by Julie Miller
“Of course, with new security regulations, everyone working the event will need to be screened,” Ms. Darnell explained. “Now all of you have worked with us before or have come highly recommended to us by other agencies. Still, since this is a police-sponsored event, we’re requiring two forms of ID. Your driver’s license and a student ID card or work permit, or even a copy of your local utility bill, will work. Rest assured, none of this information will be disseminated beyond my immediate staff and the KCPD. Make sure you meet with Jeffrey and get a copy made before you leave today.” Clarice pointed to her assistant, who held up his hand and waved to the thirty or so men and women their firm was hiring for the event. “The second form is a health affidavit we’re asking everyone to…”
Josie picked up the papers to find the form Clarice had referred to, but ended up knocking one to the floor as she sorted through them. With a weary sigh, she scooted to the edge of the chair and adjusted her belly between her thighs so she could lean over and pick it up.
But another hand reached it first. “Allow me.”
The man sitting closest to her, “Bud,” according to the name embroidered on his gray canvas uniform jacket, scooped the paper up. He leaned over the chair between them, giving her a good whiff of the cigarette smoke clinging to his clothes, as he returned the paper to her. “Are you going to be able to handle this workload, darlin’?” he whispered, his gaze dropping to the bump thrusting against the cotton of her hospital scrubs.
Although the acrid smell radiating from him tickled her nose and made her stomach do a queasy little roll, Josie appreciated the help. “Thanks.”
Bud turned his face back to the speaker, but leaned in her direction and continued the hushed conversation. “I’d be happy to stick close and do any heavy lifting you might need done.”
Josie rubbed her belly and whispered back. “I’m pregnant, not an invalid. I’ve always been able to handle the job I was hired to do.”
“Ah, an independent woman. Single mama, I bet. I’m just sayin’ it’s good to look out for each other, right?” She’d hoped a nod to the front of the room would encourage him to refocus his attention, but now he was pointing out her scrubs. “You work at a hospital?”
“I’m a nursing student. I’ll get my R.N. degree at the end of the summer.”
“So this menial kind of work is beneath you. It’s just how you pay for the important stuff.”
Josie bristled at the idea that she, of all people, might be looked at as a snob. “I’ve never been afraid of hard work.”
“Then let’s make it a tradeoff. Because I think you and I could be friends.” When he turned to face her, she saw he had a toothpick that he kept teasing with his tongue tucked into the corner of his mouth. Her stomach roiled in response to the suggestive movement. “I’ll carry anything heavy for you at this shindig, and if I cut myself, you can stitch me up and kiss my booboo—”
“Bud. I need you to stop flirting and pay attention.” Josie was grateful for Jeffrey Beecher’s hushed tone of authority.
“Was I flirtin’?” Bud asked innocently, looking to the end of the table where Jeffrey stood. “I thought I was being polite to the little lady.”
This guy was just too weird. And though it was impossible to gauge his height when they were sitting, she couldn’t get a good look at his face to see if he reminded her in any way of the man in the hospital parking lot or the killer she’d seen in the prison visitation room. His short, thinning brown hair could easily be masked by a ball cap or a bad toupee. She pulled her gaze from the gross distraction of the toothpick and focused in on his eyes. Were they cold? Colorless?
“You and I can talk later when the boss isn’t—”
“Bud.” Jeffrey Beecher’s sharp tone turned Bud’s face away and ended the opportunity to make a definitive match to the RGK.
Maybe, like she’d suspected of the good Samaritan who’d disappeared after her car had been sabotaged, Bud was just another random creepy guy. Or maybe, she hated to think, she was going to read threats into every conversation she had with strangers who showed a special interest in her.
Still, as she scooted her chair back in, she also moved a little extra distance between them. She turned to Jeffrey Beecher, who was adjusting his narrow, wire-framed glasses on his nose, and mouthed a “Thank you.”
She couldn’t see his eyes with the glare of the overhead lights reflecting off the lenses. But she got the idea from the momentary crinkle in his cheek that he’d winked.
Another form and two site maps later—one for Swope Park and another for a nearby convention center in case the weather for the carnival didn’t cooperate—plus a long wait to get her IDs approved for working the event, and Josie was finally done with the meeting.
“Remember,” Clarice Darnell gave them one last bit of direction before Josie and the other wait staff were dismissed, “we’re doing this for the KCPD Widows & Orphans Fund. So look your best and be your friendliest. We want to raise a lot of money for them.”
While others lingered to get reacquainted or introduce themselves to new coworkers, Josie booked it out of the conference room. She had about thirty minutes to find a restroom and get herself to the south end of the city and her shift at the Truman Medical Center.
She’d barely cleared the corner when she ran into Spencer Montgomery. Even on a Saturday morning, when most detectives were off the clock or in casual dress, the red-haired detective was wearing his usual impeccable suit and tie. The frown of confusion he wore was less familiar.
Saying a quick prayer that her bladder muscles were stronger than the weight of the baby pressing down on them, she let the detective take her by the arm and guide her into an empty hallway. “What are you doing here?” he asked. “Are you looking for me?”
Josie shook her head. “I’m working at the KCPD fundraiser next Saturday. Since you guys are running security screenings on all of us, Ms. Darnell and Mr. Beecher had us meet here.”
“Security screenings?”
“You know, to make sure the city isn’t hiring any terrorists or illegals, I suppose.”
He glanced toward the conference room and the people still milling about inside. “I’d better pull your info—control who has access to your personal information.”
“Won’t that send up a red flag that I’m involved in your case?”
When Montgomery faced her again, she could see he had the faintest dusting of freckles across his skin. “I can be discreet,” he promised. “And everything else is going all right? Delgado informed me about the man at the hospital and the phone call. Have there been any other incidents?”
“Two men assaulted my uncle at the bar, but that was related to some trouble he got into with a loan shark. Other than suspecting almost every man I meet, no, I don’t think I’ve been accosted by the RGK.” She squinched her face into a frown. “At least I don’t think I have. I mean, I’ll recognize him when I see him again, won’t I?”
“You tell me.”
Either Junior and her bladder or her own self doubts and weeks of stress were making her antsy. “Sometimes, I think it’s been so long that I won’t know him when I see him—that maybe I won’t know him at all, and it’ll be too late before I figure it out.”
Detective Montgomery pulled back the front of his jacket, exposing his gun and his badge as he slid his hands into the pockets of his slacks. “Don’t let it be too late, Josie. I’m counting on you to ID this bastard. All of Kansas City is.”
No pressure, right? Josie tipped her chin up at what sounded like a reprimand. “It’s your job to find this guy, right? And then I just look at him from behind a oneway mirror and tell you yes or no?” Her hands moved over her belly in an instinctively protective stance. “You promised to keep my name out of it, right? I have a baby to protect. You wouldn’t leak any information about me to smoke him out, would you?”
“Of course not.” Some of the chill left his expression. The man could be handsome in a polished sort of way if
he ever smiled. “I’m just eager to put this case to bed, and was worried to see you here. I thought Delgado was running security for you.”
“He is.”
“Then why did he let you out of his sight?”
A tall, dark shadow walked up behind Montgomery. “He didn’t.”
Rafe was dressed casually today in jeans and a black shirt. But with his badge hanging around his neck, his gun holstered to his belt and his wary scowl locked firmly into place, he looked as intimidating as he did in full SWAT gear.
Josie was happy to see him, although a little surprised to have him drop his arm around her shoulders and claim a connection to her. “Montgomery.”
“Delgado,” the detective acknowledged without batting an eye. “I don’t know if letting Miss Nichols work at an event with as many people in attendance as the KCPD Carnival will have is a good idea.”
“I know it isn’t.”
“Then why allow—?”
“Hey. First of all, no one lets me do anything,” Josie interrupted, pushing Rafe’s arm away. “I make my own decisions. I’m responsible for my own actions. And one of them is earning a living.” She would not be treated like she was fifteen and still Daddy’s little girl. Nor would she let either of these men make her afraid. “I don’t have the luxury of going on vacation or sitting in a secluded safe house while you find this killer who’s eluded the authorities for two years now. You both promised to keep me anonymous and safe. I’m depending on that. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to find the bathroom.”
Rafe and the red-haired detective both turned to watch her march in her waddling gait down the hall.
She heard Spencer Montgomery ask, “So is she tough enough to see this investigation all the way through to the end?”
“Tough?” She wondered at the humor that colored Rafe’s answer. “You have no idea.”
“JOSIE!” ROBBIE SHOUTED over the din of the bar’s Saturday night crowd. “Telephone!”
“Who the…? Here you go.” Josie set the rum and cola she’d just poured on the bar and took the customer’s money. “Can you take a message?” she asked, making change at the cash register. “Robbie?”
But he’d already set down the receiver near the coffeepot at the back of the bar and returned to the line of patrons waiting to place their orders. His black eye and bruised mouth couldn’t hide his jovial greetings for old friends. He was busy shaking hands, pouring drinks, doing the kind of personal interaction that made the Shamrock such a success.
And, with a huge debt hanging over his head, he needed the bar to continue to thrive. Even though he’d already been to his first two GA meetings, Josie couldn’t help but double-check that there was no money changing hands on those handshakes, no sly asides about sure things at the track or what slots were running hot at one of the local casinos.
With a sigh, she wiped her hands on her apron and picked up the phone. Satisfied that she could let Robbie safely out of her sight for a few seconds, she pulled the cord through the swinging door to take the call in the hallway where the noise from the main room was slightly muted.
She even gave herself permission to sink back against the wall and close her eyes for a few seconds before putting the receiver to her ear. “Hello?”
“Miss me, Josie?” Her eyes popped open and she pushed away from the wall as a familiar voice greeted her with an eerie charm. “I bet you thought I’d forgotten about you.”
“How did you get this number?” Josie latched on to the wall as her world started to sway.
“Please, it’s in the phone book.” He laughed as if it was mere child’s play to find her name, where she worked, track her down and terrorize her. “I don’t want you to think you and the baby are safe. I’ve just been busy. Coming up with a plan, along with several contingencies. Watching you.”
“Watching?” Josie cupped her hand over her belly and looked up and down the back hallway. She was alone, wasn’t she? Her thoughts raced as panic tried to get inside her head. Robbie’s office was dark. The door to the walk-in refrigerator was shut. The back door window had been replaced; the door was closed.
But how could she be certain it was locked from here? She stretched the telephone cord taut, but she couldn’t reach the door’s push bar to check. She jerked her gaze back to Robbie’s office. What if someone was lurking in the shadows there? Her pulse was pounding now, throbbing beneath her collar. Where was Jake Lonergan? The man hadn’t said ten words to her since she’d introduced herself last weekend. And he had a penchant for ball caps and hiding his eyes, just like the vanishing man at the hospital.
“Josie.” The voice on the phone made a tutting sound, as if any concern he felt for her was real. “I can hear you breathing harder, faster.”
“Shut up,” she said. He laughed. She inched her way back to the wall, toward the noise from the bar. “You don’t scare me,” she lied with a bravado she didn’t feel. “I’ve seen your face. I told the police everything about you.”
“That’s not a very nice way to speak to me.” His tone changed, losing its mocking politeness. It deepened, grew impatient. “I know you’re alone in the back hallway, you stupid woman. You should be nicer when it’s just you and me. And the baby.”
The blood froze in Josie’s veins. “What?”
He was here.
Watching. I know you’re alone.
“Now that’s an idea.” The burst of temper had passed. The cool tones that followed were even more disturbing. “I could ensure your cooperation permanently if I took the baby from you. You’d do whatever I say then, wouldn’t you? I wouldn’t have to sully my hands around your throat.”
You’re not alone.
Rafe.
Suddenly, her heart pumped with a vengeance, pouring energy into every limb, clearing a path through the fear. She pushed open the swinging door to the assault of sound and lights inside the bar. She looked past Robbie’s broad back and searched the entire bar. Tables were full. Every bar stool was taken. Robbie and Enrico were filling drinks. There were so many people, so many faces. Her eyes went to every ball cap, searched out every face.
Spencer Montgomery and his partner were nowhere to be seen. People were calling out drink orders, shooting pool, flirting with the waitresses, laughing. And she still hadn’t spotted Jake Lonergan.
Or those eyes.
Her gaze stopped on every man who held a phone to his ear. Where was he? Who was watching her?
And then, a tunnel cleared through all the chaos and she locked on to a pair of warm, whiskey-brown eyes. Rafe stood at the table where the rest of SWAT Team One sat. He was watching her, reading her distress. The panther-like energy in him furled up, then uncoiled as he strode across the room. His eyes never left hers and she began to shake. From fear? Anticipation? Relief? Rafe nudged aside a waitress at the end of the bar, braced his hand on either side of the station and vaulted over the top of the bar.
Surprised comments and shouts of concern faded into white noise as the voice whispered its vile threats in her ear. “…is too much fun. But I’m waiting for the right moment. It will come. I promise you, it’s only a matter of time before I—”
Rafe snatched the receiver from her hand. “Who the hell is this?” he demanded. His arm circled around her and tucked her against the unyielding strength of his body. “You coward. You can’t get to her, understand? You show your face and…damn it.” Josie heard the click herself as the caller disconnected. Rafe hung up the phone, spared half a second to assess their surroundings, then pushed open the swinging door and pulled her into the quiet of the hallway with him.
Josie instinctively pushed away. “No. He said he could see me back here.”
“Shh. You’re safe.” She could feel Rafe moving, turning, no doubt peering into every nook and shadow, even as he overpowered her stiff arms and pulled her into his chest. The fear and panic whooshed out in a breathy sigh that left her knees weak and Josie willingly leaned against him, curling her fingers into the starchy
crispness of his black cotton shirt. On duty or off, the man radiated an abundance of heat that beckoned her to align her misshapen body tightly against his to absorb the energy and comfort he offered. Rafe didn’t seem to mind, palming the back of her head and turning her cheek into the V of skin at the open collar of his shirt. Josie wound her arms around his waist and nestled beneath his chin. “You’re safe.”
But the reprieve was far too short. The door swung open again and again, startling her each time until she gave up her haven and turned to face the men filing into the hallway.
“Sarge?”
“Is she all right?”
“What’s up?”
“Talk to me.”
In a matter of seconds, Josie was surrounded by her Uncle Robbie and the circle of SWAT Team One.
“What the hell is going on here?” Robbie protested. “Jumping over me bar like some kind of—”
Rafe raised his head and her uncle fell silent.
For a moment. Then Robbie’s thick fingers lightly tapped her arm. “Girlie, what’s wrong?”
But Rafe’s captain, Michael Cutler, knew. “The RGK?”
Rafe nodded. “He called her again. Now that he can’t get to her at her apartment, he’s harassing her here.”
“RGK?” Robbie repeated. “The Rich Girl Killer? The man in all the papers? What does Josie have to do with all that?”
Rafe dropped his arm behind her back, linking her to him, looking down over the jut of his shoulder at her. “What did he say to you?”
“That he’s watching me.” Josie tipped her head back to meet his shrouded gaze, then turned to include the others. “He knew I was alone in the back hallway.”
Rafe’s fingers pinched the side of her waist as he slipped into SWAT cop mode. He pointed to Alex Taylor and Randy Murdock, gesturing them toward the back door. “Fan out. I want this building searched roof to cellar, inside and out.” Then he looked up at Trip Jones. One by one, they were all checking guns, moving their badges to visible locations at their waist or shirt pocket. “We need to shut this bar down.”
