Police Protector

by Dani Sinclair

  “Someone could have used the blankets to wrap the children in to carry them away.”

  He was thinking out loud, but she shook her head.

  “Kip’s still nearby, and why take the pillows?” She thought for a moment. “It’s getting cold out there, but it’s been fairly warm in Boston until now. Is there a tree house in the neighborhood?”

  “I’m glad one of us is still thinking. Todd!”

  The other detective bounded up the stairs. The search for a tree house or a shed was put in motion.

  Kyra was in the living room moving cushions aside when Detective O’Shay returned to her.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Looking for her purse.”

  “We didn’t find one.” He held up his hand before she could speak again. “We looked.”

  “Doesn’t that strike you as odd? If someone took her, wouldn’t you expect her purse to still be here?” She gave him a flat stare. “I don’t see someone saying ‘get your purse, we’re kidnapping you.’”

  “We don’t know she was kidnapped, Kyra.”

  “No. We don’t.”

  “Ms. Wolfstead—”

  “Stick with Kyra, Detective. It’s late and I’m too tired for formality.”

  The lines around his mouth deepened, but she couldn’t tell if it was from amusement or annoyance.

  “It is late. Where are you planning to stay tonight?”

  “Right here.”

  This time there was no question. He was annoyed. “That’s out of the question.”

  “Why?”

  “This is a crime scene.”

  “One you’ve already processed,” she reminded him.

  His hand swept the room indicating the mess. “You can’t stay here.”

  “Can and am.” She set her jaw, taking what her colleagues called her fighting stance. “If Casey or the children are nearby, this is where they’ll come. I’m not leaving.”

  His eyes narrowed. He didn’t glance at his partner when the other man strolled over to them. His focus was entirely on her.

  “I can make that an order.”

  Kyra raised her chin. “That would be petty. You’ve searched this place from top to bottom. I’m staying.”

  “There’s nowhere for you to sleep.”

  She reached up to toss back her long hair, remembered she’d had it cut and restyled on Saturday and brushed some hair back from her face instead. “Your concern is touching. Do you really think I’m going to sleep tonight, Detective?”

  “We kicked in the front door,” he pointed out. “And the back window is broken.”

  “You can board up the window and I can prop the front door closed with a chair if the lock is broken.”

  His thunderous expression told her what he thought of that.

  “Be reasonable, Detective. Someone’s already torn the place apart. Do you really think they’re going to come back tonight?”

  “That isn’t the point.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Then what is the point? This is my sister’s home. I’m not leaving.”

  He muttered something under his breath. His partner looked away, lips curving.

  “Ms. Wolfstead, I don’t have the manpower to station someone here to protect you.”

  “Protect me from what? If they didn’t get what they came for, they know it isn’t here. If they did get it, they aren’t coming back. I’ll be perfectly safe.”

  He muttered something else under his breath. “No, and that’s final.”

  “Very well. I’ll spend the night in my car out front.”

  The other detective snorted. Lucan gave him a look that sent him moving away.

  “Look, Detective, you’ve taken photos, dusted for prints and searched the house. Let me stay and at least see if I can clean some of this mess.”

  “It’s late.”

  “And getting later,” she agreed. “Go home, Detective. Get some sleep. One of us should.”

  He closed his eyes, opened them again and lowered his voice. “There’s still the matter of an illegal weapon.”

  Kyra’s stomach did a quick flip and roll, but she refused to back down. She held his gaze and projected a false calm. “Are you going to charge me?”

  “I should.”

  She read victory in his words and released a breath she hadn’t known she was holding.

  “You aren’t going to be reasonable about this, are you?” he growled.

  “I’m always reasonable.”

  He cocked his head in patent disbelief.

  She held up her hand. “I’m also very determined. This is my family, Detective. I have to be here. While I appreciate your help, go home. There’s nothing more you can do here tonight.”

  His displeasure was obvious. He tried staring her down, but she’d faced too many other dominant males in her chosen career to be intimidated by looks or words. She wasn’t leaving until she found her sister.

  He swore softly. Everyone else in the room was studiously looking the other way. She had no doubt they were listening intently so she was surprised when, with a quick glance around, the detective withdrew her gun from his waistband and handed it to her.

  “I never saw this,” he told her gruffly in a voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t ever want to see it. Are we clear?”

  “Perfectly.” She thrust it into her purse, deciding now wasn’t the time to demand the bullets as well. Was he really worried about her safety? Detective O’Shay was a hard man to read.

  He handed her the canister of pepper spray, then withdrew a business card and scrawled a number across the back before handing her the card.

  “My cell phone number. I live one block over. If anything happens or if you find anything or even think of anything I should know, call me. I can be here in minutes.”

  Kyra took the proffered card, feeling inexplicably soothed. Good-looking and caring was a nice combination in a man. Lucan. His first name was Lucan.

  “Come on,” he continued. “I’ll give you a hand in the kitchen.”

  Startled, she tried not to gape. “That isn’t necessary.”

  “Yes ma’am, it is. My mother would flay me with dark looks for months if I left you with that mess and went home to bed. I can at least get the rotted food out of here. Todd and I need to put some plywood across the window anyhow. I saw some in the garage. Todd!”

  There’d been a trace of a brogue in his voice, she was sure of it. Second-generation Irish?

  In no time he and his fellow officers had cleared the worst of the kitchen mess and nailed plywood over the window she had broken. Lucan checked out the front door and pronounced it useable.

  “The dead bolt wasn’t on when we broke in so it still works,” he told her, checking to make sure the door closed and stayed closed. “I’ll have patrol cars swing by here as often as possible, but you should know the phones don’t work. The line was cut.”

  Another item that didn’t bode well for Casey. Kyra shoved that thought down hard. “That’s okay, I have my cell phone.”

  He nodded. “Do you want anything out of your car?”

  “My coat and the suitcase on the back seat, but I can manage.”

  “I’ll get them.”

  Bemused, she waited alongside Detective Berringer while her small suitcase and leather duster were carried inside. She removed Lucan’s suitcoat and handed it over, immediately missing the warmth and the light spicy scent.

  “Call if you need anything.”

  “Thank you. Both of you.”

  “Just doin’ our job, ma’am,” Detective Berringer told her. Her detective merely tipped his head. Together they left.

  And when had Detective Lucan O’Shay become her detective?

  They stopped outside and spoke quietly at the curb for several minutes. Kyra watched until they finally got in their separate vehicles and pulled away. She wasn’t sure, but she thought Detective O’Shay stared her way before leaving. Then she was alone in the dark, smelly house with only her
fear for company.

  There wasn’t a prayer she was going to sleep tonight despite the exhaustion tugging at her body. Her mind was too busy with fear and recriminations. She should have been hungry, but she wasn’t. The thought of food revolted her. And she had a sudden mad impulse to call Simon Testier.

  Her coworker and former lover was an excellent investigator and he just might think of something she was missing. She’d been pretty hard on him before he’d left for Germany. But Simon wouldn’t take no for an answer. She’d been trying to break up with him for over a month now, and the egotistical jerk couldn’t believe she was serious.

  Staring at the kitchen clock she computed the time and realized it was only five-thirty in the morning where he was. Simon hated mornings. That made the idea all the more tempting, but she stifled the impulse.

  She didn’t want to do anything that would encourage Simon to believe she was reconsidering their relationship. Sighing, she salvaged what she could of her sister’s tree ornaments. Most of the glass ones were broken, including the handful that had survived their own childhood. Several of the handmade ones were intact, but somehow that almost made it worse.

  Smoothing out a paper angel that had been one of her mother’s favorites, Kyra allowed a few tears to roll down her cheeks, before hunting up a vacuum cleaner. Cleaning gave her a channel for the pain and fear. As she turned off the vacuum, she froze.

  Had she just heard someone whispering?

  Goose bumps chased up her arms. She listened hard, but the house was silent except for the noise of the blower as the furnace started up once more. Had it been her imagination working overtime? She was tired. But what if she’d really heard someone?

  Impossible. The police had searched the house from top to bottom.

  But what if they had missed something?

  “Kip?” Her voice sounded loud in the silence. She strained to hear the slightest sound. “Kip, it’s Aunt Kyra. Are you here?”

  Even the house seemed to hold its breath. Her pulse thundered in her ears.

  “It’s okay to come out now. I’m here to help.”

  Nothing. No sound. Calming her racing heart she stared at the staircase for what seemed like a very long time, listening to the noises of the old house. There was no other sound.

  It must have been wishful thinking. If she didn’t get control of herself she’d be useless when they did find Casey. And they would, she vowed. She wasn’t leaving until she found her sister and her children. Maybe Kyra should take a break and try to rest.

  The patter of small running footsteps overhead was real and distinct.

  Her heart slammed into her throat. She flew up the steps calling Kip’s name. No one answered. There was no sound as she reached the dark landing. Surely if the children were here the police would have found them. Still, she went from room to empty room.

  No footsteps. No voices. She was alone in the house and losing her mind.

  Shaking all over, her gaze was drawn to the front window in the master bedroom. The drapes had been pulled back, giving her a view of the night beyond. A patrol car moved slowly down the street.

  Kyra crossed to watch until the car turned the corner and disappeared. One quick phone call and they’d return. They could search the house with her. Did she want that?

  The police had looked. She had looked. There was no one in the house. She didn’t want them to think she was crazy.

  The crisp winter night spread out still and silent below her. She stood a long time with her forehead pressed against the cold glass, silently praying that Casey and the children were somewhere safe in the darkness.

  If her sister was found unharmed, Kyra swore she’d make a serious effort to get to know Casey and her kids better. Kyra enjoyed her busy life, but she sacrificed a lot for her job. She was rarely home. Her work required a great deal of travel, and Simon had enjoyed finding remote places to vacation.

  She and Casey stayed in contact by phone and e-mail, but it wasn’t enough. Casey was the only close family Kyra had. Though her sister was so much older, Kyra should have made more time for her as well.

  “Just let Casey be all right,” she whispered silently to the darkness outside.

  Turning around, her step faltered. Had she just seen a small shadow dart away near the end of the dark hall?

  Chapter Four

  Before Lucan could knock, the front door flew open. Kyra Wolfstead stood there, five foot seven inches of determination despite the exhaustion rimming the tired blue eyes that gazed at him. Lucan cocked his head.

  “I am not crazy,” she announced.

  He blinked. “Okay.”

  “Don’t placate me.”

  He held up his palms. “It’s three forty-two in the morning. I’m not awake enough to bother.”

  She swiped at her hair. “I know what I saw.”

  “A shadow.”

  “There was someone in the hall upstairs. A child!”

  He stepped past her. The living room showed that she must have indeed spent the entire night cleaning. The broken Christmas tree was in its stand in the corner looking sadly forlorn. Garland, bows and ornaments, laid out neatly, covered the battered remains of the couch. The floor had been vacuumed clean of broken glass and stuffing. All the furniture was in upright positions.

  “Did you even try to sleep?”

  “No. So I couldn’t have been dreaming. And I wasn’t hallucinating,” she told him intently.

  He shrugged. “Okay.”

  “Stop saying that!”

  He spread his hands defensively. “Tell me again exactly what you saw, Kyra.”

  “First I thought I heard whispering, but I wasn’t sure. I’d been running the vacuum cleaner and when I turned it off…” She looked toward the stairs. “I called out but no one answered. Then I heard footsteps running across the floor overhead. I ran upstairs but the rooms were all empty. I thought my mind was playing tricks on me.”

  Lucan heard the desperation in her rising tone. She took a deep breath, firm round breasts rising beneath her sweater as she pushed at her hair absently.

  “I watched the patrol car drive past from the master-bedroom window. I guess I stood there for several minutes after they went past.” Her gaze defied him to criticize.

  “You’re tired, Kyra.”

  “Of course I’m tired! But I didn’t imagine that shadow at the end of the hall. I think Kip is in the house. I saw what I saw!”

  Lucan heaved a tired sigh. “I’m not saying you didn’t.” He rubbed at the stubble along his jaw. Her call had pulled him from sleep and he was feeling as rough as his stubble. He’d tugged on the nearest clothes at hand and rushed over.

  “I’m not crazy,” she repeated.

  He closed eyes gritty from lack of sleep and opened them again. “I don’t think you’re crazy. Let’s go have another look around.”

  “Then you believe me?”

  “I’m here, aren’t I?” He started up the stairs and paused. “Did you check all the doors and windows?”

  “Before I went upstairs.”

  “But not since you thought you saw someone?”

  “You think someone came in after I went upstairs?”

  “I just want to get the sequence straight. Finding an open door or window might mean exactly that. Let’s take a look.”

  “I suppose Kip could have a key to the house.”

  Lucan nodded. “There are a lot of latch-key kids around.”

  She trailed him as he checked the doors and windows in each room. Everything was locked tight and the plywood over the kitchen window was undisturbed. The kitchen was clean enough to meet his mother’s approval.

  “You really have been busy.”

  Wearily, she shrugged. “I did what I could.”

  She followed him to the stairs. “I keep wondering if Milt did this out of spite. Casey said his temper is terrible when he’s drunk. Maybe she came home and found him trashing the house. I keep thinking he killed her, maybe all of them. Maybe
Kip is the only one who got away.”

  Her voice broke. He took her arm, turning her to face him. Tears filled her eyes and she looked down, blinking hard. Her coping mechanisms were starting to fail as lack of sleep battered her tired brain.

  “You need to rest, Kyra. There’s no evidence to support anyone being killed here.”

  “Then where is she? Maybe she came in and he strangled her or forced her away at gunpoint.”

  He tilted her chin up, forcing her to meet his gaze. “Don’t do this. You aren’t helping Casey or the children by going to pieces.”

  Anger, hurt and fear swam in her eyes. She closed them and took a shuddery breath. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I’m not usually so emotional.”

  He let go of her and stepped back, watching her draw on her fragile reserves. “I know. Let’s go up and have another look around.”

  Kyra turned and began ascending the stairs.

  “Does Casey’s ex own a gun?”

  She considered before answering and when she did her voice was stronger, less emotional.

  “I don’t know. I don’t think so. I think Casey would have mentioned it if he did, but I barely knew the man.”

  “What about Casey?”

  She stopped near the top of the steps. “What do you mean?”

  “Does she own a gun?”

  Kyra started to answer and stopped. There was dejection in the sudden slump of her shoulders.

  “I don’t know.”

  The words were a whisper. Lucan nodded. “Could she be using drugs?”

  Anger flashed in her eyes. “You keep harping on that! I haven’t changed my answer. I can’t see Casey involved in drugs or condoning their use in any way shape or form. She loves her kids. She would never do that!”

  No need to point out she didn’t seem to know her sister all that well. “But her new husband might?”

  She continued up the stairs without answering. Experience told Lucan a drug connection was most likely the scenario behind this sort of destruction. That didn’t make it so, and he was keeping an open mind, but Kyra needed to accept the possibility.

  He grimaced. Actually, she was handling everything far better than he would in her place. The woman needed some sleep. They both did.