Kansas City Cowboy
Julie Miller
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“I don’t date, Sheriff Harrison.”
“Look, about the kiss—I didn’t plan that. That’s not why I was waiting in the garage for you. I mean, you do eat, don’t you?”
“Of course, I do. But you don’t owe me anything. I was just doing my job today. I don’t need any thanks from you. And I certainly don’t want to be any more trouble to you. So, good night.”
Mules weren’t the only stubborn thing his folks had raised on their ranch. Boone pulled back the front of his jacket and splayed his hands at his hips. He didn’t get why he was so attracted to this prickly city woman who had to be as wrong for him as his ex-wife had been. But he clearly understood his duty as an officer of the law, and as a man.
“You may not need any thanks, but I don’t leave a lady in trouble …”
About the Author
JULIE MILLER attributes her passion for writing romance to all those fairy tales she read growing up, and to shyness. Encouragement from her family to write down all those feelings she couldn’t express became a love for the written word. She gets continued support from her fellow members of the Prairieland Romance Writers, where she serves as the resident “grammar goddess.” This award-winning author and teacher has published several paranormal romances. Inspired by the likes of Agatha Christie and Encyclopedia Brown, Ms Miller believes the only thing better than a good mystery is a good romance.
Born and raised in Missouri, she now lives in Nebraska with her husband, son and smiling guard dog, Maxie. Write to Julie at PO Box 5162, Grand Island, NE 68802-5162, USA.
Kansas City
Cowboy
Julie Miller
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
For Steve & Carolyn Spencer
Your dedication to the arts is such a blessing to our community. You’re smart, talented, generous people who’ve raised a wonderful family and are fun to hang out with. Carolyn, thanks for reading my books.
And Steve, we’ll get you on a cover one day.
Prologue
Boone Harrison never tired of standing atop the rugged Missouri River bluffs and watching the wide, slate-gray water thundering past. The dense carpet of orange, red and gold deciduous trees and evergreens lining every hill that hadn’t been cleared for farming or cut out to put a road through blocked his view of the interstate and made him feel like he was the only soul around for miles.
Even though he was partial to the sheriff’s badge he’d worn for almost fifteen years now, knew most of the folks in the tiny burg of Grangeport and on the farms and ranches in the surrounding county—and liked most of them—there was something peaceful, something that centered him, about getting away for a ride across his land on his buckskin quarter horse, Big Jim. Feeling Jim’s warmth and strength beneath the saddle reminded Boone of where he came from. Smack-dab in the middle of the Missouri Ozarks, his family’s home might not be used as a working cattle ranch anymore, but he rented out enough parcels of grazing land to a friend to keep it well maintained and looking like the thriving operation his father and grandfather before him had run.
Pulling his gaze from the early morning fog off the river some fifty yards below his feet, Boone nudged his heels into Jim’s sides and cantered up over the rise toward the gravel road leading back to the house. A small herd of Herefords scattered as he approached the gate, and for a few mutinous seconds he considered chasing after them the way he had when his parents had been running the place. Give him fifteen minutes—twenty, tops—and he’d have them rounded up and on their way to the next pasture.
But they weren’t his cattle. That wasn’t his job. Boone was forty-five years old. His folks and his grandparents were gone now, and his brothers and sister had moved on. Buried in the county cemetery, married and raising kids in town, gone to the big city to make a career or simply thumbing their noses at ranch life. Boone might be the only one still living on the land where they’d all been raised, but he had other responsibilities now.
Leaving the cattle to settle back down to their sleepy breakfasts, he reined in Jim. “Ho, boy.”
The big buckskin snorted clouds of steam in the chilly autumn air as Boone leaned over the saddle horn to unhook the gate. With the skilled precision of the ten years they’d been taking this morning ride together, Jim walked through the gate. Boone refastened it and, with nothing more than a touch on the reins, Jim trotted up to the road.
Boone had already noticed the tire tracks in the dusty gravel before he topped the next rise.
Company wasn’t part of the morning routine.
Instantly on guard without making a fuss about it, Boone checked the gun on his belt, then pulled back the front of his jacket to reveal the badge on his tan uniform shirt. He adjusted his Stetson low over his forehead and rode the horse in to see who’d come out to the house so early in the day.
He recognized the green departmental SUV parked behind his black farm truck and knew the news wasn’t good. Occasionally over the years, an inmate had escaped from the prison on the opposite side of the river, and his team had been put on alert. More often there was an accident on one of the highways that crisscrossed through town. Sometimes there was a drunk or a domestic disturbance, but his men could handle calls like that without his guidance.
This was something different. Flint Larson, the young man in the tan shirt and brown uniform slacks that matched Boone’s own, stopped his pacing and came to face him at the edge of the porch.
Boone reined in Big Jim, and stayed in the saddle to look Flint in the eye. “What is it?” he asked, skipping any greeting.
They weren’t so backward that cell phones and land-lines didn’t work out here. A visit to the house meant something personal. The pale cast beneath the deputy’s tanned skin confirmed it.
“It’s Janie.” Boone’s sister, the youngest of the Harrison clan. A failed engagement to the blond man standing on his porch, and the desire for something more than small-town living, had taken her two and a half hours away to Kansas City more than a year ago. “She’s dead.” Flint’s voice broke with emotion before he steeled his jaw and continued. “The office just got the call from KCPD.”
Boone crushed his fist around the saddle horn, feeling Flint’s words like a kick in the gut. Janie? Hell. She wasn’t even thirty years old yet. She was loud and funny. She had an artist’s eye and the ability to put her four older brothers in their place. He needed to call those brothers. As the oldest, they’d expect him to take charge of making arrangements. Who were her friends in the city he’d need to contact? What the hell had happened to her, anyway? Driving too fast? An illness she hadn’t shared?
He squeezed his eyes shut as the questions gave way to images of growing up in the house and town flashed through his mind. A lone daughter, spoiled by her parents and big brothers, overprotected, well loved. She could be just as rowdy as the rest of them, yet turn on the ladylike charm whenever …
The images froze and he snapped his eyes back open. Hold on. “The police?”
“Yes, sir.” Flint shifted on his feet. He had to be feeling the shock and loss, too. “That’s not the worst of it.”
What could be worse than Janie’s bright light being taken from the world?
“Tell me.”
“She was raped and murdered.”
Chapter One
Police psychologist Dr. Kate Kilpatrick shivered against the chill that lingered in the damp air and tightened the belt of her chocolate-brown trench coat as she hurried along the sidewalk to the crime scene. She hated being cold. And if this early October morning was any indication, then she was in for a long winter.
Impossibly long if she had to face any more visits to this revitalized area of Kansas City and deal with the job she’d been summoned to.
High heels, the KCPD auxiliary identification hanging around her neck, and the confident authority that she’d honed into a suit of armor over the years got the gathering crowd to part and let her pass with little more than a nod or a touch. She spotted the lanky, red-haired detective, Spencer Montgomery, who headed up the serial rapist task force she’d been assigned to, standing near the yellow crime scene tape that blocked the entrance to an alley between a local flower shop and a gutted warehouse building that was being remade into shops, offices and loft apartments. Summoning her courage on a deep breath, Kate turned off her emotions and braced herself for the death and violence reportedly on the other side of that yellow tape.
“Officer Taylor.” She approached the tall, brawny K-9 officer who was guarding the scene with the proportionately big and muscular German shepherd panting beside him.
He touched the brim of his KCPD ball cap. “Ma’am.”
She grinned up at him. The two had recently become acquainted with his assignment to the task force, as well. “I told you to call me Kate.”
“If you call me Pike.”
“Done.” The nickname was unusual, but the charm was genuine.
The K-9 officer pointed to the trio of police officers conferring next to the wall at the edge of the alley. “They’re over there … Kate.”
“Thanks, Pike.” She stepped around him and the dog to join the rest of the team. “Detective Montgomery.”
“Doc.” Spencer turned from the conversation he’d been having with his shorter, dark-haired partner and a copper-haired female officer she recognized as Nick Fensom and Maggie Wheeler, an investigator and a victim interview specialist also assigned to the KCPD task force. “The CSIs are nearly done processing the scene where the body was found, and we’re conducting an initial canvas of the neighborhood.” His report was as measured and concise as the tone of his voice. “Our Rose Red Rapist has stayed true to his pattern. The abduction occurred late at night after the victim closed up the shop for her boss—she was dead by two or three in the morning. This is the dump site, not where the assault occurred—and thus far we haven’t turned up any witnesses.” He handed over his notebook and let her study the observations he’d recorded. “You ready for this?”
“Not especially.” She nodded a good morning to Nick and Maggie. She tipped her head toward the closed-off street behind her. “Is there any way we can thin this crowd out a little bit? And turn off the flashing lights? There’s been enough speculation about the Rose Red Rapist escalating the violence of his attacks. All this commotion is only adding fuel to the fire of public panic.”
“I’ll take care of it,” Maggie volunteered. She turned her mouth to the radio clipped to her jacket and started issuing orders.
“Thanks.” Kate caught Maggie’s hand and squeezed it before she could walk away, silently asking her former patient how she was handling the pressure of the unsolved investigation and the horrible memories the scene in the alleyway must have triggered.
“I’m good,” Maggie reassured her, returning the squeeze with a real smile and reminding Kate of the engagement ring the uniformed officer now wore on her left hand. “It’s the first time one of the assault victims has been found dead.”
“Did you see the body?” Kate asked.
Maggie nodded, her smile fading. “That woman fought hard for her life. But I’m a fighter, too. Doing something to help put that bastard away helps me handle it all. So I’m good. We’ll catch up later, okay?”
More friend than counselor now, Kate agreed. “I owe you a cup of tea. Give me a call.”
“Will do.”
Kate stuffed her hand back into the warmth of her coat pocket as the other woman walked away, and skimmed Detective Montgomery’s notes before handing the book back to him. After discovering Maggie’s affinity for understanding the victims of sexual assault, Kate’s role on the commissioner’s task force had shifted slightly. She wasn’t a trained investigator, and she hadn’t suffered a terrifying attack the way Maggie had, but she understood people. As a trained psychologist who counseled members of the police force and assisted with suspect interviews and criminal profiling, Kate knew how to read a face, a room, an entire crowd. She had a way with words—she knew when to talk, when to listen—and she knew what to say. In a city being terrorized by a serial rapist who’d reappeared in May after a ten-year hiatus, and had claimed his latest victim sometime last night, nerves were on edge.
It was her job to put those nerves to rest.
“I’m assuming you’ve moved the press to a neutral location?” She turned her attention to the two detectives.
Nick Fensom groused at the camera flash that went off on the other side of the street barricade. “Except for a couple of photographers trying to get a shot of the corpse—” he raised his voice to chide the photographer “—which we’ve already moved—”
“Nick,” Spencer cautioned, quieting his partner.
The shorter man held his hands out in a begrudging apology. “The reporters are in front of the Robin’s Nest Florist Shop, where the vic worked.”
Just catty-corner across the street from where the previous victim had been abducted outside a local bridal shop. Kate nodded to the shop owner standing at the window of Fairy Tale Bridal, suspecting she and the other women who lived and worked in this neighborhood were beginning to rethink their choice of the trendy, upscale location. Two assaults in just six months—attacks that were brutal, traceless and now deadly—must be making every woman afraid of her own shadow, and every man look like a potential suspect.
Not to mention what news of another rape had to be doing for local business. With a determined intake of breath, Kate looked to her left, spotting the group of television cameras, broadcast vans, microphones and reporters waiting for her to make a statement on behalf of the task force. “I doubt the flower shop owner will be thrilled with this kind of publicity. I’ll set up on the sidewalk facing north so the storefront won’t be behind me in the picture.”
“Good point.” The detective reached out to stop a young officer who was assisting with crowd control. A sly glance at his navy blue uniform identified him. “Estes?”
“Yes, sir?”
“I need you to help Dr. Kilpatrick move this crowd of reporters down half a block or so.”
“Right away, sir.” The young man was barely in his twenties. He was new to the job and eager to please the senior officer. “Dr. Kilpatrick.”
“Hi, Pete.” She knew the rookie cop from a couple of counseling sessions on anger management issues he’d had that had carried over from his off-duty life into his work. “How are you doing today?”
“Haven’t gotten myself into trouble yet.”
“Good to hear.” Kate summoned the necessary smile to send him on his way. She wore a more serious expression when she handed the notebook back to Detective Montgomery. “It’s my understanding that the
Rose Red Rapist hasn’t stayed true to his pattern. The woman he attacked is dead?”
Spencer nodded. “Blow to the head. M.E.’s office has her now. They’ll have to tell us if it was intentional or the result of the struggle—maybe the vic saw his face or managed to get away, and he did it to stop her.”
Two things that hadn’t happened with any of the Rose Red Rapist’s previous—surviving—victims. Changes in a perp’s behavioral patterns could mean something as simple and tragic as silencing a witness to his crimes. But it could also indicate a psychotic break—a dangerous development that meant his attacks would become both more frequent and more violent.
Kate had counseled plenty of assault victims before, but she’d never been assigned to work on a case where the victim hadn’t survived. “And we’re sure it’s our guy? And not a sick coincidence?”
The crime lab liaison assigned to the task force, Annie Hermann, approached the opposite side of the crime scene tape, holding up a bagged red rose in her gloved hand. “I don’t know anyone else who leaves one of these with his victim. I’ll run an analysis, but I’m betting it came from the flower shop where she worked.”
“That’s gutsy.” Detective Fensom lifted the tape for the petite brunette in the navy blue CSI jacket to join them. “Buying a flower from the woman you plan to attack later? She probably looked him right in the face.”
“Could be why he killed her,” Annie theorized. After a moment’s hesitation, she tucked her curly dark hair behind her ear and crossed beneath Detective Fensom’s arm to join their circle. “Maybe he was a regular customer and she recognized him by the sound of his voice, even if he did wear a mask to hide his face the way his other victims describe. If she called him by name, that could have been her death sentence.”
Kate offered another, more disturbing explanation. “Or maybe rape is no longer satisfying enough for our unsub to display his power over the women he attacks.”
Spencer Montgomery tucked his notebook inside the front of his suit jacket. “Yeah, well, let’s keep that tidbit of information to ourselves. The city’s already on edge. If they believe it’s a onetime thing, and not an escalation in the violence of his attacks, we might ease somebody’s fears.”
Kate nodded her agreement and inhaled another fortifying breath.
“Go work your magic, Kate,” Spencer encouraged her. “You calm this chaos down and we’ll finish up here.”
“Right. We’ll debrief later at the precinct?”
Detective Montgomery nodded. “This afternoon, if possible.”
“Keep me posted.”
As the detectives and CSI went back to work, Kate pulled up the sleeve of her coat to make sure her watch was visible. Short and sweet was the key to a successful press conference. She was already formulating a brief statement and would set a time limit for entertaining questions. When she was done, she’d send the press away to make their preliminary reports and tell the residents of Kansas City to remain cautious but not to panic—that KCPD was on the job. Then she could get back to her office at the Fourth Precinct to get some real work done on unmasking a serial rapist turned murderer and get him off the streets.
Kate raised her hands to silence the onslaught of questions that greeted her and took her position on the sidewalk. She pushed aside a microphone that had gotten too close to her face and squinted as the bright lights of numerous cameras suddenly spotlighted her.
“Ladies and gentlemen, if I could have your attention, please.” As her eyes adjusted to the unnatural brightness, some of the faces in the crowd began to take shape. She recognized Gabriel Knight, a reporter for the Kansas City Journal and one of KCPD’s harshest critics. She knew Rebecca Cartwright, another reporter who happened to be the daughter-in-law of KCPD’s commissioner, and who would no doubt put a more positive spin on things than Knight would.
She hesitated for one awkward, painful, debilitating moment when she spotted Vanessa Owen, a woman who reported local news for one of the city’s television stations. Vanessa’s caramel skin, dark brown hair and smoothly articulate voice had become a fixture on Kansas City televisions. She’d once been a fixture in Kate’s life, as well. Vanessa had been a good friend, a sorority sister from college who continued to move in the same social circles as they established careers and marriages after graduation. The story between them that mattered the most had thankfully never been aired, though at times like this, the events that marked the end of their friendship still burned like a raw wound in Kate’s chest.
But Kate was here to do her job, just as Vanessa was here to do hers. This wasn’t personal. Suck it up, counselor. You’re in control here. KCPD made you spokesperson for the task force because they know you can handle it. And with that mental pep talk sending her emotions back into the protective vault inside her, Kate blinked and moved on with the job at hand.
Beyond that first row of reporters, the lights and flashes and eager crowd made identifying others in the sea of faces nearly impossible. “I’m Dr. Kate Kilpatrick. I’m a police psychologist and public liaison officer with KCPD.”
Gabriel Knight didn’t wait for any further introduction. “Is it true that the Rose Red Rapist’s latest assault victim is dead?”
Biting her tongue to maintain a patient facade, Kate looked straight into the reporter’s probing blue eyes. “I will be making a brief statement on behalf of the department and the task force investigating the attack, and then I will have time for a handful of questions.”
“Make your statement,” Knight challenged.
Kate eased the tension she felt into a serene smile and included the entire gathering, including Vanessa Owen, in her speech. “A twenty-eight-year-old woman was sexually assaulted in this neighborhood last night, sometime between ten p.m. and three o’clock this morning. There was a rose left at the scene, indicating the attack was committed by the man—” she paused and held out her hands, placing the blame for their perp’s notoriety squarely where it belonged “—you have dubbed as the Rose Red Rapist.”
“Kate, is the woman dead?” Vanessa stole Gabriel Knight’s question before he could ask it.
Although she bristled beneath her coat at the liberty her old friend had taken in addressing her by name, Kate merely nodded. “Yes. We are in the preliminary stages of a murder investigation—”
“Who was she?” Vanessa followed up.
“—and pending more exact information and notification of the family, I can’t give more details at this time.”
“Kate,” Vanessa prodded. “You have to give us something.”
She looked straight into the camera beside Vanessa. “This is what I can tell you. We will find this man. The task force members investigating these crimes are top-notch specialists—the best in KCPD. I guarantee that we will not rest until this attacker is caught and arrested.”
A commotion at the rear of the crowd diverted Vanessa’s and Gabriel Knight’s attention for a moment, but the cameras were still rolling, so Kate continued with the briefing. “Rest assured that KCPD and the commissioner’s task force are doing everything in our power to identify the attacker and ascertain whether or not this crime is related to the attack that occurred in May, or to others that have occurred in previous years.”
The shuffling of movement and Hey’s and What the’s? in the crowd behind them finally garnered Gabriel’s and Vanessa’s attention, too.
The spotlight faded as cameras turned to see what the fuss was about. Normally, Kate was relieved when the cameras turned away to give her the privacy she preferred, but she had to say what she was required to say. “KCPD urges the women of Kansas City to practice common safety procedures. Don’t walk alone after dark. Lock your cars and doors. Carry your keys or even pepper spray in your hand, and be sure to check under and around your vehicle before approaching it. Remember that KCPD is offering free self-protection workshops, or you can look into classes offered elsewhere. And finally we ask that everyone remain vigilant….”
Kate’s voice tapered off as the lights followed the parting of the crowd, splitting like a crack in an icy lake, and heading straight toward her.
“Sir, you’re gonna have to …” She thought she heard Pete Estes’s voice, but it faded into the growing buzz of the crowd.
She spotted a cowboy hat and broad shoulders a moment before Gabriel Knight was pushed aside and a man dressed in a tan-and-brown uniform and insulated jacket stood before her. His eyes, dark like rich earth and shadowed by the brim of his hat, captured hers.
“Who are you?” Vanessa asked beside him. “Are you connected to this investigation? Has KCPD called in outside help?”
But the questions went unheeded as the dark focus of the man’s eyes never left Kate.
“Are you in charge here?” His dark voice was just as coolly efficient, just as menacing, as the gun and badge next to the hand splayed at his hip.
Rarely at a loss for words, Kate cursed the splutter of hesitation she heard in her voice. But she shook off the foolish reaction and came up with a diplomatic answer. “I’m part of the task force that’s in charge—Hey!”
Apparently, something she’d said was good enough for him. Immune to the flash of lights and uncaring of the public recording of the scene he was making, the cowboy closed his grip around Kate’s arm and pulled her aside. If he hadn’t been wearing a badge that identified him as law enforcement, Kate might have protested further.
“Lady, I’ve been driving ever since the report came over the wire early this morning.”
“What report?”
With the interview effectively ended, she quickened her pace to keep up with his long strides. And though she tugged against his hand, his hold on her never wavered.
“What can you tell me about the woman you found in that alley?” he demanded.
“Excuse me, but we have rules about how a press conference is conducted here in Kansas City. We also have rules about interdepartmental investigations. If you need to speak to someone about a case, then you—”
“I’m only interested in this case.” She nearly pitched off her pumps when he abruptly stopped to test the door on a nearby storefront. That same strong hand kept her upright and pulled her inside the boutique beside him, beyond the flashes of cameras and noise of the reporters and curious onlookers. Once he released her and shooed away the store clerk who offered to help them, Kate could face him. Only then did she see the jet-black hair with shots of silver at the temples. Only then did she clearly make out the chiseled jaw and six feet or so of height. Only then did she detect the scents of leather and man and some unnamed emotion that made her back up half a step.
“Who are you?” she asked.
This time, he answered. “I’m sheriff of Alton County.”
Alton County? Central Missouri? “What are you doing here …?” Temper turned to confusion. She sputtered again while her brain shifted gears. “How do you know about the murder? We haven’t even released her name to the public, pending notification of her family.”
“You’ve notified them,” Sheriff Cowboy stated. “My name’s Boone Harrison. Jane Harrison is … was … my baby sister. I want to know who the hell killed her, and what you’re doing to find him.”
Chapter Two
Boone paused at the doors leading from the medical examiner’s lab into the morgue and autopsy room. He pulled off his hat, working the brim between his fingers as he looked through the glass windows to the stainless steel tables inside.
He watched a dark-haired woman in blue scrubs and a white lab coat working beneath the bright lights at the middle table. She wore gloves and a surgical mask. And as she circled around the table, the front of her lab coat gaped open, revealing a baby bump on her belly.
But it wasn’t the pregnant medical examiner who had his attention. He wasn’t even shocked by the tray of wicked-looking tools or the cart filled with saws and hoses, glass containers and evidence bags.
Boone touched his fingers to the cool glass partition, wishing he could reach through the glass and erase the images before him. It wasn’t his first dead body or even his first murder. But it was his first and only baby sister lying there—her life cut short, her beautiful laugh silenced forever.
His jaw ached with the tight clench of muscles holding back the tears and curses. And his gut was an open pit of anger, grief and failure, eating him up from the inside out.
“You don’t have to do this, Sheriff Harrison.” The firm, slightly husky tones of the blonde woman standing beside him filtered into his brain, tossing him a lifeline back to the reality at hand. Dr. Kate Kilpatrick stood shoulder to shoulder with him, viewing the same scene he was, maintaining a calm strength he couldn’t seem to find within himself. “Certainly not right now. Give us some time to work first, and then I’ll call you. I promise.”
He flattened his palm against the glass and pushed the swinging door open. “I need to see her.”
Startled, the medical examiner looked up from her work. She zeroed in on Boone and straightened to attention. “You shouldn’t be in here. Hi, Kate.”
“Sorry, Holly.” Dr. Kate’s hand on his arm slowed him a step, giving her the chance to reach the steel table before he could. “Dr. Holly Masterson-Kincaid, medical examiner. This is Sheriff Boone Harrison from Alton County.” But she wasn’t much of a wedge when it came to stopping him. Boone moved in beside her, looking down at the raven-haired woman on the table. “He believes the victim is his sister.”
“Well, then, he really shouldn’t be in here right now.” The M.E. reached for the sheet draped at the foot of the table. “I’m just about to start … Hey!” She swatted Boone’s hand from across the table. “Don’t touch her. Please.” She covered the body up to the shoulders as gently as if she was tucking a child into bed. “There may be evidence on her.”
“I won’t compromise anything.”
“Sheriff?” He felt Kate’s hand on his forearm again, but there was more comfort than warning in this particular touch, and his gaze locked on to the elegant, pale, practically manicured fingers resting on his sleeve. “Perhaps we should wait outside and let the doctor work.”
But he’d already seen the bruises on Janie’s knuckles and the torn fingernails. He’d already noted the sticky-looking mat of hair beneath her head, indicating the blow that had ended her life. The worst of the bloody wound was hidden from view. There was nothing the M.E. or the police psychologist needed to hide from him. The loss had already imprinted itself in his brain, and deeper—in his heart. Boone’s sister had been a firecracker in life. He couldn’t remember ever seeing her this still, not even in sleep.
But the shell of the girl he’d grown up with was still there.
“It’s her. It’s Janie.” He lifted his gaze to the moss-colored eyes looking up at him. But the emotion there quickly shuttered, neutralizing their color to a grayish-green before Dr. Kate pulled her hand away. With that unconscious bit of caring denied him, Boone cleared his throat and looked over at the dark-haired doctor. “Jane Beatrice Harrison. Named for both our grandmothers. She’s twenty-eight. Born and raised on a ranch outside Grangeport, Missouri. Moved to K.C. about a year ago. She’s single, but dating, I think. Worked at a florist’s shop. Taught evening art classes at one of the community colleges here.”
The M.E. picked up a computerized clipboard and started logging in some of the details he was sharing.
Boone’s breath got stuck in his chest and he exhaled a big sigh before he could continue. “I talked to her on the phone just last week. But I haven’t seen her since the Fourth of July. The family gets together for a big celebration—fireworks, food. One of my brothers has a cabin on the lake. She got a sunburn out tubing on the water with our nieces and nephew.” Something numbing and merciless was eating its way through every nerve of his body, robbing him of rational thought. “Janie loved those kids.”
“Is there anything else you can tell us about her life here in Kansas City?” Dr. Kilpatrick asked. “Any specifics about her daily routine?”
The answers drifted out of his brain. For a few moments, it seemed it was all he could do to stay on his feet and take in the world around him. Boone was aware of the two women processing everything he’d said. Holly Masterson-Kincaid was dark, dressed in white. Her hair was long and wavy and anchored in a ponytail at her nape. Kate Kilpatrick was fair, dressed in deep chocolate brown. Her hair was short and chic, with every strand falling into place. Both women were in their thirties, although he guessed the blonde to be slightly older than the brunette. Both women had their eyes on him, watching him with a mix of trepidation and concern. Get it together, Harrison.
Man, that Dr. Kate was a cool customer. He’d practically abducted her to get the answers he needed. He’d been bossy and on edge, yet she’d stayed calm and composed when she’d had every right to slap his face or call for backup to haul him away. She could have blown him off as the crazy out-of-towner stomping into their official territory, yet she’d answered every question with clear, if guarded, precision, and offered to bring him to the morgue herself.
Some part of his foggy brain knew she was probably running interference, keeping him away from the CSIs and detectives investigating the crime scene and talking to potential witnesses. But she could have called a uniform to drive him through town. She could have arranged for a receptionist to guide him down to the building’s basement morgue. Instead, she’d volunteered to handle the ol’ bull-in-the-big-city country boy herself. That took a lot of compassion, and probably more guts than the woman realized.
If Kate Kilpatrick could keep it together on a morning like this, then maybe he’d better do the same. With a nod that was directed to the highly trained law enforcement professional pushing its way through the emotions inside him, Boone summoned the detachment that had gotten him through a lot of disturbing crime scenes and graphic traffic accidents. “Has the body been cleaned up yet?” he asked.
The M.E.’s lips parted, in surprise, he supposed. But she set aside the computer pad and answered in a tone much less clinical than the one he’d used. “I was in the middle of processing when you showed up. If you’d given me some advance notice—”
“There was some jewelry she always wore.” Boone brushed his fingertips against the collar of his shirt. “A necklace of my mother’s. Three or four silver and turquoise rings she’d made. Janie was an arts-and-craftsy kind of gal. She took a jewelry-making class once.”
The M.E. pointed to the paper envelopes and plastic sheaves on the table behind her. “The rings are in evidence bags, waiting to go to the lab upstairs. I didn’t see a necklace. But there are clear signs of a struggle.”
She looked back across the table to Kate, with a look that could only be described as a plea for help. When Boone refused to budge, Dr. Kilpatrick nodded, giving her some sort of permission to continue sharing information with him. He needed to know everything—no matter how gruesome, no matter how tragic. His only solace right now was information—and the justice it would lead him to.
Resuming a mantle of detached practicality, Dr. Masterson-Kincaid pointed one of her gloved fingers at the thin, purplish-gray bruise bisecting Janie’s delicate collar bone. “That would explain this mark. Looks like a chain around her neck was ripped off. Perimortem, judging by the bruising.”
Another treasure stolen from his family. “Did the bastard take it as a souvenir?”
The blonde beside him shook her head. “That doesn’t fit the profile. The Rose Red Rapist hasn’t collected tokens in the past, but it is important to note. Maybe he overlooked it when he was cleaning up the scene.”
“Back in that alley?” Boone would make time for a detour to search the place himself.
Kate shook her head and stepped aside to pull her cell phone from her pocket. “The body was found at a secondary location, like the others. But if we can locate the necklace, we might just find our primary crime scene.” Her gaze slipped up to Boone, no doubt assessing how much information from their interchange he was taking in, as well as what he intended to do with that information. “Can you give me a description of the necklace?”
“A sterling silver locket. Heart-shaped, with a picture of our folks inside.”
“I found a trace of some sort of metallic substance in her hair—could be a piece of a broken necklace. I’ll call Annie and Detective Montgomery to alert them to keep an eye out for it.”
Dr. Masterson-Kincaid circled around the table, urging both her guests to clear the space around the examination table. “I’ll give you some privacy while you’re making your call. I need to take a break and phone my husband, anyway.” She rested her hand on her belly and crossed to the double swinging doors. “Ever since we got the news about the baby, he’s become a little more overprotective. If that’s possible. Um.” Boone glanced over his shoulder as she waited at the door to get his attention. “Take a few moments to grieve with your sister, Sheriff Harrison. But when I get back, I do need to get work. Alone.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
“And remember, don’t touch anything.”
Boone nodded.
After the dark-haired woman left, Kate apparently decided to give him some space, too. “I’ll go out there to make my calls, allow you some quiet time—”
“Don’t.” Not understanding the impulse, but not questioning it, either, he reached out and grabbed Kate’s arm. He tugged her back to his side and turned, ignoring her startled gasp as he pulled her into his chest and hugged his arms around her. “Not yet.”
“Sheriff, I …”
For a few moments, she stood there, rigid as a barn board, her arms down at her sides, her nose pressed into his chest. He knew he’d surprised her, knew he was taking liberties with a woman he barely knew. But he needed human contact right now. He needed the reassurance of a beating heart. He needed something strong to hold on to, something soft to absorb the pain and the rage and the grief roiling inside him that threatened to drag him down to his knees and bring him to tears.
As unexpected as the contact might be, there was a sensitive side to the police psychologist he must have tapped into. He felt her slender frame swell against him with a deep breath. And then she nudged her chin up onto his shoulder, wound her arms around his neck and stretched up on tiptoe to hug him back.
“Hush.” She whispered soft words against his ear. Meaningless syllables that soothed him. “I’m so sorry, Boone. Shh.”
Her body was flush against his, her arms around his neck and shoulders clinging almost as tightly as he held her. Boone buried his nose in the delicious scent of her honey-blond hair and let the grief overtake him in deep, stuttering breaths.
He held on as he purged the onslaught of emotion. Sensation by sensation, the blinding need eased and his body and spirit revived. Kate Kilpatrick was of average height, but the high heels she wore lengthened her legs and made her just the right size to fit against him like a hand to a glove. There was nothing remarkable about the shape of her body other than that the subtle curves were all there, in just the right places. She was a sophisticated blend of jasmine shampoo and woman and class.
She was businesslike yet compassionate, strong in body and resolve, yet she was the softest thing he’d held in his arms in a long time. At this moment, she was everything he needed.
But his timing couldn’t be worse.
With something else waking inside him—something that was more about family and the job, more about protecting one’s own than it was about himself—his wants, his needs and the beautiful woman who’d assuaged them both for a few stolen moments—Boone pulled his hands up to Kate’s shoulders and abruptly pushed her away.
He needed the chilly rush of air-conditioning filling the gap between them. He needed to see the self-conscious splotches of color on Kate Kilpatrick’s cheeks. He needed to watch her straighten the front of her coat and tug the sleeves back into place.
He needed to see her fixing her personal armor around her so he could do the same himself.
“Sorry about that, ma’am,” he apologized.
“Not a problem, Sheriff.” She smoothed her short hair back behind her ears. “Sometimes grief can be too much to bear. And I was here.”
“You’ve already done more for me than you should.” And yet he had to ask her to do something else. As of this moment he knew Kate Kilpatrick better than anyone in Kansas City, now that Janie was gone. They were virtual strangers, yet she was the closest thing he had to a friend right now. She was also the best source of information he’d found thus far. Dr. Kate was a pipeline straight to the detectives who were working Janie’s case. He glanced over to give his sister one last loving look, before facing the police psychologist’s guarded expression. “I want to see the crime scene and any evidence your team has on Janie’s murder and the previous rapes that bastard committed.”
The green eyes blinked. Dr. Kate was shaking her head. “Sheriff Harrison … Boone … you need to take your sister home. You need to take care of your family right now.”
He set his hat on his head, adjusting the crown to its familiar, comfortable fit. He closed his fingers around the crisp sleeve of Kate Kilpatrick’s trench coat and the warmer, softer woman underneath, and walked her to the door with him.
Her psych degree and whatever heat was simmering beneath that cool exterior might have her programmed to be all touchy-feely with his emotions. But he didn’t have the time to feel right now. “I need to work.”
THE MAN PEELED OFF his shirt and tossed it into the hamper beside the socks and pants he’d worn last night.
His eyes were glued to the television across from his bed, and on the haughty blonde being interviewed on the morning news show. He paused, stripping down to his skivvies. The bitch was looking right at him, taunting him.
“We will find this man. The task force members investigating these crimes are top-notch specialists—the best in KCPD. I guarantee that we will not rest until this attacker is caught and arrested.”
His gaze dropped to the bottom of the screen as the press conference was interrupted. He didn’t really notice the cowboy or the commotion of wonky camera angles and muffled sounds as the reporters scrambled to pursue them. He was reading the words scrolling across the bottom of the screen—Dr. Kate Kilpatrick, KCPD police psychologist and task force liaison officer.
A shrink. He could just bet that woman wanted to get inside his head. Change him. Fix him.
A familiar resentment boiled inside him. “We will find this man?” he mocked. “You wish. You’ve got nothing on me, woman.” She thought she could threaten him, intimidate him into making a mistake. This one looked right at him and challenged him. Yet she looked all sympathetic, like she thought she could help him. Like he needed help. “I didn’t do those things. There’s nothing wrong with me.”
Dr. Kate Kilpatrick was all blond hair and sharp tongue and classic beauty. She looked so much like her. She sounded like her. That entitled, smarter-than-him attitude was just like her.
Despite everything he’d done, despite the promises he’d made, she’d talked to him as though he wasn’t good enough, as if he was some kind of broken thing that needed to be fixed.
The rage spilled over into his veins. She was trying to humiliate him. publicly. Again.
A nagging voice of reason piped up in his head. It isn’t her. You know she’s a different woman.
No. Women like that were all the same.
He could feel the irritation crawling beneath his skin. They took. They demanded. They emasculated. If they ever deigned to notice him, that is. A woman like that—so confident, so beautiful—she’d look right through him. You don’t know that, the voice argued. Don’t let her get to you. She’ll make trouble for you if you let her get to you.
“She won’t get to me.” He read the name scrolling across the bottom of the screen again. Kate Kilpatrick. She’d mocked him. Right there on television, for all the world to see.
He rolled his neck, scratching at the itch beneath his skin until he realized there was blood beneath his fingernails. Feeling the sticky stain on his fingertips more than the pain in his forearm, he dashed into the bathroom to check the mark in the mirror—to assure himself that he had put the mark there. There was no DNA that the brunette from the flower shop had taken from him.
He’d never make a mistake like that.
Breathing away the momentary panic, assuring himself that no woman had dared to get the better of him, he turned on the water in the sink and let it run hot before he picked up the soap and plunged his hands beneath the spray. After he’d washed his hands, using a brush to get rid of any trace of blood or skin beneath his nails, he opened the medicine cabinet. He pulled out rubbing alcohol, medicated ointment and plastic bandages to doctor the scratch he’d made, reveling in the sharp bite of pain that cleared his thoughts.
You were too smart. Too careful. The voice praised him, stroking his ego and fueling his pride. You didn’t make any mistakes.
“Damn right I didn’t.” His heart rate slowed and his breathing evened out as the utter self-assurance of his actions returned.
Once he had finished doctoring his wound, he returned to the bedroom to remove the last of his clothes. Using his undershirt as a barrier to keep from touching any buttons, he picked up the remote and turned off the blonde liar and the morning news.
Then he stepped into the shower to clean up and get dressed for work.
Chapter Three
“You let Janie close up the store all by herself that late at night?” Boone braced one hand on the cash register and leaned over the counter at the Robin’s Nest Florist Shop.
“I trust her with my keys. She’s my assistant manager … Trusted. She was my—”
“After eleven o’clock? In the dark? Knowing that bastard was running around out there?”
“We close at nine p.m. Why was she here that late?”
“You tell me.”
Boone couldn’t keep the raw tinge of frustration out of his voice, and knew that the clipped tone and deep pitch and bulk of his shoulders were probably more intimidation than the brown-haired woman hugging the design book to her chest could handle. But damn it all, that redheaded detective in the suit had run him out of the alley where Janie had been found, and then set up a brick wall of a K-9 cop and his German shepherd sidekick to keep him away from the crime scene.
Normally, he was a patient man, a methodical investigator. But this crime burned far too close to the heart. His family was his responsibility, and he’d already failed if his sister had suffered so and ended up dead. He needed answers to why this unthinkable act of violence had happened—and he needed them sooner rather than later if he was going to have any chance of assuaging the guilt and rage and grief thundering along with every blood cell in his veins. If KCPD wouldn’t let him comb through the crime scene with fresh eyes, then his next best avenue was to retrace Janie’s steps yesterday and start talking to the people she’d had contact with.
The jingle of a bell over the shop’s front door should have served as a warning to rethink this interview.
“We’re closed today.” The woman glanced at the intruder, maybe hoping for a polite escape, but the approaching customer only made him lower his voice and lean in closer.
“How long had Janie been working for you?”
The shopkeeper’s blue eyes darted back to his. “Almost a year.”
“And those were her regular hours? Did she close every night?”
“We traded off.” She tried to look away again.
“Was it a regular routine? The same nights each week? Something that anyone watching this place for any length of time could pick up on?”
The blue eyes widened in shock and focused on him again. “I didn’t realize I was putting her in danger like that. Yes, I suppose she’d had the same schedule for a couple of months—”
“Are you Robin?” Boone sniffed jasmine in the air a split-second before the softly articulate voice beside him spoke. The blonde in the brown trench coat rested a warning hand on his forearm, and the skin beneath his jacket danced at the unexpected touch.
Suspicion colored the shopkeeper’s voice. “Yes?”
The lady cop psychologist who smelled better than any fragrance in the floral shop extended her hand. “I’m Dr. Kate Kilpatrick, KCPD. I’m a psychologist with the department and a public liaison officer.”
The other woman set her design book on the counter and reached over to shake Kate’s hand. “I’m Robin Carter. I own this shop.”
Dr. Kate’s steady voice and calm presence were quickly defusing both the florist’s fears and Boone’s own unthinking rudeness. “My colleague, Sheriff Harrison, here brings up a good point. For women, especially, it’s smart to vary your schedule from time to time when it comes to personal safety. I know it can be hard to close the shop at different times, but don’t work late every night, park in different locations, have someone meet you here from time to time, and so on.” Perhaps sensing that he had a dubious control over his emotions again, she pulled her hand away and tucked it into the pocket of her coat. “People with predictable routines make themselves easier targets for a mugger or rapist to ambush.”
The shopkeeper’s skin paled beneath the blush on her cheeks. “I never thought of that. I’ll make sure my entire staff knows. Thank you.”
Boone’s emotions might be in check, but that didn’t mean he was finished here. “Ms. Carter and I were just having a little chat.”
“Say, do you mind if I ask you a few questions?” Did Kate Kilpatrick just nudge her shoulder between him and the counter? Pushing him out of this conversation? Her move was subtle, putting a few more inches of protective distance between him and the woman he wanted to talk to. “Where were you last night? When was the last time you actually saw or talked to Miss Harrison? And was she alone?”
Fine. Questions he would have asked. As long as they got answered, he wouldn’t nudge back.
“I had to leave early in the afternoon for a doctor’s appointment.” Kate waited expectantly—a patient ploy that often made a witness nervous enough to keep on sharing information to fill the silence. The woman had interrogation skills, for sure. Robin Carter tucked a lock of coffee-colored hair behind her ear and continued. “I was at the Lyddon-Wells Clinic. I’ve been going through in vitro procedures, trying to get pregnant via a sperm donor. You know, single career woman—biological clock ticking and all that. Yesterday the doctor called me in for a pregnancy report. Janie knew it was important to me, so she volunteered to switch nights with me. I left at three-thirty, and except for any customers she might have had, she was alone.”
“Did you get the results you wanted?”
Robin hugged her arms in front of her and shook her head. “It didn’t take this time, either. He suggested I look at adopting.”
Boone didn’t pretend to know about how a woman might feel if her hopes for a pregnancy fell through. His ex had put off starting a family year after year until he finally realized that she’d put their marriage on hold, too.
But apparently, Kate understood. “I’m sorry about the baby. Do you know who Janie was seeing?”
Boone tipped his hat back on his head at the abrupt change of topic. Catching the witness off guard was another smart tactic. He’d learned all the same interrogation strategies, but Dr. Kate’s skills put his to shame today.
“No,” Robin answered. “But I think it was pretty serious.”
That was the first Boone had heard of a new man in his sister’s life. Screw keeping his distance. He leaned forward again, his chest butting into Kate’s shoulder. “Janie was in a serious relationship?”
The shopkeeper’s gaze shot back to his, and Boone let Dr. Kate shrug him into a less-threatening position again. “She stopped talking about her love life, er, who she was dating, these last few weeks. Wouldn’t go out for a drink with me after work anymore. Now that I think about it, she was secretive a lot lately. I’d interrupt a personal call and she’d quickly hang up. I invited her to bring a date to a staff party and she came alone. Left early, too.”
“You don’t have a name for this mysterious boyfriend?” Boone asked.
“I don’t remember her ever mentioning it. And if he came to the shop, I never knew about it. She didn’t treat anyone more special than her usual friendly self.” Robin pulled a tissue from the apron she wore and dabbed at the sheen of tears in her eyes. “I’m going to miss that smile. Sorry I can’t be more help.”
Kate reached across the counter to squeeze the other woman’s hand. “You’ve been a big help already, Robin.”
Kate might be signing off on this interview, but Boone needed more. “Do you have any idea where she would have met this guy?”
For the first time during the entire conversation, Kate tipped her face up to his and looked him straight in the eye. Reprimand noted. And ignored. He opened his mouth to follow up, but Kate beat him to the punch. “I understand what you mean about devoting all that time to your career.” He’d bet there was a kinder, gentler expression on her face when she turned back to the shopkeeper. “Other things get … overlooked.” And then she was stepping back, nodding toward the front door. “Shall we?”
Boone ignored the unspoken command to exit stage right and pulled out his wallet to hand Robin Carter a business card. “If you think of anything, don’t hesitate to call me … or KCPD,” he added before Kate could correct him. He paused for a moment to tip the brim of his hat to Robin. “I’m sorry about earlier, ma’am. I’m a little upset today. But I appreciate your cooperation.”
The woman sniffed back her tears and summoned a smile, appeased by the apology he’d owed her. “I can’t imagine what you’re going through, Sheriff. Janie was a sunny, vivacious spirit—and so talented. I’m sorry for your loss.”
“You two were good friends?” Robin nodded. “Then I’m sorry for your loss, too. I’ll send word about the arrangements for her services when I know them.”
“I’d like that. Thank you.”
Finally content to leave—for now—Boone turned to the door and gestured for Kate to precede him.
He’d barely closed the door behind them when Kate stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. She crossed her arms and tilted her face to challenge him. “You’re going to scare away all our potential witnesses if you dive down their throats like that.”
“I’m sorry if I scared the lady, but she had answers we needed.”
“No, she had answers I needed. That the task force needed.”
The lady’s dander was up, all the way from the top of that honey-gold hair down to the soles of those ridiculously high, undeniably sexy heels. “Did Montgomery send you after me? I don’t think your lead detective likes me,” he asked.
Those mossy-green eyes held his for a moment before she turned and strolled up the street. “Where’s your truck?”
Boone grinned behind her. Nice dodge. He’d take that as a yes, that Spencer Montgomery had called in cool, calm and eye-catching Dr. Kate here to corral him away from the investigation. He moved into step beside her. “How do you know I drive a truck?”
“You’re a cowboy, aren’t you?”
The muscles around his mouth relaxed with an actual laugh after too many hours of being clenched tight to stop up the emotions roiling inside him. He pointed a few parking spaces farther ahead to the black, diesel-powered Ford he’d driven in from Grangeport. “Yes, ma’am.”
“I could tell that those boots weren’t just for show.”
Boone glanced down at the brown leather that was scuffed and broken in, and, okay, maybe tinged with a bit of the aroma that had driven his ex-wife off the ranch and out of his life. Although Boone hated to think of anyone as a stereotype, he supposed the Stetson and boots and badge stated exactly who he was, inside and out.
He wondered if the sophisticated facade and cool-as-a-cucumber demeanor said who Kate Kilpatrick was on the inside, as well.
Any curiosity about the pretty blonde vanished at her next comment. “The M.E. said she’ll release your sister’s body early tomorrow morning. Maybe you should be making those arrangements you mentioned instead of scaring away my witnesses.”
He stopped beside the truck, his shoulders lifting with a weary sigh. “I can help. I’ve been at this job a long time and I know Janie better than any of you.”
“I’m no rookie, either, Sheriff. I know Kansas City. And I know the Rose Red Rapist and how he works.” She pulled a hand from her pocket and turned to face him once more. What was it about this woman’s gentle touch on his arm that made each skin cell wake and warm beneath her fingers? “I’m also a psychologist. I’ve worked with several officers who’ve had to deal with the loss of a partner or a loved one, or even the death of a suspect. You need time. You need to grieve. You need to help the others in your family who are dealing with this loss, too.” The warmth and subtle connection between them left when she pulled her hand back into the pocket of her coat. “Let us do this difficult work.”
“Dr.Kate….” That’s how he’d heard her introduce herself more than once, and that’s the name that landed on his tongue. “I’m the oldest brother in my family, and our parents are gone. Janie was my responsibility. Finding who did this feels like my responsibility, too.”
She nodded, perhaps understanding his guilt, or perhaps just eager to move him along out of the police department’s way. “Please. Go find a hotel for the night. Did you come here by yourself? Is there someone you should call?”
Dr. Kate could maneuver a conversation six ways to Sunday, and a man had to stay on his toes to keep up—or probe beneath that chilly control she maintained over her thoughts and feelings. He was interested in taking on the challenge, but right now he was too tuckered out emotionally to be a worthy adversary. So he relented and let her chase him off KCPD territory. For now.
“I’m a big boy, ma’am. Been taking care of myself a long time now.” Boone circled around the hood of the truck and opened the door, but paused before climbing inside. “I’m glad Montgomery sent you to handle me. I’d have punched him by now.”
Her chin tipped up as though his bluntness had taken her aback. And then her pink lips curved into a soft smile. “You’re quite the charmer, aren’t you, Sheriff?”
That glimpse of warmth through a chink in her armor made Boone feel like smiling, too. Yep, there was at least one thing he liked about Kansas City. He climbed in behind the wheel and started the engine. Then he pulled a contact card from his wallet and rolled down the passenger-side window to share one last word with Dr. Kate Kilpatrick of KCPD before driving away. “You need me for anything—you find out anything about this murder—I expect a call.”
She stepped forward to take his card and it disappeared into the pocket of her trench coat along with her hand. “I will.”
“See you later, Doc.”
“JUST ONE QUOTE, Kate.” Vanessa Owen had shown up at the precinct offices late in the afternoon, thankfully without her cameraman, and ambushed Kate the moment she stepped off the elevator onto the third floor. “I know we have history—and I know a lot of it was pretty bad—but this isn’t personal.”
“Nice speech.” Kate took note of the visitor and press badges the dark-haired reporter wore around her neck, and quickly chucked the idea of having the doe-eyed beauty tossed out on her generous backside. Kate was in charge of public relations for the task force, after all. But that didn’t mean she had to stand here and give Vanessa an exclusive interview when she’d already made a formal statement to the press earlier in the day. Skirting around the reporter, Kate headed for the temporary refuge of her private office. “If you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.”
When she turned the corner into the hallway leading to her office, a uniformed policeman with a buzz cut of brown hair jumped out of the chair where he’d been waiting and startled her. “Dr.Kilpatrick?”
“Pete.” Kate pressed a hand over her racing heart and retreated half a step from the frantic young man who’d assisted her with controlling the crowd of reporters just that morning. “Do we have an appointment?”
“No. But my girlfriend called me at work and she said—”
“Pete.” Kate stopped him before whatever the latest demand his girlfriend had requested of him turned into a full-blown rant. “I can’t hold your hand through every crisis. Now we’ve talked about ways to improve your communication skills. Try one of those strategies to tell her what you’re feeling. You have to practice them.”
“But she said she’d leave me.”
Vanessa invited herself into the conversation. “Officer, you interrupted us. I suggest you make that appointment.”
“Vanessa.”
“Five minutes of your time, Kate.” Now Vanessa was ignoring the young man altogether. “That’s all I’m asking.”
Keeping the irritation out of her tone, Kate patted the officer’s shoulder, giving him a little encouragement. “Go on home, Pete. Talk to her the way we practiced. If it doesn’t work out, I’ll try to fit you into my schedule tomorrow.”
“Thanks.” He glanced up at Vanessa, then back to Kate. “Thank you, ma’am.”
“You don’t deserve five minutes.” As soon as Officer Estes had disappeared around the corner, Kate resumed the walk to her office. “You can’t talk to my clients that way.”
“You were dismissing him already.” Vanessa quickly caught up with her, refusing to be ignored. “Look, we are both professional women doing our jobs. Let me help you. Let me help the department’s reputation—”
At that, Kate stopped and faced her. “There’s nothing wrong with KCPD’s reputation.”
Vanessa arched a skeptical eyebrow. “You’ve been investigating the Rose Red Rapist for months—even longer, if the department’s claim is true that he’s the same man who committed a series of unsolved attacks and then disappeared for a few years.” Vanessa pulled a phone from her purse and prepared to text whatever Kate might say. “Give me something to help calm the fears of the women in this city. I’m happy to give them your spiel about smarter ways to protect themselves. But my viewers want information about the crimes that have already happened, not just a public service announcement. They want to know KCPD is making progress. That there’s hope the crimes will stop and that this deviant will be put away for the rest of his life.”
“I hope you’re not preaching gloom and doom to your viewers.” Kate hiked her own purse straps higher onto her shoulder and unfastened the top button of her chocolate-brown coat, resigning herself to having this conversation. “Perhaps if you put a more positive spin on things, the department would be less cautious about sharing their information with you.”
“I don’t preach. I tell the facts. But I need some facts to talk about.”
Kate glanced over at the late-afternoon bustle of activity in and around the detectives’ cubicles. The door to the boardroom where the task force was gathering had already closed. There was no way she could indulge herself and pass off this inevitable chat with Vanessa Owen to someone else. She unfastened two more buttons on her trench coat, buying a few seconds to consider what she could say that wouldn’t compromise the investigation, yet would get her onetime friend out of her hair. “You want facts? We’re working on the serial rapist case, around the clock, utilizing experts from every department.”
“Blah, blah, blah. That’s rhetoric from the commissioner’s office and Chief Taylor, and you know it. I want the scoop from the task force, from the detectives who are on the front line of this investigation.”
Kate turned her head to the side and inhaled a deep breath to chill her temper. This woman had a lot of nerve. But she didn’t get to ruffle Kate’s composure. Not anymore. “Have you ever not gotten what you wanted, Vanessa?”
She could sense the let’s-keep-our-personal-lives-out-of-it argument forming on the other woman’s expression again. Kate didn’t want to hear it.
“Fine. Just know that whatever I share with you I’ll have to tell Gabriel Knight and the rest of the press following the investigation. The department can’t show favoritism to one media outlet over another.”
“Not a problem.” Vanessa smiled and raised her phone again, apparently relishing the victory of besting a former sorority sister again. “I’m listening. I can still get my report on the late news. Knight will have to wait until morning for his paper to come out.”
Funny how that competitive spirit had once challenged Kate to accomplish so much. And all the time she’d been busy accomplishing, Vanessa had been stealing behind Kate’s back, having an affair with her husband, Brad.
Just give her a quote and get her out of here.
But while the embers of regret and resentment burned inside her, outwardly, Kate presented a few nuggets of information as succinctly as her position within the department demanded. “While we don’t have a definitive suspect yet, we are developing a profile. He’s someone local because he knows the city well enough to blend in or hide without drawing attention to himself. And he targets strong, professional women—whether they’re up and coming or have already established successful careers.”
Vanessa’s thumbs hovered above her phone in mid-text. “So he’s looking for women who are likely to fight back or who have the means to prosecute him should he ever be identified?” She resumed inputting Kate’s comments into her phone. “This guy likes a challenge.”
“Which is part of why he goes to such lengths to hide his identity and mask the site of the original attacks.”
“Part of the reason?”
Kate checked her watch. Unless someone else was running late, Spencer Montgomery had already started the task force debriefing on the day’s events. But leaving Vanessa with an unanswered question would only encourage the woman to come back.
She knew better than to publicize the unsub’s penchant for sterilizing both the victims and the crime scene after the rape had occurred—that was a fact they were keeping to themselves to help eliminate bogus hotline tips and rule out evidence from assaults committed by someone else. But she’d probably already shared more of the profile than she should. She needed to be the stronger woman here and not let her emotions dictate her interactions with this particular member of the press.
“This is off the record because we don’t have the proof yet….” She waited for Vanessa’s nod of agreement before continuing. “But after careful study of the behaviors in each of the attacks, we believe our unsub has been hurt, humiliated, possibly even abused, by an important woman in his life. The assaults are a punishment, a means to … reclaim his power, to prove that he’s stronger, smarter, than the woman who damaged him. Unfortunately, the attacks probably have nothing to do with the actual victims. In his mind, they all represent this one woman to him. He’s proving to himself that she lacks the power to ever hurt him again.”
At least Vanessa had the grace to look appalled and slightly terrified of Kate’s description of the monster who was preying on the women of Kansas City. “And do you have a list of suspects who fit that description?”
But Kate had said enough. “I have a meeting to get to. If you’ll excuse me.”
With a noisy huff of exasperation, Vanessa fell into step beside her again. “That’s it? Psychological mumbo-jumbo about a man you’re no closer to identifying than you were five months ago?”
“We’re making progress, Vanessa, but that’s all I can share right now.”
“Can I at least tell my viewers that professional women are more likely to be targeted than others? You’re talking about assertive women—confident, successful women, right?”
Kate stopped and looked Vanessa straight in the eye. The implication was obvious. “Yes. Women like you and me.”
After a momentary pause, Vanessa nodded. “Thank you for the insight, Kate. I’ll share the warning, along with the safety tips you gave at the press conference this morning. I’m glad we can move past what happened between us and do what’s right for the greater good of the city.”
Well, at least one of them had evidently moved on from the tragic events that had ended Kate’s marriage. Even though the humiliation and pain of just how she’d discovered Brad and Vanessa’s affair had dulled over the past five years, a big scar remained on Kate’s ability to trust in personal relationships. She certainly no longer believed in the friendship she and Vanessa had shared.
Without further comment, she turned her back on the reporter. Once Kate was alone in the empty hallway, her shoulders sagged with the need to catch a quiet moment to herself before she joined the task force meeting. She untied the belt of her coat and unhooked another button. The high heels would go next if she had another five minutes to decompress. But, “Oh, hell.”
The door to her office was already open. Had she forgotten an appointment? She hurried the last few steps, then halted in the doorway.
“Oh, double …” She swallowed the rest of her unladylike curse as the sheriff with the coal-black hair unfolded himself from one of the visitor’s chairs and stood.
“Dr. Kate.” Holding his hat in his big hands, Boone Harrison nodded a greeting to her. With his insulated jacket draped over the back of the chair, she got a better idea of how broad shoulders and solid muscles filled out the dimensions of the tan-and-brown uniform he wore. The silver in his hair indicated he might be five to ten years older than she, but there was nothing over the hill about the fitness of his body, and he seemed as comfortable in his own skin, and as laid-back about the authority he exuded, as any man she’d met.
There was something basic and unpretentious about the masculinity imprinted in every rugged line, deep-pitched word and chivalrous gesture of Boone Harrison. And as much as his relentless and poorly timed refusal to leave her and KCPD alone to do their work annoyed her, she couldn’t deny a rusty feminine awareness sparking to life inside her at every encounter with the man.
Taking a deep breath and forcing her weary muscles to smile, Kate unhooked the last button and shrugged out of her coat as she circled around her desk. She draped the coat over the back of her chair and smoothed the sleeves of her cashmere cardigan, diverting her focus to distract her traitorous hormones for a moment. “Who’s taking care of Alton County while you’re here in Kansas City?”
“I’ve got deputies.” A tall, broad shadow loomed over her as Boone approached the desk. “Since I’m staying the night to escort Janie home in the morning, I thought I’d check in to see if any progress has been made on your investigation.”
She’d thought she’d gotten rid of him after their meeting at the florist’s shop that morning. So much for a five-minute respite to recoup the emotional energy she’d expended throughout the day. After the long day she’d had—counseling a retired cop who was dealing with the recent death of his wife, as well as a young officer who’d been particularly surly about being assigned to temporary desk duty, observing witness interviews and trading carefully chosen words with reporters who were just as intent as Vanessa Owen to get the inside scoop on the Rose Red Rapist’s latest attack—the last thing Kate needed was to deal with Sheriff Tall, Dark and Determined here.
Five minutes free from drama was apparently too much to ask for right now. Maybe if she quickly sent Boone Harrison on his way, though, she could at least close the door and enjoy two minutes of silence before joining the next meeting. “You’ve got a hotel room already? They fill up pretty fast this late in the day, especially south of town where the new crime lab and M.E.’s office are. Maybe you’d better—”
“I’ve got a room. But I’d sleep in my truck if I had to.” A soft gray Stetson landed in the middle of her desk, followed by two broad hands braced on either side of it and the earthy, warm scent of the man leaning over them. Kate tilted her gaze up to a pair of whiskey-brown eyes that were entirely too close to hers. “Thought if I made an effort to be a little more civilized than I was this morning, you might be more inclined to share some information.”
Didn’t the man understand personal space? And had that breathy little catch of sound really come from her?
“You were understandably upset this morning. But that doesn’t change the facts. You’re out of your jurisdiction, you’re too emotionally connected to the victim, and I don’t have any details I can share with you right now.” She slid a stack of files from beneath his hat and hugged them to her chest, straightening away from the desk and putting some distance between them. At least work was marginally less stressful than dealing with Marshall Hot-Shot here. She knew the expectations of her at KCPD. She knew what her clients needed from her. However, she wasn’t as comfortable with persistent men and these flutterings of awareness. “I’m running late to a task force meeting right now.”
“Perfect.” He snatched up his hat. “I can sit in and listen.”
“No.” That had come out more aggravated than authoritative. She fixed a friendly smile on her face and tried again. “I’ve got your card. I’ll call you when we’re finished.”
“Who was that woman pestering you out there?”
So was he truly observant? Or just plain nosy? Her arms tightened around the shield of papers she clutched to her chest. “A reporter.”
“Did you tell her anything you haven’t told me? I’m a cop and I’m family.” Observant, she decided, reading the stern set of the lines beside his eyes. “I don’t want to be surprised by anything I read in the papers or see on the evening news.”
His reasoning made her stop and think. And relent. Her run-in with Vanessa had reminded her of just how frustrated and helpless not knowing the truth had made her feel five years ago. Boone Harrison wasn’t leaving town until morning, anyway, so at least she could keep track of him and know he wasn’t interfering with their investigation if he was in the room with them. That was how she’d present it to Spencer Montgomery, too.
“Fine. Detective Montgomery won’t be happy about it, but I’ll clear it so you can sit in and listen.” Kate came around the desk, pointing a warning finger at Boone. “But not a word, remember? And anything you see or hear in that room has to remain confidential.”
“I know how to keep my mouth shut.”
Somehow she doubted that. But she only had so many fights in her on any given day, and this one was sorely testing her limits. “Let me go in and talk to Spencer first. This way.”
“After you.”
A half hour into the meeting and Kate wondered if she’d made the wrong decision. Although Spencer Montgomery wasn’t pleased to have an unplanned visitor sitting in with the task force, he’d agreed that keeping the sheriff in sight was less worrisome than having him running through the city like a pinball let loose in a machine, conducting his own investigation into his sister’s murder, impacting witnesses and giving off the impression that the task force couldn’t get the job done on its own.
Still, it couldn’t be easy, even for a veteran officer of the law like Boone, to listen to the gruesome facts about his sister’s rape and murder.
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