Police Protector

by Dani Sinclair

  Unsurprised when she checked out clean, Lucan still hesitated before pulling her out of the car and releasing the cuffs. He handed her back her purse.

  “I’ll follow you to your sister’s place.”

  “You aren’t going to arrest me?” She all but vibrated with anger.

  “I’ve had my quota of paperwork for the day, but push me and I’ll make an exception.”

  She extended her hand. “And my gun?”

  “Is illegal in Maryland.” He didn’t add that he didn’t like civilians with guns. “By all rights I should be taking you in for possession.”

  “But you won’t?”

  Lucan shook his head. “The jury’s still out on that, counselor. Let’s go see what your sister has to say.”

  She pursed her lips. Turning on her sexy high heels she returned to her car, anger in every stride. He watched the tight sway of her body in that nicely fitted skirt, and his lips curved. Angry or not, Kyra Wolfstead was a very sexy, intriguing package. Too bad they hadn’t met socially.

  She drove to the next block and pulled into the driveway of a small stone-and-vinyl-sided two-story house. An ancient Chinese elm covered most of the front yard. A tattered swing and several beat-up lawn chairs graced a wide front porch. A child’s bike with a flat rear tire leaned drunkenly against the side of the house.

  There was nothing out of the ordinary in the setting. Lucan had passed this house several times on his morning runs. Only now did he notice that the drapes were pulled tight. And while the majority of the neighbors’ houses sported brightly colored Christmas lights and door decorations, this house was dark and forlorn-looking by comparison.

  Kyra pulled into the driveway. She didn’t wait, but hurried to the front porch. Her large purse flopped against her side. He caught up with her as she pressed the doorbell. When there was no response, she rapped loudly and tried the doorknob.

  “Locked.” She looked affronted.

  “Your sister may be out.”

  “No. Something’s wrong. I tried calling her cell phone again from the car. She always carries her cell phone and keeps it on because of the children, but my calls are going straight to voice mail.”

  “Maybe her battery went dead,” he suggested as she began trying windows. “Lots of people forget to charge their cell phones. What are you doing? As a lawyer, you know you can’t break into her house.”

  “It’s illegal entry if I don’t break anything to get in,” she corrected.

  His lips curved. It was hard not to like her even if she was a pain in the neck. He followed her to the locked side door and on to the back porch with the same results.

  “Does your sister work?”

  “She’s a waitress.” Kyra changed directions, heading for the single car detached garage. The side door opened easily beneath her fingers.

  Lucan yanked her back when she would have gone inside. He was starting to have a bad feeling about this situation.

  “Wait.”

  “Her car’s in there!”

  “I said, wait!”

  Unhappily, she did, tapping her foot in annoyance. The seven-year-old sedan inside was locked and empty save for two children’s car seats. Eyeing the trunk, he turned to Kyra only to find her going rapidly back toward the rear of the house.

  Lucan started after her. “I’m going to call—what are you doing? Don’t—”

  She lifted a child’s lawn chair from a pile of matted leaves, strode onto the porch and up to the kitchen window. Before he could reach her, she’d swung the chair at the pane with surprising force. The glass shattered into a million pieces.

  “Now it’s breaking and entering,” she told him without looking his way. “You can arrest me later.”

  Using the chair to clear away the broken shards, she poked her head inside. Her gasp had him reaching for her as she recoiled.

  Chapter Three

  The putrid stench that filled her nostrils made Kyra gag. She jerked her head back, barely aware of the hands pulling her away from the window. Tears swam in her eyes as she sucked air greedily into her lungs. Her worst nightmare had just been confirmed. Casey had to be dead.

  Kyra barely heard the detective calling in the scene. She kept seeing the kitchen with dishes, food, flour and sugar canisters tossed about the room. Decaying meat and once-frozen foods rotted on the floor. And most chilling of all were the small footprints leading in and out of the mess.

  She swayed. Hands pressed her down onto the back porch steps. He forced her head down to her knees.

  “Breathe. Slow, deep breaths.”

  “She’s dead.”

  “We don’t know that yet. Sit still. I don’t need you passing out on me.”

  That jerked her head up. “I’m not going to pass out.”

  “Could have fooled me. Sit.”

  “My sister—”

  “If she’s in there, we’ll find her. That damage wasn’t done today. I have officers en route.”

  “Kip!”

  His tone gentled, but there was no mistaking the iron will behind his words. “We’ll find the boy. I promise.”

  She shook her head, fighting tears. “No wonder he ran from us.”

  “We’ll find him,” he repeated firmly.

  “And the others?”

  His expression blanked, then hardened. “How many others?”

  “Two. Brian and Maggie. Brian’s five. Maggie just turned three.”

  And the horror of those small footprints hit her again. Her stomach lurched. She swallowed hard, determined to conquer the upheaval in her stomach. If only she’d come sooner. She should have turned her case over to one of her colleagues. Hadn’t she known Monday night that something was wrong? If Casey was dead…

  “Ms. Wolfshead. Kyra! Listen to me. I’m going to go around to the front of the house. I want you to come with me.”

  It took her first name in that deep voice to get her attention. Eyes that had been chips of granite earlier were a warm, sympathetic gray now. She would not cry.

  “I’m okay.”

  “I know you are. Come on.”

  In no time vehicles and people began arriving. Despite her need to see for herself what had happened inside, she obeyed the detective’s order and sat shivering on the porch swing under the watchful eye of a uniformed officer.

  Long minutes dragged by before her detective returned. His features were grim. Her stomach dropped.

  “No.” He shook his head moving quickly to her side.

  She was on her feet, swaying, with no memory of having moved.

  “The house is empty. There’s no one inside,” he assured her.

  “But where—?”

  “We’re canvassing the neighborhood. We know your nephew is somewhere nearby. Hopefully he can tell us what happened and where your sister and the other children are. Maybe they’re staying with a neighbor.”

  Kyra shook her head. “They don’t know any neighbors. They just moved in a couple of weeks ago. I need to go inside. I need to see—”

  “Give us a few minutes to process the scene. We need photos and prints before I can let anyone in there.”

  She knew that. Anyone who watched crime shows on television knew that.

  “Is the whole house like the kitchen?”

  “Yes. This will take time. Are you going to be all right?”

  Not if Casey was dead. Please don’t let her be dead. She shivered hard.

  “I’m fine.”

  He recognized the lie, but nodded all the same. Removing his jacket he handed it to her. “Put this on.”

  “I don’t—”

  “For once, will you stop arguing and do what I say?”

  “You’ll get cold.”

  His smile was so gentle, her heart constricted.

  “The house has heat, Kyra. I’ll be fine. Wait here.” He patted her shoulder before turning away.

  The coat had a light, clean, masculine scent and she inhaled deeply, burrowing into its warmth even though nothing would
make her warm again. Casey was dead. She had to be dead. And the children. Where were the children?

  Kyra had no idea how long she waited before he came back outside and joined her on the swing. He rested his hand on her arm and she felt that touch despite the cloth between them.

  “We’re waiting for the local electric company to arrive. They need to restore power to the house.”

  “Why isn’t there any power?”

  He grimaced. “The line was cut. Tell me about your sister, Kyra,” he continued before she could say anything else. “You said she has an ex-husband.”

  “Milt Bowman. He’s an engineer with Norris Transportation Systems, a local contracting firm. Casey has a restraining order against him.”

  “He’s hit her? Been abusive?”

  Kyra nodded, swallowing fear-laced bile. “Only when he’s drunk. He gets mean when he drinks. Casey covered for him for years, but one night he went after Kip. She stopped him and he broke her jaw. As soon as he passed out, she took the kids to a shelter. They got her to the hospital, helped her get a lawyer and a restraining order, and she filed for divorce. When Milt realized she wasn’t going to change her mind, he backed off and agreed to the divorce. In exchange she refused to file charges.”

  That still angered her, but there was no arguing once Casey made up her mind.

  “Then she met Jordan Fillmont. They started dating.”

  Kyra tried not to let her feelings about that show.

  “They married the day her divorce became final.”

  And no amount of talk could convince her sister not to rush into another marriage. Casey didn’t like being a single parent.

  “Milt was furious,” Kyra continued. “He threatened her.”

  “She went to the police?”

  “Yes. She applied for another restraining order. Milt hired a lawyer to sue for joint custody.”

  “He wants the kids?”

  “Of course not. He wants to make her pay for getting remarried. He’s a drunk and a jerk. My sister has terrible taste in men.”

  She didn’t add that it seemed to be a family trait.

  “Including her new husband?”

  Kyra bit the tip of her tongue before answering. “I don’t know him. They were married a few months ago.”

  “Where does Fillmont work?”

  “The Oak Forest Country Club. I’m not sure what he does there, something to do with the golf course, I think.”

  “O’Shay?” someone called.

  “Be right there.” He turned back to her. “Sit here a little longer, all right?”

  His hand was warm on hers. She wondered when he’d taken it. Now he gave her fingers a gentle squeeze and stood, leaving her to talk with a pair of plain clothes officers. After a moment the three disappeared inside the house.

  The power company arrived and the repair crew was ushered through the police line. Time trickled past. Her watch was at a jeweler’s being repaired, so she had no idea how late it was. She fidgeted, needing to be doing something besides sitting and thinking in circles. Anxious now, she waited for the detective to return. When he did, he motioned for her to join him.

  “This is Detective Todd Berringer and Captain Walsh, Kyra.”

  She barely acknowledged the introduction. Her eyes riveted on what she could see of the living-room disaster through the open front door. She stepped past them and moved inside, surveying the scene in sick dread. Every stick of furniture had been sliced open. Every breakable object had been broken in sheer, wanton destruction. An undecorated artificial Christmas tree lay on its side, a box of ornaments crushed beneath it.

  Tears blurred her vision. She blinked hard to hold them at bay. “Why?”

  “It appears someone was looking for something,” one of the men said.

  Kyra shook her head, keeping her eyes averted until she felt more in control. “My sister doesn’t have anything of value. Maybe a few pieces of jewelry, but this…”

  Helplessly she stared at a handmade ornament that had rolled nearly to the door. She lifted it gently. Kip had made this when he was in kindergarten. She had a blue one just like it.

  “Ms. Wolfstead, I’m sorry, but is this your sister?” Detective Berringer removed a picture from a shattered glass frame and handed her the torn photograph.

  Casey and the children smiled up at her. The photo had been taken more than a year ago. Kyra carried a wallet-sized version in her purse.

  The tears came close to spilling over as she stared at the photo. Everyone always commented on how much Kyra resembled her older sister. It was several seconds before she could do more than nod. “Yes. And that’s Kip, Brian and Maggie.”

  He produced another photo in a cracked plastic frame that showed Casey and Jordan standing outside the courthouse on their wedding day. She had a copy of that picture as well.

  “That’s Casey and her husband, Jordan,” she confirmed. “Is the entire house like this?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “Did you find…?” She couldn’t bring herself to say blood, but Detective O’Shay was there, touching her lightly.

  “There’s no blood, Kyra. Nothing to tell us if this mess happened while the family was still here or if they came home to find the house like this. We know Kip is alive. There’s no reason to think the rest of the family isn’t as well.”

  More than anything she wanted to believe him, but seeing this destruction…“Casey would have called me if she could have.”

  The men exchanged looks. It was Detective Berringer who spoke again. “Ms. Wolfstead, you say your sister didn’t have anything of value. What about cash? Some people don’t like banks.”

  “My sister’s a waitress. Her husband works at a country club. They don’t have a lot of cash.”

  Once again Detective O’Shay touched her arm lightly. There was an almost apologetic expression in those deep gray eyes.

  “Kip has been going into the local convenience store since Monday. He’s been buying food and carrying it away in his backpack. Every purchase has been paid for with a one-hundred-dollar bill.”

  For a second she didn’t understand what he was telling her. Then she couldn’t breathe. “That’s crazy.” The words came out as a whisper.

  “Could your sister or her husband be involved in drugs, Ms. Wolfstead?” Detective Berringer asked.

  “What? No! Casey has children!”

  The men exchanged another look. She could almost hear the silent question that passed between them. How well did she really know her sister? Choking back a protest, she forced herself to think. Even unvoiced, it was a valid question and it deserved an honest answer.

  “I was a senior in high school when Casey married Milt. There are eleven years between us.” And the difference in their ages had kept them from being as close as she would have liked. “But she’s my sister. We keep in touch, even though we don’t see each other very often. My job’s in Boston. Casey lives here.”

  Was it possible? Could Casey be using drugs? Would Kyra know if she was? Yes, she was sure she’d know. Casey was her sister!

  “My sister isn’t into drugs,” she stated more firmly. “I can’t speak for her husband, but look at this house. They rent. They don’t even own this place. She’s had that same shabby Christmas tree since before Kip was born. If they had the sort of money drug-dealing is supposed to net, don’t you think they’d live better than this? My sister drives a seven-year-old car! It’s always breaking down. I’ve sent her money for repairs. Jordan’s no bigwig. I won’t believe they’re involved in drugs.”

  Detective O’Shay’s gaze bored into hers. “Drug habits are expensive.”

  Kyra closed her eyes. “I don’t believe it. I don’t want to believe it,” she added more softly.

  “I understand, but where would Kip get several hundred dollars in cash?”

  “I don’t know!” Her voice fell to almost a whisper. “I don’t know.”

  And she still wanted to cry, but now her eyes felt dry and scratc
hy. In order to help Casey and the children, she needed to remain calm and answer their questions. And they had a lot of questions. It was dismaying to realize how few answers she could give. Tired beyond thought, she finally shook her head. “May I look around? Maybe I’ll see something that will help.”

  Detective O’Shay nodded. “I was going to ask you to do that.”

  She drew strength from his solid presence as they moved silently from room to room. The downstairs and the master bedroom had been the focus of the destruction. The children’s rooms showed more cursory searches. In those rooms, drawers and closets had been rifled and the mattresses had been sliced open and overturned, but the damage wasn’t nearly as bad as in the other rooms. Maggie’s bedroom had barely been disturbed at all.

  Decorated in pastels, her tiny room had obviously been intended as an office. A built-in bookcase sat along one wall where a closet should have been. Stuffed toys and children’s books had been pulled from the shelves. The dresser drawers had been dumped but nothing was broken.

  “Where are the pillows and blankets?” she asked as they stood in the hall after going through each room. The detective looked puzzled. She indicated one of the boys’ rooms. “There are no blankets or pillows in any of the children’s rooms.”

  His lips parted. He returned to the master bedroom at the far end of the hall and flicked on the light.

  “There are blankets and pillows in here. They’re ripped, but they’re here.”

  He crossed to the room she’d indicated and studied the scene.

  “Good observation, Kyra. We should have noticed that.”

  He pinched the bridge of his nose as if he had a headache. She’d tried hard not to notice how attractive he was despite the lines that bracketed his mouth and eyes. Sure, he needed a shave. And what appeared to be a recent haircut couldn’t tame his dark, unruly hair. But he carried himself with an aura of command that was very appealing. His mannerisms said he was sure of his place in the universe. His expression was stern, but those tired gray eyes held empathy and genuine concern.