KCPD Protector

by Julie Miller

  As his assistant. As the fuel that made his office run so successfully. It was a lovely compliment. Yet oddly disappointing. Still, Elise summoned a smile for him. “I’ll see you tomorrow at work.”

  His fingertips lingered behind the shell of her ear, and for a moment she thought he might do something sweetly reassuring like kiss her on the forehead again. Instead, he scratched the dog’s head one more time. “Keep an eye on her, Spike.”

  When the dog nuzzled his hand, the man almost smiled. But that wasn’t George Madigan’s way. He opened the door and listed off directions just like he did at the office every morning. “Bring that spare key into the house and lock this when I leave. Call me or 9-1-1 if you see or hear anything else that’s suspicious. If something seems off to you, it probably is.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He arched a dark eyebrow. “Not funny.”

  Elise smiled. Because it was her way. And while they couldn’t admit to this attraction or discuss that kiss, she was grateful that he’d been here for her this evening. “Thank you for everything. I’ll be careful. Good night, George.”

  “Good night, Elise.”

  She watched him stride down the porch steps to his silver Suburban, stopping to have a word with Denton Hale and his partner. George looked up and down the street, probably verifying, like her, that James had driven away. When he looked back at her, Elise set Spike down on the floor. She pulled the key box from the flowerpot and went back inside to lock both the knob and dead bolt.

  Then she turned on the porch light, letting George know she was following his instructions and was secure inside. She watched at the front window until Hale and his partner left in their police cruiser and George climbed inside his SUV.

  Feeling drained from tip to toe, Elise kicked off her shoes and carried the mail to the kitchen. The light in the foyer flickered when she cranked up the air conditioner to cool the first floor. After shutting off the extra interior lights to conserve electricity, she set the end tables back on the sofa and covered them all with the paint tarp, erasing the reminder of being held in George’s arms.

  She could do this. She had Spike for company. She didn’t need a man in her life, certainly not George Madigan with his surprising tenderness and chivalrous protective streak. Tomorrow would be a normal day. Maybe she’d even get lucky and the temperatures would break and the city would get some much needed rain.

  A girl could dream, couldn’t she?

  Too tired to fix a meal, Elise nonetheless wound up in the kitchen. She couldn’t take anything for her headache unless she had food in her stomach, and if she didn’t eat, the throbbing would only get worse. So she tossed Spike a rawhide chew to nibble on while she grabbed a yogurt cup and half of a chocolate bar from the fridge. With only the light from the range hood to illuminate the shadows, she sat down on a stool at the island’s granite countertop to force a few bites down her throat and sort through mail. A couple of bills, summer sale notices from local merchants, a postcard from her parents vacationing in Glacier National Park and one envelope that had neither a return address nor a familiar business logo. She slit open the envelope and pulled out the letter.

  Elise’s spoon clattered onto the countertop. Suddenly, the air-conditioning was working very, very well.

  I hate it when you make me angry, Elise. I wasn’t pleased to see you give away my roses. That’s why I brought them back. When I give you a gift, I need you to treasure it the way I treasure you. I forgive you this time, but don’t make that mistake again.

  I Love You.

  “Who...?” she whispered, tossing aside the letter. The stool toppled over when she hopped off and backed away from the disturbing message. Elise barely heard Spike’s startled yelp through the haze of fear and madness clouding her brain. When her back hit the wall behind her, she cried out as if an unknown hand had touched her shoulder.

  But the start was enough to clear one thought in her head.

  “George.” Call me. I need you to be safe.

  Screw practicality and relationships that shouldn’t be.

  Elise dumped her purse onto the counter, digging out her phone and racing from the kitchen to put as much distance as she could between herself and that anonymous letter. Searching through the numbers as she and Spike climbed the stairs, she touched George Madigan’s name and put the phone to her ear.

  She dashed straight into her bedroom and opened the top drawer of her dresser to pull out a pair of socks. Her home should feel like a sanctuary, not a padded cell. She intended to put on her running shoes, hook Spike to his leash and go out into the steamy night air because even the suffocating humidity was preferable to the hazards sneaking their way inside her home.

  George’s number rang once.

  Elise pushed the lingerie around in her drawer. Her socks were always on the left-hand side. Her cash-filled envelope of fun money was still stashed beneath them. “What...?” She was imagining the subtle shift in things.

  She shoved the drawer shut as the phone rang a third time and she opened the second drawer. Elise rifled through the contents there before opening the next two. This wasn’t right. Why wasn’t this right? She glanced over at the empty laundry basket by her closet. Everything had been neatly folded and put away. Everything.

  “Oh, God.” She pressed her fist to her mouth to keep from retching. Then she pulled open the top drawer again and tossed everything onto the bed. One. Two. Three. Four.

  She’d counted to five when the phone stopped ringing. “George!”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I need you.” Forgetting her socks and shoes, she staggered back to the landing and sat on the top step, hugging her knees to her chest, turning her head at every creak and groan of the big empty house. Something slammed in the distance, jerking her in her seat. “Please come back.”

  His clipped voice was deep, urgent. “Is someone there?”

  “I don’t know what’s happening to me—” She screamed at the loud pounding on her front door.

  Spike dashed past her, barking at the commotion at the front of the house. The bell rang, over and over. “Open the damn door!”

  “George?”

  “Hang up the phone and open—”

  Elise was already running down the stairs. “How did you get here so fast?”

  She left her phone on the newel post and attacked the locks. She could hear George shouting through the front window now. “I was parked out front. I volunteered for guard duty tonight.” She flung open the door and he marched inside. “What’s going on?”

  “I don’t know.” Elise walked straight into his chest. Circling her arms beneath his jacket, she burrowed her cheek into his shoulder and held on tight to his familiar, welcome strength. His chin settled at the crown of her hair and his arms folded around her, pulling her snug against his hardness and heat, absorbing every shaking molecule of her body.

  “I was on the phone, recruiting some backup to help keep an eye on things, or I would have answered your call sooner.”

  “Just shut up and hold me.”

  “I am holding you.” His fingers tunneled into her hair. The buttons of his shirt crushed into her skin beneath her dress. And still, she snuggled closer. “Honey, you need to talk to me.”

  “In the kitchen.” She felt his body shift and she curled her fingers into the back of his shirt, keeping him with her. “He sent me a letter. He said he loves me.”

  “Who?”

  “I don’t know.” She sniffed back a silent sob. “That’s not all. When he was in my bedroom...there is something missing. Nothing significant. I didn’t even notice it at first.”

  A curse grumbled through his chest. “Tell me.”

  Elise felt so chilled and dizzy, she didn’t think she’d still be standing if George’s arms weren’t around her.

&nbs
p; “He stole a pair of my panties.”

  Chapter Five

  “I’m not asking you to do this.”

  The tremulous pulse along Elise’s pale jawline sent George a different message. This gas lighting campaign was taking a toll on her. “You think this is going to go away on its own?”

  She’d had sixteen messages on her answering machine by the time she got around to listening to it last night. All untraceable, all saying the same thing in a breathy, toneless, increasingly drunk or distressed voice. “I love you.” Sixteen times. Sixteen counts of harassment at the very least.

  No, this wasn’t going away on its own.

  “But to get other people involved when we’re already blurring the lines between work and—”

  “It’s not up for debate, Elise. Something needs to be done.”

  Unsure whether those tired eyes were flashing anger, fear or annoyance at his peremptory end to her subtle warning reminders, George braced his fists on the sill of his office window and looked up into the clear blue sky. Not even ten in the morning and the sun was already cooking the city.

  But as this blast of summer neared its breaking point, Mother Nature was already showing signs of her temper with some pretty violent weather. From Oklahoma up the state line into northeast Missouri, they’d already had three tornado watches in the past two weeks. Torrential rains out west had caused flash flooding and runoff that was filling up rivers and streams that had been dry arroyos through years of drought, and now all that extra water and debris was flowing into the Missouri River. The Missouri, in turn, cut through the middle of K.C., bringing humidity to the city, drawing nightly lightning storms like a magnet, taunting them with the promise of rain that dried up before it ever reached the parched earth. Something bad was brewing in the heart of the Midwest. It was going to hit them hard.

  And George had a feeling that Kansas City was going to be smack-dab in the middle of whatever was coming. Despite the stress of the past few weeks, he trusted that KCPD, other first responders and the citizens of K.C. themselves, would rise to the occasion to get through the coming crisis.

  A storm was already brewing in his executive assistant’s life. And whatever Elise Brown had to deal with, he was dealing with it, too. She was his right hand, the smiling face who greeted him every morning, the patience and caring that tempered his worst days and made the high-pressure issues he had to deal with seem practically routine. And because he needed her, he needed to do this for her.

  Protect the city. Protect the department. Protect the office. Protect her.

  George glanced over at the brunette waiting dutifully beside his desk and wished to hell he could do even more to ease the tension that kept her smile flatlined and her posture ramrod straight this morning. “Put the call on speakerphone. We all need to hear this. If you think it’ll be too much for you, you don’t have to stay.”

  “I’m staying.” With a quick breath that sounded as if she was gearing up for battle, Elise punched the flashing button on his phone and placed the receiver in its cradle to make the conference call happen. “Dr. Kilpatrick? Elise Brown here again. I have the deputy commissioner here, as well as Detective Nick Fensom and his wife, CSI Annie Fensom.”

  George turned back to the room, nodding his thanks to his nephew and niece-in-law for answering his early morning call for a little off-the-record help. The woman on the phone was a friend who worked as a departmental psychologist and criminal profiler for KCPD. “I’m here, Elise. Good morning, George. And I know Nick and Annie well. We worked together on the Rose Red Rapist task force.”

  Nick looked like the detective George had once been, with his badge hanging around his neck over his black T-shirt and his sidearm holstered to the belt of his jeans. “Mornin’, Dr. Kate.” He reached across the space between the two guest chairs and batted at one of his wife’s dark brown curls, pulling her attention from the taunting love letter she’d been studying. “Annie says ‘hi,’ too.”

  “Engrossed in some piece of evidence, I imagine,” Kate teased.

  Annie’s cheeks dotted with embarrassment before she returned the paper and envelope back to the plastic bag George had sealed it in and peeled off her examination gloves. “Yes, ma’am. Good morning.”

  George’s chest expanded with an impatient sigh. Enough pleasantries. “Kate, did you get a chance to read a copy of the note I had Elise fax you this morning?”

  “I did.” Understanding the urgency of the situation surrounding Elise, the police psychologist got down to the business of offering the professional evaluation George had asked for. “One anonymous letter isn’t much to go on. But with the gifts and break-in that you mentioned, and the fact that he took a souvenir, it’s creating a disturbing pattern. I can give you a general idea of the type of man who may be behind it.”

  Kate Kilpatrick’s clinical description of recent events seemed to hit Elise like a blow to the midsection. As she hugged her waist, George rolled his chair around the desk to her. When the stubborn thing wouldn’t sit immediately, George touched her elbow. Damn. The stalwart facade and show of independence were costing her. But as soon as he rubbed his hand up her arm to instill some warmth into her chilled skin, she pulled away from even that impersonal contact and sat.

  “I didn’t realize there was more than one kind of stalker.” Elise picked up her laptop from the desk and set it on her lap, opening a file to take notes or doodle or busy herself with whatever it was she suddenly needed to do besides interact with him.

  “Yes, there is,” Kate replied, probably unaware of the tension on this end of the call.

  But Nick’s raised eyebrow and glance toward Elise told George that his nephew seemed to think there might be something more prompting this meeting than protecting one of the department’s professional assets.

  Ignoring his nephew’s curious perusal, George folded his arms across his chest and sat on the front edge of his desk. “So what did the note tell you about this guy, Kate?”

  “The I’s the sender uses in every sentence could indicate an egocentric dysfunction,” the psychologist said. “That means the sender lacks an objective perspective of the world around him.”

  “Explain,” George said.

  “He probably functions reasonably well in society—he can hold a job and have relationships. But he projects his feelings and values onto others, and assumes they think and feel the same way.”

  “Sounds pretty arrogant,” Nick commented.

  “Most psychopaths typically are.”

  “Psychopath?” Elise murmured. Her fingers stilled over her laptop keys. “How would I attract a psychopath?”

  George curled his hands into fists, quelling the urge to push past the distance and decorum Elise had insisted upon in the light of day, and go to her. “Bottom line, Kate. Is a perp who fits this profile dangerous?”

  Her lengthy pause wasn’t terribly reassuring. “He may see disagreement as a personal insult—even as an attack. And that could make him angry.”

  Nick grunted a curse that matched his own. “Let me guess, he takes that anger out on the target of his affection?”

  “It’s possible,” Dr. Kilpatrick agreed. “With a lesser degree of dysfunction, he’d probably simply turn his attention to someone else who feeds his ego. But if this guy has become obsessed with a particular target, then yes, he could definitely be a threat if he feels she’s disrespecting him or cheating on him.”

  “Cheating?” Elise’s voice was stronger.

  “Yes. Take a married woman, for example, if he was fixated on her, then he’d see her normal relationship with her husband as cheating. He’d want to punish her for that perceived betrayal.”

  “Oh, my God.”

  Exactly what he’d been afraid of. George pushed away from his desk. He was good enough at pulling the right people together to get a
job done, but physically protecting Elise would require a different strategy. “Thanks, Kate. I appreciate the input.”

  “Before you hang up...” George paused with his hand over the phone. He’d been ready to do just that. “Elise is your assistant, isn’t she?”

  George stuffed his hand into the pocket of his tan slacks. “She is.”

  “Not to throw a wrench into your fact-finding meeting, but have you considered the possibility that your perp may be a copycat? This is pretty textbook stuff thus far—I’ve discussed this same unsub profile in classes I’ve taught at the university. Heck, you can read it online if you know what to look for.” Dr. Kilpatrick was as thorough at her job as he’d hired her to be. “Think about your office, George. This perp could be targeting Elise as a means to get to you.”

  Elise’s gaze shot up to his. “I would never—”

  “I’ve considered it.” George silenced the protest Elise had made more than once the night before. Whatever her ex-boyfriend Nikolai Titov had done to screw with her head to gain access to Gallagher Security Systems info, the damage he’d done to Elise’s self-assurance was unforgivable. He didn’t doubt her loyalty to him or KCPD for one moment. But the thought that Elise believed she was so weak willed that she’d betray him or the sensitive information in this office bothered him more than the fear of an unknown stalker that raised goose bumps along her soft skin. “We’re still in the process of gathering facts to see if we need to launch an investigation. Thanks, Kate.”

  “Anytime. Stay safe, Miss Brown. Goodbye, everyone.”

  With Elise’s distracted focus turned down to the screen of her laptop, George reached across the desk to disconnect the call himself.

  The shadows under her pretty blue eyes indicated the restless sleep she’d had. Even though George had spent the night on the couch in the construction zone of her living room to offer some degree of security, and she’d had that pint-size guard dog upstairs to keep her company, Elise’s bed had rattled overhead as she’d tossed and turned. And when she couldn’t fight her troubled thoughts any longer, she’d gotten up and turned on lights and spent an hour or more opening closets and drawers and moving things around in muffled noises that sounded suspiciously like cleaning house...or taking inventory to make sure nothing else had been touched or taken by the intruder.