Kansas City Cowboy

by Julie Miller

  “I told you I stayed home with my wife. Janie did not call me after I canceled. Like I said, she was very angry. Besides, we would not stay at a cheap motel. I treated her better than that. It was always the Muhlbach downtown. We liked...the historic architecture.”

  Montgomery pulled his cell phone off his belt and walked away. “The discretion of a doorman and an old-monied hotel didn’t hurt, either, I’m guessing.”

  “One last question, Professor Ludvenko.” Kate stood and gestured around at all the projects on display in the room. “Are any of these paintings Janie’s?”

  “No. As you said, she was a sculptor. She liked working with metals.” He pointed to an oxidized copper sunburst hanging behind his desk. “That is her work.”

  The interview was over, and though Professor Scumbag alibied out for the night of Janie’s rape and murder, Boone decided the man was still guilty—of feeding his sister false hopes and breaking her heart. Crimes he hoped Dorothy Ludvenko would make him pay for with a good divorce attorney.

  “So who was Janie calling at the Highway 40 Inn?” Boone asked, once they were outside in the crisp sunshine.

  Spencer Montgomery was still on the phone as they walked to Boone’s truck and his car. “I’ll get the motel to fax over a guest list for that night.” He paused before climbing in behind the wheel. “Kate, are you up for the daily press briefing?”

  “I am.” She answered with more confidence than Boone had expected for a woman whose car and home had been vandalized, and who still bore the vicious bruise of her stalker’s last attack where there was no hiding it from the cameras. Not to mention the fact that one of those reporters she’d be facing had wrecked her marriage. He wondered if the confidence was real, or a show for the senior officer on her team.

  “Get her back to the office in one piece, Sheriff,” Montgomery ordered.

  “You got it.”

  Boone opened the truck door for Kate, then got in behind the wheel and started the engine. The ice princess was a little less icy now that Montgomery had driven away. She was studying the photos in the evidence file again, and her mouth was twisted in a perplexed frown. And while he admired her toughness, wisdom and patience as a profiler and interrogator, he was incredibly drawn to this softer, more pensive version of Dr. Kate.

  He waited until she tucked the file back into her purse to throw the truck into Reverse and back out of the parking space. If she wasn’t going to share whatever was on her mind, then he’d start the conversation. “So we found out Janie’s big secret. She was having an affair with a married man. And after the way Irene ended our marriage, Janie probably thought she couldn’t talk to me about it.”

  Kate’s focus came back from the wheels spinning inside her head. “She may have thought that being the other woman would have hurt you. I get the idea that she didn’t want to be a disappointment to her big brother.”

  Boone shifted the truck into Drive. “She was my baby sister. I loved her. We’d have worked it out.”

  “Maybe she thought that she was a grown-up now—not a baby anything—and that she should resolve the problem herself.”

  “That independence got her killed,” he muttered with a mix of guilt and frustration. “And we’re no closer to finding out who did it.”

  “You haven’t let her down, Boone.” The woman sitting across that seat really could read people.

  He reached over to squeeze her hand. “It sure feels like it.” Grateful for her insight and compassion and how her gentle reassurances soothed him, Boone returned his grip to the wheel and pulled onto the street. “Ludvenko’s not our man. Even if his wife hadn’t vouched for his whereabouts last weekend, frankly, I don’t think he’s smart enough to be the Rose Red Rapist. He’s too self-absorbed to feel threatened by any woman, and with that temper of his, he’d have made a mistake by now. Left a clue at one of his crime scenes.”

  “I agree. He’s not the Rose Red Rapist. Or Janie’s killer.”

  He glanced across the seat to see those moss-colored eyes waiting for him to ask, “You still think we’ve got two different unsubs?”

  “No.” Boone didn’t see it coming. “I think we’ve got three.”

  * * *

  “IS IT TRUE you were attacked by the Rose Red Rapist, Dr. Kilpatrick?”

  Kate blinked through the spotlights and camera flashes to focus on Vanessa Owen, standing in the front row of the KCPD press conference. A dozen or so reporters, their sound and camera crews, concerned citizens from the community and a cadre of plainclothes and uniformed police officers maintaining some degree of order in the Fourth Precinct’s first-floor lobby, crushed forward at the sensationalist question.

  She wasn’t above letting the disdain for her onetime friend show on her face. But she put up her hand to quiet the buzz of speculation and follow-up questions. If nothing else, it was her job here today to calm their fears, and thus the city’s, by not allowing rumors and misinformation to be splashed across headlines and television screens.

  Only when the noise had quieted down to a few clicks and whirrs of equipment running, did she speak.

  “I was not assaulted by the Rose Red Rapist.” She articulated the announcement as clearly and succinctly as the human voice would allow. “Despite the drama your colleague Ms. Owen would like to capitalize on here today, there have been no reported rapes in the Kansas City area this past week.”

  Gabriel Knight wasn’t about to be outscooped by Vanessa. The newspaper reporter raised his pen for permission to speak. “So what did happen to you?”

  Kate pointed to the cut and angry bruise that was too obvious for even makeup to hide under this many lights. “My home was broken into and I sustained an injury trying to prevent the intruder’s escape.”

  “What did the intruder take?” Gabriel asked.

  My peace of mind? The idea that I can be safe alone in my own house, among my own things? Out loud, Kate shrugged off the question with a smile. “Nothing.”

  “There wasn’t a threat? There wasn’t a warning, about the task force getting too close to making a breakthrough on their investigation? Kate? Kate!”

  She ignored Vanessa’s questions for now. If the woman wanted to let the past be forgotten and work together as professional women, then by damn, she could speak to her as a professional, and not rely on either the personal connection they’d once shared to earn her any special privileges, or that arrogant sexuality that up until a few days ago had made Kate feel somehow inadequate and inferior to intimidate her.

  Vanessa Owen may have once been an emotional thorn in Kate’s side, but now she was just a reporter. Like anyone else in this room, she was no threat to her. No one here, except for the broad-shouldered sheriff with the warm brown eyes that scanned the crowd and occasionally met her gaze to offer silent encouragement, had the ability to get under Kate’s skin and mess with her emotional equilibrium.

  “Dr. Kilpatrick?” Finally, the dark-haired reporter figured out the snub. There might even have been a note of newfound respect shading her eyes when she asked her next question. “Was there any sort of threat directed toward you from the man who broke into your home?”

  “Yes,” she answered honestly, earning another buzz of follow-up questions and photographs. “But again, I do not believe the message came from the Rose Red Rapist. KCPD investigates any number of crimes, from simple vandalism to something as heinous as rape and murder.”

  Gabriel Knight jotted something in his notepad. “So you’re telling us that members of the task force have been threatened by someone besides their target?”

  Kate swallowed hard, maintaining her composure. “I’m telling you that my home was broken into. No one else’s. And that KCPD is investigating the break-in. Don’t print anything in your paper that isn’t true, Mr. Knight.”

  The dark-haired man winked. “Rest assured, I always check my facts, Doctor.”

  Kate went on to reiterate the task force’s working description of the Rose Red Rapist, compiled aft
er his assault back in May, and on the Janie Harrison attack. They were looking for a young to middle-aged man with access to buildings undergoing remodeling or new construction, someone with long-standing ties to the community who had the ability to move in and out of different neighborhoods and social situations without drawing attention to himself. “Our unsub is in good shape physically, and probably very fastidious about his appearance and his actions.”

  “That’s it?” Vanessa asked. “Another listing of the profile? I suppose you want us to just keep talking about the neighborhood where he abducted his last two victims and murdered a woman last week?”

  Did Kate dare mention her theories about the different unsubs? Would she be giving the frightened people of Kansas City a false sense of hope and security if she told them that she didn’t believe the serial rapist they were all terrified of hadn’t killed anyone?

  If anyone besides Vanessa had asked, she might have mentioned it. But Vanessa was goading her into feeling defensive again and revealing more than she should. Kate stuffed her hands into the pockets of the green tweed blazer she wore and waited for the reactive instinct to pass.

  A subtle movement from the corner of her eye diverted her attention. Boone was closing in to warn Vanessa to ease up or shut up or get lost or worse. The subtly protective move warmed her, reminded her of his promise to take care of her. But the reminder that she wasn’t alone against pushy reporters or anyone else reminded Kate that she could take care of herself. With a shake of her head, she told Boone she was all right and was able to handle the taunt.

  A theory was one thing. Proof was another.

  It was in the best interests of the department and of the city itself to withhold information now rather than to retract it later.

  It was in Kate’s best interest to deal with Vanessa herself and not have to rely on anyone else, not even Boone, to shield her from dealing with difficult people and awkward situations. “I believe it’s helpful to your viewers and readers to have the description and safety precautions repeated.” She looked straight into the lens of the camera next to Vanessa. “We will solve this case. We will find this man. We’re learning more about him every day. But until that time, we must all be vigilant and protect ourselves. Don’t give him the opportunity to strike again. Thank you.”

  Having covered all the talking points required of her, Kate walked away from the podium and wove her way through the crowd toward the bank of elevators, despite the barrage of questions that followed her.

  “What new things are you learning, Dr. Kilpatrick?”

  “If you don’t know who broke into your home, how do you know it’s not related to your investigation?”

  “Are you in danger, Doctor?”

  “Are you afraid?”

  An unseen arm jostled against Kate.

  “I’d be afraid,” a hushed voice warned.

  She spun around, expecting to see a face attached to that threat. But the flash of a camera blinded her. A very real hand closed around her arm.

  Terror fired through her veins and burst out in a frightened gasp. Instinctively, she plunged her hand inside her bag and reached for the gun holstered there.

  But another hand, one bigger and rougher than hers, closed over the unseen man’s wrist and freed her.

  “Go,” Boone ordered beside her ear. The wrist he’d grabbed twisted free and disappeared with its owner into the crowd.

  Kate snatched at a handful of Boone’s borrowed KCPD jacket and pulled herself up onto her toes, trying to see into the shifting crowd. “That was him.”

  Him who? Her stalker? A serial rapist? Someone else?

  “Boone? Did you see—?”

  “Go.” He snugged his hands around her waist and pushed her to the edge of the crowd. “You need to get out of here before this gets completely out of control. Are you heading up to your office?”

  “Dr. Kilpatrick? One more question.”

  He squeezed her hand, then nudged her beyond the fringe of the crowd. “I’ll hold them back. You go. I’ll meet you up there in a few minutes.”

  “But I heard—”

  Another hand closed around her elbow and she flinched. “Come with me, Dr. K. I’ll get you out of here.”

  Boone glared over her head for one quick moment, then dismissed her and her rescuer with a nod before turning away and spreading his arms wide and bellowing to the crowd, “All right, folks, let’s see some manners here. Show’s over. We’re moving toward the front door.”

  Kate turned and looked into the youthful concern of Pete Estes’s blue eyes. Torn by the intellectual need to identify who had spoken that threat to her in the crowd, and the purely instinctive need to get as far away from that threat as possible, she turned toward the chaotic mass one more time—seeking, searching. But she saw nothing but familiar faces she wouldn’t suspect and strangers who looked no more threatening than the uniformed officer tugging at her arm.

  “This way, ma’am. I’ve got an elevator waiting.”

  Sparing one last look at the protective wall of Boone’s broad back, standing between her and the danger, she hurried through the elevator doors with Officer Estes. Once inside, he released her. She moved to the side railing to press the third floor button, but he reached past her and pushed the G for the garage level instead.

  “Wait, I...” She arched an eyebrow at the young man. What kind of rescuing did he think she needed? “I was going upstairs.”

  The elevator jerked and began its slow descent.

  “Yeah.” He unholstered his gun and pointed it at her. “I don’t care.”

  Kate’s temperature dropped along with the elevator. But some part of her—the training and intellect—that she relied on when she counseled clients and created criminal profiles kicked in. She slipped her hand into her purse, seeking out the butt of her gun, keeping her nervous energy at bay so that she could think and observe.

  It didn’t take a profiler or a psychologist to note Pete’s wiry build, or how, when she stood in her three-inch heels like this, she could look him straight in the eye.

  “Did you get as beat up as I did, Pete, tumbling down the stairs at my house?” The hand holding that gun wasn’t that much bigger than her own. “No wonder Pike Taylor’s dog went after you. He’d been trailing your scent earlier.”

  “I thought it was the cat blood. Maybe I hadn’t gotten it all washed off before I answered the neighborhood all-call to secure the scene.” He glanced over at Kate, his smile holding no humor. “It was my girlfriend’s cat.”

  “You killed her cat?”

  “Thought it’d be less trouble than killing her.”

  A disturbed young man, indeed. Either he’d lied his way through his psych profile to get into the Academy, or a stress-inducing event was causing him to lose his grasp of right and wrong and reality now. “Pete—”

  “Shh.” He held a finger to his lips as the elevator stopped. “Not a word. And I’ll take that.” He slipped her purse—and the gun inside—off her shoulder and tossed it into the corner of the elevator. “When we get off, we’re going to walk over to my squad car and we’re going to drive out of here.”

  “There are people working in the garage. Other officers. SWAT Team 1’s home base is down here.”

  He jabbed the gun into her ribs and she winced. “And none of them will get hurt as long as you keep your mouth shut and do what I say.”

  “Where are we going?” She needed to think—clearly, quickly.

  She tucked her hands into her pockets, falling back on the habit of fisting and flexing her fingers there, out of sight, in order to dispel any nervous energy and maintain a calm facade. She fisted a hand in one pocket to keep from crying out loud in relief because, in the other pocket, she discovered another old habit—carrying the important things on her person instead of in her purse. Namely, her cell phone.

  She wasn’t quite sure what she was going to do with it yet, but she was thinking. As long as she kept her head and didn’t panic, she would
get out of this. With no more cuts or bruises...or bullet holes. “Pete, I have a meeting to go to upstairs. People are probably already looking for me. This is never going to work.”

  “I said to stop talking. It just confuses me. It messes everything up. You say all these smart things—they sound good on camera or in some textbook somewhere. But they’re not true. They don’t work and I’m sick of hearing them.” The doors slid open. With his gun hidden beneath his jacket and his free hand wrapped tightly around her arm to keep the gun pressed against her, he pulled her out into the cavernous parking and deployment area for a portion of KCPD’s fleet of official vehicles. “Let’s walk.”

  Kate’s shoes tapped a familiar staccato on the concrete floor, reminding her of the night she’d heard the man in the brown coveralls following her. There was no longer any stealth to Pete Estes’s behavior. His attempts to merely frighten her had escalated into the desire to do her real harm. A sudden shift in the degree of violence he was willing to commit generally meant a psychotic break. She’d been coaching him on his anger issues for a few weeks now, and had seen some progress—in her office. The reality was that something outside her meetings with Pete had triggered the desperate act of kidnapping.

  And she had an idea of the cause. “What happened with you and Jeannee? That’s your girlfriend’s name, isn’t it?”

  “Ex-girlfriend. No thanks to you.” There was the stressor that had triggered his obsessive behavior. He opened the passenger-side door and pushed her into the seat. “Call out to anyone, try to run before I get behind the wheel, and I’ll shoot you.”

  Think, Kate. Think. In the few seconds he took to acknowledge a passing officer and circle around the trunk of the car, Kate pulled out her phone and punched in Boone’s number.

  She didn’t have time for a conversation, couldn’t risk an answering ring. Instead, she took a cue from Pete’s talent for sending an alarming message in a single word. Down.

  Kate texted the word, hit Send as the car door opened, dropped the phone back into her pocket and prayed Boone was as smart as he was caring and protective and funny and... The car door closed.