In the Arms of the Wind (3 page)

“Fuck you,” Barnes grumbled as he gave the overweight rent-a-cop a mock salute as he waved them through. “And the horse you rode in on.”

“Very original,” Danny scoffed, but his mind wasn’t on the insult. He knew Jack would recommend to their boss that something be done about the witness, and unless Danny intervened—and intervened strongly—Kaycee Connor might pay a steep price for being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

* * * * *

Sitting as still as a statue in the back of the police cruiser, Kaycee was glad the patrolman didn’t attempt conversation. All she wanted was to get home, make sure every window and door was securely locked then barricade herself in her bedroom—chair jammed under the doorknob. She wanted something strong to drink and a long, hot shower. The stench of death seemed to be clinging to her. The image of Thomas Gerring lying on the carpet with the back of his head blown way kept coming back to haunt her, and along with it a surge of hot bile she had to constantly swallow. Even though her stomach was growling—she’d had nothing since lunch—she knew eating was out of the question.

“Which house is it, ma’am?”

“The one with the swing on the porch,” she replied, sitting forward to put her hand on the door handle.

The officer turned into the driveway. “I’ll have to open the door for you.” He got out and came around the front of the car.

Kaycee saw one of her neighbors walking his dog and groaned, wondering why it was her luck Mr. Phillips had taken this particular time to let Rufus out. The old gentleman had stopped to stare as his little Yorkie pulled at the leash. Henry Phillips was a rampant busybody with nothing better to do than be the neighborhood watch and she knew by breakfast the next day everyone on the street would know Kaycee had been brought home by the police.

“Everything all right, dear?” Mr. Phillips asked as she got out of the car.

“I’m fine, Mr. Phillips,” she said, giving the officer a pleading look.

“Why are you with the police, Kaycee? Why didn’t your beau bring you home?” the elderly man asked as Rufus squatted down to do his business.

“We’ll talk about it tomorrow, okay? I am really beat tonight,” she said, hurrying toward her front steps.

“A gentleman always escorts his sweetheart to her door,” Mr. Phillips stated. “Isn’t that right, Officer?”

The policeman smiled but didn’t answer. “Lock your door, ma’am,” he said softly, gave Mr. Phillips a crisp salute and skirted the car.

“Just isn’t right, you know,” Mr. Phillips called out as the policeman slammed his door and Kaycee unlocked hers. “Young men today have no manners to speak of.”

“No, sir, they don’t,” Kaycee said, and hurried inside, shutting the door quickly and leaning her forehead against it.

She could hear Mr. Phillips carrying on a conversation with his little dog as though Rufus would answer. When the old man’s voice eventually died away, she straightened and released a long, tired breath. For a moment longer she just stood there with her shoulders slumped then thoughts of Thomas Gerring intruded and she hurried through the living room and into the kitchen to make sure the back door was securely locked. From there she went to every window.

“You are so paranoid, Kaycee Bree,” her sister had told her when Kaycee had moved into the little bungalow three years earlier. “Who on earth would attempt to rob a house in this neighborhood?”

Kaycee had been using a high-speed drill to bore two holes in the top sash of each lower window frame—just below the sash locks—careful not to get too close to the glass.

“I’m not paranoid, Jonee,” Kaycee had argued as she inserted a three-inch-long spiral-shank nail into the drilled hole to doubly secure the windows. “I’m just cautious.”

Living alone for the first time in her life but unable to afford a security system, Kaycee had splurged by installing dual heavy-duty jimmy-proof locks on each of the ten double-hung wooden windows, the additional protection of the spiral-shank nails to keep the bottom window from being raised from outside, and for extra measure, purchased two-inch-thick wooden dowels she cut to size to fit diagonally across the top window of the double hung. It might have been overkill in the eyes of her older sister and friends, but Kaycee slept better at night knowing no one could come through her windows without breaking out several of the panes. When she could afford it, she intended to invest in a security system or grills for the windows and doors.

As careful as she’d been with the windows, she was even more precise with the three outside doors—front, back and the one leading from the mudroom into the garage. She’d replaced the cheaper doors with solid core wood doors with frames that couldn’t be spread apart with a pry bar. All three had heavy-duty deadbolt locks plus two industrial strength barrel bolts—a foot down from the top of the jamb and a foot up from the threshold. None of the doors had windows, but all had fisheye lens peepholes. She had also invested in four door-jammer bars that fit beneath the doorknobs. The fourth bar was for her bedroom door.

Programmable lights engaged at sunset so she never came home to a dark house. Also, she had mounted motion detector lights on each corner of her little 1,600-square-foot bungalow as well as over the single-car garage and at the front and back doors. Inside, she had two steel rods that she inserted into holes in the vertical tracks to either side of the door to keep it from being raised from outside.

“Pepper spray?” Jonee had asked with a snort. “You have pepper spray in every room? Kaycee, really! That is just too much!”

Not to mention the two baseball bats and the 975,000-volt stun guns in both her purse and nightstand drawer. She drew the line at deadly firepower, but if push came to shove, she knew she could defend herself fairly well.

“Next week I’m at least getting a portable door-knob security system even if I have to sell my body to get it!” she said grimly as she made sure the kitchen door was secure. She flipped on the back porch light before leaving the kitchen.

Despite a raging hunger headache and a belly making very rude noises, she wanted a bath first, food second and the safety and peace of her bedroom third. With every room in her little home lit like a Christmas tree, she went into the bedroom, closed and locked the door then headed for the bathroom. Once there, she locked that door as well and began to take off her clothes.

* * * * *

From across the street, Danny Gallagher surveyed the Connor woman’s modest home at 6001 Anderson Lane and shook his head grimly. Every room was brightly lit and the lights on the front porch and over the garage were on as well. He was sure if he went around back, that side of the house would be just as brightly illuminated. He took in the dual-lamp motion detectors on the front eaves and sighed.

“You’re a scared little girl, aren’t you, sweetie?” he asked softly.

He knew she had every reason to be. He was sure Jack Barnes had reported to their boss that there had been a loose end in the Gerring hit. His own assessment of the mission was needed, but he had yet to answer the summons though it had come twice since he’d left the station. As though his cell phone had picked up on the stray thought, the thing began to vibrate again at his waist, but he ignored it. His attention was riveted on Kaycee Connor’s house and he wondered what she was doing at that moment, if she would sleep with every light on tonight.

“You will,” he decided aloud.

He was of half a mind to call her, to let her know he was watching her house—that he would protect her—but he was afraid a call at this time of the morning would alarm her even more. He determined if she came to the window, looked out and saw his car parked across the street, he’d get out and let her see it was him then take out his phone. In plain sight, he’d let her know it was him calling. Why he felt the need to save her from even a moment’s worry surprised him.

Picturing her in his mind, he thought it might have been the vulnerable look in her green eyes when she’d looked up at him that made him feel protective of her. There had been fear there but helplessness as well. He’d seen naïveté in the way she hesitated meeting his gaze, and that told him her experiences with men had been few. He pegged her as a woman who knew what she wanted in life but had absolutely no idea how to go about getting it.

She was pretty in a middle-class, pedestrian sort of way. Her short hair was a mousy brown color and badly cut, but it was thick and healthy-looking. Given the right stylist and some highlights, her hair would set off her pixyish face with its light dusting of freckles across the nose. Her lips were full and a deep coral shade that blended well with her complexion. She was short—five foot three or four—and couldn’t weigh much more than one hundred and twenty pounds. Her waist was small enough he knew he could circle it with both hands. Though the dress she wore was stylish, it didn’t suit her, was too old for her, and the hem length a bit too long.

He jumped when his cell began to vibrate again. He cursed and reached for it, grinding his teeth as he brought it to his ear.

“Yeah,” he barked.

“We need to talk.”

A muscle jumped in Danny’s jaw. “Now?”

“Yes, unless you want me to send cleanup over to Anderson Lane.”

The phone went dead in his hand.

Anger ripped through Danny Gallagher and he tossed the cell phone onto the passenger seat beside him with a hiss of irritation. He wrapped his hands around the steering wheel and cursed brutally for a moment before reaching for the key in the ignition. As he pulled away from the curb, he saw a curtain fall back into place over a window at 6001 Anderson Lane.

* * * * *

Kaycee hadn’t recognized the black sports car that had been sitting across the street. No one on her street could afford a car like that and she doubted any of the middle-aged to elderly people even knew someone who owned such a vehicle. The very sight of it made her knees weak. No one should have been parked there at that time of night and to have the driver take off as soon as he was spotted made the hair stand up on the back of her neck.

She was being watched. She knew it as surely as she stood there at the window shivering, her teeth clicking together. The only logical explanation was that it had been one of the killers.

“Oh God,” she moaned, and backed away from the window, realizing her silhouette could be seen from outside. She put a trembling hand to her mouth. Walking backward, putting distance between her and the window, she bumped into a table, making the lamp sitting atop it wobble. She shot out a hand to keep the lamp from falling. Her heart was pounding so fiercely she could hear the blood rushing in her ears and she was suddenly sweating beneath the lightweight lounging pajamas and oversized T-shirt.

All thought of going into the kitchen for something to assuage her hunger was now out of the question. She practically ran to her bedroom, slammed the door shut, twisted the lock, shot the top and bottom barrel bolts then rammed the jammer bar under the knob. She doubted she’d do any sleeping that night but scrambled onto the bed and grabbed the spare pillow, pulling it to her chest in a defensive posture as she drew her knees up and sat there shaking.

On her nightstand was the cell phone she’d taken from her evening bag and under it was the detective’s card that he had given her. For just a second or two she considered calling him but had no idea what she’d say. Spying an unknown car sitting at the curb might seem suspicious to her, but since she didn’t get a license number and had absolutely no idea the make and model of the vehicle, what good could calling Detective Gallagher do? More than likely he wouldn’t appreciate being woken at two in the morning.

But she thought of the strength in his hand as he’d helped her up from the settee, the support she’d seen in his dark eyes—had they been brown or black?—and the gentle way he’d smiled at her. It was very rare when a handsome man even looked at her much less smiled her way. Most of the time she received the same kind of disdainful looks the other detective had shot her way.

Daniel Gallagher had seemed different, she mused, thinking of his dark brown hair and chiseled features. He had been much taller than her—well over six feet—and possessed broad shoulders upon which she wouldn’t mind laying her head. Whatever aftershave he’d been wearing had garnered her immediate notice, and remembering the dark stubble on his lean cheeks brought to mind a lingering awareness of the scent. She thought of his long, dark lashes and the straight line of his nose, the sensual nature of his full cupid’s bow-shaped lips and sighed. The only thing that marred his strong male beauty was a faint scar along the ridgeline of his jaw.

She turned her head and looked at the cell phone, nibbling on her bottom lip as she considered picking it up. What would it hurt to call him and tell him about the car? Wouldn’t he want to know? Or would he be angry at being roused at such an ungodly hour, or would he offer to come over to calm her fears?

“What if he’s married?” she whispered. “Or has a girlfriend?”

The thought of him belonging to someone brought an actual physical pain to the region of her heart.

She stared at the phone a good long time then decided it wouldn’t be right to call him tonight, but come morning she would. She reasoned he needed to be aware of the car.

* * * * *

The bodyguards gave him stony looks as he walked off the elevator. Burly, bull-necked men, they flanked the door to their boss’s high-rise apartment like gargoyles. Wearing identical black suits, white shirts and solid black ties, the bastards vividly reminded him of the two guys who did a blues routine. All they needed were the black hats and dark sunglasses to complete the picture. Since he didn’t like either one of them and they didn’t like him, he didn’t speak as he strode up to the door and waited for the one on the left to open it for him.