Task Force Bride

by Julie Miller

  The red-haired detective who seemed to be in charge slid his gaze up to her, too, assessing her unkempt appearance and dismissing her before giving a concise, emotionless report to Pike. “We’ve got a body dump around the corner in the alley. Red rose inside her coat.”

  Body dump? That meant the victim was dead, didn’t it? Raped and murdered. Hope’s audible gasp echoed through the walnut banister and across the crisply painted white landing. The dog’s ear pricked to attention, but none of the men seemed to notice. Hope pressed her fingers to her lips and whispered, “Oh, God. She was inside there, wasn’t she? She was in that van.”

  The red-haired detective heard her hushed voice and looked up the stairs. “A LaDonna Chambers. Do you know her?”

  “LaDonna?” For a moment, the detective’s hard eyes swam out of focus. But she blinked away the emotions that made her light-headed and nodded, picturing the friendly acquaintance she’d seen just yesterday morning. “Not well. She’s interning at a law office on the next street over. I’ve waited in line with her at the coffee shop several times.”

  The detective in the suit jotted something into his notebook before tucking it inside his jacket pocket and turning his attention back to Pike. “Some college kids who’d been at Harpo’s Dance Club found her. That’s not the call you’re answering?”

  Pike shook his head. “Miss Lockhart called in that she’d seen a suspicious white van on her way home tonight. I came to take her statement.”

  “She saw the van?” The redhead pulled back the front of his jacket and splayed his hands at either side of his waist. “His van?”

  Pike answered. “Could be, sir. She gave me a detailed description, but no plate number.”

  The dark-haired detective looked agitated. “When? Did she see our guy? Can she ID the driver? Is that what spooked her?”

  Clearly, the two detectives suspected there was more to her story than a helpful citizen’s phone call. But Pike didn’t mention her father, the sick present she’d gotten or her off-the-charts paranoid reaction to his efforts to help her. Thankfully, neither detective had questioned her erratic behavior, either. Until now.

  They had bigger problems than hers tonight.

  “I’m Detective Spencer Montgomery, KCPD task force, ma’am. This is my partner, Detective Nick Fensom. We work with Officer Taylor here.” Detective Montgomery flashed his badge and looked over Pike’s shoulder, right at her. Somehow the intensity of that slate-colored gaze was even more unsettling than the threat of Detective Fensom’s pulling his gun had been. “We need to talk to you.”

  * * *

  “WELL, THAT WAS a lousy plan. Do you think she recognized you?”

  “I don’t know.” He breezed past the woman in the negligee and robe and headed straight for the bathroom.

  “You don’t know?” She followed him in. “You already made one mistake tonight. I don’t think we can afford another.”

  He unhooked his belt and slung it at her feet. “We?”

  She crossed her arms beneath her breasts, refusing to let the subject drop. “I did my part. LaDonna Chambers can never hurt you again. But you don’t even know if this woman—”

  “Shut up. I need to think.” He opened the shower door and turned on the shower until the water ran blisteringly hot. He stepped underneath the spray, clothes and all. He braced his hands on the tile wall and bent his head. The water beat against his scalp, drowning out the sounds of her calling him all kinds of stupid for going to the bridal shop tonight. Finally, she got the hint and returned to his bedroom. He stood there for countless minutes, letting the hot water sluice through his hair and soak through his clothes while the trapped, steamy air opened the pores of his skin. He stood like that until most of the rage was purged from him.

  Once the haze of emotion had cleared his brain and reason returned, he peeled off his sodden clothes and dumped them into the hamper beside the shower. Then he unwrapped a fresh bar of soap and started to wash, cleaning beneath every nail, massaging every hair follicle, rinsing his skin twice and then again.

  When he was done, exhausted by the furious emotions and the long night, he pulled a clean towel from the linen closet and wrapped it around his waist. He pulled out a matching towel to wipe down the shower walls and glass door. Then, with a third towel, he dropped down to his hands and knees, sopping up the puddle of water beneath the hamper.

  He hated that he’d have to do something about Hope. He knew most of the women he hunted by their face, their habits, their location. But he rarely knew their names until their pictures were splashed across the television screen or centered in a newspaper article. He knew Hope, liked her well enough, he supposed. She stirred nothing inside him—no desire, no rage—but now he could see he’d been wrong to think she was of no consequence.

  Hope Lockhart ran a successful business. She was loved by clients and respected by leaders in Kansas City business and society. Who’d have thought she’d have the guts to look him in the eye and call the police?

  He’d have to find out exactly what she knew about him, exactly what she’d seen. If he was lucky, she’d still be of no consequence. But if she was a threat to him...

  The damp towels fisted in his hands and he felt the stirrings of that damned hunger stirring inside him again.

  “I suppose you need me to take care of this problem, too?”

  She was in the doorway again, sneaking up behind him, standing over him. With his nostrils flaring as he fought to maintain his composure, he slowly eased his grip on the towels and folded them neatly around the wet clothes he’d discarded. “I’ll handle it. You were messy tonight.”

  “Me? You’re the one who was careless. I told you it was too soon, but you wouldn’t listen.”

  “Really? A gun? Do you know how long it took me to clean up the blood?” He laid the squared package of damp clothes and towels in the bottom of the hamper before turning to face her. “I had everything under control. She was mine to use however I wanted—until you interfered.”

  “Do you think she would have given you what you wanted?” He went to the sink to unwrap a fresh comb. Her reflection joined his in the mirror. “She woke up, called you by name when she recognized your voice. I had to silence her.”

  “I wasn’t finished with her.”

  “Oh, you were finished.” She laughed.

  His comb clattered into the sink. “Shut up.”

  “I’m the voice of reason in your sad, secretive life. I’m the only one who has always been here for you. Without me, you’d be rotting in prison. I know the lie you live and I’ve loved you any—”

  He spun around, clamping his hand around her throat and shoving her against the wall. “I said, shut. Up.”

  “You won’t hurt me. I made you. You need me.”

  What he needed was to feel in control again. His fingers tightened for a few moments until he heard her choking gurgle. But, damn her, even as her face drained of color, she barely even blinked at the dangerous torture he inflicted.

  He popped his fingers open and released her. She inhaled a calm, deep breath and smiled. “You see? You know you can’t hurt me, that I’m the only one who’ll always be here for you.” She left the room to pour herself a drink. “Now. What are you going to do about Hope Lockhart?”

  Chapter Four

  The whole elevator smelled of vanilla, reminding Pike of the decadent sugar cookies his grandma Martha baked for Christmas every year.

  Crossing his arms over his chest, he looked down at the toffee-haired woman standing at his shoulder, resolutely watching each number light up as they rode from the garage level up to the third floor of Fourth Precinct headquarters. She’d tamed her hair back into a loose ponytail, but a handful of curls escaped to frame her weary eyes. “You don’t have to do this, you know.”

  It was maybe the fifth or sixth effort he’d made at starting a conversation with Hope Lockhart since driving her to the station for an interview with Detectives Montgomery and Fensom. “Get her d
owntown. Let’s talk to her while the memories are fresh.”

  If he hadn’t scared the memories right out of her.

  In the truck he’d gotten nothing more than a couple of nods and some wild-eyed glances back at the dog caged securely in the seat behind them. Maybe now, with Hans secured in his kennel downstairs, he hoped the skittish woman might relax a bit and they could share some normal, friendly conversation like the kind they’d started at her shop.

  Well, he got conversation. But there wasn’t much normal or friendly about a woman talking to a pair of steel doors instead of to him.

  “I know. But I want to help. Too many people I know have been hurt by that man. I barely knew LaDonna, but it feels like I’ve lost another friend. She splurged on mochas every Friday, and she had this big smile. Tonight she looked like she was sleeping. Until the M.E. closed that zipper...” Pike watched the ripple of movement down her creamy throat as Hope swallowed. “She was in a bag. Like...like she was being discarded.”

  “You shouldn’t have agreed to confirm her ID.” Sure, the quick confirmation helped speed the investigation along, but very few people got to look at dead bodies outside of a funeral home. So how did he reassure her? How did he stop feeling so guilty about everything she’d been through tonight? “It’s a good thing, actually—the bag, I mean. It protects the evidence as much as it honors the victim’s dignity and keeps others from seeing what can sometimes be a pretty disturbing sight.”

  He almost startled when she suddenly tipped her head and looked up at him. Even her glasses couldn’t diminish the impact of her gaze locking onto his. Her eyes were as warm with concern as they were cool in color. “Have you seen a lot of that? Disturbing things?”

  Pike dropped his arms and reached out, feeling the need to offer some kind of comfort. But he wisely curled his fingers into a fist and kept it at his side. The last thing he wanted to do was to scare her into silence again.

  “More than I want to.” Yeah. There was a lot of pretty to discover about this woman if a man took the time to look. Maybe he was doing a little too much looking. Taking a cue from the champ, he turned and focused his gaze on the elevator panel. “But you learn to turn off your emotions and you just deal with the facts.”

  “How do you do that? Turn off your emotions, I mean.” She was staring straight ahead again, too. “Maybe I live inside my head too much. But sometimes, I can’t stop thinking about things. I wish I could just do. And not overthink the consequences or second-guess myself.”

  “What do you want to do?” He couldn’t help himself. The woman was too much of an enigma to ignore.

  She shook her head, stirring the curls down her back. She wasn’t going to answer.

  “Come on, now. You’ve just said as many words to me as you’ve said in the entire twelve months I’ve known you.” He nudged his shoulder against hers. “Are you going to stop talking to me now?”

  Her eyes darted up to his at the teasing request. And was that a smile? Victory. “You’re awfully patient with me, Officer Taylor.”

  “Pike.”

  “More persistent than most men I know. Why do you keep trying?”

  He liked a challenge? He was a sucker for a complex mystery like this woman? He just plain couldn’t stand the irritation of having someone not like him or his dog? “I am determined that you’re going to look at me and not think I’m the evil villain in the fairy tale of your life.”

  “The fairy tale?” The smile disappeared and she fixated on the K-9 Corps patch sewn onto the sleeve of his uniform. “Oh. My shop. Believe me, my life isn’t a fairy tale, Offic...Pike.” And then her gaze crept back to his. “There’s no Prince Charming. There’s no fairy godmother. I just try to make the magic happen for others.”

  “Why aren’t you making it happen for yourself, Hope?” And then he did the dumbest thing he’d done all night long. He tunneled his fingers beneath the silky knot of her ponytail, stroked his thumb along the line of her jaw to her chin and tilted his face down toward hers. “Why don’t you have the fairy tale?”

  She shivered beneath his touch, making him feel like all kinds of ogre for holding on just a little tighter to prevent her from pulling away when he felt the tug against his fingertips. He knew better. He trained dogs for a living and was smart enough not to try to pet one until it was comfortable around him and some ground rules for expected behavior had been laid down between them. But her pink tongue darted out nervously to moisten her lips and an unexpected anticipation pinged him right in the groin.

  Here was a shy, secretive woman who bolted or blushed every time he came near—and he wanted to kiss her?

  The elevator stopping wasn’t the only thing that had him swaying on his feet.

  The elevator doors opened to the bustle and noise of KCPD’s early morning shift change...and two men wearing expensive business suits who stopped their respective pacing and phone call the moment they spotted their arrival.

  “Hope?” Pike’s hand fell away as the dark-haired man wearing charcoal gray pulled Hope off the elevator and straight into a tight hug. “Thank God. Are you all right?”

  “Hey.” At her startled oof, Pike’s instinct was to step in and break it up. But her arms gradually settled around the man’s waist.

  Besides, when Pike tried to intervene with a hand on her shoulder, the guy with the tan suit and the phone stepped between them and flashed a business card. “I’m Adam Matuszak, Miss Lockhart’s attorney. If she’s going to be interviewed by the police, then I need to be present.”

  “Matuszak. Why do I know that name?”

  Hope pulled away from the hug. “LaDonna worked for him.”

  The dark-haired man draped an arm around her shoulders and was already walking her away before she’d finished. He tipped his mouth close to Hope’s ear to say something that made her nod. Stealing her away. Shutting her up. Warning her...about what?

  “Miss Chambers was an intern at my office,” the lawyer confirmed, interrupting Pike’s silent observations. “I believe my building is on your patrol.”

  Pike nodded toward the man taking Hope away. “Who’s he?”

  “Brian Elliott.” The tall blond attorney pocketed his phone and smoothed his lapels. “He owns my building—and several others on your beat. He’s Miss Lockhart’s business associate—and a good friend.”

  How good? Pike ignored the stirrings of something he wasn’t ready to name and unbuttoned the pocket of his uniform shirt to stuff the business card inside. Seeing his shot at making inroads with Hope disappearing down the hallway, he retreated a step. “I’m not the cop interviewing her. I’m just a...friend who brought her in.”

  He was instantly dismissed as inconsequential. “Who do I need to speak to, then?”

  With a reluctant nod, Pike led Matuszak past the sergeant’s desk to point out Spencer Montgomery and Nick Fensom. The attorney immediately crossed through the maze of desks to introduce himself to the two detectives, then signaled to Hope and her good friend to join them.

  Since the third floor of Fourth Precinct headquarters housed the detectives’ bull pen, conference area and meeting rooms—Pike didn’t have a desk here. But he did have a badge and access to the KCPD computers. While Hope and her well-pressed bookends settled in across from Detective Montgomery, Pike made himself at home at the sergeant’s desk. He intended to find out a little more about Hope Lockhart.

  Even if she wasn’t going to tell him herself.

  * * *

  IF HENRY LOCKHART Sr. was as much of a lowlife as his criminal record indicated, then it was no wonder that his daughter, Hope, would be afraid of him. He’d served a nickel at the state pen in Jefferson City for domestic assault, multiple DUI/suspended license violations and animal cruelty.

  Was Hope the domestic assault? More than once? Had she been witness to repeated violence in her own home?

  Pike scanned the prison record on the computer screen at the desk sergeant’s counter where he stood before sliding a glance across the t
hird-floor squad room. The morning shift was changing—detectives and uniforms were straightening their desks and signing out as the A shift reported in, poured coffees and made their way toward the conference room for morning roll call.

  Still, with all the comings and goings in and out of the elevators and from cubicle to cubicle, he had no trouble spotting the woman sitting across from Spencer Montgomery at his desk. Hope Lockhart’s ponytail flared loosely down her back, looking a shade richer than the camel-colored trench coat she wore and reminding him of a lion’s mane. Nick Fensom stood at Detective Montgomery’s shoulder while the two men who’d whisked her off the elevator flanked her.

  And though he couldn’t see Hope’s face from this angle, he could read the rigidness of her posture and the way she stiffened when Brian Elliott patted her shoulder before pulling a chair from a nearby desk and sitting beside her. Pike wouldn’t have expected Hope to have friends like that—expensive suits, cocky enough to interrupt the detectives’ questions and argue with whatever accusations they were making. He wasn’t sure he’d ever seen her with a man who wasn’t a customer at her shop. Certainly, the brief scan he’d made of the open rooms of her apartment revealed no signs of a masculine influence in her life. There’d been a flowered centerpiece on the kitchen table and lace curtains masking the blinds at the windows. Not to mention he didn’t know any man who liked to see his woman so buttoned up, covered up and pinned up that she faded into the background of his world.

  Were those scars he’d glimpsed on her wrist a graphic reminder of whatever her father had done to her? Was that what she was trying to hide? And what was with her dog phobia, anyway? Sure, Hans had been bred and trained to intimidate when ordered to. But otherwise, the big shepherd was a pussycat who couldn’t get enough playtime and who regularly conned Pike’s mother out of extra dog treats when they went home to visit.