Harlequin Intrigue, Box Set 2 of 2 (4 page)

Tyler's voice was frightened, unsure. She was supposed to be his rock. She was a horrible mother for worrying him with her paranoid imagination. She was putting him in danger by not thinking straight.

“I'm sorry, sweetie. I'm okay. We're both okay.” She shook the snowflakes from her dark hair, smiled for him, then pulled out onto the street at a much safer speed. “Why don't you tell me more about Padre.”

* * *

“C
ONFOUNDED
WOMAN
.”
Trent slowed his pickup to a crawl once he saw that the parking lot outside the Williams College auditorium had nothing but asphalt and snow to greet him after his zip across Kansas City to get to Katie and Tyler.

As he circled the perimeter of the empty lot, just to make sure he hadn't misunderstood the location of the distress call, and the tiny Rinaldi family truly wasn't stranded someplace out in the bitter cold, Trent admitted that Katie Lee Rinaldi knew how to push his buttons—even though she never did it intentionally. It was his own damn fault. If he hadn't felt especially protective of Katie ever since she'd decided back in high school he was the one friend she could rely on without question, and if all the hours he'd spent with Tyler didn't make him think he wanted to be a father more than just about anything—more than making sergeant, more than playing for the Chiefs, more than wishing he didn't have the time bomb of one concussion too many ticking in his head—then he wouldn't charge off on these fool's errands to protect a family that wasn't his.

He pulled up at the sidewalk near the auditorium's back entrance and shifted the truck into Park. He'd left before finishing a perfectly good workout to find out what Katie's phone call had been about when he'd barely been able to work up a polite interest in lingering on Erin Ballard's doorstep and trading a good-night kiss. Erin was an attractive blonde who could carry on an intelligent conversation, and who'd made it perfectly clear that she'd like Trent to come in out of the cold for some hot coffee and anything else he might want. Erin wasn't impulsive. Her wardrobe consisted of beiges and browns, and nothing she'd said or done had surprised him. Not once. Cryptic phone calls, leading with her heart and putting loyalty before common sense were probably foreign concepts. If it wasn't on Erin's planner in her phone, it probably wouldn't happen. Erin wasn't interesting to Trent.

She wasn't Katie.

No woman was.

The proof was in the follow-up buzz in his pocket. Trent checked his phone again, admitting he was less frustrated to read the
Are you mad at me?
text from Erin than he was to see that he hadn't heard boo from Katie since she'd called about witnessing something
weird
and had sounded so afraid.

No. Busy. With work
, he added before sending the text to Erin. Maybe the woman would get a clue and stop pestering him. He'd already turned down her efforts to take a couple of dates to the next level as gently as he could, and he was done dealing with her tonight.

But he wasn't done with Katie.

After pulling his black knit watch cap down over his ears and putting his glove back on, Trent killed the engine and climbed out for a closer look. Because he was a cop and panicked phone calls about something
weird
happening at the theater tended to raise his suspicions, and because it was Katie, who was not only a friend since high school but also a coworker on the cold case squad, Trent wasn't about to ignore the call and drive home without at least verifying that whatever problem had prompted her call was no longer anything to worry about.

Not that he really knew what the problem was. Trent pulled a flashlight from the pocket of his coat and shined the light out into the foggy woods at the edge of the lot before clearing his head with a deep breath of the bracing air. The snow drifted against the brick wall of the building and crunched beneath his boots as he set out to walk the perimeter and do a little investigating before he followed up with Katie to find out what the hell she'd been babbling about.

Katie had been frightened—that much he could hear in her voice. But she'd never really answered any of his questions. He didn't know if she was having trouble with her car again, if something had happened to Tyler, if she was in some kind of danger or if she'd gone off to help a friend who needed something. With his interrogation skills, he could get straight answers from frightened witnesses with nervous gaps in their memories and lying lowlifes who typically avoided the truth as a means of survival.

But could he get a straight answer from Katie Rinaldi?

He checked the main entrance first but found all the front doors locked. He identified himself with his badge and briefly chatted with the security guard, who reported that the campus had been quiet that evening, that the on-campus and commuter students alike had pretty much stayed either in the buildings or made a quick exit in their cars as soon as evening classes had ended. Nobody was hanging out any longer than necessary to tempt the weather or waste time in these last days before finals week and Christmas break. After thanking the older man and assuring him he was here on unofficial police business and that there was no need to call for backup or stop making his rounds, Trent followed the lit pathway around the rest of the building. Other than the campus officer's car, the staff lot to the south was empty, too.

Unwilling to write the call for help off just yet, Trent circled to the back of the auditorium. But when the chomp of snow beneath his steps fell silent, Trent looked down. “Interesting.”

What kind of maintenance crew would take the time to clear a sidewalk at this time of night when the snow wasn't scheduled to stop falling for another couple hours? Trent knelt and plucked a bristle broken off a corn broom from the dusting of snow accumulating again beneath his feet. And what kind of professionals with an entire campus to clear would bother with a broom when they had snowblowers and even larger machinery at their disposal?

Had there been a prowler near the building who'd swept away any evidence of lurking on campus? Was that what Katie had called him about? Had she seen someone trying to break in? Had the perp seen her? With his hackles rising beneath the collar of his coat, Trent pushed to his feet, noting where the new snow had been swept away—around the locked back door and down the sidewalk into the trees. He'd qualify that as
weird
. The scenario fit some kind of cover-up.

“Katie?” There'd better not be an answer. He raised his voice, praying the woods were quiet because the Rinaldis were safely home, asleep in their beds. “Tyler?”

His nape itched with the sensation of being watched, and Trent casually turned his light down along the path between the trees. Was that a rustle of movement in the low brush? Or merely the wind stirring the branches of a pine tree? The lamps along the sidewalk created circles of light that made it impossible to see far into the woods. With his ears attuned to any unusual sound in the cold night air, he moved along the cleared walk down toward the frozen creek at the bottom of the hill. “KCPD! You in the trees, show yourself.”

His deep voice filled the air without an answer.

“Katie?” His gloved fingers brushed against the phone in his pocket. Maybe he should just call her. But the hour was late and Tyler would be in bed and a phone ringing at this hour would probably cause more alarm than reassurance. Besides, if she wouldn't give him any kind of explanation when she called him, he doubted she'd be any more forthcoming when he called her. He'd give this search a few more minutes until he could say good-night to the suspicions that put him on guard and go home to get some decent shut-eye himself.

When he reached the little arched bridge that crossed the creek,
weird
took a disquieting turn into
what the hell?
Trent stopped in the middle of the bridge, looking down at both sides—the one that had been deliberately cleared from the back door of the theater down to this point, and the two inches of snow on the sidewalk beyond the creek marked by a clear set of tracks. There were two skid marks through the snow, as if someone had slipped on the bridge and fallen, then a trail of footsteps leading up the hill on the opposite side. One set of tracks. Man-size. More than that, the distance between the steps lengthened, as though whoever had left the trail had decided he needed to run. A man in a hurry—running from something or to something or because of something. A student in a hurry to get to his dorm or car? Or a man running away from campus security and a cop who might be curious about why he'd want to erase his trail?

Where had this guy gone, anyway? The snow was coming down heavily enough that those tracks should be nothing but a bunch of divots in the icy surface if they'd been there when classes had been dismissed or Tyler's rehearsal had ended. These were deep. These were recent. These were—

Trent spun when he heard the noise crashing through the drifts and underbrush toward him. He'd pulled up his coat and had his hand on the butt of his gun when a blur of tan and white shot out between the trees and darted around his legs. “What the...?”

Four legs. Black nose. Long tail.

After one more scan to make sure the dog was the only thing coming at him, Trent laughed and eased the insulated nylon back over his holster. “Hey, pup. See anybody but me out here tonight?”

The dog danced around him, whining with a mixture of caution and excitement. Apparently, Spot here was the only set of eyes that had been watching him through the trees. The poor thing wore no collar and needed a good brushing to clean the twigs and cockleburs from his dark gold fur. Feeling a tug of remembrance for the dogs his family had always had growing up, Trent held out his hand in a fist, encouraging the dog to get familiar with his scent. “You've been out here awhile, haven't you, little guy?”

Of course, standing six foot five made most critters like this seem little, and once the dog stopped his manic movements and focused on the scent of his gloved hand, Trent knelt to erase some of the towering distance between them and make himself look a little less intimidating. When he opened his hand, the dog inspected the palm side, too, no doubt looking for food, judging by the bumpy lines of his rib cage visible on either side of his skinny flanks. The stray wanted to be friendly, but when Trent reached out to pet him, the dog jumped away, diving through a snowdrift. But as if deciding the big, scary man who had no food on him was more inviting than the chest-deep cold and wet, he came charging back to the sidewalk, shaking the snow off his skinny frame before sitting down and staring up at Trent.

“What are you saying to me?” Trent laughed again when the dog tilted his head to one side, as though making an effort to understand him. “I'm Trent Dixon, KCPD. I'd like to ask you a few questions.” The more he talked, the more the dog seemed to quiet. He thumbed over his shoulder toward the auditorium. “You know what happened here? Have you seen a curvy brunette and a little boy about yea high?” When he raised his hand to gesture to Tyler's height, the dog's dark brown eyes followed the movement. Interesting. Maybe he'd had a little training before running away or getting tossed out onto the street. Or maybe the dog was just smart enough to know where a friendly snack usually came from. “Your feet aren't big enough to make those tracks on the other side of the bridge. And I'm guessing you spend a lot of time around here. What do you know that I don't?”

The dog scooted forward a couple inches and butted his nose against Trent's knee. When he got up close like that, Trent could see that the dog was shivering. With his stomach doing a compassionate flip-flop, he decided there was only one thing he could do. Katie Rinaldi might not need rescuing tonight, but this knee-high bag of bones did.

“Easy, boy. That's it. I'm your big buddy now.” Extending one hand for the dog to sniff, Trent petted him around the jowls and ears with the other. When the dog started licking his glove, desperate for something to eat, he grabbed him by the scruff of the neck. Other than jumping to his feet, the dog showed no signs of fear or aggression. Maybe the mutt had made friends with enough college students that he didn't view people as a threat.

“I'm afraid I'm going to have to take you in,” Trent teased, standing and lifting the dog into his arms. Craving either warmth or companionship, the dog snuggled in, resting his head over Trent's arm and letting himself be carried up the hill to Trent's truck. “I'll get you warmed up and get some food in you. Maybe you'll be willing to tell me what you saw or heard then.”

The dog was perfectly cooperative as Trent loaded him into the cab of his truck and pulled an old blanket and an energy bar from his emergency kit behind the seat. “It's mostly granola and peanut butter but...okay.”

Taking the bar as soon as it was offered, the dog made quick work of the protein snack. “Tomorrow I'll get you to the vet for a checkup and have her scan to see if there's an ID chip in you.” He got a whiff of the dog's wet, matted fur when he leaned over to wrap the blanket around him. “Maybe they can give you a bath, too.”

Trent shook his head as the dog settled into the passenger seat, making himself at home. “This is temporary, you know,” Trent reminded him, starting the engine and cranking up the heat. “I'm a cop, remember? I'll have to report you.”

Stinky McPooch raised his head and looked at Trent, as though translating the conversation into dogspeak. His pink tongue darted out to lick his nose and muzzle and he whined a response that sounded a little like a protest.

“Don't try to sweet-talk your way out of this. You owe me some answers. So what's your story? No warm place for the night? Anybody looking for you?” The dog tilted his head and an ear flopped over, giving his face a sad expression. Trent turned on the wipers and shifted the truck into gear before driving toward the street. “Sorry to hear that. I'm a bachelor on my own, too. You can call me Trent or Detective. What should I call you?” When he stopped at the exit to the parking lot, Trent reached over the console to pet him. Pushing his head into the caress of Trent's hand, the dog whimpered in a doggy version of a purr. “All right, then, Mr. Pup.” He pulled onto the street. There wasn't much traffic this time of night, so it was safe enough to take his eyes off the road to glance at his furry prisoner. “Did you see anything suspicious at the theater tonight?”