Protection Detail

by Julie Miller

  “But that will take us right back where we were.” Conor’s warning played in her head about mixing up routes and not making it easy for anyone to track her. “Okay. I’ll turn left instead of going straight.”

  The van pulled into the turn lane and followed. If he wasn’t stopping to make deliveries or pickups, why would the driver be following her in a circle? Was this the man who wanted to harm the Watsons? Was it...? She shook her head. Badge Man was in Indiana. The FBI widow he wanted to kill no longer existed, thanks to the US Marshals Service, and he had no idea she was now Jane Boyle, private nurse. How could he? Wouldn’t he need to have some kind of inside information to learn her new identity and location? The possibility of someone leaking her information to a serial killer made her sick to her stomach. Focus!

  Jane stepped on the gas. But when she sped up, the van zipped through traffic to stay with her. “I can’t shake him. Can you read the license plate?”

  Seamus was clutching the armrest and center console now, but his eyes were glued to the mirror. “No. Too many cars.”

  “Hold on.” She made a sharp, squealing turn as she hit the entrance ramp to the interstate and merged into the fast-moving traffic. The cars honking at her weren’t any louder than her own heartbeat pounding in her ears. The white van barreled down the entrance ramp behind them. “Um...”

  “Phone?” Seamus asked.

  “In my purse.” On the floor of the back seat. No way could Seamus turn around and reach it. And she couldn’t afford to take her hands off the wheel.

  The van passed the car behind her and pulled into the narrow space between them. The vehicle picked up speed, looming up in the back window and mirrors as if it was going to swallow them. “Can you see the driver’s face?”

  All she saw was the glare of the sun off the van’s windows. She needed to concentrate on her driving. Seamus leaned toward the side-view mirror. “Tocking mask.”

  “Look out!” She felt the slightest tap on her car and Jane screamed. The wheel jerked in her hand, but she gripped it tighter and held on.

  Seamus swore. “He going to cause accident.”

  One way or another, the driver of that van seemed intent on killing someone.

  Badge Man had worn a stocking mask that night in DC. So had the man who’d shot at them Friday night. “He won’t hurt you,” she promised. “I won’t let him hurt you.”

  He tapped the bumper again. The car swerved and she fought against the skid, praying there were no other vehicles coming up in the lane beside her. She regained control and jerked into the next lane, but the white van followed. Thank God it wasn’t rush hour with backed-up traffic to plow into. But still, at this speed, if he tapped the corner of her bumper just right...

  Badge Man toyed with his victims. Followed them. Terrorized them before he struck. Except for that state trooper in Indiana. That had been an impulse kill, a reaction to being stopped by the officer. If Badge Man was changing his MO, changing his location, did that mean he was spiraling out of control? Would there be more bodies? Was he here in Kansas City? Was he twenty feet behind her going ninety miles an hour right now? Were she and Seamus about to become his next victims?

  She should call Conor and shout “ANDROMEDA” from the rooftops and get the hell out of Kansas City. But she couldn’t even reach her phone. Plus, she had an eighty-year-old friend and patient in the seat beside her she had to protect. She had to get out of this. She needed to be safe. Seamus was telling her to change lanes, to get off the highway. But if that was Badge Man, and he caught them, Seamus wouldn’t be able to protect her. Maybe no one could.

  One image flashed in her mind. One person. “How do I get to KCPD headquarters?”

  “Downtown?”

  Her head jerked with a nod. It was old-school self-defense. If a woman was being followed, she should drive straight to the nearest police station. But not any police station would do. Not this time.

  Seamus seemed to understand. He reached over to squeeze her shoulder and gave her the exit number.

  The van slowed to a legal speed when they entered the downtown area, but he was still there, crowding her bumper, racing through at least one red light to stay with her. Jane’s heart was still pounding. She couldn’t think. She could barely see. She was experiencing some kind of panic attack, and her blood pressure was going through the roof. As her vision narrowed to tunnel-like circles, Seamus’s voice telling her where to turn, where to stop, was probably the only thing that kept her from passing out and wrecking the mini SUV herself.

  Jane screeched into the KCPD parking garage. The van drove past the entrance as they climbed out and hurried as fast as an eighty-year-old with a walker could across the street to the handicapped entrance of the remodeled limestone-and-granite monolith that served as KCPD headquarters.

  The van circled the block again, and the faceless driver slowed and pointed straight at her through the open window. “Go.” She hooked her arm through Seamus’s and practically lifted him through the thick glass doors leading into the marble-tiled lobby. “Go!”

  No gun this time, thank God. But she still recoiled from the pointing finger as if a bullet had struck her. The van drove away at a perfectly normal speed, and the adrenaline crashing through her system nearly blinded her.

  Seamus tugged on the sleeve of Jane’s scrub jacket and pulled her to the elevator with him. He pushed the button and as they rode up, images of Freddie’s mutilated body assailed her. After she woke up, she’d dialed 911, but she had no voice to cry out for help. Jane tried to fight off the memories, tried to stay in the moment. But when she closed her eyes, she relived the electric shock that had knocked her off her feet and sent the living room spinning around her. She opened her eyes but could still feel the long blue cord looping around her throat, choking the very air from her lungs. Her fingers went to her throat. She could feel her pulse throbbing beneath the scars there. She could feel the man on top of her, crushing her chest as she clawed for survival.

  Two different eyes. An inspirational message, skewed into something hateful, inked onto a killer’s neck. Don’t take no for an answer. Never submit to failure.

  Her head was pounding. Was this post-traumatic stress kicking in again? Surely she was past that. She’d done all the counseling. Why couldn’t she focus right now? She wasn’t physically hurt. Was she going into shock? She was a nurse, for heaven’s sake. Why couldn’t she diagnose what was wrong with her?

  “We’re here.”

  She startled at Seamus’s touch, could barely see the worry in his blue eyes as she helped him off the elevator. They walked to the tall, dark-stained counter that marked the desk sergeant’s station. She was vaguely aware of the sergeant and another uniformed officer coming over to strike up a friendly, good-to-see-an-old-friend conversation with Seamus.

  Jane interrupted. “I need to see Thomas Watson. Lieutenant Watson.”

  “And you are...?”

  Seamus answered for her. “This is Jane Boyle, my nurse and a good fam-ly fwiend.”

  “The lieutenant’s in a seminar right now. He’s teaching interrogation techniques.”

  She was having trouble seeing the desk sergeant’s face. “It’s personal. Please.”

  “If you’d like to wait or leave a message—”

  “I can’t wait.” Jane spun around and bumped into a young detective in a charcoal-gray suit.

  “Grandpa? Jane?” She jerked away from the hands on her arms before she recognized Thomas’s son Keir. “Is everything all right?”

  She pleaded with him. “I need to see your dad.”

  Seamus looked at his grandson and inclined his head toward her, sending some kind of silent message that Keir apparently understood.

  Keir turned to the desk sergeant. “It’s okay. They’re with me.”

  He grabbed a pair of visitor badge
s and escorted them through the maze of desks and cubicle walls, which were surprisingly unoccupied. Keir guided Seamus to his own desk and pulled out the rolling chair for him.

  “Hey, old man.” A short detective with longish hair and blue jeans stood from his spot at the adjoining desk to shake Seamus’s hand. Jane’s thoughts skipped from panicked to lucid to blank. But somewhere in there she recognized Hudson Kramer, Keir’s partner, a frequent guest at the Watson house whenever a big meal was served. “What’s up?”

  “Keep an eye on Grandpa?” Keir asked.

  “Sure. Somethin’ wrong?” He sounded concerned.

  “I explain,” Seamus said. He nudged Keir. “Go wit her.”

  Jane was either going to burst into tears or faint if she couldn’t shake this miasma that had settled over her. “Where’s your dad?”

  “Right through here.” She clung to the sleeve of Keir’s suit jacket, wondering where she’d left her real self. Back on the highway, perhaps? Further back on that bloody bedroom carpet in DC? A rational little corner of her brain knew she should pull it together. She should apologize to Keir and Hud and Seamus and drive her patient home. She should remember that Conor Wildman and the US Marshals office had sworn to protect her. Keir opened a door between two glass panels and ushered her into the back of a large conference room. She looked over rows of narrow tables that spanned almost the width of the room, over dozens of police officers taking notes on laptops and notepads while they listened to the man at the front of the room gesturing to a flowchart on the screen behind him. “There he is.”

  Even though Keir had whispered, and the speaker’s booming voice didn’t need to be miked to fill the room, Detective Lieutenant Thomas Watson seemed to sense the intrusion. When he turned around and saw her, he stopped.

  Maybe this was a bad idea. One by one, the men and women in the room turned their heads to look at her. As the fog in her brain started to clear, the temperature in the room dropped and suddenly Jane was freezing. Someone mentioned early lunch and she turned to the door.

  But before she got there, her path was blocked by a wall of neatly pressed broadcloth and a suit jacket of rich brown tweed. “Jane?”

  The room was a buzz of white noise behind her. She shook her head. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come. I wasn’t thinking straight.”

  “Is Dad all right?” Thomas asked. When she nodded, his hand was already at her elbow, guiding her out the door. “Come with me.”

  “I’ll find out what I can from Grandpa.” Jane was vaguely aware of Thomas’s youngest son excusing himself.

  As the squad of detectives filed out of the conference room behind them and headed toward the cubicle desks, Thomas led her in the opposite direction, down an empty hallway and through an office door. He closed the door behind him and pulled the blinds for privacy.

  “What’s happened?” When he turned around to face her, Jane walked right into that big chest, sliding her arms beneath his jacket and pressing her ear to the sure, steady beat of his heart. “Hey. You’re shaking.” He wrapped his arms around her and pressed his lips to the crown of her head. One hand settled at the nape of her neck. “You’re like ice. It’s not that cold outside. Are you hurt?” Jane linked her fingers behind his back and burrowed beneath his chin, letting his enveloping strength and heat surround her, seep into her pores, jump-start her brain. “I need details, honey. You need to talk to me.”

  Inhaling a ragged breath at the gentle command, Jane shook her head and the words spewed out. “How did he find me? Killed a state trooper. White van following us. Same one? Some crackpot having fun at our expense. Seamus noticed him. He was worried. I could see it. And I drove. So fast. Hit the car. I couldn’t think straight. I...I wanted to come here.”

  Thomas cupped the back of her neck and tipped her head back. Then his big hands were framing her face. His firm mouth folded over hers, shocked her out of her rambling. A light turned on inside her, a beacon to chase away the darkness and the chill. When he lifted his head, Jane pushed up onto her toes and reconnected the kiss. She pulled her hands to the front of his jacket and curled her fingers into the lapels, chasing the light. She touched her tongue to the seam of his lips and they opened over hers. His tongue stroked against hers before he sucked the curve of her lower lip, stirring tendrils of long-absent heat inside her. For a few sweet, sensual moments she clung to him and they explored each other’s mouths.

  And then he was pulling away with a heavy groan. With her jaw still captured between his hands, his fingers caressing the back of her neck, he touched his forehead to hers. She looked up into green eyes that were narrowed and dark like rich, lush grass, and he smiled. “There you are.”

  She was back. In her right mind. In the moment. With Thomas.

  Sliding her arms around his waist again, she nestled into his warmth and that simple spicy smell that was only his while he massaged her neck at the base of her ponytail. He’d kissed her for real this time, and everything in her had centered. And yet something had changed irrevocably at the same time. She was still afraid. She knew she and Seamus had had a dangerously close call. But she could think. She could move past the fear and the flashbacks. She could deal.

  “Are you hurt?” he asked.

  “No.”

  “Is Dad?”

  “No.” She smiled against the nubby tweed. “He was wonderful.”

  Thomas’s fingers stilled their soothing massage. He backed away, but caught her hand and pulled her down to sit on the brown leather sofa beside him. His knee butted against hers and she didn’t pull away. “I’m all for inflating my dad’s ego, but I need a little more to go on.”

  “Sorry about the freak-out,” she apologized, studying how pale and small her hand looked in his. She tilted her face to eyes that were analyzing every nuance of her expression. “I haven’t done that in years. I’m pretty sure it was a PTSD episode.”

  Instead of asking what traumatic stress event she’d flashed back to, he stroked a fingertip across her forehead, catching a lock of hair that had come loose from her ponytail and tucking it behind her ear. “Wouldn’t surprise me. Do you want a glass of water?” Jane shook her head. He squeezed his hand around hers, pulling it atop his thigh and holding it there. “Take a deep breath and talk to me.”

  She hesitated for a moment, simply because she’d been trained for so long to keep her past a secret. But scary things were happening around her and she needed to confide in someone she trusted. “We were coming home from our occupational therapy session—basically running Millie’s errands—when Seamus spotted this van following us. Like the one at the restaurant Friday night. I tried to lose him, but then we were out on I-70, going so fast, and he clipped my bumper. More than once. I know he was trying to...” Her brain sidetracked and she pushed to her feet. “I left my purse and my phone in the car. I didn’t even lock it. There’s probably damage to the rear end. I need to get my phone and report this to Conor.”

  Thomas tightened his grip, keeping her from moving to the door. “Conor Wildman? The guy with the gun strapped to his leg Friday night?”

  “You saw that?” Of course. A veteran detective with Thomas’s experience probably didn’t miss much. She sank back onto the sofa beside him. She could read the truth in his eyes. “You know, don’t you?”

  “Not about the car chase. I’ll have Keir look into that and retrieving your purse. But I know some. I’ve got a lot of blanks that need filling in, though.” He released her hand and she curled her fingers inside the cuffs on her jacket, missing his warmth. “Duff works with a multiagency task force. I’ve had him checking his connections to get some intel on Wildman.” He stood, propping his fingers at the belt of his khaki slacks that held his badge and gun. “Slap my face if you want. But I took a look at your phone. I could tell something was wrong. I thought he’d been harassing you. Stalking you, maybe.” He leaned his
hip over the corner of the desk and sat, facing her. “Duff’s connections are good. I know Wildman is a US marshal.”

  “I knew you were too good a detective not to figure it out eventually.” Drawn to his heat or his honesty or both, Jane got up and crossed the space between them. “I’m a witness in an ongoing federal investigation. My husband was murdered. Fred Davis. My real name is Emily Ward Davis—but forget you even heard that. I have to be Jane Boyle for the rest of my life. Freddie was an FBI agent. His killer got away, but I can ID him. Once someone catches him. I’m the only surviving witness from his attacks.”

  Thomas gently tugged at the neckline of her scrubs and touched a fingertip to the scars on her neck. “The man who murdered your husband—he did that to you?”

  She nodded, pulling back the material to hide the marks Badge Man had left on her. “He crushed my larynx when he strangled me. There was swelling. The paramedics had to do a tracheotomy so I could breathe. Then I had surgery to repair the damage. I never got to go back to the house to get any of my things. I didn’t even get to go to Freddie’s funeral. I don’t have any immediate family, but I wish I could have said goodbye to my in-laws. They were always nice to me. By the time I got out of the hospital, the Bureau was taking me away to a safe house in DC. And then I met the marshals and they moved me to Kansas City.”

  Somewhere during that explanation, his hands had settled at either side of her waist to pull her into the vee of his legs. “And Wildman is your handler here in KC?”

  “I should tell him that you know. I’ll probably get in trouble for it. I wasn’t ever supposed to tell anybody. Secrecy means security. What happened this morning might not even be related to that night. It could be related to whoever wants to hurt your family. I’m so sorry if I put Seamus or any of you in danger because of me.”

  “Don’t apologize. You hurt one of us, you hurt all of us.” They were standing close enough that she felt the muscle spasm in his damaged thigh against her hip. Although he clenched his jaw against the pain, he didn’t complain. “So you got spooked, maybe by this guy who killed your husband and attacked you. And instead of calling Wildman, you came to me?”