by Julie Miller
Rain would be a welcome respite after so many days of record-setting heat. But the yawning moans from the thick branches of her elm trees catching the wind warned her that it wasn’t any gentle, reviving rain headed their way.
“Do your business fast, sweetie,” she said as another, cooler gust rippled through her baggy paint shirt.
Retreating from the gusting breeze, Elise stepped back inside and locked the door behind her. She jogged up the stairs and turned on the radio in her bedroom, cranking the volume to hear the weather report while she gathered sheets from the linen closet and went into the room next to hers to make up the bed.
“...tornado watch until 1:00 a.m.” The announcer talked about cold fronts pushing high pressure systems out of the area as well as other scientific data. Elise attuned her ears to the most pertinent information. “...80 percent chance of rain tonight...possibility of severe weather tomorrow.”
Elise turned on the ceiling fan to draw cooler air from the window air conditioners. By the time she’d fluffed the last pillow and set out a fresh towel for George, the announcer had moved into his public service announcement spiel. “The city power district and emergency response teams recommend stocking up on batteries, flashlights, portable lanterns and other supplies. In the event of a tornado, go to your basement or to the innermost, windowless room—”
Elise shut off the radio and headed back down to let Spike in. Having grown up in the Midwest, she knew the safety procedures by heart. As she passed the archway at the bottom of the stairs, she looked in to see George pacing beside her desk, on his cell phone again. Judging by the snippets of conversation on his end, he knew about the coming storm, too, and was verifying that KCPD’s emergency teams would be ready to respond if needed.
When he paused midconversation to make eye contact, she pointed down the hallway to the back door, indicating her destination. With a nod, he returned to his conversation and Elise smiled. The people of Kansas City were in better hands than they knew with men like George Madigan in charge of their safety. She was lucky that he’d made it his personal mission to keep her safe, too.
Knowing he had everything he needed to do his job, just like at the office, Elise left him to his work.
This time, she braced herself for the wind when she opened the back door and whistled. “Spike? Come on in, boy.”
Lightning flashed in the clouds overhead, lighting up the backyard for a split second. She waited in the doorway for several seconds before whistling again. “Here, boy!”
Thunder rumbled in ominous portent of the coming storm. “Spike?”
Normally, the dog ran in as soon as she called, anxious to be rewarded with a treat or a tummy rub. Maybe the wind was carrying her voice away from him. But that’s what those sharp ears were for, weren’t they? “Spike? I’ve got a treat.”
Lightning strobed within the clouds, briefly illuminating the trail of tiny red paw prints crossing back and forth across the deck. Elise shivered with the answering thunder. Where was the dog? “Spike!”
She ran to the railing and peered into the shadows beyond the deck. She heard a snuffling noise off to her right and caught a glimpse of movement beneath the spirea bushes. “Spike?”
Elise hurried off the deck. “Sweetie, are you okay?”
The dog was digging furiously in the dirt. She dropped to her knees and reached beneath the bushes. She slipped her palm beneath his chest, intending to lift him away from the prize he was burying. But when she touched his warm belly, she felt something wet and sticky in his hair. “Sweetie?”
She pulled back her hand. The lightning flashed.
Blood.
Elise screamed.
Throwing herself belly down in the grass, she reached beneath the bush to grab her beloved pet and pull him into her arms.
“Elise!”
She heard loud steps on the deck behind her. Elise rolled onto her bottom, cradling Spike in her arms, stroking his back, checking every limb. He scooted up her chest to lick her chin. His heart thumped rapidly beneath her hands. But there was enough blood to turn his black coat a muddy brown. “Sweetie, what happened? Where are you hurt?”
“Elise? Damn it. I told you not to go outside.” She saw the silhouette of a man with a gun in her peripheral vision and instantly recoiled. A light swept through the backyard, but the bright beam settled on the bundle in her arms and George was kneeling beside her. “What happened?”
Recognizing their savior, she grabbed a handful of George’s T-shirt and pulled him closer, leaving a red handprint on the cotton, and probably one on her own cheek, too, as she wiped away tears. “We have to help him. That creep’s done something to Spike. There’s so much blood.”
George tucked the gun into the back of his belt and cupped his hand beneath her elbow to help her stand. “Come on. We have to get you back in the house. Wait a minute.” He swung the flashlight to the ground and went down on one knee. He pulled a crumpled piece of paper from the dirt where Spike had been burying it. “What the hell?”
Elise tugged on George’s belt. “Hurry. We have to get him to the vet.”
“Right. Inside.” With the first drops of rain pelting them, they ran back into the house.
Elise went straight to the kitchen, snatching her purse off the counter and heading for the front door. “Can you drive? You’re parked behind me.”
“Elise, wait.” George met her in the foyer, pushing the door she’d just opened shut and turning on the light overhead.
She reached for the knob, but George blocked her path. “Damn it, George, he could go into shock.”
He swiped a finger across the stain on his shirt, then touched it to his tongue and spat it out. “Let me see the dog.”
“Fine. I’ll drive.” She gently lay Spike in George’s arms and pulled out her keys. But he still wouldn’t budge.
“He’s not hurt. It’s red paint. Like your front door. Honey, it’s paint. He’s fine.” Spike braced his front paw on George’s chest, leaving two more prints. George pulled each leg up and squeezed his paws. There was no squeal of pain, no sign of lethargy, no visible wounds. “See? Just four dirty paws in need of a bath.”
“I don’t understand.” She dropped her purse on the floor and swept her hands over the dog, petting, double-checking. Elise’s world rocked on its axis. She’d been so certain Spike was hurt, so devastated that the man from the Plaza had abused her pet, maybe even tried to kill her most loyal friend. But now it was some kind of sick joke? “How did he get into the paint? I keep it in the garage when I’m not using it. And I haven’t had the red out for months.” She pulled a torn shred of paper from the clasp on Spike’s collar. “What’s this?”
George folded his hand around hers, heedless of the paint they were transferring. “I need you to sit down.”
“Why?” She looked up into George’s eyes. Lightning flashed through the windows behind him, and he didn’t so much as blink. He knew something. “What is it? Did he do this to Spike? Was he here?”
He nodded toward the stairs. “Sit.”
“No. Tell me.” She saw the dusty piece of paper stuffed into the front pocket of his jeans. Elise pulled it out before he guessed her intent.
“Elise.”
“This was attached to Spike’s collar.” The torn scrap in her hand fit the missing corner of the paper the dog had been burying in the yard. She read the note. Elise’s world swayed and George’s strong hand guided her to the stairs where he sank down beside her on the second step. The last bit of fight left in her surrendered.
Next time, the blood will be real. You should have listened to me. I don’t want to hurt you or the things you love, but I need you to understand how much you hurt me. I saw you kiss him. I can forgive you a second time. But never again. You and I have something special. Once we are together, I’ll make you understand.<
br />
I Love You, Elise.
A boom of lightning shook the walls, but she barely heard it. “Here.” She pushed the note into George’s hand. “This is evidence. You’ll need to give it to your nephew. I assume you’ll be calling him.”
“Elise?”
She had nothing left. No energy. No hope. No fear. No memory of love or happiness or relief or regret. There was work to do and responsibilities to manage. But she felt...nothing.
She scooped Spike from George’s arms and hugged him against her chest. “Give him to me. I’ll go start a bath.”
* * *
GEORGE STOOD IN the darkness on the second-floor landing, looking through the doorway into Elise’s bedroom to watch her sleep. Or try to, at least.
She’d left the lamp on beside her bed and was dozing in fitful starts on top of the quilt, touching the dog, who rested against the curve of her stomach, each time she awoke. Even the storm that cocooned the house in a steady drumbeat of rain and cooled the humid temperatures to a tolerable level couldn’t coax her into a restful slumber.
He wasn’t in much better shape. It was tearing him up inside to see her like this—a pale, numbed automaton who couldn’t even dredge up a smile for the spoiled mutt she loved so much.
George had changed into the button-down shirt he’d worn earlier in the day and tossed his paint-stained T-shirt into a plastic bag in case there was any useful evidence on it the department could use. He scraped his palm over the stubble of his late-night beard, masking a weary sigh before turning to his nephew. “Has the storm washed away any chance of finding this bastard?”
“There’s no trail to follow. No cars in the neighborhood that don’t belong here.” Although he’d hung his KCPD rain slicker on the hook inside Elise’s back door to dry, Nick’s wet hair was slicked to his scalp and dripping tiny dark circles on the shoulders of his black T-shirt. “I bagged the paint can I found under the bushes. It’s the same brand as the others in the garage.”
George suspected as much. “He probably took that, too, when he broke in before.”
“I’ll have Annie check the can and the letter at the lab.” Like George’s, Nick’s voice was barely more than a whisper. “There were depressions in the grass that looked like shoe prints—bigger than mine. Looks like he came into the yard through the side gate.” Nick tucked his phone back into the pocket of his jeans. “I took a picture of the shoe prints, but anything else out there is a puddle of mud now. He probably lured the dog out to him with the treats we found underneath those white-flowered bushes, then attached the note to his collar and dumped the paint on him to freak her out.”
“It worked. She’s exhausted, but she wouldn’t take a sedative.” Elise was lying in there in the same baggy paint shirt and cutoff shorts she’d had on earlier. Spike had been thoroughly bathed and was drying off on her clothes and quilt top. “She just wants to hold the dog.”
Nick squeezed a hand over George’s shoulder. “Well, then you try to get some rest. I’m parked out front. I’ll keep an eye on things for a while. I called Spencer, too.” Nick’s partner had just been promoted to lieutenant and would probably be moving into more administrative duties like George soon. But until then, he couldn’t think of two better detectives to back him up on any case. “Spence is going to track down where Alexsandr Titov and Westbrook have been this evening. He’s coming over after that, too, to help keep an eye on things. We’ll make sure nothing else happens tonight.”
“Thanks, Nick.” George tore his watchful gaze away from Elise long enough to give his nephew a hug. “Tell Spencer thanks, too.”
After patting each other’s backs, Nick pulled away. “Spence asked me why you didn’t call him in sooner. He thinks of you like family and would have volunteered his time on this investigation in a heartbeat.”
George shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans and nodded. “I know. At first I was trying to respect Elise’s request to stay out of it. When I realized I had to get involved, that I was losing her to these mind games, I knew we were short staffed and I couldn’t assign anyone to an unofficial case—not with tempers so high around the department and money so tight.” His shoulders lifted with a weary sigh. “And maybe part of me wanted to see if I could still be the cop I needed to be without calling in any favors at all.”
“I don’t see you missing a beat, old man. The evidence we’ve got against this guy is starting to stack up. Terroristic threats, attempted kidnapping, burglary. All we need is the perp to match that DNA to, and you can put this guy away for a long time.”
George grunted a wry laugh. “All we need...”
Another beat of silence passed. “You want to tell me again how this isn’t personal for you?”
George glanced down at the young detective beside him. Maybe not so young anymore, because Nick’s instincts were right on target. “It’s personal.”
After a decisive nod, Nick headed down the stairs like a man on a mission, disappearing into the darkness of the house’s first floor. A few seconds later, George heard the downpour of rain and rumbles of thunder when the front door opened and locked again, leaving him and Elise alone in the house.
George stood there in the shadows several seconds longer, absorbing the quiet of the rain and the night, letting Mother Nature’s healing power seep into his blood and smooth the rough edges of his protective anger before he moved to stand in Elise’s doorway. From the bandages on her bare toes to the waves of dark hair that had kinked up with the rain and fanned over the pillow behind her head, Elise Brown was a thing of beauty. He’d probably been half in love with her for a long time. But the rules and regulations had never let him think of her as anything more than the woman his office couldn’t live without.
Now he was trying to resolve himself to the fact that he, the man, couldn’t live without her, either.
“I could hear you out there, talking.” Elise’s voice was soft, but not drowsy. Still, she never lifted her head from the pillow. “Is Nick going to stay?”
George stepped into the room, winking to the dog when he raised his head. Spike settled right back down against Elise, as if the dog was smart enough to know what the reassurance meant, or he was simply that comfortable with having George around. “He’s parked out front. He and his partner will watch the house tonight.”
“Good. I hope you can get some sleep, then.”
She still had her back to him, but George wasn’t making any secret of his intent. He untied his shoes and toed them off. “Neither one of us can afford another night without much sleep.”
“I know.”
He unhooked his belt and removed his gun and badge, setting them all on the table beside her bed before turning off the lamp.
“I’m not sleeping next door, Elise.” He sat on the edge of the bed, resting his palm on the curve of her hip. The fact that she didn’t startle at his touch spoke to her fatigue. Or maybe to something else.
“I don’t want you that far away. I need you to stay.”
“I need to stay,” he echoed in unison.
At last, she rolled onto her back and looked at him. In the flashes of light from the storm outside, he could see the crystallized remnants of tears that had dried on her skin. “Don’t be my boss tonight, okay? Just be George Madigan.”
With a nod, he lay down beside her on top of the quilt. She turned onto her side and he circled his arm around her waist, pulling her close, spooning her back against his chest. Her bottom nestled against his groin and their legs tangled together. George found a comfortable spot for his head on her pillow, and wrapped both Elise and her dog in his arms.
A shared sigh of rightness, of finally being where they needed to be, merged them tightly together, with only the clothes they wore keeping them apart. “I want to fight this guy, George,” Elise whispered. “But I don’t know if I’m strong enough.
”
“Tomorrow you will be. We’ll both be strong enough.”
George kissed her neck, then buried his nose in the silk of her hair and let sleep claim them both.
Chapter Nine
Elise pushed her hair off her face and opened her eyes to the sunshine glowing behind the curtains on her windows. The deep, dreamless sleep was hard to shake off, and it took her a few moments to orient herself.
Her bedroom.
The sun was up.
Rain stopped.
Heat wave had returned.
Her arms were empty.
Instantly waking to full alertness, she patted the bed beside her. “Spike?”
“Shh. He’s okay.”
When she tried to roll over, the vise around her waist anchored her in place. But the deep whisper against her ear was clear—as was the explanation for her body being so toasty warm.
“Don’t worry.” George’s lips stirred the hair at her nape. His husky morning voice hummed into her ear. “Nick is walking him outside. I had him give Spike some fresh water and food, too.”
Spike was okay. She could drift back to sleep.
Or not.
Was there a cell in her body that wasn’t suddenly aware of the man holding her?
George was spooned against her back. She could feel his chest pushing into her with every breath. She felt soft denim against the bare skin of her leg, his muscular thigh draped over both of hers, their toes touching.
