by Julie Miller
She recognized the brassy blonde chauffeur who’d been with her father the other night. So much for keeping her father out of her life. “Nelda, is it?”
“You’re Hope, right? We didn’t get to meet the other night.” Her smoky voice was friendly enough. She extended her hand. “Nelda Sapphire. It’s my stage name. For my blue eyes. I’m a dancer. Well, I used to be. I own the place now.” She tilted her head to one shoulder, indicating the door. “That’s where I met Hank.”
Hope wasn’t about to judge Nelda on her name or profession or the overprocessed pouf of her hair—only on her taste in men. Had Hank duped Nelda, promising some sort of caring relationship with the same empty words he’d used with his late wife and children? Or was the woman fingering the expensive purses in a business partnership with Hank, working with him to beg or con whatever money they could out of Hope?
A glance beyond Nelda confirmed the worst. The older woman hadn’t come alone. Her father stood out in the parking lot, finishing off a cigarette. “How can I help you?”
“You’re going to give me a good deal, aren’t you?” Nelda’s smile seemed sincere. “You know, the family discount?”
Giving Nelda the benefit of the doubt, Hope politely corrected the status of her relationship with her father. “I’m sorry. I think Hank may have misled you if he intimated that I’d be doing him any favors.”
Nelda shifted on the ridiculously high heels she wore. “You know your father regrets what happened between you, don’t ya, sweetie? He didn’t really come to Kansas City for a handout. He wants to work, to earn the money you give him. He’s awfully handy with repairing things and cleaning up. It’s hard for an ex-con to get a respectable job that pays much. But we thought that maybe, since you’re family—”
“No. I’m sorry.”
The friendly smile vanished. “Then I hope that lady out there is paying him for all those questions she’s asking. We need money.”
“What lady? Oh, no.”
Hope dashed to the vestibule and pushed her way out the second door to the parking lot before the inner door had fully closed. Why hadn’t Vanessa Owen gone back to the TV station? Instead of prepping for the evening broadcast, she stood in the parking lot, shivering against the autumn chill while she chatted with her father—and hung on to every word.
Her father, of course, was eating up the attention. “I ain’t proud of what I done. But I served my time. Hope’s stubborn like her mama was. She ain’t forgiven me yet. But she’s got a good heart. She will.”
Forgive? Yes. Her peace of mind demanded it. Forget? Never.
Hope walked up behind her father. “Why are you talking to Ms. Owen? She doesn’t even have her coat. I’m sure she needs to get back to the TV station to finish her report.”
“Nonsense. I have plenty of time.” Vanessa hugged her arms in front of her against the cool temperature, but her smile never wavered. “Your father and I are getting acquainted.”
Hank dropped his cigarette to the asphalt and ground it out beneath his boot before facing her. His leathery face creased with a smile she didn’t believe. When he reached out to hug her, she put up her hands and backed away. That was a charade she couldn’t play. Hank laughed when he turned back to the brunette reporter. “My girl was always makin’ up stuff in her head. Like she wanted to be a princess or there were witches in the woods.”
Vanessa’s assessing gaze darted over to Hope and back. “Do you think she made up seeing the Rose Red Rapist?”
“Well, it’s gettin’ her lots of attention now, isn’t it?”
“Do you think I want this kind of scrutiny in my life?” Hope wondered if Hank could see that Vanessa’s amused smile never reached her eyes. She wondered if she smelled booze on his flannel shirt and denim jacket because he’d already been drinking that morning or because he hadn’t changed from the night before. “This man is not a reliable source for any news story. I saw what I saw. The van, the driver, everything. I didn’t make up any of it.”
But Vanessa truly was the shark Adam Matuszak had accused her of being. And she was on the trail of a juicy sidebar to Hope’s story. “You’ve got a bit of a charming country boy accent there, Mr. Lockhart. What part of the state are you from?”
“I asked you to call me Hank, ma’am.” He pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and tapped out another smoke. “You ever been down to the lakes around Branson? Deep in the Ozark Mountains?”
“How about I buy you a cup of coffee, Hank, and we talk someplace warmer? You can tell me all about those mountains.” She waved to Damien in the news van and pointed down the street before linking arms with Hank and pulling him into step beside her. “Did your daughter grow up there, too?”
“Hank, no one needs to know—” Hope chased after them, but a bright flash of light blinded her as soon as she reached the sidewalk. Hope threw up her hands to protect her eyes, remembering for a split second the mysterious flashes that had wakened her in her bedroom that morning.
“Gabriel.”
“Vanessa.”
Before Hope could blink her vision clear and push aside her nerves, Vanessa Owen was trading cheek-to-cheek air kisses with a handsome, black-haired man wearing jeans and a corduroy sports coat. The camera and plastic ID badge hanging around his neck identified him as another reporter. “You’re a few steps behind on this scoop, aren’t you, Gabe?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Let’s do lunch sometime and compare notes.”
“Sure.” The male reporter watched Vanessa and Hank walk off together toward the coffee shop on the corner before shrugging. “When hell freezes over.”
Hope was torn between following her father, to shut him up about the pitiable past she’d overcome, and retreating to the shop to hide from his lies. But the second reporter raised his camera again and she put up her hands to shield her face. “Don’t. Please.”
“Fair enough.” He lowered his camera and pulled out a pad and pen. “Gabriel Knight, Kansas City Journal. I got the shot I needed. Unlike my colleague Ms. Owen, I’m not into sensationalism. I’m all about getting the real story.” His blue eyes seemed to size her up and find her wanting. “So KCPD finally has a witness who’s going to wrap up this fiasco of an investigation for them.”
“Fiasco?” The urge to defend the people she was helping proved stronger than the desire to flee. “The task force has made huge strides in identifying the rapist.” She repeated one of the talking points Kate Kilpatrick and Detective Montgomery had given her to share. “I’m just one little cog in the wheel that represents all the hard work they’ve done to protect this city.”
“That task force has been pursuing their serial rapist for over a year now. Where are their results? Why isn’t a picture of the man you saw splashed all over my front page?”
“I didn’t get that good a look at him. The sketch artist’s picture wasn’t...conclusive. It could start a panic. People might start turning in any man on the street who vaguely fits the description.” Hope curled her toes inside her pumps, standing her ground when Gabe Knight tapped his pen on the edge of his notepad before he wrote down whatever observation he’d just made about her.
“But you could identify him if you saw him again.” His piercing gaze reminded her of the intensity of another pair of eyes, leaving Hope feeling vulnerable, defenseless.
Lying didn’t come easily under that challenge. “I think so.”
“And the van?”
“Absolutely.”
But the reporter was shaking his head. “There’s something more going on here. What aren’t you telling me?”
She’d spent the whole morning battling Vanessa’s questions, and after a few minutes, this man had already done more to rattle her composure. “What do you mean?”
The reporter narrowed his gaze as though studying her through a microscope. “What makes you so special? What secrets are you hiding?”
“I’m not hiding anything.” A movement in the corner of her eye t
urned her attention to the floral shop across the street. Leon Hundley was there in his green uniform shirt, carrying a tray of flower arrangements out to the delivery van. He’d stopped his work, no doubt watching the parade of people in and out of her shop. When their eyes met, he set the tray in the back of his van and took a couple of steps toward her. But his attention turned up the street and he stopped. A moment later, Pike’s black-and-white K-9 unit truck was pulling into the parking lot beside her.
But Gabe Knight seemed oblivious of Leon’s concerned interest or the brawny uniformed cop climbing out of the truck he’d hastily parked. “A woman who calls her father ‘Hank’ and hates seeing him walk away with a reporter as much as she hates seeing him at all? There’s a story there.”
“You were spying on me?” Goose bumps scattered over Hope’s skin as she swept her gaze up and down the street. She felt eyes on her even now, and she hated it. The lights, the reporters, her father, her friends...and someone else. He was watching her. But from where? Who was he? Someone on the street? Someone hidden? Someone she knew?
“The press conference is done, Knight.” Pike loomed up behind the reporter, the broad shoulders of his black uniform dwarfing the other man. “No more questions.”
“Pike.” Relief crashed through Hope, and she reached for his hand as he came around to stand beside her. She didn’t realize how badly she’d been shaking until she felt the anchor of Pike Taylor’s grip closing around hers. “I’m glad you’re here.”
His sharp blue gaze ran over her face. “You okay, honey? Did this guy upset you?”
Honey. Right. He wasn’t here to pull her back from the brink of another panic attack. He was here to play the part of the concerned fiancé.
Disappointment joined the roller coaster of emotions that left her feeling drained. But when she extricated her hand from the false comfort of Pike’s grasp, he draped his arm around her shoulders and hugged her to his side, as if sensing her retreating into her shell or getting ready to run. “You’re cold.” When she didn’t respond, Pike turned his interrogation on the reporter. “Are you pestering my fiancée, Knight? She agreed to give a statement to the press, but she doesn’t have to answer any questions she doesn’t want to.”
The wall of heat pressed against Hope felt as foreign as the hard shell of the flak vest Pike wore beneath his shirt. And the crisp, starchy scent of his uniform was more basically male and more enticing than the eye-watering potency of Brian Elliott’s cologne had been. Yet the same intriguing sensations that left her feeling so unsettled and out of her depth seemed to fill her with strength and a quieting sense of calm, as well. They didn’t have to be a real couple. She could accept comfort from a friend, couldn’t she? She could latch onto this much-needed support from her partner on this mission. Slowly, she wrapped her arm behind his waist and leaned against Pike’s treelike strength. She was as aware of the gun and handcuffs and other survival equipment strapped to his belt as she was the tapered waist and abundant heat emanating from the man himself. Next to this man, she was safe.
Despite the protective shield of Pike’s arm around her, Gabe Knight still didn’t seem to be in any hurry to leave. “I have one last question, Officer Taylor.”
“What’s that?”
The reporter looked up to Pike and down to Hope, then farther down to the hand she clutched at her side. “If you two are engaged, where’s her ring?”
Pike’s grip tightened on her shoulder, the only indication that he’d been caught off guard by Knight’s question. But with eyes watching and her eagerness to get rid of the reporter combining with her determination to get past this crippling timidity, Hope blurted out, “It’s at the jewelry store, getting resized.”
Pike squeezed her shoulder again, perhaps out of gratitude this time, as he followed her lead. “That’s right. It’s my grandmother’s ring.”
Hope flared her fingers in front of her face. “She had small hands.”
“I see.” Gabriel Knight tucked his pen and pad back inside his jacket. His expression as to whether he believed the ruse or not was hard to read. “Congratulations to you both. I look forward to seeing the announcement in our paper. May I?” Before either of them could answer, he’d raised his camera again and snapped a picture of Hope and Pike standing side by side. “I’ll send you a copy.” With a nod in lieu of a goodbye, he turned and climbed into a silver SUV sedan parked beside the curb. “So many secrets.”
Holding her breath, holding on to Pike, until the last intrusion on her morning drove away, Hope finally inhaled a deep breath that pushed against him. “What does he mean by that? Do you think he knows what we’re doing?”
Letting her pull away, though taking her hand so she couldn’t immediately leave, Pike turned to face her. “Knight’s a sharp one. If he senses there’s more to a story, he’ll be relentless in uncovering it. Plus, he’s been supercritical of KCPD’s handling of the Rose Red Rapist case.”
“Why?”
Pike pulled off his ball cap and smoothed his hand over his hair. “I don’t know. Something makes it personal for him.”
Hope trembled at the idea of one more person keeping a closer watch on her than she’d like. “Do you think he’ll blow our cover and tip off your unsub?”
The breeze caught a loose tendril of hair and blew it onto Hope’s forehead. But Pike’s hand was there to smooth it back into place. “We won’t let him, okay? What’s this?” He traced the same finger along her throat to the notch of her collarbone, tickling her skin as he took note of the extra couple of inches of skin she was showing. “You’re changing your looks on me.”
He’d noticed the difference of a button and a belt? She hoped that was a good thing. “I was studying other women today, trying to emulate how they dressed and acted around men. I’m trying to be more convincing as your bride to be.”
“You did great with Gabe Knight just now. I’m kicking myself that we didn’t think of a ring to go with our cover story.”
Just then the door to her shop swung open and Nelda Sapphire came running out. Well, running was a relative term, considering the way she shuffled down the street in those high platform heels. “Hank! You get back here!” Nelda ran right past them with nary a look or word of acknowledgment. Instead, she clutched her bag beneath her breasts and shuffled it into double time. “Where is he going with that woman? You’re not leaving me! You owe me!”
The cursing blonde climbed into her compact car and made a U-turn to follow Hope’s father down the street. Pike thumbed toward the car as she drove past. “Promise me you’ll never change to that extreme.”
Hope drew in an easier breath and smiled with him. “I won’t. I couldn’t handle the shoes.”
Pike’s laughter faded as he tucked his cap into his back pocket and settled his hands at the nip of her waist. He pulled her half a step closer, dipping his face toward hers to whisper, “Seriously, though. Are you okay? I had no idea the reporters would still be here. Nick gave me a call and said you had some hangers-on. When he described your dad and Blondie there showing up, Hans and I booked it back over here.”
“Hans is in the truck, I’m assuming?” Hope debated where to rest her hands in order to complete this public embrace for whatever audience they had. Her hands bobbed from Pike’s shoulders to his biceps and finally came to rest against the Kevlar armor on his chest.
He nodded. “You didn’t answer me. How are you doing?”
She stared straight ahead at the contrast of her pale hands against his black shirt. “Pretty well, I think. I haven’t run away or pulled a knife on anyone—yet.” Instead of laughing at the joke, Pike fiddled with that stray curl again, silently waiting for her to continue. “I said everything Dr. Kilpatrick and Detective Montgomery asked me to. I’ll be on television and in the newspapers. The whole city is going to know who I am now. He’s going to know.”
Hope was decidedly uncomfortable standing in the circle of Pike’s arms in front of her shop where anyone on the block could see t
hem. And while his abundant heat and gentle hands excited something feminine and fascinating and unfamiliar in her blood, it was the movements and shadows in windows and vehicles along the street that really made her nervous.
“Do you feel it?” She voiced the tension humming through her.
“Feel what?”
“Someone watching.” She tipped her head back to see his sharp gaze swinging back and forth. He was looking, too. “Do you think I’m paranoid?”
That clear blue gaze settled on her. “No. I’ve felt it, too. Since moving in last night. Like we’re living in a glass house. Someone’s got to be watching the place to know when they can drop off those creepy gifts without me seeing him or Hans hearing him. But just the same...” His hands tightened at her waist and he pulled her into his chest, winding his arms behind her back and resting his chin at the crown of her head.
Her arms caught between them and she whispered against the KCPD logo embroidered on his chest, “Did you see someone? What do you need me to do?”
“Easy, partner. I need you to let me hold you for a minute. I need to know that you’re safe and that this isn’t the craziest idea KCPD ever had.” Pike’s fingers slipped into the hair at the nape of her neck and tugged several curls from the clip she wore. Then they tunneled beneath to cup her head and pull her more snugly against him. “Okay?”
Hope nodded. She willed herself to relax against him. “I’m okay with that.”
And then she realized it didn’t take any will at all to turn her cheek to the strong beat of his heart. She didn’t have to think twice about sliding her arms around his waist and drifting closer to the imprint of his harder hips and thighs against her body. Her breasts pillowed against the wall of Kevlar and man and she had no desire to run away from the comfort and strength he provided.
Pike’s shoulders seemed to fold around her, blocking out the things that frightened her. He rubbed his chin against her hair and pressed a soft kiss to her temple. “You’re not alone, Hope. It’s you and me, remember? This guy’s going to try to come after you, but he won’t get to you, understand? I won’t let him.”