might be willing to lend Jane’s stalker a helping hand…
The Precinct: Bachelors in Blue
“You’ve been shot.”
She unbuttoned his cuff and gently pushed the plaid chambray up his arm to inspect the graze across his skin.
“I’m so sorry you got hurt. I never meant—”
As she turned the wounds into the light, their heated words topped each other’s. “You could have been run down. You could have been shot. When I give you an order, I expect you to—”
“Screw your order. I won’t let anyone else get hurt. He was after me.”
“—do what I say and stay safe. He was after me.”
Jane froze as they blurted the exact same words. She tipped her chin up to see the shocked look in his eyes that she imagined mirrored her own.
“I’m a cop. Bad guys don’t like me.” Thomas spread his fingers over hers. He dipped his head to put his face in hers and demand she look him in the eye. “But why would someone want to hurt you?”
Protection Detail
Julie Miller
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
JULIE MILLER is an award-winning USA TODAY bestselling author of breathtaking romantic suspense— with a National Readers’ Choice Award and a Daphne du Maurier Award, among other prizes. She has also earned an RT Book Reviews Career Achievement Award. For a complete list of her books, monthly newsletter and more, go to www.juliemiller.org (http://www.juliemiller.org).
For the Dixons and their Ruby, who taught our Maggie
that not all big dogs are scary.
Thanks for always saying hi to your shy neighbor.
I’ve loved all our conversations about the dogs.
Contents
Cover (#u03ed823b-06af-5f15-b136-a59300b11bb6)
Back Cover Text (#u76d68890-b2e3-57ec-9b04-5c837a39880c)
Introduction (#uaf76ccd1-9945-57ed-b6e5-3030187b8d56)
Title Page (#u12ca728a-8545-5400-b563-850736c3f787)
About the Author (#ufc45c283-92cb-5b18-af0b-cb3df0f35141)
Dedication (#udcb23598-cfe3-56e1-b722-e2725775f0cf)
Prologue (#u084c2d63-4983-59de-89da-f9027683d5cb)
Chapter One (#u5531d313-ef94-53a5-a03e-aecfa8196028)
Chapter Two (#uaef35794-80ca-5791-b739-f4c708656c9b)
Chapter Three (#u64ae7e8b-53a1-5344-bf32-6bb325f8a6de)
Chapter Four (#u5204fc0e-27ec-50bd-ac4e-b9cd24efb393)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Prologue (#ue3a99c30-2bd9-5a84-9216-5ad6a9cdade1)
Thomas Watson’s face hurt from the effort it took not to cry when he saw his daughter in her wedding gown.
“It’s okay, Dad.” Olivia Mary Watson had packed up all her tomboy clothes, her gun and her badge and put on a beaded ivory gown that made her look every inch the grown woman he reluctantly admitted she had become. She reached up to cup his cheek and smiled, reminding Thomas of the wife he’d lost to a drugged-up thief’s bullet when Olivia was a toddler. “I will always be your little girl.”
She’d stopped being his little girl the day she’d become a Kansas City cop, like him, his father and her three older brothers. But a daddy was entitled to indulge his sentimental side on a day like this. They stood in the doorway of the changing room at the church while the pre-ceremony music played, but Thomas was remembering skinned knees, annoying big brothers and broken hearts that had required his advice, his patience and a hug.
“You’re beautiful. You look so like your mother.” He fingered the veil of Irish lace his bride had worn thirty-five years earlier when he’d been a raw lieutenant stationed in the UK on his first overseas assignment. Mary Kilcannon had been a civilian working on the base. A late-night rescue from a drunk fellow officer in a bar had led to them talking until dawn, a first kiss and true love. A month later he and Mary were married, and what should have been a lifetime together began. Thomas didn’t mourn his wife anymore, but he missed her. There were a lot of life moments he wished he could have shared with Mary. Like the wedding of their youngest child and only daughter. He kissed Olivia’s cheek. “She would have loved to have been here today. I know she’s watching over us.”
“It’s been twenty years. You’ve done your duty by us. We never wanted for anything with you and Grandpa and Millie to take care of us. But Mom would want you to find someone and be happy again.”
“I date,” he insisted.
“Escorting a female work friend to the annual police officer’s ball does not constitute dating.” She straightened his red silk tie, an homage to the February 14 date that all the men in the bridal party except for the groom himself were wearing. “You’re a handsome man. You’re fit. You’re smart, a rock of dependability and caring. Maybe you could ease up on the whole alpha male of the pack thing you’ve got going on. But that’s SOP for any senior detective I know, and besides, you probably needed that to raise the four of us. You have a nice house and a good job consulting with KCPD. The right woman is out there waiting to snatch you up if you’d let her.”
Thomas laughed. “Let your old dad get through marrying off my baby girl today before you start matchmaking for me.”
“Old dad, nothing. You’re a catch.” Thomas gave her a stern look he couldn’t sustain in the glow of that bemused smile. “All right. I’ll allow you today.”
Thomas walked her to the foyer outside the church’s sanctuary. “Gabe makes you happy?”
“You know he does.”
“I’d be pitchin’ a fit if I thought you were marrying a man who didn’t love you as much as you love him.”
Olivia grinned. “You would not. You have never in your life pitched a fit.”
Thomas paused when they reached the center archway at the end of the long aisle, waiting for the music to change. He looked up the aisle as his youngest son, Keir, stepped into his place at the altar beside his firstborn, Duff, and his middle son, Niall. Being a single father hadn’t been easy. After Mary’s death, he’d needed the help of his father, Seamus, and the older woman he’d hired to run the household, Millie Leighter, to help him raise four kids.
Olivia had grown into a smart, courageous woman. And his boys, lined up as best man and groomsmen at the altar, had turned into three good men, three good cops—a streetwise detective who’d nearly given his life on one of his undercover assignments, a medical examiner with the crime lab with more brains than social acumen and a hotshot young detective who was probably going to be his boss at KCPD one day.
Thomas’s smile thinned. “I might pitch one now.” Even as adults his sons could sometimes become the Three Stooges. Duff and Keir were trading one-liners under their breaths, and Niall was caught in the middle, trying to shush them both. His middle son adjusted his glasses and said something to both his older and younger brothers that snapped them to attention. “Did you put Niall in charge of corralling Duff and Keir today?”
Olivia nodded. “You taught me to be prepared for any contingency. I figured Niall was the most reliable.”
“Smart girl.” Now that her older brothers had gotten a look at their baby sister in a wedding dress, their whole demeanor changed. Their fidgeting stopped, and Thomas saw the love and pride on their faces. Thomas was surprised to see he wasn’t the only Watson man struggling today. “Your oldest brother is crying.”
“Duff’s not as tough as he tries to be.”
“Neither am I.” As Niall slipped Duff a handkerchief, Thomas wiped away his own tear. “I love you, Olivia Mary. You know that?”
Olivia leaned against his shoulder for a moment. “I know, Dad. I love you, too.”
The organist in the balcony over their heads started the processional music and the guests filling the pews stood. Thomas pulled his shoulders back to attention, squeezing Olivia’s fingers where they rested on his arm. “Let’s do this.”
Thomas walked down the aisle, honoring his daughter and her marriage, ignoring the twinge of pain shooting through his stiff knee. Almost every bit of that leg had been blown out, torn up, scarred and rebuilt. He was lucky to still have his leg after that fiery wreck he and his partner, Al Junkert, had had in pursuit of a fugitive. That accident had taken him off the front line of law enforcement, but he’d eventually come back to earn his detective’s badge and lieutenant’s rank, working special cases and mentoring new detectives. So he was a veteran with a desk job, focusing on teaching and behind-the-scenes investigative duties now. He was still a proud man, and he’d be damned if he was going to limp down the aisle like some washed-up hero on this happy day.
When they reached the altar, Thomas winked at his future son-in-law, Gabriel Knight, and succinctly answered the minister’s question about giving his daughter away. He caught Olivia in a bear hug before stepping back, marveling again at how much she reminded him of Mary in both looks and personality. As she exchanged silent greetings with her big brothers, Thomas saw parts of his long-dead wife in each of his children—Duff’s strength of will and tender heart, Niall’s smarts, Keir’s gift of the Irish gab as well as Mary’s tenacity. He hoped they got some good stuff from him, too, and that he’d done right by them all.
Heading to his seat, Thomas traded a salute with Al, who sat a couple of rows back. Even after the accident that had taken their lives and careers down different paths, they’d remained good friends. He smiled at the silver-haired woman in the second pew. Millie Leighter was sniffling bravely into her lace hankie, losing the battle with her tears. As dear to him as a treasured aunt, Millie had been a godsend from the day he’d hired her to cook and clean and help him raise his children. Even with the kids grown and out of the house, she remained a vital part of the family. So when the next sniffle turned into a quiet sob, he leaned down and wrapped her plump frame up in a hug. Slipping her his own handkerchief, Thomas whispered, “You and I will both get through today okay. I promise.”
Millie’s tears turned into a sweet smile and she nodded. Thomas straightened and slipped into the first pew beside his father. Seamus Watson moved his cane to the other side and tapped Thomas’s leg. When he looked down, he saw his father was handing him his handkerchief. “You’re going to need one, too, son.”
Thomas arched his eyebrow, daring his father to be honest.
The white-haired man put up a hand in mock surrender, then reached inside his black jacket to pull out a second handkerchief. “I brought two.”
Thomas grinned as the minister spoke to Gabe. Yeah, they were all a bunch of tough guys.
They’d survived tragedy. Their hearts had mended. He couldn’t be prouder of following his father into a career at KCPD, or seeing his children follow him into the same job. Thomas’s family was happy. Secure. The guilt over Mary’s death was a little less sharp than it had once been, and he’d done right by her memory. He’d done right by them. Maybe Olivia had a point. Maybe it was time he stopped being a dad and a cop 24/7 and thought about finding that woman Olivia had mentioned. Man, wasn’t that a scary thought—putting himself back out there after all these years. He wasn’t even sure he knew how to be in a relationship anymore. Maybe he should just sit back and watch the ceremony, and be content surrounded by the love of his family.
“You may now kiss the bride.”
Thomas smiled through teary eyes as the minister wrapped up the wedding vows.
“Love you,” Olivia whispered.
Gabe kissed her again. “Love you more.”
“I now present Mr. and Mrs. Gabriel Knight.”
* * *
THOMAS BEAMED FROM ear to ear as Gabe and Olivia walked past. He looked back toward the altar to watch Duff, Niall and Keir escort the maid of honor and bridesmaids to the center aisle. His smile vanished and his eyes narrowed when he saw their steps hesitate, saw their jaws go rigid, saw their gazes turn up to the balcony.
His own muscles clenched in that split second and he knew something was terribly wrong.
“Gun!” Niall shouted. His sons were already scrambling when Thomas heard the first shots. “Get down!”
The organ music clashed on a toxic chord and went silent.
Niall touched his arm and Thomas nodded that he was taking cover. Flying like shrapnel, wood splintered over his head as he ducked. A vase at the altar shattered. Explosions of marble dust filled the air.
Thomas’s entire world flashed between heartbeats.
Duff was pulling a gun from behind his back. “Everybody down!”
Keir was hugging his arms around Millie and his bridesmaid, tugging them down between the pews. “I’m calling SWAT.”
Gabe was shoving Olivia to the floor and shielding her with his body, even as his daughter tried to reverse positions to protect him.
Thomas hadn’t protected Mary all those years ago. He should have been the one at that convenience store when the bullets had taken down every customer and cashier in the building. He should have saved her.
People were shouting, ducking for cover, running to save loved ones, running toward the threat raining terror down on the guests in the sanctuary. His gun and badge were locked up at home. He was helpless to protect his children, to save his friends. Helpless to do anything but reach for his elderly father.
Blood spattered his cheek a split second before his father’s cane clattered against the marble tiles. Thomas caught Seamus as he fell, cradling him in his arms as he lowered his limp body to the floor.
“Niall!” He shouted for the closest doctor at hand. “Help me, son. Dad’s been shot.”
Chapter One (#ue3a99c30-2bd9-5a84-9216-5ad6a9cdade1)
September
If anyone had to suffer a stroke after a traumatic brain injury like being shot in the head, Thomas hoped he or she possessed the same stubborn cussedness Seamus Watson did. There were bound to be a lot of arguments, setbacks and hurt feelings along the road to recovery, but apparently, it was the only way to survive.
He just wished there weren’t so many casualties along the way.
Thomas looked from his father’s red face to Millie’s pale, gaping expression to the retreating backside of the young speech-therapy intern who was running out the door of the Saint Luke’s Hospital rehab center in tears. Although the young woman barely looked old enough to have graduated from high school, much less college, her youthful enthusiasm, pretty face and obvious competence hadn’t spared her from Seamus’s wrathful outburst at the end of a long afternoon of medical evaluations.
While he went down on his good knee to gather up the flash cards his father had knocked to the ground, Thomas spared a glance at the fourth person in the room, the private nurse he’d hired to aid in Seamus’s recovery, Jane Boyle. How was Battle-Ax Boyle, as his three sons had secretly nicknamed her, going to handle his father’s refusal to do the speech test since she was taking point on Seamus’s health and physical rehabilitation?
Although her rigid professionalism and terse, almost-awkward personal skills had earned her the teasing, never-to-her-face nickname, Thomas had spent enough time with Jane over the past several months to have a slightly different take on the resident battle-ax. No one could question her devotion to her duty, a fact that all of them, as a three-generation family of cops, could understand and respect. As for the I’m-not-interested-in-making-friends vibe she put off? He wished he wasn’t so intrigued by a challenge like that.
Thomas Watson solved mysteries. He’d done it so well for so long that he taught other cops how to solve them. And Jane Boyle was the biggest mystery to cross his path in a long while.
The nurse’s honey-brown ponytail hung in a straight line down to the high collar of the pink mock turtleneck she wore. She stood with her arms crossed in front of her, her stance emphasizing feminine curves beneath the shapeless blue scrubs. About the only time she wasn’t wearing boxy scrubs and a jacket of one pastel hue or another was in the mornings when she went for a run before breakfast. Or late at night, when she roamed the upstairs hallway between the guest room and the shower in a sweetly sensible pair of pajamas that usually consisted of a T-shirt and cotton pants that never quite met at the waist, exposing a thin strip of bare skin that he’d glimpsed more than once as she hurried into one room or the other and closed the door.
Really? He was a grown man, crawling on the floor of a major metropolitan hospital, cleaning up after his eighty-year-old father’s tantrum and picturing the woman who worked for him in her pj’s?
Man, he needed to stop noticing details like that. It wasn’t like he could do anything about that little hum of awareness that seemed to excite his blood every time he cataloged another observation about Jane. After six months living under his roof, sharing meals and a few family evenings together, he couldn’t seem to help himself from noting the sleek arch of her hips, the flawless skin hugging the angles of her oval face, the soft pink mouth that rarely smiled. She worked for him. He needed her to focus on his father’s recovery. He needed to focus on his father’s recovery, too.
He might have a few gray hairs at the temples of his dark brown hair, but he wasn’t dead. Yet he needed to act as if all the male parts of his body were too old to care about the pretty in a woman in order to maintain the professional relationship between them.
Thomas set the cards on the table and pushed to his feet, ignoring the inevitable protest in his left leg. “Dad, you can’t talk to people that way. Stephanie was doing her job. She was trying to help you.”
Seamus’s blue eyes stared straight ahead, ignoring both Jane’s thinning mouth and his own voice of reason. He’d seen his dad bleeding and unconscious; still and pale in a hospital bed after surgery; unable to speak or use his legs and right arm; fighting to stand and pick up his feet and relearn how to hold a fork; working his lips and teeth and tongue so hard to form a coherent word that a lesser man would have given up months ago. It felt wrong to be wishing for even one moment that the old man couldn’t talk.
“I’m not doing da tupid eckertise again.” Seamus’s slurred words were articulate enough to make his frustration and fatigue clear.
Jane sat her hip on the edge of the table, facing Seamus. “Yesterday in our therapy session at home, you handled the tongue rolls and language exercises just fine.”
“I’m too tlow. Tink faster dan I talk. Make mi-takes.”
Although her words were a little less peppered than Seamus’s tirade had been, Jane’s tone seemed as reprimanding as his father had been with the intern. “Speed doesn’t matter. How many times have I told you that getting back to the man you were before the shooting isn’t going to happen overnight? You’re giving up.”
Whoa. That was going a step too far. “He’s tired. He’s been testing for two hours.”
Jane tilted her chin toward Thomas, her hazel eyes glittering with angry specks of gold that he shouldn’t have noticed, either. “Don’t you defend him. He was rude and he knows it.” She looked back to Seamus. “You have worked your butt off all month to improve your performance on this evaluation. Now, are you being lazy, or do you just enjoy making women cry?”
“Jane...” Rising to her feet, she put a hand on the middle of Thomas’s chest and stiff-armed him away from intervening between her and Seamus. Not that he couldn’t have easily overpowered her claim of authority over his own family if he wanted to seize her wrist or push against her hand. But the moment of ire quickly gave way to an ill-timed rush of awareness that heated the spot where she touched him, and Thomas retreated a step from the contact.
Nope. Definitely not dead.
“Seamus?” Jane pressed his father for a reply with the stern tone of a mother dealing with a child. “I know you can do this.”
After a few silent moments, Seamus nodded. “I chould ’pologize.”
“Yes, you should.” Although it burned in his gullet to let someone else take charge of his father, to take charge of the entire room, Thomas retreated another step as Jane turned to the silver-haired woman still clutching her hands and keeping her distance on the opposite side of the table. “Millie, would you see if you can get Stephanie to come back? Tell her Seamus is feeling more cooperative now.”
The older woman seemed relieved to have a task to perform. “Of course.”
Once the office door at the end of the room had closed behind the Watsons’ longtime housekeeper, Jane moved behind Seamus’s chair, squaring it in front of the table. She squeezed his shoulder before moving around him to straighten the therapy items on the table. “You should apologize to Millie, too, for using language like that. And your son. And me. I thought you were this infamous Irish charmer who had a way with the ladies. Did you think you were working the streets again? That Stephanie was some perp avoiding arrest you had to yell at?” Thomas propped his hands at his waist, letting his fingers settle near the gun and badge he’d worn on the belt of his jeans every day since his family had been attacked at Olivia’s wedding, even on days like this when he wasn’t teaching a seminar at the police academy or assisting with an investigation at precinct headquarters. He shook his head as Jane worked her magic on his father. She was tough, almost abrasive at times. But he had to give the woman props for earning his dad’s—and his—respect. She understood the way a family of law enforcement professionals worked, the sense of duty that ran through their veins, and often used Seamus’s career with KCPD as a motivator. “I’m not happy to have all my hard work be for nothing when we come to see Dr. Koelus.” She softened her tone as she slipped into the chair on the opposite side of the table. “I bet you’re not happy, either.”
“I walked,” Seamus reminded her. “Koelus ted I could get rid of de walker and use my cane. I did de finger eckertises. I’m better.”
“Yes, you are. And those are wonderful accomplishments you should be proud of. But if you want that peach cobbler at the restaurant for dessert, then you’re either going to have to do another half mile on the treadmill with me when we get home, or you’re going to have to apologize to Stephanie and repeat the vocal exercises one more time.”
Seamus pointed a bony finger at her. “Dat’s bwackmail.”
“Yes, it is.” Jane waited a couple of beats before smiling. “Is it working?”
The undamaged corner of Seamus’s mouth crooked up in an answering smile.
Thomas hid his own grin. That woman had his father’s number. She might challenge his own authority and rub him the wrong way at times, but she certainly knew the right mix of tough love, teasing and unflinching faith in her patient that Seamus had been responding to for months now.
A moment later, Millie returned with the speech therapist. The young woman’s eyes and nose were red from crying, but she smiled to the woman who was old enough to be her grandmother. “Thank you.”
Millie had probably given her a pep talk. The older woman’s smile faded when she chided Seamus. “Now you be nice to her.”
Millie tried to back away from the table, but Seamus snagged her hand. “I’m torry, my ol’ friend. It been long time tince you heard lang-ege like dat.” He struggled to spit the words out, even growling with frustration, just as he had a moment before losing his temper. With a glance at Jane, as if seeking her approval, he folded his weaker hand around Millie’s fingers, too. “I raise my boy and grand-tons to be gentlemen. I chould be, too.”
Twin dots of pink colored Millie’s cheeks and her smile reappeared. “It’s all right, Seamus. They weren’t any words I hadn’t heard before.”
“I chouldn’t have taid to you. You lady.” He released her hand and tapped his chest. “Better man dan dat.”
“I know you are.” To Thomas’s surprise, Millie leaned down and kissed his cheek. Seamus’s face was as rosy as hers as Millie picked up her purse from a nearby chair and bustled off to the hallway. “I’m going to find the ladies’ room. Excuse me.”
The hallway door was swinging shut before the blush left Seamus’s cheeks. He turned to the intern, raising a snowy white eyebrow in a shrug of apology. “Tefanie? Forgive a fwustwated ol’ man. I have college degree and worked long time with public. Front dek at KT...KCPD. But I tound like baby now. Embarashes me.” Jane winked encouragement as she gave up the chair and moved toward Thomas. “I twy again.”
Stephanie sat and picked up flash cards again. “Thank you for saying that. You were so sweet with me last time—I guess it surprised me when you got so upset. I will say that you articulated each and every one of those cuss words very clearly.” Seamus grinned at her teasing and shook his head. “I’m sorry I ran out on you. I can’t be anywhere near as tired as you must be. We’ll skip the tongue exercises this time and just do the reading so I have a score to report to Dr. Koelus.”
Thomas heard the buzz of the cell phone vibrating in Jane’s pocket. Again? That was the fourth text she’d gotten since they’d arrived at the hospital, and she’d ducked out of the evaluation sessions with Dr. Koelus and the physical therapists marking the monthly progress in Seamus’s recovery each time. Jane pulled her phone from the pocket of her scrub jacket and read the message. Her forehead knit deeply enough to make a dimple between her brows before she straightened and headed for the door. “Excuse me.”
Thomas made sure his dad would be on his best behavior before he caught the swinging door and followed Jane into the hallway to find her furiously typing away on her cell. “You can’t let your boyfriend wait for a few more minutes until we’re done here?”
“My boyfriend?” Jane stopped with her thumb hovering over the screen. “I haven’t been with anyone since my...” When Thomas moved around her to clear the hallway for a doctor and his assistant walking past with some diagnostic equipment, she punched a button and cleared the screen, hiding both the message and her reply from him. “It’s none of your business. This is personal.”
“Not when you’re on the clock with Dad and me.”
Her mouth opened with a retort, but snapped shut just as quickly when she saw the custodian with his mop and cart stepping off the elevator at the end of the hall, along with a family walking out with a teenager who was on crutches. She crossed the tile floor to look out the bank of windows overlooking the parking lot below them, avoiding him. Or... Hell. Was she scanning the lot? Looking for a particular vehicle or person? And now he realized she’d scoped out the face of every person who’d gotten off that elevator.
He knew the woman was a runner. From her job application, he knew Jane was thirty-eight, but she worked out and kept in shape like a woman half her age. She probably had to in order to keep up with headstrong patients like his father. He couldn’t be the only man in Kansas City noticing her. She didn’t wear a ring. So if there wasn’t a current boyfriend, there had to be an ex.
A gut-check transformed his irritation into concern. Maybe that was the explanation—the calls, the texts, the dimpled brow. Maybe this was some type of harassment campaign. Could be the messages were more than a distraction from her job—maybe she was in some kind of trouble that could explain being so upset one moment, defensive the next, and guarded as she watched the people below in the parking lot. Thomas crossed the hallway. Since the woman didn’t talk about herself much beyond family recipes she shared with Millie and her medical training, he had to ask. “Did you two have a fight?”
Jane startled at the sound of his voice at her shoulder. “No.”
Thomas stepped up beside her and looked into the parking lot, scanning for anything that looked out of place. “So he is your boyfriend.”
Her ponytail bounced as she whipped her face up to his. “Don’t play your interrogation games on me, Detective. I work for you. I’m too old to be your daughter and I’m sure not your wife. You don’t have to know about my personal life.”
“I do when it interferes with your job.”
“How does this...?” She held up the phone and used it to gesture back to the physical and occupational therapy room. “Seamus doesn’t need me right now. I can take two seconds to answer a stupid text.”
Thomas had years of experience keeping his tone calm in the face of uncooperative witnesses or panicked rookies facing a dangerous or difficult call. “A text that clearly upsets you. Like the other texts and calls that you’ve been receiving these past few weeks? You’ve skipped out of meals, left in the middle of conversations. You’re about to jump out of your skin right now.” He pointed to the cell phone now clasped to her chest like some kind of lifeline. “Every decision you make seems to be centered around whatever is happening on that phone.”
“It doesn’t... It’s some business I need to take care of.” With a brush of her fingers over the neat simplicity of her hair, Jane’s cool facade returned. She pocketed her phone and resumed the clinically professional tone he was used to hearing. “I’m sorry if you think the calls are affecting my work. After dinner, once I get Seamus settled in his room and I’m off the clock, I’ll deal with them.”
“It’ll be after dark by then. What kind of business do you take care of at night?”
“None of yours.”
“None of my what?”
“None of your business,” she groaned and touched her hair again, this time actually pulling a few strands loose. “I was trying to be clever and shut you up.” She glared at the caramel-colored hair falling over her cheek and shoved it back behind her ear. “Never mind.”
Thomas heard the words coming out of his mouth before he rationally evaluated the impact of saying them. “I know the signs of someone in trouble. Is there anything I can do to help?”
“No.” Her response was a little too vehement for him to accept that something wasn’t bothering her. Jane inhaled a deep breath and spoke in a softer tone. “I’ll be fine. Thank you, Detective.”
“Technically, it’s Detective Lieutenant. Or Lieutenant. Or just Thomas.” Thomas propped his hands at his belt and dropped his chin so he wouldn’t tower over her quite so much. “We’ve talked about this. You’ve been working for me and living at the house since the first of March. I think we can call each other by our names.”
“Thank you for your concern, Thomas. But I’m fine.”
“Is it an ex who’s giving you trouble?”
“There’s no trouble.” She could see he wasn’t buying her answers. She glanced out the window one more time before tilting her gaze, which was more green than gold now, to his. “Not that it’s any of your business, but if you must know—I’m a widow. I have been for three years, before I ever moved to Kansas City. There’s been no boyfriend since my late husband, so there’s no ex, either. Now let it go. Please. And I’ll do my best not to let this situation interfere with my work performance.”
She’d lost the man she loved? Although her loss was more recent than the years he’d been without Mary, he remembered the gutted feeling that had stayed with him for a long time, the way he’d buried most of his emotions so he could get through the demands of the day, that habit of second-guessing and overanalyzing every decision because the teammate who’d always been his sounding board and ally was no longer there to back him up. Maybe her husband had phoned or texted her often, and each time she received a message, it reminded her of the love she’d lost. That could explain the secretive behavior and testy reaction to his prying.
Thomas didn’t want to have something so visceral and private in common with Jane. Lumped on top of the intellectual curiosity and sexual awareness that had been buzzing through his system from the moment she’d moved into the spare bedroom of his house, he did not need to feel this emotional empathy. It felt as though they belonged to an exclusive club, and exclusive was an entirely inappropriate connection to feel about someone who worked for him. But it was the most personal information she’d ever revealed to him, and he felt himself worrying about her well-being, anyway. He laid his hand over her fingers, which were still resting on the windowsill. “I’m sorry about your husband. But you said situation. If there’s some other issue that we need to deal with—”
“We do not need to deal with anything.” He felt her hand tremble beneath his, as if she was fighting some sort of internal battle—maybe whether or not to slap his face for overstepping the bounds of employer-employee concern? She surprised him by turning her palm into his and lacing their fingers together, accepting the strength, comfort and understanding he offered. Her hand felt small in his, but her grip was strong. “I’ll be fine.”
Thomas tightened his hold around hers. “Jane—”
The door swung open across the hall and Stephanie came out smiling, hurrying around the slow-moving Seamus with his walker. “He passed with flying colors.”
Seamus’s face was wan with fatigue, but he was smiling, too. “On to de next s-tage of terapy.”
Jane pulled away from Thomas’s touch, wiping her fingers against her pant leg as if erasing the heat he could still feel in his own hand. Although the effort seemed to cost her, Jane returned her patient’s grin. “That’s my guy.”
She kissed Seamus on the cheek and patted his arm, studiously ignoring Thomas and the unexpected moment of human connection that had passed between them.
Chapter Two (#ue3a99c30-2bd9-5a84-9216-5ad6a9cdade1)
Why had she reached for Thomas’s hand?
Jane scooted the au gratin potatoes around in their dish, wondering if she could stomach another bite to justify ordering the special side with her barbecue brisket. At least she’d had the good sense to pass on the dessert that everyone else at the table had ordered.
She’d turned her hand into Thomas’s this afternoon because she was a frightened fool who’d dealt with the past three years on her own for so long that clinging to the strength and compassion he’d offered had given her a rare respite, and the first taste of normal relations with a man she’d known since her life had been turned so completely upside down that it wasn’t her own anymore.
But normal wasn’t truly an option for her since she’d been put into WITSEC and transferred to Kansas City. Until the man who’d murdered her federal agent husband—and believed he’d murdered her, too—could be captured and she could finally testify against what she’d witnessed that horrible night her home had been invaded and Freddie had been taken from her, she needed to remain unattached, alert, able to stand on her own two feet. She had to be strong enough to stand alone.
Most of the time, she was. Her training as a critical-care nurse required her to be able to make quick decisions and handle problems that arose on her own. She no longer worked in a hospital setting as she had back in DC, but her new career as a private nurse demanded she function independently—that she rely on her own experience and skill set to deal with whatever her patient needed. She kept contact with coworkers to a minimum, and with friends even less. She wasn’t going to risk the man who carved up her husband finding her through even a casual conversation or picture that could end up posted online. She was already on emotional thin ice by developing a bond with Seamus. He reminded her so much of her own grandfather that she knew she hadn’t kept herself as professionally distant as she should, and that gave her a weakness, leverage that sociopath wouldn’t hesitate to use against her if he ever found her. It would be far too easy to lean against a man like Thomas and surrender to his strength and authority. Once she did that, however, she’d be completely vulnerable. Easy prey for the stalking skills her husband’s killer possessed.
She couldn’t drop her guard like that again. Ever. No matter how the fear and loneliness wore her down.
She’d have to be more careful. Jane slipped a glance over at the tall, powerfully built man sitting across the table from her, forcing herself to take another bite of the cold potatoes when she saw him watching her, his eyes narrowed with an unspoken question. Thomas Watson seemed gentle and unassuming at first, a mature man at ease in his own skin—a police officer, former military man and single father used to command, used to taking action and fixing problems, even if they weren’t his own.
That man had eyes in the back of his head. Or ESP. Or the training to read people and know when something was off, just as her late husband had when he’d worked with the violent crimes unit at the FBI. She curled her fingers into her palm beneath the table, remembering how the simple touch of his hand had grounded her, calmed her for a few precious seconds. Thomas generated the kind of heat she hadn’t felt since that last morning she and Fred had embraced and each had gone off to their respective jobs in Washington, DC. She missed that kind of contact—a hug, holding hands, a kiss. But she couldn’t give in to that kind of need anymore. She had to stay strong. She had to survive. She owed Freddie that much.
Even as Thomas ordered four decaf coffees from the waitress, his moss-colored eyes managed to make contact with hers, silently asking for the umpteenth time if anything was wrong. Jane gave up the pretense of having any appetite and set down her fork.
Fortunately, they had the buffer of Millie’s chatting and Seamus’s determined responses to keep Thomas from following up with any more pointed questions about the messages she’d been receiving. Some of the calls were friendly checkups from one of her husband’s friends at the Bureau back in Washington, DC. Levi Hunt wasn’t supposed to know where she’d relocated after leaving DC. She supposed he had the reputation as a skilled investigator for a reason. And as a member of her husband’s former violent crimes team, he felt personally responsible for making sure she was okay. But her goal had been to leave that whole life, and the dreadful night it had ended, behind her. The fact that he was able to contact her might mean others from that period in her life—when she’d been Fred Davis’s wife—would try to contact her, too. More of the messages had been routine checkups from the one man who was supposed to know about her new life in Kansas City.
And it was that last text from Conor Wildman that had her delicious barbecue dinner sitting like a rock in her stomach. Had something broken on the investigation? Had her new identity been compromised? Had the killer left another victim with a badge carved in his chest?
At your old house. Come see me. Urgent.
She’d texted back when she’d left the hospital and gotten into the back seat of Thomas’s crew cab truck. With the family. At work. Can’t get away.
Conor had been quick to answer. He’s surfaced. Can’t go into detail on phone. Must meet.
WITSEC had a code word and a visual signal to alert her to a sighting of a man matching the suspect’s description near her location. Then there was an escape protocol in place. Since Marshal Wildman hadn’t used the coded alert in his text, that meant she wasn’t in imminent danger of being discovered. Typically, she’d been taught to lie low and not draw any attention to herself, even when there was a new development on the case. The whole idea behind witness protection was for her to disappear off the world’s radar. But words like urgent and must meet indicated the threat level had increased for some reason. That meant she needed to be more on guard, too. But against what? Who?
A deep-pitched laugh from Seamus pulled Jane from her troubling thoughts. He held up a forkful of cobbler and toasted Millie. “Not as good as yours. But good.”
Millie’s cheeks turned a deep shade of pink as he stuffed the peach cobbler into his mouth. Jane felt the beginnings of a smile relax the strain around her mouth. Her patient was an unapologetic flirt. When he was feeling good. When he wasn’t—either physically or mentally—Seamus could be a pain in the behind. And dear, sweet Millie—she ate up the attention when offered, and didn’t put up with any guff from Seamus when it wasn’t. One trait she’d noticed about all of the Watson family: the strength of their commitment—to the people they loved, to a cause they believed in. She believed that, despite his age, given enough time, Seamus would make a significant recovery. Some of the damage the bullet and stroke had done to his brain would never heal, but eventually he’d be able to live independently, and he’d have a good quality of life.
She was certain Thomas would see to it.
Personality-wise, father and son couldn’t be more different. While Seamus liked to tease, Thomas was as serious as a heart attack. She supposed some women might describe him as stodgy or maybe even boring, compared with his outgoing dad. But she couldn’t imagine anything more attractive than a man who put his family first, a man who was rock solid in his strength and demeanor, a man who noticed much, said little, did whatever needed to be done without much of a fuss. Such masculine traits. Maybe that’s what she found most attractive about Detective Lieutenant Thomas Watson—despite a few shots of silver in his close-cropped hair, there was no mistaking that he was anything but a seasoned, savvy, sexy man.
All the more reason not to give in to the temptation of sharing her secrets with her employer. He wasn’t hers to lean on. Seamus needed him. His family needed him. Kansas City needed him. She couldn’t.
The sun had set and the lights had come on in the parking lot by the time they’d finished their coffee and Thomas had paid the bill. She noticed how Thomas’s limp was more pronounced at the end of the day as he strode across the parking lot to retrieve his pickup truck. Not for the first time, she wondered what injury he’d sustained to leave him with that chronic pain she sometimes saw on his face, but he never once complained about. She wondered what medicine and treatments he used to combat the pain, or if he even did more than simply tough it out.
Not your problem. He’s not your patient.
Concern for her boss wasn’t allowed. Concern implied caring. Involvement. Maintaining a professional working relationship and keeping her personal distance meant no concern, no magnetic draw to body heat and strength, and no hand-holding. Period.
Focusing her attention on the man she was supposed to be taking care of, Jane walked with Millie beside Seamus to the edge of the parking lot and waited. While Millie sat on a nearby bench and Seamus braced himself against his walker and stretched out some of the kinks in his shoulders and back, Jane scanned the parking lot.
So the nameless killer known to the FBI simply as Badge Man for the emblem he carved into the chest of each of his victims had surfaced. Where? How? The profile on him said he shadowed his victims, mostly law enforcement professionals or collateral damage as she’d nearly been. He’d watch for days, weeks even, as if he were a cop on a stakeout. Then he’d up his game like he had with Freddie, inserting himself into their lives to learn more about them, playing a dangerous game of cat and mouse—finally cornering his targets like prey, forcing them to either run or fight before he collected them, killed them and left his mark on them.
Was he watching her right now? Following her? Jane couldn’t stop the shiver that raised goose bumps across her skin, even on this warm September night. If Conor Wildman suspected the killer was on her trail, he’d have alerted her with the code word and she’d already be gone. She’d had the extraction scenario drilled into her time and time again. He’d call or text her the code word. She’d drop everything instantly and either make her way to the appointed safe house or he’d pick her up and move her to a secure location outside the city. But Badge Man must be somewhere in the country watching, tracking, toying with his next intended victim.
The restaurant near Union Station was immensely popular. There was a rehearsal dinner going on outside on the patio behind them, with clinking glasses and cutlery, loud laughter and enough overlapping conversations to make talking to Millie and Seamus difficult. So Jane stood silently beside the bench, studying the parking lot for any signs of something or someone out of place. The cars in the lot were parked close together, as the business tried to fit as many customers into the fixed space between the railroad tracks and remodeled old buildings as possible. The cars were packed tightly enough that it was difficult to see between them. Plus, the decorative train signal lights overhead cast impenetrable shadows that masked the traffic beyond the second row of vehicles.
Her late husband had taught her to always be aware of her surroundings. It was safety rule number one for living in a metropolitan area as heavily populated as DC. Of course, she hadn’t counted on the threat coming right into her own home. Since Freddie’s death, she’d gotten into tip-top physical shape, taken self-defense courses and become hypervigilant to the dangers that lurked out there in the world.
That’s why she was frowning at the noise of squealing tires and the smell of burned rubber wafting across the parking lot as Thomas pulled his truck up in front of the sidewalk. But she couldn’t pinpoint the source at this distance through all the cars and shadows.
Thomas had noticed something suspicious, too. When he climbed out of his truck on the side away from the curb, he was slow to close the door. He turned his head to the right and to the left before heading toward the back of the truck. Seamus had noticed something, too. He’d gone over to stand with his hand on Millie’s shoulder.
“What is it?” Millie asked.
Urgent. Conor’s text had been trying to warn her. No! Danger wasn’t supposed to find her here.
A powerful engine revved and a beat-up white van raced out of the shadows, barreling straight toward the truck.
“Thomas!” Seamus shouted.
“Look out!” Jane ran toward Thomas. He was standing right in the van’s path. “Move!”
“Everybody back!” Thomas snapped his arm around her waist as she reached for him. “Get down!”
Thomas lifted her off her feet and dived for the sidewalk. Jane caught a brief glimpse of an open passenger-side window and several small flashes of light a split second before she heard an explosion of gunshots. Thomas grunted against her ear and they were falling, rolling. The points of her knee and elbow burned as she hit concrete. She heard people screaming. Maybe she was one of them. She slammed into Thomas’s chest when he came to an abrupt stop against the curb.
Then he was on his feet, pulling his gun, running after the car in his awkward, rolling gait. “KCPD! Stop the vehicle!”
He fired one shot, but the van skidded around the corner of the building into the street and sped away into the night.
Shouts of panic and crashes of dishes and furniture echoed in her ears as Jane pushed to her feet. Ignoring her own voice of panic screaming inside her head, she stumbled over the fallen walker and hurried to the bench where Seamus had collapsed on top of Millie. “Are you two all right?” She touched Seamus’s shoulder. Had he fallen? Had he been shot? Freddie’s killer had tormented him for weeks before the home invasion, threatening the people around him. Threatening her. “Seamus?”
“I’m all right.” He leaned heavily against her as she helped him turn and sit on the bench beside Millie. “We’re all right.”
Jane swept her gaze over them both to confirm his claim. “Millie?”
“It’s happening again, isn’t it? Why does someone want to hurt this family?” She sobbed once, but quickly pinched her nose and held off the threat of tears. Seamus pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and pushed it into her fingers. “I’m all right. I don’t understand, but I’m all right.” She pushed to her feet and swayed. “Where’s Thomas?”
“Millie?” Jane caught the older woman by the arm and urged her to sit before she fainted.
“Thomas?”
“I’m right here.” Jane turned at the deep voice behind her. His chest and shoulders expanding with deep breaths, Thomas strode up to them, pulling his badge off his belt as he stuffed his phone into his pocket. “Are they okay?”
“Yes. Frightened out of their minds. Millie is a little shocky, but no one was hurt.”
“Good.” He held his badge over his head and shouted to the crowd. “I’m KCPD. Detective Lieutenant Watson. I need it quiet.”
Except for a few lingering whimpers, everyone in the doorway or on the patio stopped talking to listen. Even Jane’s panic stopped. For a split second.
“I’ve already called the incident in. Officers are on their way. Is anyone hurt?”
There was a smattering of conversations as friends and family checked in with each other, but then the group quieted again. Thank goodness. No one had been shot.
“That’s good. I need everybody to take a seat.” While chairs were righted and people got up off the ground where they’d taken cover, Thomas spoke to one of the waiters. “I need everyone to stay put inside the restaurant, as well. Let me know ASAP if anyone in there is injured. And I need to talk to your manager.”
While the young man hurried inside to do Thomas’s bidding, Jane turned to inspect Millie again. She caught the older woman’s wrist and timed her pulse. Her heart was still racing, or maybe that was her own, but Millie’s color was better. Jane picked up Seamus’s walker and set it in front of him. She appealed to the cop in him. “I need you to make sure she stays seated. She’s a little light-headed and I don’t want her to pass out. Can you do that for me?” He took Millie’s hand and nodded. She wanted him to stay put, too, so he wouldn’t fall and injure himself, either. “I’m going to check around to see if anyone needs medical attention.”
She barely had time to finish her sentence when a strong hand clamped around her arm and pulled her away. “What are you...? Thomas.”
Without releasing her, he backed her against the door of his truck, his broad shoulders blocking out the lights and chatter of the restaurant behind him. “What the hell were you doing, running into the path of that van? I told you to stay back.”
“He was going to run you over!” She tugged her arm free of his grip and pushed him back a step. Into the light. Where she saw the red streak of blood seeping into the forearm of his soiled shirt. “You’ve been shot.” She unbuttoned his cuff and gently pushed the plaid chambray up his arm to inspect the graze across his skin. It wouldn’t need stitches, but it could still get infected if the wound wasn’t treated. The cloth at his elbow was torn and bloody, too, indicating he’d scraped up a chunk of skin when they’d hit the concrete. “I’m so sorry you got hurt. I never meant—”
As she turned the wounds into the light, their heated words topped each other’s. “You could have been run down. You could have been shot. When I give you an order, I expect you to—”
“Screw your order. I won’t let anyone else get hurt. He was after me.”
“—do what I say and stay safe. He was after me.”
Jane froze as they blurted the exact same words. She tipped her chin up to see the shocked look in his eyes that she imagined mirrored her own.
Of course. Duh. She’d overreacted. She’d nearly given her secret away.
This could have been a random drive-by shooting.
Anyone in this crowded restaurant could have been the target.
Tragic as any senseless violence might be, Freddie’s killer hadn’t found her. This incident wasn’t part of his sick game.
She covered the slip of the tongue induced by panic by falling back on the thing she did best. Healing people. She spun around to open the truck door and pull out the first-aid kit from the glove compartment. She opened the contents on the seat and ripped open a couple of gauze pads, buying herself a few seconds to regain her composure. Her voice sounded surprisingly normal when she turned back to press the gauze against Thomas’s open wound. “I’ll need to debride that gash on your elbow before infection sets in. But I’m more concerned about the blood loss with this graze. Millie’s right. This could be related to the shooting at your daughter’s wedding. Or could it be related to one of the cases you’re working? I know you’ve been consulting—”
“I’m a cop. Bad guys don’t like me.” Thomas spread his fingers over hers, stopping her work. He dipped his head to put his face in front of hers and demand she look him in the eye. “But why would someone want to hurt you?”
Chapter Three (#ue3a99c30-2bd9-5a84-9216-5ad6a9cdade1)
Thomas had never met a woman who could lock down as fast or as tight as Jane Boyle. The fear that had darkened her eyes, the confusion and concern dimpling her forehead, had suddenly gone blank. She wasn’t about to tell him anything. Fine. He didn’t need her sure fingers dancing over his skin, distracting him from getting the answers she refused to give, so he’d sent her over to have her own injuries checked at the second ambulance to arrive on the scene while paramedics from the first bandaged his wounds and cleared him to report to the officers taking charge of the incident.
Although he was the senior officer on the scene, he was also a witness to the drive-by shooting. He and the scene commander had agreed that a third party would be able to process his account more objectively than if he started listening to witness statements from the other patrons and restaurant staff who were still milling about the scene. So Thomas stood off to the side with the onlookers and flashing lights while other detectives conducted interviews, criminologists processed the parking lot and patio and uniformed officers directed traffic.
It didn’t stop his favorites of Kansas City’s finest from reporting to him, though.
His youngest son, Keir, was waiting to speak to him and hurried over as soon as the scene commander had left. “How’s the arm, Dad?” He nodded toward the white gauze bandages on his forearm and elbow. “Other than a panic attack leading to hyperventilation, you’re the only casualty.” Keir glanced over at the ambulance parked beyond the crime-scene tape to the hazel-eyed woman sitting on the back bumper, stoically turning her head away from the medic cutting off part of her sleeve to inspect the scrape on her elbow. “Well, you and Jane.”
“Is she okay?”
“Okay enough, I suppose. Superficial injuries. Main concern is infection.”
“That’s what she told me.”
“That’s what she told the medic, too.” Keir grinned. “I think she’s struggling to sit back and allow someone else to take care of her.”
She’d made that abundantly clear to him. Thomas must have been staring too hard at the woman in question, because she suddenly turned her head. Their gazes met across the parking lot before Jane visibly straightened and shifted her attention back to the EMT. She couldn’t avoid him and his questions forever, not when whatever the answers were had stamped that look of terror on her face. Jane was his responsibility. She’d become one of his own the moment he’d realized how much his father needed her—and Thomas Watson protected his own. If there was anything more to this concern for her that made his belly ache, he chose to ignore it and focus on someone who was willing to talk to him. He and Keir stood by the hood of his truck while a pair of criminologists documented the bullet lodged in the left rear tire. “What about Dad and Millie? I haven’t had a chance to check in with them.”
“They’re good. They’ve already given their statements and have been dismissed.” Keir must have just come off his shift before responding to the all-points call of shots fired. He’d unbuttoned his collar and loosened his tie, but still wore the tailored gray suit that would have allowed him to pass as an executive in the financial district if it hadn’t been for the badge and Glock holstered to his belt. “Grandpa’s still got blue running through his veins. He got a partial on the license plate and the scene commander will run it. I’ll give them a ride home. Millie’s keeping it together, but she’s scared. And Grandpa seems pretty tired.”
Thomas appreciated being able to trust his father’s care to someone else. “It’s been a long day for him.”
“You, too, I imagine.” With blue eyes like his mother’s, and that same driving intensity that had guided Mary Watson throughout their marriage until her death, Keir commanded authority, even though Thomas outranked him in both age and chevrons on his badge. “I was analyzing the shot pattern. Either that driver was nearsighted and couldn’t hit the side of a barn, or he was intentionally missing.”
Didn’t that sound eerily familiar. He glanced over at Seamus, now chatting amicably with Millie and a young uniformed officer. Probably regaling him with some story about how they did police work back in his day. Out of all the people at Olivia’s wedding, with all that gunfire, only one person had been hit. There had to be a reason Seamus had been targeted specifically that day. Or maybe the shooter had been targeting him, and his dad seated beside him had been collateral damage. If whoever had hired the hit man that day wanted to hurt Thomas, he’d inflicted far more pain by attacking his family than by putting the bullet in him. Maybe that had been the plan all along. But who hated him enough to want to come after his family like that? Had that man made a second attempt to hurt the people he cared about tonight?
“I noticed the same thing. The driver swerved at the last second when he could have hit us. And his shots were aimed down at my tires, not up into the crowd.” He lifted the sleeve the paramedic had cut up to the elbow. “In fact, I think the bullet that caught me was a ricochet. Janie could have been hit someplace a lot more vital if it hadn’t deflected off me first.”
“Janie?” Keir’s eyes narrowed as he geared up to ask another question.
But Thomas’s oldest son, Duff, walked up, stuffing his detective’s notebook into the pocket of his jeans. He grinned at his brother. “Hey, Pipsqueak.”
“Muscle-head,” Keir deadpanned. The two had been teasing each other from the time Keir was old enough to toddle after his older siblings. And he’d never once let his bigger, brawnier brother intimidate him. The normalcy of the exchange elicited a smile Thomas hadn’t felt all evening. Keir answered with a grin of his own. “Call me as soon as you know anything, Dad. Kenna and I will stay at the house with Grandpa and Millie until you get home.”
If Thomas didn’t know better, he’d think Seamus was a little sweet on Keir’s fiancée. Certainly, the high-powered attorney Keir had rescued from a stalker was sweet on Keir’s grandpa. “He’ll like that. Thanks, son.”
Keir nodded to the older man walking beside Duff before turning away to escort Seamus and Millie to his car.
Duff patted the shoulder of the old family friend Thomas recognized, and pulled him into the conversation. “Look who I ran into while I was canvassing.”
“Al.” Thomas reached out to shake the man’s hand and was immediately pulled in for a backslapping hug.
“Long time, no see, Tommy boy.”
That had been Al Junkert’s nickname for him since the two had been young hotshots fresh out of the academy. He and Al had started in patrol together, made detective the same year and were well on their way to running their own precinct when the tragic end of a high-speed chase had put Thomas in the hospital, fighting to keep his leg, and scared Al into leaving the investigations bureau of the department and going back to school to earn his business degree. He’d been a fixture in the KCPD administrative offices for years now, working in public relations. Al had been there when Mary died. He was Olivia’s godfather and a Dutch uncle to all his children. His graying hair looked white against the deeply tanned skin at his receding hairline, earned from too many hours out on the golf course.
When Al pulled away, he was frowning. “Sorry to reconnect under these circumstances, though. I thought you were safe teaching seminars at the academy. The bad guys are still taking shots at you, huh?”
Thomas propped his hands at his waist, shaking his head at the clear lack of a motive here. “I’ve made a few enemies over the years, but I can’t explain this one yet. Were you at the restaurant? I didn’t see you. Shirley with you?”
“Yes and no. I was in the mood for Kansas City barbecue. But unfortunately, Shirley and I didn’t work out. I’m on date number two with a gal I met at one of those charity fund-raisers.” Al nodded toward the black-and-whites and flashing lights beyond the yellow crime-scene tape. “I may not make it to date number three. Hearing all the gunshots rattled her. When I told her my old partner was the target, she visibly scooted her chair away from mine, like she thought whatever happened to you was catching.”
Thomas laughed along with Duff, but his gaze slid over to the ambulance again. The medic was bandaging Jane’s arm now. He couldn’t forget the frantic insistence in her voice when they’d argued about who was saving whom. He was after me. Maybe his injuries were the collateral damage instead of the other way around.
That woman was afraid of something. He could feel it in his bones. And he intended to find out what or who could make a strong, independent woman like Jane shut down and pretend she hadn’t blurted out that fear.
He reached out to shake Al’s hand and thank his buddy for checking on him, eager to get to work on finding out the truth about something tonight. “Sorry about the date. Show her that fancy office of yours and remind her that you and I don’t work together anymore. She should be safe from any fallout.”
Al grinned. “I don’t know. This one’s skittish. She’s not like Mary was. Your Mary was a strong one—handled any crisis life threw at her. Except for that last one, of course.” His grin faded and he swiped his hand over the top of his deep forehead. “I’m sorry, Thomas. That didn’t come out right. I just meant that was the one fight she couldn’t win.”
“It’s okay, Al. It’s been a long time. We can talk about Mary.”
“Seems like yesterday that you and me, Mary and my first wife would all hang out.”
“A lot has changed since those days.”
“Your kids are all grown up. I’m looking for wife number four. Well, I’d better get back to, um...” He snapped his fingers, trying to come up with a name. “Renee. I’d better get back to Renee.” He patted Duff on the shoulder of his black Henley shirt and nodded to Thomas. “Don’t be such a stranger. Let’s meet up at the Shamrock some night and catch up.” He glanced over at the bench where Keir was helping Seamus stand and find his balance. “I’m going to say hi to your old man before I take off. Good luck catching this one, boys.”
“Sounds like a plan.” Thomas waited for Al to head back down the sidewalk before turning to Duff. “What did you find? Did anybody in one of the other restaurants or bars see anything? I know this neighborhood is packed with traffic and pedestrians on a Friday night.”
Duff adjusted the strap of his shoulder holster and tugged down the sleeves of the cotton knit shirt. The days might still be heating up with the dregs of summer, but fall was creeping into the September nights. “We’re damn lucky we didn’t have a hit-and-run. About the only thing anybody on the street out front can agree on is that the driver was going fast. But I’ve got reports of a white SUV, a navy-blue sedan and a red convertible with the top up. The driver was Latino, a man with a stocking mask or a woman with long black hair.”
“It was a white van. At least a decade old and driven pretty hard, judging by the rust on the chrome trim and dent in the passenger door. The shooter was white, a man from the size of the hand on the steering wheel. The gun was a—”
“Forty-five mil.” His middle son, Niall, walked up with an evidence bag in his hand. Although he was a medical examiner with the crime lab and he didn’t report to crime scenes unless there was a dead body, like all Thomas’s sons, he’d shown up shortly after the all-points broadcast that had mentioned his name. The only reason Olivia wasn’t here, too, was because she was attending a profile training seminar in Saint Louis. “The driver wasn’t interested in cleaning up his rounds.” Niall handed the bag with the bullet to Thomas, who inspected it through the clear plastic window before handing it off to Duff. “He was also a lousy shot, judging by the fact that he didn’t hit anybody but you and your truck.”
They’d all noticed the same thing. A drive-by shooting with no dead bodies didn’t add up. This wasn’t a gang neighborhood, but even if it was, a gang member would be aiming for a particular target or targets. Duff handed the evidence bag back to Niall, to assure the chain of custody. “Richard Lloyd, the hired gun who shot up Liv’s wedding, didn’t hit anything but Grandpa, either. I don’t like coincidences like that.”
“Neither do I. And you could be right about the mask,” Thomas speculated. “I didn’t see his face. Just the hand holding the gun through the open window. Do you think whoever hired Lloyd has got someone new on his payroll?”
“If one of us figures that out, we share the intel, right?”
“Right,” Niall agreed.
“Right.” Thomas inhaled a deep breath. The graze and scrapes on his arm were stinging, and his head was starting to throb with too many clues and no sensible way to organize them. The only thing that seemed to give him any relief was to turn his attention to the woman with the honey-brown ponytail. Jane was on her feet now, holding a gauze pad beneath her elbow while the paramedic cleaned the grit and debris from her injury. Although Thomas had tried to take the brunt of their tumble, they’d skidded over enough pavement that she could be more banged up than she’d let on, or maybe even realized.
He was marginally aware of Duff continuing the conversation. “You need anything else from me? I have to pick Melanie up from the campus library. She’s studying for her anatomy test.”
Niall answered. “How’s her first semester in premed going? She’s not pushing too hard, is she?”
Earlier that summer, Duff’s fiancée had nearly been killed when she’d been stabbed. Fortunately, Duff had gotten to her in time to save her life, and had the sense to propose in the hospital. Thomas liked the young woman who’d finally taught his oldest to trust a woman with his heart again. “Sorry, I forgot to ask. How is Mel doing?”
“She’s eatin’ up college life. I’m glad she has the chance to finally go back to school.” Duff grinned. “I always wanted to date a coed.”
Niall frowned. “You’re not distracting her from her studies, are you? If she has any questions about the material, tell her to call me.”
“She knows that. She also knows that you’re getting married later this month and doesn’t want to bother you. Jane said she’d field any questions Melanie might have while you’re busy with your nuptials.” Duff nudged Niall with his elbow. “By the way. I had my tux fitting this afternoon. I might look handsomer than you do on the twenty-fifth.”
Niall adjusted his glasses on his nose. “I am quite certain that Lucy will only be looking at me. You make her laugh. But she sleeps with me.”
Duff laughed out loud. “Seriously, Poindexter? Did you just make a joke? Lucy has been so good for you.” When Thomas became aware of the laughter and teasing stopping, he turned to find both his sons staring at him with curious expressions. Neither had missed the woman he’d been watching across the parking lot. “Dad? Something going on with you and Battle-Ax Boyle?”
“I wish you wouldn’t call her that, son. She’s professional and efficient, not mean-spirited.”
“O-kay. You didn’t answer my question.”
“I appreciate you boys coming out to check up on us. We’ve got plenty of officers on the scene. We also need to investigate the possibility that I wasn’t the target.”
A tall, lanky man in a tan suit and brown tie walked up to the ambulance and said something to Jane. She startled at first, but then she chased the paramedic away and turned to exchange heated words with the suit.
Niall wasn’t one to miss details, either. “Who is that guy talking to Jane?”
“I don’t know. Yet.” When he saw her hug her middle, rubbing her hand up and down her uninjured arm, Thomas opened the back door of his truck and pulled out the black KCPD windbreaker he stored there. “You boys follow up with the lead detective and keep me in the loop. I’m going to pursue a different angle.”
With the nerve damage in his bum leg sending out dozens of electric shocks through his thigh and calf, he couldn’t exactly stride across the parking lot. But his determined pace got him to the ambulance quickly enough to hear the tall blond man mutter an accusation at Jane. “What the hell am I supposed to think when you don’t call me?”
Was this who’d been threatening her? Or at the very least, upsetting her with his barrage of messages on her phone?
Thomas had no intention of making her jump the way the tan-suit guy had. “Jane?” he called, waiting for her to turn her head and identify him before he slipped the windbreaker over her shoulders. And yes, his hands lingered on her arms a split second longer than they needed to. “You looked like you were getting cold.”
“I...” She glanced up at the blond guy and shivered. Then she was shoving her arms into the sleeves of Thomas’s jacket and going all Chatty Cathy on him. “A little. It might be a bit of shock wearing off. My scrub jacket was pretty much shredded. I had the EMT throw it away. You don’t need this, do you? Of course not. You wouldn’t have offered if you did. Thank you.”
Then just like that, she fell silent, as if she’d summoned whatever energy she had left in her and used it all up. Her gaze hovered somewhere near the point of Thomas’s chin. Not making eye contact? Running out of words to argue with him? This confusion was so unlike the woman he knew that Thomas was reaching for her when the tan-suit guy extended his hand and a salesman’s smile. “Conor Wildman. I’m a friend of Jane’s.”
What kind of friend made her stiffen up like that? Maybe he was the one making her uncomfortable. After all, she worked hard to keep her private life private. Maybe having her boss and her personal life mix was the conflict that made her jaw clench so tightly.
Until he understood the situation better, Thomas decided it couldn’t hurt to get to know this guy. He shook Wildman’s hand. “Thomas Watson. Jane works for me.”
“She’s told me. Nice to finally meet you.” Wildman’s dark gaze bobbed from the badge and gun on Thomas’s belt to the letters on the black nylon jacket. “You’re with KCPD?”
Rocket scientist, eh? “I am. What do you do?”
“Accountant. Own my own firm. Work my own hours.” The golden boy widened his stance and folded his arms across his chest, assuming a more relaxed posture. But the subtle shift tugged at his clothes and Thomas noticed the gun strapped to his ankle beneath his tan slacks. What kind of accountant needed to arm himself? “When I heard Jane had been involved in a drive-by shooting, I had to come and check on her. Now that she’s done with the police and the EMT, I’m here to drive her home.”
Was that an offer or an order? Relaxed posture or not, Conor Wildman’s dark eyes sent the message that he wasn’t taking no for an answer, no matter what choice Jane made. Thomas turned his focus from the younger man’s smile to Jane and asked a pointed question. “You’re okay with that?”
She frowned as she kicked her gaze up to his. “Of course.”
“Is he the guy who’s been texting you?” He was after me. Thomas still hadn’t gotten a satisfactory explanation for that frantic assertion when the bullets had been flying. She did understand she had options, didn’t she? “You don’t have to go with him if you don’t want to.”
The dimple that marred her forehead disappeared. She didn’t exactly give him a reassuring smile, but she did seem to be making a conscious choice when she laid her hand on his arm. “It’s okay. It’s business. Conor and I need to have a conversation. Thank you for the loan of the jacket. I’ll return it as soon as I get home. I’ll be fine.”
Thomas couldn’t shake his suspicion about the man. But unless Jane filed a complaint or he had concrete evidence to say this man was a danger to her, there wasn’t anything he could do, legally. Still, it wasn’t any concern about legalities that was twisting his gut with a sense that something was off here. Something about that friendly smile and ankle holster felt like Jane was risking more than she should with this guy.
Well, Thomas was about to surprise Conor Wildman. He was certain he’d surprise Jane. Maybe he even surprised himself when he cupped the side of her neck, sliding his fingertips into the silky base of her ponytail before leaning in to kiss her cheek. Her skin was cool and smooth but 100 percent softer than the ivory porcelain it resembled. He lingered for a few seconds, feeling the spot warm beneath his lips before he pulled away.
Her eyes were wide, searching his as he straightened the collar of his jacket and tugged it together at her neck before breaking contact entirely. He wouldn’t admit to a stab of jealousy that she was choosing this friend over a ride straight to the house in his truck. Thomas had no proprietary claim on this woman. And it was pretty inappropriate for him to be kissing a woman who worked for him. But his gut was telling him it was damn important that Conor Wildman understood Jane wasn’t alone here. She had someone looking out for her. Someone would have to answer to him if anything happened to her.
The message was for her as much as Wildman to understand.
“Call me if you need anything. A ride. Whatever. I’ll see you at home.”
* * *
THE UNHAPPY MAN watched Thomas Watson’s mouth flatten into a grim expression as the nurse and the suit walked away into the shadows of the parking lot. The Detective Lieutenant Yeah-I’m-a-Legend-in-My-Own-Mind didn’t move until the suit’s car pulled out of the parking lot and drove away into the night.
Well, now, wasn’t that sweet? Thomas had gone old school and marked his territory in front of that other man.
With a family full of well-trained cops who carried guns and were hypervigilant about their surroundings, he’d thought the Watson family’s most vulnerable weakness—the one they’d all do anything to protect—had been that white-haired has-been, Seamus. He’d known for years that family was the most important thing in Thomas Watson’s world, that hurting his family would be the surest, cruelest way to hurt him.
But now he was rethinking his plan. The aging father wasn’t the big guy’s only weakness anymore. As he’d begun to suspect over the past couple of months, Watson had developed feelings for the woman. After all these years, the loneliness must be getting to him. Did he want to get into Nurse Boyle’s pants? Did he fancy himself in love with her? She’d been living in Thomas’s house for six and a half months now. Maybe they were secretly screwing each other every night.
The man’s blood burned at the thought. His breath hitched, then came in shorter, deeper gasps as the familiar injustice that Thomas Watson had gone unpunished for far too long raged inside him. The thought of terrorizing Jane Boyle, killing her with his bare hands while Thomas watched—weak, helpless, in the same kind of pain he’d lived with for all these years—almost made him euphoric. That was the kind of pain he wanted to inflict on the man. He inhaled a deep breath, calming himself. Yes. There was another vulnerability he could prey upon to keep Thomas’s life in a state of upheaval. Keep him off guard. Keep him focused on Jane until he could...
Wait. From his vantage point in the shadows, the Unhappy Man’s gaze was drawn to someone else who’d been watching the interchange at the rear of the ambulance, someone who watched Thomas limp back to his truck and climb inside before darting off through the crowd and disappearing. Curious.
Almost all the Nosy Nellies standing outside the yellow tape were watching the police officers or the CSIs with their badges and guns and crime-scene kits inside the tape. That was the show they couldn’t resist. But that guy, nondescript with dark hair and his face hidden by sunglasses and the upturned collar of his denim jacket, had been watching the two men and woman and their standoff at the back of the ambulance. He’d watched that kiss.
The Unhappy Man smiled.
Looked like he wasn’t the only one who didn’t enjoy seeing Thomas Watson safe and happy.
Maybe he could use that to his advantage somehow. Or maybe he’d have to be careful not to let Blue Jean Boy interfere with his end game.
He started the engine of his own car and pulled out, waving to the uniformed officer directing traffic as he drove past. Two hours ago, the two hundred dollars he’d spent to hire that gangbanger to spray bullets at Thomas and the people he cared about had been worth it at ten times the price. But he now knew that he needed to fine-tune his approach to Thomas’s downfall. He needed to focus his attack on where it would hurt the most.
The detective lieutenant was worried about the safety of his family and that skinny, shapeless nurse he had the hots for.
The man squeezed his fists around the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white. Mary Watson had been tall and willowy, with hair like sable fur and eyes as blue as the clear Irish sky after a rainstorm. Compared to a beauty like that, what could he possibly see in that beige woman who played down her looks and personality so much that she faded into the background?
Thomas had let Mary die. Watson had taken Mary from him and let her die. He wasn’t allowed to be happy with any other woman. He wasn’t allowed to be happy, period. But if Jane Beige Boyle made him happy, then he’d be only too happy to relieve him of that burden. An eye for an eye. One dead love for another.
His nostrils flared as he eased out a steadying breath and loosened his grip on the wheel. Patience and invisibility were his allies. The Watsons had no idea of the pain and rage he carried in his heart.
And they wouldn’t until the moment he destroyed them all.
Chapter Four (#ue3a99c30-2bd9-5a84-9216-5ad6a9cdade1)
“You think Watson suspects I’m your WITSEC handler?” Marshal Conor Wildman stepped around the corner of the kitchen peninsula in the house where she’d lived before accepting the job as Seamus Watson’s home-care nurse and moving into one of the upstairs bedrooms at the Watson house.
Jane took a seat on one of the stools furnished—just like the house itself—for her by the US Marshals Witness Security Program. “I think he thinks you’re my ex-boyfriend—and maybe not a very nice one.”
Conor grinned, unbuttoning his shirt collar and loosening his tie as he pulled coffee from the cabinet and started brewing a pot. Although the house off Thirty-Ninth Street was still listed under her Jane Boyle identity, Conor had probably spent more time here over the past few months, checking security or planning meetings with her. It was an easy cover to have to return to her own house to pick up clothing or supervise yard work or home repair, and then meet with the man whose job it was to maintain her identity and make sure she was safe. “Well, that would explain that goodbye peck on the cheek before we left the restaurant. The big guy’s jealous of you leaving the scene with another man.”
Thomas’s strong fingers sifting into her hair and the warm press of his lips against her chilled skin had felt like more than a peck on the cheek. It had felt like, if she’d turned her head a fraction, those firm, gentle lips would have been kissing her mouth instead. Jane’s breath caught in her chest as she remembered the heat that had suddenly suffused her at the older man’s touch. And now, for some inexplicable reason, she felt cheated that she hadn’t turned that fraction of an inch. “I don’t mean anything to him.”
Conor was still amused as he pulled two mugs from the dishwasher. “He’s very protective of you.”
“Thomas is protective of everybody. It’s in his blood. He’s been a cop for a long time. You said the Watson house was a good place for me to be because they’d be more alert to their surroundings than the average family.”
Nodding, Conor poured them each a mug of coffee, then went to the fridge to pull out a carton of half-and-half. “It’s helpful to have an extra set of eyes watching out for you. Even if the lieutenant doesn’t know he’s assisting with a WITSEC project.”
Jane added the half-and-half to her mug, trying to forget for a few seconds that she was considered a “project” by the FBI and US Marshals offices after witnessing her husband’s murder at the hands of a serial killer known only as Badge Man. Think about something else. Anything else.
Her thoughts instantly turned to the memory of how her skin had tingled and all the blood had rushed to the spot where Thomas had kissed her. She hadn’t been kissed in three years. Hadn’t been held in strong arms. Hadn’t had any man looking out for her unless he was being paid to do so. Not since Freddie’s death.
She rolled up the sleeves of the black nylon jacket she still wore. The creamy coffee she sipped was warming her up, but she wanted to keep the jacket on. Thomas’s straightforward scent, a blend of spicy soap and laundry detergent, might be the most masculine smell she’d ever inhaled, and having it surround her reminded her of his strength and calmed nerves that had been frayed to the point of snapping lately. She hadn’t had a man offer her his jacket in years, and for a little while at least, the gallant gesture made her feel normal, as if someone cared about her. Not as a valuable witness, a tool the FBI wanted to use to help them bring a dangerous man to justice—but just as her, a woman, a human being who hadn’t had anyone care about her on a personal level for a very long time.
Her thoughts took her into some dangerous territory as she considered her employer. Like the finely aged wines she used to drink after dinner with Freddie—before his murder, before she’d stopped drinking altogether to keep her senses clear and alert to the danger she feared could strike again at any given moment—Thomas was mature perfection. Sure of himself, but not arrogantly so. Handsome in a rugged sort of way. The lines beside his rich green eyes bespoke wisdom and life experience, laughter as much as heartbreak. And she’d known young bucks, maybe about the same age as Marshal Wildman, whose toothy smiles and perfect bodies and charming flirtations couldn’t ignite a fraction of the heat inside her that a single, purposeful look from Thomas Watson did.
“You’re thinking about Lieutenant Watson right now, aren’t you?” Conor braced his elbows on the counter across from her and leaned forward. “You know, Boyle, as long as you don’t reveal your real identity or mine, you’re allowed to have relationships in this program.”
A relationship? She’d scratched that off her future wish list, first out of grief, then out of necessity. “Is that why you’re not married? Because opening your heart to someone when some creeper wants you dead is so easy? My life is a sham. And the moment I give up that sham, I and the people I care about become targets of a dangerously sick serial killer. I don’t see any happily-ever-after in that scenario.”
He laughed. “Touché. I guess it’s hard to have an honest relationship with someone when you have to lie about who you are every day. I know that’s why my fiancée broke off our engagement. She wanted complete honesty—she deserved it. But the job wouldn’t let me do it.”
Her heart beat with a compassionate thump. Conor shared very little about himself with her. After all, she was a job more than she was a friend. But she suddenly felt a little more like a kindred spirit to hear he’d lost someone he’d loved, too. “I’m sorry.”
“Me, too.” He grinned again. “But you could still, you know, fool around.”
“With my boss?”
“I saw how you looked at him. You think the ol’ boy’s still got it.” Jane snapped her mouth shut, realizing she was still gaping at the suggestion she have a fling with her attractive employer. “Hey, I imagine what he lacks in speed, he more than makes up for in experience. From everything you’ve told me about him, Watson seems like a good guy.”
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