KCPD Protector (10 page)

“Well, her dad’s clean. He’s vacationing in Montana as we speak.” He waved off George’s pointed look and got serious. “Nobody else on the list she gave me popped up as an obvious suspect. No mental illness, no major crimes. Nobody on the special victims unit’s watch list.”

“What about Westbrook?”

Nick flipped a page in his notebook and scanned the information. “He moved to Korea right out of college. Climbed the corporate ladder pretty quickly. Last job was VP of finance with an international firm of lawyers in the Czech Republic. He’s got money in the bank, rents an apartment downtown and bought two season tickets to the Chiefs this fall, so he’s planning on staying around for a while.”

George tugged at his rolled-up sleeves and folded his arms over his chest. “Any clue why he came back to the States?”

“The translator’s English wasn’t that good, and I know zero Czech, but I got the idea a romance soured on him. It sounds like the woman might have died. I could make out the word
accident
but not the details.”

Since Westbrook shared history with Elise, George supposed it made sense for the man to try to rekindle whatever he’d once had with her. He didn’t like that Westbrook wanted Elise to be a solace for his grief, but it made sense. The emotional upheaval could even explain his short temper. “I may talk to Kate Kilpatrick again tomorrow. I wonder if it’s plausible for a man to fixate on another woman as a means of coping with a traumatic loss.”

Nick slipped the notebook back into his pocket. “I didn’t know K.C. was the place where middle-aged hearts came to heal.”

Not this again. “Are you referring to me?”

Nick shrugged. “I don’t need to be as smart as Annie and notice dilated pupils to see you’ve got a thing for Elise. It’s the first time I’ve ever seen you this involved with a woman since Aunt Courtney.”

Involved. He supposed there was no resolute will or ignoring of facts that could make this thing go away. George raked his fingers through his hair and released a weary breath. “I kissed her.”

“Aunt Court?”

“Elise.”

“Now, that’s more like it.” Nick reached over and clapped him on the shoulder, congratulating him. “Did she kiss you back?”

“It was a heat-of-the-moment thing. She’d just gotten a good fright.”

“Even in the heat of the moment, you don’t make out with someone you have paternal feelings for.” Nick was grinning like the Cheshire cat. “She’s into you.”

“She’s made it clear that she doesn’t want to be into me. I have to respect that. And I have to respect departmental policy about having a personal relationship with a subordinate.”

“You know, you’ve been divorced from Courtney for ten years. You’re a grown man, you’re unattached—it’s okay for you to have a fling.”

“Elise is not the kind of woman you have a fling with.”

Nick’s knowing nod belied the hushed maturity in his voice. “It’s also okay for you to find someone and be happy again.”

“There are rules to follow.”

“Screw the rules.”

George slapped his hand down on the counter. “I am the deputy commissioner of a major metropolitan police department. I’m your boss. I’m her boss. I don’t have the option of forgetting the rules.”

“Wow.” Nick didn’t even bat an eye at the rare burst of temper. “That’s what they mean by ‘it’s lonely at the top,’ eh?”

George shook his head. “How does Annie put up with you?”

“Slugger loves me. And she knows I love her. I took a bullet for her, George, and I’d do it again. Yeah, we both have blue running through our blood, and it isn’t always easy. But we try not to bring our cases home with us, and we make it work.” He enunciated that last line to let it sink in. Nick seemed to think there were options for a workplace romance that George knew damn well didn’t exist for him. And while George wished he still had that young man’s optimism in him, Nick picked up a set of headphones, turned the light on the target at the end of his lane and pulled out his own weapon. Cradling it in his hands, he urged George to pick up his gun and do the same. “The Glock 9 mil is heavier than the gun you used to carry. Aim down a quarter of an inch or so, and the kick will get you right on the target.”

George put on his headphones and took aim beside his nephew.

“We won’t let her get hurt.”

At least there was one thing they could agree on.

George nodded beside him and squeezed the trigger. “Firing fifteen!”

Chapter Six

Pitsaeli’s on the Plaza was well-known for its Italian cuisine, its fine wines and its busy lunch crowd. It wasn’t known for its fritzing lights or questionable air-conditioning.

Elise finally gave up pushing her salad around the plate and picked up her napkin to fan herself.

“In Lukinburg, we do not have this unseasonably hot weather.” Alexsandr Titov’s accent was as melodic as his brother’s had been. Noticing her distress, he signaled their waiter and had him top off her glass of ice water. “The sun is bright there. But between the sea and mountains, we have cool breezes. And the air is dry.”

Perhaps even more handsome than his older brother had been, Alexsandr’s European manners and genteel decorum might have charmed her a couple of years ago. But while she nodded her thanks, she honestly wished George and Quinn would wrap up this meeting and let her step outside onto the Plaza’s wide sidewalks to search for an American breeze.

Titov hadn’t told them anything useful. He’d apologized more than once for his brother’s actions, assured them that his new import/export company was completely legit, and that he was expanding into more than just ammunition manufacturing. He’d even invited George to have KCPD conduct an investigation into his books and business practices. It wasn’t as if an intelligent businessman would come right out and ask them for inside information, and since this was a first meeting, it would be inappropriate for Alexsandr to do more than hint that he’d like to become a subsidiary of GSS and sell his defense and survival products to KCPD and other contracts in the Midwest.

Elise had been invited along to today’s meeting for one purpose—to see if she recognized Titov’s voice or anything else about him that seemed familiar. Unless she could get him to whisper “I love you,” or provide a sample of his handwriting, however, there was no way she could confirm that he was the man who’d called her office, left those creepy messages or invaded her home.

And she couldn’t bring herself to ask if he knew about the twenty-three roses Nikolai had sent her before his death. She wasn’t sure which was more unsettling—having no clue who had developed this obsession with her, or knowing the man terrorizing her was sitting right beside her in a public restaurant.

The lights on the walls flickered again. Elise gasped when they went out for nearly half a minute. For a few seconds the entire restaurant was silent, with only the clinking and clanking and Italian curses coming from the kitchen.

“So sorry, everybody,” a thickly accented Italian voice shouted from the kitchen alcove. “I am Arturo Pitsaeli, your host. It is just a blown fuse. We shall have it fixed in moments.”

In the spirit of patience and cooperation, the patrons all seemed to be holding their breaths. Soon she heard the drone of electricity surging through the building again. The lights popped back on, and there were cheers from many tables and the crew in the back.

A hand patted her knee beneath the tablecloth and Elise jumped a second time.

“Afraid of the dark?” Alexsandr asked.

After catching the questioning look in George’s eyes across the table, she tucked her hair behind her ear, subtly masking the shake of her head, indicating she was all right. “I didn’t think I was. Just startled.”

She crossed her legs and pulled away from the lingering, unwanted touch as Alexsandr winked a blue eye at her. “One of the items Titov Industrial is developing is a more powerful portable generator. One could run this restaurant during a blackout. Three could run this entire city block.” She didn’t relax until she saw both his hands on top of the table again. “Perhaps that is something you could use a demonstration for today, yes?”

“Perhaps,” she agreed, although she’d warn George and Quinn to stay away from doing business with this man. Her recommendation had nothing to do with business and everything to do with the fact that Alexsandr had just taken his charm over the edge into Creepy Land. She’d like nothing better than to end this meeting and never see another Titov again. And whether it was the language barrier or his propensity to combine business with pleasure, Elise thought the direct approach might be the best way to get the answers they needed from this man. “I don’t suppose you know how many roses your brother sent me before he left the country, do you?”

“What?” Alexsandr shook his head. “Nikolai sent you flowers?” He twisted his pinkie ring on his left hand and smiled. “You were very special to him, no?” Elise’s left hand fisted around her napkin when he caught the fingers of her right hand and lifted them to his lips for a kiss. “I can see why even my hardheaded brother was charmed by you.”

That was no answer at all. Of course, if he did know the significance of twenty-three roses and how they might frighten her, he’d hardly admit to it, would he? She was definitely out of her element on the front line of an investigation like this.

Elise pulled her hand away as quickly as was polite and picked up her purse. “If you gentlemen will excuse me, I need to visit the ladies’ room.”

All three men rose to their feet when she stood, but she only saw George’s stony-gray eyes narrowed with concern before she shook her head and hurried through the path of tables and past the wait stand to the back hallway where the restrooms were located.

After the woman in the stall beside her left, and Elise was alone in the quiet, windowless room, she breathed a noisy sigh of relief. She washed her hands and splashed cool water on her face and neck. Grabbing a towel to blot her skin dry, she looked at herself in the mirror. “Oh, my.”

The sleeveless navy blue coatdress and silver jewelry looked as chic as the day she’d bought them. But no amount of style or makeup could negate the haunted look on her face. She hadn’t looked this sleep-deprived since finals week at college. At least those late nights had served a useful purpose. This bone-deep fatigue, the wariness that shadowed her eyes, felt like someone’s nefarious plan to wear her down until she caved in to whatever her stalker wanted from her...or she lost her mind.

She quickly tossed the paper towel and opened her purse. Hopefully, a touch of coral lipstick would make her look a little more normal. No wonder George was so worried about her, calling in favors from detectives, crime scene investigators and criminal profilers to solve her little problem. He probably thought she was on the verge of losing all competency as the most trusted member of his staff...and if something didn’t change soon, she just might.

Last night she’d showered and gone to bed, thinking exhaustion would claim her and allow her to sleep. But a constant feeling of being watched, of someone lurking in the shadows outside her securely locked windows kept her tossing and turning. Spike’s sotto voce growling and suspicious woofs at every little noise hadn’t helped her relax, either.

Until she realized there
was
someone watching.

When she peeked through her curtains, she recognized the silver Suburban parked away from the streetlamp outside. As soon as she saw that George Madigan was sitting inside his car, that he was the uninvited presence making her so paranoid, she’d hooked Spike up to his leash, marched outside in her robe and pajamas and kindly asked him to leave.

“You’re scaring me.”

“Not my intent.” He’d climbed out of the car as soon as she’d flipped on the porch light, and met her on the front sidewalk.

When he clamped his hand over her arm and tried to steer her inside, Elise planted her feet. “It’s not your responsibility, either.”

“It is in more ways than you know.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means I’m not going anywhere.”

Once she could see it was an argument she wasn’t going to win, Elise invited him inside to spend another night on her Chippendale couch. No sense sweating inside his car on the warm summer night, or running his engine all night long just to have air-conditioning. And if she knew exactly where he was, she wouldn’t be questioning the presence in the shadows, either.

She didn’t suppose her tailored sofa was big enough for the broad-chested man, nor soft enough to be very comfortable to stretch out on. But she hadn’t offered him a guest room upstairs, and he hadn’t complained.

In fact, he seemed to be making himself right at home in her house. Although he’d stripped off his jacket, shirt and belt to sleep, he’d placed the gun that he hadn’t worn before yesterday beneath the pillow she’d brought down for him.

Her sleep had proved equally fitful as she adjusted to having company in the house. She’d heard him moving around through the house, checking locks, warming up his coffee in the microwave, tussling with Spike when he’d trotted downstairs to check on the noises. Elise wished she could be just as curious and carefree as the dog and go down to George, too. Maybe he’d hold her again. Maybe they’d kiss. Maybe they’d just talk. Maybe then, she’d feel safe enough to let sleep claim her.

Elise drew the lipstick across her mouth, remembering the sensuous pull of George’s lips across hers. She remembered every look, every touch.

There were other desires at work, too, plaguing her sleep—the hunger for a man whose masculinity and confident strength were such an integral part of him that he made her feel utterly feminine. It would be easier to fight that forbidden attraction once this mess was cleared up and she could have her normal life back and take care of herself again.

She capped the lipstick and put it away in her purse, just like she had to put away any fantasy she might have about her boss. In another job, in another life, she could see how good she and George might be together. But this was the life she—

The lights in the bathroom suddenly went out. “Oh!”

Elise froze. It was much darker back here than it had been in the dining room, where a bank of windows facing the street had compensated for the blown fuse. Elise heard shouts and the crack of dishes breaking from the kitchen on the other side of the wall, and a rising din of complaints from customers and staff alike. The power must be out throughout the restaurant again.

With her vision struggling to compensate for the near blackout conditions in the restroom, Elise fumbled in the darkness to find something familiar and wound up gripping the edge of the sink, anxiously waiting for the lights to come back on. She waited and waited. A body banged into the hallway wall, and she jumped. A tray of silverware crashed to the floor and someone cursed.

“Why aren’t the lights coming back on?” Elise whispered. The air in here was quickly growing stale without the vents and air-conditioning on to filter out the scents of potpourri, oven fumes and something faintly moldy in the background.

Arturo Pitsaeli was shouting again. “Please, everybody, stay in your seats. My apologies. Free gelati for everyone. Please. Sit.”

But it didn’t sound as if people were listening. Dozens of footsteps and chairs screeching across the terra-cotta tile floors sounded more like people were panicking—or were furious, at least, about the new delay in their lunch break.

The entire fuse box must have blown. This was a complete power outage.

She needed to get out of here. She needed to get to some light.

Elise reached forward until her fingertips butted against the mirror. Turning to her left, she headed toward the exit, trailing her fingers along the smooth glass to orient herself. When her fingers grazed across rougher plaster, her hip bumped into the trash can, knocking it against the wall. She reached out to grab it, but before she could stop its wobbling, the bathroom door opened and a sliver of murky light took the room from opaque to merely dark. “Hold the door, would you? Trust me, it isn’t any better in here.”

No one answered.

“Hello? Is someone there?”

The blast of noise from the restaurant muted and the blackness returned as the door softly closed again. Maybe whoever had tumbled into the wall outside had accidentally knocked the door open, without coming inside at all.

Elise shook her head and inched forward.

But other senses were arguing with her useless vision. She halted, inhaling a quick breath, imagining a whiff of musky heat in the air. Perspiration? Not hers.

Her pulse thundered in her ears at the deafening silence and she recoiled half a step. “Who’s there?”

No reply.

Was her imagination working overtime to create a threat that wasn’t there?

Was that...? Yes. The deep, rhythmic whisper of someone breathing.

She wasn’t alone.

And her company wasn’t talking.

“Who are you?” The darkness swam inside her head and she stumbled back against the sinks. “Answer me!”