Kansas City Countdown

by Julie Miller

  “I think it’s time the two of us meet.” And this time, she wouldn’t forget his face.

  Looping the tote bag over her neck and shoulder, Kenna pushed open the door and stepped outside. Rain slapped her in the face and she squinted her eyes against the onslaught. The guy wasn’t moving. Maybe she could use the crowd and traffic to her advantage and get close enough to see beneath the hood before he realized she was there. That was all she had to do. She didn’t have to confront him. She just needed to see his face.

  When a group of schoolchildren and parents jostled past, she turned and walked with them, ducking behind a parked van as soon as she reached it. She peeked around the taillight of the van and saw Hoodie Guy slowly moving his head back and forth. Good. He’d lost sight of her. For once, she had the advantage.

  When he turned his scan away from her, she darted between stopped and slow-moving cars until she reached his side of the street. Blending in was a little trickier here, since she was moving against the flow of pedestrians leaving the theater in the next block. Just a little closer. Look this direction. Kenna reached the entrance to the garage and paused. The rain had soaked through her hair and was running down her scalp and beading in her eyelashes. He was on the other side of this concrete archway, just a few yards away. She’d never be closer to the truth.

  But the fear was sinking its talons into her again. She should have thought this through better. She should have waited for Keir. She should get her stupid cell phone replaced so she could call her protector and tell him what she was doing. But what if Hoodie Guy was on the move and she lost him? What if he was already gone?

  “Just count to three and poke your head around the corner,” she murmured, steeling her resolve. “That’s all you have to do. One. Two.”

  “Looking for me, Kenna?”

  She heard the toneless whisper the same moment a gloved hand closed around her shoulder and she screamed a startled yelp and jerked away from his grasp. Kenna spun around the concrete arch to face him. “Where...?”

  She heard breathless laughter. Heavy boots on concrete.

  “Ma’am?” She yelped a second time at the touch of another hand on the wet sleeve of her sweater. But this time she looked up into the apologetic face of a tall, lanky cowboy. “Sorry. Are you all right?”

  A Good Samaritan. Not the terror that lived in the fringes of her mind every single day of her life. “Do you have a phone on you?”

  “Sure do.” Water ran off the brim of his hat when he nodded. He pulled a cell phone from a pocket inside his corduroy jacket.

  “I need you to call the police.” The sound of heavy footsteps was fading. Hoodie Guy was getting away. Again. “There’s a man following me. He just accosted me. Black hoodie. Ski mask. Blue jeans. Give them this address.”

  “Okay. Do you want to wait with my wife...? Ma’am?”

  Kenna hoped the cowboy took directions well, because she wasn’t coming back to repeat them. She ran all the way up the ramp to the next half level where she could hear the garage’s metal infrastructure ringing with the heavy tromp of the man’s thick-soled boots. She was slightly breathless herself by the time she spotted him at the far end, running with a bit of a limp down the center of the aisle. She crouched near the trunks of cars as she gave chase. “Hey, you! Why are you following me?”

  He disappeared up the ramp to the next floor. Ignoring the burning in her lungs, she ran to the base of the ramp. She saw his torso, legs and work boots though the crisscrossed steel railings attached to the open interior edge of each parking level. Still no face.

  “Did you do this to me?” No answer. “What do you want? How did I ever hurt you? Why don’t you talk to me like a man would?”

  Kenna raced toward the ramp until she realized he’d stopped running. Through the railing she saw him brace his gloved hands on his knees and lean forward as a deep cough shook his body and he fought to catch his breath. Creeping back toward his position on the half level below him, Kenna moved toward the railing, thinking she could peer up between the bars and get a look at his face. If he’d turn just a fraction of an inch, she could finally fill one empty spot in her memory. She panted through her open mouth, breathing silently, hiding her approach. He was holding his side now, his breath wheezing like rales in his chest. Was the man older? Injured? Out of shape? All three?

  Then he seemed to catch his breath and hold it as he turned. Kenna watched the hood, waiting for his face to appear. She was so crushed to see the ski mask hiding his features that she nearly missed his hand coming around at the same time. But a glint of the garage’s yellowish lights reflected off a long steel blade. He laughed as he thrust the knife toward her and slashed it through the air. Once. Twice. Thrice as he mimicked slashing her throat.

  Kenna jerked back as if the blade had actually cut her.

  Her hands flew to her neck and the man laughed until another coughing fit took hold. “Oh, yeah,” he rasped. “Now you’re scared. That’s how I like it.”

  In the moment she blinked, he’d vanished around the next concrete post. She heard a horn honking and a screech of tires spinning over pavement in the distance. “Kenna!”

  Red-and-blue lights flashed in her peripheral vision as she ran to the railing and shook the metal like the bars of a jail cell. “You coward! I’m going to rip that mask right off your face! Talk to me!”

  Was that why she’d blanked out any memory of her attacker’s face? Because there’d been no face for her to remember?

  “Kenna!”

  The swirling lights were blinding now as her eyes filled with tears of emotional exhaustion. A car slammed on its brakes and skidded to a halt behind her. The man was long gone. So was her hope. There were only two ways this whole nightmare was going to end. Either she’d have some kind of nervous breakdown or she’d be dead.

  “You single-minded, stubborn...”

  Kenna was still clinging to the railing with a white-knuckled grip when Keir ran up behind her.

  “Are you hurt?”

  She shook her head. The man in the hoodie hadn’t harmed her, not physically, at least.

  She was aware of how heavy her clothes were with the rain and how she squished the puddles inside her tennis shoes when she wiggled her toes. She was aware of Keir’s hands cupping either side of her neck, then sliding up and down her arms. Each touch was an urgent brand that warmed her, then quickly dissipated and left a chill in its place when he pulled away.

  “Woman, you’re like ice.”

  Kenna stared at the drops of water dripping from his dark hair onto his white shirt as he shrugged off his jacket and wrapped it around her shoulders.

  “What were you thinking? I chase the bad guys. You defend them.”

  Wow. That was a painfully awkward reminder of what her life had distilled down to these past few days. She pushed from his grasp, swiping away the tears before too many of them spilled over.

  “Ah, hell, baby, I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking.” He caught a tear with the pad of his thumb and flicked it away before pulling her into his arms. “You scared me. I saw you take off after that perp by yourself, getting farther and farther away from me. And all the damn traffic—I couldn’t get through until I put up my siren.”

  Keir was as soaked to the skin as she was, but his body exuded a warmth and vitality she couldn’t seem to generate.

  “Didn’t you see the knife? He got you alone once before and look at what he did to you. Look how he hurt you. I can’t let him hurt you again.” He leaned back to pinch her chin between his thumb and forefinger and tilt her face up to his. “I need you to say something right now or I’m taking you to the hospital.”

  Kenna braced her palm against his chest, seeking the solid beat of his heart and willing hers to answer with that same kind of strength. “I was thinking I could put an end to this nightmare if I could s
ee his face. I thought it would help me remember.”

  By now there were other red-and-blue lights filling the parking garage like the thick mist hanging in the air. Keir walked her around the front of his car, waving aside offers from uniformed officers to call for an ambulance and directing them to post a search perimeter to find any trace of the man who’d threatened her. “Did you see him? Did you remember anything?”

  A long, thin knife blade slashing at her face. But nothing useful.

  “He wore a mask. And he hates me. He enjoys doing this to me.”

  Keir muttered a curse and opened the passenger side door. “Get in the car. You’re wet clean through. The last thing I need is for you to get sick.”

  Kenna tightened her grip on his shirt. She didn’t want to move. She didn’t want to lose contact with him.

  “Please, babe.” He shook his head. “I mean Counselor. Kenna.” He’d go back to calling her Ms. Parker or the Terminator if she didn’t get into the car in the next few seconds.

  Right. He needed her to be strong, too. She could dig down deep and find a way to keep it together for him.

  “I’ll be okay, Keir.” She sat on the edge of the seat, facing him, still holding on to that fistful of his shirt, and prayed it was a promise she could keep. He reached past her to crank the heater up to high, then knelt in front of her, just as he had two nights ago when he rescued her from that alley.

  He pried her fingers from the wet cotton and captured both her hands between his, rubbing some warmth into them. “I need to work this, Kenna. I need to leave you for a few minutes, but I have to know you’ll be safe. I called Hud and alerted my major crime unit. I’ve got a whole team of officers here and a citywide BOLO for anyone matching Hoodie Guy’s description. But somebody needs to run the show until the senior officer gets here.”

  “I love that you called in the cavalry for me, but you won’t find him.” This guy was too good at blending in. “He probably had a change of clothes stashed somewhere in the garage, or the hoodie and jeans were masking whatever he’s wearing now, and he walked out with them in a backpack or briefcase.”

  “I have a feeling you’re right. But I have to try.” He threaded his fingers into her wet hair and lifted it away from her face. “You’ll have to replace those bandages so your stitches don’t get wet.”

  “I’ll take care of it.”

  He still wasn’t convinced it was all right to leave her. She reached out and captured his jaw between her hands and leaned over to kiss him. It was tender, potent, brief. She pulled back a few inches and whispered, “You can call me babe or baby if you want. If it makes you feel better. But only you, and not in front of your friends. Now go. Do your job. You’re good at it, you know.”

  “I’m gonna get this guy, babe.”

  Nodding, Kenna pulled her legs into the car. Keir waited for her to lock the doors before he strode off to join a group of officers. She watched him direct them to various assignments. They each nodded and moved to do his bidding.

  While KCPD worked to get some kind of clue on Hoodie Guy’s identity or whereabouts, Kenna needed something else to concentrate on while she waited for answers. But it was hard to put together any kind of strategic plan when her memory was riddled with holes and the evidence that could help her defeat her stalker was practically nonexistent.

  But the heaviness of the bag in her lap reminded her she had other cases she could be working on. She pulled the strap of the tote bag off over her head and retrieved the file with the odd drawing. The papers inside were soft with moisture and trying to stick. She carefully pulled them apart and held the pages in front of the vent to dry. She studied the drawing from different angles, certain she’d seen that image before, but not quite able to place it. Maybe if she read more about the case itself, something would click.

  Twenty minutes later, when Keir climbed in behind the wheel of his car, she thought she had her answer. But she needed to verify one thing before it became an admissible fact.

  “Nothing yet.” He turned off his warning lights and pulled the magnetic beacon off the roof of his car. “We think he made it to the south stairwell, changed his clothes somewhere along the way and disappeared into the crowd outside. We found some boot prints on the stairs that could be his, but we found a lot of shoe prints in the gravel and mud there. A good lawyer would argue it’s impossible to make a definitive match.”

  Kenna knew the last comment was a wry joke for her benefit, but her only response was, “I need to see your phone.”

  Other than a curious narrowing of his eyes, he didn’t question the request. He pulled the phone out of his pocket and handed it to her. “Who’s your provider? We can stop at the phone store and have them transfer your contacts to a new device.”

  “Tomorrow, maybe.” She tapped the camera icon and opened his pictures. “I just need to see... Here. At least I can find the answer to something. I think this is a match.”

  “What’s a match?”

  “I may not be able to solve my problems, but I think I can help with one of yours.” She put the phone in his open palm and held the drawing up beside it. “Look.”

  “This is Grandpa’s shooter. I hardly think your assault is connected.”

  “No.” She reached over to enlarge the image of the man who’d put a bullet in Seamus Watson and pointed to the silver and brass rectangle at the center of the screen. “But this guy is connected to one of my case files.”

  “Son of a...” Keir looked over at Kenna, then back at the two images. He saw the same thing she had seen.

  “That drawing was made by a witness in a murder investigation four years ago. A professional hit. He said the killer was wearing a belt buckle that looked like that.” She showed him the name on the folder where she’d found the drawing. “The Austin Meade trial. He was up on several charges, including a murder for hire to eliminate the owner of an auto repair business who wouldn’t sell the building and land to him.”

  “KCPD put the Meade family out of business years ago.”

  “Well, apparently they didn’t catch this guy. In Meade’s deposition he tried to bargain with some information but couldn’t give a name. He said the deal was made by contacting the hit man through an unlisted number and asking for a Gin Rickey.”

  “Like the drink?”

  Kenna nodded. She tucked the paper back in the folder and put it away in the tote bag at her feet. While studying the details of the drawing, she’d had a thought that was as disquieting as not knowing the identity of her faceless attacker. “Do the notch marks on the buckle mean what I think they do?”

  “Probably.” Keir’s tone was grim. “The number of jobs he’s completed.”

  “I know it not a complete answer, but—”

  “It gives me something to go on. I can look up similar incidents, maybe even talk to Meade in prison.” He swiped the picture away and pulled up his contacts to text a message to his father and brothers. “I’ll let them know we might have a break in the case.”

  “There’s a general physical description of him in the file, too. I’ll type it up for you and include it with a copy of the drawing. It looks like a unique work of art, not something that was mass-produced. You could track down artists and retailers who might sell metalwork like that, too.”

  Keir sent his messages and set his phone in the console between them. He reached across to capture her hand and pull it to his lips for a kiss. “Thank you.”

  Kenna knew right then that the two of them would never be enemies again. It gladdened her heart to the point of bursting and warmed the chill from her body. She wasn’t a horrible person who defended the bad guys—she helped the good guys, too. And if she believed that forty-eight hours was long enough to really get to know someone—what his deepest needs, fears and beliefs were—and fall in love, she would have admitted that, too.
/>   * * *

  “YEAH, DAD.” KEIR was loading the dishwasher in Kenna’s kitchen while he updated his father on the forward movement on the investigation into Seamus’s shooting. “Liv is pulling rap sheets on any known hit men in the area. Niall is going through lab records to see if the belt buckle showed up as evidence in any other cases. And before he leaves town, Duff is putting out feelers on the street to see if anyone knows how to contact this Gin Rickey guy now.”

  “Sounds like you’re on top of things. And you informed the detectives officially assigned to the case?”

  “Yes, sir.” Although, admittedly, that had been an afterthought once he’d gotten word to his family. He added detergent to the machine and started the wash cycle before taking one more walk around the downstairs to secure the doors and windows before turning in himself.

  “And Kenna? How is she doing? Your grandfather asked when she’d be coming by the house again. I think he’s sweet on her.”

  Keir grinned. The old man had good taste. “I sent her upstairs to get some sleep.” He checked the back doors and patio outside. Doors locked. Security lights on. The wind was picking up dirt and debris and flinging it against the glass panes as the next wave of thunderstorms rolled in. The overcast sky blotted out any moonlight, shrouding the mansion in darkness and making the hour seem even later than it was. “I’ll be heading up myself when we’re done. It’s been a long day.”

  “Son. If you love this one, don’t let her get away.”

  “I have to save her first, Dad. Then I’ll start thinking about how real these feelings are.”

  “You know, when I was fresh out of college, fulfilling my ROTC commitment, I was excited about going off to see the world for six years. I was going to sow a lot of wild oats and live a grand adventure until I came back home and went to work for the department.”