by Julie Miller
When she approached to see for herself, Pike put out his arm, warning her to stay out of sight behind him.
“Yes, sir. Understood.” The intercom buzzed again, making her think of a timer that had just run out. There was no backing out of this now. Hope looked up to Pike for guidance. He tucked his phone into his pocket and nodded to the intercom. “Go ahead and answer it. Get a name and find out what they want.”
Aware that Pike was following right behind her, Hope cleared her throat, then pushed the call button. “Yes?”
“Miss Lockhart? Hope Lockhart?” A smoothly modulated woman’s voice answered.
“Who’s this?”
“Vanessa Owen. Channel Ten News. I’ve been to your shop before, remember? Right after Bailey Austin was assaulted?”
“I remember you, Ms. Owen.” The dark-haired beauty had practically become a fixture in the neighborhood this past year. The female reporter’s tenacious coverage of the Rose Red Rapist attacks and subsequent investigation had made her a staple on the evening news in Kansas City, and had even garnered her some national appearances for her coverage of the crimes. “It’s awfully early. The shop isn’t open yet.”
“I’ll wait, Hope. May I call you Hope?” Did she have a choice? “I’m shopping for information, not a dress. You’ve been holding out on me. I want you to tell me everything you know about the Rose Red Rapist.”
“Everything I—?”
Pike pulled her hand off the button to mute their conversation from the reporter. “There’s no time for a learning curve here. It’s showtime. Are you ready?” Hope was about to be thrust from nobody in the background to headliner of the front-page news. Pike turned his hand into hers and laced their fingers together. “We’re a team, remember? You can do this. I’ve got your back.”
After a moment’s hesitation, Hope squeezed her grip around Pike’s, holding on as she pressed the button again. “I need half an hour, Ms. Owen. Then I’ll be down.”
Chapter Seven
“This isn’t a good time, Hank.” Hope had thought answering her phone would give the idea to the stunning brunette reporter that she had a business to run and the interview needed to be over. She’d been wrong.
“Is that the boyfriend?” Vanessa Owen drummed her dark red nails on top of the central counter in Hope’s shop.
Boyfriend? Hope snapped her mouth shut as soon as she realized the surprise that must have registered on her face. With a quick no, she turned away from the curious reporter. “I have people here. I need to go.”
If she had known it was her father on the line, she would have let it go to voice mail, closed her shop and locked herself in the storeroom until all these people who wanted something from her left her alone. “We’re just a few minutes from your place.” Hank was in charming mode this morning. But that would change soon enough if he didn’t get his way. “Won’t be any trouble to stop by for lunch. I’d like to catch up on all the time we missed.”
“I’m busy.”
“What about dinner?”
“I can’t.”
“What if I said I was dying?”
“Are you?” She hugged an arm around her waist and dropped her voice to a whisper.
That he didn’t answer told her the pang of remorse she’d felt for a split second had been a wasted emotion. The charm bleeding from his voice confirmed it. “What if I said it was about Harry? Would that get you to listen to me?”
“I don’t have time for this.”
“Girl, I’m your father. I raised you.” She’d raised herself. He had nearly killed her. “There are certain expectations and responsibilities. You have to talk to me.”
“You know, actually? I don’t.” Hope hung up and set the phone on the counter.
“Oh, good.” Seeing that the call had ended, Vanessa Owen wasted no time in asking one more question. “Could you hold that dress up beside you again?” She snapped her fingers to call her cameraman back from the shop’s front door. “Damien, make sure you get a picture of this. My viewers will love the wedding dress angle. You see those shows all over cable these days, don’t you? Very popular.”
“I suppose.” Hope blinked against the camera’s bright light as she hung up the white gown on the tall hook beside the central counter. She wasn’t sure what wedding dresses had to do with an interview about the Rose Red Rapist, but after two hours of questions on everything from why she’d been up so late the night she saw the van to why she thought she hadn’t been singled out as a victim yet, Hope was certain Vanessa would use whatever footage and sound bites guaranteed her the biggest viewership.
“Vanessa, how much longer are you and your vultures going to prey on Hope this morning?”
Brian Elliott didn’t seem particularly thrilled to have his eleven o’clock appointment delayed by the intrusion of television cameras and reporters still lingering on the sidewalk in front of Fairy Tale Bridal. And even though the bulk of the impromptu press conference had dispersed, he was still irritated enough to follow Vanessa to the counter to vent his displeasure.
“That’s good, Damien. I’ll be out in a minute.” Once the reporter dismissed her crew and turned her big doe eyes up to meet the man who obviously knew her on a first-name basis, Hope seized the opportunity to finally evade the spotlight.
More than once, she’d repeated the information Kate Kilpatrick and Detective Montgomery had encouraged her to share with the media. But no matter what she’d said, her answers never seemed to be quite thorough enough to satisfy the reporters and curious passersby who’d stopped by to see what all the fuss was about. With a wink from Brian, urging her to go on about her business and take the respite she needed, Hope zipped the long white gown into a garment bag.
“Eloquently put as usual, Brian.” Vanessa’s dark red lips pouted into a smile. “You know I’m only doing my job.”
Hope picked up the alterations estimate for her seamstress and pinned it to the plastic bag before draping the dress over her arm. But when she tried to slip away to the dressing rooms, Brian’s attorney, Adam Matuszak, was blocking her path.
“Excuse me, Adam.”
Two or three seconds passed before she was even sure he’d heard her. Barely taking his eyes off the charged debate between his client and the brunette, the blond attorney stepped aside for Hope to pass—or perhaps just to join the conversation. “You keep showing Brian’s buildings as crime scenes on the evening news, and you’ll put him out of business.”
“Adam, dear. Always good to see you.” Clearly, all three ran in the same social circle and knew each other personally. Curious as she might be about that tense triangle, Hope skirted around the attorney and carried the dress to the seating area in front of the three-way mirror. She saw Vanessa’s smile reflected in one of the mirrors, and wondered if the woman’s exotic beauty really was that striking, or if her hair, lips and nails only looked extra rich next to her own mousier reflection. “Why would I want to do a thing like that?” Vanessa asked. “You know how much I enjoy Brian’s company.”
“I know how much you enjoy Brian’s money.”
“I’m a success in my own right, Adam. I don’t need any man’s money.”
“You certainly seem to be making a killing on Brian’s misfortune,” Adam argued. “He’s trying to reclaim the run-down parts of this city, and all your news stories talk about is the crime spree happening here. Why don’t you give some press to the historic preservation and revived economy he’s brought to downtown K.C.?”
Hope carried the gown inside the dressing rooms, but the agitated voices were loud enough to carry throughout the shop. She was glad there were no customers on-site. There was no Pike Taylor on-site, either, but he had assured her that his detective friend, Nick Fensom, was hiding close by, keeping an eye on her and the shop while Pike and Hans made their routine morning patrol. He’d made a point of walking her down the stairs to greet the reporter and welcome her and her cameraman into the shop, giving Hope a goodbye kiss that had gone beyond t
heir kissing lesson in the kitchen, leaving her gasping with surprise and making sure that anyone who was up and about in the neighborhood could see that shy Hope Lockhart was a spinster no more.
With a silent warning to step up her game and a squeeze of her hand that she thought was meant to reassure her, Pike had left her to face Vanessa Owen and the gathering contingency of reporters and onlookers outside her shop alone. She knew he couldn’t stay on the premises around the clock or else the Rose Red Rapist might peg him for the bodyguard he was. Still, it was a little discomfiting to realize just how quickly she’d developed a craving for that boyish grin and the squeeze of his hand around hers. And while she had no illusions that their fake relationship was anything more than a job to Pike, she was beginning to think—and hope, maybe just a little bit—that they were becoming friends.
But they would never be more than friends. Pike was a virile, outgoing, confident man, and she was...well...Hope Lockhart.
She looked in the dressing room mirror and studied her lips. They looked pink and pale compared to the lush burgundy of Vanessa Owen’s mouth. The boxy cut of her brown suit hid all the plump curves that more than compensated for the skin and bones child she’d once been. Unbuttoning the top of her cream-colored blouse, Hope pulled aside the collar to look at the faded scars on her neck, shoulder and chest. They were such vivid reminders of not only her traumatic past, but of the cautious, closed-off woman she had become. While she had no trouble being attracted to Pike’s tall, muscular body and rugged looks, he certainly had his work cut out for him, convincing the world that he’d fallen so in love with her this past year that he’d moved in.
“You’re never gonna amount to anything, girl. Now put those highfalutin ideas right out of your mind and fetch me a beer. That’s all you’re good for.”
“Shut up, Hank.” Temper brewed in her veins. When was that ugly voice ever going to stop talking in her head? “I have a job to do. LaDonna and Bailey and all those other victims need me to pull it together.” She straightened her collar and refastened her blouse, going back to unhook the top two buttons and let it fall open in a modest effort to play a more believable mate for a man like Pike. She pulled a belt from a returned tuxedo order and cinched it around her waist, nodding approval at the hourglass shape it gave to her figure. “Pike’s doing his part.” She talked louder than the demeaning voice inside her head. “Stop thinking about who you were and who you wish you could be, and do your part, too.”
That meant she couldn’t spend the rest of the day hiding in the dressing room, having philosophical discussions with her reflection and avoiding the tension in the other room. Hope picked up three dresses a customer had tried on earlier, and quietly returned them to the racks while the debate continued at her front counter.
Adam had moved closer to Brian and Vanessa, still arguing that the Rose Red Rapist attacks were motivated by some kind of vendetta against his employer. “It’s awfully convenient that these assaults have all taken place in this neighborhood.”
“Interesting theory,” Vanessa drawled, sounding more amused than curious. “You think that these attacks are all part of a giant conspiracy to devalue Brian’s investments? Instead of, say, that he lives in this area, or that this is where he can find the successful professional women he targets?”
“I’m just saying there’s more than one person benefiting from this guy’s reign of terror over the city.” Adam pointed an accusatory finger at the reporter. “It put you on the radar of every national news bureau, didn’t it?”
“That’s enough, Adam.” Brian pushed his attorney away in a protective gesture. “Vanessa is only doing her job.”
“And I’m doing mine. You hired me to protect you and your interests, Brian. This woman is taking advantage.”
“Boys, boys.”
Hope watched as the woman in the taupe silk pantsuit stepped between the two men, tapping a dark red nail against both chests.
“You and I will have to discuss the rapist’s possible motives beyond terrorizing women sometime, Adam.” Vanessa dismissed him before turning to Brian. “Are we still on for dinner tonight?” To Hope’s surprise, she stretched up and kissed his cheek, leaving a brand of burgundy lipstick on his skin. “Later. After the broadcast. I’ll bring the wine.”
Brian took a handkerchief from his suit jacket and wiped away the stain with a handsome smile. “Don’t keep me waiting too long.”
Hope hugged the last dress she held as Vanessa walked her fingers up Brian’s lapel and tapped his lips. More than discovering that her friend and the reporter were apparently an item, Hope was stunned by the woman’s smoothly flirtatious moves. Was that the kind of teasing maneuver Pike expected her to make? That the world expected to see between a couple like the one they were pretending to be? “Don’t I always make it worth the wait?”
With a deep sigh, Brian pressed a kiss to Vanessa’s finger. “Always. Tonight, then.” Folding up his handkerchief and tucking it into his pocket, Brian turned to the tall, dark-haired woman waiting patiently by the front door. “Adam? Regina? Shall we get on with our business?”
Regina Hollister, Brian’s executive assistant, stepped forward when summoned. Her eyebrow arched as she passed Vanessa, giving Hope some idea of what the businesswoman thought of her boss’s paramour. But any hint of a personal emotion was quickly replaced by cool efficiency. Pulling up the sleeve of her charcoal-gray suit, Regina checked her watch. “I’m sorry, Brian, but we need to go now to make your lunch with the mayor. I’ll reschedule your appointment with Miss Lockhart.”
Hope hung up the dress and returned to the counter to finish up the meeting that had never had the chance to get started. “That’s okay, Brian,” she assured him. “I’m a little talked out for the day, anyway.”
“I can imagine.” Brian buttoned his tailored jacket and leaned in to kiss her cheek, giving her a whiff of the strong cologne he wore. “Sorry we got so sidetracked. We’ll work out those easement regulations so you can get that bigger parking lot you want. I know you’d like to get construction started before the winter weather hits.”
She nodded. “If I can.”
“How about I have Adam pull the necessary permits and construction contracts and have him contact you with some initial estimates? Adam?”
But the attorney didn’t immediately respond. He was at Hope’s front window, watching Vanessa strut down the sidewalk, leaving her news van behind. What was she up to now? Where was she going?
Before Hope could come up with any answers, Adam spoke. “What did you say that van you saw looked like, Hope?”
“White. Boxy. Silver bumper.”
Adam pointed through the display of fall-colored bridesmaid dresses to the vehicle out front. “You cover up the logos on that van and what do you have?”
Hope walked up beside him. Channel Ten’s shiny rear bumper gleamed in the sunlight. The make and model were the same. But that couldn’t be the same vehicle, could it? The van she’d identified had rusting wheel wells. She’d seen it late at night, through tired eyes. Could she have mistaken the brown trim for rust in the dark? She adjusted her glasses at her temple and looked through the van’s side entry, up to where the cameraman, Damien, sat behind the wheel. He was sipping coffee, steadily meeting her curious gaze through the front window.
Hope recoiled back a step. Damien wore no stocking cap, no surgical mask. But his dark eyes...they watched...
There was always somebody watching.
The temperature in the shop suddenly seemed to plummet. It was probably just the cop outside, protecting her, that she sensed. But this—she peeked through the mannequins in the window, scanning up and down the street—this felt like something more. Something sinister.
She yelped when Brian palmed the center of her back, halting her unconscious retreat. “Enough, Adam. You’re frightening her. Besides, I’m quite certain Vanessa is not the Rose Red Rapist.”
“This isn’t a joke. I know KCPD is looking for a man.” A
dam had been studying her reaction, too. “What about someone else on the Channel Ten News team? It wouldn’t surprise me if Vanessa knew the rapist’s identity and was covering for him so she can keep reporting the story and making headlines.”
“That’s horrible,” Hope whispered. “What woman would do something like that? That monster needs to be put away.”
“Mr. Matuszak.” The sharp voice of rebuke came from Regina Hollister this time. “On behalf of women everywhere—shut up.” Then she looked to her boss and tapped her watch. “The mayor?”
Brian circled around Hope to stand toe-to-toe with his attorney, warning him. “I won’t hear another word against Vanessa’s character.”
Despite his superior height, Adam seemed to understand who paid his salary and relaxed his defensive posture. “You’re right, of course. I know Vanessa means something to you. She and I dated a couple of times before I got wise to her. I’m just trying to spare you the pain I went through. As I said before, I’m looking out for your best interests.”
A moment more passed before Brian smacked Adam’s shoulder and nodded. “That’s why I pay you the big bucks, Adam. Thanks. Don’t worry. I understand the kind of woman Vanessa is. I’ve got both eyes wide-open.”
What kind of people formed a relationship with someone they couldn’t trust? Brian Elliott was an attractive, wealthy man—he could have any woman he wanted. Adam Matuszak, as abrasive as he was, would be considered a catch, too. How did he feel about his boss dating his ex? Was he jealous? Or was he truly concerned that Brian would get burned, too?
And why did they have to bring all their drama into her world when everything was already such a frightening mess?
The bell chiming above the shop’s side entrance offered her the diversion she needed to interrupt her thoughts for a few minutes. “Excuse me, I have a customer.”
Brian nodded as she left them at the window. “I’ll have Regina call you. We’ll show ourselves out.”
Hope smoothed her hand against her neck, battling the urge to button her open collar and hide like the turtle she was used to being. Stay out of your head, Lockhart. She quickly pulled her hand down and headed toward the woman who was admiring a display of beaded evening purses.