by Julie Miller
“Don’t let her get to you. Charleen’s a bitter, vindictive woman.” Howard closed the outer office door and followed Rosemary into his private office, locking the door behind him. Was he that worried about the tall blonde causing a scene that would upset her? “In her own way, I think she truly loved Richard. But she didn’t handle all the other women and one-night stands as well as you did.”
Rosemary’s laugh held little humor. “I don’t think I handled his cheating well at all.” She dropped her purse into one of the guest chairs and sat in the other, leaning back and closing her weary eyes. “It does devastating things to a woman’s ego and ability to trust when she finds out she’s not enough for her man.”
“Are you enough for Krolikowski?”
Her eyes fluttered open at the unexpected question. “Excuse me?”
Howard shrugged and crossed to the wet bar in the corner. “I couldn’t help but notice how chummy the two of you have gotten these past few days.”
She sat up straighter. “We’re working together. I finally have someone at KCPD treating me like the victim, not a prime suspect.”
“Seemed friendlier than that to me.” He held up a mug. “Coffee?”
“Please.”
Friendlier? Certainly Max had become important to her these past few days. He’d been the only one to believe that the threats against her were real and not some scam to gain sympathy or divert attention onto another suspect in KCPD’s Cold Case Squad investigation. Okay, so it had taken a little blackmail in the form of appealing to his military roots to finally get him to listen. But once he saw the damage to her front porch and read the notes, he believed. He protected. He upset her small, familiar world in frightening, exciting ways, and yet he made her feel safe. So, yes, they’d become friends—an opposites attracting, differences complementing each other kind of thing. But something in her heart wanted them to be much more.
Once this case was solved, however—assuming they could piece all the old secrets together to complete the puzzle and finally solve Richard’s murder—would she be enough to interest a man like Max? Would there be other reasons he might want to remain a part of her life?
“Here you go.” Howard handed her a mug of the steaming brew and took a seat on the corner of his desk, facing her. He swallowed a drink, then splayed his fingers and looked at his hand before rubbing his knuckles against the leg of his lightweight wool slacks. “Is he making any progress? Getting the job done?”
Rosemary cradled the warm mug between her hands. “You know how important it is to me to clear my name. It’s the only way to convince Charleen and my neighbors and the rest of the world that I didn’t get away with murder. Maybe I could get a job teaching again. Max is helping change people’s opinion of me. He’s expanded the list of suspects so that my name’s not the only one on it for a change. He makes it more comfortable for me to interact with people.” She shook her head. “I still can’t claim that it’s easy—my trust issues make it hard to socialize for long with big groups or certain people, of course—but he makes it easier to try.”
“Good for him.” Howard set his mug on the desk and scratched at a trio of welts on his left hand. “I made life easier for you, too, if you remember. I kept you from ever being formally charged for Richard’s murder by reminding the police they didn’t have enough evidence to take the case to the DA for prosecution.”
“I appreciate that, Howard. I don’t know how I would have gotten through the last six years without you. You were so helpful with Stephen’s case, too.” When she saw how badly the red marks were irritating him, she set her mug on the desk, too, and got up to cradle his big hand between hers. “Where did you get those nasty scratches? I think you need some hydrocortisone or calamine...”
Puncture wounds. A dermatitis reaction to a foreign substance, like leaf sap or pollen.
Rosemary released his hand and backed away as if his skin had burned her. He’d grappled with a hawthorn bush. “You?”
The dark eyes looking back at her were anything but friendly, patient or professional. That hard, cold, disappointed look was a lot like...his brother’s.
“The canned laughter was a little theatrical, but that scream of yours was worth every penny.”
Rosie glanced at the door. Did she need to run? Would he really hurt her? “I thought you were my friend.”
Howard’s voice was laced with contempt. “And I thought you were smart.”
Rosie dropped her chin and shivered. So talking was out. Ingrained habits from an abusive relationship were hard to break. She felt herself tensing, bracing, preparing herself for whatever cruel words would spew from his mouth. She inched away as the dimensions of the locked room closed in on her.
He’d trapped her.
Just like his brother had.
Only, she wasn’t alone in her house with a dangerously unpredictable man. She wasn’t alone at all. Max was right down the hallway. Okay, about a hundred feet down that hallway. With at least three closed doors in between them.
Rosie’s chin shot up as she shook off the crippling fears of the past. She grabbed her purse and dashed to the door.
But Howard beat her to it. Moving surprisingly fast for an older man, he planted himself between her and escape. She quickly circled behind his desk and leather chair, scanning the room for an available weapon if she needed to defend herself.
“I lost my brother because of you,” Howard accused.
“I didn’t kill him.”
“I don’t care who did. I’m just glad he’s gone.” He moved to the desk and Rosie backed up to the window. “He was blowing through the family fortune, ruining the firm with his indiscretions. That’s why he latched on to you—for the money and respectability.”
“You’re not like him, Howard. Please. You were kind to Stephen. You took care of our legal and financial needs. You helped me get Richard out of my life.”
“Damn right, I did. You owe me. I’ve been there for you every step of the way. I was patient with you and all your little idiosyncrasies.” As he came around the desk, she countered his path, keeping as much distance as possible between them. The wary beat of her pulse nearly choked her. If he laid a hand on her the way Richard had... “You depend on me,” he reminded her. “When you started getting those threats, when your mysterious stalker knew so many intimate details about you and Richard and said he wanted to kill you, I knew you were afraid.”
“I was terrified. Why would you do that to me?”
He pounded his fist on the desk and she jumped. “So you would come to me for help. Not to some uncivilized thug of a cop. Good grief, I heard you picked him up in a bar. You’re my class of people, Rosemary, not his.”
“That uncivilized thug is right down the hall, Howard. I’ll scream and he’ll throw you in jail so fast—”
“He can’t hear you through soundproofed walls. And I have a feeling Charleen won’t be a very cooperative witness and that her interview will take a while. Long enough for you to come to your senses and remember who your real hero is.”
Her gaze darted from the thick walls lined with books to the tenth-story window and locked door that offered her only means of escape. “I’m not that frightened mental invalid beaten down by grief and abuse anymore. The real me is coming back. Max!”
When she charged toward the door, Howard shifted direction and snatched her arm, pulling her against him and slapping his other hand over her mouth to silence her. “You won’t scream, because I’ll have his badge if you do.”
Rosie froze in his painful grip and he moved his sweaty palm off her lips. “You’d do that? You’d ruin his career?”
Howard laughed. “It’d be easy enough. Krolikowski is already on thin ice with the department. Public drunkenness. Anger issues—”
“He’s not like that—”
“—a bl
atant disregard for regulations and comportment. He’d probably come in here and beat me up if he could hear you. Imagine the mileage I’d get out of that with the commissioner.”
She tugged against the hand on her arm. “I’d tell his superior officers the truth. You’re crazy.”
“Oh, I’m crazy? Says the thirty-something recluse who lives inside a fortress, dresses like an old maid and is afraid of her own shadow? You think they’d take the word of a murder suspect over a respected member of the court?” His moist breath spit against her ear. “Whatever you think you have with him is done. I’m the man you need. You’re going to marry me.”
Her hips butted against his desk. His thighs trapped her. “Never. You threatened to kill me, Howard.”
“I would have married you and made the threats all go away. That was the plan. I wanted you so scared that you’d have to come out of that cave you hide in and turn to someone for help. And it was working until Krolikowski came along.” He flattened his hand against his chest. “It was supposed to be me. For six years I’ve planned how we would be together. I showed you more patience than any normal man could. I set it up so that I was the man in your life.”
“You were my friend.”
“People have married for less.”
“I don’t love you.”
“That doesn’t matter. We could have a successful business partnership. I’m more mature than my brother ever was. I wouldn’t make demands on you.”
She lowered her chin and shook her head. “That damn money.”
“Now that’s hardly ladylike. Krolikowski’s bad habits are rubbing off on you.” He spoke to her cowed head. “I’ve earned you, you freak. I sided with you against my brother’s memory. I was loyal to you. I did everything I could for your loser brother. Who else would have you?”
“If that’s the deal you’re offering, I’d rather be alone.” When she zeroed in on his Italian loafers, she felt a flare of red-haired temper flooding through her. She was done being the Bratcher brothers’ victim.
She brought her heel down hard on his instep and shoved her shoulder into his chest, freeing herself. Howard stumbled back into a bookshelf and she ran for the door. “Max!”
All she had to do was scream if she was in trouble, and he’d come running. No matter how many floors or doors were between them. He’d promised.
“Max!” Ignoring Howard’s threat, she threw open the door.
“Your choice. His career is over. You will not leave me for him.”
“I was never yours.”
He cinched his hands around her waist and tossed her toward the desk. She bruised her hip against the corner, but he was there before she could scramble away, capturing her against the solid oak. “He’s rough, exciting, animalistic, I bet.”
“What is wrong with you?” Rosie clawed at his neck, beat at his chest. “Get your hands off me. He’s going to arrest you.”
Howard bent her back over the desk, his thigh sliding between hers. She slapped at the hand that skimmed her breast. “Is that how you like it? Rough? I don’t have to be a gentleman. All these years I thought that was what you wanted. But I could send you a few more love notes if you want.”
“Get. Off. Me.” Her shoulder hit a coffee mug, sloshing the hot liquid onto her arm. Forget the Colonel’s empty Army pistol. She reached up, closed her hand around the mug and tossed the hot liquid in his face. She wasn’t the only one screaming when she ran for the door. “Max!”
But she’d only riled the beast. Before she made it to the door, Howard caught her and shoved her up against the bookshelf. He closed his hands around her neck in a choke hold that cut off her voice and her breath and stuck his red, scalded face near hers. “I always wondered what it was like when Richard got rough with you.”
Rosie twisted, gouged, kicked. She tried to suck in a breath, but the sound gurgled in her throat. Her chest constricted. Ached. Howard had lost it. There was no reasoning with him now.
“Rosie!” A fist pounded on the locked door.
Maybe Howard hadn’t heard the same angry shout she had. He tightened his grip around her neck. “There is a little rush to this, isn’t there? I can feel the pulse points beneath my thumbs. Does it hurt? Do you feel like doing what I ask now?”
Pound. Pound. “Rosie!”
She scratched at his injured hand, but she was getting weak. She needed air. White dots floated across her vision and the room tilted.
“If you don’t say yes to me, I’ll make sure you go away for Richard’s murder. I know enough details about your relationship to make you look guilty as sin. I’ll even defend you...and, sadly, lose your case.” He nuzzled her ear. “What will it be? Boyfriend or me? Prison? Or marri—”
The frame around the door splintered and the heavy oak swung open beside her. Max rammed Howard like a linebacker, tearing his grip off Rosie, freeing her. The two men flew across the desk and Rosie collapsed to her knees. She sucked in a deep breath that scratched her throat and filled her deprived lungs with precious oxygen. A chair toppled, another broke.
“Max.” Her voice came out in a hoarse croak. His fist met Howard’s jaw with a thud, and the attorney’s head snapped back. “Max!”
“You keep your hands off her. Understand?”
Howard laughed in response, not putting up any fight. “Temper, temper, Officer. Oh, I am so reporting this. Cop Attacks Attorney.”
“The attorney’s a nut job.” Max flipped Howard facedown on the carpet, put his knee in the man’s back and cuffed him.
His grizzled jaw was tight when he reached over to touch Rosie’s bruised neck and arm. “He hurt you.”
“I’m okay. I’ll be okay.” Her voice was getting stronger. The room blossomed with color again after she’d nearly passed out. Max’s blue eyes. The red blood at the corner of Howard’s mouth. Rosie pushed to her feet, leaning on the shelves for support. “Howard sent those threats. It makes sense. He knew the details of my relationship with his brother. He wanted to scare me so I’d turn to him. Fall for him, maybe.” Howard giggled like a child as Max helped him into a chair. She averted her gaze from those crazy cold eyes and looked to the man who had saved her. Again. “I turned to you, instead.”
“You’re sure you’re okay?” He palmed the back of her neck and pulled her onto her toes for a quick, hard kiss that left her a little breathless again. His chest expanded in quick, deep inhales after the brief fight and sprint down the hallway. “Thank God you can scream, woman. I don’t want to think about what could have happened if I’d been even a few seconds late. I had the receptionist call 9-1-1. Uniformed officers should be here any minute.”
In the meantime, Rosie didn’t complain when he hooked his arm around her shoulders and pulled her against him. She was quickly learning that this was where she felt the safest. “He was no better than Richard. How do I keep attracting these winners?” she added, the sarcasm clear, even in her husky tone.
Max went quiet for a few seconds, then covered the silence with a wry little laugh. “I’ll throw his butt in jail for a very long time.”
But Rosie tugged on his shirt, stopping him midreport. “Howard didn’t kill Richard. He’s hardly a perfume kind of guy. And how would he get his hands on RUD-317?”
“He could be the Bratcher in that pharmaceutical trial Dr. Wells is holding on to.” He tapped the shoulder of the curiously subdued man sitting on his cuffed hands. “Hey. How about it, Bratcher?”
Howard grew more subdued as the manic thrill he’d discovered when he’d been choking her subsided. She could tell he was thinking more like a lawyer than the man with the violent obsession who’d brought a baseball bat and terror to her home. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Can I at least book him for making terroristic threats to you?”
“Be my guest.” Rosie nodded, wis
hing she felt more relief at finally identifying the man who’d preyed on her darkest fears.
Max didn’t seem to think this was over yet, either. “We’ve got two perps—Howie here and the woman who killed his brother six years ago. Ah, hell.” Max pulled her toward the broken door to look out into the lobby but stopped when he realized he’d be leaving Howard unguarded if he went any farther. “Charleen Grimes just left with her attorney.” He pulled out his cell and punched in a number. “I’m calling the team. We’re gonna end this thing.”
* * *
MAX LEANED AGAINST the Chevelle’s front fender while Rosie finished giving her statement to Olivia Watson. He nodded to Jim Parker, walking past with a large evidence bag holding the black sweatshirt hoodie with the torn sleeve he’d found in the trunk of Howard Bratcher’s car.
A car. Why couldn’t the attorney drive a fancy green pickup truck like the one Arlene Dinkle had reported seeing in the neighborhood? Now that would make the puzzle come together all neat and pretty. But Bratcher didn’t own a truck. Maybe it was nothing but coincidence that an unidentified vehicle would show up in the same time frame as each of Bratcher’s visits to Rosie’s house. But, like most of the cops he knew, Max didn’t like coincidences. If a good cop looked hard enough, there was almost always a rational explanation out there somewhere. Did the green truck mean someone else was watching Rosie’s house? Their killer, perhaps? Or had Arlene made the whole thing up?
The truck wasn’t the only piece to the puzzle that was bothering him. The summer night was still plenty warm, but Rosie kept running her hands up and down her bare arms as she and Liv talked over by Liv’s SUV, as though she had a chill she just couldn’t shake. Max wanted to put his hands there and warm her up. No, what he really wanted was to get her out of here—away from the flashing lights and endless questions and Howard Bratcher locked in the back of Trent’s SUV to someplace quiet where they could be alone. Where he could hold her long enough to chase away that chill.