by Julie Miller
Trip slipped his arm behind Charlotte’s waist and scooted her on past without answering. “Join the party. We’re out of here.”
As soon as she’d turned all the locks on her door behind them, Charlotte hung her wet coat in the closet. While Max trotted on past her to get a drink of water from his bowl, she untied her wet shoes and peeled them off her feet. Her socks came next. She peeled them off and dropped them on the rug as she hurried straight to the bookshelves across the room.
She heard the rip of Velcro as Trip removed his vest, but she forgot to even offer him a seat as she pulled out her high-school yearbooks and curled up on the couch with the stack of books beside her. While she warmed her toes beneath her legs, she opened up the first yearbook and scrolled through the pages.
A lamp turned on beside her, showering more light over her shoulder. “What are you doing? I figured you’d head straight to the shower.”
She glanced up at Trip and back to her book. “You can use it if you need to. I wanted to look something up.”
“I can wait until I can get back to the station or my apartment for some clean clothes.” Her balance shifted as the sofa took his weight beside her. He picked up another book and thumbed through the pages. “High-school yearbooks?”
Charlotte nodded, finding the section of photos she needed. “Something that creep said. That none of us would ever say no to him again.”
“I don’t follow.”
She trailed through the senior class photos with her finger, going down the alphabet. “I’ve only said no to two guys my whole life. One of them was Landon Turner when he asked me to forgive him for pulling that prank on prom night. And the other…” She squinted to be sure, then pulled off her glasses and held the page up to her eyes to see the long-forgotten face once more. “There. Donny Kemp.”
Trip was a blur at this distance. “Your brainiac friend from the quiz bowl team?”
She tapped the photo as she handed him the book. “I turned him down for a date to the prom, and went with Landon instead.” Turning him down for a date wasn’t much of a reason for a man to threaten her like he had, but her choices for men she’d wronged were limited. “I have no idea if he still lives in Kansas City or what he looks like now. It’s hard to picture him ten years older and probably looking a little less nerdy.”
Charlotte nearly toppled over when Trip stood. When he strode to the door, she grabbed her glasses and hurried after him. “Where are you going?”
“Lock the door behind me. Don’t open it for anyone but me.”
“Trip?”
“I’m going to show this to Montgomery and have him track down Donny Kemp. Landon Turner, too. Maybe we can get his artist to age their pictures for us and see if you recognize one of them then.”
“I didn’t say Donny was the killer. He was always kind of odd, but sweet.” She hugged her arms around herself, hating that her revelation only raised more questions instead of offering answers. “And who am I to describe anyone else as ‘odd’? And Landon was so…devastated when he found out what happened to me. He blamed himself for me getting hurt.”
“Don’t expect any sympathy from me.” His voice was tough, but his fingers were gentle as he brushed a curl of hair off her glasses and cupped the side of her face. “They’re leads, Charlotte. Something a lot more tangible and sensible than just waiting to catch this guy when he finally attacks and praying I’m not too late to stop him.”
“GET OVER HERE, YOU goofy mutt!” Trip shouted, as Max trotted past the slobbery tennis ball he’d been so excited about just a moment ago and started nosing around the ground at the corner of the fence where he’d been trying to drag something through the ivy and chain links since they’d first come out for a morning romp. Pulling his new KCPD ball cap over his eyes to shield them from the morning drizzle, he jogged after the determined pooch. He picked up the abandoned tennis ball and gave the dog a playful swat on the rump. “Hey. Leave it.”
Charlotte wore a bright yellow cap to match the brightly painted sunflowers that covered her ears. He still didn’t think there was a thing wrong with the badge of honor she carried on the delicate lobe the doctors had repaired, but if she felt more comfortable hiding the scar, then he was content to let that vulnerable imperfection be a secret shared between them. Her skin glistened with raindrops and healthy activity as she ran up beside him, making it hard to imagine her as the skittish, reclusive heiress he’d first discovered in a storage room at the Mayweather Museum. “Maybe it’s a dead bird or ground squirrel that’s gotten flooded out by the storms.”
“Charlotte!”
She’d knelt down to shoo Max away and inspect the juicy temptation for herself through the fence. “I sure hope the farmers appreciate all this rain because I, for one, am getting sick and tired of it. I’m running out of dry shoes. Yuck.” Her tone changed from curiosity to gross-out as she stood. “I don’t want to touch it without gloves. I think Max has been eating it.”
Trip squatted down to inspect what looked like a fragrant hunk of liver out of the garbage. Yeah, what self-respecting dog could resist that? He stood back up and handed off the tennis ball. “I’ve got my gloves in the SUV. I’ll come around the other side to pick it up.”
“Wait.” She pushed the ball back into his hands. “You keep Max entertained—you’ve about got him tuckered out already. I’ll go in and ask one of the staff to remove it. He doesn’t usually get this much action when it’s just me in the morning. I think he’s having fun.”
She was already heading toward the door. “All right. I’ll dog-sit. But you come right back, understand?”
“Got it. Now throw the ball.”
Trip hurled the tennis ball and grinned at Charlotte’s delight in watching Max run after, then nearly do a backflip when the ball bounced off the fence and changed course. The door clicked shut behind her as she went into the house. Then he threw the ball again, purposely avoiding the corner with the meat.
It felt good to stretch out his muscles after sleeping on a couch that was entirely too small in a room that reminded him entirely too much of the woman sleeping in the connecting bedroom. Especially when a freshly washed dog had insisted on sharing the couch with him and his mistress didn’t.
He pulled the ball from Max’s mouth and scratched behind his ears. “You and I are learning to get along pretty well now. But I still prefer her curves over yours.”
Max woofed a protest. Although his heart was willing, he really was getting tired. When Trip threw the ball this time, the dog pushed to his feet and loped after it.
He’d left Charlotte alone only for the hour it took him to drive to KCPD headquarters, where he could shower and get some fresh jeans in the locker room, and run upstairs to check on Spencer Montgomery’s progress in running down her old high-school buddies. While Rafe Delgado had camped out outside Charlotte’s door, refusing to let anyone—not even her stepsister, Bailey, with a late-night snack—enter, Trip had gotten Montgomery to share some information that was as unsettling as it was unexpected.
Landon Turner now lived in the small mid-Missouri town of Osage Beach, where he worked as a deputy with the sheriff’s department and coached a prep league soccer team. A few calls by Detective Montgomery verified that Turner had not only been on duty in the Lake of the Ozarks area the past three days, but that he’d been on the scene of a multicar accident yesterday afternoon and evening when the RGK had been at the cemetery, spying on Charlotte’s grief and paying an innocent man to help terrorize her with his van and a fancy flower.
As for Donny Kemp?
Trip wrestled with Max for a few seconds before tossing the ball again. At the same time, he was wrestling with exactly how he was going to share his suspicions with Charlotte.
While he took note of the dog’s lethargy and waning interest in their game of fetch, Trip was more concerned about the best way to tell her that quiz bowl Donny seemed to have dropped off the face of the earth some five years ago. Montgomery had found no drive
r’s license records, no tax statements, no prison record, no death certificate, nothing. Trip was a lot less wary of a man whose whereabouts could be accounted for than a man who’d simply ceased to exist.
As a law enforcement officer, Landon Turner could get access to the police reports and trial transcripts of Charlotte’s kidnapping—right down to the last details that she hadn’t even shared with him yet. Could Donny Kemp, if he was still alive, get his hands on the same information through another source?
A retching sound drew Trip’s attention from his speculation. “Whoa, pal. Hey, you okay?” Max had stopped in the middle of the yard and was swaying back and forth as his stomach heaved in and out. Trip hurried to his side. “Serves you right for eating things that don’t belong to you. You’re not spitting up my hat you ate, are you?”
But when the dog stretched out on his belly and started getting sick again, Trip’s teasing turned to real concern. “Easy, boy.”
He didn’t like the looks of the little pellets he could still see in the chewed meat. He laid a comforting hand on the dog’s back and pulled out his pocketknife to remove one of the pellets. The thing crumbled into bits, but enough remained that he had a pretty good idea of what he was looking at.
“Son of a bitch.” He wiped the blade in the grass and returned it to his pocket as the convulsions subsided. Although Trip had basic medic training to deal with human illnesses and injuries, he wasn’t sure how much of that could be applied to canines. But rheumy eyes and another round of vomiting couldn’t be good. If the Rich Girl Killer wanted to torment Charlotte, he couldn’t find a crueler way than to go after her truest friend like this. “Oh, no you don’t. Charlotte! Hey! Somebody!”
With a crummy sense of déjà vu, Trip unhooked the top buttons of his shirt and peeled the chambray off over his head. “Hang in there, boy. Hang in there.”
He tore the sleeve from the body of the shirt and scooped up a sample of the meat and pellets. Then he wrapped the dog in the rest of his shirt, hoping the cooling temperature of his nose was due to the weather and not something more sinister. Weak as he was, the dog resisted the straitjacket effect of the shirt. “Easy. Come on, pal. I need you to be okay for your mama.”
As he scooped the dog into his arms, the door from the house opened behind him and he heard Charlotte’s sharp voice. “I’m sorry, Kyle. But it’s not really yours to worry about, now is it?”
“I’m a professional money manager, Char. I’m just suggesting you show a little restraint.”
“I know how to manage a budget, and I’m not spending anybody’s money but my own…Max?” She was at Trip’s side in an instant, her hands stroking the dog’s head and calming him. “Maxie, sweetie, what’s wrong? Oh, my God.” She pulled her hand away from his muzzle with blood on her fingers. “Max!”
Trip didn’t have a hand to spare to wipe that mess from her fingers or the time to give the words of reassurance that might erase the shock from her expression.
“Is something wrong with your mutt?” Kyle asked from the doorway, staying out of the rain and away from the trauma.
“Kyle! Towels, now,” Trip ordered, not caring if it was a weak stomach or indifference that kept her stepbrother from helping out. Once he got Kyle moving, he stood, cradling the sick dog in his arms. He held out the smaller bundle in his hand and looked down at Charlotte’s tearing eyes. Oh, no, no, no. This pooch had to make it. He wouldn’t be able to handle Charlotte grieving over that loss. “You’re not going to wimp out on me now, are you?”
“No.” She tilted her chin and grabbed the sample without hesitation. “Tell me what to do.”
She stayed right beside him as he carried Max to the door. “Get the keys to the SUV out of my front right pocket.” They were in the house now, hurrying past a stunned kitchen staff. “Call your vet. Does he have an emergency room?”
“She does.”
“Can you manage the dog and give me directions while I drive?”
“Yes.” She took the towels from Kyle’s hand as they passed the bathroom and quickened her step to wrap another layer of warmth around the dog. “What’s happening?”
“I’m no expert, but I think he’s been fed rat poison.”
Chapter Eleven
Charlotte let go of Trip just long enough to step into the restroom and wash her hands. Then she was back in the tiny examination room, waiting for the vet to give her a report on Max’s condition. Trip was her hero throughout the endless ordeal—from putting the siren on top of the SWAT SUV and getting Max to the E.R. in a matter of minutes, to never once complaining about her wringing his fingers off.
The hours of waiting were pure torture, but she couldn’t be anywhere else right now. Max needed her. Sweet, silly, loyal Max, who’d already suffered through one disastrous prank, had been victimized again. Charlotte’s hand drifted to her earring, reaching beneath it to touch the permanent mark of the violence she’d suffered—the mark that made her a kindred spirit with her beloved pet.
“That’s why you chose Max, isn’t it?” Trip’s husky voice pulled her from her thoughts. He batted her hand away to tuck her hair behind her ear and trace his fingers around the delicate shell. “You both lost part of your ear because of someone else’s cruelty.”
Although his touch soothed, she squirmed away.
“You love him despite his flaws. In fact, I’d wager those imperfections are a big part of what makes him so special to you.”
She tried to make a joke of it. “We’re both a little shy of winning blue ribbons for our looks?”
But there was only heat and sincerity and maybe a touch of sadness in those verdant-gold eyes looking down at her. “You’ve both survived hell and know it’s the beauty inside, the beauty you have to look for, that means something.”
He threaded his fingers into her hair and dipped his head to kiss her ear. He was seeing her deformity. Touching it. She twisted her neck away. He didn’t release her. After a patient pause, he brushed his warm lips over her ear again. “This is beautiful.” She gasped at the ticklish contact and tilted her head. He hovered a few inches away, then kissed it again. “You’re beautiful.” This time she held her breath, held herself still beneath his healing ministrations, as he dragged his lips around the shell. She could only feel his breath teasing her scalp when he pressed his lips against the scar itself. “Max is lucky to have you.”
“He’s lucky to have you.” She turned her head again, not to pull away from his touch, but to look straight up into his kind, caring, see-into-her-more-than-they-should eyes. “I’m lucky to have you.”
His mouth curved into a rueful grin. “Hold that thought until we hear from the doc.”
When he would have pulled away, Charlotte walked into his chest, seeking his warmth and strength. And for some reason she wasn’t quite sure she understood, he wrapped his arms around her and gave them.
“He’ll be all right, Trip. He has to be.” She locked her arms behind his waist and snuggled beneath his chin. “He helped me get out of the house that first time. He helped me talk to you.”
“Because the crazy mutt was eating my hat.”
“No.” She smiled at the understanding dawning inside her. “Because he wasn’t afraid of you. Because you were kind to him, I knew you…were kind. Not a bully at all.”
“Well, then, I owe him one.”
For ten years, she’d thought of home as her sanctuary, the one place where she could feel safe. But knowing some coward was there, under the very same roof, who could harm an innocent creature like Max—and have no qualms about killing him—left Charlotte floating in a landless sea of doubt and suspicion. No place was truly safe, and any sense of security that locks and doors and reinforced walls had given her was false.
But she was holding on to an anchor right now that gave her hands and her hopes something solid to cling to. Safety wasn’t a place. It was a feeling.
What she felt for Trip, the love and trust that were growing inside her—the possibility he
could be feeling some of that for her—that was the security she craved.
The only way to overcome her phobias was to deal with them, not hide from the things that triggered them. And the only way she could finally work her way past the craziness in her head was to take that leap of faith Trip had asked her to. It was up to her to prove to him—and to herself—that she could love and be loved.
But until she could figure out exactly how to do that, she’d simply hold on to Trip. For as long as he would let her.
A knock at the exam room door stopped her wandering thoughts. She quickly turned as the door opened and the lady vet walked in.
Trip’s hand wrapped around both of hers. “Doctor Girard?”
The vet tucked her stethoscope into the pocket of her lab coat. “I have some good news and some bad news.”
“Definitely the good news,” Charlotte begged. “Please.”
“The good news is—I think Max is going to be okay.”
“Oh, thank God.”
“Yes!” Trip scooped Charlotte up in his arms and lifted her off her feet, nearly crushing her with relief and celebration before letting her toes touch the floor again. “That’s one stubborn dog. I wonder who he takes after.”
“You, probably.”
“Being as young and healthy as he is definitely helps,” the vet agreed. “We got him the antidote within the twelve-hour time frame. He’s still a little out of it, but he’s resting now. He sits up in his kennel in the back room and looks at me every time I go to check on him.”
Charlotte was almost light-headed with relief. “That’s wonderful. May I see him?”
“For a few minutes. The main thing he needs now is rest and IV fluids to replace what he’s lost. I’d like to keep him twenty-four hours for observation—just to make sure the toxin is completely out of his system and that there are no lasting side effects.”
“Thank you.”
