The Naughty Nine: Where Danger and Passion Collide

by Nina Bruhns

  Eileen glanced at the case. “Want to give it a try?”

  Really? “Are you sure?”

  Eileen bent and grabbed a pair of rubber gloves from under the counter, then held them out. “Go for it.”

  So Wendy did. The bigger pies went to the back, the smaller ones to the front for visibility, the most vibrant, lattice-top strawberry-rhubarb pies distributed throughout as highlights to draw the gaze. She tried this and that, adjusted for scale and movement of color.

  “Looks like a picture in a magazine.” Eileen flashed her a pleased smile. “Is this what you do for a living?”

  Wendy snapped more pictures. “I wish.”

  When she was finished, she thanked Eileen profusely for putting up with her.

  “Gosh, it’s almost too pretty to mess it up by selling things.” The woman laughed. “I suppose I’ll have to bring myself to do it.”

  Bing had left by the time Wendy paid and walked back outside with Justin, at least three dozen good shots richer. Her son was proudly holding his promised cookie and a sheet of animal stickers Eileen gave him as a parting gift.

  Joe opened the back door for her so she could put Justin into his car seat. “Bing will come around to the house later to talk to you. He took the box to dust it for prints. I’ve been officially assigned to protection detail. I have this afternoon. And I’ll take third shift too. I’d be at the house anyway. Mike will spell me in the morning. Officer Mike McMorris.”

  Oh God. Wendy balked.

  Her first instinct was to protest that she didn’t need all this fuss made over her. Then she decided that was stupid. Maybe she could handle Keith if he showed up; maybe she couldn’t. She might have taken the risk for herself, but she wasn’t willing to take it for Justin.

  “Thank you.” She glanced at Justin as he munched on his cookie. “The diner was nice. Great waitress. Eileen.”

  “She’s the owner,” Joe said.

  Wow. Owning an entire diner with customers and employees, delivery schedules. And here she was nervous about snapping some photos and trying to sell them. Eileen was pretty impressive.

  Wendy wanted to be strong like that. She could start with facing her problems. She closed the back door while Joe went around the car. “What was that thing inside the box?” she asked against her better judgment. Please tell me it wasn’t a dead animal.

  Joe’s jaw tightened. “A dark wig.”

  As he slipped behind the wheel, she ducked in on the passenger side. Then she froze, her gaze snapping to him. “Wait. What kind of wig? Short?” A shiver ran down her spine.

  He nodded. Waited.

  “I have a dark, short wig that I use for photo shoots.” Last she’d seen the wig, it’d been hanging in her bathroom. She rubbed the heels of her hands over her knees. “Keith might have been to the apartment.”

  “He has a key?”

  She nodded miserably. “A few months ago, on one of his unannounced visits, he managed to pocket my spare key. When I’m home, I keep the dead bolt turned.”

  “Has he ever used the key before when you weren’t home?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve come home a few times when I thought that maybe things have been moved, but I couldn’t be sure.”

  “What things?”

  “Sticky notes missing from the desk with appointments. Food missing from the fridge and ending up in the garbage, but I didn’t remember tossing it. My clothes hanging differently in the closet.”

  “You need to change the lock.”

  “Can’t, according to the rental contract. Property management has to be able to get in with their master key.”

  Joe’s gaze hardened as he turned the key in the ignition. “I can swing by your place later and check on that wig. Maybe you and Justin could visit with Sophie at the farm while I’m out.”

  “Thank you. Okay.” She glanced into the rearview mirror as Joe pulled away from the curve. “Justin. I need that, sweetie.” She took the CD case away from him. “How did you get that?” The green Rusty Cent rap album was covered with animal stickers. She flinched as she tried to peel them back off.

  “Hey, it looks nicer that way.” Joe winked at Justin in the mirror.

  She scratched a little pink pig from the corner. “It’s Keith’s. He left it in my car, and I keep forgetting to give it back to him.”

  He would want it back when he remembered that she had it, and he was going to be mad at Justin for messing it up. She scraped off as many stickers as she could, then shoved the CD into the closed compartment between the front seats with the others. She could worry about that later.

  For now, worrying about the box was plenty. If Keith was now sending her hate mail, it meant he was really, really angry. She shouldn’t have moved out. She shouldn’t have let Sophie talk her into it. Nobody knew how Keith got with his temper. Wendy clenched her jaw as a headache started behind her eyes. Everybody was trying to help. They didn’t understand that they were making things worse for her.

  She’d made Keith mad, and now there would be a reckoning. She had to figure out how to defuse the situation. Deescalate, deescalate, deescalate.

  Joe’s phone rang, and he took the call. His responses were, “Yes,” “No,” “Okay.”

  “Trouble at the station?” She was ready to be distracted.

  But he shook his head. “Usual police business.”

  They didn’t discuss the package any further as they drove home. She wasn’t sure how much Justin would understand, and she didn’t want her son to worry. Instead, she turned on the CD player and helped him sing along with the Dancing Sheep.

  He was growing fussy by the time they got home, so she put him down for a nap. By the time she came downstairs, Bing was sitting in the kitchen with Joe.

  “How are you doing?” He pulled his notebook. “I have a couple of questions.”

  Joe swallowed the last bites of his sandwich, then stood with his plate. He hadn’t had lunch at the diner. “While we have the captain here, I’ll run by the apartment to see if Keith lifted that wig from there.”

  Bing nodded.

  “Thanks,” Wendy said and gave Joe her keys, looking after him as he left.

  “He’ll take care of it. He’s a good friend to have,” Bing said, echoing Eileen’s words.

  “Yeah.” Truth was, Joe Kessler did make a good friend.

  He’d only been here with her for a day, but he’d listened to her, played with her son, helped her, protected her. She could see him as a friend. God knew, she didn’t have many.

  Too bad their tenuous friendship was going to end once she told him her secret. Then Joe was going to be as mad at her as Keith.

  Deathblow: Chapter Seven

  Joe stood in the open doorway of Wendy’s apartment. The night he’d been here, he’d been so focused on her he barely noticed the details. And now the details had been obliterated. Better that she wasn’t here to see this.

  He kept his cold anger in check as he scanned the smashed pictures and broken furniture. Justin’s cracked high chair lay at his feet, antique tiger maple, probably a family heirloom. He pulled his cell phone from his pocket, dialed 911, and gave them the address. Neither he nor the captain had jurisdiction here.

  After he reported the break-in, he called Wendy, glad that his Philly undercover gig was over. Now that he’d seen the destruction in her apartment…. He needed to stick by her as much as he could.

  “He’s been here,” he told her. “Made a mess.”

  The small sound of her catching her breath came through the line. He’d only committed to watching her for the next day or two, but right there, on the spot, he made a resolution. He was personally going to make sure that she was safe from her ex on a permanent basis.

  “How bad is it?”

  He catalogued the broken furniture and the couch that had been sliced open. “Couple of thousand dollars’ worth of damage.”

  A long pause followed. “I need to come over there.”

  “I can take care of i
t. The cops are on their way.”

  “I have to see. I want to talk to the police. It’s my place. Bing is still here. Sophie popped in too. Let me see if I can leave Justin with her,” she said before hanging up.

  All right. Maybe she needed to deal with it herself, take back some of the control that had been stolen from her. But no way was he leaving.

  Joe stepped back out into the hallway so he wouldn’t contaminate the crime scene, then called the captain. “Sophie said you’re over there. Her place is pretty bad.”

  “Keith?”

  “That’d be my bet.” But knowing it and proving it were different things.

  It would have helped if Keith Kline had a record, something to prove continued violent behavior. Joe had asked Bing about that while Wendy and Justin had been inside the diner. Unfortunately, the bastard didn’t have so much as a parking ticket.

  The man was smart. Canny. Knew how to keep up a good front. Most chronic abusers did.

  “Harper just reported in,” the captain said. “He’s got a new lead in the Brogevich case. The wife remembered something. About a month ago, a schizophrenic patient threatened Phil. The patient accused Phil of working for the government and giving him drugs to make him crazy. Harper is trying to track the guy down. He’s pretty paranoid, living with various family members and friends, doesn’t like to stay long in one place.”

  “If Harper brings him in, I’d like to be there for the interview.”

  “That can be arranged.”

  They hung up, and Joe thought about the new development in Phil’s case for the next ten minutes until the cops showed up at last. It’d be nice if the clue panned out. Marie needed closure. Knowing who and why wouldn’t make the grief less, but having to wonder did make everything worse.

  He strode down the hallway to meet the arriving officers, careful not to brush up against the freshly painted walls. “I’m Officer Joe Kessler, Broslin PD. I called in the break-in.”

  “Your place?” Officer Conti asked, close to fifty, short and sporting the beginnings of a potbelly. His sharp green eyes scanned Joe before cutting to the open apartment door behind him.

  “A friend’s. Her name is Wendy Belle.”

  “You got a badge?” Officer Tuchman was maybe an inch or two taller than Conti, her red hair in a ponytail. She didn’t look older than thirty, no makeup. Seemed like a no-nonsense type of gal.

  “Off duty. On sick leave, actually.” But Joe gave them his badge number as he led them to the apartment. “I have a pretty good idea who did it. Keith Kline. Ex-boyfriend. He’s been harassing Miss Belle lately.”

  Conti shot Joe an I’ll-be-the-judge-of-that look and pushed inside. “You stay out here.” He stopped in the middle of the kitchen. “Did you walk in?”

  “A step or two.”

  “Touch anything?”

  “The doorknob, coming in.”

  The two looked around, then Conti ran down for the crime-scene kit and they snapped pictures and dusted for fingerprints. Did a pretty thorough job. Joe was prepared to push if they didn’t.

  They were about done by the time Wendy rushed down the hallway. Somehow she managed to stay graceful and poised even under the circumstances, still wearing the same sleek slacks and formfitting tan sweater that she’d worn to the photo shoot. Her cream-colored coat was cinched at her waist, looking fresh and crisp. Come to think of it, he’d never seen a smudge of dirt on her, not even when she was cleaning up after Justin. Must be a model thing.

  But as put-together and collected as she looked on the outside, there was plenty of turbulence in her gray eyes that cut to Joe immediately. “Let me see.”

  She would have sailed right in, but he caught her by the arm and held her back, instantly enveloped in the soft scent of her perfume. The electric current was still there, the awareness, the need for more. He ignored it. “You should stay out here until they’re finished.”

  Her eyes flared with alarm as she stared at him.

  Right. No grabbing. He let her go, biting back a curse.

  “Hey,” he said quietly. “It’s going to be okay.” Then he reached out slowly and took her hand, ran the pad of his thumb over her fingers.

  A long moment passed before she nodded, but her posture didn’t relax. She peeked over his shoulder, and for a moment she looked like she could cry, but she bit her lip. “That high chair was my mom’s. My grandfather made it. It was supposed to be handed down in the family.”

  Joe resisted, not for the first time, the impulse to pull her into his arms. But it wasn’t like that between them. They’d had one wild night. One wild hour and a half, really. She wasn’t his.

  Officer Conti shuffled over. “Ma’am, are you the tenant?”

  “Yes. Wendy Belle.”

  He introduced himself and his partner. “Can you tell me when you left home, Miss Belle?”

  “Yesterday morning. I’m staying at a friend’s place.”

  “Does anyone else have a key to the apartment?”

  “My ex-boyfriend, Keith Kline.”

  The man’s gaze cut to Joe. “And Officer Kessler here?”

  “I gave him my key to check on something.” She rubbed the heel of her hand over the bottom of her coat. “I received some hate mail today. A bloody wig. I thought it might be mine.”

  “Was it?”

  “I don’t know.” Her gaze darted past the man. “Is there a short, dark wig on the peg on the back of the bathroom door?”

  Conti called out the question to his partner. Officer Tuchman checked the back of the door, then the rest of the bathroom. “Not here.”

  “Anything else missing?” Conti asked next.

  Wendy looked around from the threshold. “I can’t tell from here.”

  “The DVD player and the TV weren’t taken. A burglar would have gone after the electronics,” Joe put in. “This looks personal to me.”

  Officer Conti nodded. “Do you have contact information for—” He checked his notes. “Keith Kline?”

  Wendy rattled off the address and phone number.

  “I’m also going to need an address and phone number where I can reach you,” the officer said, and he wrote all that down too.

  Then the man turned to Joe. “Same for you. You were first on the crime scene.”

  When Joe listed the same address, the officer raised an eyebrow, but he didn’t comment.

  Tuchman finished cataloguing the damage and gave the all clear, and they finally let Wendy in. Joe went with her, staying two steps behind, giving her space. She walked through, her face tight as she checked the damage. She didn’t cry or throw a fit. She kept her expression schooled, although she couldn’t completely hide the fear and sadness in her eyes. But it was the resignation in the set of her shoulders that got to Joe.

  He let her take her time. Maybe she needed to see the destruction, needed to see how violent Keith was, how badly he could hurt her. She needed to be pushed past denial. Hopefully this would do it.

  Even Justin’s room had been trashed. She stood on the threshold, looking at the scattered toys as if unable to step inside.

  She checked the bathroom last and came out with her arms wrapped around herself. “I don’t see anything missing except the wig.” She hesitated.

  Tuchman stepped closer. “And?”

  Wendy bit her lip, avoiding Joe’s eyes. “A pregnancy test.”

  Tuchman raised her eyebrows. “Why would he take that?”

  Wendy hugged herself tighter. “It was positive.”

  Joe’s gaze snapped to her slim waist. The pregnancy had to be fairly early.

  He acknowledged the disappointment that hit him. So she was still hooking up with Keith. Might not be entirely by choice either. Violent men often forced themselves on their partners. He kept the anger that thought brought under control and resolved to ask her some questions later.

  “Is Keith Kline the father?” Tuchman wanted to know.

  Wendy shook her head.

  Okay, so she was
seeing someone else. Better than Keith forcing her into something she didn’t want.

  No reason why the idea of another man should bother Joe, but it did. Oh hell. She wasn’t his girlfriend. They’d spent an incredible hour and a half together three months ago. She’d let him know right away that there wouldn’t be more, that it meant nothing to her. She hadn’t led him on, not for a second.

  Tuchman tapped his pen against his notebook. “Your ex didn’t know that you were pregnant?”

  Wendy kept looking at her feet as she shook her head.

  Joe had a feeling more private questions were coming, so he left them and walked down the hallway, then drummed down the stairs. He probably needed to put more money in the parking meter anyway. He did that, refusing to think about how much he hated the thought of Wendy with another man. Where the hell was this guy? Why wasn’t he protecting her from her asshole ex?

  Joe had a dozen questions to ask her and no right to be asking.

  He put money in the meter, then let the cold air cool him off before he went back up. The officers were almost done.

  After they left, Joe followed Wendy straight home.

  Pregnant.

  The father wasn’t in the picture. And her ex was harassing her. She was holding up pretty damn well under the circumstances. She might have been stressed, but she didn’t let any of that touch Justin. She took care of her son; she went to work; she kept everything together.

  Joe had to admit to some admiration, even if he didn’t want to like her any more than he already did.

  Sophie was playing with Justin in the living room when they walked in. And then Bing came back too. Apparently, Justin had begged for a visit from Peaches, a sweetheart of a Rottweiler, so Bing had brought the dog over.

  Peaches took turns greeting everybody, tongue lolling, tail wagging. He raced around for a round of ear scratches before he settled down by Justin.

  “I just got off the phone with Wilmington PD. They grabbed Keith on the B&E,” the captain said. “One of the neighbors saw him go up. With some luck, his prints will match the prints lifted off the broken items. Right now, he’s in for questioning regarding destruction of private property, but we might be able to get him on stalking and harassment too, with the package he sent once the prints come back on that.”