by Julie Miller
He unrolled the newspaper he clutched in his hand and slapped it on the counter. “I came as soon as I read this. I’m disgusted with Knight’s coverage of the task force investigation. Pure publicity stunt if you ask me. At least the Journal had the decency not to run any pictures.” He reached out to touch the scrape along her jaw and she quickly averted her head to avoid the contact.
“Not very flattering, is it?” Robin had seen the small headline near the bottom of the front page. Local Woman Survives Assault. It was weird to see herself and the events of last night described in such impersonal detail. She’d read the short article over coffee with Hope this morning, and had cringed at seeing her name linked to a possible attack by the Rose Red Rapist. And even though they hadn’t mentioned Emma by name, she’d already put in a call to the paper complaining about the reporter’s emphasis on her being a single mother and how her child could have been left abandoned to the elements by a criminal with no moral regard for the minor’s safety. The only positive was Gabriel Knight’s mention of the Ghost Rescuer who’d come to her assistance and how the man should be decorated for his bravery.
“He said you were beaten. You could have died.”
“Mr. Knight made it sound worse than it was,” Robin lied, trying to placate the concern that steeled Brian’s handsome features and snagged the Vanderhams’ interest.
“You should let me hire security for this place,” Brian offered.
“Why? This is my shop, not yours. Whatever happens here is my responsibility.”
“But a team of bodyguards—”
“—would drive away business.”
“This isn’t the time to assert your independence, Robin. The Rose Red Rapist isn’t a man you want to take chances with.”
Needing to change the subject before the fear and helplessness she’d felt last night grabbed hold of her again, Robin turned to introduce everyone. “Brian Elliott, this is Paul and Chloe Vanderham. They’re longtime customers here.”
“We’ve done business together before.” Brian reached across the counter to shake hands with Paul. Making himself at home in her workspace, Brian helped himself to a paper towel from under the counter and wiped the black newsprint from his hands before extending a hand to Paul’s wife. “Chloe, how are you?”
“Wonderful, as always. Wonderful to see you, too.” The platinum blonde picked up the newspaper, then looked at Robin. “This is you? I felt so sorry for the woman in this article. And that man who came out of nowhere to rescue you? Gabe Knight made it sound like a fairy tale.”
Um, no.
Perhaps the three glares directed her way finally got through Chloe’s heartless rambling. She arched her brows in a pitying frown. “Are you all right? Should you be at work today?”
Brian answered before she could. “No, she shouldn’t.”
Okay. Another reason why she and Brian hadn’t worked. She could speak for herself. “I’m not going to let that man turn me into a recluse. I have to earn a living to support Emma. Besides, staying busy helps keep my mind occupied.”
She didn’t need the particular distraction these three provided, though, as the conversation veered off into a discussion of the Kansas City Journal’s editor-in-chief, Mara Boyd-Elliott.
Paul glanced at the paper over his wife’s shoulder. “Mara is doing a fine job of running the Journal in her father’s place. I miss old Jared Boyd, though. He was a man who didn’t mince words. I always enjoyed reading his editorials.” Brian bristled at the mention of his ex-wife. “Do you two still keep in touch?”
“My father-in-law is dead.”
“Ex-father-in-law,” Paul corrected, continuing the conversation as cluelessly as Chloe had, as if a deceased family member and divorced wife were better topics than Robin’s assault. “I meant Mara, of course. Do you keep in touch with her?”
“Only regarding legal issues that come up, or to discuss an article for the paper.”
“That’s right. She’s commissioned some glowing reviews and spectacular pictures of your downtown renovation project in the paper’s Kansas City Living section.” Paul went on, as oblivious to the discomfort he was causing as he’d been to his wife’s desire to share the ceremony planning experience with him. “I’ll bet Mara still does as much to benefit your business as she did when she was your wife.”
Robin could feel the tension radiating off Brian beside her. “Paul—”
“You wanted to see me, Ms. Carter?” Leon Hundley pushed through the swinging doors, thankfully interrupting the awkward conversation.
“Yes, Leon, thank you.” Robin’s greeting was more effusive than the friendly professionalism she normally treated her employees with. Although, she was taken aback for a moment when she saw the turtleneck the younger man was wearing beneath his green uniform shirt. Now that last night’s thunderstorm had blown past, the June afternoon had turned sunny and humid. “Aren’t you hot in that?
He shrugged his wiry shoulders. “You know how cold it gets in the fridge room, ma’am.”
“I suppose.” She herself kept an old sweater in her office for when she had to work in the fridge room for any length of time. Well, if he could tolerate the humidity, his discomfort wasn’t her concern. “I need to see the stock manifest from the flowers you picked up this morning.”
Leon pawed at his collar, as if the turtleneck felt as itchy and out of season as it looked. “I don’t have that list. I turned it over to Mark after I unloaded everything. We’ve been doing it like that for a while now since you’ve been gone. I just turn the paperwork over to him.”
Mark Riggins was her assistant manager, and had run the shop in her absence. Although an alarm bell went off in her head at the change in store procedure coinciding with the accounting discrepancies, she trusted Mark. From what she knew of his flamboyant personality, she wouldn’t think bookkeeping would be his favorite thing. Maybe he’d just made some honest mistakes—deliveries that hadn’t been entered, an order he forgot to record payment on. When the stream of customers died down, she could pull him aside and ask him about the books. “I guess I need to talk to Mark, then.” Leon nodded and started to walk away, but Robin stopped him. “So what did the market look like this morning? Were there shortages of anything I ordered?”
He scratched at his short brown hair, as though replaying his morning errands in his head. “Yeah. They were having shipping issues with some of the hothouse flowers. Orchids and birds-of-paradise. That kind of stuff.”
Chloe piped up. “Ooh. Birds-of-paradise would be beautiful standing up on the altar, wouldn’t they, Paul?”
Robin averted her head in case she rolled her eyes. Hadn’t the woman just heard there was a shortage of that particular flower? And did she really think the exotic orange flower would look good with anything else she’d picked out today? Once she had her tongue and patience firmly in check, Robin turned to Chloe. “Don’t worry. There will be plenty of roses, I’m sure.”
“Yes, ma’am. There always is.” Leon had always happier driving the truck than interacting with customers in the shop. He shifted on his booted feet and tugged at his collar again. “Is that all, Ms. Carter? I need to get those arrangements delivered to the hospitals before closing time.”
“Sure, Leon. You run along. Oh.” She tugged on his sleeve to catch him before her left. “Tomorrow morning, bring the stock manifests to me. I’ll explain the change to Mark.”
His wiry shoulders lifted in an irritated sigh. “Yes, ma’am.”
When he left, Robin wished she could go with him because Brian was at her side again, reaching for her hand. “Is there anything I can do for you? Anything you need? You could stay a few days at the penthouse—let my staff wait on you so you can relax.”
“I prefer my own home, thanks.”
Chloe asked another question about the exotic flowers. Paul pulled out his cell phone and Robin considered pulling out her hair. But her patience was given a respite by the ringing of the telephone. She quickly turned to th
e back wall and picked up the receiver before the second ring. “Hello. Robin’s Nest Floral. This is Robin, may I help you?”
“Ms. Carter?” The deep tone was brusque, and she instantly knew this wasn’t a customer. “Spencer Montgomery here. Can you talk?”
“Sure, I... Just a second. I’d like to get to someplace more private.” She covered the mouthpiece and stuck her head through the swinging doors and shouted to the back rooms. “Mark? I need you up front.” Then she turned to the people demanding her attention. “Mark is my top designer, Chloe. He’ll finish taking your order.” The phone’s long cord followed behind her as she stretched up on tiptoe and kissed Brian’s cheek. “Thank you for stopping by. But this is an important call I need to take. I’m sure you understand.”
Although he didn’t look terribly pleased by the dismissal, Brian kissed her cheek in return. Robin idly noted that there was not one flicker of erotic heat at the skin to skin contact, unlike that dangerous almost-kiss that had happened between her and Lonergan last night. Maybe she’d dated too many tailored suits like Brian Elliott over the years, and that was why someone as coarse and earthy as her rescuer seemed so appealing. Then again, maybe Chloe wasn’t too far off in her “fairy tale” description of last night’s rescue, after all, and Robin was succumbing to a little adolescent hero worship.
“Take care,” said Brian, as coolly articulate and handsome as Lonergan was not. “Call if you need anything.”
“I will.” She placed the detective on hold and hurried down the hallway to her office.
En route, she ran into Mark Riggins, smoothing his store apron over his striped shirt and khakis. “What’s the emergency?” he asked. “Leon said you were upset with him.”
“I wasn’t upset.” Robin frowned, anxious to get to the phone, anxious to explain her suspicions to Mark, just...anxious. “I asked him a few questions. I wasn’t accusing anyone of anything.”
His dark eyes narrowed. “Accusing?”
Robin groaned with impatience. “I asked him about the stock and whether we’ve been getting all the supplies we’ve ordered. He said he’s been funneling all that through you and didn’t seem to know the details.”
Mark made a little protesting noise and propped his hands on his hips. “Leon is a sweet young man who excels at driving the van and doing manual labor. But he’s no brain surgeon. I asked him to turn over all the paperwork to me because he was making a mess of it. If you have a problem with that, then you need to talk to me.”
“Let’s make an appointment and do that. Right now I need to take a phone call from KCPD.”
“About last night?” Robin nodded and Mark’s affronted stance melted away. He clapped his hands together. “That’s too frightening for me to even contemplate—you being hurt like that. And poor Emma. What do you need me to do? Are we overrun with customers?”
She reached up to straighten the bow tie he wore and patted his shoulder. “No. Just one who has a ton of money to spend and can’t make a decision. And I really need to take that call.”
“A ton of money—my favorite kind of client.” Mark fluffed his fingers through his curly brown hair and winked. “You deal with the police—I’ll help the customers spend their money.”
“Thank you. Owe you.”
“Always happy to do a girl a favor.” He burst through the doors with the flourish of a Broadway dance number and took over the appointment with the Vanderhams. “I’m Mark. Now what can I do for you, pretty lady?”
Knowing Mark could match Chloe Vanderham’s diva-licious personality, Robin closed the office door behind her. She quickly pulled the baby sling off her shoulder and lay Emma in her bassinet before picking up the extension. “Detective Montgomery? Sorry for the wait. Has something happened? Did you find the man who attacked me?”
“Not yet. But I think we found your Mr. Lonergan.”
Robin wedged the phone between her ear and shoulder so she could assemble a small bottle of formula for Emma while they talked. “Do you have a name? An address?”
“He goes by Jake.”
Jake. It fit. Manly and to the point. Finally, she had a name for the hero who’d saved her life and Emma’s. But wait a minute. Even as the news elated her, Robin frowned. “Goes by?”
Spencer Montgomery released a telling sigh. “There’s no record of him in the DMV database.”
“You mean he doesn’t drive?”
“I mean the name is bogus. It’s not like his license was taken away for DUIs or an accident. He doesn’t exist. I haven’t even found any IRS records on him.”
The math wasn’t hard to do. “That doesn’t make sense. He’s in his late thirties, maybe forty. And he’s no bum. He has to have had a job and paid taxes for twenty years or so.”
“Not according to my sources. No trackable history and he skips out before we can talk to him? Both are red flags in my book. Be careful with this man, Ms. Carter.”
Robin sank down into the chair behind her desk. But he hadn’t skipped out. Lonergan, make that Jake Lonergan, had been watching over her all night long. “Maybe he legally changed his name,” she theorized.
“There’d be a paper trail,” the detective explained. “This guy is way off the grid. My next step is to widen the search to Interpol because I can’t locate official American records on him anywhere.”
“Then how did you find him?”
“My partner, Nick, has good instincts about people. And he never forgets a face.”
“Detective Fensom knows him?” How could that be? Why would Lonergan avoid the cops if they were friends? Unless that familiarity with her mystery man meant they weren’t? Robin shot to her feet again, shaking the measured formula powder and bottled water together with more vigor than usual. “Do you think he’s a criminal? Because he wasn’t last night. He did a good deed. A great one as far as I’m concerned. I don’t want you to punish him.”
“Relax.” Spencer Montgomery’s tone sounded straightforward, taking the edge off her defensive anger, even if she didn’t necessarily think he’d agreed to her demand. “We just want to ask him some questions. We haven’t approached him yet—we’re not completely sure this is the right guy. We’d like a second opinion.”
“Do you need me to come down to the police station to identify him?”
“Not exactly.”
Robin groaned her frustration as one mystery compounded another. “Detective Montgomery, I thought you and I agreed we both like straight answers.”
“We did. I’m trying to spare you some stress and disappointment if this isn’t the guy.”
“I can handle stress and disappointment, Detective. I want to see this Jake Lonergan your partner found.”
“Do you know where the Shamrock Bar is?”
Jake Lonergan hung out in bars? He was secretive, yes. But he hadn’t struck her as the kind of guy who’d waste his time like that. “It’s around the corner, a couple of blocks from my shop. You want me to meet you there?”
“If you don’t mind. You can get a look at our suspect...er, person of interest there and see if he’s your guy.”
Robin hadn’t missed the detective’s slip. “He’s not the man who attacked me,” she reiterated, getting the idea it was up to her to prove that. “I can be there in twenty minutes.”
Torn between anticipation and anxiety at the chance to see if Detectives Montgomery and Fensom had tracked down the right Lonergan, Robin sat down for ten minutes to give Emma the bottle she needed. Then she burped her and changed her diaper before wasting another five minutes trying to track down Emma’s yellow hat. “Where is it?” She emptied out the contents of Emma’s bag and the hamper. “Never mind.”
Ignoring the phone ringing on her desk and from every extension in the front and back of the shop, she pulled out a shopping bag from a weekend excursion to the Plaza and opened up a new outfit she’d bought for Emma’s six-month picture. She left the flowered shirt and overalls in the bag and tied the matching sun hat onto Emma’s head. �
�Happy early birthday, sweetie. It clashes a little, but it’ll do.”
She was packing the stroller and heading out when Mark stuck his head through the swinging doors. “Robin? Phone.” He dropped his voice to a whisper. “I think it’s one of those reporters.”
“Would you tell him to...” Wait. If that was Gabriel Knight calling back about his news article, then she needed to have a discussion that made it clear that any mention of her daughter was off limits in any follow-up stories. “Never mind. I’ll take it in my office.”
By the time Robin had rolled the stroller back to her desk, Mark had transferred the call to her private line. She picked up the phone. “This is Robin Carter.” Several seconds of answering silence passed and she checked the lighted line on the phone to make sure they were still connected. “Hello? Is this Mr. Knight?”
She heard a sharp intake of breath before a woman’s voice spoke. “You don’t deserve to have that baby.”
A brief moment of confusion at the unexpected accusation was replaced by the chill that ran down her spine. “Who is this?”
“You aren’t her real mother. Her real mother wouldn’t put her in harm’s way like you did. She could have died.”
The words were slightly slurred, yet frighteningly articulate. A chill flowed through Robin’s body, sapped her strength. She obeyed the sudden weakness in her knees and sank to the floor beside the stroller—needing to see Emma’s bright blue eyes, needing to hear the soft, rhythmic sucking of her thumb, needing to touch the precious reality of her miracle baby.
“I’m on my way to talk to the police right now,” she warned, sounding braver than the fearful knot in her chest felt. “Who are you? Don’t you dare speak to me about my daughter.”
“Your daughter?” The woman laughed. “I know the truth about that baby. You don’t deserve her. He should have killed you when he had the chance.”