Partner-Protector

by Julie Miller

  He rocked her back and forth, feeling the restless urge to take action jolting through his own legs. He looked over the top of her head. “How much longer, A. J.?”

  “The crime scene team’s been in there an hour now. One of the neighbors called in the spray-painted snow. Must have been done last night before the new snow started to cover it up. Apparently, the intruder entered through a back window. He trashed up the house pretty good, came out the front. Doesn’t look like anything was taken.”

  Kelsey pulled away and turned to A. J. “Why?” She hugged her arms around her waist and reached inside her coat, no doubt to find the pendant to hold on to. “This is like something my ex would do, serving no point but to torment me. When can I go in?”

  A. J.’s gaze bypassed Kelsey to meet T’s. “We figured this was related to the hooker murders. She’s got an ex who could be responsible?”

  She answered before T could even speculate. “No. Jeb’s too lazy to leave his hometown to cause this much trouble here. He’s a big fish in a small pond back there. That was one of the attractions of moving to the city. It wouldn’t be as easy to single me out for being different.”

  Her voice trailed off before she finished. She knew what they all did. She’d already been singled out. Neither the big city nor T. Merle Banning had kept her out of the spotlight.

  “Rodriguez?” A man and a woman, wearing fluorescent orange vests identifying them as the crime scene team, walked out the front door. “We’re clear.”

  “Now?” Kelsey prodded.

  “Go on. I’ll—” she took off before T could promise any support “—be right behind you.”

  A firm hand on his arm stopped T from following her. “At least now I understand why your phone was off the hook.” A. J.’s expression refused to reveal whether that was a teasing congratulations or a reprimand. “You should have checked your messages. I agree that it’s not likely an ex-boyfriend or husband did this. Did you see this morning’s paper?”

  T’s entire world had been Kelsey Ryan for the past twelve hours. Building to something great, then crashing to pieces when she second-guessed his motives. He hadn’t seen anything beyond that. He followed A. J. to the Trans Am and brushed off the light dusting of snow on the roof to spread open the paper A. J. pulled from the front seat.

  It wasn’t a very big article, and it was buried in the middle of the newspaper. But the two pictures and the headlines were very clear. One was a stock photo of Kelsey from the paper’s archives. Her hair was longer and a nondescript mousy color. But the soft, intelligent eyes were the same. The second picture showed the current version of Kelsey—spiked red hair and wild coat—walking Frosty along this very street.

  Psychic Unravels Connection In Decade-Old Murder Case.

  “Son of a bitch.” He crumpled the paper in his fist and sought out the skinny brunette with dangerous ideas about breaking a big story. “Why don’t they just paint a target on Kelsey’s back? I’m going to strangle Rebecca Page.”

  “No, you’re not, my friend. Josh’ll sweet-talk her into killing the story and pics for a few days. Right now, you need to go be with Kelsey. Figure this one out for us, Banning. And we’ll all rest easier tonight.” Even with a case like this one that stumped the department, T had never heard A. J. lose his cool. That calm sense of duty and responsibility grounded him now. “Go. We’ll give you whatever backup you need. Whenever you need it.” A. J. shared a hint of a smile. “So keep your phone turned on.”

  T nodded, a bit stunned to hear the confidence that a veteran like Detective Rodriguez had in him. Along with that crazy line about being a mixture of Atticus Finch and Dirty Harry that Kelsey had fed him in bed that morning, A. J.’s plain words might have finally put to rest any lingering qualms T had about his computer geek reputation at the precinct.

  He was more than the son of a criminal who’d taken the coward’s way out. He was a friend, an equal. A good cop.

  Maybe he had nothing left to prove, after all.

  Not to anyone but Kelsey. And while it bruised his ego and humbled his heart to think she didn’t believe the depth of all he felt for her, he understood. He hadn’t given her a real warm welcome when they’d first met. She’d been through hells vastly different, but no less painful than his own. Unflinching faith in another human being wasn’t an easy commodity for a woman like her to buy. But he could be patient. He could be persistent.

  It was how he’d achieved everything else that mattered in his life.

  He jogged up the driveway to Kelsey’s front door. He was going to solve the damn case, and then he was going to burrow away someplace private with Kelsey and do whatever it took to convince her that they were meant to be partners in the most loving, trusting way imaginable.

  “Kels? Did you find him?” Half of him hoped that she hadn’t, in case the pooch had met with a gruesome end defending his territory.

  “In here.” Following the sounds of scuffling and scratching, T picked his way across her living room to her bedroom.

  T cursed the pointless wreck the intruder or intruders had made. The television and CD systems sat untouched, but the sofa cushions had been shredded along with two of her antique quilts. Almost every book had been pulled off its shelf. And the dolls that she’d placed so neatly around in cubbyholes and a display case had been tossed into a heap in the middle of the floor.

  “There you go, ma’am.” T recognized the man’s voice. A member of the CSI team was still here.

  “Come here, baby. Come here.” Kelsey’s joyful cry quickened his steps. He entered the room just in time to see a silver ball of fur launch itself into Kelsey’s arms and tumble them both onto the bed. “Frosty! Good boy, good boy. Mama loves you.”

  Judging by the furious wag of the poodle’s tail, he hadn’t been too traumatized. “That’s terrific news, Kels. I told you he was a little bear.”

  He took in a quick view of the scene, including a wooden camp box, the tumble of furniture and debris that had been barricaded in front of the closet door, and the tall blond man standing in the middle of it all.

  “Mac.” T shook hands with his best friend, Mac Taylor. “Looks like you saved the day.”

  “Banning.” Mac centered his glasses on the bridge of his nose. “I was actually packing up when Ms. Ryan came in. We’d cleared the closet but hadn’t looked inside the camp box. She thought of that.” T looked over to see the hugging and petting and happy licking that had completely changed Kelsey’s mood. “Fortunately, she’d drilled some holes in the box or he’d have suffocated. He was still pretty drowsy when we opened it up. He’d been muzzled with this.”

  Mac handed him a clear plastic evidence bag. Inside was a long, thin silk scarf, similar in design but newer than the one Kelsey had found in the mission’s giveaway box. Attached to it was a typed note that must have been tied to Frosty’s neck, a macabre gift if the intruder hadn’t planned for the dog to survive. Next time it’ll be you.

  T checked his curse and whispered. “Did she see this?”

  Mac nodded. “But I don’t think it registered. She was too caught up in the dog’s welfare.”

  “Mr. Taylor?” T and Mac both turned at the concern in her voice. “There’s blood on Frosty’s leg. But I don’t see anyplace where he’s been hurt.”

  “Let’s check it out.” Mac grabbed a pair of scissors and a bag and knelt in front of the dog in Kelsey’s lap to inspect the splotch of red matting Frosty’s fur. “I think you got a chunk of your attacker, boy.” He trimmed the fur and dropped it into the bag to label it. He stood and turned to T. “That’s DNA evidence I can match if you bring me the perp.”

  T nodded. “It’s also a wound we can look for to identify our man.”

  “Good boy, Frosty.” Kelsey hugged the poodle again. “We’ll get that bad guy.”

  Was that renewed determination he heard in her voice?

  Mac dropped the bags into his kit and closed it. “Ms. Ryan. Banning.” He shook hands and let the conversation ta
ke a friendlier turn. “Sorry to run into you this way. But Happy New Year. Jules swears she’s going to name the baby after you when he comes in March.”

  “I appreciate the honor, but don’t torture the kid like that.”

  “Thomas,” Kelsey interrupted. Then she hesitated, as if realizing she’d revealed a deep, dark secret. “Call him Thomas. Not Merle. Sorry.”

  But Mac could be trusted with the truth about his name. “Tom Taylor. I like it. My wife will love it. Take care, buddy.”

  “You, too.”

  After Mac left, T debated the urge to sit down next to Kelsey. That’s when he realized she’d taken off her gloves to stroke the dog’s soft, curly fur.

  “He’s the friend you saved,” she announced before he could ask. “The man you took two bullets for.”

  “I wondered if you’d sense that.”

  “He thinks of you like a brother.”

  “It’s mutual. The Taylors have been good to me. I’ve learned a lot about being a cop…about being a man from them.” He pulled back the front of his coat and splayed his hands at his hips. “When you’re an only child, it’s good to have somebody you can look up to.”

  Kelsey understood. “Yes, it is. I had Lucy Belle.”

  “Maybe you and I are luckier than we thought we were.”

  She hugged the dog and he wished it was him. Pitiful. This longing. This desperate need to reconnect with her, to heal wounds and distrusts that, too late, he realized went as deep as his own. But he had to get the investigation out of the way first. Or she’d question his motives.

  “Find something warm and dry to change into,” he ordered, hating to bully her about this. “I’ll have Josh and A. J. secure the house. We need to get to the station and find out what that doll can tell us.”

  Kelsey nodded and stood. “I can take Frosty with me to the precinct offices, can’t I?”

  “Sure.” He’d clear it with Captain Taylor later.

  Right now, he didn’t think he was the security she’d want to put her arms around to help her look into the eyes of a murderer.

  Chapter Eleven

  The clean, bright walls of the Fourth Precinct’s interrogation room faded into a place much darker, more sinister—and all too familiar.

  “I beg you. Please. Don’t.”

  She backed away as far as she could go, giving a soft, startled yelp when she hit the hard, dark wall. Trapped.

  Kelsey stroked the doll’s silky hair, touched its face, cradled it between her hands and hugged it to her shoulder. She laid her cheek against its soft body and focused through the pale blue light, seeking out the images in her mind.

  “Most men bring cash. I didn’t understand. I’m surprised, that’s all. It doesn’t mean I don’t like it. I can learn to appreciate it.”

  He’d given her the doll as a gift. A fine prize for a real lady. She’d laughed and asked if it was some kind of fetish for him.

  He caressed her face. She jerked her head to the side, hating his touch.

  “Oh, God.” A fist constricted around her lungs and Kelsey cried out. Now she understood why the impression of Jezebel’s murder had been so clear. Why Ed Watkins had insisted that Jezebel could talk to her and explain her death.

  Hating his touch.

  Hypocrite! He’d taken an oath to help those in need. It was his job to be kind. But there were strings attached. Unknown dangers awaited anyone who accepted his help.

  He wanted to clean her. Fix her. Heal her.

  “Oh, God, no.”

  “Kels.” She heard her name through the distance, muffled by the clouds and snow and bone-deep chill that shivered through her body.

  But she forced herself to stay with Jezebel. To see everything that Jezebel saw. To feel everything she felt. To fear everything she feared.

  He reached into his pocket and pulled out a scarf. It was long and narrow, tattered as if it had come from an old woman’s attic or a flea market. Its mustard-yellow trim and fuschia dots were the only colors that registered in the darkness.

  Kelsey snatched at her pendant, trying to hold on to the blue light that made everything so clear.

  Rotted wood. The slats of an unfinished wall.

  Slanted ceiling. The room was long and narrow and sparsely furnished. A white metal cot, more like a hospital bed than a place to earn her keep.

  Yellow scarf with fuschia dots, so tight around her throat. She was dying. She couldn’t breathe. She was so cold.

  “Kelsey!”

  “No.”

  She forced her mind back to Jezebel, settled inside her body. Looked through her eyes.

  As the oxygen left her body, the horrific images finally began to fade. The hate. The rage.

  She was the one who’d been betrayed. First by her husband, and now by this man she’d trusted.

  Blackness crept in. Her knees buckled. Her hair tangled in the wood’s coarse texture and ripped from her scalp.

  Help me.

  She was calling to Kelsey. Calling across time. Calling from one cursed mind to another.

  “Open your eyes, Jezebel. Tell me your name.”

  “I’m Mary.”

  “Open your eyes!”

  Fear dragged her down into its frigid grasp. Her screams gurgled in her throat.

  Like raising ironclad doors, Jezebel opened her eyes. But everything was fading to black and white. Her eyes slammed shut.

  No more pain.

  Kelsey slumped in her chair. She let her arm fall to her side and the doll tumble to the floor.

  “Kelsey! Kels, are you all right?”

  She heard a bark.

  She was cold as the dead. But a warm cloak wrapped around her shoulders and she was pulled up tight against a hard wall of pure heat. Rough hands rubbed urgent circles along her back and arms and her nose was buried against the clean, tangible scents of cotton and damp wool.

  She recognized those scents, recognized the heat. She opened her eyes, rooting herself in the familiar chairs and walls of the tiny precinct room. “T?”

  “I’m here.” His voice drizzled against her ear. Real. Live. Now. “I’m right here. I’m so sorry you had to do that. I’m so—”

  Kelsey pushed back against his arms enough to press two fingers to his mouth. His green eyes blazed with emotions she was too weak to identify. But his coat was warm and snug around her, his body a solid anchor to cling to.

  “Let me talk,” she whispered. “Before the headache gets worse and I have to lie down.”

  “I’m listening.”

  She talked to the familiar green eyes that never looked away. “I saw the place where it happened. I saw the room. The walls were open slats, without any drywall or paneling. The ceiling sloped down at an angle.”

  “An attic.”

  She nodded. “I think it’s the top floor of the mission. It’s a place to start, at any rate.”

  “What else?”

  She invited Frosty up into her lap and ran her fingers through his soft, warm fur. T kept rubbing circles; she kept talking. “If you find the room, you’ll find strands of Mary’s hair stuck in the wood. That’s Jezebel’s real name. If DNA lasts eleven years, that’s a fact that’ll place her at the scene of the crime.”

  “And his face?”

  She curled her fingers into the lapel of T’s jacket. “She wouldn’t let me see. But it was someone she thought was there to help her. A doctor, a cop, a boyfriend.”

  “Her husband?”

  “No. She said she’d been betrayed by her husband and this man.”

  “You’re doing great, Kels. Anything else you can tell us?”

  Us? When had her audience expanded?

  Frosty stood in her lap, propping his feet on the table and making the same curious survey of the people sitting around the meeting table as she did. A. J., T’s detective friend with the unusual eyes and soft accent. Josh, without a smile for the first time since she’d known him. She’d known they’d be present. But there was also Mitch Taylor, the prec
inct captain. Another big, dark-haired man who was almost his twin sat beside him. Then a petite, pregnant blonde in a wheelchair.

  Kelsey had seen her a number of times through T’s psychic residue. Ginny Rafferty-Taylor. The big brute must be her husband, the man who’d won Ginny’s love and sealed off T’s heart.

  “Ho, boy.” She breathed the phrase without realizing she’d said it out loud. She was a sideshow.

  “These are all cops, helping with the investigation,” he explained in his succinct, logical way. “Except for Brett there.”

  Ginny squeezed her husband’s hand and spoke gently, as to a child. “He wouldn’t let me out of the house without him. Not in my condition. Thank you for letting us share in your gift. We hope we haven’t made you too uncomfortable. But we wanted to give you and Merle every bit of help we can.”

  Ginny was nice? That would put a crimp in the hating-her department.

  T went on. “We all need to be on the same page with this, so we can close in on this guy.”

  Instinctively, Kelsey groped at the front of her sweater, searching for her pendant. T’s fingers were already there.

  He pressed the crystal into her hand and folded his fingers around hers. She wearily braced herself for the images to start—Ginny at the altar, him being shot. But she saw none of that, only sadness and—oh, geez—rolling on top of her in the snow.

  Her memories must be getting mixed up with his. She was well beyond tired. Kelsey pushed away from T’s comforting touch. “The doll was a gift. Something pricey and nice that her killer thought a real lady would appreciate. He was trying to help her turn her life around.”

  “Like Ed Watkins.”

  “Maybe. But I couldn’t say it was him.” Adrenaline seeped into her system and tried to revitalize her. A subconscious image tried show itself. “Black and white,” she whispered

  “Black and white?” T questioned.

  She tried to focus. It hadn’t been just a fading image. Mary’s last thoughts were of colors—or the absence thereof. Black. White. But Kelsey was so tired. Her mind was shutting down and she just couldn’t make a connection. Her thoughts scattered, surrendering to the fatigue. “I never saw the killer’s face.”