Kansas City Secrets (9 page)

“Is that a thank-you?” she asked, wondering if there were any manners lurking under that tough hide of his.

“Yeah.” He paused with his hand in her father's toolbox, then faced her. She'd like to think that was a blush of humility on his cheeks, but she suspected the flush of color in the shadows was due to the hard work and the temperature that had barely cooled at one in the morning. “You didn't have to go to the extra trouble, but I appreciate it.”

“You're welcome.” Relaxing enough to smile at the unexpected compliment, she nodded toward the twin glare of bare lightbulbs on either side of her front door. “You didn't have to go to all this trouble, either. I'm grateful. But that wasn't why I asked you here.”

“I've always liked working with my hands. Keeps me out of trouble,” he added without any elaboration, before plucking a screw from his pocket and going back to the job at hand. “You'll have to get new globes to cover the bulbs I replaced, but everything is cleaned up and secure. As soon as I finish this.”

“Uh-huh.” Rosemary didn't move. So much for keeping a polite distance and hurrying back into the house. Max's shirt had come untucked somewhere along the course of the long day. And as he raised his arms to drill in the last screw, his shirttails lifted up and his jeans slipped a tad, giving her a glimpse of his gun and badge and a set of abs that belied the beer he claimed to have consumed tonight. She knew he was brawny. She expected him to be fit working for the police department. But the holstered weapon and strong male body beneath the wrinkled clothes and antisocial attitude made her a little nervous.

Although she couldn't say if the suddenly wary tempo of her heart stemmed from the clear reminder that Max was a cop, and cops ultimately treated her as a suspect rather than a victim—no matter how nice they were being about fixing the vandalism on her front porch. Or maybe those tingles of awareness of a man were a real attraction, fed by the unanswered questions she still had about that kiss. When she realized her gaze was lingering on the thin strip of elastic waistband peeking above his belt, she snapped her gaping mouth shut and turned her attention to refilling his mug.

A relationship was the last thing she wanted, right? Richard had made it perfectly clear that she was too timid, too plain, too boring, to ever turn a man's head to thoughts of passion. She was far better suited to domesticity and duty than she was to warming a man's bed or heart. And though, logically, she knew his cruel words had been used to break her spirit and manipulate her, the sting of self-doubt reared its ugly head whenever she noticed a man as something other than a friend or acquaintance. Why set herself up for disappointment and humiliation when the most attractive quality she had, according to Richard, was the money in her bank account?

A relationship with Max Krolikowski could be especially problematic since he seemed to be even less refined, led more by his instincts and whatever he was feeling at any given moment than Richard had ever been, pushing her even more out of her comfort zone and making him a real enigma in her limited experience with the opposite sex.

Not that Max was offering any kind of a relationship. He wasn't interested in her money. He wasn't particularly interested in being here at all. Max was here because he'd been in the Army like her dad. He was a creature of duty as much as she was. A soldier would do for another soldier or his family.

And a military family would do for a soldier in need.

Rosemary put down the plate she'd retrieved, and set the coffeepot beside it. Far better to clear the air between them than to muddy the waters with some foolish fantasy that wasn't going to happen. Clinging to the rocking chair he'd righted, she faced him again. “What happened to your friend? Is it something that interferes with your work a lot?”

Max removed the bit and carefully laid the drill back in her father's toolbox and closed the lid. For a moment she didn't think he was going to answer. Then he crossed into the shadows near the porch railing and sat, crossing his arms in front of him, looking big and unassailable. “You're determined to talk about this, hmm?”

Rosemary withdrew behind the chair. “I believe, maybe, if we're going to be working together, we need to.”

“You think this is going to be a team effort?”

“I know you have more questions for me. I don't expect you to help me for nothing—”

“Relax, Rosie.” He dipped his face into the light, his sober blue eyes drilling straight into hers. “I'll help you—you help me. Just go easy on the lectures and the heart-to-hearts and remember—I'm giving you fair warning. You can't fix me.”

“Are you broken?”

His eyes narrowed and his head jerked slightly, as if her question surprised him...or struck a nerve. Muttering one choice word, he sat back against the porch post. “You're not the only one who's lost people you care about. Eight years ago today, I lost my best friend. Captain James Stecher. We served together in the Middle East.”

“He died in battle?”

“Nope. Stateside. Shot himself. Post-traumatic stress.”

“Oh, Max.” His blunt answer made her eyes gritty with tears. She reached out to squeeze his hand or hug away the pain she imagined hiding behind that matter-of-fact tone.

“I thought it was
detective
.”

The growl of sarcasm and his stalwart posture made him seem impervious to pain—or at least unaffected by her compassion—so she curled her fingers around the back of the rocking chair instead. “I'm sorry.”

“For what? I'm the one who screwed up. I should have been able to save him.”

He rose and leaned across the chair to pick up his coffee. Rosemary managed not to jump when his body heat brushed past her. But when he straightened beside her—tall, broad, the sleeve of his cotton shirt brushing against her shoulder and raising goose bumps—she couldn't help retreating a step.

“I've decided I'm not going to make the same mistake with you,” he said.

“What does that mean?”

“It means I need you to drive me to my car at the Shamrock. Then I'll follow you back here and sit out front the rest of the night.” He turned and doffed a salute to the shadow in the Dinkles' window she hadn't noticed until that moment. She gasped as the shadow disappeared, and the blinds swayed with Otis or Arlene's hasty retreat. “You've already got the neighbors' attention by bringing me here. I'm guessing you don't entertain a lot of men.”

She lifted her panicked gaze to his. She hadn't even noticed the Dinkles' curiosity, but Max had probably been aware of her nosy neighbor the entire time. “Do you think that's necessary? I just wanted a police officer to see what was happening to me and write a report.”

“I intend to do more than that, Rosie.”

Her blood ran cold at the ominous portent in his voice. “Do you think something else is going to happen?”

“I'm not going to give whoever this bastard is a chance to scare you again. Or do something worse. There's only so much guilt a man can live with.” He continued to scan the neighborhood from her dark porch, even though the Dinkles' spying had been temporarily thwarted. He picked up the note he'd sealed in one of her plastic sandwich bags. “If Bratcher's killer is behind these threats, he or she could be doing it to divert suspicion onto you. Keeping an eye on you might ferret out the suspect.”

“I see.” Rosemary understood the logic, even if she didn't relish the idea of playing the part of bait for KCPD. Shivering now, she hugged her arms around her middle. “So watching over me and what happens here helps your investigation?”

“Possibly.” He reached out and rubbed his hand up and down her bare arm, eliciting more goose bumps as her skin warmed beneath even that casual touch. “But that's not the only reason. If this guy is someone who blames you for Bratcher's murder and thinks they're meting out some kind of justice...?” He lifted his fingers to her hair, scowling at the lone tendril falling against her neck as if he didn't like that she'd pinned the rest of it up into a practical bun again. His palm settled along her jaw, and, instinctively, against her better judgment, she leaned into his warmth. “Look, the only thing you have to understand about me is this. I'm not losing anyone else on my watch. You're still my team's best shot at solving this case. If something happens to you, chances are, we'll never uncover the truth.”

If something happens?
Even the heat from his callous hand wasn't enough to erase the chill crawling over her body. So volunteering to watch over her wasn't personal at all. It was a practical move on his part. She should appreciate practicality. But the no-nonsense offer hurt, made her wish she hadn't gone to him for help, after all.

Pulling away, Rosemary crossed to the front railing and looked to the street, picturing Max's car parked beside the curb. A man with a gun and a baby blue muscle car should draw all kinds of attention to her quiet home. Attention she didn't want. “What exactly are you saying? You're going to stake out my house every night until you finish your investigation? You're just going to wait until this guy makes good on one of his threats?”

She felt his breath against her neck as he walked up behind her. Her eyes drifted shut at the unintentional caress. But it wasn't reassurance he was offering. “Actually, I was thinking more along the lines of moving into your basement apartment. Your neighbors, this stalker, and possibly the killer, are already going to question why I'm here. But they might drop their guard a little bit if they think I'm the new tenant.”

Rosemary scooted away from the warmth she craved. “But that's Stephen's apartment.”

“He's not going to be using it for a few years.” He caught her by the wrist and turned her to face him, his stony expression telling her his idea wasn't really up for debate. “We're talking a matter of weeks, maybe even days, that I'd be here. I get that I overstepped some personal boundaries and made you uncomfortable earlier, but my plan makes sense. I'll clear it with my team leader tomorrow.”

“What if I say no?”

“Why would you say no?” He leaned in, close enough for the moonlight to pick up the color of his eyes and make them glow like a predatory cat as he glared down at her. “I thought you wanted to uncover the truth as much as KCPD does.”

“I do.” She tugged her wrist free and folded her hands together, willing him to understand the inviolate need to maintain the one place of sanctuary she had left in the world. “But I'm not comfortable having a man in the house. Even with the separate entrance, it would feel like I'm locked in there with you and I wouldn't be free to come and go when I want to. You're laying down rules. You're taking over my life.”

“You came to me for help. Do you want to catch a killer or not?” He pointed to the trash bag with the mess from the vandalism he'd cleaned up. “Do you want this sh—” He caught himself, held up a hand in impatient apology and changed the word. “Do you want this garbage to stop? I don't care how many locks you have on that door, if this guy escalates any further, you won't have time to wait for help to get here.”

She dropped her gaze to the middle button on that broad chest and considered how helpless she would be against Max's strength if he ever decided to turn on her the way Richard had. She'd thought she could hide in the sanctuary of her own room, lock Richard out. But even without Max's muscular build and physical training, Richard had been able to kick down her door, destroy her phone before she could call for help and hold her hostage for several hours. Repeated threats against her brother had been enough to keep her from pressing charges later. She absently rubbed her palm over the scars on her chest, drifting back to that horrible night.

But two blunt-tipped fingers sneaked beneath Rosemary's chin and tipped her face up, forcing her back to the moment. Max's stern face hovered above hers. “Rosie, I'm not any good at guessing games or reading between the lines. You look me in the eye and tell me exactly what you want.”

A dozen different wishes popped into her head. She wanted the memories of Richard's abuse erased from her mind and body. She wanted Max Krolikowski to kiss her again. No, she wanted the sober detective gently touching her skin to
want
to kiss her. She wanted the self-assurance that Richard had stolen from her so she could tell Max all the wishes running through her mind. She wanted her parents alive and her brother safely home from prison. Ultimately, though, there was only one thing that mattered.

“I want to feel safe.”

With a firm nod, Max dismissed any further discussion. He picked up the toolbox and the trash bag and paused in front of her. “Then this guy won't get to you again. I'll need a key. I'll need you to do what I say, when I say it. And I'll need you to trust me.”

“I know you mean that to be reassuring, but...” She trudged back into the house and locked the door when he indicated that he was heading around to the garage and she shouldn't remain outside by herself. She whispered against the door as she threw the dead bolt. “That's what Richard said, too.”

Chapter Seven

Max recognized Olivia Watson's short, dark hair as she waited to get on the elevator at KCPD headquarters to report for their morning shift. Thank goodness. He hated running late.

Despite the throbbing in his temples left over from last night's trip to the Shamrock Bar, Max jogged across the foyer's marble tiles. “Hey, Liv. Hold the elevator.”

“Good morning, Max.” The brunette detective smiled a friendly greeting as he slipped in beside her and headed to the back railing. He leaned his hips against it, exhaling a deep breath. She pointed to the wraparound sunglasses he was still wearing. “The lights too bright in here for you?” she teased.

Great. Trent must have blabbed about him drowning his sorrows last night. And Liv here, like a mother hen to her boys on the Cold Case Squad, couldn't resist making sure he was all right. Max was a grown man, the oldest member of the team. He didn't need any mama or sister or busybody sticking her nose into his regrets. Time to play the old boyfriend/former-partner-who'd-nearly-ruined-her-career card. “Detective Cutie-Pie giving you any grief? Or do you still need me to punch him out for you?”

But Olivia refused the bait and punched the button for the third floor. “I think I finally got it through Detective Brower's thick skull that I don't love him, nor does he even remotely turn my head anymore.” She raised her left hand and wiggled her fingers in front of his face. “Of course, the engagement ring Gabe gave me makes a clear statement as to where my heart and loyalties lie.”

Max grabbed her wrist to get a better look at the respectable rock on the plain gold band on her third finger. “Hey, congratulations, kiddo.” He let her go and leaned in to kiss her cheek. “So that pesky reporter is finally going to make an honest woman out of you.”

“Gabe is not pesky.”

Max shrugged. “I suppose he did help us catch a killer and put Leland Asher in prison. But reporters who bad-mouth the department still aren't my favorite people.”

She leaned against the back wall beside him and jabbed him with her elbow. “Hey. Gabe has printed some nice things about KCPD now, too. He's honest. Always tells it like it is—whether it's good press or not. It's why I trust him. It's one of the things I love best about him.”

He nudged her back. “As long as he makes you happy.”

“He does.”

If Max had any family besides his grandma, he'd wish it included an annoying “sister” like Olivia. Of course, she already had three big brothers, a father and grandfather looking out for her. If Gabe Knight passed muster with her family and she was genuinely happy with this guy, then so was Max. “Then I guess I'll put up with him.”

“Do you own a suit and tie?”

He let his head fall back and groaned. “Why?”

“Because I'm inviting you to the wedding.”

“You ask a lot of a man, don't you?”

“Only the ones I care about and respect.” She reached over and tapped his cheek. “I like the clean-shaven look this morning. Remember how to do that for the wedding. What's the occasion?”

He was glad the elevator had stopped and the door was opening. He'd shaved for work more than once this week. Or maybe that was last week. Had he spruced up in an effort to redeem himself in the eyes of a certain critical redhead? “Hell.”

Olivia followed him out into the morning bustle of the third-floor detectives' division as the shifts changed from third watch to first watch. “So what makes you grouchy with an extra side of cranky this morning?”

Trent Dixon was there to meet them as they checked in at the sergeant's desk. “One too many beers last night, I'll bet.” Before Max guessed the younger man's intent, Trent had snatched the sunglasses off his face. “Yep. I swung by your apartment this morning to make sure you got here. But nobody answered.”

Max snatched the glasses back and hooked them behind his neck. “Did you break in to see my bed hadn't been slept in?” he groused.

“That's for amateurs.” He patted the shield on his belt. “I've got one of these, remember? All I had to do was ask nicely. Your super let me in.” Trent and Olivia both grinned as they led the way past their desks to the break room for a morning cup of joe.

But Max knew his partner's concern was real. “I left early. Had an errand to run. I dozed a couple hours in my car.”

“In your car?” When Max stopped in the hallway outside the break room, Trent and Olivia did, too. Trent was serious when he came back and clapped a hand on Max's shoulder. “But today's a new day?”

Max nodded. His annual Jimmy funk was out of his system—or at least relegated to the backseat in the carful of sticky issues he had to deal with. He looked from one detective to the other, letting them know this wasn't the hangover talking. “I think I got us a lead on the Richard Bratcher murder case. Not from the source you might expect. I was following up on it. Remember our little interview gone south yesterday?”

Trent snickered. “Rosemary March? Is she suing us? Filing harassment charges against you?”

Max rubbed his knuckles over the unfamiliar smoothness of his jaw. She probably would if he tried to kiss her again. Not that he had any plans to do so. In the sane, sober light of day, he...was wondering if any part of Rosie's gentle response had been real. Man, he was going to have to keep his wits about him and his hormones in check on this mission. “I'm going to be spending a lot of time with her over the next few days.”

“Come again?” Trent asked.

They were all in cop mode now, listening.

“Turns out her dad was military, and she's latched on to that aspect of me. She looked me up last night to help with a problem.” He glibly skipped past the whole kissing, sparks flying, guilt trip gone sideways incident outside the Shamrock and filled them in on the vile message and rage-fueled destruction he'd tried to repair for her. “Rosie's stalker is legit. And he's escalating. She could turn out to be a good witness for us, but not if this guy gets to her first.”

“Rosie?” Liv asked, looking to Trent for an explanation. “You mean Stephen March's sister?” Olivia had no love for Rosie's brother since his efforts to cover up the murder he'd committed had involved several attempts on Olivia and her new fiancé's life. “When did she become Rosie?”

With a shrug, Trent gestured to Max, indicating he had no clue why his partner would give a cutesy nickname to the person who'd been not only the prime suspect, but the only suspect, period, in the initial investigation of Richard Bratcher's murder six years ago.

“It's just what I call her, okay?” Max wasn't about to explain anything personal to either of them, especially since he couldn't pinpoint why
Rosemary
didn't seem to fit the woman who'd gotten so far under his skin yesterday.
Rosemary
was a murder suspect. A mission objective to be explored and dealt with.

Rosie
was, well, he wasn't quite sure. And while part of him wanted to blame last night's kiss and desire to get involved with her problems on an unfortunate mix of beer, lust, loneliness and guilt, Max was afraid his connection to Rosie went a little deeper than a cop doing his duty. That whole band-of-brothers logic she'd used to justify seeking him out had only sealed the deal.

Whether he had his team's backing or not, he'd given his word that he would help Rosie unmask her stalker. But finding the bastard who terrorized a vulnerable woman would be a hell of a lot easier if he had the Cold Case Squad and resources of KCPD backing him up.

Ignoring the question, Max stuck with talking copspeak to Trent and Olivia.
That
he understood. “The timing of these threats is suspect. Either someone connected to the murder is trying to point the finger at her to keep us from looking at them, or someone who knew Bratcher blames her for his death, and is punishing her for it since we haven't arrested anyone for the crime yet. I documented the evidence last night at her house. Rosie couldn't have done that kind of damage herself unless she was doped up on something. With her brother's history of drug abuse and an aversion to drinking, smoking and swearing, I'm guessing she doesn't get high.”

“Wait a minute,” Trent interrupted, nudging Max and Liv to a private corner as the hallway filled with A-shift cops reporting to the conference room for Morning Roll Call. “You went back to her house?”

“Would you believe she picked me up at the Shamrock Bar?” Trent's expression indicated not. “Close your mouth, junior.” Here was the really incredulous part. “Apparently, Rosie thinks I can be her hero. Watching her house, doing what I can to catch this guy who's terrorizing her, should get me close enough to get the answers we need from her. I think she knows more names linked to Bratcher we haven't found yet. I believe she can give us leads that'll make this cold case hot again. If she can't break open this investigation for us, then I have a feeling the guy who's after her will.” Max braced his hands at his waist, looking up to Trent and down at Liv to include them both. “I don't think I can do this on my own, though. I have to sleep sometime. Plus, I'll need a liaison to Katie—” the team's information specialist “—and all her records when I'm out in the field. And somebody has to be with Rosie 24/7 while I'm following up some of those leads.”

“Whatever you need, brother,” Trent offered. “If Miss March turns out to be the linchpin to this investigation, I'm sure Lieutenant Rafferty-Taylor will want the whole team involved.”

Olivia agreed. “I'll go brief Jim.” Jim Parker was her partner, another member of KCPD's Cold Case Squad. “Are you sure we can trust her, Max?”

“I didn't think so at first, but yeah. I think she's being straight with me.” Max's measurements of the dents in the mailbox and light sconces made him think the perp's weapon of choice had been a metal baseball bat. If he'd chosen to take a swing at Rosie or one of the dogs defending her, KCPD would have been investigating something far more serious than vandalism. “I'm hoping my word is enough for you guys to let me run with this.”

Liv nodded. “You guys covered for Gabe and me when we needed backup. So you know I'm there for you.” When she reached up to brush an unseen greeblie off the shoulder of his shirt, Max wondered if he'd really needed neatening up, or if—with all the other detectives and uniforms filing into the room across the hall—that was her professional version of a supportive hug. “See you two at the morning meeting.”

Max grabbed a cup of coffee and followed Trent into the conference room. Weaving through men and women gathered in conversations between the long, narrow tables facing the captain's podium, they found two open chairs near the back of the room.

Max had barely raised the paper cup to his lips when Trent slapped his leather folder on the table and leaned over to ask, “You sure you can do this? Yesterday, Rosemary March was a whack job, and today the
old prune
you couldn't wait to get away from is
Rosie
, and you're going to be her knight in shining armor. Why the change of heart?”

Max raised his gaze to the curious officer eavesdropping on their conversation from the opposite side of the table. The young man with the nosy intent turned out to be Hudson Kramer from the Shamrock Bar. “Did you score with that redhead last night, Krolikowski?”

“Sit down, junior, and mind your own business.”

“You struck out, huh?” Grinning like a schoolkid, Kramer braced his hands on the table and leaned closer. “S'pose I could get her number?”

“No, I don't suppose you could.” Raising his hands in mock surrender, the younger detective wisely turned away and took his seat before Max lowered his cup and glanced over at his partner. “You don't think I can handle this mission...er, assignment?”

“Max, you are the toughest SOB I know. You can make anything work if you set your mind to it.” Trent rested an elbow on the table and thumped Max in the chest. “But I also know you're a pussycat in there. Your emotions get the better of you sometimes. Hell, if Kramer's razzing can rile you, then I've got to wonder just what Rosemary March means to you.”

“She's a solid lead on our case. And somebody's got her in his sights.” Max downed another sip of the hot brew. “I'm protecting a potential witness. I'm doing my job.”

“Uh-huh. I can deal with the crazy guy once a year on the anniversary of Jimmy's death, and cover for you.” The conversations around the room receded into background noise when Trent dropped his voice to a whisper. “But if you don't do some healing, if digging up Rosemary's secrets is going to keep you stressed around the clock and you start flipping out again, the lieutenant is going to order a mandatory psych eval on you. You could get suspended if you wig out on the job again, or you start hitting the Shamrock every night. You're too good a cop for that—too good a man. I don't want to see you lose it.”

“That's mostly why I'm doin' it.” Yeah, as if stepping up to be that pretty, prickly woman's bodyguard was some kind of therapy for him. More like penance. Still, it felt like the right thing to do. “I didn't save Jimmy.” Max sat up at attention, his posture reflecting his resolve. “But I'm damn straight going to save her. I'm gonna make things right in this world for once.”

“And solve Bratcher's murder?”

Captain Hendricks took his place at the podium and the room instantly quieted. The black man swept his gaze across the room, greeting them all. “Good morning.”

“Yeah. Sure,” Max muttered beneath the other officers' responses. “That's the idea.”

An hour later Max was on his second meeting of the day and his third cup of coffee, sitting through a Skype call between drug research expert and CEO Dr. Hillary Wells of Endicott Global, a drug company based in the KC area, and the other members of the Cold Case Squad.