by Julie Miller
He pulled out his notepad and pen. “What kind of car?”
“Gray SUV. I’m bad with makes and models, but it wasn’t new. There was rust around the wheel wells.”
He jotted the description, wracking his brain, trying to recall if he’d seen one parked in no-man’s land last night. “You said they. How many? Man? Woman?”
“Actually there was just one. The driver was slender. Had dark brown hair and wore a cap pulled low over her eyes.”
“Her?”
Kelsey considered her assessment. “Yes. It was a woman. She had smooth skin, no beard. And her lips were too pretty.”
Definitely not Marlon Siegel. Not anyone near the top of his suspect list if she was a female. “And what makes you think she was watching you?”
“When I took Frosty for a walk, she followed us. Followed my cab to the police station, too.”
A few questions later and he was steaming. Rebecca Page, crime reporter, was apparently working overtime, trying to make a story he didn’t want told. She might justify her spying as some sort of necessity to complete her father’s journalistic legacy, but to T’s way of thinking, she was just going to bring Kelsey a lot of publicity she didn’t want or deserve.
“I’ll handle it,” he promised, escorting Kelsey back to his desk. “Captain Taylor said the press was going to start hounding us. But that shouldn’t include private citizens like you. In the meantime, make yourself comfortable. The one place Rebecca Page, or anyone else, can’t get to you is right here.”
EVEN WITH EARPHONES to muffle the sound, Kelsey flinched every time T’s gun went off. The K.C.P.D. indoor firing range was deserted by late afternoon on New Year’s Eve, so she and T were the only ones occupying a booth. After a hectic day, bumping into people in the break room and being introduced to every well-meaning friend on the force curious about the woman who wasn’t his partner sitting at Detective Banning’s desk, he’d suggested coming here for the solitude.
True to his word, not a single reporter had invaded her privacy all day. But she’d been antsy with boredom, having little to do but sit back and observe the bustle around her. She’d finally given herself a task and had borrowed a legal pad to start a list of everything she could remember from her impressions of the two murders. She had pages now, of images, sounds, smells. The more she wrote, the more real they became. The more agitated she became. The cruel taunts. The betrayal. The sheer, helpless terror.
Finally, at about three in the afternoon, T had tapped her on the shoulder to ask something about coffee. When she jumped in her chair and sent an entire mug full of pens and pencils scattering across the floor, he’d turned off his computer, picked up their coats and said they were taking an elevator ride to someplace more private.
For a few brief moments, Kelsey had imagined something warm and romantic—a tropical beach, a hot tub, his arms.
But then she remembered his partner, Ginny—the woman he fantasized warm, romantic thoughts about.
T was her friend. Her partner. Her protector.
To imagine him as anything more would surely get her heart into bigger trouble than the nightmarish mess she was already a part of.
When he walked her down to the basement and turned on the lights, she’d laughed out loud with amusement and relief. This was where he came to blow off steam when life got too tense to bear. It was as private as he’d promised, yet she didn’t have to worry about getting any romantic notions. The concussive repetition of noise keeping her nerves on edge would see to that.
“Any questions?”
She set down the notepad where she’d been scribbling out her stress and took a deep breath. He set the gun down on the counter and invited her to take his place at the rail. “I don’t know, T. Maybe I don’t want to actually shoot it.”
He nodded with a sage, teacherly expression on his face and pulled her into position. “You don’t want to be afraid of guns. You want to respect them. To do that, you have to learn about them.”
“What if I have terrible aim and hit the target in the next lane? Or blow out the gearbox that moves the targets?”
He grinned. “Relax, Calamity. We don’t give real bullets to someone who’s never fired a gun before.”
“I’ve never even held one.”
“Then let’s change that.” He reached for her right hand and picked up the gun and placed it into position in her palm. Then he guided her left hand to the base of the grip and let her take the weight of the gun.
Kelsey gasped in surprise. “It’s heavy.”
He shrugged, indicating what she found amazing was no big deal to him. “That’s a standard police issue. A Glock 9 mm.”
She spread her feet in the same position he had used, one foot slightly behind the other. “I hold it out straight, lock this arm, and…” The gun slipped in her hands when she tried to stick her finger through the trigger keeper. “I can’t get a good grip with wool gloves.”
“Besides the impact-resistant lining, that’s one reason we wear the leather gloves. Better traction. They’ll be big, but—”
“It’s okay.” She snagged him by the arm when he went back toward the coat-rack at the firing range door to retrieve his gloves for her. “I can do this.”
She set the gun down, debated for a moment, then tugged off her turquoise gloves.
“You don’t have to.”
“It wouldn’t be much of a lesson if I didn’t finish, now would it?”
Kelsey wiggled her fingers as she blew out a steadying breath. Then, just as he’d shown her, she picked up the gun and braced herself.
The images came, but she focused her energy in the here and now and blurred them like a watercolor painting. The gun butt felt warm between her palms, the trigger, cold. She extended her arms, closed one eye and sighted the target.
T wrapped his hand around both of hers and lifted the gun to the proper level. The instant fire of his skin touching hers scattered the hazy images. “Just squeeze gently.”
But she was no longer in the firing range. No longer in that booth with T. The gun had its own story to tell, and, adding the contact with T’s hand, the impression became startlingly clear.
“My gun.”
T clawed at the ground, trying to reach their only means of protection. His chest felt like a deflated tire. His leg burned so bad, he was sure he’d pass out from the pain. He couldn’t keep his eyes open.
Urgent hands scrambled, placed the gun in his hand. He curled his fingers around the familiar, solid steel.
The big man was coming. That jackass son of a bitch was coming back to finish what he’d started. Kill Mac Taylor. He was going to kill them all.
Bleeding from the wound in his own shoulder, the big man panted. “I’m sorry, Mr. Taylor.”
He raised his gun, but T was faster. The shot exploded in the air and the big man went down.
He’d saved his friends. For now. But he couldn’t help them anymore.
“Go.” His chest heaved with the effort to speak that one word. He just needed to rest. He needed to close his eyes and sleep so the pain would go away.
Kelsey squeezed her eyes shut and struggled to inhale. But the huge weight on her chest made it impossible to breathe.
“…all right, sweetheart. Let it go.” A strong hand pried the gun from her grip. Stronger arms folded around her. “Kelsey. Come back to me.”
The scratch of soft wool abraded her cheek. The smells of crisp, pressed cotton and warm, musky man filled her nose. T’s smells. It was such a good place, such a safe place, that Kelsey wrapped her arms around his waist and burrowed against his strength and warmth.
Kelsey shuddered as the image left her and she gasped for air. T held her tight and whispered sweet, gentle things against her hair. “Oh, T. It was awful.” She slid her hands beneath his jacket and clutched at the back of his shirt, needing to be even closer to his warmth. “You had to kill a man.”
His lips brushed her ear, but the touch was so light, so loving, she di
dn’t feel anything but the shiver of awareness that tingled beneath the sensitive spot. “I’m so sorry. I should have thought of that. I never should have asked you to—”
“You were shot.” She leaned back, keeping her hand at his belt to anchor herself. That was the image she’d seen when they’d touched at lunch that first day. Bleeding on the ground after a drive-by shooting. When the attacker returned to polish off the wounded, T had fired first.
“Here.” In her mind she could see the exact spot. She pushed her hand beneath the left side of his jacket and splayed her fingers over the puckered circle of scar tissue she could feel through the cotton. “And your leg. You were shot in the knee.”
He laid his hand over the top of hers and pressed it to the spot he’d been wounded. “Don’t think about that. It’s over.” He dropped his chin to capture her gaze. “I’m healthy as a horse now. I’m okay.”
“But you hurt.” Tears burned in her eyes as she relived his pain, as she took solace in the knowledge that he’d saved lives that day, including his own. “I didn’t know how much you’d lost. How much you hurt.”
Pinching her chin between his thumb and finger, he tilted her face to his. “I don’t hurt like that anymore.” She blinked the mist from her eyes and focused on the acceptance and the promise she saw in those wise green eyes. “The body heals, the brain learns from it, the instincts are a little sharper the next time.”
He wiped a tear from her cheek with the pad of his thumb. Her skin burned beneath his touch. “If any of these are for me, don’t. I’m tougher than I look.”
“You’ve always had to be tough, haven’t you.” She wasn’t sure if she sensed that through the caress of his thumb, or if she’d just spent enough time with him to learn that he’d been misjudged by others throughout his life. But that persecution had made him stronger and more determined inside than most other men ever had to be. “Just like me.”
She boldly reached up and brushed her fingers along either side of his jaw. The sensations that seeped in were a mix of physical and metaphysical. Tenderness. Strength. The erotic prickle of beard stubble that tickled her sensitive fingertips. Warm skin. Lips melding. Bodies mating.
Kelsey’s lips parted as an overheated breath escaped. He wanted to kiss her. He’d wanted to before. He wanted…
Something hot and feminine clenched inside her, pouring liquid heat into her veins. Warm honey pooled between her legs, gathered in her breasts and made them heavy.
She could picture herself in bed with T. Naked shoulders. Bare butt. Climbing over her body, sinking inside. Filling her with a slow, torturous heat. His fantasy or hers? And then…
The sensations were blotted out by the very real pressure of T’s mouth against hers. Her breath caught in her chest. Time and images seemed to stand still.
Her lips softened and surrendered to his gentle, probing lips. Her fingers felt his strong jaw, and the precision dance of muscles and pulse moving beneath the skin as he angled his mouth to deepen the kiss. Her lips parted and she tasted rich coffee and deep, uneven breaths that matched her own. She sighed with contentment and longing, filling her head with his clean, masculine scent.
His hands were at her hips and in her hair. They slipped beneath the weight of her sweater and blouse, and skimmed along the silk of her camisole, examining every curve and contour with exacting precision.
The heat in her body ignited, fed by the abundant warmth and sensual assault of his hands and mouth. She slipped her arms around his neck, rubbed her tingling palms against the short silk of his hair and pulled herself up on tiptoe to lose herself in the inexplicable reality of this kiss.
There were no images to distract her. No impressions to confuse her or cause her pain. It was just T. Kissing her. Holding her. Backing her against the counter and dragging her primed, needy body against his to give her a very real imprint of his desire for her.
It was two world-weary souls coming alive in each other’s embrace. Two outcasts who found acceptance in each other’s kiss. Two hearts joining that had never been able to give all they wanted before.
A bird chirped inside T’s pants, and, at first, Kelsey wanted to laugh. Her body was singing, too.
But then she felt the tension in him, the sudden stilling of his hands inside her shirt. He tore his mouth away and rested his cheek against hers. His deep, ragged breath and frustrated curse scorched her neck.
She knew now it was his phone. And the damn thing kept ringing.
“I should get this,” he gasped, pulling his hands to a more neutral location outside her sweater. He cupped her shoulders and backed away. “I’m expecting calls…” He nodded jerkily, as if needing the affirmation that leaving her stunned and shaky was the right thing to do. “…on the case.”
“I’m okay.” Kelsey straightened the tie and lapels she’d smushed in her greedy hands and gave him the smile he needed to go back to work.
She should take a step back from this, anyway, and consider the magic of what had just passed between them. She’d never kissed a man before without seeing bits of his past, without being inundated by thoughts and words and symbols. But she’d been so overwhelmed by T’s kiss, so into it, so on fire, that they’d just been a man and a woman together. In this place. In this now.
He pulled his phone from his pocket and flipped it open. “Banning.”
His face blanched. He frowned an apology then he turned away.
“Ginny. Happy New Year to you, too.”
Kelsey’s ego crashed and burned. Ginny.
She hooked her bag over her arm, grabbed her gloves and notepad and walked away.
It was just a kiss.
Hot bodies coming together at a mutually needy moment. Nothing more than a physical outlet for simmering fears and frustrations. She shouldn’t read anything life altering into that.
“Hey.” She felt his hand on her arm, stopping her. But it didn’t mean anything. He mouthed the words, Stay close, then let her go and continued the conversation. “Yeah, Gin. What did you find out?”
She shouldn’t feel angry or hurt. She shouldn’t hold anything against Ginny Rafferty-Taylor. She was probably a very nice woman, deserving of T’s loyalty and devotion.
This was actually a step up for Kelsey in the relationship department. T had shown her she was a woman he could want…as long as the woman he did want wasn’t around.
But her raw lips and hopeless heart didn’t seem to believe this was anything but a huge step back into loneliness.
He tried to hold her gaze as he retreated into the booth. But he was too busy listening to Ginny. Kelsey thumbed over her shoulder toward the exit. “I’m just going to visit the ladies’ room.”
He nodded and disappeared.
A splash of cold water on her face might clear her thoughts. Maybe she should douse her whole head. Kelsey shoved open the metal door, leaving T and his phone call and that kiss behind. She paused and squinted a few moments to let her eyes adjust to the brighter light in the hallway.
She heard the sound first. An ominous shuffle of footsteps on a supposedly deserted floor. Kelsey froze. Was someone following her again?
Hugging her notepad and bag to her chest, she quickly scanned the hallway. She saw the open entryways into the men’s and women’s locker rooms on the opposite wall. The closed elevator at the far end of the hall. The door to the stairway.
Just a few yards away, the door to the supply closet clicked shut.
Kelsey whirled around to face the creepy sound. There was nothing suspicious about someone hiding in a supply closet. Yeah, right.
Reporter? Camera? Killer?
“Hello?” Kelsey retreated a few cautious steps.
She’d thought she needed her space from T, but suddenly, she felt way too far away. “Good-bye.”
Half a step toward the firing-range door, rough, black-gloved hands grabbed her from behind and dragged her into the ladies’ room.
Kelsey’s scream rang inside her head. She bit into the hand
covering her mouth, but something hard and wiry inside the glove kept her from doing any damage. A hard arm cinched her around the waist and lifted her off the floor, crushing her against leather and padding and something hard that poked her in the hip.
“Stop it! Get your hands off me!”
She kicked her feet, beat with her hands, tried to grab the door frame. But the hands were too strong, the hot breath and curses against her neck too angry. Her assailant yanked her loose and carried her inside, behind a concrete-block wall that hid her from the hallway opening.
He twisted her in his grasp and threw her up against the wall hard enough to smack her head against the concrete. Pain radiated through her skull and made her dizzy. “No. Stop. Please. T!”
By the time she shook her aching head clear, the gloved hands had muffled her mouth and the weight of a man’s heavy body pinned her. He was already talking, whispering vile, filthy things right in her face.
“…making me look bad, you freaky bitch.” She knew those beady, hateful eyes. “At the station house and on my own turf.” Ed Watkins’s hands tightened painfully on her mouth and neck. Her eyes widened at the blame and contempt in his expression, so like Jeb’s had been. A man who refused to understand anything different that he couldn’t control.
Her protests vibrated in her throat and rang in her ears.
“I’ve had to deal with your kind before. I’ve seen how you work. You’re casting a spell over everybody, and that ain’t right. I know how you can turn a man’s head and make him think things. You make my people very uncomfortable.”
Her kind? His people?
The sergeant’s spittle sprayed her face, but he seemed more desperate than angry. Wild and insistent in his grip and his eyes. “You have to stop telling people you see stuff in your head. Do you understand? I can help you if you listen to me. But I won’t be able to protect you if you keep talkin’ crazy like that.”
He thought she was talking crazy?
“It’s gonna happen all over again, and I won’t have that. I can’t keep you safe. I couldn’t keep Jezebel safe. But I tried. You don’t know how hard I tried. But you are gonna stay out of trouble. Understand?” He tugged at the pocket of her jeans. “If you won’t listen to me, you listen to Jezebel.”
