Protecting the Pregnant Witness (7 page)

“From Patrick? Would he hurt him, too?”

In a heartbeat. Half of the RGK’s victims were expendable associates or innocents who’d gotten between him and his target.

Rafe didn’t have to answer out loud. Josie knew. She pulled her hand from his and hugged her arm around her baby before opening the door and heading up the sidewalk to her building. Rafe was out of the truck and by her side in an instant, glimpsing into every car and shaded window surrounding them as they walked into the lobby and buzzed for the elevator. Despite the stiffness with which she carried herself, he kept his hand at the small of her back, a visual reminder to any curious eyes that this woman was not alone in the world—that anyone who intended to do her harm would have to get through him first.

Once the elevator doors closed, he let her move away and sag against the railing on the opposite side of the elevator car.

But the mix of hope and despair in her eyes tore right through him, even from a distance. “The man at my car might not have been the Rich Girl Killer. He could have been just a random creepy guy.”

“Hanging around you? I don’t like that much better.”

She pulled her shoulders back and walked to the doors as the elevator’s ascent slowed. Even with her back squarely facing him, he recognized her bravado for what it was. “Well, fortunately, it’s not your problem. I know what you’re up to, Rafe. And I can’t have you shadowing me 24/7, bossing me around and playing bodyguard.”

“It’s either that or a safe house.”

Her ponytail serpentined down her back as she shook her head. “I’m in my last few weeks of school. I have to work to pay bills and get everything ready for the baby. I can’t be locked away.”

She’d bite his head off for this one, but he had to make the offer. “I’ll cover any income you might miss, pay for anything you or the baby needs while you’re in the safe house.”

“Oh, no, you don’t, Sergeant Delgado.” She wagged her finger at him. “I know you think you’re doing me a favor, but money is the last thing I want from you. You are not going to turn what’s left of our friendship into the Josie Nichols charity.”

What’s left…?
He really had messed up with her, hadn’t he, if she mistook his concern for charity. “Then I guess you’ve got yourself a bodyguard.”

The doors opened and she headed down the thinly carpeted hallway, with Rafe striding right behind her. “That’s ridiculous. You have to work. We have different schedules. Now that I know this guy may have found me, I promise I won’t take any chances. I grew up around cops and a criminal both, Rafe—I know how to be careful. I’ll add another lock to the door, make sure someone I know is always with me when I’m away from home, let people know my destination and when I should be there.” She glanced over her shoulder before pulling out her keys. “How about we compromise and I still let you walk me to my car every night?”

“That’s a given.”

He let her have one harrumph of frustration before urging her to unlock the door. Once they were inside, he closed and bolted it while she dropped her bag on a chair and marched into the kitchen to grab a fork and eat a few bites of her salad. She went into the bathroom and Rafe checked the window in her living room that led onto the fire escape. He made sure the closet in her bedroom was clear, and the window there was secure, too.

He was kneeling over a stack of oak slats, railings and steel hardware in the corner of her bedroom when she came in behind him. “See? We’re managing just fine without you,” she claimed, tossing her jacket onto the bed and pulling a pair of jeans and a striped blouse from her closet.

Rafe was looking at a hodgepodge of crib parts with a few nicks in the wood, a plastic bag full of nuts and bolts and no visible set of instructions. At least the plastic-wrapped mattress looked new and intact. “How did you get this all up here?”

“I carried it. Since the shop didn’t have a box for the crib, it took me a few trips, but I made it.”

“You should have called me.”

“To help with the baby?” She plucked the bag of parts from his hand and set it beside the heap of wood pieces. “Like I said, I absolve you of all responsibility. I’m not looking for a handyman, either.”

Rafe pushed to his feet, catching her arm and turning her to face him, stopping her in the middle of kicking off her shoes. “No arguments on this, Jose. Your anonymity’s a thing of the past. Montgomery may think keeping a low profile and all your dad’s friends at the Shamrock are enough to keep you safe from that bastard, but I’ve seen what the guy can do. He’s a damn chameleon. Like today at the hospital. You don’t even know he’s there until it’s too late.” He threaded his fingers into the sable-colored silk of her ponytail where it fell over her shoulder, and let just a little of his own frustration and fear bubble to the surface. “I can’t handle
too late
with you.”

“Because of the promise you made to Dad?” Reaching up, she cupped her hand against the pulse beating alongside his jaw, the gentleness of the gesture warming his skin, soothing his pain, making him wish he could give her what she needed. “You made that promise to my father when I was fifteen years old, Rafe. I’m a grown woman now. Isn’t there any promise you want to make to me?”

The back of his knuckles brushed over the swell of a small breast that was firmer, fuller than he remembered. “I promise to keep you safe.”

Her lips parted and her breath caught on a barely audible gasp when he couldn’t help but repeat the caress. Her blue eyes tilted toward his. “And the baby?”

“Yeah. That, too.”

“That? It? We created a human being, Rafe, not a thing. I can’t imagine what you must have endured growing up that makes you so afraid of caring.” Her eyes sparkled with a hint of moisture, but her posture rebuffed the impulse to pull her into his arms to deny the accusation and console her big heart. Rafe buried the urge to hold her altogether when she tugged her hair from his fingers and tossed her ponytail behind her back. She gave him a slight shove to push him out into the living room and close the door between them. “Give me a couple of minutes to change and then you can drive me to the Shamrock.”

Rafe stood there as the door closed in his face. He wanted nothing more than to push it back open and either hash it out with Josie or haul her into his arms and kiss her until this raging frustration left his system and he could get back to being the man who’d once joked so easily with her, the man who was welcome to take her hand or touch her hair or lend some help or just spend a quiet evening in the peace and acceptance and joie de vivre that was Josie Nichols.

He shot his fingers through his hair with a curse and paced across the tiny apartment. Yeah, like that was going to happen. He’d betrayed his word to Aaron and messed up what he had with Josie the night he’d slept with her.

But he’d been so raw with Calvin Chambers’s death, so riddled with guilt. So damn helpless when he’d devoted his life to fixing what was wrong in the world and saving people. That could have been him a lifetime ago—a wounded child, helpless and friendless—in so much pain, yet filled with a futile hope. Rafe had hurt so bad that night and he’d turned to Josie. The person who knew him best. His friend. His solace.

Now he’d given her the burden of a baby. Another child he was afraid to get attached to, afraid he’d fail. Then there was this damn murder, and Josie had had the dumb luck to be the one person who could identify the man KCPD had been tracking for two years. She shouldn’t have to deal with any of this.

He had so much to atone for. So much to make right. So much he needed, but couldn’t have and shouldn’t want—and it was all back there, behind that closed bedroom door.

Rafe stopped in his tracks, braced his hands on his hips and tilted his head back, venting his frustration to the ceiling. “Tell me what I’m supposed to do, Aaron.”

The walls in Josie’s apartment were so thin that even though he tried to politely tune out the sounds, he heard what could have been a sniffle or a curse coming from her bedroom. There was a shuffle of movement, the squeak of the mattress as she sat on the bed, a telltale beep as she pushed her answering machine to play her messages.

He had plenty to think about to keep him from eavesdropping on a message about her work schedule at the medical center and an appointment reminder from her OB/GYN. But good intentions and errant hormones and unfamiliar feelings couldn’t distract him from the third message. The cop in him responded to the male voice, the false apology, the inherent threat.

“I’m sorry things didn’t work out for us at the hospital, Josie. Pity, really—you seem like such a nice young woman. I’ve never gotten that close to someone who was pregnant before. What’s that like, feeling something growing inside you? I wish I had more time to get better acquainted with you and the baby. But I’m afraid business must come first. Don’t worry, though. I promise we’ll be meeting again…when there’s no one around to interrupt us.”

Rafe was inside Josie’s bedroom before the message ended. He found her half-dressed, hugging the blouse against her chest. Her eyes were huge, her voice a whisper when she turned to him. “Rafe?”

“Pack your bag.”

Chapter Six

Josie startled at the tweak on her ponytail, but quickly exhaled a calming breath and smiled at the deep brogue that trilled against her ear.

“Hey, girlie.” Uncle Robbie hugged her shoulders and reached across her to steal a pretzel from the bowl on the bar and pop it into his mouth. “You’re mighty jumpy this evening. Everything all right?”

“I’m fine.” Josie dumped the dregs of two beers into the sink behind the bar and set the pilsners into the crate with the glasses she’d been rinsing. “I just have lots on my mind tonight.”

Like that phone call at her apartment. If she hadn’t already been creeped out by the mystery man at the hospital, the message might have been a casual flirtation. But someone had sabotaged her car. The surgeon in the ball cap had appeared and vanished like magic. And then that unsettling call—on her line, at
her
home—had mentioned the baby. Somehow, his curiosity about her pregnancy intensified the threat and gave the subtext behind that message a more disturbing meaning.

Josie felt a dampness against her belly and snapped from her thoughts when she realized her wet, sudsy hand had soaked through her blouse, maternity jeans and panties where she had instinctively protected her child. “Oh, shoot.” She flicked the suds off her hands and reached for a towel.

“Is everything all right with Junior?” he asked, stepping back to give her room to dab at her clothes.

“The baby’s fine, too.”

“Still no help from that no-good father whose name you won’t tell me?”

More help than she wished, actually.

“Give it a rest, Robbie.”

The last thing she wanted was for Rafe’s friendship with her uncle to splinter the way theirs had. She’d grown up in a fractured family and knew how important it was to maintain ties with every person she cared about. And Rafe had no one, really, besides his friends on SWAT Team One. And her. But he’d made it more than plain that he didn’t want her—or rather, that he didn’t want to want her. He certainly didn’t want the baby. And since they were a package deal, she was beginning to lose hope that her longtime fantasy of sharing a life with Rafe Delgado would ever come true.

Robbie shifted back and forth on his feet beside her, then cleared his throat. Josie turned her head to see what topic this natural-born blarney man was having such a difficult time with.

“What?” she asked.

He cleared his throat again. “Well, I was just thinking. If this nonexistent man of yours could help you with some money… I won’t be able to give you the bonus I was hoping to, this month.”

“It’s all right, Robbie,” she assured him, “I’m not expecting you to support us.”

If anything, her reassurance seemed to sadden him. “But I want to help with the wee one.” A moment later, his broad smile returned. “I did hear about a job you’d be right for. Got a call looking for help just this evening. A catering company is hiring wait staff to set up and clear tables for that big fundraiser KCPD is throwing later this month.”

Another job on her feet. Great. But at least it was a job, and for that, Josie was grateful. And since there’d be any number of cops in attendance, Rafe should agree to let her work without too much argument. Josie smiled her thanks as one of the waitresses brought her another tray of empties. “Just give me the time and the place. And thanks.”

“Things are about to get busy,” her uncle warned her, pointing to the nine o’clock newscast starting on the television hanging above the end of the bar. “Do you need to take a break before KCPD’s A shift ends and our friends come in here to unwind?”

The end of A shift. That meant Rafe would be coming back soon.

Yeah, she definitely needed some quiet time to regroup for the next encounter with the man who’d turned her life upside down in so many ways. She balanced the two glasses on top of the full crate and heaved it up into her arms. “I’ll go start a load in through the dishwasher.”

“Wait. Let Jake take it.” Robbie lifted the crate from Josie’s hands and called to the man moving bar stools back into place around the two pool tables near the opposite side of the bar. “Jake?”

She felt a chill dance along her spine as Robbie’s shout momentarily silenced the hum of conversations at the tables. But the patrons quickly went back to their business, the noise level increased and a muscular man with a buzz cut of hair wound his way across the room to join them.

“Have you met Jake Lonergan?” Robbie asked as the new help approached. “I took your advice and hired someone new.”

Jake Lonergan didn’t look like any bartender she knew. As he stooped beneath the opening at the end of the bar and approached, the details of his face became a little more clear, though not any friendlier. His unsmiling features belonged to a bouncer who’d not only broken up, but had been in one too many fights himself. A vague uneasiness backed her into Robbie’s chest, but curiosity made her peer into the dim light and blinding neon of the advertisement signs around them to see if that bump on his crooked nose or that scar along his jaw were makeup or the real thing.

“Jake, this is my niece, Josie. Here.” Robbie handed the heavy crate of dirty glasses off to the stocky man. “I want you to run them through the washer in the back. Bring out a clean set and fill up the cooler to chill the glasses when you come back.”

“Ma’am.” Jake shrugged off the impolite scrutiny, took the crate and carried the dirty glasses through the swinging door back into the kitchen.

Josie hadn’t been able to get a good look at his eyes with the perpetual squint lining them. And that not knowing bothered her almost more than seeing the cold, colorless eyes of a killer would have.

“Now go,” Robbie ordered, squeezing her shoulders and pressing a kiss to her cheek. “You’re shaking on your feet. Sit down in my office and relax for ten minutes.”

Alone in the back of the bar with a man she’d just met? No, thanks.

When Jake came back out, she’d apologize for her rudeness and strike up a conversation so she could get a better look at him. Her nerves wouldn’t settle until she was satisfied the new bartender wasn’t the RGK with a new disguise and the guts or arrogance to track her down in a bar surrounded by cops. She couldn’t imagine Donny Kemp would risk working in a bar where two-thirds of the patrons were employees of the Kansas City police department. But then, twenty-four hours ago, she wouldn’t have believed he could find out where she was doing her nursing practicum and call her home phone number, either.

A slap on the bar’s polished walnut top took her uncle’s attention away and Josie went back to work. “Robbie, you old dog, how’s it going?”

“Norbert.” Robbie traded a robust handshake with the retired cop who’d been a customer at the Shamrock since before Josie’s time. With a tilt of his head, Robbie urged his friend to an empty stool at the end of the bar and filled him a draft along the way. “You got any good tips for me tonight, Norb? I’ve got a couple grand I need to make up.”

“They’ve started the horse races in Virginia and Ohio this month. Manny’s taking bets over at the keno hall if you want me to…”

Gambling. Josie shook her head in frustration and tuned out the conversation. So it wasn’t the new help but an old habit that had eaten up Robbie’s bonus money this month.

Needing to busy her hands more than she needed to rest or worry about her uncle, Josie pulled an apron off a hook beside the swinging door and slipped it over her head, tying the strings behind her back and adding another layer of protection between her baby and the perils of her world. After wiping down the hoses and dispensers for their soft drinks, the bell over the door alerted her to the pair of detectives wandering in and heading over to their usual corner near the pool tables.

Spencer Montgomery and his partner, Nick Fensom. The two of them were like night and day—Montgomery with his light red, almost strawberry-blond hair versus Detective Fensom’s dark brown hair. Montgomery was suited up while Fensom wore jeans and a bomber jacket. One was tall and lean, the other a shorter, muscle-packed bulldog of a man.

Neither detective looked like the man at her car this afternoon. But then that sham surgeon, if he was, indeed, the RGK, hadn’t looked anything like the man she’d seen at the prison, either. Should she tell them her suspicions about Jake Lonergan? Let them know that the RGK—if that was the man who’d called her and sabotaged her car—had gotten so deep inside her head that she was even sizing up the cops she’d known for years as regular customers and friends of her father’s as possible suspects?

She knew she’d been staring too long when the red-haired detective made eye contact and his gaze narrowed with a silent question. Then he held up two fingers, indicating their order for a pair of draft beers.

She let her gaze wander from table to table and shadow to shadow across the bar. Was the RGK here now? Blending in? Watching her? Maybe it wasn’t wise to indicate that she knew Spencer Montgomery outside of the police station. Any interested observer might wonder why the detective was suddenly talking to her and piece together that she was involved in his investigation, that
she
could be his anonymous witness. Or would it draw less attention to fix a tray of drinks and carry them over like she would with any other customer?

Falling back on the diversion of work, she drew the two drafts and set them on a tray. Was she going to be jumpy and suspicious of every man she met now?

She’d thought the cold, conscienceless gaze she’d seen behind those glasses at the prison visitation room belonged to eyes she’d never forget. But if the RGK had sabotaged her car and spoken to her this afternoon—she hadn’t recognized him. Would she ever be able to? Would she be able to identify the killer she’d seen before it was too late? The niggling doubts made her worry that all of Rafe’s dire predictions about the danger she was in might come true.

She wasn’t particularly looking forward to spending the night at Rafe’s apartment. He’d tossed her suitcase into the back of his truck, driven her to the Shamrock and then returned to KCPD for the last couple of hours of his shift with stern instructions that she was not to leave the bar, be alone with anyone she didn’t know, or take any phone calls until he could get there.

While she was grateful for the protective streak that ran a mile deep inside Rafe, she couldn’t help but wish there was a more personal reason for his round-the-clock attention. Someday she’d have to get over these feelings for Rafael Delgado. She’d have to move past the futile hope that he would one day see her as a woman instead of Aaron Nichols’s daughter—that Rafe would see her as
his
woman.

Sucker. Every ding of the bell over the Shamrock’s doorway felt like a death knell counting down what was left of her foolish, hopeful heart. Of all the men in the world to see as her soul mate, she had to fall for one who was hard to love—a man whose wounds ran so deep that there might never be enough patience and time to heal them.

“Order up for table twelve,” Josie announced, carrying the tray to the waitress station at the end of the bar.

“Table twelve can wait.” The gravelly masculine voice jump-started Josie’s pulse and put the brakes on the downward spiral of her thoughts.

“Rafe.” So much for logical future plans and declarations of independence. The heart wanted what it wanted. And right now, it wanted to believe that the liquid warmth she saw burning in Rafe’s whiskey-colored eyes was triggered by caring. Her heart shouldn’t lurch in her chest at the sight of the tall, uniformed man in black standing just a few feet away from her, his eyes skimming every nuance of her face and figure from head to toe.

“You doin’ okay?” he asked in a voice that floated beneath the expanding noise level of the crowd for her ears alone.

She nodded.

But he didn’t look entirely convinced. His gaze darted beyond her to the detectives by the pool tables and back. Rafe’s fingers brushed against hers as he took the tray from her grasp. “Did Montgomery say something to upset you?”

“He just ordered a couple of beers.”

“These?”

Josie nodded.

“You take care of your customers here. I’ll deliver them to your friend.” He picked up the tray and dodged out of the waitress’s way. “I need to have a few words with him, anyway. He needs to know about that phone call.”

“Rafe?” Did she really want him antagonizing Detective Montgomery? Would watchful eyes have seen Rafe talking to her and then connect her to Montgomery’s investigation? She surveyed the crowd filling booths and tables, setting up pool shots and waiting to place orders. But there were too many faces, too many distractions. Squeezing her eyes shut, Josie shook her head, struggling to recapture her serenity and trust in the world she’d lost earlier today.

“Excuse me. It’s Josie, right?” A woman’s voice intruded on her brief meditation. Josie blinked her eyes open and crossed to the blonde in a black SWAT uniform that matched Rafe’s. “I’m Randy—Miranda— Murdock. Are you feeling okay?”

Did she really look such a mess that everyone in the bar was going to ask her that tonight?

Deciding she was tired of answering the question, Josie pasted what she hoped was a convincing smile on her face and ignored giving an answer. “I remember you, Randy.” She looked off into the corner of the bar where the rest of SWAT Team One—Captain Michael Cutler, Trip Jones and Alex Taylor—were pulling chairs up to their regular table. With familiar friends in the house, it was easier to turn her smile into the real thing. “I’m guessing you’re here to order a round of the usual for the guys?”

“It’s like having a pack of big brothers,” Randy groused, laying a twenty dollar bill on top of the bar. “Like I need four more of them. I already have one who’s got the overprotective angle down to a science. You get that big brother act from Sergeant Delgado, don’t you? Can’t they see we’re grown women?”

Josie’s gaze darted to Rafe, whose dark head was bent forward to press some point, on her behalf, no doubt, with Detective Montgomery. “I think it’s just born in some men to be protectors.”

Randy was on a roll, carrying the conversation for both of them. “I carry a rifle for my job. You handle all this chaos with a smile on your face. And they still think we need looking after?”