by Julie Miller
Watching. They were all watching.
“Stop it!”
Daisy woofed as Beth jerked back from the window and the unknown terrors spying on her every move.
“I’m okay, girl.”
But she wasn’t. Her pulse was racing. Her breath came in erratic gasps and she was afraid. Stupidly, idiotically afraid.
Get busy. Do something. Stop thinking.
Would it be a total invasion of Kevin’s privacy if she ran upstairs and put on one of those sweaters she’d folded? It wasn’t just the warmth she craved, but the scent and security of the man who wore them that she wanted to surround herself with.
No. She could do this. She could take care of herself for a few hours before he returned. She was perfectly safe.
Disgusted at the paranoia her own imagination could frighten her with, Beth crossed to the first packing box she came to and started unloading books, counting the minutes until lunch.
And Kevin.
KEVIN PACED THE LENGTH of the table in the Fourth Precinct’s interview room #3 as he listened to the speaker phone with Atticus. Dr. Holly Masterson-Kincaid, the chief M.E. for the KCPD crime lab, was giving her autopsy report on the two John Does whose mutilated bodies had been dumped in the warehouse district by the river.
Kevin was having a surprisingly hard time concentrating on the lists of details he normally catalogued in his head when he was working a case. Instead, his mind kept slipping in and out of the conversation, remembering other details.
Details like the way Beth Rogers liked to cling tight and purr against his skin when she was caught up in her emotions. Be it fear, anger, desire—she was a toucher. Her hands seemed to be in a perpetual state of motion—brushing, pressing, squeezing, stroking—right up until that moment when everything inside her seemed to fly apart.
And for a man who’d been tolerated, manipulated, even shunned by most of the important women in his life, her willingness—even eagerness—to touch and be touched by him was like some kind of magic spell. Beth Rogers made him feel whole again, made him feel hopeful.
Like all magic, though, the spell was destined to end. As long as she needed him as a protector and a cop, she seemed to be caught up in the same magic that flowed through his veins. But once this was wrapped up, once she found the answers she needed—and he would make sure she found them—once she felt safe, and returned to the day-to-day routine of the real world, whatever she was getting out of this relationship with him wouldn’t be quite so thrilling or intriguing anymore.
And what he was getting—the chance to love and be loved like any other man on the planet—would be gone.
It was like Sheila all over again—charge to the rescue of a damsel in distress, get close, make love, introduce her to Miriam—lose everything. His heart, his pride, his willingness to trust. And although he was certain now that the danger surrounding Beth was as real as Sheila’s had been manufactured, Kevin had little doubt the end result was going to be the same.
Beth would soon be gone from his life, and he’d be in a world of hurt.
Kevin reached the end of the table and picked up his coffee mug to polish off the tepid liquid. Yeah. Those were the kinds of details filling his head this morning.
“Detective Grove, did you get that?” A woman’s voice was calling to him. “Kevin?”
Kevin’s thoughts came back to the room, the call and the faxed photos spread out on the table in front of him. Dr. Masterson-Kincaid’s report. “I’m here. Sorry, could you repeat that last bit? I zoned off for a moment—haven’t been getting much sleep lately.”
“I wondered,” Holly laughed. “You usually eat up whatever facts I uncover. It keeps me on my toes to avoid being stumped by one of your questions.”
“It’s all a team effort,” he assured her, setting down his empty mug and opening his notebook.
By the time he pulled out a pen to jot some notes, he realized that Atticus had leaned back in his chair and was watching him—intently. His partner knew where Kevin’s thoughts had been. At the very least, he suspected.
“Is your head in the game today?” Atticus asked.
Kevin nodded. He wasn’t about to admit to anyone, not even his partner, that a woman was once again getting in the way of his ability to do his job. In the end, being a cop would be the only thing he had to give his life any meaning. He’d do well to remember that. He turned from those all-knowing eyes and spoke louder so the phone would pick up his voice. “Doc? Let’s get on with that report.”
“The blood work on both your elderly John Does shows trace levels of an unknown drug. I imagine we’d find higher concentrations in the liver, which was removed. Without a comparison sample, though, I can’t tell you what it is.”
Kevin wrote down some possible leads to follow up on. “Were they killed to remove the organs?”
“They weren’t harvested for resale, if that’s what you’re asking,” Dr. Masterson-Kincaid explained. “That was my initial hypothesis, even though an eighty-year-old organ would be hard to implant. They’d be potentially easy victims to coerce into signing a donor card—the brain tissue sample on both showed evidence of dementia.”
Kevin glanced across the table at Atticus. “I hear a ‘but’ coming.”
Dr. Masterson didn’t disappoint. “But both men were dead at least twenty-fours before the impromptu surgery. Your first vic even longer than that.”
“The organs would be useless by then.”
“Exactly. And that’s why there was so little blood at the crime scenes.” The M.E. offered some other possibilities. “Maybe it was a failed medical procedure? Some serious malpractice?”
“Someone’s destroying evidence.”
Atticus nodded in agreement. “That’s great, doc. At least that gives us a motive.”
“Oh, and Charles Landon from GlennCo Pharmaceuticals?”
Kevin zeroed in on the abrupt change in topic. “Can you confirm the suicide?”
“Not unless the old man was a contortionist. You were right to suggest murder, detective.” Beth had been right to call it murder. “I found an injection site at the back of his neck. I checked his medical records. He was on a combination of medications that could cause an extreme drop in blood pressure and trigger a heart attack. But he didn’t have enough pills in his stomach to create an overdose. Whatever stopped his heart was injected directly into his bloodstream.”
After a few more exchanges, Kevin and Atticus ended the call and set about organizing their investigative strategy for the day.
“I say we split up,” Atticus suggested, gathering the photos and printouts and stacking them according to John Doe 1 and 2, and Charles Landon. “See if we can ID our Alzheimer’s vics by age, treatment and physical condition—and find out who knew what Landon was taking and who had access to those drugs.”
Kevin scooped up the third stack of faxes. “I’ll take Landon. Beth will have the inside track on who would have the means and opportunity to give him that extra shot.”
Atticus leaned across the table and put a hand on Kevin’s notebook, stopping him from walking away. “All the more reason I need to take the lead on Landon’s murder. It’s personal for you.”
“You’re talking personal?” Kevin argued. “You went after your father’s killer.”
“Indirectly. I had this big bulldog of a cop who took the lead on the investigation and kept pushing me and my brothers out of the way when we got too close. We showed up only at the end because you needed backup.” Was there a point he was making? “Probably saved all our jobs.”
“I can separate my job from my personal life. Sheila taught me that.”
Atticus pulled back, shaking his head. “I couldn’t separate them when the people who killed my father came after Brooke.”
“That was different. You were in love with Brooke. You married her.”
But Atticus’s cool-headed logic couldn’t be beaten. “And where were you when you called me this morning?”
K
evin went still. Was he in love with Beth? Yeah, he had the crazy hots for her. Any man with a conscience couldn’t help but be concerned for her safety. But he couldn’t be that big a fool to set himself up like that again, could he? Or had he already made that same mistake?
“I’m not marrying Beth.” There’d be nothing between them once the magic ended. Permanence and happiness in Kevin’s life, except for Miriam, were mutually exclusive.
“I’m not offering advice on your love life, pal. I’m just watching your back. You can’t help Beth if you can’t stay objective.” It was a friendly caution to not jeopardize any case or career—or the woman trapped in the middle of it. “Can you?”
“Son of a bitch.” He was right. Atticus Kincaid was always right. Kevin swiped the other stack of faxes from Holly and stuffed them into his notebook. “I’ll take the John Does.”
“YOU DID NOT SNEAK HER a cup of coffee,” Kevin accused, not knowing which woman’s smile was the prettier. Or which cat-that-swallowed-the-canary expression he should be more wary of.
“Relax, big guy,” said Beth, scooting aside a tray laid with a coffee service on the table between the Oak Park solarium’s matching love seats. “It’s decaf. And I checked with the nurse first. She said an occasional cup wouldn’t hurt her.”
Kevin’s day had been long and frustrating, conducting interviews on the phone and in person. Every fact he turned up on the two John Does had only led to more questions. The two upstanding victims had no fingerprint records in IAFIS—Integrated Automated Fingerprint Identification System—no missing-person reports which matched up. Identifying the vics through dental records was taking the lab extra time as neither man appeared to have visited any dentists in the Kansas City area. He’d made zip, zero, zed progress on his investigation today. Not a good day for a major case detective. It put him in a mood.
But that mood rapidly dissipated as he took in Miriam’s animated expression from her perch on the flowered love seat. The sun was setting outside the bank of windows, casting a rosy glow across her angular features. She winked across the coffee table to the freckle-faced brunette sitting opposite her.
“I like Beth.” Miriam lifted her near-empty cup with two hands to toast her new friend. “She doesn’t put up with any guff from you.”
Beth raised her cup in return. “We’ve had afternoon tea. Well, coffee—”
“And cookies.”
“And calcium caramels. Which, by the way, are good for both of us.”
“And are much easier to get down than those horse pills Yolanda used to try to give me.”
Kevin dropped his notebook onto the coffee table and took off his gloves and coat. “Why do I think this wasn’t such a good idea?”
Beth set her cup and saucer on the tray. “Well, this afternoon was much more enjoyable than cleaning the johns and unpacking all those books at your house this morning.”
“You unpacked—?”
“You made your guest work?” Miriam scolded him.
“I volunteered.” Beth defended him with a smile that didn’t last. “At least here I haven’t been looking over my shoulder all the time, jumping at every noise I hear. No hidden cameras. No time to think and worry about things I can’t control.”
Miriam nodded. “We’ve talked a lot about losing dear friends.”
“You told her about Dr. Landon?” Not the murder part, he hoped. Kevin draped his coat over the back of the love seat and carefully sat next to Miriam.
“Oh, honey, don’t sit here.” She waved him across the way. “Sit over there with your girl so I can see you both.”
“She’s not my girl.”
“Why not?”
That might be why putting these two together wasn’t a great idea. Five hours in each other’s company and they were thick as thieves. And judging by the approval in Miriam’s smile, he could guess what the main topic of conversation had been between them. Him.
He reluctantly got up and moved to the seat beside Beth, hoping his grandmother’s obvious matchmaking wasn’t making her too uncomfortable. But it wasn’t embarrassment he read on her face when she tugged on the sleeve of his jacket. She talked a good game in front of his grandmother, but fear and uncertainty still shadowed the depths of her eyes. “Did you find out anything more about Charles?”
He covered her hand where it rested on his arm, wishing he could drive those shadows away for her. “You were right. No way it was suicide. Atticus is following up on it. He might have some questions for you later.”
“He’s a good detective, right?”
“The best.”
“Oh, did you find me a memento of Mr. Harrison?”
“What?” Kevin turned to find Miriam reaching for a photo sticking out from the corner of his notebook. “Grandma, no!”
He didn’t know if it was his sudden jump or the graphic picture itself that made her gasp and clutch at her heart. Her cup clattered to the floor as Kevin quickly stuffed the crime-scene photo back into the binder and zipped it shut. But the damage had already been done.
She’d gone pale. Her breath came in quick, shallow gasps and tears had already clouded her eyes.
“Miriam?” Beth knelt on the floor beside her, dabbing up the mess and laying a comforting hand on Miriam’s knee.
Kevin sat beside her, letting her frail hand grab onto his, gently brushing the short, white curls off her face. “Do I need to call a nurse?”
But Miriam’s eyes were still fixed on that notebook, her expression growing grimmer by the second. She squeezed her fingers around his thumb, silently communicating with him.
Well, hell. Kevin picked up the binder and pulled out the photo again. He did not want to ask this question. “Grandma…” He slowly turned the face of the dead man toward her. “Is this Mr. Harrison?”
Her body might be failing her, but her mind was still razor sharp. Miriam pushed the picture away. “Yes.”
“I’m sorry.” Kevin bent to kiss the top of her head. “I’m sorry.”
“I’m all right, son.” She caught his cheek before he stood, gently patting his face. “Do your job. Do it well.” The tears spilled over as she pulled away. “Poor Mr. Harrison.”
Kevin picked up his book, relieved to see Miriam calming. “Beth, do you have any photos of the people you work with?”
“The staff directory. It’s in my desk at the office.” She kept one hand where Miriam could hold on to her while she set the fallen cup up on the tray. “What is it?”
“A connection I don’t want to be making, I’m afraid.” He backed toward the archway exit, heading for the front desk to talk to someone about patient records. He pointed from Beth to Miriam. “You’ll stay with her?”
“Of course.”
Kevin turned, hurried. Not such a bad day for a cop, after all. He was about to break three murder cases wide open.
But not a great day for a man wanting to protect the people he cared about most. Because if he could prove that these three murders were all tied together by something shady going on at GlennCo Pharmaceuticals, then he’d just made Beth Rogers target one for the people who wanted to keep that connection a secret.
Chapter Ten
“I’d be happier about this if we had a warrant.”
“Why?” Beth held the ring of keys she carried up to the beam from Kevin’s flashlight, sorting through them until she found the one to unlock her office door. “Dr. Landon’s report on the Gehirn 330 clinical trials is now public record since it was presented at the board meeting.” She handed him the binder they’d retrieved from the GlennCo conference room and tucked her purse beneath her arm, freeing up both hands to find the key she needed. “It’s not the first time I’ve had to get into the building after hours, so we’re not trespassing. It’s my desk, my things. Even that flash drive is mine because Dr. Landon gave it to me. I’m willing to voluntarily share them all with KCPD. At least I’m willing to share them with you.”
The badge around his neck glinted in the light as he
shifted the beam to the lock to guide her hand. Kevin Grove was KCPD. Right down to his boxer briefs and the cute little dimple he had on his…Beth dropped her keys, but Kevin’s hand was there to catch them before they hit the floor. “Easy, lady.” He pushed the key ring into her hand and moved in right behind her, using his body to shield her from unseen eyes and the three nighttime security guards they’d been avoiding since entering through the parking garage twenty minutes earlier. “Just get us inside and then we can debate the legalities.”
She inserted the key into the lock, turned it and then Kevin was opening the door and scooting her inside, closing and locking it again behind them.
Blocking the light switch with his body, he swung the flashlight around to the computer on her desk. “All right. Let me sweep for any listening devices and then you can get it booted up. Show me what you’ve got.”
Beth dutifully waited in the center of the room while he turned on a scanning device and inspected both her office and Dr. Landon’s. In a matter of minutes, he’d deactivated a bug on each of their phones. Beth shivered inside the parka she still wore. “And you’re worried about legalities?” She rubbed her hands up and down her arms. “I wonder how long my life has been an open book to these people?”
Kevin dropped the listening devices into plastic bags and pocketed them as evidence. And then he was behind her again, taking the coat off her shoulders and hanging it on the back of her desk chair. His hands replaced hers, massaging the length of her arms as he leaned forward and whispered against her ear. “Are you sure you want to do this? I’ll get you out of here right this minute if you’re having second thoughts.”
She reached up and squeezed his hand on her shoulder. “No. I want this to stop. I don’t want to spend the rest of my life feeling like every word I say is being monitored, like every shadow holds eyes that are watching me.”
Looking into the corners of the familiar spaces where she’d been working for months now, Beth could imagine masked men and monsters and crouching creatures. She spun around to face the man she’d mistakenly labeled a monster at their first meeting. Kevin wore his villainous facade on the outside, but lived by a code of honor that could not be shaken. One or more of the men and women she worked with at GlennCo—the same men and women she’d admired, respected and had tried to emulate—they had proven to be the people she truly needed to fear.