Guarding Kelsey ((Books We Love Romantic Suspense)) (2 page)

She stood up and followed him into a stark, poorly lit interrogation room. The NYPD
sweat suit
she’d changed into when the police had taken her clothes, slipped and she had to hold the elastic
waistband
to keep from losing the baggy bottoms.
Bone weary, she slid into the chair.
Although several hours had passed since the shooting, she was still shaken and the formidable presence of Detective Krieger did nothing to calm her frazzled nerves.

He straddled a chair.
His chiseled features were like granite as he eyed her from the head of the table.
Dark brown hair
, a
little too long, fell in waves across his for
ehead.
An inner anger
radiate
d
from him and angry men made her edgy.

A second officer joined them and took the seat across from her.
"This is Detective Martinez.
We'd like to ask you a few questions."

Kelsey nodded.
She just wanted to go home and fall into bed.
It was going on midnigh
t.
Her head throbbed
and she
still
felt sick.

Martinez turned on a tape recorder and began his questioning. "For the record, my name is Detective Juan Martinez and also present is detective Wolf Krieger.
Can you please state your full name?"

"Kelsey Marie Winston."

“Age?”

Right then she felt as old as Methuselah. “Twenty-six.”

"Your current address?"

Kelsey massaged her temples.
She wanted to rip the wig off her head but she needed the security of anonymity it afforded her. She had already made the newspapers once before and she wasn’t anxious to feed the gossip hounds again.
"5825 Park Avenue. New York City, New York."

Detective Krieger furrowed his brow in obvious question. “Nice area.
What is your occupation?”

“I’m currently working on my masters’ thesis.”

“Unemployed,” he stated for the record.

She straightened in her chair.
“Student,” she corrected.

He shot her mocking gaze. “And Queen of the Nile?”

She wrapped her arms tighter around her body and blushed.
She felt embarrassed enough without the heated stare of the detective. Typical man! Gorgeous, she conceded under mental protest, but typical
nonetheless
. Instead of listening, he decided he already had all the answers.

Her opinion of the male population had hit bottom during her brief but painful marriage.
Men were violent by nature and many, including her ex-husband, could not suppress their animal tendencies.
Her thesis research on domestic abuse had proven that point.

Martinez leaned forward, sending her a sympathetic smile.
"I'm sorry, Miss Winston, it's been a long night for everyone.
How well did you know Greg Harrison, the man who was murdered?"

"I’ve seen him at a few charity events, but I didn’t know him well," she said numbly.
She wasn’t particularly fond of the smug investment banker, but she certainly didn’t wish him this ultimate fate.

“How well did he know you?” Wolf interjected.

“Excuse me?”

“According to other witnesses, he was enjoying your company for the better part of the evening.”

She would hardly call the twenty
minutes he’d
spent trying to get her to invest her inheritance with him,
the better part of an evening.
The
fundraiser
had been her first public function since her father’s death.
The will had not been probated yet and already people hit on her for money.
If the masquerade ball had not been for his favorite charity, she would have stayed home. “I’ve never been involved with him, if that’s what you mean.”

Martinez handed her a cup of water and waited for her to take a sip before continuing.
"We've got conflicting reports about the gunmen. Is there anything you might be able to tell us?”

She rolled her shoulders to relieve the tension.
It didn’t help. “At first, the whole situation seemed surreal.
I didn’t blink an eye at the masked man.
I thought it was a costume.”
After Mr. Harrison fell to the floor in a pool of blood she’d realized the danger. By then, she’d had an arm around her throat and a gun pointing at her ribs.

"I don't suppose you could speculate on what he looks like.
Dark or light, tall or short?
Did he have an accent? Anything we could go on?"

Kelsey shivered.
She wasn’t likely to forget him.
His eyes, so clearly devoid
of remorse
or fear, had left her with no doubt she would be victim number two if she hadn’t gotten away.
She closed her eyes and had no trouble bringing his face to mind with chilling clarity. Enough to make her stomach clench in fear.
"Medium build, brown hair cut very short, brown eyes and a scar on his left
.
. no make that his right, cheek."

“Are you guessing?” Martinez asked.

“No. I saw him. I pulled his mask off in the struggle.
It probably wasn't the smartest thing to do but I wasn't rational at the time.”

Wolf choked down a gulp of coffee.
"Why didn’t you tell us you could identify him?”

“You didn’t ask.”

He yelled out the door, "Get an artist."

No!
She would be stuck there even longer.
She just wanted to go home and lock herself inside her apartment until she felt safe again.
"Can't I do this tomorrow?"

"No," he snapped.
“You’ll do it now.”

His domineering tone caused her hackles to rise. Searing anger coursed through her veins. She did not react well to bullying men who issued orders like a dictators.
“You can't make me stay.
I didn't do anything."

Cold eyes sparked.
"It’s against the law to attack a police officer with a knife.
I can charge you if you’d like.”

She had no doubt the arrogant detective would follow through rather than give in.
Why did she let him get to her?
She had become a master of detachment when it came to the male of the species, yet a few baiting words from this man had her losing her hard-won
self-control
.
With a deep, calming breath, she reigned in her temper.

Martinez whispered something to his partner.
If what she saw on television about the good cop-bad cop routine was true, she knew which one took each role.
"We prefer to do this while it's still fresh in your mind.
Help us out.
There won’t be any charges against you.
When you're finished someone will take you back to your apartment and we can finish the questioning tomorrow."

"Thank you."

Kelsey spent the next hour with the computer artist, making a composite of the gunman.
Eyes darker. Further apart. Bushier brows. Longer nose.
The artist corrected with each of her instructions until the final result mirrored the chilling murderer.

"We have some more questions for you. We’ll be at y
our apartment tomorrow at one.
”
Wolf paused when Martinez scowled at him.
“Would that be a convenient time to stop by?"

"I guess so.
May I go now?"

"Yes.
But make sure you don’t leave town."

She nodded.
She didn’t plan to leave her house, let alone town.
Hopefully, by tomorrow, her mood
.
. and
his
would improve to the point of civil.
She shot him one last glance.
His presence exuded danger.
Handsome, predatory and completely untamed, he was aptly named.
There was nothing civil about Wolf Krieger.

So why did she care what he thought of her?
And what were these unfamiliar, but not unpleasant, sensations running through her body when he met her gaze?
It must be the after
effects
of the shock, she decided, because she was more than immune to men like him.

* * *

Wolf watched her retreat with more interest than he should.
While the oversized sweat suit covered her delectable curves, he remembered the feel of her in his arms.
He wondered what she looked like beneath the absurd make-up and wig.
He would bet she possessed the same exotic sensuality without the Nile fantasy getup.

Earlier in the evening, when she’d passed out, he’d felt an inexplicable but undeniable attraction to her.
An attraction that was useless at
best
and dangerous at worst.
That would explain why he’d been more offensive than usual. She seemed vulnerable and helpless snuggling against his chest, but she knew how to take care of herself.

"She's a looker," Martinez drawled.

Wolf grunted. "What are you talking about? She looks like a cast extra from the
Cleopatra
movie set."

Yet something about Miss Winston seemed different. She wasn’t your average Park Avenue princess despite her address. He knew the area and the type of people who resided there.
They
came
from money, married money or had a generous benefactor. He would know. His mother had returned to the fashionable neighborhood of her youth with her second husband.
After a blue-blooded upbringing, she had never been able to adjust to a blue- collar life with Wolf and his father.

Love did not conquer all, Wolf thought bitterly. If, in fact, the emotion existed at all. He had his doubts.
Now, lust, he did believe in, and it would explain why he couldn’t banish Cleopatra from his mind.

"Did you see those big brown eyes of hers?" Martinez said.

"They were deep blue," Wolf corrected absently and then caught his partner’s droll grin. "Shut up.
I want to run a check on her."

Martinez cocked his eyebrow. "Oh, yeah?"

"Purely professional.
Don't you think it's strange she can afford to live in one of the most expensive areas of the city if she’s just a student?
Who’s paying the bills?"

"It could be family money,” Martinez said.

“Or maybe she’s more involved with the mob-connected victim than she claimed."
She wouldn’t be the first woman to get hooked on the adrenalin rush of a dangerous relationship.