Kansas City Secrets (11 page)

Max didn't want to think that Rosie had plotted anything. But a partner in crime turning on her could certainly explain the stalker. A man who wanted revenge on the woman he thought killed his brother would, too. “I think I'd better go introduce myself.”

Trent grinned as Max headed out the door. “Call me if she throws something at you or threatens a lawsuit.”

Hud Kramer took the stack of mug shot books the uniformed officer had been carrying, and led Rosie and the other man to the closest interview room. Max dumped his binder on his desk, ignoring the papers that spilled out, and quickened his stride to catch up to the group when Rosie hesitated in the doorway and the ringer for their dead guy nudged her on inside.

“She's not going to like that little room,” Max muttered, catching the door before it closed in his face. He pushed it open and stepped inside, looking first to those pretty gray eyes that zeroed in on him and widened before her gaze shuttered and she looked down at the table that cut the room in half. Hell. He'd agreed to help her, hadn't he? Why was she still shying away from him? More important, why did it bother him so much that she did? Max turned his attention to Kramer. “I've got this.”

“I was just doing the heavy lifting.” Seriously? The younger detective made a point of flexing his muscles when he set down the thick books. “I was keeping the lady occupied until you got out of your meeting.”

Max pointed a thumb over his shoulder. “Get out of here and go do some real police work.”

“Yes, sir. Bye, ma'am.” He winked at Rosie on his way out, earning a soft smile.

“Thank you, Detective Kramer,” she answered. Max's groan of annoyance faded when Rosie lifted her gaze to him again. Better. He liked it when he could see into the cool depths of those pretty eyes. But that look was far from a come-on, and her succinct tone reminded him of the reason she was here. “Good morning, Max.”

“Morning. You want to introduce me to your friend?”

“Of course.” She gestured to the man beside her. “Detective Krolikowski—this is my attorney, Howard Bratcher.”

Max extended his hand but hesitated midintroduction. This guy was definitely going on the suspect list. “Bratcher?”

The attorney sealed the handshake. Firmer than Max had expected. But Howard Bratcher quickly withdrew his hand to stand beside Rosie. “Yes. I'm Richard's brother. I know KCPD has reopened the investigation into his murder. Believe me, Detective, I'm as anxious as Rosemary to identify his killer and clear her name. Richard was an embarrassment to my father, and our law firm. There was no love lost between us. Rosemary's parents were clients of my father's, and she's been my friend and a client of the firm for several years. I'm here for her, not Richard.”

Old family friends, hmm? Or something more? Howard slipped his arm behind Rosie's back, and her shoulders stiffened. Max's brewing suspicions edged into something more protective when she turned out of Bratcher's embrace and wound up facing the corner of the room. She reached out and brushed her fingertips across the back wall, and Max wondered if the word
trapped
was going through her mind again.

“Rosemary? I thought this might be a needlessly upsetting errand.” Ah, hell. Was this guy thinking he could manipulate Rosie—and her money—the way his younger brother had? Despite his disclaimer, did Bratcher blame Rosie for his brother's murder and think she owed him some kind of payback? The solicitous attorney reached for her. “Would you like me to take you home?”

She wanted his protection? Max pulled out a chair and propped his foot on it, casually sitting back on the tabletop—purposefully blocking the attorney's path to Rosie. “She told you about the damage done to her house last night?”

The attorney pulled up short, his gaze dropping to the chair, then back up to Max. He was probably trying to figure out whether the lumbering detective was clueless, rude or smarter than he'd given him credit for.
That's right
,
buddy.
It's the last one.
Howard Bratcher backed off a step and faced Max. “Yes. That's why I insisted on driving her here today.”

Max's gaze went to the soft gray eyes that watched him from the corner of the room now. “Rosie's got her own car. She's perfectly capable of driving herself.”

The attorney's eyes narrowed. “We've been close for several years, Detective. I'm concerned for her welfare.”

How close? “Did you see the man who was taking pictures of her at the prison?”

“I didn't see anyone taking pictures.”

Rosie stepped forward, grasping the back of the chair. “The man with the cell phone? I pointed him out to you. Described him as a lawyer-type guy?”

“I recall your amusing description, but—”

“You didn't stop to take a good look at the man who upset your close friend?” Max challenged.

“I don't remember.”

Rosie's hopeful gaze crashed at Howard's noncommittal answer.

If this self-absorbed wise guy was her ally, no wonder she'd sought Max out for help. Even half-toasted, he'd paid attention to the details this bozo had missed. Unless Howie here had missed them on purpose. Could he be behind this terror campaign? Max's ability to read people might be on the fritz, but logic alone told him that a longtime friend would know best what kinds of things could frighten a woman the most.

For a split second, Max understood Rosie's aversion to being confined inside a small space. Especially with Mr. I'll-support-you-as-long-as-I'm-in-charge using up so much breathable air. With so-called friends like Bratcher here, Max wondered how much of Rosie's isolation had to do with her past, and how much had to do with her fear of getting
trapped
in another relationship with someone who, even without similar looks, had to remind her a lot of her dead ex-fiancé.

Following an instinct as ornery and strong as the urge to kiss her last night had been, Max snatched her hand, kicked the chair under the table and pulled her past the tailored suit. “Come with me, Rosie.”

“Where are we going?”

He opened the door, picked up the mug shot books and tightened his grip around her protesting fingers as he led her into the familiar bustle of the main room.

Howard's snort of derision followed them out the door. “Shouldn't you address her as Miss March, Detective?”

Shouldn't you recuse yourself from serving as her attorney
,
Howie?

Max kept his snarky remark to himself and pulled Rosie around chairs and desks, colleagues and computer towers, suspects and complainants in for questioning and statements, until he reached the two desks pushed together where he and Trent worked. He dumped the notebooks on top of the blotter and pushed aside the mess of notes and files before pulling out his chair for her.

“It can get noisy out here, but you'll have plenty of space to spread out. Move anything you want that's in your way.” She paused, tilting her face to his, no doubt questioning his sudden bout of chivalry—maybe even questioning if he was the same man she'd recruited for bodyguard duty last night. But the grief and guilt over Jimmy's death was firmly contained today. He hoped. Taking care of Rosie March—keeping her safe from stalkers and pompous attorneys and wannabe boyfriends—was his mission now. Flattening his hand at the small of her back, he urged her to sit. “I apologize for the clutter, but as you can see, there are no walls here. Those interview rooms are all tiny.”

When her lips curved into a serene smile, Max nearly succumbed to the boyish urge to smile in return. “I can work here just fine. Thank you.”

The crown of her hair brushed past his nose as she moved into the chair, and Max couldn't help but take a deep breath of her sweet, summery scent. A man could get addicted to Rosie's fragrance. Who was he kidding? Old maid bun and conservative clothes aside, Rosie March turned him on like some kind of crazy aphrodisiac. Maybe because he kept thinking of what she'd be like without the severe hairstyle and all that skin covered up.

Reminding himself that she was an assignment, and that she had more of a relationship with her dogs than she did with him, Max pulled the first mug shot book in front of her. “Here you go.”

Her shoulders lifted with a resolute sigh and she flipped over the cover to look at the first six men. “So I just start turning pages to see if I recognize anyone who might have been watching me at the prison?”

“Or anywhere else. Unfortunately, we have even more photos you could look at, but I narrowed down the suspect pool to men with a history of harassment and other predatory crimes who fit the general description you gave.” He left out the fact that pictures of Leland Asher and his known associates were scattered throughout the books, as well. If the crime boss was behind Richard Bratcher's murder or the threats against Rosie, she'd have to make the connection herself for any kind of case against him to stick. And if she recognized anyone who might be working for Howie here... Max tossed one of the books over to Trent's neat desk. “There, Howie. You can look through some of our pics, too. See if anyone there jogs your memory from the prison waiting room.”

Not that he'd trust Bratcher's recognition, or lack thereof, of anyone in the book. But it would get the attorney farther out of Rosie's personal space.

Instead of taking the hint and moving to Trent's work space, Howard circled behind him to bookend the other side of Rosie's chair. “I don't like your tone, Detective Krolikowski. And I'd appreciate it if you'd show my client more respect.”

“I've got nothing but respect for Miss March.” Max leaned his hip against the edge of the desk, facing the woman between them. She was picking up the papers of an old report that had fanned across the desk and tucking them into a neat stack. “You got a key for me?” Max asked.

Howard put a hand on Rosie's shoulder. “What's he talking about?”

“This is between the lady and me.” Although the dots of color on her cheeks made him wonder if she was going to renege on the deal they'd made. “Rosie? Do you remember my terms?”

Do what I say.
When I say it.
Trust me.
If Jimmy had trusted him enough to share how bad things really were, then maybe Max could have gotten him help. He could have been there for his friend. He could have taken the gun away from him. He could have saved—

“I haven't forgotten.” Rosie interrupted the guilty gloom of his thoughts and set aside the neat stack of papers before reaching into her purse. She pulled out a single key and laid it in his outstretched palm. Her fingers lingered a little longer, dotting his skin with warmth. Her upturned gaze locked on to his for a moment, as if she sensed that he'd checked out for a split second. “This was Stephen's. It will get you in the back entrance.”

With Rosie unexpectedly pulling him back to the present, Max frowned, curling the key into his palm, catching her fingers in a quick squeeze before she drew away. “Not the main part of the house? Do I at least get access codes?”

The heat faded from her cheeks. “The apartment has a separate entrance. It's not hooked up to the alarm system. I didn't think you'd—”

“We'll make it work,” Max interrupted when he saw Howard Bratcher leaning in to intervene. “I'll see you there on my lunch break.”

“So soon?”

“I'm a soldier, remember? I travel light.”

Howie's hand settled on her shoulder. “Rosemary, what is this detective talking about?”

Max stood to face him, squaring off over the top of Rosie's coppery bun. “Didn't she tell ya? We're moving in together.”

“Excuse me?” Uh-huh. The touching? The temper? This guy thought he and Rosie were more than friends. He at least thought he could control her actions and influence her decisions.

Shrugging off her attorney's hand, Rosie went to work pulling items from beneath the three mug shot books and straightening the rest of his desk. “Max is moving into my downstairs apartment.”

“That's right, Howie. I'm her new tenant.” He had his story all worked out. “Good part of town. Use of a pool. My building is being renovated. Renting a couple of rooms costs less than staying in a hotel. And Rosie didn't seem to mind having a little extra security around the house.”

“I see. Why didn't you tell me you were taking on a new tenant?”

Rosie's busy hands stopped. “Because it didn't concern you. My name has been in the papers, Howard. You said it yourself.
Kansas City's newest millionaire?
And now these threats?” She tilted her face up to her attorney. “Even with the security system you had me install, I've never really felt safe being there by myself. Duchess is getting older. Trixie makes a lot of noise but isn't a real threat to anyone. I really didn't think having a cop on the premises at night could hurt.”

Howard knelt down beside the chair, pulling Rosie's hand into his. “You know I have connections to private security firms across the city. I could have hired someone if I'd known how truly frightened you were.”

“I did tell you. I told Detective Krolikowski, too.” She pulled her hand away and glanced over at Max before busying her hands again. “He listened.”

Tell him
,
honey.
Rosie March isn't alone and vulnerable anymore.

Howard pushed to his feet. That was not a friendly look. “You know I have only your best interests at heart, Rosemary.”

“I know,” Rosie answered. “And I'm grateful for all you've done for me. But I need to do this for myself. I need to do more to make decisions and handle my own problems.”

“I see.”

“Maybe you should go back to your office, Bratcher,” Max suggested. “This may take a while. I can give Rosie a ride home. After all, we're heading to the same place.”