Protecting the Pregnant Witness (10 page)

He’d been successful for years, meting out justice, righting the balance in his world.

He’d been successful until last year, when he’d run up against the black-suited warriors of KCPD’s SWAT Team One. They’d volunteered as bodyguards, shielding the women who’d wronged him so badly.

Despite the balmy, late-night air flowing through the open windows of his vehicle, he shivered. There was too much rage trapped inside him, too much satisfaction he’d been denied.

What was it with these SWAT cops, anyway? They’d already interfered with dispatching two of his intended victims. Two women who’d taken what was rightfully his, who’d looked down their arrogant noses at him without ever really seeing him. These SWAT men in black, with all their guns and expertise and heroics, had come between him and the women he was compelled to destroy. And now there was a third cop, watching over Josie Nichols.

He reached for a cigarette to calm his nerves. It was a dirty, smelly habit, and he loathed the stench that lingered on his clothes. But clothes could be washed or pitched, and the nicotine calmed him, allowed him to think clearly. With this particular neighborhood of downtown Kansas City shut down for the night, and the parking lot abandoned, there’d be no one to see the flare of his lighter. He inhaled a deep breath and blew the smoke out into the dampish air.

This cop guarding Josie Nichols was different from the other two SWAT cops who’d thwarted him, though. This one, with his surly moods and fearlessness for confrontation, seemed a lot like him. The way he’d shown no mercy to the first mugger, slamming him down to the asphalt and handcuffing him into submission, the way he’d pulled his gun on the man with the knife who’d gone after Josie, reminded him of skills he possessed. As he’d watched through the lens of his camera, he’d had no doubt that this cop would have pulled the trigger without batting an eye.

While he understood the cop, his refusal to leave Josie’s side presented a problem. With his other victims, there’d been social events he could use to his advantage to gain access to them. And while getting into a bar, even the Shamrock, had never been a challenge for him, the unique clientele of this particular one meant he’d have to find another way to get to her.

His fingers tightened convulsively around the camera in his lap, then relaxed as the answer came to him.

Pulling out the ashtray, he put out the cigarette, carefully smushing it down to the same height as the other two butts beside it. Then he turned on the camera and scrolled through the pictures on the memory card. He clicked past the picture of the SWAT cop holding the Glock 9 mm to the attacker’s head. He clicked past the image of the bruiser with the knife clutching Josie’s hair. There. That was his answer. He smiled and felt the tension inside him relax a bit.

He smiled at the image of Josie Nichols kneeling beside her bloodied uncle—her face frightened, her hand clutched at her swollen belly, her mouth open, pleading, shouting for the violence to stop.

The fat man’s troubles could work to his advantage. She cared about her brother in prison and she cared about Robbie Nichols. Both would be easier to get to than the woman, and that could draw her out and into his net.

If he couldn’t get to Josie through that cop who seemed to always be around her, then maybe he could get to her in another way. He could get to the things she loved.

He turned off the camera and quickly disassembled it, packing the lens and camera into the appropriate compartments of his carrying case. He set the case on the passenger-side floorboard and squared the rectangular bag up between the edges of the seat and dashboard. Finally, he started the car and pulled out onto the street. He cruised past the garish green neon shamrock hanging inside the bar’s front window before turning on his lights and merging into the three o’clock, morning traffic.

He wanted to get his hands around Josie Nichols’s throat—he needed to have her dead.

And if someone else had to suffer in order to make that happen, well, he had no problem with that.

Chapter Eight

The following Saturday had begun like every other day that week.

Josie would try to sleep in Rafe’s bed and wind up dozing in fits and starts while she stayed at his apartment, partly because she felt so guilty for kicking the man out of his own bed and relegating him to the living room couch, and partly because the crisp cotton sheets and pillows where she’d rested the last four nights had teased her with his scent and felt inexplicably cold despite the blanket spread on top. She’d awakened each morning to the sounds of Rafe moving about the kitchen, starting his pot of coffee, heating some water for her decaffeinated tea. Then, while he showered and dressed, Josie cooked some eggs and toast. They’d sit down at opposite ends of his kitchen table and go over their schedule for the day while they ate.

Rafe wasn’t the chattiest of company. But in a way, she liked that. The companionable silence gave her a chance to fully wake up and get her game face on for the day. When breakfast was done, she’d get in the shower while he cleaned the kitchen. Their routine could have been the real domestic bliss she’d always fantasized about.

Except for the bliss part.

Like that kiss in Robbie’s office after the attack on Monday night.

That embrace had been crazy, unexpected, wonderful. When she’d been expecting another stern reminder about taking unnecessary risks for others and not listening to him and endangering herself because she’d agreed to look at the face of a serial killer, she’d gotten the best massage of her life, an earth-tilting kiss and a glimpse into the heart of Rafe Delgado.

That
was bliss.

Being cared for. Wanted. Feeling so necessary to someone’s existence that there was no place for the loneliness inside her.

But that had been a late-night kiss and a supportive hug after a harrowing event. Apparently, this was the bliss-free reality she needed to get used to.

Somehow, even though Rafe was considerate of her needs and always seemed to be around, she felt almost farther apart than ever. It was as though that kiss in Robbie’s office, which had turned her inside out with its slow, driving sensuality and raw honesty, had tapped out all of Rafe’s emotions. A barrier had been breached that night, touching something that went even deeper than the night they’d made love in his truck. And now Rafe was shoring up his defenses. He was almost sweeter, less moody than before the kiss. But it was a shell of Rafael Delgado, a facade.

And she missed the man whose passions and convictions and deepest scars filled up a room and made him volatile and courageous and more fiercely caring than even he knew he could be.

Other than the fact that they were living together for protection purposes, she loved the man more than ever and he wouldn’t allow himself to care about her the way Josie knew he could, it was business as usual.

Although the location was a little different, reporting to this morning’s meeting at the Fourth Precinct conference room to meet with the event planners in charge of the staff for KCPD’s Spring Carnival fundraiser was like any other of the odd jobs she often took to make ends meet. Only Rafe was lurking in the building somewhere, waiting for the orientation to finish. And pretty much every cop who’d known her father had stopped her to say hi, congratulate her on the baby, and ask her who the lucky daddy was.

Did Rafe want anyone to know he was Junior’s father? Or was that another secret she’d be forced to hide away right alongside the love he didn’t seem to want?

Jeffrey Beecher, the assistant to Clarice Darnell, the platinum blonde speaking at the podium, came by Josie’s table and set a sheaf of papers on top of the tax form in front of her. That he stopped long enough to straighten the stack of handouts for her pulled Josie’s attention back to the red-lacquered fingernails dancing in the air as Ms. Darnell emphasized the point she was making.

“Of course, with new security regulations, everyone working the event will need to be screened,” Ms. Darnell explained. “Now all of you have worked with us before or have come highly recommended to us by other agencies. Still, since this is a police-sponsored event, we’re requiring two forms of ID. Your driver’s license and a student ID card or work permit, or even a copy of your local utility bill, will work. Rest assured, none of this information will be disseminated beyond my immediate staff and the KCPD. Make sure you meet with Jeffrey and get a copy made before you leave today.” Clarice pointed to her assistant, who held up his hand and waved to the thirty or so men and women their firm was hiring for the event. “The second form is a health affidavit we’re asking everyone to…”

Josie picked up the papers to find the form Clarice had referred to, but ended up knocking one to the floor as she sorted through them. With a weary sigh, she scooted to the edge of the chair and adjusted her belly between her thighs so she could lean over and pick it up.

But another hand reached it first. “Allow me.”

The man sitting closest to her, “Bud,” according to the name embroidered on his gray canvas uniform jacket, scooped the paper up. He leaned over the chair between them, giving her a good whiff of the cigarette smoke clinging to his clothes, as he returned the paper to her. “Are you going to be able to handle this workload, darlin’?” he whispered, his gaze dropping to the bump thrusting against the cotton of her hospital scrubs.

Although the acrid smell radiating from him tickled her nose and made her stomach do a queasy little roll, Josie appreciated the help. “Thanks.”

Bud turned his face back to the speaker, but leaned in her direction and continued the hushed conversation. “I’d be happy to stick close and do any heavy lifting you might need done.”

Josie rubbed her belly and whispered back. “I’m pregnant, not an invalid. I’ve always been able to handle the job I was hired to do.”

“Ah, an independent woman. Single mama, I bet. I’m just sayin’ it’s good to look out for each other, right?” She’d hoped a nod to the front of the room would encourage him to refocus his attention, but now he was pointing out her scrubs. “You work at a hospital?”

“I’m a nursing student. I’ll get my R.N. degree at the end of the summer.”

“So this menial kind of work is beneath you. It’s just how you pay for the important stuff.”

Josie bristled at the idea that she, of all people, might be looked at as a snob. “I’ve never been afraid of hard work.”

“Then let’s make it a tradeoff. Because I think you and I could be friends.” When he turned to face her, she saw he had a toothpick that he kept teasing with his tongue tucked into the corner of his mouth. Her stomach roiled in response to the suggestive movement. “I’ll carry anything heavy for you at this shindig, and if I cut myself, you can stitch me up and kiss my booboo—”

“Bud. I need you to stop flirting and pay attention.” Josie was grateful for Jeffrey Beecher’s hushed tone of authority.

“Was I flirtin’?” Bud asked innocently, looking to the end of the table where Jeffrey stood. “I thought I was being polite to the little lady.”

This guy was just too weird. And though it was impossible to gauge his height when they were sitting, she couldn’t get a good look at his face to see if he reminded her in any way of the man in the hospital parking lot or the killer she’d seen in the prison visitation room. His short, thinning brown hair could easily be masked by a ball cap or a bad toupee. She pulled her gaze from the gross distraction of the toothpick and focused in on his eyes. Were they cold? Colorless?

“You and I can talk later when the boss isn’t—”

“Bud.” Jeffrey Beecher’s sharp tone turned Bud’s face away and ended the opportunity to make a definitive match to the RGK.

Maybe, like she’d suspected of the good Samaritan who’d disappeared after her car had been sabotaged, Bud was just another random creepy guy. Or maybe, she hated to think, she was going to read threats into every conversation she had with strangers who showed a special interest in her.

Still, as she scooted her chair back in, she also moved a little extra distance between them. She turned to Jeffrey Beecher, who was adjusting his narrow, wire-framed glasses on his nose, and mouthed a “Thank you.”

She couldn’t see his eyes with the glare of the overhead lights reflecting off the lenses. But she got the idea from the momentary crinkle in his cheek that he’d winked.

Another form and two site maps later—one for Swope Park and another for a nearby convention center in case the weather for the carnival didn’t cooperate—plus a long wait to get her IDs approved for working the event, and Josie was finally done with the meeting.

“Remember,” Clarice Darnell gave them one last bit of direction before Josie and the other wait staff were dismissed, “we’re doing this for the KCPD Widows & Orphans Fund. So look your best and be your friendliest. We want to raise a lot of money for them.”

While others lingered to get reacquainted or introduce themselves to new coworkers, Josie booked it out of the conference room. She had about thirty minutes to find a restroom and get herself to the south end of the city and her shift at the Truman Medical Center.

She’d barely cleared the corner when she ran into Spencer Montgomery. Even on a Saturday morning, when most detectives were off the clock or in casual dress, the red-haired detective was wearing his usual impeccable suit and tie. The frown of confusion he wore was less familiar.

Saying a quick prayer that her bladder muscles were stronger than the weight of the baby pressing down on them, she let the detective take her by the arm and guide her into an empty hallway. “What are you doing here?” he asked. “Are you looking for me?”

Josie shook her head. “I’m working at the KCPD fundraiser next Saturday. Since you guys are running security screenings on all of us, Ms. Darnell and Mr. Beecher had us meet here.”

“Security screenings?”

“You know, to make sure the city isn’t hiring any terrorists or illegals, I suppose.”

He glanced toward the conference room and the people still milling about inside. “I’d better pull your info—control who has access to your personal information.”

“Won’t that send up a red flag that I’m involved in your case?”

When Montgomery faced her again, she could see he had the faintest dusting of freckles across his skin. “I can be discreet,” he promised. “And everything else is going all right? Delgado informed me about the man at the hospital and the phone call. Have there been any other incidents?”

“Two men assaulted my uncle at the bar, but that was related to some trouble he got into with a loan shark. Other than suspecting almost every man I meet, no, I don’t think I’ve been accosted by the RGK.” She squinched her face into a frown. “At least I don’t think I have. I mean, I’ll recognize him when I see him again, won’t I?”

“You tell me.”

Either Junior and her bladder or her own self doubts and weeks of stress were making her antsy. “Sometimes, I think it’s been so long that I won’t know him when I see him—that maybe I won’t know him at all, and it’ll be too late before I figure it out.”

Detective Montgomery pulled back the front of his jacket, exposing his gun and his badge as he slid his hands into the pockets of his slacks. “Don’t let it be too late, Josie. I’m counting on you to ID this bastard. All of Kansas City is.”

No pressure, right? Josie tipped her chin up at what sounded like a reprimand. “It’s your job to find this guy, right? And then I just look at him from behind a oneway mirror and tell you yes or no?” Her hands moved over her belly in an instinctively protective stance. “You promised to keep my name out of it, right? I have a baby to protect. You wouldn’t leak any information about me to smoke him out, would you?”

“Of course not.” Some of the chill left his expression. The man could be handsome in a polished sort of way if he ever smiled. “I’m just eager to put this case to bed, and was worried to see you here. I thought Delgado was running security for you.”

“He is.”

“Then why did he let you out of his sight?”

A tall, dark shadow walked up behind Montgomery. “He didn’t.”

Rafe was dressed casually today in jeans and a black shirt. But with his badge hanging around his neck, his gun holstered to his belt and his wary scowl locked firmly into place, he looked as intimidating as he did in full SWAT gear.

Josie was happy to see him, although a little surprised to have him drop his arm around her shoulders and claim a connection to her. “Montgomery.”

“Delgado,” the detective acknowledged without batting an eye. “I don’t know if letting Miss Nichols work at an event with as many people in attendance as the KCPD Carnival will have is a good idea.”

“I know it isn’t.”

“Then why allow—?”

“Hey. First of all, no one
lets
me do anything,” Josie interrupted, pushing Rafe’s arm away. “I make my own decisions. I’m responsible for my own actions. And one of them is earning a living.” She would not be treated like she was fifteen and still Daddy’s little girl. Nor would she let either of these men make her afraid. “I don’t have the luxury of going on vacation or sitting in a secluded safe house while you find this killer who’s eluded the authorities for two years now. You both promised to keep me anonymous and safe. I’m depending on that. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to find the bathroom.”

Rafe and the red-haired detective both turned to watch her march in her waddling gait down the hall.

She heard Spencer Montgomery ask, “So is she tough enough to see this investigation all the way through to the end?”

“Tough?” She wondered at the humor that colored Rafe’s answer. “You have no idea.”

“J
OSIE
!” R
OBBIE SHOUTED
over the din of the bar’s Saturday night crowd. “Telephone!”

“Who the…? Here you go.” Josie set the rum and cola she’d just poured on the bar and took the customer’s money. “Can you take a message?” she asked, making change at the cash register. “Robbie?”

But he’d already set down the receiver near the coffeepot at the back of the bar and returned to the line of patrons waiting to place their orders. His black eye and bruised mouth couldn’t hide his jovial greetings for old friends. He was busy shaking hands, pouring drinks, doing the kind of personal interaction that made the Shamrock such a success.