by Julie Miller
Tonight, he’d sit, wait, watch and make sure Bailey Austin got that good night’s sleep.
Spencer squared himself in the seat so he had a clear view of both exterior doors and Bailey’s bedroom window. He was cold, tired, wearing the same clothes he’d put on that morning and his legs were too damn long for this kind of stakeout.
But it was the only way he would find any peace.
* * *
SPENCER CRACKED ONE eye open as the hazy white ball of sunrise cleared the horizon and transformed the world outside his car into a glistening crystal wonderland.
He briefly considered polishing off the dregs of the ice-cold coffee in the Suburban’s cup holder, then decided he wasn’t quite that miserable. Instead, he stretched the kinks out of his neck and shoulders and checked his watch. He had to report for his shift in a couple of hours, so the twenty minutes he’d lost dozing in the SUV were going to have to suffice for a night’s sleep. Nodding off on a stakeout also provided more evidence that he wasn’t cut out for security work anymore, either.
He’d driven over here on a whim last night, trying to make amends for a past mistake he could never truly rectify. And this is what he had to show for it—nasty coffee, bleary eyes and a cramp in his right calf that just wouldn’t quit.
A quick glance across the street showed a light shining behind the blinds in Bailey’s bedroom window. He’d missed when that had come on. She was probably eager to get an early start on whatever meaningful activities she had planned. He wondered how she intended to make a difference in the world today—another job interview? Helping her mother with the fund-raiser?
Spencer pulled off his glove and rubbed his hand over his stubbled face and jaw, wiping off the grin forming there. Maybe Bailey’s fears about the threats she’d received or a nightmare with Brian Elliott’s face in it had kept her from sleeping through the night. She might be in there pacing, worrying, wondering who she could call at this time of morning.
“Ah, sweetheart,” he murmured on a heavy sigh that fogged up the side window.
It took him a second to realize he’d placed his hand over his heart, above the chest pocket where he’d stowed his cell phone. “Smooth, Montgomery,” he chided himself. Boy, did he need some real shut-eye—his thoughts weren’t making any sense. Wishing for a call from Bailey was asking for trouble. Spencer sat up as straight as he could and flexed his leg while he wiped the frosty moisture of his breath from the cold glass.
That’s when he saw the man jiggling the handle on the building’s side door. Black pants, black parka, black stocking cap on top of his head—built on the heavy side and stuck without a key to get in, judging by the way he tugged on the latch and peeked through the windows on either side of the door.
Spencer slid his hand inside his jacket to retrieve his phone to call it in. But what would he report? A resident locked himself out of the building? Maybe that was the maintenance guy who’d come out to shovel sidewalks and had forgotten his key card.
He needed to wait. Observe. Make the right decision.
After a furtive look to his right and left and the parking lot behind him, the man trudged through the knee-deep snow to the front sidewalk. He tried the same routine on the front door, twisting the handle and peeking in.
Suspicion fueled the heat traveling through Spencer’s veins. He unbuttoned his coat and clipped his badge onto his outside pocket while he watched. He pulled back the edge of his jacket to have clear access to his gun and snugged his gloves into place around his fingers while his gaze trailed the man’s movements around the building.
When the man gave up on easy entry at the front door, he lifted the hem of his parka. Spencer’s left fingers curled around the door handle when he spotted the tan leather case attached to the man’s belt. Could be a carrier for a cell phone, could be the bottom edge of a holster or sheath for a knife.
Spencer pulled the handle and inched the SUV’s door open, acclimating himself to the bracing temperature outside. A quick scan up and down the street revealed no traffic, no one moving in the parking lot, no one even out to snow-blow their driveways or throw down some sidewalk salt yet. Just a lone man in a parka, possibly armed, his face half-obscured by a pair of wraparound sunglasses, prowling outside Bailey’s apartment building.
The man pulled down his jacket without retrieving anything from his belt. Had he sensed Spencer’s presence? Did he know he was being watched?
He was scanning the sidewalks and street now, too. But Spencer held himself still enough that the man’s attention never settled on the black Suburban and the cop watching him. As if deciding the coast was clear, the man suddenly jumped off the front steps into the snow and jogged past the first window. When he moved, Spencer moved. Spencer dashed across the street and crouched down beside a parked car, pulling his gun to cradle it between his hands, controlling his breath so a big cloud wouldn’t give away his location in the frigid morning air. He peered through the windows to keep an eye on Mr. Suspicious.
The guy with the sunglasses stopped at the bottom of the fire escape and kicked aside several layers of snow, clearing a space before jumping up to capture the bottom rung of the fire-escape ladder. After one more quick look around him, he pulled the ladder down and put his boot on the first rung.
Spencer was around the car in a flash. He leaped over the slush piled at the curb and broke through the top crust of frozen snow as he crossed the yard, impervious to the cold seeping into his feet and legs as he ran straight for the intruder.
“KCPD! Put your hands on top of your head!”
“What?” The man hopped to the ground and turned.
Spencer braced his feet and aimed his Glock. “Hands up!”
“Put the gun down, man.” Instead of obeying the command, the man lifted the hem of his coat.
“Hands!” Spencer didn’t give him a second chance. Time to move. “Face the wall.”
“There’s been a mistake, Officer.” The guy raised one arm, but the other was moving toward his parka again. “I’m reaching for my ID.”
“Yeah?” The man was younger and bulkier than Spencer, but not as tall or quick. Spencer spun him and shoved him against the brown bricks, pressing his Glock at the base of the perp’s neck to keep him in place while Spencer quickly patted him down. Cell phone. Belt buckle. Ah, hell. Mistake, my ass. Spencer unsnapped the holster he’d spotted earlier and pulled a gun from the guy’s belt. “You sure you’re not reaching for this?”
Although the man was smart enough to keep his hands on the wall, he didn’t give up the fight. “I’ve got a permit for that Sig Sauer. I’m a security guard. ID’s in my front right pocket. I’m familiarizing myself with the building, making sure it’s locked up tight.”
After tucking the Sig Sauer into his own belt, Spencer pulled the intruder’s hands behind his back and cuffed him. Only then did he holster his own weapon and pull his prisoner from the wall. “A guard who carries an FBI-grade weapon and doesn’t know his own building? Is that why you were climbing up to the second floor to break in?”
“I wasn’t breaking— Hey!”
The so-called security guard swore when Spencer took off his sunglasses and pushed up the edge of his stocking cap. Brown eyes. Brown hair. He fit the vague description of the man who’d delivered Bailey’s package yesterday. “Is this your first time here—” he read the name on the ID he pulled from his pocket “—Mr. Duncan?”
“You can read what it says, can’t you? Zeiss Security? Max Duncan?” The dark-haired man tried a taunting glare that might have worked on someone else. Spencer wasn’t in the mood. “I’m legit. Now unlock these things.”
“You didn’t answer my question.” Spencer stuck the ID back into Duncan’s parka. If Duncan was his name. Annie Hermann had nearly been killed by a man working for The Cleaner, a man who’d been impersonating a police officer to gain a
ccess to one of the Rose Red Rapist’s crime scenes. He wasn’t taking a chance on being fooled twice by the same M.O. He pushed the alleged Max Duncan through the snow to the front door. “I don’t know you, pal. Until I get some answers I like, I don’t care who that billfold says you are.”
Max jerked his arm from Spencer’s grip and climbed the front steps himself. “Buzz apartment ten. She’ll vouch for me.”
Bailey’s apartment? Not likely. Spencer pushed the button to number twelve, instead.
“Yes?” a sleepy voice answered after the third buzz.
Spencer grabbed Duncan’s wrists behind his back and twisted just enough to remind the man who was in charge here. “Miss Rudolf? This is Detective Montgomery from KCPD. We met last night?”
“Ooh, yes. The ruddy Scotsman who isn’t dating Bailey.” Her drowsy voice perked up and the door unlocked. “Come on up.”
Gritting his teeth against the flirty subtext of her invitation, Spencer pushed Duncan inside and followed him up the stairs.
“I tell you my name’s Duncan,” Spencer’s prisoner protested. “Call my boss, Mr. Zeiss. I’m running security here. That ID is legit.”
“One question first.”
Corie Rudolf opened her door as they crossed the landing, foolishly forgetting his warning to identify any guest before unlocking her door. “Hey, Detective. You’re here bright and early.” Her friendly greeting chilled and she pulled her pink flannel robe together at the neck as she looked up at Max. “And you brought company.”
Was that a glimmer of recognition in her eyes?
“Is this the man who delivered Bailey’s package to your apartment yesterday?” Spencer asked. “Have you seen him before?”
“Maybe?” she answered after a moment’s hesitation. Her eyes darted to Spencer, making him wonder if he should trust her answer. Was she just saying what she thought he wanted to hear? But suddenly she was chatty again. “Yes. Yes, he is. Where’s your uniform? That kind of threw me off. Did you have another package for me?” She thrust out her hand and smiled. “We didn’t get a chance to officially meet before. I’m Corie.”
Duncan eyed her extended hand, rattled his handcuffs and shook his head. “Lady, you and I—”
The dead bolt turned in the door to apartment ten and Spencer shifted to put himself between Bailey and his prisoner.
“Spencer?” She appeared in the crack of the open door, wearing a pair of black pants and a lime-green jacket, with a towel wrapped around her head. Fresh out of the shower and in the middle of dressing, he guessed, judging by the towel on top and her bare feet below. She peeked over the chain at the dark-haired man beside him and frowned. “Max?” She closed the door to quickly unhook the chain and then swung it open. “What are you doing here? Are those handcuffs?”
“Miss Austin. Your stepdad sent me over to keep an eye on you.” Max pushed against Spencer’s hand, but he wasn’t budging. “You want to tell this butthead cop that I’m on your side?”
Bailey’s mouth opened, then closed. Then she inhaled a quick breath. “It’s okay, Spence. Max works for Zeiss Security. They work for Jackson.”
“You’re not the delivery guy?” Corie reached across the gap between the doors to squeeze Bailey’s hand. “Are we in some kind of danger? Bails, what’s going on?”
“Read the news sometime, Corie.” Spencer’s red-haired temper rarely surfaced, but he was too tired to keep from snapping.
“Excuse me?”
“Spencer.” The gentle reprimand from Bailey surprised him.
Those blue eyes searching his for some kind of explanation quickly defused his raw impatience. “My apologies.”
Several silent seconds passed while she took in his disheveled state, wet shoes and sour mood. Then she patted Corie’s hand and smiled. “Sorry if we woke you. You’re perfectly safe. I’ve...been working with the D.A.’s office on a project and...Detective Montgomery is helping me. Max is...an old friend. Go back to bed. I promise I won’t let these two argue anymore.”
“Well, I didn’t really mind. I’m just glad everything’s okay.” The two women traded a hug before Corie retreated into her apartment with a winsome smile. “Nice to meet you, Max.”
After the door locked on apartment twelve, Bailey led the two men into her apartment and closed the door behind them. She walked straight past them to the kitchen, pausing to nod toward the cuffs on Duncan’s wrists. “Unless you’re arresting Max, those aren’t necessary.”
Spencer pulled out his keys to unlock the handcuffs.
“Thanks.” Max nodded to her and pushed his wrists toward Spencer.
“You didn’t know Duncan was coming?” When she shook her head, Spencer closed the key in his fist and pointed to her phone. “Call your stepdad to confirm his assignment.”
Max swore.
Bailey pulled the towel off her head and combed her fingers through her hair. “Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?”
Spencer stood firm. “I’m a stickler for details. Make the call.”
Five minutes later, Spencer had his answer, along with a throbbing headache behind his eyes and a nagging skepticism that there was still something wrong with this whole scenario. Either Max Duncan wasn’t who he said he was or Corie Rudolf was lying. They couldn’t both be right. And both of them were too close to Bailey for him to feel comfortable about any of this.
“Did you deliver a package to Corie Rudolf yesterday?” Spencer asked, unhooking the handcuffs.
Once he was free, Duncan faced Spencer, rubbing his wrists and looking like he wanted to punch him. “My gun?”
“My question?”
Understanding who had the upper hand here, the stocky man pulled off his cap and waved it toward the adjoining wall between apartments. “I have no idea what that crazy woman was talking about. If I look like somebody she’s supposed to know, that’s on her. My boss told me to provide some extra security for Jackson Mayweather’s stepdaughter. I’m supposed to shadow Miss Austin and keep an eye on her place today. I was familiarizing myself with the layout of the building and testing its access points when you went all Dirty Harry on me.”
What he said made sense. But Spencer wasn’t willing to ignore his suspicions. “You say there have been others from Zeiss watching Miss Austin?”
“Yeah. For about a week now. Ever since she started talking to the D.A.”
“A week?’’ Bailey set her towel on the island and circled around to stand beside Spencer. He didn’t think it was the cool air or the shower that made her so pale. “You’ve been following me that long? In a black car?”
Max glanced at her in confusion. “I drive a pickup.”
She glanced up, worried. “Spence? The watch?”
“I know.” It had been mailed during the same week-long time frame. Spencer pulled out his business card and handed it to Duncan. “I want to know the names of every man assigned to her detail, with photo IDs and license numbers for personal vehicles as well as company cars. If you’ve got activity logs on those days she was being watched, I want those, too. You can email them to my computer at work.”
“I’ll have to ask my supervisor.”
“No, you’ll do it. Or I’ll call Jackson Mayweather and tell him what a piss-poor job your team has done thus far. Bailey’s received threats and she’s been followed. Either your company hasn’t been sharp enough to recognize the danger, or you’re the ones spooking her.”
Duncan unzipped his parka and held it open so Spencer could see him pull out his cell phone. “Sorry, ma’am. We’ll make this right.”
With a nod, Spencer pulled the Sig Sauer from his belt and handed it back. “Make sure you keep the safety on that gun when you’re around Miss Austin.”
Duncan growled a response. “I know how to do my damn job.”
“Well, you’d
better start doing it better than you have been.” He slipped his hand beneath Bailey’s elbow while Duncan made his call. “Can I talk to you?” he whispered, pulling her out into the hallway.
Spencer released Bailey and turned to face her while she closed the door behind them. “Do you really think Mr. Zeiss’s security team have been in the cars I thought were following me?”
Pulling back his coat and jacket, Spencer propped his hands at his waist and shrugged. “It’s a possibility. I’ll look into it more when I get to the precinct office.”
“What if The Cleaner is blackmailing one of them? Or paid one of their staff a lot of money to betray me?” She curled her toes into the beige carpet and hugged her arms around her middle, clearly unsettled by the potential threat. “You said that’s how she works, isn’t it?”
“Yeah.” Spencer couldn’t keep looking at the hopeful trust in those blue eyes without feeling the need to pull her into his arms and make promises he couldn’t keep. He turned his face to the ceiling and exhaled a deep breath before zeroing in on the loose tendrils of hair that clung to her cheeks and forehead. Still damp from the shower, her hair was a darker shade of wheat than its usual color, and added to Bailey’s touchably soft and vulnerable look.
Damn his eye for detail.
It had to be fatigue that weakened his will like this. He took another deep breath to ease the raw need inside, and forced himself to look her straight in the eye. “I’ll check out Zeiss backwards and forwards—make sure none of the employees have done something that can be used against them. I’ll also run their bank accounts.”
“I know you’ll find The Cleaner.”
“Let’s just hope it’s before she finds you.” Spencer groaned at how that must sound. “I won’t stop looking until I have her in my sights.”
“I believe you. You’re a mess,” she gently teased, changing the subject. She reached up to straighten his collar while he was trying to be tough and professional and get through what he needed to say. She fastened the top two buttons of his shirt and adjusted the knot of his day-old tie, her fingers lightly brushing across his chest and neck. Nerve endings danced beneath his skin, chasing every firm, yet delicate touch. Spencer wasn’t even strong enough to back away when she cupped the side of his jaw and rubbed her fingertips against the beard stubble there. “Looks like you’ve had a long night. Do you want some coffee? Breakfast?”
