Kansas City Countdown

by Julie Miller

  “Good grief, my dear, I’ve known you for fifteen years.” Known her? How well? “Here. I’ll prove it.” He reached into the pocket of his pressed khaki slacks to pull out his billfold. “Here’s my license, along with a picture of us with your mother and father.”

  “No. Wait.” Kenna put a hand on his wrist to stop him. If Dr. McBride had talked to him about her condition, this man must have shown proof of a connection to her. The doctor had said she needed her memories to return to her naturally, that she needed to discover for herself what she knew and what she’d forgotten, or else she’d never be able to trust her own judgment again. “Let me figure it out.”

  The pungent scent of cigar smoke clinging to his clothes sparked a glimmer of recognition. He wasn’t wearing a wedding ring, and she’d already noticed she wasn’t, either. Not even an indentation from where one might have been stolen. Good. She hadn’t forgotten a husband. But she had forgotten whatever relationship she shared with this man who thought he had the right to kiss her. Although it hadn’t been much of a kiss. But perhaps the lack of any toe-curling response and spark of recognition had more to do with the anesthetic and swelling around her mouth rather than any innate repulsion. Still, she seriously hoped she could rule out boyfriend as a possibility.

  The polished loafers and expensive leisure clothes reminded her of wealth. She’d been wearing a designer suit and one Jimmy Choo heel when Keir brought her to St. Luke’s. So she had money, too. She was an attorney. She worked in a law firm. No, she was one of the owners of a law firm—an inheritance bestowed upon her by her father and earned through her own hard work. Bushy Brows was a partner. She pictured the letterhead on the stationery at an office desk—Kleinschmidt, Drexler, Parker and Bond—and understanding fell into place. He’d kissed her before, and she hadn’t appreciated it then, either. “Helmut. You’re Helmut Bond.”

  “Of course I am. I’d be surprised if you could forget old Hellie.” Smiling, he went back to the doorway to pick up the bag. “I brought your overnight bag and insurance information and have already filled out the paperwork for you. I stashed your mail in here, too.”

  The man might be older, but he wasn’t what she’d call old. He showed no lack of confidence, and clearly had money. Was this the kind of man she dated? She was feeling nothing like that little sting of awareness she’d felt when Keir held her hand. Was Helmut Bond supposed to mean more to her than a business associate?

  Hellie set the bag on the examination table beside her. He pulled out a folder filled with papers and a sheaf of forms on a clipboard from the hospital. “These just need your signature. I took the liberty of canceling the forms you filled out earlier. These will be processed through insurance before you’re billed.”

  Kenna took the pen he handed her, clutching it in her left hand while she fingered through the stack of letters and legal briefs bearing her name. Although she felt vaguely resentful that he had the presumption to make those business decisions for her, she supposed she had little choice about trusting that he had her best interests at heart.

  Hellie tapped the form he wanted her to sign. “Are you sure you’re okay? You remember how to write your name, don’t you?”

  “Sorry.” Kenna switched the pen to her right hand and skimmed through the insurance form to make sure she wasn’t agreeing to anything she shouldn’t before signing her name on the bottom line.

  Hellie returned the pen to the shirt pocket beneath his sweater. “Are these holes in your memory going to be permanent?”

  “I don’t know.” She opened the file and pulled out a letter with the firm’s letterhead and a space at the bottom awaiting her signature above her typed name. Images of a group of people sitting around a boardroom table flickered in her brain, and the names on the stationery began to match up with faces. A stout older man with snowy white hair—Arthur Kleinschmidt. Her father’s friend and a founding partner. Hellie—regaling everyone with a story. He enjoyed being the center of attention. Stan Drexler, only a couple of years older than Kenna, sat beside her. His gaunt face and receding hairline accentuated his pointy nose, reminding her of a rat. Yes, she was remembering having that amusing observation during the weekly staff meeting. She could see the faces of the other junior partners and personal assistants who sat at the table and moved through the lushly appointed room, although some of their names escaped her.

  But that meeting had been when? Last week? Last month? Couldn’t she be certain of anything more recent? Like yesterday and the events leading up to the assault?

  “Do you remember what happened to you last night?” her visitor asked, frowning. “Did you give the police a description? Are we going to be able to arrest the SOB and prosecute him?”

  She shook her head and pulled an envelope from the file, hoping that something else here would trigger a memory. “My body says that I was in a struggle of some kind. Unfortunately, I don’t remember anything about it.”

  “Oh, Kenna.” Hellie’s gaze traveled with unabashed pity over the wounds on her face. But when he reached out to touch one, she turned away to open the envelope and pull out the letter inside. “I’m so sorry. Amnesia on top of being cut up like this? Will you have scars?”

  Kenna’s fingers flew to the stiches and glue as she clutched the folded paper to her chest. She hadn’t even thought about disfigurement. Wasn’t the memory loss enough of a burden to bear?

  “It’s a good thing you got Dr. Colbern off that murder charge. Maybe he can repay you with a little plastic surgery.” Hellie chuckled at the inside joke Kenna didn’t get. “Oh, come on. Andrew Colbern? Cosmetic surgeon? His wife accused him of hiring someone to have her killed? You proved the woman wrong, of course. Made the firm a tidy sum of money.”

  Of course? She’d defended this Dr. Colbern? Did she make a habit of defending would-be murderers? According to a few of Keir’s comments, he thought the doctor was guilty. Yet she’d gotten Colbern off. That sort of history could go a long way toward explaining why a cop like Keir Watson might consider her an enemy.

  Curious to ask those questions of Keir and confirm her suspicion, Kenna set aside the papers and unzipped the overnight bag. She dug through underwear, running shoes and yoga pants inside. But as soon as she’d located the cosmetics bag and pulled out a compact, she hesitated. Clutching the small bag to her chest, she turned to face Helmut. But it wasn’t the fear of looking at her reflection that gave her pause, or even his crude remark about needing a plastic surgeon. Why would a coworker be her emergency contact? Didn’t she have a family? Personal friends? A boyfriend? Why had she chosen to rely on this man? Because, frankly, he wouldn’t be her first choice for a confidant if this uncomfortable meeting had been their first. “How do you have access to my personal things? Are we...?”

  Hellie laughed. “You and me? Oh, honey, no. It’s not for lack of trying, though. After my divorce, I thought maybe the two of us could hook up...” His good humor faded. “You don’t remember that, either? We’ve served as each other’s escorts to several fund-raising events. But when I suggested we could be something more, you turned me down flat.”

  She had? Did he hold that against her? This guy didn’t seem particularly heartbroken.

  “No matter how many laughs we’ve shared over the years, how much we have in common, you said, as partners in the same law firm—competing for the same promotions, high-profile cases and so on—that it wasn’t a smart move for your career plan to see each other socially. I’ve accepted that and moved on. And your decision has paid off. Once Arthur retires, it’ll be you or me who takes over as senior partner. Stan hasn’t brought in the big clients and built his reputation the way you and I have.”

  Arthur? Stan? From the board meeting. Right. “And we’re not seeing anyone else?” she asked.

  “I’ve been dating Carol on and off.”

  “Carol?”

  “Yes, she’s your...�
� His voice trailed off and his lips curved into a pitying smile.

  “My what?” A sister? Friend?

  “I don’t suppose you remember her, either.”

  Kenna shook her head.

  “You said not to tell you.”

  “Hellie.”

  “Your executive assistant. Carol Ashton. Petite brunette? Shapely. Snarky. Superefficient? You’re a stronger man than I am.” He laughed at his male-female ribbing. “You’ve always been about the work and putting that first. But I need someone in my life. You don’t complicate your goals with distracting relationships. I admire that about you.”

  She’d let the workaholic allusion, and the fact that she apparently defended criminals and had no personal life to speak of, slide for a moment. There was a more pressing clarification she still needed here. “So you can go to my house in the middle of the night and pack my things and greet me with a kiss because...we’re old friends?”

  How much of a player was Helmut Bond? Had she ever succumbed to his dubious charms?

  “You did get a hard whack in the head, didn’t you?” Hellie put one hand on her bag. “I picked this up at the office. Carol had those files stacked with the messages and mail on your desk. You always keep a bag packed in your closet in case you work late or are running straight to the gym. Your passport was in the safe there, so I pulled that for ID. Once the call to the firm’s answering service was forwarded to me, I gathered the information I thought you’d need and came right to the hospital. We share the same insurance provider, of course.”

  “I see.” She might as well ask him to confirm a few other suspicions. “I don’t have any brothers and sisters, and both my parents are dead—Kenneth and...?”

  “Gloria. Yes, they’re both gone.” Hellie cupped a hand around her shoulder again. She waited expectantly for him to continue, hearing the seconds ticking loudly from his watch near her ear. “You’re worrying me. Do I need to call a specialist for you? We have several psychiatric consultants on retainer with the firm. I could arrange for one of them to meet with you to go through hypnosis or memory exercises with you. We’d have to keep it hush-hush—out of the media so no one can question any of your recent or upcoming casework and claim incompetence and start filing appeals. I can draft a press release stating you’re taking a leave of absence for your physical health after the assault. But I don’t like seeing you like this.”

  Right. Being represented by an attorney who could be so easily distracted by the ticking of a watch, and who hadn’t even remembered her own name a few hours earlier, would be bad for business. Appearing in court with her brains jumbled up like this wouldn’t inspire a lot of confidence for the firm’s clients. According to this man, those were liabilities that would have concerned her before the attack. But right now all she wanted was to understand who she was and what had happened to her.

  “Kenna.” Hellie’s arms slid around her again. “Let me call someone. There are other cosmetic surgeons, other psychiatrists. If you’re worried about a possible scandal, I can take you someplace outside Kansas City. I’ll handle it personally.”

  Kenna shrugged off his tobacco-scented touch and stepped away before she realized the door was open and Keir Watson was standing there. His jacket was pulled back and his hand rested on the butt of the gun strapped to his belt. A frown deepened the angles on his face. How much of that conversation had he overheard? Had he heard the bit about her defending a man accused of murder? Or just the part about her so-called friend here claiming she needed a shrink?

  As soon as she made eye contact over Hellie’s shoulder, the detective pulled his hand off his weapon and strode into the room. “Dr. McBride said you had a visitor. For a second, I thought maybe Hoodie Guy...”

  Was he worried her attacker had tracked her down to finish what he’d started? “I’m okay.”

  “Sure you are.” Keir held out his hand, and Kenna deliberated for all of a nanosecond before she instinctively reached out to take it and let him pull her away from Hellie to stand beside him. “She’s been through a lot tonight, sir. Maybe you should take a step back and give her time to process everything that’s happened in the past few hours before you send her off to a psychiatrist and hire a spin doctor to protect your firm.”

  “Who are you?” Hellie’s eyebrows met in an expression that was suddenly as serious as she’d expect any cutthroat attorney’s to be. His gaze dropped to where she clung to Keir’s hand. “This isn’t a private room, son, but I can make it one.”

  Son? Kenna pointed a finger at Bushy Brows. “You’re out of line. You owe this man an apology.”

  But Keir Watson didn’t need her to defend him. He released her hand and took a step toward Helmut Bond. He held up his badge. “Keir Watson, KCPD. I drove Ms. Parker to the ER. I’m the one who called your office because that was the only lead I had to track down someone who knew her personally.”

  “Yes, of course. Thank you for calling, Officer.”

  “It’s Detective. And you are...?”

  “Helmut Bond. Ms. Parker’s legal representative and friend. Thank you for your service to the community, Detective.” He emphasized Keir’s rank as though granting that concession of respect left a sour taste in his mouth. “But your presence here is no longer needed. I’ll be driving Kenna home as soon as the doctor dismisses her.”

  Garrulous? Self-important? Allegedly dating her assistant and playing touchy-feely with her? Kenna had had enough. “Thank you for bringing my things, Hellie, but—”

  “I’m driving Ms. Parker home,” Keir announced.

  Heat flushed the side of her face that wasn’t numb from the anesthetic. “You are?” Kenna was momentarily confused by the relief surging through her, yet she seized the offer without question or apology. “I mean, he is,” she stated with a little more compunction. “I feel safer with a police escort. You understand.”

  “Kenna, in your condition, you’re hardly competent to decide who—”

  “I can make my own decisions, thank you,” Kenna snapped. Hellie might be a well-meaning friend, but these verbal jabs about her mental state were starting to rankle. “Detective Watson knows more about the investigation into the attempt on my life than anyone. I feel safe with him. I want him to take a look around my place and make sure everything is secure.”

  Despite the hard feelings he seemed to have when he’d left the room, Keir didn’t have any problem following her lead and backing her up now. “I also want to confirm that it’s not the primary crime scene.”

  “Couldn’t you do that in the morning?” Hellie suggested. His brown eyes lingered on her, even though he addressed them both. “Later this morning, that is. Kenna’s estate is protected by the same security company and alarm system all of our firm’s partners use. If there was a break-in at her home, believe me, the police would already know about it. Give her time to get some rest and freshen up.”

  “Do you really think freshening up is what I’m worried about right now?” she asked.

  “I’m just saying the assault didn’t happen at the Parker mansion.”

  Was he telling her to reassure her or to force her to remember? Kenna crossed her arms around her middle, suddenly feeling very aware that the only shield she had was her hospital gown, a pair of panties and whatever attitude she could muster. She didn’t have the truth on her side, because she didn’t know it. And she seemed to be particularly vulnerable to every barb and innuendo Hellie uttered.

  Keir might have picked up on her hesitation. Or maybe this was a testosterone thing and he simply was refusing to lose an argument to the other man. “What if her attacker disabled the alarms and security? What if it was someone she knew and she let him in? What if it was you?”

  “You’re walking a fine line between investigating a case and slander, Detective.” Helmut Bond certainly wasn’t backing down from the position of aut
hority he claimed to have in her life. “If you want to find out the facts, do so. Do the job you’re paid to do. But leave Kenna out of it.”

  “He’ll leave me out of nothing.” The backbone she’d been searching for surfaced from the cloud of fear and frustration she’d been battling all night. Kenna linked her arm through Hellie’s and guided him toward the door, winging this conversation based on the clues she’d gathered from everything the man had told her since barging into the room. “You know that I’m a driven woman. I don’t wait for answers to fall into my lap. I take action. Keir is in a better position than anyone to help me with that.”

  “I would think you’d want a friend to rely on instead of some stranger.”

  “I know who I want. Detective Watson.”

  “At least you’re sounding more like the woman I know.” Helmut patted her hand where it rested on his arm.

  He squeezed his fingers around hers, and she couldn’t help comparing his light, smooth caress to the firm, calloused grip of Keir Watson’s hand.

  “Very well. I suppose it is a practical solution. What about your casework coming up next week? Anything you’d like me to tell Arthur and Stan? Anything you want Carol to put together for you?”

  “It’s the weekend.” Between Keir and the doctor, she’d answered enough questions earlier to know she had that much right. “I’m allowed to take a couple of days off.”

  “You not work on the weekend?” Hellie shook his head as he opened the door. “Now I’ve seen everything. I thought you had a deposition on Monday to prepare for. Colbern’s wife has threatened to file a civil suit against our client and the firm for emotional damages, and Arthur has asked me to step in and join the team. And though I don’t really think she stands a chance of succeeding, we’re on Judge Livingston’s docket Thursday to go through preliminary motions. Plus, since you’re the one who was working with Colbern, I’m counting on you taking that meeting with me to go over what role the firm will play when he faces the medical ethics board. I’ll represent the firm’s interests, of course, since he’s threatened to sue, but—”