by Julie Miller
“Bratcher? Is that how he talked to you?”
The accuracy of his guess made the scars on her chest burn with remembered terror of her erudite fiancé transforming into Mr. Hyde. She rubbed at her collarbone through the linen dress she wore, willing the memories to subside before they could take hold. Max waited with surprising patience until she nodded. “Ninety percent of the time, Richard was the perfect gentleman. But sometimes, in private, he’d blow up.”
“Probably when you had a difference of opinion or you tried to assert yourself?”
Rosemary exhaled a breath that buzzed her lips, her temper cooling to match the facade. Max was sounding more like a cop now. And with the finger of suspicion pointed elsewhere for a change, she found his questions easier to answer. “Once he put that ring on my finger, he changed. I knew then it was just about the money. He didn’t love me. I didn’t realize just how much he loved that settlement money, though.”
“Rosie, I’m not aiming any of those words at you, and I don’t mean to offend you. It’s just I’m a bull in a china shop and you’re a piece of china.”
She had the scars, inside and out, to scoff at half of that idea. “I’m not fragile. It’s just...I’d rather not hear them.”
His disbelieving laugh was a deep, hearty tone from his barrel chest. “Yes, ma’am. I’ll try to do better.”
Despite the suspicion that he might be mocking her, Rosemary nodded her thanks. “That’s all I ask.”
They drove an entire block before he surprised her by continuing the conversation. “I wasn’t thinking when I kissed you, either. I was just doing what felt right at that moment. Look, I admit, I’ve had a few drinks, and I’m not that great at filtering my thoughts and emotions in the first place. You smelled good.”
She smelled good? How could such a simple phrase feel as flattering as being called pretty or sexy? Frankly, she thought she might need a shower after the stress and heat of the day. But his words made her lips tighten against the urge to grin.
He shrugged, his big shoulders seeming to fill the empty space inside her car as he searched for more of an explanation. She could feel the warmth emanating from his body when he turned in his seat to face her and gripped the wheel more tightly to keep from leaning toward it.
“Rosie, I didn’t analyze it. I felt like kissing you. The opportunity was there, so I did.”
After this morning’s battle of wills, she’d been certain the rather earthy Max Krolikowski wouldn’t give her a second look—unless he was throwing darts at her picture. “I didn’t think I was your type.”
“Neither did I.” He sank back into his seat with a low exhale. His eyes drifted shut. “Don’t worry. I won’t let it happen again. I’m a cop, doing the job I should have done this morning. I’m not expecting any favors from you.”
Now, why did that reassurance kill any urge to smile? Ignoring her uncalled-for disappointment, Rosemary turned her car into the driveway and shut off the engine. When she saw the dark expanse of her porch and heard the dogs barking inside, it was easy to remember that she’d asked him here to help with the threats, not the loneliness. “We’re here. I didn’t touch anything except for the note.” She pointed to the street lamp behind them. “There’s a little light from the street, but if you need a flashlight, there’s one in the glove compartment.”
He pulled out the flashlight and tested it before shutting the compartment and climbing out. When he hesitated outside his door, Rosemary did the same. He scrubbed his hand across his jaw, a habit that drew her attention to its firm, square shape and the intriguing mix of tawny, gold and brown stubble there. Richard had always been clean-shaven. But Max’s day-old beard had been a sharp contrast against her softer skin. His beard had been ticklish, abrading, stimulating—his lips and tongue had been soothing in the aftermath.
Fortunately, he spoke before she succumbed to the silly urge to run her tongue across her lips, remembering what he’d felt like there.
“You know, if you get mad at me, I’m not going to hurt you like Bratcher did. I know I talk loud and need to clean up my act, but I would never lay a hand on you in anger.” His gaze found hers when she didn’t immediately respond. “I’m not going to leave, either. I said I’d help, and I promise to do what I can.”
“For my dad.”
He opened his mouth to say something, but changed his mind and circled around the hood of her car, ending the conversation and slipping into detective mode. “Yeah. For your dad. Hooah.”
HUA. Heard. Understood. Acknowledged.
Nodding at the military acknowledgment she remembered her dad using, Rosemary followed him up onto the porch. When Max stumbled over the top step, she instinctively reached out to help him. But he caught her arm instead, urging her back behind him while he swept the beam of light over the upended rocking chair, splintered wood and shattered glass littering her porch. “Son of a—” He bit off the curse and released her. “Somebody was smart enough to avoid triggering the alarm—or else plain lucky. This is a lot of rage. Who blames you for your fiancé’s death?”
“Who doesn’t?” He swung the light over to her, hiding his opinion of her flippant remark in the shadows. Rosemary shook her head, not understanding how a dead man could still be wreaking so much havoc in her world. “I wasn’t holding Richard to any promises. I broke off our engagement. I wanted him out of my life.”
“Murder is a permanent way to do that.”
She pushed the flashlight aside to look him in the eye. “How many times do I have to say it? I did not kill Richard. The only reason I was at his condo that morning was to tell him to stop threatening Stephen with trumped-up charges. He thought blackmailing me would convince me to take him back, but Howard, my new attorney, helped me get a restraining order. I wanted to deliver it to him myself—prove that he couldn’t intimidate me anymore.”
“But you didn’t get to say any of that. You found him dead?”
She nodded, squeezing her eyes shut against the horrible memory of Richard’s dead, discolored body. But his puffy blue lips weren’t the only detail she recalled. She hugged her arms around her waist before opening her eyes and looking up at Max again. “I could tell he’d been there with another woman. There were condoms on the nightstand and her perfume was still in the bedding.”
“He cheated on you, threatened you, abused you. A jury would see that as a lot of motive to kill a man.” At her wounded sigh, Max’s big hand clamped around hers before she could storm away. “But I’ll start working on the assumption that you didn’t. Maybe we can track down this other woman. See what she knows.”
She remembered her confrontation with Charleen Grimes that morning. Charleen had been so certain that Rosemary was responsible for ending her lover’s life. Could that have been a show to hide her own culpability? There’d certainly been plenty of witnesses to her accusations. Still, why would Charleen want to kill the man she professed to love? Rosemary had a feeling the affair had been a tempestuous one. But poison wasn’t exactly a spur-of-the moment weapon.
“Rosie?” Max’s growly voice interrupted her thoughts. “If you know who the other woman was, I’m going to need that information. The best way to prove your innocence is to find out who really killed your ex.”
Rosemary tugged her hand from his grasp and tried to gauge the sincerity of his words. “You believe me?”
“I promised to help.”
Not exactly a rousing vote of confidence. But she was scared enough to take it. She gestured to the mess on her porch. “Do you at least believe I’m not doing this to myself?”
“I think I need a clearer head to make sense of what’s going on here.” He swung the flashlight toward the sound of the dogs barking behind the door. “Sounds like they need to get out and run around. You got coffee?”
“I can make a pot.”
“Do it. Give t
he dogs a few minutes outside, then keep them in the house with you. Wait. We’ll go in through the back. I want to get pictures of the damage before anything is moved. I want to bag that note of yours, too.”
He made no attempt to touch her again but fell into step beside her to walk her down the driveway. With every passing second, he was becoming more cop, more man of duty, rather than the tipsy desperado who’d pulled her into his arms and kissed her because he thought it was a good idea at the time. She should be grateful for his professionalism, for the distance he put between them now. That would make it easier to keep her guard up and stay focused on the problems she needed to deal with.
“You got a toolbox somewhere?” he asked, waiting for her to unlock the back door.
“Yes. Dad’s workbench is still out in the garage.”
“Then I’ll need it open, too.” After she gave him the pass code, he waited for her to air the dogs, even tussling a little bit with Duchess and Trixie himself, before urging them all back into the house and telling her to lock the door.
Rosemary fed the dogs a treat, brewed a fresh pot of coffee and pulled the makings for a simple sandwich from her fridge.
An hour later, she carried the last of the coffee to the front door to refill Max’s mug before she washed the dishes. She could do this. She could grab his plate and fill his mug and get back to the kitchen without getting herself into any uncomfortable conversation or unwanted physical contact with the man. Although the dogs were eager to spend more time with their new friend on the porch, she shooed them behind her before stepping out to find Max putting the finishing touches on replacing her mailbox.
“Want the last cup?” she offered.
“Sure. I’m going to have a whale of a headache in the morning, but the food and caffeine help.” He nodded toward the empty mug and plate on the bench he’d moved beside the rocking chair to replace the broken table.
“Is that a thank-you?” she asked, wondering if there were any manners lurking under that tough hide of his.
“Yeah.” He paused with his hand in her father’s toolbox, then faced her. She’d like to think that was a blush of humility on his cheeks, but she suspected the flush of color in the shadows was due to the hard work and the temperature that had barely cooled at one in the morning. “You didn’t have to go to the extra trouble, but I appreciate it.”
“You’re welcome.” Relaxing enough to smile at the unexpected compliment, she nodded toward the twin glare of bare lightbulbs on either side of her front door. “You didn’t have to go to all this trouble, either. I’m grateful. But that wasn’t why I asked you here.”
“I’ve always liked working with my hands. Keeps me out of trouble,” he added without any elaboration, before plucking a screw from his pocket and going back to the job at hand. “You’ll have to get new globes to cover the bulbs I replaced, but everything is cleaned up and secure. As soon as I finish this.”
“Uh-huh.” Rosemary didn’t move. So much for keeping a polite distance and hurrying back into the house. Max’s shirt had come untucked somewhere along the course of the long day. And as he raised his arms to drill in the last screw, his shirttails lifted up and his jeans slipped a tad, giving her a glimpse of his gun and badge and a set of abs that belied the beer he claimed to have consumed tonight. She knew he was brawny. She expected him to be fit working for the police department. But the holstered weapon and strong male body beneath the wrinkled clothes and antisocial attitude made her a little nervous.
Although she couldn’t say if the suddenly wary tempo of her heart stemmed from the clear reminder that Max was a cop, and cops ultimately treated her as a suspect rather than a victim—no matter how nice they were being about fixing the vandalism on her front porch. Or maybe those tingles of awareness of a man were a real attraction, fed by the unanswered questions she still had about that kiss. When she realized her gaze was lingering on the thin strip of elastic waistband peeking above his belt, she snapped her gaping mouth shut and turned her attention to refilling his mug.
A relationship was the last thing she wanted, right? Richard had made it perfectly clear that she was too timid, too plain, too boring, to ever turn a man’s head to thoughts of passion. She was far better suited to domesticity and duty than she was to warming a man’s bed or heart. And though, logically, she knew his cruel words had been used to break her spirit and manipulate her, the sting of self-doubt reared its ugly head whenever she noticed a man as something other than a friend or acquaintance. Why set herself up for disappointment and humiliation when the most attractive quality she had, according to Richard, was the money in her bank account?
A relationship with Max Krolikowski could be especially problematic since he seemed to be even less refined, led more by his instincts and whatever he was feeling at any given moment than Richard had ever been, pushing her even more out of her comfort zone and making him a real enigma in her limited experience with the opposite sex.
Not that Max was offering any kind of a relationship. He wasn’t interested in her money. He wasn’t particularly interested in being here at all. Max was here because he’d been in the Army like her dad. He was a creature of duty as much as she was. A soldier would do for another soldier or his family.
And a military family would do for a soldier in need.
Rosemary put down the plate she’d retrieved, and set the coffeepot beside it. Far better to clear the air between them than to muddy the waters with some foolish fantasy that wasn’t going to happen. Clinging to the rocking chair he’d righted, she faced him again. “What happened to your friend? Is it something that interferes with your work a lot?”
Max removed the bit and carefully laid the drill back in her father’s toolbox and closed the lid. For a moment she didn’t think he was going to answer. Then he crossed into the shadows near the porch railing and sat, crossing his arms in front of him, looking big and unassailable. “You’re determined to talk about this, hmm?”
Rosemary withdrew behind the chair. “I believe, maybe, if we’re going to be working together, we need to.”
“You think this is going to be a team effort?”
“I know you have more questions for me. I don’t expect you to help me for nothing—”
“Relax, Rosie.” He dipped his face into the light, his sober blue eyes drilling straight into hers. “I’ll help you—you help me. Just go easy on the lectures and the heart-to-hearts and remember—I’m giving you fair warning. You can’t fix me.”
“Are you broken?”
His eyes narrowed and his head jerked slightly, as if her question surprised him...or struck a nerve. Muttering one choice word, he sat back against the porch post. “You’re not the only one who’s lost people you care about. Eight years ago today, I lost my best friend. Captain James Stecher. We served together in the Middle East.”
“He died in battle?”
“Nope. Stateside. Shot himself. Post-traumatic stress.”
“Oh, Max.” His blunt answer made her eyes gritty with tears. She reached out to squeeze his hand or hug away the pain she imagined hiding behind that matter-of-fact tone.
“I thought it was detective.”
The growl of sarcasm and his stalwart posture made him seem impervious to pain—or at least unaffected by her compassion—so she curled her fingers around the back of the rocking chair instead. “I’m sorry.”
“For what? I’m the one who screwed up. I should have been able to save him.”
He rose and leaned across the chair to pick up his coffee. Rosemary managed not to jump when his body heat brushed past her. But when he straightened beside her—tall, broad, the sleeve of his cotton shirt brushing against her shoulder and raising goose bumps—she couldn’t help retreating a step.
“I’ve decided I’m not going to make the same mistake with you,” he said.
“What does t
hat mean?”
“It means I need you to drive me to my car at the Shamrock. Then I’ll follow you back here and sit out front the rest of the night.” He turned and doffed a salute to the shadow in the Dinkles’ window she hadn’t noticed until that moment. She gasped as the shadow disappeared, and the blinds swayed with Otis or Arlene’s hasty retreat. “You’ve already got the neighbors’ attention by bringing me here. I’m guessing you don’t entertain a lot of men.”
She lifted her panicked gaze to his. She hadn’t even noticed the Dinkles’ curiosity, but Max had probably been aware of her nosy neighbor the entire time. “Do you think that’s necessary? I just wanted a police officer to see what was happening to me and write a report.”
“I intend to do more than that, Rosie.”
Her blood ran cold at the ominous portent in his voice. “Do you think something else is going to happen?”
“I’m not going to give whoever this bastard is a chance to scare you again. Or do something worse. There’s only so much guilt a man can live with.” He continued to scan the neighborhood from her dark porch, even though the Dinkles’ spying had been temporarily thwarted. He picked up the note he’d sealed in one of her plastic sandwich bags. “If Bratcher’s killer is behind these threats, he or she could be doing it to divert suspicion onto you. Keeping an eye on you might ferret out the suspect.”
“I see.” Rosemary understood the logic, even if she didn’t relish the idea of playing the part of bait for KCPD. Shivering now, she hugged her arms around her middle. “So watching over me and what happens here helps your investigation?”
“Possibly.” He reached out and rubbed his hand up and down her bare arm, eliciting more goose bumps as her skin warmed beneath even that casual touch. “But that’s not the only reason. If this guy is someone who blames you for Bratcher’s murder and thinks they’re meting out some kind of justice...?” He lifted his fingers to her hair, scowling at the lone tendril falling against her neck as if he didn’t like that she’d pinned the rest of it up into a practical bun again. His palm settled along her jaw, and, instinctively, against her better judgment, she leaned into his warmth. “Look, the only thing you have to understand about me is this. I’m not losing anyone else on my watch. You’re still my team’s best shot at solving this case. If something happens to you, chances are, we’ll never uncover the truth.”
