by Julie Miller
FROM HIS HAT TO HIS BOOTS, THIS COP WAS ALL COWBOY
For small-town sheriff Boone Harrison, the investigation into a serial rapist turned killer is painfully personal. Boone’s priority is to find the coward who murdered his sister. But to accomplish that, he’ll have to work with Dr. Kate Kilpatrick, a secretive woman whose striking beauty and kind heart just may be the lawman’s undoing....
Forensic psychologist Kate Kilpatrick was wrong about Sheriff Harrison. He’s smarter and more resourceful than she’d given him credit for—and entirely too attractive. In their combined grief, Kate finds something she didn’t even know she needed: protection. Because when the Rose Red Rapist sets his sights on Kate, she’ll need more than the power of the badge to save her. She’ll need her very own cowboy.
“I don’t date, Sheriff Harrison.”
“Look, about the kiss—I didn’t plan that. That’s not why I was waiting in the garage for you. I mean, you do eat, don’t you?”
“Of course, I do. But you don’t owe me anything. I was just doing my job today. I don’t need any thanks from you. And I certainly don’t want to be any more trouble to you. So, good night.”
Mules weren’t the only stubborn thing his folks had raised on their ranch. Boone pulled back the front of his jacket and splayed his hands at his hips. He didn’t get why he was so attracted to this prickly city woman who had to be as wrong for him as his ex-wife had been. But he clearly understood his duty as an officer of the law, and as a man.
“You may not need any thanks, but I don’t leave a lady in trouble....”
Julie Miller
Kansas City Cowboy
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Julie Miller attributes her passion for writing romance to all those fairy tales she read growing up, and to shyness. Encouragement from her family to write down all those feelings she couldn’t express became a love for the written word. She gets continued support from her fellow members of the Prairieland Romance Writers, where she serves as the resident “grammar goddess.” This award-winning author and teacher has published several paranormal romances. Inspired by the likes of Agatha Christie and Encyclopedia Brown, Ms. Miller believes the only thing better than a good mystery is a good romance.
Born and raised in Missouri, she now lives in Nebraska with her husband, son and smiling guard dog, Maxie. Write to Julie at P.O. Box 5162, Grand Island, NE 68802-5162.
Books by Julie Miller
HARLEQUIN INTRIGUE
841—POLICE BUSINESS*
880—FORBIDDEN CAPTOR
898—SEARCH AND SEIZURE*
947—BABY JANE DOE*
966—BEAST IN THE TOWER
1009—UP AGAINST THE WALL**
1015—NINE-MONTH PROTECTOR**
1070—PROTECTIVE INSTINCTS‡
1073—ARMED AND DEVASTATING‡
1090—PRIVATE S.W.A.T. TAKEOVER‡
1099—KANSAS CITY CHRISTMAS‡
1138—PULLING THE TRIGGER
1176—BEAUTY AND THE BADGE‡
1201—TAKEDOWN*
1245—MAN WITH THE MUSCLE
1266—PROTECTING PLAIN JANE†
1296—PROTECTING THE PREGNANT WITNESS†
1321—NANNY 911†
1350—THE MARINE NEXT DOOR‡‡
1367—KANSAS CITY COWBOY‡‡
*The Precinct
**The Precinct: Vice Squad
‡The Precinct: Brotherhood of the Badge
†The Precinct: SWAT
‡‡The Precinct: Task Force
For Steve and Carolyn Spencer
Your dedication to the arts is such a blessing to our community. You’re smart, talented, generous people who’ve raised a wonderful family and are fun to hang out with.
Carolyn, thanks for reading my books.
And Steve, we’ll get you on a cover one day.
CAST OF CHARACTERS
Dr. Kate Kilpatrick—Police psychologist and expert profiler. This cool, brainy beauty is patient, good with words and better with people. She’s given the unenviable task of wrangling the visiting sheriff, whose private investigation is interfering with the task force’s work. As the task force’s press liaison, she’s also the public face and spokesperson for the Rose Red Rapist investigation. But someone wants to silence her. Permanently.
Sheriff Boone Harrison—When his sister turns up as the Rose Red Rapist’s latest victim, this small-town sheriff comes to the big city to get some justice. This rugged law-enforcement veteran is a man of action who can use a gun as well as he can ride a horse. He knows KCPD sicced pretty Dr. Kate on him to keep him in line and out of their way. But he doesn’t mind the company.
Janie Harrison—The Rose Red Rapist’s latest victim.
Flint Larson—Boone’s deputy in Grangeport, Missouri.
Vanessa Owen—TV reporter covering the task force investigation. But is she after something more?
Robin Carter—Janie’s boss.
Irene Mayne—Boone’s ex-wife.
Dr. Fletcher Mayne—The new husband.
Officer Pete Estes—A young cop with KCPD.
Gabriel Knight—This reporter doesn’t have nice things to say about the task force’s investigation.
The Rose Red Rapist—His attacks have turned to murder.
Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Epilogue
Excerpt
Prologue
Boone Harrison never tired of standing atop the rugged Missouri River bluffs and watching the wide, slate-gray water thundering past. The dense carpet of orange, red and gold deciduous trees and evergreens lining every hill that hadn’t been cleared for farming or cut out to put a road through blocked his view of the interstate and made him feel like he was the only soul around for miles.
Even though he was partial to the sheriff’s badge he’d worn for almost fifteen years now, knew most of the folks in the tiny burg of Grangeport and on the farms and ranches in the surrounding county—and liked most of them—there was something peaceful, something that centered him, about getting away for a ride across his land on his buckskin quarter horse, Big Jim. Feeling Jim’s warmth and strength beneath the saddle reminded Boone of where he came from. Smack-dab in the middle of the Missouri Ozarks, his family’s home might not be used as a working cattle ranch anymore, but he rented out enough parcels of grazing land to a friend to keep it well maintained and looking like the thriving operation his father and grandfather before him had run.
Pulling his gaze from the early morning fog off the river some fifty yards below his feet, Boone nudged his heels into Jim’s sides and cantered up over the rise toward the gravel road leading back to the house. A small herd of Herefords scattered as he approached the gate, and for a few mutinous seconds he considered chasing after them the way he had when his parents had been running the place. Give him fifteen minutes—twenty, tops—and he’d have them rounded up and on their way to the next pasture.
But they weren’t his cattle. That wasn’t his job. Boone was forty-five years old. His folks and his grandparents were gone now, and his brothers and sister had moved on. Buried in the county cemetery, married and raising kids in town, gone to the big city to make a career or simply thumbing their noses at ranch life. Boone might be the only one still living on the land where they’d all been raised, but he had other responsibilities now.
Leaving the cattle to settle back down to their sleepy breakfasts, he reined in Jim. “Ho, boy.”
The big buckskin snorted clouds of steam in the chilly autumn air as Boone leaned over the saddle horn to unhook the gate. With the skilled precision of the ten years they’d been taking this morning ride together, Jim walked through the gate. Boone refastened it and, with nothing more than a touch on the reins, Jim trotted up to the road.
Boone had already noticed the tire tracks in the dusty gravel before he topped the next rise.
Company wasn’t part of the morning routine.
Instantly on guard without making a fuss about it, Boone checked the gun on his belt, then pulled back the front of his jacket to reveal the badge on his tan uniform shirt. He adjusted his Stetson low over his forehead and rode the horse in to see who’d come out to the house so early in the day.
He recognized the green departmental SUV parked behind his black farm truck and knew the news wasn’t good. Occasionally over the years, an inmate had escaped from the prison on the opposite side of the river, and his team had been put on alert. More often there was an accident on one of the highways that crisscrossed through town. Sometimes there was a drunk or a domestic disturbance, but his men could handle calls like that without his guidance.
This was something different. Flint Larson, the young man in the tan shirt and brown uniform slacks that matched Boone’s own, stopped his pacing and came to face him at the edge of the porch.
Boone reined in Big Jim, and stayed in the saddle to look Flint in the eye. “What is it?” he asked, skipping any greeting.
They weren’t so backward that cell phones and landlines didn’t work out here. A visit to the house meant something personal. The pale cast beneath the deputy’s tanned skin confirmed it.
“It’s Janie.” Boone’s sister, the youngest of the Harrison clan. A failed engagement to the blond man standing on his porch, and the desire for something more than small-town living, had taken her two and a half hours away to Kansas City more than a year ago. “She’s dead.” Flint’s voice broke with emotion before he steeled his jaw and continued. “The office just got the call from KCPD.”
Boone crushed his fist around the saddle horn, feeling Flint’s words like a kick in the gut. Janie? Hell. She wasn’t even thirty years old yet. She was loud and funny. She had an artist’s eye and the ability to put her four older brothers in their place. He needed to call those brothers. As the oldest, they’d expect him to take charge of making arrangements. Who were her friends in the city he’d need to contact? What the hell had happened to her, anyway? Driving too fast? An illness she hadn’t shared?
He squeezed his eyes shut as the questions gave way to images of growing up in the house and town flashed through his mind. A lone daughter, spoiled by her parents and big brothers, overprotected, well loved. She could be just as rowdy as the rest of them, yet turn on the ladylike charm whenever...
The images froze and he snapped his eyes back open. Hold on. “The police?”
“Yes, sir.” Flint shifted on his feet. He had to be feeling the shock and loss, too. “That’s not the worst of it.”
What could be worse than Janie’s bright light being taken from the world?
“Tell me.”
“She was raped and murdered.”
Chapter One
Police psychologist Dr. Kate Kilpatrick shivered against the chill that lingered in the damp air and tightened the belt of her chocolate-brown trench coat as she hurried along the sidewalk to the crime scene. She hated being cold. And if this early October morning was any indication, then she was in for a long winter.
Impossibly long if she had to face any more visits to this revitalized area of Kansas City and deal with the job she’d been summoned to.
High heels, the KCPD auxiliary identification hanging around her neck, and the confident authority that she’d honed into a suit of armor over the years got the gathering crowd to part and let her pass with little more than a nod or a touch. She spotted the lanky, red-haired detective, Spencer Montgomery, who headed up the serial rapist task force she’d been assigned to, standing near the yellow crime scene tape that blocked the entrance to an alley between a local flower shop and a gutted warehouse building that was being remade into shops, offices and loft apartments. Summoning her courage on a deep breath, Kate turned off her emotions and braced herself for the death and violence reportedly on the other side of that yellow tape.
“Officer Taylor.” She approached the tall, brawny K-9 officer who was guarding the scene with the proportionately big and muscular German shepherd panting beside him.
He touched the brim of his KCPD ball cap. “Ma’am.”
She grinned up at him. The two had recently become acquainted with his assignment to the task force, as well. “I told you to call me Kate.”
“If you call me Pike.”
“Done.” The nickname was unusual, but the charm was genuine.
The K-9 officer pointed to the trio of police officers conferring next to the wall at the edge of the alley. “They’re over there...Kate.”
“Thanks, Pike.” She stepped around him and the dog to join the rest of the team. “Detective Montgomery.”
“Doc.” Spencer turned from the conversation he’d been having with his shorter, dark-haired partner and a copper-haired female officer she recognized as Nick Fensom and Maggie Wheeler, an investigator and a victim interview specialist also assigned to the KCPD task force. “The CSIs are nearly done processing the scene where the body was found, and we’re conducting an initial canvas of the neighborhood.” His report was as measured and concise as the tone of his voice. “Our Rose Red Rapist has stayed true to his pattern. The abduction occurred late at night after the victim closed up the shop for her boss—she was dead by two or three in the morning. This is the dump site, not where the assault occurred—and thus far we haven’t turned up any witnesses.” He handed over his notebook and let her study the observations he’d recorded. “You ready for this?”
“Not especially.” She nodded a good morning to Nick and Maggie. She tipped her head toward the closed-off street behind her. “Is there any way we can thin this crowd out a little bit? And turn off the flashing lights? There’s been enough speculation about the Rose Red Rapist escalating the violence of his attacks. All this commotion is only adding fuel to the fire of public panic.”
“I’ll take care of it,” Maggie volunteered. She turned her mouth to the radio clipped to her jacket and started issuing orders.
“Thanks.” Kate caught Maggie’s hand and squeezed it before she could walk away, silently asking her former patient how she was handling the pressure of the unsolved investigation and the horrible memories the scene in the alleyway must have triggered.
“I’m good,” Maggie reassured her, returning the squeeze with a real smile and reminding Kate of the engagement ring the uniformed officer now wore on her left hand. “It’s the first time one of the assault victims has been found dead.”
“Did you see the body?” Kate asked.
Maggie nodded, her smile fading. “That woman fought hard for her life. But I’m a fighter, too. Doing something to help put that bastard away helps me handle it all. So I’m good. We’ll catch up later, okay?”
More friend than counselor now, Kate agreed. “I owe you a cup of tea. Give me a call.”
“Will do.”
Kate stuffed her hand back into the warmth of her coat pocket as the other woman walked away, and skimmed Detective Montgomery’s notes before handing the book back to him. After discovering Maggie’s affinity for understanding the victims of sexual assault, Kate’s role on the commissioner’s task force had shifted slightly. She wasn’t a trained investigator, and she hadn’t suffered a terrifying attack the way Maggie had, but she understood people. As a trained psychologist who counseled members of the police force and assisted with suspect interviews and criminal profiling, Kate knew how to read a face, a room, an entire crowd. She had a way with words—she knew when to talk, when to listen—and she knew what to say. In a city being terrorized by
a serial rapist who’d reappeared in May after a ten-year hiatus, and had claimed his latest victim sometime last night, nerves were on edge.
It was her job to put those nerves to rest.
“I’m assuming you’ve moved the press to a neutral location?” She turned her attention to the two detectives.
Nick Fensom groused at the camera flash that went off on the other side of the street barricade. “Except for a couple of photographers trying to get a shot of the corpse—” he raised his voice to chide the photographer “—which we’ve already moved—”
“Nick,” Spencer cautioned, quieting his partner.
The shorter man held his hands out in a begrudging apology. “The reporters are in front of the Robin’s Nest Florist Shop, where the vic worked.”
Just catty-corner across the street from where the previous victim had been abducted outside a local bridal shop. Kate nodded to the shop owner standing at the window of Fairy Tale Bridal, suspecting she and the other women who lived and worked in this neighborhood were beginning to rethink their choice of the trendy, upscale location. Two assaults in just six months—attacks that were brutal, traceless and now deadly—must be making every woman afraid of her own shadow, and every man look like a potential suspect.
Not to mention what news of another rape had to be doing for local business. With a determined intake of breath, Kate looked to her left, spotting the group of television cameras, broadcast vans, microphones and reporters waiting for her to make a statement on behalf of the task force. “I doubt the flower shop owner will be thrilled with this kind of publicity. I’ll set up on the sidewalk facing north so the storefront won’t be behind me in the picture.”
“Good point.” The detective reached out to stop a young officer who was assisting with crowd control. A sly glance at his navy blue uniform identified him. “Estes?”
“Yes, sir?”
“I need you to help Dr. Kilpatrick move this crowd of reporters down half a block or so.”