by Julie Miller
“On paper, he shouldn’t be able to. But it’s not my job to take chances with your security.”
The coffee blended with stress and fear to burn a hole in her stomach. Jane paced to the kitchen sink to dump out the remnants and rinse her mug. “Seamus has scheduled appointments, daily therapy sessions I’m responsible for. I can’t change those or it’ll impact his recovery.”
“Fine. But take different routes when you drive him to the doctors’ offices. I know you like to get him out to the park when the weather’s nice—don’t go to the same place each time. Use different streets when you drive somewhere. Those morning runs—”
“I’ll take a different route. Check out some different parks.” Jane set the mug in the drainer beside the sink and faced Conor. “Seamus is a sharp cookie. He’ll notice if I change up his routine. What do I tell him?”
“Make up an excuse. You want to see more of the city, you’re running an errand, visiting a friend—”
“I don’t have friends to visit.”
“We have to sharpen your acting skills. Three years in WITSEC without an incident could make you lax. Once Badge Man found out you could identify him...”
“It was only a matter of time before he’d try to come after me again.”
“We don’t know that he’s found you yet,” Conor reminded her. “But if you get the sense that anyone’s following you, you see a face you don’t know popping up in more than one location, anything that makes you uncomfortable, you call me. Also, I want to up our contact to daily check-ins until we’re certain Badge Man isn’t headed to KC.”
She understood. She hated that her entire life revolved around evading a killer, but she understood. Maybe survival was all her life would ever entail—no husband, no children, no long-term friends...just her, staying one step ahead of a man who wanted her dead. But maybe if she was smart enough, strong enough, brave enough, she could survive long enough to see Badge Man captured and put away for the rest of his life. Maybe by that time she wouldn’t be too old and frail or senile to enjoy a little bit of normalcy in her own life.
She wasn’t even aware that she’d pulled the collar of Thomas’s jacket up around her chin until she inhaled his comforting scent. Oh, no. She dropped her hands and moved toward Conor. “Do you think KCPD has been alerted to Badge Man being on the move?”
“He’s murdered cops, government agents and a sheriff’s deputy. Every law enforcement group in the country knows about him. Now that he’s struck again, the FBI is throwing a lot of investigative power behind their manhunt. Fred Davis was one of their own. They won’t give up until they have a name and he’s behind bars.” Conor poured himself one last cup and turned off the coffeemaker. “In fact, I’ve been alerted that they’re sending an agent out to reinterview you. I’ve notified Marshal Broz, my supervisor. We’ll set up a secure meeting place to have that conversation.”
“I meant, will the Watsons know?”
“Most likely. But they won’t know you’re the only surviving witness. Unless you tell them. And you can’t do that.”
“I know. But...are they in danger because of me?”
“Anyone in the country with a badge could be a target. Having you with a family of cops is another layer of good protection. They’ll be on guard against him. And if Lieutenant Watson is already keeping an eye on you, then I don’t see any need for a big move that could draw attention to you and get him to asking too many questions.”
Jane shook her head. Thomas was already asking too many questions. He knew something was wrong. And while she had a feeling he’d be a good man to confide in—that he’d keep her secrets—she couldn’t. “I understand.”
Conor must have an iron stomach. He downed the last of the coffee before rinsing out his mug and the carafe. Then he escorted her to the door, pulled his weapon and checked outside before walking her to his car. He set his weapon on the seat between them before starting the engine. “You think you’ll still be able to identify him once we catch him?”
Even with the blood thundering in her ears as her consciousness dimmed, that cold, almost breathless voice had imprinted itself in her brain. There’s nothing like the rush of seeing the light go out in someone’s eyes. She sank back against the seat, remembering the blue cord he’d tightened around her neck, and her belief that those would be the last words she’d hear before she died.
Jane clutched Thomas’s jacket around her, recalling other details of that real-life nightmare.
She’d come home unexpectedly early from her night shift at the hospital. A nurse with a bad head cold wasn’t especially helpful around critical-care patients. The front door was unlocked. Since that was unusual, she hadn’t even bothered to take off her gloves and coat before checking to see if Freddie was okay. She’d walked into her bedroom to find her husband dead and that monster carving that grotesque symbol. Jane had held in her scream and had run, but something must have given her away. He caught her before she made it out the door. Her struggle had been brief. The twin pricks of a Taser in her shoulder had rendered her helpless long enough to be dragged into the bedroom to lie beside Freddie while the bastard cut free the noose that was tied around her husband’s lifeless neck. Then he wrapped the same blue cord around her throat and choked her until she passed out. If she’d been a man and an agent like her husband, Badge Man would have spent more time on her. But she was only a witness he wanted to silence, and once she’d fallen unconscious and he assumed she was dead, he went back to finish his work and then disappeared.
But those few seconds she’d struggled with him had told her enough.
Her attacker was heterochromatic. Since his eyes were the only part of his face she could see behind the stocking mask he wore, it had been impossible to miss that one iris was brown while the other was such a light blue that it was almost colorless.
An odd scent clung to his clothes and body. He didn’t smell like a man. He’d been sweet, like cookie dough or banana bread. To this day, she couldn’t eat cinnamon rolls or Danish for breakfast.
And that tattoo on his neck that she’d uncovered when she’d clawed at the mask, making one last attempt to fight for her life as he crushed her larynx, was as crystal clear as if it marked her own skin. Two lines of words, tucked beneath his collar, ironically inspired by Winston Churchill. Don’t take no for an answer. Never submit to failure.
Jane’s fingers drifted to the tracheotomy scar at the base of her own neck, the only lingering physical reminder of that horrible night. “I won’t forget him. I may not recognize his face, but there are too many other details that are etched in my memory. I’ll be able to identify him as the man who murdered my husband.”
“Good. I wanted you to be aware of the escalation in the situation. Don’t let your guard down. But as long as we continue to fly under everybody’s radar, you’ll be safe. The extra precautions will only help. And I’ll be watching. All you have to do is stay alive.”
Right. No problem. “I’ll do my best.”
Why didn’t that feel like it was enough?
* * *
THOMAS PULLED OFF his reading glasses and glanced over at the clock beside the bed. One a.m.
He could hear her again, pacing the hallway between her bedroom, the guest bathroom and the top of the stairs. He imagined if the hour wasn’t so late, Jane would be outside running to burn off that excess energy. Instead, she was quietly walking the tight space outside his door like a caged animal. What had Conor Wildman said to her that upset her like this? Or was her restlessness related to the shooting at the restaurant earlier tonight? Although the spray of bullets had felt personal to him, could Wildman have anything to do with that bizarre drive-by that had elicited more fear than actual injury or damage? The guy had certainly pinged on Thomas’s suspicion radar.
He bit back a groan as he dropped his legs off the side of the bed and pl
anted his feet on the soft area rug there. The tank-sized chocolate Lab mix stretched out on the dog bed lifted her head in anticipation. Thomas forced a smile for the big galoot he’d rescued from the pound. “It’s okay, Ruby. Daddy wants to check something out.” Seeming to understand his words, Ruby lowered her head and went back to quietly eviscerating the dog toy she was chewing on. “At least, I think I am.”
His left leg was protesting the beating his body had taken today, diving and rolling over concrete, and chasing after that white van. Three ibuprofen and a hot shower had helped, but there was little more he could do besides try to distract himself from the perpetual ache that had flared into shards of pain shooting through the nerve damage from his thigh down to his ankle.
He set down his glasses and the newsletter inviting him to his air force training class reunion on the lamp table and waited for Jane’s shadow to pass by the crack beneath his door again. He had been interested in catching up on news of the men he’d once served with. The reunion was more of a sixtieth birthday party for his buddy Jeff Fraser, put together by their pal Murray Larkin, or “Mutt” as their class of Butter Bars—aka second lieutenants with gold bars on their collars—had called him. Mutt was organizing the event to happen right here in Kansas City since so many of their military police and OSI buddies had trained over at Whiteman AFB, an hour east of KC, before they’d shipped to England together. A lot of the men he’d served with in the Office of Special Investigations either lived in the area or were coming back in a week for a visit, turning one man’s birthday into a unit celebration. But as much as he’d loved his air force brothers, the men who’d been his partners in arms before he’d found a new job in a different uniform, Thomas wasn’t really in the mood to party.
Jane’s shadow blipped by his door again and he turned his gaze to the laptop sitting beside him on the king-size bed. Before he’d picked up Mutt Larkin’s newsletter to read through, he’d been online with KCPD and the DMV, running a data search, trying to locate Conor Wildman in the Kansas City area. He hadn’t found much. Wildman’s home and business were at the same address, a spot he’d occupied for the past three years. But before that three-year mark? Thomas hadn’t found an accountant named C. Wildman in any search. Grown men didn’t suddenly appear out of nowhere. Discovering that Conor Wildman had no past was as disconcerting as if he’d found out the fair-haired boy had a record of domestic violence or other criminal history.
And this guy was involved in Jane’s life?
The footsteps padded by his door again. Thomas had had enough of sitting back and not doing anything to help. Assuming he was well enough covered in his T-shirt and sweatpants so he wouldn’t embarrass her, he crossed the room and opened the door.
Jane gasped and spun around at the top of the stairs leading down to the first floor. He blocked most of the light from the glow of his lamp, but illumination from the bedside lamp in her room gave enough light for him to see the startled expression on her face, her golden-brown hair hanging loose and straight to her shoulders, his black KCPD jacket still clutched tightly around her.
Thomas’s pulse rate shouldn’t have kicked up a notch at seeing a pretty woman in her pajamas cuddled up inside his jacket, wandering through the hushed shadows outside his bedroom door. But it did. Something intimate and possessive thrummed through his veins as he studied her from the bare toes curled into the polished wood floor, up the pink plaid pajama pants, over the black nylon jacket that hid most of the interesting bits from his perusal, to the tight pinch of her lips and wide eyes, staring at him expectantly.
“Sorry,” he apologized for startling her. His voice was little more than a husky grumble. He scraped his fingers over stubble covering his jaw and cleared his throat. “You okay?”
He heard her breath rush out of her chest, and then she was hurrying across the hallway, unsnapping his jacket. “I’m sorry. You’ll want this back.”
“That’s all right.” He captured her arms and the jacket beneath his hands before she could shrug it off her shoulders. Jane froze at his grasp and the front gaped open, allowing him a glimpse of pert nipples clearly outlined beneath the pink T-shirt she wore. His hungry gaze danced over the pebbled tips and inevitably dropped to that strip of naked skin peeking between the hem of her top and the waistband of cotton plaid. His blood roared in his ears and zinged straight to his groin. He was in dangerous territory here, reacting to her taut body and subtle vulnerability like a man half his age. Maybe he should cover her before something perked up that even the shadows couldn’t hide. He tugged his jacket back over her shoulders and pulled away. “Do you need me to turn on the heat?”
Her eyes widened. Her lips parted. Desire throbbed down south before he realized the double entendre of what he’d said. “The furnace. I mean the furnace. Do you want me to turn it on?”
Turn it on? Hell, it was a good thing the lights were dim and they were the only two sleeping upstairs. Well, the dog didn’t count. His face heated, and he imagined his cheeks were a deep brick red.
Either sensing his discomfort or relieved to know she wasn’t the only awkward participant in this conversation, Jane smiled. She tucked her loose hair behind her ears and actually chuckled. “No. I’m fine. It’d be silly to run the air during the day and turn on the heater at night. Did I wake you?”
The amusement that softened her features reminded him how rare her smiles were and triggered an answering grin. A pleased feeling that he’d relieved the stress she seemed to live with 24/7 tamped down the heat coursing through him. “I was doing some reading. I heard footsteps.”
The humor left her expression and that frown dimpled between her eyebrows. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t sleep. I didn’t want to wake anyone downstairs by going to the kitchen for a snack or a glass of milk.”
“Dad snores like a diesel engine. He won’t hear you. And Millie sleeps in her suite with one of those white noise machines going—so she doesn’t hear Dad across the hall.” Her lips curved into a soft pink arc again. Happier to see that shy smile than a boss ought to be, he pointed to the stairs. “Go on down to the kitchen. I think you can turn on all the lights down there and even run the blender without waking Dad or Millie.”
“Thanks.” She retreated a step toward the stairs. “Could I bring you anything?”
“Are you worried about what happened tonight at the restaurant?” He took a step toward her and she stopped. The smile disappeared, too. “In some ways, the incident reminds me of the shooting at my daughter’s wedding back in February.”
“You said that. That the guy in the van wanted to scare you, send a message.”
“I think he inadvertently scared you, too. Thanks to the work of my sons, Dad’s shooter was identified. He turned up dead when Duff found him. But my boys and KCPD aren’t resting until we find out who hired him and why. There was a special belt buckle he wore that Duff believes the man who hired him cut off him so the body would be harder to identify. If we find out who has that belt buckle... Sorry.” Thomas was going into too much detail about a gruesome crime. Not the images he wanted to leave with a woman who was already having trouble sleeping. “If tonight’s drive-by is related to that, they’ll figure it out. They don’t know how to quit.”
“You don’t quit, either.” She hugged her arms in front of her and drifted a step closer. “You’re working on the case, too, aren’t you?” She inclined her head toward the doorway behind him. “I saw your light on. I thought you must have fallen asleep and forgotten to turn it off. But you were in there working, weren’t you?”
He didn’t correct her by admitting the mystery surrounding her was the case he’d been working on. But it wasn’t a lie to say he’d spent countless hours looking for answers to explain why someone wanted to hurt his family.
“I’ll do whatever is necessary to protect my family.” Funny how she could talk about bullets flying at him, Millie and Seamus in he
r detached, businesslike tone. But if he tried to steer the conversation to the reason why she thought she might have been the intended target, she changed the subject, locked down or walked away. Maybe a little reassurance that she was in a safe place, and that he was a safe person to confide in, would help her relax and open up. “Because you’re living with us, because you’re so important to Dad and his recovery, you’re part of this family, too, and that protection extends to you.”
“Part of your family?”
The frown reappeared between her eyes. She seemed not to understand the concept.
“Look, I know you and I don’t always see eye to eye on things. I guess it’s inevitable. We’re both used to being in charge—my house, your patient.” He wanted to smooth away that frown dimple from her forehead with the pad of his thumb. Instead, he opted for the more practical, less personal option of straightening the folded collar of the jacket. But he still had to curl his fingers away from the urge to trace her delicate collarbone over to...the scars? How had he missed seeing those little puckers of white skin at the base of her throat? Probably because she usually kept her body pretty covered up. He took a deep breath to keep the suspicious anger from boiling over. Surgery marks? Or evidence of something more sinister that she’d endured? “That doesn’t mean you’re not an important part of the team. If the guy who put the hit on Seamus threatens my family again, I will protect you. I’ll protect you from anyone who tries to harm you.”
The promise hung in the charged, silent space between them. Her hazel eyes searched his. Her shoulders lifted with a thoughtful breath. And then she changed the subject. “Your bandage is wet.” She grasped him by the wrist and turned his forearm to the light shining from his bedroom. “That won’t do the healing process any good and could damage the surrounding skin. And the wound is too fresh to leave it uncovered.”
“I’m fine.”
Ignoring his words, she shifted her grip to his hand and tugged. “Come with me.”
