KCPD Protector (12 page)

“He touched me. He was in the bathroom with me when the lights went out. And in the crowd, in those few seconds you and I got separated, he grabbed my hand and...” She looked down at her hand as if it were an anathema. “He whispered my name.”

She was vaguely aware of George sliding across the seat. Or maybe he was pulling her closer, because he lifted the offending hand onto his thigh and rubbed it between both of his, blotting out the memory of another man’s touch. “Can you describe him for me? Do you remember anything about him?”

She’d heard. She’d felt. But she hadn’t seen anyone.

A tear spilled over and burned a path down her cheek.

“I’m not crazy. He was there.”

“It’s okay. We’ll figure it out.” He wiped away the tear with the pad of his thumb and leaned in to kiss her temple. “We’ll find the answers we need.”

But when he pulled away, Elise felt a moment of such profound loss that she snatched at his jacket to keep him beside her. She palmed his tie and collar and the strong column of his neck before grasping his jaw between her hands. She looked deep into those handsome eyes, traced the firm line of his mouth with her thumbs, slipped her fingers through the silky salt-and-pepper of his hair and came back to frame his warm skin again. “You’re real, aren’t you, George? I see you. I can touch you. I hear your voice.”

“Yeah, honey, I’m real.” The lines beside his eyes deepened as he offered her a reassuring smile. His chest expanded with a steadying breath before he brushed aside a lock of her hair and tucked it behind her ear. He turned his lips into her palm and pressed a ticklish kiss there. “Do you feel me? Do you feel this? I’m right here. And I’m not going anywhere.”

He wiped away the next tear that fell, and the next. And then he stroked the pad of his thumb across her mouth, urging it to open, giving her a taste of her own salty tears when her tongue darted out to soothe her sensitized lips. If this tenderness was a figment of her imagination... Her eyes filled with sorrowful tears. “George? I need...”

With a groan that vibrated through the air between them, George leaned in to replace his thumb with his mouth. His lips moved deliberately over hers, sampling, healing, demanding. He thrust his tongue into her mouth, giving her a taste of the rich cappuccino he’d drunk after their meal. He threaded his fingers into her hair, branding her with his hands and mouth as he angled her head back against the seat and moved his body into hers.

The encompassing heat seeping into every pore shocked her to her senses. With an answering hum in her throat, she slid her fingers across his crisp hair to clasp them behind his neck and pull herself further into his kiss.

She opened deeply for him, danced her tongue against his. Catching her bottom lip in a soft nibble, he held her in place as he dragged his hands from her hair, skimming them down her body. Her small breasts leaped beneath the lace of her bra and her properly tailored dress to thrust into the heat of his palms. And when his thumbs teased the tips into hardened pearls, she cried out at the arrows of pure wicked heat firing deep into the heart of her.

George moved his lips to the gasps and hums in her throat, and discovered a sensitive bundle of nerves along her collarbone that elicited a low, keening cry. “Your skin is so soft and pretty,” he murmured, kissing his way up the side of her neck to capture a lobe and its silver earring between his teeth.

His skin was tempting, too. Like fine sand beneath her fingertips in some places, like smooth silk in others. Always warm to the touch. And far too covered up.

Eager to explore his body, Elise fought with his tie. She slid the knot down his chest and unhooked some buttons on his shirt, slipping her hands inside to singe her fingers on the musky heat of his chest.

When he reclaimed her mouth, she willingly gave him everything he asked for. He slid his hand along her thigh and hooked it behind her knee to pull her into his chest, forcing her to wind her arms around his neck and straddle his lap. His lips continued to work their magic against her mouth and skin, kindling fires with every kiss and sweep of his hands. And if he wanted to do something about the bulge swelling behind his zipper, she wouldn’t stop him.

This man was her lifeline to sanity, her feelings for him the only thing that made sense in her senseless world.

This was the passion that had been simmering beneath the surface of protocol and past mistakes for too long. These were the emotions that went far beyond friendship and respect. This was the want, the need, the love she felt for this man.

The love she shouldn’t feel.

The love that would surely guarantee her another broken heart.

The love that was as overwhelming and fragile and impossible to hold on to as the certainty she would walk away from this mess with her wits intact.

“George,” she whispered, dragging her mouth from his. “We need to stop. You know we shouldn’t... I’m okay now.”

“Maybe I’m not.” He hugged her to his chest for several moments, each of them breathing deeply, quickly.

She could feel his heart thumping against her breast as strongly as she felt her own. Her thoughts were clear now, and she was aware enough to know that she’d climbed into his lap in a public parking garage, giving in to a desire that simply couldn’t be. She was also smart enough to know that the terror hounding her might be at bay for the moment, but it was by no means gone from her life.

Easing her grip on his neck, Elise leaned back to frame his face and give that handsome mouth one last kiss before she crawled off him and back to her seat. “We can’t do this, George. As much as I want to, I can’t. There are too many things that could go wrong....”

“Too many ways you could get hurt.” He tucked a mussed lock of hair behind her ear and nodded. “Hurting you is the last thing I want to do.”

He slid back behind the steering wheel, taking a few moments to straighten his clothes, although he ended up pulling his tie off completely and leaving the top button of his shirt open. “You make me feel like I’m twenty again.” He shook his head and shifted the car into Reverse. “And sometimes like I’m a hundred and twenty.”

She hugged herself, trying to calm all the nerve endings still sparking with the electricity of their embrace. Yes, George was older than she was, but she’d never considered him old. His age had never been the reason she’d kept her distance. “If a crazy woman’s opinion matters, I’d say you’re just right.”

That earned her half a laugh and a little less guilt.

“Buckle up, Goldilocks.” He pulled a magnetic light from beneath his seat and stuck it on the roof of the car. Then he punched the siren a couple of times to clear a path and pulled the big vehicle into the bumper-to-bumper traffic as if they were the missing piece completing a puzzle.

Elise was emotionally exhausted and physically weary. Her scraped-up toes were throbbing and the loss of George’s abundant body heat left her feeling chilled. And despite Denton Hale waving them on through the intersection, she felt trapped. She was a prisoner in her beloved city, at the mercy of a man who seemed to know her every move and delight in staying one step ahead of her. He knew where she lived, where she worked, where she ate and, quite possibly, how much the man beside her meant to her.

If her stalker’s plan was to wear down her mental and emotional strength and make her vulnerable to whatever influence he wanted to have over her, then he was succeeding. If he thought he was having some twisted kind of relationship with her, expressing true love, then he was even sicker than she felt at the moment.

Despite another
whoop-whoop
of the siren and the flashing lights, there was still a logjam of pedestrians and traffic, making it difficult to get out of the Plaza area.

“Do you think he did this?” she asked, glancing out the window at the thinning crowd and dark, closed-up businesses.

“Caused the power outage and the panic?” George nodded to Shane Wilkins as the young cop held up a line of traffic so they could pass. Had he or Hale or anyone else seen that make out session in the front seat of their boss’s car? Would they dare gossip about it? Would George care if they did? Should she care about compromising her position in the deputy commissioner’s office any further? “At the very least he was following you and took advantage of the opportunity. I’ll call Cliff Brandt to have him tell me exactly what caused the lights to go out and have Nick check alibis on Alexsandr Titov and James Westbrook.”

“I’ll mark it on your calendar as soon as we get back to the office.”

“I’m not taking you to HQ, Elise.”

She glanced across the car, seeing the look that allowed no argument on his stern features. No. She didn’t suppose she was in any shape to do her job right now.

“You’re safe,” George assured her, reaching across the seat to squeeze her hand. “We’ll get through this. Together.”

She nodded and held on tight, not quite believing him.

Chapter Eight

Elise drew the thin brush along the groove in the window’s top casing, evening out the white trim that would frame her navy blue shutters. After this second coat dried, she’d be ready for hardware and installation. She held on to the top of the stepladder and leaned back to evaluate her work.

“Are you going to do this all night long?”

Back in her own house, amongst her own things, with her own familiar routine, Elise was feeling a sense of relatively peaceful normalcy, considering the afternoon she’d had, and didn’t startle at the low-pitched voice teasing her. She even smiled when she turned to see the deputy commissioner of KCPD leaning against the archway into the living room, with his fingers hooked into the front pockets of his faded jeans. Those gray eyes were focused on her bare legs beneath the edge of her cutoff shorts, well south of the face he was communicating with. Spike, who had traitorously seemed to prefer making friends with their new guest than spending time with her, trotted past George into the room and jumped onto the couch.

“Are you going to stay on your phone all night?” she teased right back. “Is that how you spend all your evenings after a full day at work? Doing more work?” She glanced over to the black dog, pawing at the protective tarp and cushions beneath to make himself a comfy bed. “Good grief, you’ve even worn out Spike.”

George’s gaze dutifully kicked up to hers and walked into the room. “I offered to help.”

Maybe having George Madigan in her home was beginning to feel a little too normal. She’d never seen him dressed so casually before. But when she’d come downstairs in her paint shirt, shorts and flip-flops two hours earlier, he’d changed into a pair of wrinkled jeans and a gray KCPD T-shirt pulled from a duffel bag in the back of the Suburban he’d parked in the driveway behind her Explorer.

He was still wearing his gun and badge, still moved with the same authoritative bearing—still looked like a man in charge. But this version of her boss was one who was a little more approachable, one who could patiently clean and bandage a scraped foot, and didn’t seem to mind Chinese takeout at the kitchen counter for dinner, or a dog napping under his chair while he sat in Elise’s home office across the foyer to make phone calls.

Realizing she’d been staring as overtly as he had, Elise turned back to the window to dab at a couple more spots. The man who’d rescued her from that madness this afternoon, then nearly seduced her back to her senses, had been heroic and irresistible, larger-than-life and strictly off-limits. But the man strolling through her living room tonight didn’t seem like the forbidden boss in a suit and tie. This guy seemed like someone she could meet anywhere, a man whose sense of duty, caring and sexy confidence would have turned her head instantly. This was a man she would have willingly looked forward to spending time with and getting to know better.

That made her attraction to this George Madigan even more dangerous than the man she had already fallen for. Elise knew how to follow rules and do what was expected of her. She wasn’t so certain about following her heart and trusting fate to lead her to a happily ever after.

She wiped her brushes on the rag hanging over the top of the stepladder. “It’s good therapy for me. Fixing up things, taking care of them. It makes me feel like I’m accomplishing something worthwhile. I like the idea of preserving something that was once important to someone else. It’s good, honest work, the physical activity gives me time to think and, of course, I love the beautiful results.”

George’s hands closed around her waist to help her down. “There’s nothing broken about you, Elise.”

“So now you’re my therapist, too?” She moved away from both his distracting touch and discomfiting words, kneeling down on the drop cloth to put the two brushes into a tin can she’d saved.

“I’m just a man who calls things like I see them.” He handed her the rubber mallet from atop the sawhorses after she’d replaced the lid on the paint can. “You’ve had bad things happen to you, but that doesn’t mean it’s your fault they happened. You don’t have to fix everyone and everything because of some penance you think you owe.”

She hammered the can shut with a little more force than usual. “So what makes me such a magnet for the weirdos and users of the world, then?”

“You’re bighearted. You put others before yourself. You’re too kind to not listen to a problem or try to help.”

Elise picked up the can and pushed to her feet. “In other words, I’m a doormat.”

“In other words—” he plucked the can of paint from her hand and set it on the sawhorse table “—you’re a kind, caring woman who sees where she can make a difference in people’s lives, and does.”

Not fair. She valued his appreciation of her efficiency and dedication on the job—she needed him to respect her abilities there. But between her experience with Nikolai and this crazy stalker, she was barely keeping her personal life together. Getting to know this surprisingly tender, supportive side of the tough, no-nonsense man she worked with every day was making it even harder to remember they should never be more than friends. “I appreciate you volunteering to keep an eye on the place, sir. But I don’t need a pep talk.”

As expected, George bristled and backed away a step at her use of the formality. It felt like a cheap shot, but if she didn’t learn to keep her distance from him soon, she never would.

“Sorry if I overstepped the boundaries of your hospitality, Miss Brown.” Miss Brown? Was that rankling punch in the gut how calling him sir made him feel? Elise’s gaze shot up to his, but George’s eyes had hardened like stone again. He propped his hands at his waist beside his gun and badge, reminding them both of the real reason he was here. “I spent most of my time on the phone with my nephew and the crime lab tonight. According to Nick, Titov’s only alibi is that he was stuck in the crowd at the Plaza, like us, until his driver picked him up around 1:35 p.m. Westbrook says he was at the ball game at Kauffman Stadium, but Nick is looking for more than a ticket stub to prove it. The game lasted over three hours, so that would be plenty of time to leave and get to the Plaza and get back to his seat.”

Elise slipped back into assistant mode, although she wasn’t sure where the glum mood was coming from. This professional relationship was all she wanted with George, wasn’t it? “And the power outage? Did Mr. Brandt have any answers for you?”

“There was a transformer that blew the power grid in that area. His preliminary analysis indicates something was misaligned and it couldn’t handle the peak demand. But whether that misalignment was human error or deliberate sabotage, he can’t tell yet.”

“I don’t suppose there’s good news from the lab, either?”

George shrugged. “Annie pulled a DNA profile off the envelope flap, but she hasn’t found anything to match it to yet.”

“Can she expand her search worldwide? Maybe Mr. Titov’s profile will show up in a foreign database.”

“Or Westbrook’s. You said he worked abroad for several years.” She nodded. “I’ve already got her working on it.” Then George’s chest expanded with a deep breath, a sure sign she wasn’t going to like his next bit of information. “Our perp has upped his game. Sending gifts and love notes isn’t enough for him anymore. Now he wants to make contact.”

Elise hugged her arms around her waist, staving off a sudden chill. “Your garden-variety sicko. How did I get so lucky?”

“If Titov or Westbrook or whoever was trying to get to you this afternoon, then their plan failed. I don’t know if that was an attempted kidnapping or something worse. But since isolating you in an unruly crowd didn’t work—”

“He’ll try again.”

George simply nodded.

Since there was nothing more to discuss that wouldn’t hurt one or the other’s feelings, or make Elise feel they were no closer to identifying the man whose twisted idea of love was poisoning her life, she picked up the can with the paint-filled brushes and circled around George. “It’s getting late. I’d better clean my brushes and clear up some of this mess so you have a place to sleep tonight.”

Spike hopped off the couch and followed her through the kitchen into the garage. Despite the cool formality that had resumed between them, George followed her out to the utility sink. While she washed out the brushes, he and the dog inspected the storage shelves and the antique furniture and doors waiting to be stripped and restained or painted. Those were projects for cooler weather when she could open the garage door for plenty of ventilation.

But while Spike flushed out a black cricket to do battle with, George tapped his fingers against the old glass in the door to the backyard. The whole thing shook in its frame when he jimmied the knob.

“I don’t suppose I should tell you that’s an antique,” she cautioned.

He pulled a paint-chipped oak dresser in front of it to reinforce the exit. “And I don’t suppose I should tell you that even your little poodle monster there could break through this door if he wanted to. It’s not secure enough.”

“An intruder would have to get through the door into the kitchen, too.”

He shook his head. “That one’s not any better. We should have replaced all the locks when you got the front door changed.”

Elise’s chin dropped to her chest in a weary sigh. “Are you trying to make me feel safer? Because you’re failing miserably.”

He didn’t answer until he stood right beside her. “I have never lied to you, Elise. And I’m not going to start now.” He turned off the water and rescued the brushes that were long past clean, shaking them off and hanging them up on the hook over the sink. “I don’t know what we’re up against exactly, yet. But I’m doing everything I know how to keep you safe.” He turned on the water again and picked up the bar of soap, sudsing it up before he pulled her hands beneath the warm spray and cleaned the stains from her fingers. “I’ll admit that I’m a little out of my element—I’ve been pushing papers for too long. I’m not sure I’ll see the bad guy coming.”

“George, I didn’t mean that you weren’t capable—”

“Hush.” The warmth from the water and his gentle, purposeful hands were taking the edge off her fears and fatigue. “I’m old enough I don’t need my ego stroked. I may be a step or two slower than I once was. But I’m smarter. I’m a hell of a lot more patient. And I guarantee you that, no matter what happens between you and me, I will never give up until this guy is caught or dead and out of your life. I want my old friend back.”

By the time he’d turned off the water and was reaching for paper towels, Elise was resting her head against his shoulder. “I’ll keep fighting, too.”

“We make a good team. Always have.” He dipped his lips to kiss her temple. “Don’t let him get into your head. We’re gonna beat this guy.” George moved away when she took over drying her own hands. “I’ll check the rest of the house, make sure everything is bolted down for the night.”

Elise nodded. “I’ll put Spike out for his nightly constitutional. If he doesn’t run around and stake things out now, he’ll be waking me before dawn to relieve himself.”

“I don’t want you outside by yourself.”

Elise nudged him toward the kitchen door. “All I’m doing is opening the door to the deck and putting him in the backyard. He can run around for a few minutes while I make up one of the guest rooms upstairs. Unless you prefer the hard couch?”

“Wherever you’re most comfortable with me is fine.”

She’d be most comfortable with everything going back to the way it had been before she’d gotten those twenty-three roses. But since that wasn’t an option, Elise called Spike and they followed George into the house where he locked the door behind them. “Spikey,
outside?
”

Understanding the word that meant checking smells and running free, the dog charged straight to the back door and danced in anticipation until Elise turned on the porch light and opened the door. A gust of wind blew some flying dust into her eyes, stinging them shut. By the time she blinked them clear of the debris, Spike had leaped down the steps into the grass and disappeared into the darkness beyond. She caught the tendrils of hair whipping about her face and tucked them behind her ears, holding them in place while she turned her gaze up to the sky. The stars were dim dots of light behind the clouds that moved quickly across the sky, and the moon was nonexistent.

Rain would be a welcome respite after so many days of record-setting heat. But the yawning moans from the thick branches of her elm trees catching the wind warned her that it wasn’t any gentle, reviving rain headed their way.

“Do your business fast, sweetie,” she said as another, cooler gust rippled through her baggy paint shirt.

Retreating from the gusting breeze, Elise stepped back inside and locked the door behind her. She jogged up the stairs and turned on the radio in her bedroom, cranking the volume to hear the weather report while she gathered sheets from the linen closet and went into the room next to hers to make up the bed.

“...tornado watch until 1:00 a.m.” The announcer talked about cold fronts pushing high pressure systems out of the area as well as other scientific data. Elise attuned her ears to the most pertinent information. “...80 percent chance of rain tonight...possibility of severe weather tomorrow.”

Elise turned on the ceiling fan to draw cooler air from the window air conditioners. By the time she’d fluffed the last pillow and set out a fresh towel for George, the announcer had moved into his public service announcement spiel. “The city power district and emergency response teams recommend stocking up on batteries, flashlights, portable lanterns and other supplies. In the event of a tornado, go to your basement or to the innermost, windowless room—”

Elise shut off the radio and headed back down to let Spike in. Having grown up in the Midwest, she knew the safety procedures by heart. As she passed the archway at the bottom of the stairs, she looked in to see George pacing beside her desk, on his cell phone again. Judging by the snippets of conversation on his end, he knew about the coming storm, too, and was verifying that KCPD’s emergency teams would be ready to respond if needed.

When he paused midconversation to make eye contact, she pointed down the hallway to the back door, indicating her destination. With a nod, he returned to his conversation and Elise smiled. The people of Kansas City were in better hands than they knew with men like George Madigan in charge of their safety. She was lucky that he’d made it his personal mission to keep her safe, too.