by Julie Miller
“I’m with KCPD. Stop. Boone!” Kate shrieked, grabbing on to a gray hood, a dark brown sleeve, whatever she could reach to hold the perp in place. Adrenaline gave her strength, but freedom motivated her squirming opponent. With his legs straddling her waist, he sat up, jerking the edge of the stocking mask from her fingers to keep his face covered. Kate pushed up on one elbow, desperate to hold on to and identify the intruder, their suspect...the Rose Red... “Boone—!”
A wicked right cross slammed into Kate’s face, knocking her to the ground. She’d been struck by something hard and square, a tool rather than a fist. Her cheek split open, burned. Her vision blurred. Her grip weakened and the dark figure slipped away.
Without a threat, without a word—without any attempt to harm her beyond his desire to escape—he left her and ran through her neighbor’s yard and disappeared into the murky shadows.
“Kate?” The storm door slammed again. She heard Boone’s boots on the stairs.
She rolled over onto her hands and knees and pushed herself up. “There.” She pointed to the neighbor’s yard. Dark brown coveralls. A hooded face. “That way.” She wobbled. “Go!”
The images tried to match up with a memory. Another day. Another attack. She had a brief vision of long legs giving chase. But her balance was a pendulum swinging back and forth inside her head, and she finally gave up on the idea of standing and collapsed onto her burning cheek.
“Kate!” In a matter of seconds, she felt herself being turned, lifted. And then she was leaning against the solid warmth of Boone’s chest. “Doc?”
He was down on the ground with her, cradling her in his lap. Her pillow rippled with muscles and crisp cotton beneath her cheek as Boone holstered his weapon, pulled out his phone to call 911, and wadded up his handkerchief to dab at her wound.
She winced at the sharp pain that stabbed through her entire skull. “It was him. Did he get away?”
“I let him go.”
“We had him. The man from the parking garage.”
He easily overpowered her protesting hand and pressed the white handkerchief against her cheekbone again. “Honey, you’re bleeding. Did you hit your head? Are you hurt anywhere else?” She rode the heavy, frustrated breath that expanded his chest. “What part of ‘stay put’ don’t you understand?”
When he wouldn’t ease up on the pressure on her cheek, Kate held on to his wrist to pull herself into a more upright position. The dizziness was subsiding, and the need to prove that she hadn’t just done a completely idiotic thing was growing. “My gun is in the house. If I called out to warn you, he would have known you were there. He could have shot you.”
“He could have shot you.” Kate realized that she still had something from her wrestle on the front walk clutched in her fist. Pushing Boone’s fingers aside, she took over holding the stained handkerchief against the cut on her cheek and let him adjust his hold to help her sit completely upright. “Uh-oh. I’m learning that look. Doc, what are you thinking?”
“That man was dressed just like the guy I saw outside the parking garage at work last week. The one I thought was following me. But I got a piece of him this time.” She held up the black knit glove she’d pulled off her assailant. “This glove would almost fit me. He has small hands.”
Boone peered around at the trees and houses and vehicles again, either ensuring the perp hadn’t returned or looking for the backup he’d called. “What little glimpse I got of him, he wasn’t that tall. Maybe that’s why he hits his victims from behind when he abducts them.” She used him as a brace to sit up on her knees, and he moved to kneel in front of her. “Did the guy who tackled you seem strong enough to haul a woman in and out of a van?”
“Strong enough, I suppose. He surprised me as much as anything. I’m sure he got a little beat up and disoriented on the trip down the steps, too, so that’s probably why I could pull this off him.” She held up the glove. “We need to get this into evidence in case there’s DNA on it. And we need to call dispatch with a description of his clothes—brown coveralls, gray hoodie, stocking mask—no wonder I couldn’t see his face that day.”
“I’ll call it in, I promise. But we need to get you inside and get that cut cleaned up. If it’s bleeding too badly, I’m taking you to the E.R.” He pushed to his feet, holding out his hand to her. “Can you get up?”
She folded her hand into his, but paused before standing. She could see the bloodstain on the front of his jacket now. Her blood. His clean white handkerchief was streaked with crimson. No wonder he’d been so concerned and given up his pursuit. She must look even worse than she felt.
Misreading her hesitation, Boone pulled her to her feet and swung her up into his arms. He caught her behind her shoulders and knees and carried her up the steps.
She pushed against the wall of his chest. “I’m not a damsel in distress. I can walk.”
“Well, I’m an old-fashioned kind of guy, so let me do this.” She had given him a good scare. She could see it in the tight lines in the beard stubble bracketing his mouth. If a little old-fashioned chivalry would ease his concern and keep him amenable to her strategy to catch the rapist, then she’d give herself permission to relax against his strength and heat, and feel a little bit like Snow White being rescued by Prince Charming. Once he’d opened the door and carried her into the foyer, he halted. “Do you have a first-aid kit?”
He didn’t set her down. Kate pointed down the hallway. “In the bathroom off the master suite.”
But when he carried her through the door to her bedroom, her fingers curled into his chest and the fairy tale ended. Boone set her down, pulled her behind him and put his hand on his gun.
Kate buried her face against his shoulder. “Okay. Now I’m distressed.”
“I’m calling Montgomery directly.” He turned to gather her in his arms and walk her away from the utter destruction of her most private sanctuary.
But the images had been instantly and indelibly etched on her brain. Slashed pillows and drapes. Broken mirrors and picture glass. Roses scattered all over her bed. And one word, painted in red, on the wall above her headboard.
Silence!
* * *
BOONE RUBBED AT THE FATIGUE burning his eyes. The pulsating lights of the ambulance and police cars in Kate’s driveway and lining the street in front of her house didn’t help the lack of sleep that was pulling at his body. They didn’t do much to ease his concern that there was nothing any of these people could do to keep Dr. Kate safe from the bastard who had already killed his sister, either.
A dozen uniformed officers swarmed around the place while he stood on the front walk listening to members of the task force discuss the break-in and the intruder who was probably already home getting some shut-eye.
He understood the intricacies of a long-term investigation, and the patience required to evaluate every possible lead, dismiss worthless intel and decide which pieces of evidence or witness testimony required even more evaluation. But while Spencer Montgomery and the others gave their reports, Boone’s attention kept shifting over to the stubborn, barefoot blonde sitting on the ambulance’s back bumper. The paramedic tended to the wound on Kate’s cheek and checked for other minor injuries while the tall redhead in the KCPD uniform, Sgt. Maggie Wheeler, who was apparently a good friend as well as a coworker, took her statement and kept her company.
For a few brief moments, Kate’s eyes locked on to his and the weariness inside him eased a bit. He’d been scared that she’d gotten hurt—sick to think, even for a moment, that he’d failed to protect her the same way he’d failed Janie. A couple of butterfly bandages and an ice pack for the bump on her head, and Kate claimed she was okay. But should a reassuring smile from a woman who’d complicated his life in so many ways in such a short time really have such a profound effect on him?
Normally, Boone wasn’t one to question his instincts when it came to people and investigations and doing his job. The one place he’d ever misjudged something important, the o
ne time his instincts had been wrong, had been his marriage to Irene. He’d loved her hard, believing she wanted the same things he wanted—roots, children, a long life together. But once the magic of the honeymoon had worn off and the real work of making a marriage strong had set in, she’d grown more distant. She often had a reason for working late in town, or a business trip to take. She’d secretly stayed on birth control while he’d believed they were working on starting that family. In hindsight, he was glad they hadn’t created a child in a marriage that had been falling apart. But he’d thought Irene was the one for him. It had been a tough blow to his pride and his heart to realize that he was only the one for now with her.
Now here he was, getting tangled up hard and fast with Kate Kilpatrick. She was a city sophisticate with a Ph.D. who wore sexy, impractical shoes and knew beans about horses—not too unlike Irene. But she had a big, compassionate heart beneath that chilly exterior. She was intellectual in ways he couldn’t always fathom but had to admire. And she had to be about the sexiest woman he’d ever put his hands on, especially when he got the idea that those clutching fingers and fiery kisses only worked on him.
Should he be listening to what his instincts were telling him about Dr. Kate? Or should he take a cue from the good doctor herself and spend a little more time thinking things through before he let her into his heart any further?
A whiff of panting wet dog at his feet drew Boone’s attention back to the gathering of KCPD task force members.
Pike Taylor, the big cop who’d kept him from crossing the crime scene tape to see where Janie’s body had been found that first day he’d come to Kansas City, tossed a knotted toy to his German shepherd companion to reward him for doing the job he’d been trained for. “Hans followed the perp’s trail until it went cold. He lost the scent about a quarter mile down on the next street over. I’m guessing the perp got into a vehicle and drove away at that point.” He knelt down to play a little tug-of-war with the big dog. “I did a little house-to-house work, too. Nobody we talked to remembered seeing any vehicles they couldn’t identify. One guy said he thought he heard an ‘expensive’ engine gunning out on the street that woke him. But at this time of night, most of them were asleep, so no one saw anything. I gave them Dr. Kilpatrick’s description of the intruder and warned them to keep their eyes open and their doors locked. Call us if they see anything. The usual spiel.”
Boone shook his head. “This guy was only after Kate. They’re all safe.”
“Try telling them that.” Pike pushed to his feet and glanced around, indicating the lights coming on in nearby homes and shades opening for the curious and the frightened to peek out.
“He’s right.” Kate brushed her hand against Boone’s elbow and he stepped to one side, letting her and Maggie Wheeler join the conversation. “We need to turn off these flashing lights and get some of these vehicles out of here, Spencer, or we’re going to cause a panic. And I’m sure the press will get wind of it before the sun comes up, if they aren’t already on their way here.”
“I’ll take care of it, sir,” Pike volunteered. “I need to get Hans a drink of water, anyway.” He called to another uniformed officer, standing guard beside the yellow crime scene tape marking off Kate’s front steps. “Yo, Estes. Come give me a hand.”
The young, dark-haired officer hurried over, then jumped back half a step when he startled Pike’s dog. The big German shepherd spun around, baring his teeth. Pike shouted one word and the dog dropped to his haunches, then crawled forward to a down position, although his nose stayed in the air sniffing something on the wind.
“He probably smells my girlfriend’s dachshund on me.” Officer Estes lowered his hands from the surrender position and tucked his thumbs into his belt as soon as Hans gave up his interest in him and Pike Taylor led him away to his departmental SUV. He smiled at Kate like they were old friends. “Dr. Kilpatrick, are you all right?”
“I’ll be fine, Pete. Thanks for asking. And thanks for helping out tonight.”
“Glad to do it, ma’am.” Boone noticed the twenty-something standing up a little straighter under Kate’s praise. Then he glanced around the group, clapped his leather gloves together and scooted off after the K-9 cop and his dog. “I’d better get going. What do you need, Taylor?”
Was Boone overreacting to be suspicious of Pete Estes? The dog didn’t seem to like him. But that hardly made him a suspect. There were a couple of things, like motive, means and opportunity, to be considered first. After tonight’s events, he supposed he’d be paranoid about any man he didn’t know addressing Kate.
The others in the circle appeared less concerned. And the kid was doing his job. The ambulance and two of the squad cars pulled away while Detective Montgomery turned to Annie Hermann. “What about the message on the wall?”
The petite CSI cringed as she peeled off her gloves and stuffed them into the pockets of her navy jacket. “Maybe I’m what set Hans off. It looks like more cat blood, but I’ll have the lab run it to make sure. I wonder if we should start talking to animal shelters, see if anyone has reported a missing pet. It makes me sick to my stomach to think of how much blood volume it would take to leave these messages.”
“Cat lover?” Nick Fensom teased.
She glared at the burly detective. “I’ve rescued a couple. The messages and vandalism are bad enough. But when I think of the cruelty behind them... Our unsub clearly has no conscience—no qualms about hurting anyone or anything.”
Nick patted the petite woman on the shoulder. “I’m sure your tabbies are safe, Hermann.”
“They’re Siamese.” She tucked several unruly dark curls behind her ears and excused herself. “I need to get that glove and these samples back to the lab.”
“Can’t say anything nice to that woman,” Nick groused.
“You need to make an appointment with me sometime,” Kate gently chided him. “We can work on those communication skills.”
Boone slid his hand behind Kate’s back, battling the urge to wrap his arms around her to shield her from the chaos around them. “Fix him later, Doc. We need to get you out of the open here. Get you someplace safe.”
Spencer agreed. “Let’s wrap this up. Was there anything taken from the house?”
Boone tried to speed the process along. “I secured her gun. It’s in my truck. But this break-in wasn’t a burglary. Nothing like a TV or sound system was taken. As for anything personal? Don’t make her go back in there and look.”
Kate slipped away from Boone’s touch and crossed to the yellow tape. “It’s okay. Maggie? Do you mind coming with me? We can do a quick sweep. I’d like to get some shoes and a change of clothes before my feet freeze, anyway.”
Boone could feel the walls already going back up between him and Kate. Maybe his instincts about her were as off as they’d been about Estes, and that this need burning inside him was all one-sided. Maybe the protective—possessive—turbulence of his emotions was just the result of Dr. Kate being the person who’d been there when he’d needed someone to connect to.
Didn’t make it any easier to concentrate on work, though.
Once the two women entered the house, Spencer turned to Boone. “Anything else you can tell us?”
“The perp I chased was a small guy. I’m six foot and he was at least a couple of inches shorter.”
Nick Fensom straightened up beside him. “My height?”
“Maybe. But not as muscular.” Nick was built like a Mack truck. The man Boone had chased from the house was more of a sports car. “And like Kate said, the guy had small hands.”
Spencer jotted the details in his notebook. “Five-ten, wiry build. We’ll add that to the description.”
“So what about Kate?” Was Montgomery even considering what could have happened tonight if she’d walked in on the guy slashing up her room with a box cutter or small knife? “You’re giving up this crazy idea about using her as bait, right? I mean, this guy has found her car, her house—now he’s put his hands on
her.”
The detective tucked his notepad inside his suit jacket. “I offered to move her to a safe house, but she insisted on a hotel room with periodic drive-bys to watch over her for now. I don’t think you’re going to get her off this case.”
Kate herself had something to say about that. “You won’t. I’m still your chief profiler and press liaison. I don’t want to be locked away where this guy can’t reach me at all. I still want to put the Rose Red Rapist away for good.”
She came down the stairs with another pair of those sexy high heels she favored on her feet and an overnight bag hooked over her shoulder. If Boone overlooked the two butterfly bandages and puffy bruise forming beneath her left eye, then she was looking the part of the consummate professional again. But he did see the cut and bruising, and with her hands buried in the pockets of that dusty, smudged-up trench coat—hiding the telltale indicators of her true state of mind—he couldn’t tell how much of the confident facade was real, and how much of it was a cover for tight fists or trembling fingers.
“But I do need a hot bath, a good night’s sleep and some time to myself to think through a theory I have.”
The facade was convincing enough for Detective Montgomery. “What theory?” he asked.
“Wait until the next task force briefing. I need to work it out with a clear head first. But it could change the focus of our investigation.”
“I look forward to it.”
Boone tossed Kate’s bag in the back of the truck and cranked up the heat, giving the cab a few minutes to warm up before he drove to the hotel where Maggie Wheeler had made arrangements for Kate to stay. She still had her hands hidden inside her pockets and had leaned back against the headrest and closed her eyes.
He didn’t even turn on the radio for company as he waited, thinking she’d nodded off. But a minute later, she surprised him. “I don’t think I’ve been this tired since going through the emotional wringer of Brad’s death. I didn’t sleep much then, either.”
