by Julie Miller
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?”
“Are you having any luck changing their minds?”
Randy shook her head. “Some days yes, some days no. I just keep at it. I keep doing my job, being tough. Hopefully, one day, it’ll get through their thick skulls that we can take care of ourselves.” The other woman paused for a breath and grinned. “I’m rambling. Sorry. I tend to go off at the mouth when I get fired up about something.”
“No problem. Half my job is listening.” Josie reached into the cooler to pull out five frosty pilsner glasses to fill the order. “Did something happen today to set the big brothers off?”
Tucking a strand of honey-blond hair behind her ear, Randy nodded. “We just came back from a walk-through at a Gallagher Security warehouse. An anonymous tipster called in a bomb threat.”
Bombs in Kansas City? And Rafe was in the middle of it? Josie’s glasses clinked together as her fingers shook. “Was anyone hurt?”
“Nope. Gallagher’s security chief evacuated the building and we cleared it. Or I should say the boys did. My job was to stay by the door and watch the crowd—safely out of harm’s way.”
“They were trusting you to take care of those innocent bystanders so they could focus on the job they were doing inside.”
“I guess. I mean, I know it’s all about teamwork. But I train just as hard as they do. I shoot better than all of them. And I get stuck on door duty? Makes me wonder if they’ll ever trust me to pull the trigger when the time comes.”
“And the bomb?” Josie steadied her hand and filled the next glass.
“Even when we brought a dog in, we never found anything. I guess it really disrupted the end of the work-day, though, and some shipment they were trying to get out.”
“From what I read in the papers, Quinn Gallagher can afford to lose
a day’s work and delay shipments. I’m just glad everyone’s safe.” Josie set the last frothy glass on a tray and put it in front of Officer Murdock. “Here you go.”
“Thanks for letting me vent.” Randy held out the twenty.
Josie refused the money. “We’ve got a few traditions here at the Shamrock. One, you listen when someone needs to vent. And two, the first round’s on the house any day you survive a dangerous situation like you faced today. I think eliminating a bomb threat definitely qualifies.”
“I appreciate you listening, Josie. I don’t have that many girlfriends to talk to—and none of them who understand police work. And somehow, I just don’t think a guy gets what we’re feeling.” Randy got up from her stool and, after a moment’s hesitation, dropped the twenty dollars into the tip jar. “Good luck with Sarge and that whole big brother thing.”
“You, too.”
Before the empty stool filled with the next customer, Josie stole another look at Rafe, deep in conversation with Montgomery and Fensom. She understood from her father, and the men and women who frequented the bar, that even when they faced a deadly situation like a bomb threat, they were just doing their job. But she also understood that when things were particularly tense, that those same cops needed to commiserate, celebrate—or vent about the day’s events like Miranda Murdock just had.
Like the night Rafe had needed her body and her caring to help him deal with the senseless murder of a little boy who’d died in his arms.
Tonight, instead of decompressing the stress of the job with his buddies, and toasting their success after a potentially deadly mission, Rafe’s first concern had been about her.
It was enough to keep the hope in her heart from dying.
Chapter Seven
The grapefruit sitting on her bladder demanded that Josie quit trying to make the numbers add up on the deposit slip she’d been filling out and go to the bathroom now.
“Come on, Junior, work with me,” she begged, hopping to her feet and pressing her thighs together to give herself a few extra seconds to zip the money sheet into the bag with the cash from the registers tonight. Normally, her uncle was here to take the deposit to the bank, but he’d disappeared after last call and she hadn’t seen him since. With her bladder winning the war against her determination to finish counting down the drawers, she tossed the bag into Robbie’s safe and spun the dial before darting out of the office.