KCPD Protector

by Julie Miller

  With a quick breath and glance around him that smelled like desperation, Shane pulled her back toward the stairwell. “There’s another aid station upstairs.”

  James nodded, his eyes narrowed in doubt behind his glasses. “Okay. Call me when you get the chance. Let me know you’re okay.”

  “I need George.” Elise mouthed the words as Shane dragged her back to the stairs. It was a plea for her life, and theirs. But she didn’t risk saying anything out loud as the stairwell door closed behind them.

  * * *

  GEORGE SHOVED THE mountain of tangled blinds, books and furniture away from the opening beneath the desk, and made a solemn vow to buy himself a sturdy antique like this one for his office upstairs. Assuming he still had an office. And an upstairs.

  The rain blowing through the broken window splashed his face and arms as he pushed to his feet and surveyed the damage. There was plenty. But the floor was solid, and the walls of this 1920s steel-and-limestone fortress seemed to still be standing.

  But the building damage was the least of his concerns right now. It didn’t take him long to decide that what had worked for Shane would work for him. Picking up the metal conference chair the young officer had clocked him with, George swung it against the door, smashing the wood around the lock so he could pull it open, run to the south stairwell and get to Elise.

  He’d brushed aside several status reports, and inquiries into the nicks and scratches on his face and hands, and the bruise at his temple, to get downstairs to the storm shelter as quickly as possible. Although there were a few wounded refugees in the men’s locker room, most of the area had been cleared out. He certainly wasn’t seeing anyone with soft brown waves framing her face and killer legs organizing some kind of team and tackling a list of tasks necessary for a recovery effort.

  George propped his hands at his waist and took several deep breaths, keeping his fear at bay. Fine. If he couldn’t locate Elise, then he’d look for Shane.

  He stopped the first uniformed officer who walked past. Denton Hale wasn’t much of a go-getter on his own time, but he snapped to when George called his name. “Which one is Wilkins’s locker?”

  Hale led him to the end of the row. “This one, sir.”

  “Can we cut that lock?”

  Hale called over a maintenance man with a toolbox and cut off the lock with a set of bolt cutters.

  When George pulled open the metal door, he swore one choice, biting word.

  Hanging from a hook at the back of the locker was a dried-up yellow rose. In the gym bag at the bottom he found a pair of lacy blue panties and a ton of pictures. All of them of Elise—waving to the camera across a parking lot, walking her dog, lounging on the deck in her backyard, eating a salad in Pitsaeli’s Restaurant, standing on her front porch, hugging Spike, looking wary and afraid.

  A box on the top shelf held something even more disturbing—stacks of love poems and letters, all saying variations of the same thing.

  I love you.

  You’re mine.

  We belong together.

  No one will keep us apart.

  When the bile in his throat receded and he could speak again, George turned to Officer Hale. “When was the last time you saw Elise?”

  “About fifteen minutes ago.” He nodded toward the locker room exit. “She went looking for you. Wilkins was with her.”

  “Shane Wilkins?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Do you know which way they went?”

  “Your last known location was upstairs. I’m sure they went that way. They headed to the north end of the building. She was worried sick about you.” Hale pointed to the drops of blood on George’s damp shirt. “Sir, you’re hurt.”

  “Just a few cuts and a bump on the head. Give me your building keys.” When George gestured for him to hurry and hand them over, Denton unhooked the ring of keys and dropped them into his palm. “Are you carrying a spare gun?”

  “Yeah.” Hale nodded and pulled a Smith & Wesson from the ankle holster beneath his pant leg.

  George held it down and away and checked the loaded magazine and weight of the weapon before sliding it into his own holster. “Get on the horn and find out if my nephew, Detective Fensom, is in the building. Tell him and any of his friends to meet me upstairs. I may need backup.”

  “Sir?”

  George strode into the hallway, with Hale hurrying along beside him. “You want to guarantee your job, and get those lousy performance evaluations off your record?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Make that call, then get your butt upstairs and help me find Elise.”

  * * *

  ELISE COULD SENSE Shane’s growing agitation with every step. When his getaway out the front door, parking garage or fire escape exits had been thwarted by crowds of people or storm damage that would require him to holster his gun and risk Elise screaming for help or making a break for it, Shane had decided to head up the stairs.

  But every floor they tried to enter had cops on it, searching through rooms. Elise recognized some of the detectives and uniformed officers. A. J. Rodriguez and Josh Taylor, detectives who’d worked together for years, were on the third floor, righting desks and chairs and cubicle walls. Shane avoided a tall K-9 officer and his German shepherd peeking into a room on the sixth floor. She saw Nick Fensom’s stocky figure. He was wrestling with his cell phone to get some decent reception on the eighth floor leading to George’s office. But she didn’t dare call out to him. The hand crushing her arm and the gun bruising her ribs wouldn’t allow her to risk it.

  Her lungs were beginning to ache with their steady climb. But, like a cornered animal, Shane seemed to think he had no place to go but up. When he heard voices on the stairs two flights beneath them, he forced her into double time, taking her up the last few stairs onto the roof.

  When he pushed open the last door, Elise instinctively drew back from the slap of rain on her face. It was pouring outside. The air smelled of dust and ozone, but felt cleaner than the stale musk of Shane’s nervous perspiration. Streaks of lightning forked across the sky, pricking the hairs on her forearms and at the back of her neck. Thunder rumbled loudly, as if a marching band was waiting on the roof to greet them.

  Shane released her just once, to push aside the wreckage of a satellite dish that littered the steps leading up to the helicopter pad, air conditioners and power units that served the entire building. She’d only backed a few feet away before his gun was trained on her again. He reached down his hand to her, leaving her no choice but to join him up top.

  The rain soaked her to the skin in seconds and the wind whipping through her hair made her shiver. “What are we doing up here, Shane? There’s no place left to go.”

  “We’re together.” He had her by the arm again, adding five more bruises to the marks he’d already left there. “That’s all that matters to me.”

  He ducked his head against the driving rain and hiked across the empty helipad to the concrete wall at the edge of the building. “Shane, what are you doing? There’s lightning up here. I don’t think it’s safe.”

  Elise tried to pull away when he leaned over the side. “Look at our city,” he said, the tone of his voice matching the drama of the sky above them. “I thought it’d be in shambles. But it’s still standing. Cars are moving, see?” He pulled her to the wall, and for the first time that day, she prayed he had an unbreakable hold on her. “See?”

  Elise forced herself to look. She
saw broken windows and toppled trees, lines of streets with streetlights on and others that were dark—and way too much distance between her and the ground below. Magnificent view. If she wanted to die.

  “Shane, you’re scaring me.”

  “What? Why?” He let her back away from the edge, but sat down on top of the wall, pulling her onto the slick seat beside him. Don’t look behind you. Don’t look down. Shane moved his hand to her knee, where his grip proved just as effective at holding her captive as her arm had been. “I love you. And you love me. I won’t let you get hurt. I’ll save you.”

  The rain loosened the blood that had dried on her temple and cheek, and it dripped into her lap. So this was how her sorry, second-guessing life would end. “How do you know I love you?”

  The wind buffeted them and the rain chilled. Shane rested the gun in his lap, with the barrel pointed at her. And he smiled. “Every day, you talk to me. Every day, you smile. I’m one in a million, you said.”

  She said hi to him every morning because he was the first person she’d see when she stepped off the eighth-floor elevator. She talked to him because they worked together. She smiled because...she smiled at nearly every person she met. It had become a brave mask to hide behind when she felt unsure of herself or needed a boost of self-confidence.

  “We’ve always been friends—”

  “It’s more than that. Your loyalty is one of the things I treasure most about you. I’ve had other people say they love me. But they didn’t. They lied to me. They left.

  “I’ve got my degree,” he went on. “Soon I’ll have my master’s. I’ll make detective and I’ll be commissioner one day. And you’ll be right there with me. Supporting me, just like you always have.”

  When he took her hand and got down on one knee, Elise nearly retched. “Shane, don’t.”

  When tears joined the rain rolling down her cheeks, he smiled. “I love you, Elise Brown.”

  “Put the gun down, son. Step away from the edge of the roof.”

  “George!” Her relief was so intense that she nearly forgot her precarious perch. But the stony eyes boring into hers across the roof sent a warning instead of a promise.

  In a flash of movement, like Jekyll and Hyde, Shane jumped to his feet and pulled Elise in front of him like a shield. Although he stood a head taller, she imagined the target he presented to the gun George aimed at him wasn’t very big.

  “Get back!” Shane warned, pushing his gun against her neck. “I don’t want you here.”

  Whether he was yelling at George or the other detectives and uniformed officers she saw climbing up the stairs and taking positions beside him, she couldn’t tell.

  George’s rock steady hands never wavered. “Elise, are you hurt?”

  She sniffed back her tears as she clawed at the arm cinched around her throat. Be brave. This was her last chance to seize the life she wanted with no regrets or second-guessing. “Nothing serious. Yet.”

  “I wouldn’t hurt her,” Shane insisted, despite the blood and bruises and terror. “I love her.”

  George took two steps across the roof. “Shane, this isn’t going to end well if you don’t put down that gun and let her go.”

  How could she help? How could she make George’s job easier? How could she save herself?

  And then she knew. “It’s all right, George. Shane and I have been talking. We’re friends.” She erased the tremor from her voice, blinked the rain from her eyes so she could see that face filled with so much life experience and love. “We’re more than friends. He’s been watching over me. I think he wants to marry me.”

  Shane’s arm eased its choke hold on her neck. “What? What are you saying?”

  “Weren’t you about to propose to me?”

  George was slowly shaking his head. “Elise, what are you doing?” He put out his hand to warn the other officers to keep their distance, then cradled the gun again. “Honey?”

  “If this is a trick...” Shane tapped her neck with the barrel of his gun, reminding her of his control over her.

  “I will never leave you.” Elise petted the arm she’d dug her nails into just moments earlier. “You promised me a lot, Shane. But you have to ask. A girl likes to be asked.”

  She felt him nod behind her. And then, with a streak of lightning cutting through the sky over their heads, he took her hand and knelt down. But when she stepped to the side, he knew.

  She’d lied.

  Shane clamped his hand over her wrist, swinging the gun toward George, and charging toward the edge of the roof, dragging her behind him. “She’s mine!”

  “Drop it, Shane!”

  Before her knees hit the wall, gunfire rang out, drowning out the thunder.

  Elise couldn’t count how many bullets there were. But she felt the spatter of blood on her neck, and the tug on her arm as Shane’s body crumpled to the roof and pulled her down with him.

  “Elise!” George was at her side in an instant. He kicked Shane’s gun from his lifeless hand before holstering his own. “What a damn waste.”

  Before she could get to her feet, he scooped her up into his arms and carried her away from her captor while other officers swarmed in to secure the scene.

  “Put me down, George.” She pushed against his chest. “Put me down.”

  “What’s wrong? I’m trying to get you out of the rain.” When she pushed again, he stopped and set her down beside the broken satellite dish at the top of the stairs. “Are you hurt?” He clasped her face, checked the cut on her head, ran his fingers along her arms, cursing at the bruises already forming there. “What did he do to you?”

  Elise threw her arms around his neck and hugged him so tightly, even the rain couldn’t fall between them. “This is what I need. I need you to hold me.”

  “Okay, honey.” He sighed in relief, folding his arms around her at last. He pulled her into his chest, surrounded her with his body and rubbed his smooth cheek against hers. “Okay. I’ve got you. I need to hold you, too.”

  They stood together like that for endless moments, cheek to cheek and heart to heart. Elise cried out her stress and fear, and absorbed George’s strength. When she was spent, when she was breathing normally against him, he leaned back, his face as grave as she’d ever seen it. And then he was kissing her, hard, thoroughly. Just as quickly, he tore his mouth from hers to press a far gentler kiss beside the wound on her forehead. “Damn it, woman, I won’t survive another day like this.”

  Elise curled her fingers into his collar, squeezing the water from it and smoothing it against his neck and chest. “Dealing with a psychopath?”

  “No.”

  She glanced up, surprised by his answer. “Surviving a tornado?”

  “Thinking I was going to lose you.”

  This time, Elise stretched onto her toes and kissed him, sliding her fingers into his hair and pledging with every stroke on his lips, every slide of her tongue that she was no one’s but his. Elise felt the rain running against her scalp beneath her hair. She heard the thunder rumbling overhead. But all she knew was the taste and power of this man’s kiss.

  “Damn, Uncle George—get a room.” Nick Fensom walked up beside them and squeezed his uncle’s shoulder. It was a gesture of love and relief, and probably the only way he could interrupt this relationship that wasn’t supposed to exist. “Does she need a medic?”

  George never took his eyes off her. “Do you?”

  Elise shook her head. “
Not yet. I probably need stitches, but I’m not ready to go down yet.” She never took her eyes off George, either. “We need to discuss this first.”

  While a smile spread across George’s handsome face for her, his voice commanded Nick and the others. “Clear the roof. Get him off my building. Find the next senior officer on-site and tell him to get me a status report on casualties and damage.” At the last second, he turned to Nick. “In twenty minutes.”

  Nick grinned. “I can buy you twenty minutes, old man.”

  Someone brought a morgue bag and others carried the troubled officer’s body down the stairs. A few detectives snapped pictures of the scene, but it was raining too hard for them to preserve any evidence beyond the body itself. Elise tucked her head beneath George’s chin and held on until they were all alone.

  But it was George who spoke first.

  “Twenty minutes may not be enough time to say everything I want to.” In the pouring rain, with a streak of lightning dancing over the skyline that still stood tall and proud over Kansas City, George Madigan spoke the words in his heart. “For years I’ve been trying to turn myself into someone I’m not. Because that’s what Court wanted. But you get me. I can be the man I want to be with you—the man I’m meant to be. You needed me to be that man. I’m a cop. Always have been, always will be. Okay, so I’m a cop who puts together budget sheets and personnel charts, but I’m still a cop.”

  “Protect and serve your city. That’s you, George. I never doubted it for a moment.”

  With a wry laugh, he smoothed the wet hair off her face and tucked it behind her ear. “Not even when I did. You and I fit together in a way no other woman has. You make me happy. And whole again. I need you, Elise Brown.”

  She spoke the words in her heart, too. “I need you.”

  And somehow, with the way he was kissing her, with the way she couldn’t let go of him, “I need you” became “I love you.”

  He left her mouth to lap up the cool rain from along her jaw and warm the skin there. “I know you’ve got a thing about dating your boss—”