Читать книгу Police Protector - Dani Sinclair - Страница 10

The putrid stench that filled her nostrils made Kyra gag. She jerked her head back, barely aware of the hands pulling her away from the window. Tears swam in her eyes as she sucked air greedily into her lungs. Her worst nightmare had just been confirmed. Casey had to be dead.

Kyra barely heard the detective calling in the scene. She kept seeing the kitchen with dishes, food, flour and sugar canisters tossed about the room. Decaying meat and once-frozen foods rotted on the floor. And most chilling of all were the small footprints leading in and out of the mess.

She swayed. Hands pressed her down onto the back porch steps. He forced her head down to her knees.

“Breathe. Slow, deep breaths.”

“She’s dead.”

“We don’t know that yet. Sit still. I don’t need you passing out on me.”

That jerked her head up. “I’m not going to pass out.”

“Could have fooled me. Sit.”

“My sister—”

“If she’s in there, we’ll find her. That damage wasn’t done today. I have officers en route.”

“Kip!”

His tone gentled, but there was no mistaking the iron will behind his words. “We’ll find the boy. I promise.”

She shook her head, fighting tears. “No wonder he ran from us.”

“We’ll find him,” he repeated firmly.

“And the others?”

His expression blanked, then hardened. “How many others?”

“Two. Brian and Maggie. Brian’s five. Maggie just turned three.”

And the horror of those small footprints hit her again. Her stomach lurched. She swallowed hard, determined to conquer the upheaval in her stomach. If only she’d come sooner. She should have turned her case over to one of her colleagues. Hadn’t she known Monday night that something was wrong? If Casey was dead…

“Ms. Wolfshead. Kyra! Listen to me. I’m going to go around to the front of the house. I want you to come with me.”

It took her first name in that deep voice to get her attention. Eyes that had been chips of granite earlier were a warm, sympathetic gray now. She would not cry.

“I’m okay.”

“I know you are. Come on.”

In no time vehicles and people began arriving. Despite her need to see for herself what had happened inside, she obeyed the detective’s order and sat shivering on the porch swing under the watchful eye of a uniformed officer.

Long minutes dragged by before her detective returned. His features were grim. Her stomach dropped.

“No.” He shook his head moving quickly to her side.

She was on her feet, swaying, with no memory of having moved.

“The house is empty. There’s no one inside,” he assured her.

“But where—?”

“We’re canvassing the neighborhood. We know your nephew is somewhere nearby. Hopefully he can tell us what happened and where your sister and the other children are. Maybe they’re staying with a neighbor.”

Kyra shook her head. “They don’t know any neighbors. They just moved in a couple of weeks ago. I need to go inside. I need to see—”

“Give us a few minutes to process the scene. We need photos and prints before I can let anyone in there.”

She knew that. Anyone who watched crime shows on television knew that.

“Is the whole house like the kitchen?”

“Yes. This will take time. Are you going to be all right?”

Not if Casey was dead. Please don’t let her be dead. She shivered hard.

“I’m fine.”

He recognized the lie, but nodded all the same. Removing his jacket he handed it to her. “Put this on.”

“I don’t—”

“For once, will you stop arguing and do what I say?”

“You’ll get cold.”

His smile was so gentle, her heart constricted.

“The house has heat, Kyra. I’ll be fine. Wait here.” He patted her shoulder before turning away.

The coat had a light, clean, masculine scent and she inhaled deeply, burrowing into its warmth even though nothing would make her warm again. Casey was dead. She had to be dead. And the children. Where were the children?

Kyra had no idea how long she waited before he came back outside and joined her on the swing. He rested his hand on her arm and she felt that touch despite the cloth between them.

“We’re waiting for the local electric company to arrive. They need to restore power to the house.”

“Why isn’t there any power?”

He grimaced. “The line was cut. Tell me about your sister, Kyra,” he continued before she could say anything else. “You said she has an ex-husband.”

“Milt Bowman. He’s an engineer with Norris Transportation Systems, a local contracting firm. Casey has a restraining order against him.”

“He’s hit her? Been abusive?”

Kyra nodded, swallowing fear-laced bile. “Only when he’s drunk. He gets mean when he drinks. Casey covered for him for years, but one night he went after Kip. She stopped him and he broke her jaw. As soon as he passed out, she took the kids to a shelter. They got her to the hospital, helped her get a lawyer and a restraining order, and she filed for divorce. When Milt realized she wasn’t going to change her mind, he backed off and agreed to the divorce. In exchange she refused to file charges.”

That still angered her, but there was no arguing once Casey made up her mind.

“Then she met Jordan Fillmont. They started dating.”

Kyra tried not to let her feelings about that show.

“They married the day her divorce became final.”

And no amount of talk could convince her sister not to rush into another marriage. Casey didn’t like being a single parent.

“Milt was furious,” Kyra continued. “He threatened her.”

“She went to the police?”

“Yes. She applied for another restraining order. Milt hired a lawyer to sue for joint custody.”

“He wants the kids?”

“Of course not. He wants to make her pay for getting remarried. He’s a drunk and a jerk. My sister has terrible taste in men.”

She didn’t add that it seemed to be a family trait.

“Including her new husband?”

Kyra bit the tip of her tongue before answering. “I don’t know him. They were married a few months ago.”

“Where does Fillmont work?”

“The Oak Forest Country Club. I’m not sure what he does there, something to do with the golf course, I think.”

“O’Shay?” someone called.

“Be right there.” He turned back to her. “Sit here a little longer, all right?”

His hand was warm on hers. She wondered when he’d taken it. Now he gave her fingers a gentle squeeze and stood, leaving her to talk with a pair of plain clothes officers. After a moment the three disappeared inside the house.

The power company arrived and the repair crew was ushered through the police line. Time trickled past. Her watch was at a jeweler’s being repaired, so she had no idea how late it was. She fidgeted, needing to be doing something besides sitting and thinking in circles. Anxious now, she waited for the detective to return. When he did, he motioned for her to join him.

“This is Detective Todd Berringer and Captain Walsh, Kyra.”

She barely acknowledged the introduction. Her eyes riveted on what she could see of the living-room disaster through the open front door. She stepped past them and moved inside, surveying the scene in sick dread. Every stick of furniture had been sliced open. Every breakable object had been broken in sheer, wanton destruction. An undecorated artificial Christmas tree lay on its side, a box of ornaments crushed beneath it.

Tears blurred her vision. She blinked hard to hold them at bay. “Why?”

“It appears someone was looking for something,” one of the men said.

Kyra shook her head, keeping her eyes averted until she felt more in control. “My sister doesn’t have anything of value. Maybe a few pieces of jewelry, but this…”

Helplessly she stared at a handmade ornament that had rolled nearly to the door. She lifted it gently. Kip had made this when he was in kindergarten. She had a blue one just like it.

“Ms. Wolfstead, I’m sorry, but is this your sister?” Detective Berringer removed a picture from a shattered glass frame and handed her the torn photograph.

Casey and the children smiled up at her. The photo had been taken more than a year ago. Kyra carried a wallet-sized version in her purse.

The tears came close to spilling over as she stared at the photo. Everyone always commented on how much Kyra resembled her older sister. It was several seconds before she could do more than nod. “Yes. And that’s Kip, Brian and Maggie.”

He produced another photo in a cracked plastic frame that showed Casey and Jordan standing outside the courthouse on their wedding day. She had a copy of that picture as well.

“That’s Casey and her husband, Jordan,” she confirmed. “Is the entire house like this?”

“Pretty much.”

“Did you find…?” She couldn’t bring herself to say blood, but Detective O’Shay was there, touching her lightly.

“There’s no blood, Kyra. Nothing to tell us if this mess happened while the family was still here or if they came home to find the house like this. We know Kip is alive. There’s no reason to think the rest of the family isn’t as well.”

More than anything she wanted to believe him, but seeing this destruction…“Casey would have called me if she could have.”

The men exchanged looks. It was Detective Berringer who spoke again. “Ms. Wolfstead, you say your sister didn’t have anything of value. What about cash? Some people don’t like banks.”

“My sister’s a waitress. Her husband works at a country club. They don’t have a lot of cash.”

Once again Detective O’Shay touched her arm lightly. There was an almost apologetic expression in those deep gray eyes.

“Kip has been going into the local convenience store since Monday. He’s been buying food and carrying it away in his backpack. Every purchase has been paid for with a one-hundred-dollar bill.”

For a second she didn’t understand what he was telling her. Then she couldn’t breathe. “That’s crazy.” The words came out as a whisper.

“Could your sister or her husband be involved in drugs, Ms. Wolfstead?” Detective Berringer asked.

“What? No! Casey has children!”

The men exchanged another look. She could almost hear the silent question that passed between them. How well did she really know her sister? Choking back a protest, she forced herself to think. Even unvoiced, it was a valid question and it deserved an honest answer.

“I was a senior in high school when Casey married Milt. There are eleven years between us.” And the difference in their ages had kept them from being as close as she would have liked. “But she’s my sister. We keep in touch, even though we don’t see each other very often. My job’s in Boston. Casey lives here.”

Was it possible? Could Casey be using drugs? Would Kyra know if she was? Yes, she was sure she’d know. Casey was her sister!

“My sister isn’t into drugs,” she stated more firmly. “I can’t speak for her husband, but look at this house. They rent. They don’t even own this place. She’s had that same shabby Christmas tree since before Kip was born. If they had the sort of money drug-dealing is supposed to net, don’t you think they’d live better than this? My sister drives a seven-year-old car! It’s always breaking down. I’ve sent her money for repairs. Jordan’s no bigwig. I won’t believe they’re involved in drugs.”

Detective O’Shay’s gaze bored into hers. “Drug habits are expensive.”

Kyra closed her eyes. “I don’t believe it. I don’t want to believe it,” she added more softly.

“I understand, but where would Kip get several hundred dollars in cash?”

“I don’t know!” Her voice fell to almost a whisper. “I don’t know.”

And she still wanted to cry, but now her eyes felt dry and scratchy. In order to help Casey and the children, she needed to remain calm and answer their questions. And they had a lot of questions. It was dismaying to realize how few answers she could give. Tired beyond thought, she finally shook her head. “May I look around? Maybe I’ll see something that will help.”

Detective O’Shay nodded. “I was going to ask you to do that.”

She drew strength from his solid presence as they moved silently from room to room. The downstairs and the master bedroom had been the focus of the destruction. The children’s rooms showed more cursory searches. In those rooms, drawers and closets had been rifled and the mattresses had been sliced open and overturned, but the damage wasn’t nearly as bad as in the other rooms. Maggie’s bedroom had barely been disturbed at all.

Decorated in pastels, her tiny room had obviously been intended as an office. A built-in bookcase sat along one wall where a closet should have been. Stuffed toys and children’s books had been pulled from the shelves. The dresser drawers had been dumped but nothing was broken.

“Where are the pillows and blankets?” she asked as they stood in the hall after going through each room. The detective looked puzzled. She indicated one of the boys’ rooms. “There are no blankets or pillows in any of the children’s rooms.”

His lips parted. He returned to the master bedroom at the far end of the hall and flicked on the light.

“There are blankets and pillows in here. They’re ripped, but they’re here.”

He crossed to the room she’d indicated and studied the scene.

“Good observation, Kyra. We should have noticed that.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose as if he had a headache. She’d tried hard not to notice how attractive he was despite the lines that bracketed his mouth and eyes. Sure, he needed a shave. And what appeared to be a recent haircut couldn’t tame his dark, unruly hair. But he carried himself with an aura of command that was very appealing. His mannerisms said he was sure of his place in the universe. His expression was stern, but those tired gray eyes held empathy and genuine concern.

“Someone could have used the blankets to wrap the children in to carry them away.”

He was thinking out loud, but she shook her head.

“Kip’s still nearby, and why take the pillows?” She thought for a moment. “It’s getting cold out there, but it’s been fairly warm in Boston until now. Is there a tree house in the neighborhood?”

“I’m glad one of us is still thinking. Todd!”

The other detective bounded up the stairs. The search for a tree house or a shed was put in motion.

Kyra was in the living room moving cushions aside when Detective O’Shay returned to her.

“What are you doing?”

“Looking for her purse.”

“We didn’t find one.” He held up his hand before she could speak again. “We looked.”

“Doesn’t that strike you as odd? If someone took her, wouldn’t you expect her purse to still be here?” She gave him a flat stare. “I don’t see someone saying ‘get your purse, we’re kidnapping you.’”

“We don’t know she was kidnapped, Kyra.”

“No. We don’t.”

“Ms. Wolfstead—”

“Stick with Kyra, Detective. It’s late and I’m too tired for formality.”

The lines around his mouth deepened, but she couldn’t tell if it was from amusement or annoyance.

“It is late. Where are you planning to stay tonight?”

“Right here.”

This time there was no question. He was annoyed. “That’s out of the question.”

“Why?”

“This is a crime scene.”

“One you’ve already processed,” she reminded him.

His hand swept the room indicating the mess. “You can’t stay here.”

“Can and am.” She set her jaw, taking what her colleagues called her fighting stance. “If Casey or the children are nearby, this is where they’ll come. I’m not leaving.”

His eyes narrowed. He didn’t glance at his partner when the other man strolled over to them. His focus was entirely on her.

“I can make that an order.”

Kyra raised her chin. “That would be petty. You’ve searched this place from top to bottom. I’m staying.”

“There’s nowhere for you to sleep.”

She reached up to toss back her long hair, remembered she’d had it cut and restyled on Saturday and brushed some hair back from her face instead. “Your concern is touching. Do you really think I’m going to sleep tonight, Detective?”

“We kicked in the front door,” he pointed out. “And the back window is broken.”

“You can board up the window and I can prop the front door closed with a chair if the lock is broken.”

His thunderous expression told her what he thought of that.

“Be reasonable, Detective. Someone’s already torn the place apart. Do you really think they’re going to come back tonight?”

“That isn’t the point.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Then what is the point? This is my sister’s home. I’m not leaving.”

He muttered something under his breath. His partner looked away, lips curving.

“Ms. Wolfstead, I don’t have the manpower to station someone here to protect you.”

“Protect me from what? If they didn’t get what they came for, they know it isn’t here. If they did get it, they aren’t coming back. I’ll be perfectly safe.”

He muttered something else under his breath. “No, and that’s final.”

“Very well. I’ll spend the night in my car out front.”

The other detective snorted. Lucan gave him a look that sent him moving away.

“Look, Detective, you’ve taken photos, dusted for prints and searched the house. Let me stay and at least see if I can clean some of this mess.”

“It’s late.”

“And getting later,” she agreed. “Go home, Detective. Get some sleep. One of us should.”

He closed his eyes, opened them again and lowered his voice. “There’s still the matter of an illegal weapon.”

Kyra’s stomach did a quick flip and roll, but she refused to back down. She held his gaze and projected a false calm. “Are you going to charge me?”

“I should.”

She read victory in his words and released a breath she hadn’t known she was holding.

“You aren’t going to be reasonable about this, are you?” he growled.

“I’m always reasonable.”

He cocked his head in patent disbelief.

She held up her hand. “I’m also very determined. This is my family, Detective. I have to be here. While I appreciate your help, go home. There’s nothing more you can do here tonight.”

His displeasure was obvious. He tried staring her down, but she’d faced too many other dominant males in her chosen career to be intimidated by looks or words. She wasn’t leaving until she found her sister.

He swore softly. Everyone else in the room was studiously looking the other way. She had no doubt they were listening intently so she was surprised when, with a quick glance around, the detective withdrew her gun from his waistband and handed it to her.

“I never saw this,” he told her gruffly in a voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t ever want to see it. Are we clear?”

“Perfectly.” She thrust it into her purse, deciding now wasn’t the time to demand the bullets as well. Was he really worried about her safety? Detective O’Shay was a hard man to read.

He handed her the canister of pepper spray, then withdrew a business card and scrawled a number across the back before handing her the card.

“My cell phone number. I live one block over. If anything happens or if you find anything or even think of anything I should know, call me. I can be here in minutes.”

Kyra took the proffered card, feeling inexplicably soothed. Good-looking and caring was a nice combination in a man. Lucan. His first name was Lucan.

“Come on,” he continued. “I’ll give you a hand in the kitchen.”

Startled, she tried not to gape. “That isn’t necessary.”

“Yes ma’am, it is. My mother would flay me with dark looks for months if I left you with that mess and went home to bed. I can at least get the rotted food out of here. Todd and I need to put some plywood across the window anyhow. I saw some in the garage. Todd!”

There’d been a trace of a brogue in his voice, she was sure of it. Second-generation Irish?

In no time he and his fellow officers had cleared the worst of the kitchen mess and nailed plywood over the window she had broken. Lucan checked out the front door and pronounced it useable.

“The dead bolt wasn’t on when we broke in so it still works,” he told her, checking to make sure the door closed and stayed closed. “I’ll have patrol cars swing by here as often as possible, but you should know the phones don’t work. The line was cut.”

Another item that didn’t bode well for Casey. Kyra shoved that thought down hard. “That’s okay, I have my cell phone.”

He nodded. “Do you want anything out of your car?”

“My coat and the suitcase on the back seat, but I can manage.”

“I’ll get them.”

Bemused, she waited alongside Detective Berringer while her small suitcase and leather duster were carried inside. She removed Lucan’s suitcoat and handed it over, immediately missing the warmth and the light spicy scent.

“Call if you need anything.”

“Thank you. Both of you.”

“Just doin’ our job, ma’am,” Detective Berringer told her. Her detective merely tipped his head. Together they left.

And when had Detective Lucan O’Shay become her detective?

They stopped outside and spoke quietly at the curb for several minutes. Kyra watched until they finally got in their separate vehicles and pulled away. She wasn’t sure, but she thought Detective O’Shay stared her way before leaving. Then she was alone in the dark, smelly house with only her fear for company.

There wasn’t a prayer she was going to sleep tonight despite the exhaustion tugging at her body. Her mind was too busy with fear and recriminations. She should have been hungry, but she wasn’t. The thought of food revolted her. And she had a sudden mad impulse to call Simon Testier.

Her coworker and former lover was an excellent investigator and he just might think of something she was missing. She’d been pretty hard on him before he’d left for Germany. But Simon wouldn’t take no for an answer. She’d been trying to break up with him for over a month now, and the egotistical jerk couldn’t believe she was serious.

Staring at the kitchen clock she computed the time and realized it was only five-thirty in the morning where he was. Simon hated mornings. That made the idea all the more tempting, but she stifled the impulse.

She didn’t want to do anything that would encourage Simon to believe she was reconsidering their relationship. Sighing, she salvaged what she could of her sister’s tree ornaments. Most of the glass ones were broken, including the handful that had survived their own childhood. Several of the handmade ones were intact, but somehow that almost made it worse.

Smoothing out a paper angel that had been one of her mother’s favorites, Kyra allowed a few tears to roll down her cheeks, before hunting up a vacuum cleaner. Cleaning gave her a channel for the pain and fear. As she turned off the vacuum, she froze.

Had she just heard someone whispering?

Goose bumps chased up her arms. She listened hard, but the house was silent except for the noise of the blower as the furnace started up once more. Had it been her imagination working overtime? She was tired. But what if she’d really heard someone?

Impossible. The police had searched the house from top to bottom.

But what if they had missed something?

“Kip?” Her voice sounded loud in the silence. She strained to hear the slightest sound. “Kip, it’s Aunt Kyra. Are you here?”

Even the house seemed to hold its breath. Her pulse thundered in her ears.

“It’s okay to come out now. I’m here to help.”

Nothing. No sound. Calming her racing heart she stared at the staircase for what seemed like a very long time, listening to the noises of the old house. There was no other sound.

It must have been wishful thinking. If she didn’t get control of herself she’d be useless when they did find Casey. And they would, she vowed. She wasn’t leaving until she found her sister and her children. Maybe Kyra should take a break and try to rest.

The patter of small running footsteps overhead was real and distinct.

Her heart slammed into her throat. She flew up the steps calling Kip’s name. No one answered. There was no sound as she reached the dark landing. Surely if the children were here the police would have found them. Still, she went from room to empty room.

No footsteps. No voices. She was alone in the house and losing her mind.

Shaking all over, her gaze was drawn to the front window in the master bedroom. The drapes had been pulled back, giving her a view of the night beyond. A patrol car moved slowly down the street.

Kyra crossed to watch until the car turned the corner and disappeared. One quick phone call and they’d return. They could search the house with her. Did she want that?

The police had looked. She had looked. There was no one in the house. She didn’t want them to think she was crazy.

The crisp winter night spread out still and silent below her. She stood a long time with her forehead pressed against the cold glass, silently praying that Casey and the children were somewhere safe in the darkness.

If her sister was found unharmed, Kyra swore she’d make a serious effort to get to know Casey and her kids better. Kyra enjoyed her busy life, but she sacrificed a lot for her job. She was rarely home. Her work required a great deal of travel, and Simon had enjoyed finding remote places to vacation.

She and Casey stayed in contact by phone and e-mail, but it wasn’t enough. Casey was the only close family Kyra had. Though her sister was so much older, Kyra should have made more time for her as well.

“Just let Casey be all right,” she whispered silently to the darkness outside.

Turning around, her step faltered. Had she just seen a small shadow dart away near the end of the dark hall?