Kansas City’s Bravest

by Julie Miller

  Her body was weak with passion, yet primed for more. Still, Gideon was holding something back. With a huge quest for self-control that would rival the master himself, Meghan brought her hands to his stomach and pushed him back a step.

  “No. We have to stop,” she protested on a ragged whisper. He kissed her one more time before she could work her hands up to frame his face and hold him where she could look up into his eyes. “Gideon, what’s going on?”

  “That’s two years of frustration, sweetheart, trying to catch up in one kiss.” He rested his forehead against hers, accepting the end of their embrace, clumsily righting their clothes as they each struggled for even breaths and saner thoughts. “But you’re right. I said we’d talk.”

  That wasn’t what she’d meant. Was he the one keeping secrets now? Was he self-conscious about the scars on his hand? Afraid she’d be repulsed by its touch? She supposed she understood that kind of self-preservation better than anyone. And though hiding his pain or any self-perceived shortcoming gave her a glimmer of understanding about the frustrated compassion and feeling of being shut out he must have felt with her, she backed off and let the subject drop.

  Like her, maybe not all of Gideon’s scars were visible.

  She stroked her fingers along his jaw one last time before he backed away and broke contact completely. She couldn’t help but notice he held up only one hand in a wry gesture of surrender.

  She pushed away from the wall and offered them both some time to reestablish their composure. “Give me a minute to freshen up. We can sit on the couch.”

  “Cuddle or coffee?” It was a question from old times. Nights or mornings after making love, they’d used the contented afterglow as a quiet time to discuss the world and each other, and become even closer. Sometimes their talks had been energizing, illuminating. Sometimes they’d been more intimate.

  She thought of how hard this was going to be and how much strength he could give her. She balanced that consideration with the knowledge that he’d probably want nothing to do with her when she was done. The need to tap into her own self-sufficiency won out. She still smiled with her answer. “Coffee.”

  “Fine. You do whatever you need to do, and I’ll go start the coffee-maker.”

  “Do you remember where everything is?”

  He walked around the corner and disappeared into the kitchen. “If nothing’s changed.”

  Alone in the hallway, Meghan took a deep, steadying breath. She pressed her lips together, still tasting him there. She cradled her palm against her belly and tried to ignore the unintended portent of his words. “Nothing’s changed.”

  Grateful for the reprieve, Meghan went into the bathroom and shut the door. The reflection in the mirror showed a tired woman—her shorts and shirt rumpled by a trying day and a needy man, her eyes wide and dark with the remnants of passion, her mouth pink and swollen.

  She remembered the night she’d looked in the mirror and seen the cut across her lip, the bruise darkening her cheek, the wild look of fear and self-loathing in her eyes. As she unzipped her shorts and prepared to do her business, the network of fine, pale scars across her abdomen caught her eye. The spiderweb of lines, bisected by one long mark, served as a visual reminder of all she had lost. Of all she could never have.

  But a stronger spirit, one kindled by the need to survive and boosted by the patient teaching of one good man, banished the tortuous images from her mind. “Go to hell, Uncle Pete.”

  She could do this. It might be harder than fighting any fire, but she could tell Gideon the truth.

  Meghan tucked in her shirt and pulled her hair back into a ponytail. She ran cool water in the sink and splashed her face until a healthy color returned beneath the freckles. She dusted a hint of blush on her cheeks and moistened her mouth with lip balm.

  When she reached for her toothbrush, she hesitated. The bristles felt damp. Odd. Usually they were dry and ready to be used again by the end of the day. Meghan set aside her misgivings, refusing to be deterred from her intention to tell Gideon why she left him two years ago, and why neither one of them should put too much hope in a future relationship working out, either.

  Opening the door, she inhaled the stimulating aroma of brewing coffee and stepped across the hall to open the linen closet. She moved a stack of washcloths back to the shelf with the towels and reached behind to pull out her spare blanket.

  When she had the blanket tucked under her arm she froze. She’d moved them back to where they belonged? An erratic pulse of unsettled energy danced along her nerves. She was pretty much a creature of habit. She always kept her towels and washcloths together. When had she moved them? Had she?

  She pushed the closet door shut on an uneasy breath and slowly turned to face her bedroom door. She’d need to get an extra pillow for Gideon off her bed. But suddenly the prospect of entering her own personal, private sanctuary didn’t even seem like such a sure, safe thing.

  Meghan moved closer, determined not to be afraid in her own home. She was just spooked by that trampled rose and on edge with her resurrected feelings for Gideon today. She knew how to handle herself in tough situations. She wasn’t such a wimp that she couldn’t open the door to her own bedroom.

  With that enervating determination to see her through, she reached for the doorknob and turned it.

  And screamed.

  Chapter Nine

  Meghan’s scream ripped through Gideon’s heart and tore him free of the pointless debate that had consumed him.

  He ran from the kitchen to the back of her apartment. Past the spot where he’d nearly made love to her, beyond the self-conscious doubts about his hand that even she had been able to recognize.

  He burst through her bedroom door and halted midstride, swearing one vivid, pithy word at the scene inside.

  Meghan stood next to her bed, clutching a plaid blanket in her arms so tightly, she was shaking. She stared with unblinking focus at the note pinned to her pillow.

  Some son of a bitch was going to pay for this.

  He shut his protective fury off in a dormant corner of his mind and concentrated on absorbing every pertinent detail of the violated room—including the ashen pallor of her face.

  “Meg?” Slowly, he moved into the room, not wanting to startle her.

  “He was here. Where I sleep. He used my toothbrush.” Her voice sounded cold and distant.

  He carefully sidestepped the trail of yellow rose petals strewn across the floor and walked toward her. The air in the closed-off room was pungent with the oily perfume smell of hundreds of petals littered across her bed and pillow.

  “Sweetheart.” He quietly alerted her to his presence behind her. He pried the blanket from her grasp and turned her unresisting body into his arms, slowly backing toward the open doorway. With his eyes glued to the sick message lying in a dent where someone had rested his head on the pillow next to hers, Gideon murmured soothing little nothings into her ear, holding her close against his heart.

  Once they were free of the smell and the words, he closed the door. He pressed a kiss to her temple and released her just long enough to pull out his cell phone and punch in a number. Then he grabbed her keys and fanny pack, tucked her beneath his arm and led her outside onto the front porch balcony.

  “How?” she asked on a voice that was half dazed, half disgusted. “Why?”

  “I don’t know, sweetheart. But we’re gonna find out.”

  The blank look in her honey-colored eyes worried him. It might still be eighty degrees out, but she was in danger of going into shock. He unfolded the blanket and wrapped it around her shoulders.

  “Taylor here.” His call to the Fourth Precinct had picked up.

  “Josh, give me a second.” Gideon didn’t bother to identify himself. His little brother, the detective, would be able to figure it out.

  He tucked the blanket beneath Meghan’s chin, but couldn’t manage the blanket and the phone both. She blinked and looked up at him with cognizance and a spark of emot
ion in her eyes. She was back with him. “I’m okay,” she reassured him, taking over blanket duty for him. “Make your call.”

  Gideon didn’t mind a bit when she snuggled up close to his chest. He draped his left arm around her shoulders as he turned his focus to the grisly business at hand. He could hear her breathing deeply, feel her heart pound back to life in her chest, its adrenaline-charged rhythm beating in quick time with his own.

  “I’m back.” He spoke into the phone.

  He could hear the hesitation in Josh’s voice. “Is this an official call or are you backing out of baby-sitting tomorrow night?”

  Oh, damn. He’d completely forgotten he’d promised to watch his niece. He squeezed his eyes shut and prayed for calm.

  “Both,” Gideon had to answer.

  Sometimes he forgot that Josh wasn’t his baby brother anymore. He was twenty-eight, not that spindly-legged kid who used to tag along with his older brothers. He was married, with a child. And he was a damn good detective. His voice was deadly serious now. “Talk to me, big brother.”

  “I know I’m not going through proper channels on this, Josh. But I figured you’d understand the situation.” Josh had saved his new wife’s life when she’d been victimized by a madman who’d threatened to take away her baby as soon as she’d given birth. “I want to report a breaking and entering at Meghan’s apartment. And…”

  Gideon once thought he could figure out any mystery. Piece the clues together and come up with the answer for himself. But his crime scenes had never involved twisted messages that toyed with him and triggered such distracting, possessive anger.

  They’d never involved Meg.

  “I need help identifying a stalker.”

  Josh asked a few more questions, needlessly reminded them not to disturb the crime scene, and promised to be there ASAP with his partner, A. J. Rodriguez, to officially handle the report from a family member.

  “And Gideon?”

  “Yeah?”

  “We’ll find him. You just take care of Meghan.”

  After Josh hung up, Gideon shoved the phone back into his pocket.

  “Is Detective Taylor going to help us?” Meghan asked, putting the emphasis on Josh’s new, official title. She was breathing at a normal rate now, though she still huddled close to his side.

  “Yeah. We just need to stay put for a few minutes, if that’s okay?”

  She nodded. “Will you stay with me?”

  He dipped a finger beneath her chin and tilted her face up to his. “I said I wouldn’t let you out of my sight.”

  “Don’t let me out of your arms, either.” She loosened her grip on the blanket and wound her arms around his waist. “That sounds corny, but I don’t care. I feel safer when I’m with you.”

  Gideon breathed in deeply, drinking in the faint, smoky scent of her hair from the fire at Dorie’s place, and feeling humbled by the request she’d made of him. Half an hour ago he’d warned her to go inside to stay safe. He’d been disastrously wrong with that piece of advice. Now he honestly didn’t know what to tell her. He didn’t know what promise he could make and keep.

  So he said nothing.

  Using his sixth sense of perception as the only weapon he possessed, he peered into the shadows between the street lamps, searching for their elusive friend who could wield such terror and destruction with a beautiful flower and a remote-controlled computer chip.

  Assured—for the moment at least—that in a city of hundreds of thousands of people, they were unwatched and alone, Gideon propped his hips against the wooden balcony railing and pulled Meghan into the vee of his legs. With her arms anchored around his middle, he nestled his chin at the crown of her hair and held her close, giving her his heat and strength. Using her quiet vulnerability and shaky trust to calm the vengeful thoughts roiling inside him.

  The message written in nice, neat, generic calligraphy played over and over in his mind. He wondered how the bastard had gotten in, who he was. He wondered what the threat about tomorrow meant.

  He wondered at the uncharacteristic impulse to do violent damage to the person who wanted to claim the woman he loved.

  I touched you today. I tasted you. Did you feel the same electric spark between us that I did?

  You’re so beautiful in action. As beautiful as a yellow rose. Tomorrow we’ll meet again, love, and I’ll shower you in more rose petals.

  One for every day you’ll be mine.

  Sleep well.

  DETECTIVE A. J. RODRIGUEZ had been about as low-key as they came, thought Meghan as she rode with Gideon up the elevator to his apartment near the city’s market district.

  Rodriguez’s “I see” response to the scene in her bedroom was an unassuming contrast to Josh Taylor’s brasher, more graphic reaction to the deviant altar of affection.

  Josh had called in the crime lab, then left to wake and interview her neighbors about any unusual activity in or around the apartment complex. Gideon had hovered close by while A.J. asked her question after question, not just about tonight, but about each of the times her loving fan had made contact with her. The detective pointed out that her locks had been picked by someone who knew how to use some pretty delicate tools. They’d found other items in her apartment, slightly out of place, touched or even used by the sick man who imagined they were lovers.

  Except for the possibility of a DNA trace on her toothbrush, nothing in the apartment had discernible fingerprints besides her own and Gideon’s. A.J. had warned her that they might not get a break on this case unless she recognized someone, or they could put a tail on her to catch the guy when he next tried to contact her. Of course, K.C.P.D. lacked the manpower to post a guard on her 24/7, but Josh had promised to call a few friends and family members to make sure someone always watched her back.

  With Josh himself taking the first watch outside Gideon’s building, Meghan felt compelled to apologize. Again. “I’m sorry that I got your family involved with this. I never meant to put anyone else in danger. And now I’ve jeopardized almost everyone I know. Dorie. The boys. Your brothers. You.” Her sigh echoed inside the elevator. “This is one twisted mess.”

  “You didn’t do this. He did.”

  Yeah, right. What other freak of nature could attract this kind of unwanted attention? She looked away and watched the buttons on the elevator panel light up. Uncle Pete had once told her she’d never get a man to love her unless she styled her hair, got a boob job and spread her legs.

  A sarcastic, humorless laugh bubbled up in her throat. Look at what she’d managed to accomplish without doing any of those things.

  “What is it?” Gideon asked, hearing the tiny hiccupping sound.

  She couldn’t look at him and not feel ashamed. “I was thinking about my uncle Pete.”

  “Don’t.” He nudged a finger beneath her chin and forced her to meet his eerily probing gaze. “Whatever that bastard said or did to you, forget about it. It makes you go pale and afraid. And neither of those describes the woman I know.”

  “A.J. asked me to go to the precinct office tomorrow to look at some mug shots of known arsonists.” She gently pulled away from his touch, unnerved by the hypnotic perception of his gaze that saw far more than she wanted him to. “See if I recognize anyone I may have had contact with yesterday.”

  “I’ll take you.”

  Thankfully he didn’t push to learn any more about her trip down nightmare lane with Uncle Pete. “I also want to report for my shift in the morning. This guy is not going to rule my life and have me jumping through hoops or changing my routine.”

  Although spending the night at Gideon’s would definitely be a change. The last time she was here was when… Her thoughts took a sharp turn into the past.

  “I could have gone to a hotel, you know.” The elevator door opened and, after checking to see that the hallway was empty, he ushered her out ahead of him. “Will my being here remind you of when you proposed? I don’t want to hurt you again.”

  He stopped in front o
f apartment 312 and inserted his key before favoring her with a weary smile. “I’m a big boy. I’ll be okay.” He brushed a wisp of hair off her forehead. She treasured the kindness more than she should. “Before we were so rudely interrupted at your apartment, you said you wanted coffee.”

  Ah. So he still wanted to talk. Meghan breathed deeply, then let the resulting yawn come. It was after eleven. The late hour was as good an excuse as any. “Will you let me take a rain check until morning?”

  “You owe me the truth, Meg.”

  “I know.” She believed that with all her heart, but…“Can I be selfish and just enjoy your comfort for one night—the way things are between us now? Before I say something that will screw up your willingness to help me?”

  “I won’t change my mind about that.” He opened the door and touched the small of her back, guiding her inside. When the door was locked behind them, he turned and gave her a look so deep and raw and intense, she felt it stripping away the protective walls that guarded those empty places inside her, leaving her feeling naked and exposed to the power of his all-seeing eyes. She hugged her arms around her waist to hide her trembling response. But she couldn’t look away. His words were both a balm and a gentle warning. “I’ll give you whatever you want or need, as long as you promise not to run out on me again without any explanation.”

  A hard bargain. But fair enough. Better than she deserved.

  “I promise.” He watched her for several seconds longer without a word. She shrugged, nervous that her word wasn’t good enough. “Do we shake on it?”

  “No.” He smiled at last and took her in his arms. “We sleep on it.”

  “Gid—”

  “Relax. Unlike you, I have two bedrooms, remember?” He planted a quick, reassuring kiss on her lips. “Now, do you want to shower first, or should I?”