by Julie Miller
He opened her car door, grabbed her bag, grabbed her elbow and didn’t wait for any argument as he turned her toward the truck. “You need to be scared. Your car was sabotaged. Battery cables can corrode over time and break, but they don’t disconnect and grow tool marks all by themselves.”
Her cheeks blanched, but she was nodding, moving. “That’s all you needed to say. Was that so hard?”
“Didn’t you once tell me that words weren’t my best thing?” he challenged as he helped her into the passenger seat, dropped her bag beside her feet and reached across her for the seat belt.
“Yes, but I also believe you’re a smart enough man to learn a few considerations beyond giving orders and manhandling people.”
It was impossible to miss how her hands came up to catch the seat belt and keep it—and him—from touching her stomach. Fine. Point taken. He supposed she’d added him to the list of things she had to protect her baby from. Ignoring the withering feeling that felt a little like the first time he’d realized his home life wasn’t like most of the other kids’ he went to school with, and that he’d never truly fit in, he gentled his movements and apologized. “Sorry. Manhandling you was never my intention. Getting you out of harm’s way is.”
“I know that, Rafe.” She covered his hand with hers, offering a healing understanding that his parents had never shown him. “One thing I’ve never doubted about you is that you always have my best interests at heart. I just wish you would let your… Never mind.” She patted his hand and pulled away. “I’ll admit I was a little scared. But you think I had reason to be, right?”
Oh, yeah. If she only knew.
Acknowledging the temporary truce with a nod, he closed the door and climbed in behind the wheel to start the 3500’s powerful engine. “I replaced your battery myself last winter. I clean the nodes every time I change your oil. Someone definitely got under the hood and took things apart so the engine wouldn’t start. I’ll call the lab and Detective Montgomery to take a look at it.”
As soon as he turned onto the street and pulled up to the stoplight, she moaned. “I’m feeling a little sick to my stomach.”
Rafe pressed more lightly on the accelerator when the light changed. “Calling Montgomery is just a precaution. You’re safe for now.”
“It’s not just stress. Or your driving. Oh.” Her teasing smile became a grimace as they crested a hill and went down the other side. “It’s the baby.”
His grip tightened around the steering wheel as a bolt of panic shot through him. “Is something wrong? Do I need to get you back to the hospital?”
Josie laughed, a sound he hadn’t heard in his company for far too many months now. “No. I’m hungry. Junior likes to eat about six times a day or he tells me about it.”
“It’s a he?” The panic eased at her laugh, but his knuckles were still white. He was having a son? “The baby,” she clarified, “could be a boy or girl. I asked the doctor’s office not to tell me when they did the ultrasound.”
A picture of a dark-haired little girl toddling into his arms distracted him for only a moment before he quashed the image beneath practicality and set aside that gut-kick of emotion. “When was the last time you ate anything?”
“I had a sandwich at noon.”
Over five hours ago, his dashboard clock winked at him. That was too long between meals even if she wasn’t eating for two. Rafe quickly scanned the road ahead and pulled off onto the shoulder as soon as it was safe. Then he shifted the idling pickup into Park and reached behind the seat for the truck’s emergency kit.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
Beneath a roll of sterile gauze, he pulled out a protein bar and tossed it into her lap. “Eat.”
“Rafe, I was uncomfortable. It’s an empty tummy, not a life or death situation.”
“Eat it, anyway, until we can get a cheeseburger and a milkshake in you.”
“Thank you.” He waited for her to unwrap the bar and take a bite, blow out a sigh that rounded her lips, and lean back against the headrest in weary relief before he put away the plastic tub and shifted the truck into gear. “Actually, I’ve been craving vegetables,” she announced as another bite disappeared.
“Not pickles and ice cream?”
“Nothing weird, yet. Although I won’t be eating a tuna casserole for a while. The last time I opened a packet of tuna, the smell made me sick to my stomach.”
Rafe checked the side view mirror and concentrated on merging back into rush-hour traffic. Did he need to know the details about her pregnancy? Should these little nuggets of info about the gender of the baby, its snack habits and Josie’s needs and cravings really be sneaking their way beneath his skin and feeding something inside him that he hadn’t known was just as hungry as she was? Had to be curiosity, that was all. He’d never had any firsthand experience with pregnant women, and his only experience with fatherhood had been a history he’d spent years in therapy trying to forget.
There was no way he could become attached to the baby—Aaron’s grandson, no less—without screwing up this relationship the way he had with anybody else he’d cared about in his life.
It was vitally important that he regain Josie’s trust. If he was going to provide the protection Spencer Montgomery would not, then he needed her to listen to him. To act when he told her to, and not second-guess any of the rules he intended to lay down for her safety until the killer she could identify was caught. And he needed to focus strictly on the danger at hand.
He wouldn’t let babies and emotions and this rift between them get in the way of that.
So he’d stick to the black and white practicalities that he could deal with best. “There’s a take-out salad bar in that grocery store up on Noland Road,” he pointed out, pulling the truck into the turn lane. “Do you want me to stop there?”
“That’d be great,” she answered between chews. “Although that milkshake does sound good. Can I have both?”
A smile curved the corner of his mouth. That was the Josie he remembered, full of healthy appetites and honest to a fault. By the time they’d cruised the salad bar and driven through a fast-food restaurant for shakes and a burger for him, Josie seemed happy and amenable to the conversation they needed to have.
Her vanilla milkshake was half gone by the time Rafe had maneuvered his truck into a parking space in front of Josie’s apartment building. He shut off the engine and pocketed the key. The sun was dropping in his rearview mirror and she’d be wanting to get to the Shamrock as soon as she could wolf down that salad and change. The time to do this was now. “Do you think it was him?”
Josie was too smart to ask what him he was talking about. “You think the man in the hospital parking lot was the Rich Girl Killer?” She pulled the straw and ice cream from her lips, dabbing with a paper napkin while her youthful exuberance aged and grew thoughtful. “I don’t know. I never suspected it was the same guy. I didn’t get a good look at his face. But, now that I think about it, he didn’t want me to. They both wore glasses, but different styles. The hair was different. The guy at the prison had money, like an attorney, you know, all spit and polish. This guy was casual—with a ball cap and tennis shoes…”
Her gaze grew distant, remembering something horrible, imagining something worse. “Jose?” Rafe reached across the seat and touched her arm, the contact snapping her out of her disquieting thoughts.
“They both had the cleanest hands I’ve ever seen on a man.” Ah, hell. That fit Montgomery’s profile. Judging by the color draining from Josie’s cheeks, she was beginning to think that, too. She unbuckled and turned to face him across the cab. “If that was him, why didn’t he just shoot me or stab me right there?”
He slipped his hand down the sleeve of her cotton jacket and squeezed her fingers. “I, for one, am glad he didn’t.”
“You know what I mean. If he could get to me like that, why didn’t he do something?”
“Either he saw me coming and thought he’d have a witness, or
…”
“Or what?” She turned her smaller palm into his, lacing their fingers together, waiting expectantly for the grim news.
“He’s toying with you. That’s been his M.O. with his victims—stalk, torment, then attack.” Rafe rubbed his calloused thumb over the cool skin of her knuckles, wanting to make her aware, not afraid. “This guy’s sick. He isn’t playing with a full deck.”
Her fingers danced nervously between his. “But Detective Montgomery promised to keep my name out of it. It’s not even written in his case file—he showed me. How could the RGK know I was the witness? How did he know where to find me?”
“If he can con his way into a prison to kill a man, he could get into a university or hospital and search its records.” Rafe offered another distasteful explanation. “He saw you with Patrick. Maybe he has connections inside there who got the info for him.”
“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.”