Kansas City Countdown

by Julie Miller

  But while he poured out two-faced platitudes, Kenna’s attention was fixed on the legal pad.

  “What is that?” She turned her pencil onto its side and shaded over the indentations that had been left from a page that had been torn away. The echo of an earlier message soon emerged. “Talk to Arthur? BED file.”

  Talk to the senior partner about what? When had she jotted this note? What bed? Whose bed? Why would she talk to Arthur Kleinschmidt about a bed? She’d written the letters in all caps, so maybe they were an abbreviation or acronym.

  Kenna opened other drawers, looking for any file or flash drive labeled BED, in case it meant something significant. She looked for some kind of address book, too, hoping to find a last name for the Barbara Jean friend she was supposed to meet. About the only thing she did find was a wall calendar folded up in the bottom drawer. It was a souvenir from what she supposed was her insurance agent. But neither the company nor the agent was named Barbara or had the initials BED. With no success here at the main desk, she got up and went to the treadmill to boot up the laptop sitting there.

  She clicked on various icons. No BED file here, either, but she did find a folder labeled Contacts and opened it to scroll through the names of what must be clients and business consultants. She found phone numbers for members of the firm and her assistant, Carol. But, of course, they were listed by their last names, so she scrolled through each one line by line, searching for anyone named Barbara. An unhappy message from Andrew Colbern played like white noise in the background while she let the cursor hover over someone named B. J. Webster. There had been other B names. Could one of them be the Barbara Jean she was supposed to meet? And how smart was it to call up someone she couldn’t remember out of the blue and ask if she knew Kenna Parker? She’d sound crazy, for sure, and might possibly be tipping off her attacker, or the person who’d set her up to be killed.

  Until she could decide the wisest course of action, Kenna shut down the laptop and moved on to inspect the barrister cases. Everything inside was as annoyingly organized and neatly arranged as the items in her bedroom had been.

  Everything, that is, except for stack of envelopes wedged beneath a law dictionary. Kenna opened the glass door and lifted the heavy book to pull out the odd packet of letters.

  After another beep, the last message played. It was another automated call. Kenna turned the envelopes, tied together with a wrinkled ribbon, over in her hand and gasped.

  Feeling an uncomfortable suspicion licking at her pulse, she carried them to the treadmill table and untied the ribbon. The stationery was familiar, an identical match to the plain beige envelope she’d opened at the hospital. Suspicion grew into apprehension, kicking her heart rate up a notch as she leafed through the stack. The postmarks were all from Kansas City, each dated seven days apart. Each had been sent to her office, and not one had a return address.

  Swallowing hard to keep the tension in her gut from rising into her throat, she opened the oldest envelope and pulled out the letter inside. She unfolded it. Three brittle rose petals fell out. A brief message was typed across the top. Your DEADline is in 147 days. “Deadline? What deadline?”

  If this was a reminder for a journal article or legal brief she had to write, why keep it hidden away? Why would she ever write herself a letter like this instead of making a notation on her calendar or phone? Did she have 147 days to get the house ready to sell or lose twenty pounds or enter some kind of competition? Maybe the rose petals meant she planned to enter a flower show?

  She opened the second envelope. There were only a few words typed there, too, and more petals. You have 140 days until your DEADline.

  The third one was similar. A piece of paper holding the remnants of a faded, dried-out rose. A terse message was typed across the top: 133 days left.

  The next one mentioned the number 126. The next, 119. Then 112.

  Kenna stopped reading.

  The letter that Hellie had delivered this morning at the hospital—the symbol on it wasn’t the letter O. It was a zero.

  These letters were some kind of terrifying countdown.

  Kenna snatched her fingers away as if the paper had cut her.

  These weren’t souvenirs from any lover. She dashed back to the desk and pulled out the calendar to check the dates. She opened the calendar on top of the desk and recoiled. Every date had been marked through with an X. From the date when the first letter had arrived until yesterday. She’d been counting down the numbers, too. Today’s date had been circled half a dozen times. Today was the deadline. Today was zero.

  And then she realized that the last message was still playing. Only, it wasn’t silence at all. Someone was breathing on the long recording. The caller inhaled a stuttering breath from time to time, fighting to control exertion. Or emotion. Someone was there, listening, waiting for her to pick up.

  Kenna slowly turned toward the disturbing wheeze of breath on the recording. She was in trouble. All this meant something. The calls. The missing BED file and meeting with the mysterious Barbara Jean. These haunting, terrifying letters. Someone had been threatening her for months before the attack. Had she been afraid before the assault? Because she was damn certain she was afraid now.

  The creepy breathing faded away into a growly whisper of noise until the voice finally spoke. “Your time’s up. The deadline is today. I’m so sorry about yesterday. It wasn’t supposed to happen like that. But I’ll see you tonight.”

  Stone-cold dread filled her veins. The breathing grew more ragged again, as if the anticipation of meeting her excited the caller. Kenna hugged her arms across her chest and backed away from the cruel taunt. Dead. Line. “He’s coming back to kill me. Tonight.”

  Another telephone rang in the background. She heard a muffled curse and a hasty scramble before the recording suddenly went dead.

  How could a phone ring when the caller was already on the line? None of this made any sense. And she desperately needed something to make sense.

  A sharp rap of sound startled her. Kenna screamed as the noise dragged her from her miasmic thoughts. Shaking inside her skin as her pounding pulse tried to regulate itself, she glanced around the office, fighting to orient herself in the here and now.

  “Kenna!” She heard pounding at the front door. A blessedly familiar voice shouted, “Kenna? It’s Keir. Open up or I’m breaking in.”

  Before he knocked a third time, Kenna bolted out of the room. “Keir?” She ran down the stairs, hurriedly punched in the security code and swung open the door. “Keir!”

  She saw shoulders and a gun before an arm snaked around her waist and KCPD Detective Keir Watson dragged her away from the open door. “You screamed.”

  “I did?”

  “Yes.” He shut the door behind him and twisted the dead bolt. He was still pulling her with him as he peeked into the dining room and her father’s office. “Is somebody here? Baby, what’s wrong?”

  “Don’t call me baby. I’m not two years—”

  “Then tell me what’s wrong!”

  Kenna instinctively recoiled from the harsh command.

  Keir released her and raised his hand in apology. “Ah, hell. With no sleep I’ve got no filter in me. I’m—”

  He started to apologize, but she waved his softer tone aside and cut the distance between them. “No. You’re right.” Bracing her palms against his chest, she looked straight into those questioning blue eyes. She was still too panicked to be very polite herself. “Don’t be nice to me right now. I need you to be a cop.” Her fingers fisted in the front of his jacket and she pulled him to the stairs. “It’s a countdown.”

  “What’s a countdown?”

  “Just come with me. I need you to see this. I need you to hear. Please.”

  When he nodded, she released him and hurried up the stairs. Keir followed, right on her heels. “Counselor,
you’re scaring me.”

  “Join the club.” She led him past her bedroom to her office. “In here.”

  Keir grabbed her wrist and pulled her back so he could enter first. After a quick survey, he holstered his gun and crossed to the scattered letters and pile of rose petals on the treadmill desk. “Explain to me exactly what happened.”

  Assuming he considered it safe enough for her to enter, Kenna cued up the fifth message on the answering machine and started talking.

  “The numbers. They’re a countdown.” She talked about the spotless house and the mysterious Barbara Jean and BED file, the weekly letters she’d stashed away and the caller who seemed to think she ought to be dead. Bursts of angry frustration and soul-deep fear peppered her rambling words. “One is the wrong number because I was supposed to have one day left. Today is day zero. Today is when he planned to attack me. I think he’s coming to kill me.”

  “Who?”

  “I don’t know.” She slapped at the calendar on her desk. “Clearly I was keeping track long before the attack. Someone was stalking me.” She applauded Keir’s muttered curse when he listened to the vile message. “I think that’s why everything is so freaking perfect in this house. Because that’s something I can control. It’s a classic response for dealing with abuse or a stalker. And I don’t have the injuries to indicate abuse—Dr. McBride looked at my medical records and—”

  “Did you report it to the police?”

  “I don’t remember.” She hugged her arms around her waist. “Would it have done any good? Aren’t I the enemy?” Keir’s gaze had fixed on her, following her as she paced across the room. “Someone has been threatening me, and maybe...maybe I wasn’t scared enough for him. I’m too stubborn and independent...” But even her emotional rant was running out of steam. She was breathing hard as she stopped in front of him to meet those blue eyes. “My parents raised me to be that way. And I work in a tough field, a man’s world, and...and...” Kenna swayed with exhaustion and fell silent.

  “Can I be nice to you now?” Keir’s voice was deep-pitched, calm.

  All she could do was nod. He turned her into his arms and led her into the hallway, away from the grim secrets of her home office.

  Once he’d put some distance between her and the collection of threats, he stopped and let her lean back against the wall to rest. “It’s a good thing you’re such a strong woman. I can’t imagine anyone else still standing after all you’ve been through.” His tone was as gently hypnotic as the stroke of his fingers through her hair. And then his hand stopped, cupping the side of her neck and jaw. She didn’t realize how chilled she still was until she felt the warmth of his palm seeping into her skin. She didn’t know how much she needed to see the honest desire darkening his eyes. “Don’t sue me for this.”

  Keir leaned in and pressed a soft, chaste kiss against her lips. He lingered for a moment, long enough for Kenna to reach up and wind her fingers around his wrist. They stood like that for several seconds, lips gently touching, warming each other. She felt the strength of his pulse beating beneath her thumb, felt her own pulse leaping against the heat of his hand.

  When he pulled away, Kenna felt bereft. Keir’s chest expanded in a deep sigh that matched her own. His gazed dropped to the quivering pout of her lips. With no trace of anesthetic to numb them, she’d felt every moment of that kiss. She felt how cold they were now without his touch. And then his feet parted slightly, his fingers tightening against the sensitive nape of her neck.

  A hand at her back pulled her body into his, imprinting her with a hard chest and belt buckle and even a badge against her belly. Kenna tilted her chin, her lips already parting as Keir closed his mouth over hers.

  As tender and sweet as that first kiss had been, this one was hungry and bold.

  Kenna tasted coffee and salty bacon on the tongue that speared between her lips and danced against hers. Keir’s mouth was a heady mix of demand and request, daring forays and soothing retreats. He was careful of the stitches close to one side of her mouth, but took his sweet time exploring the rest. Kenna’s pulse pounded in her ears. The shock that had chilled her body melted away, and a different sort of adrenaline poured like honey into her veins. She needed this contact, this realness, and drank in everything he offered as if it was her life’s blood she needed to survive.

  She stretched her body against his, reaching up to cup his jaw between her hands. She felt the rasp of his day-old beard tickling her palms and fingertips and sensitized lips. There was a needy moan and a satisfied catch of breath, although she couldn’t be sure if the sounds were Keir’s or hers or belonged to them both. A very feminine response tingled in the tips of her breasts as he walked her back against the wall, his chest rubbing against hers, his muscular thighs crowding her own.

  The kiss blotted out every fear, every doubt, leaving only this moment, this man, filling her head. This scorching connection they shared had been an inevitable spark between flint and steel, waiting to be struck from the moment he’d first swept her up in his arms and carried her to his car. Keir Watson looked like sin and danger all rolled up into a tailored suit. He matched her verbal sorties zing for zing, and grounded her in a world that was safe and secure. And the man could flat-out kiss a woman like he meant business.

  Kenna was as mindless with passion as she’d been with panic a few minutes earlier by the time Keir angled his hips away from hers and eased some space between them. She still clung to the sandpapery angles of his jaw as he rested his forehead against hers. His mouth hovered above hers, his warm, panting breaths caressing her kiss-stung lips.

  “So that got out of hand.” He braced his hands against the wall on either side of her head as if he couldn’t risk touching her right now. He studied the marks on her forehead, cheek and jaw and, a moment later, brushed her hair aside to study them more closely. But she sensed concern rather than any kind of repulsion in his curious perusal. “You’re a strong woman, Kenna Parker. But in some ways you’re as fragile as glass. I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

  Kenna looked up into eyes of deep, rich blue. “Not a bit.” She eased her grip on his face and pulled her arms down between them. She curled her fingers into the nubby wool of his jacket, feeling slightly saner as she sagged against his chest. “You’re a good kisser, Detective.”

  “So are you, Counselor.” A deep sigh stirred the crown of her hair and he straightened, folding his arms protectively around her. “Believe me, so are you.”

  He must have felt her breath steadying, sensed some of her strength returning after a few moments, because he tipped his head back from hers, rubbing his hands up and down her arms. “I’d like to say that was unexpected, but—”

  “You just never expected it to happen with me.”

  “Honestly?”

  “Always.”

  “No.” Thankfully, the man didn’t mince words or speak in riddles, giving her one more reason to trust him. “I don’t want to be enemies anymore. But I know we’re going to face off in a courtroom again one day, and we’re going to try to prove each other wrong. You’re going to piss me off by being such a damn good attorney, and I’m going to side with KCPD against you every time.”

  Kenna nodded, hating to agree. “There are a lot of reasons why you and I wouldn’t work. A lot of potential conflict down the line. A lot of gossip behind our backs, maybe some unfriendly accusations.”

  His hands stopped their soothing massage and came to rest on her shoulders. “This isn’t the time to try to figure all that out.” He pressed a kiss to her temple and pulled away altogether. “Time to get to work.” He strolled back to her office and punched in a number on his phone. “I’m calling the lab. We’re analyzing everything.”

  A bit of the panic returned as he walked away. When he moved on down the hall toward the stairs, she hurried after him. “Keir?”

  He stopped at her
bedroom door and flipped on the lights to peek inside. “Don’t worry. I’m not going anywhere.”

  He checked the closet and en suite and locks on the windows. Kenna waited in the doorway until he moved on to inspect the next room. Even though he was talking on the phone, she followed him, reasoning out the practicalities of why he needed to go as rationally as she would argue salient points in front of a judge. “But you should leave. You have a life. I’m just this crazy woman who stumbled into your arms, and you’ve been too kind to walk away. There are other cops in this city who are willing to help me, right? They can’t all hate the Terminator so much that they wouldn’t do their best by me.” She couldn’t help noticing the weary shadows beneath his eyes as he faced her in the doorway and ended the call. “You haven’t slept. Your family needs you.”

  “I’m the first officer on the scene, so I have to call this in, no matter what. It’d be a hundred percent more efficient if I’m the one to report our observations and suspicions instead of you having to go through everything that’s happened all over again with someone new.” He pocketed his phone before pulling back the front of his jacket and splaying his hands at his waist. “Do you want me to stay?”

  Kenna imagined a clock slowly ticking off the beats in her head as she debated between what was smart and what felt right. What was a little pride or worry over losing her independence in the face of mind-numbing fear and loneliness? She offered him a wry smile. “Desperately.”

  An answering grin appeared on his sexy mouth and he held out his hand to her. Kenna laced her fingers together with his and he took her with him as he secured the rest of the upstairs rooms. Then they headed downstairs and he repeated the security sweep on the lower floor and basement.