Читать книгу Yuletide Protector - Julie Miller - Страница 10

Chapter Two

She’d cut her hair.

Spencer noted the change in Bailey Austin’s appearance—noted that the short, sun-kissed waves made her look a lot more grown-up than he remembered. She’d always been pretty, but the changes he noticed today made her...interesting. But just as quickly as he decided he liked the new look, he dismissed the revelation.

Any latent attraction he had to the woman was irrelevant. The last time he’d seen Bailey, she’d been in a hospital bed, beaten within an inch of her life—the victim of a violent rape by the man his task force had eventually identified and arrested, entrepreneur and real estate developer Brian Elliott. He should be content to see the bruises gone and the vibrancy back in her azure-blue eyes instead of noticing the leaner curves beneath the wool slacks and cashmere sweater she wore and the way those sculpted wisps of hair gleamed like spun gold, even under the fluorescent lights of the precinct hallway.

No, he couldn’t notice those things at all. He was here to do his job. Period. And if that job included babysitting a fragile debutante-in-distress from Kansas City society, then so be it.

Besides, Chief Taylor was clapping him on the shoulder, demanding his attention. “You’re going to see this job through to the bitter end, aren’t you, Spence.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I knew there was a reason I made you point man on the task force.” Mitch Taylor might be graying at the temples, but the man was still the powerhouse of the Fourth Precinct. He was the boss whose recommendation could make or break a promotion. Spencer respected the dedicated cop who’d worked his way up the ranks at KCPD. And since his goal was to do the same, getting asked to do a favor for the boss was an opportunity he didn’t intend to squander.

“I appreciate the faith you had in us, sir.”

“Your work isn’t done yet,” the chief reminded him, referring either to the outcome of Brian Elliott’s trial or the task force’s ongoing search for the Rose Red Rapist’s accomplice—a woman they’d dubbed The Cleaner because of her efforts to destroy evidence and take out witnesses to Elliott’s crimes. “You remember our chat yesterday?”

I want you to check in on Miss Austin from time to time. Make yourself available to her in case anything comes up that could spook her out of testifying against Elliott.

“I do.”

Spencer had walked out of Chief Taylor’s office understanding his mission. The Cleaner hadn’t shown up on their radar since they’d made the arrest and the rapes had stopped. But then Elliott had been under KCPD’s watch 24/7 from the moment his ex-wife had posted bail. Their vigilance might have driven the accomplice underground or out of town—or maybe whatever sick relationship the woman shared with a serial rapist had failed now that he was no longer able to commit the crimes that had terrorized Kansas City for several years. Or, as both Mitch Taylor and Spencer suspected, the woman could be biding her time, waiting to make some big move to save her man again.

Until The Cleaner was identified and put out of commission, Spencer intended to keep his task force on full alert. Scoring a few points with the boss along the way couldn’t hurt, either.

The chief gestured to the group filing out of the look-at room behind Bailey. “I take it you know everyone here?”

Spencer nodded. While he couldn’t claim to be friends with anyone in Bailey’s entourage, they were certainly well acquainted. “We’ve met several times. On this investigation and the Rich Girl Killer case.”

“You closed that one for me, too.” Mitch Taylor praised him before winking a brown eye at Bailey. “I leave you in good hands, Miss Austin.” The chief turned and hurried down the hallway after D.A. Powers. “Dwight, wait up.”

While Bailey hugged her purse and coat to her waist, waiting expectantly for him to explain why Chief Taylor had asked him to chat with her, a protective force of allies circled behind her.

Loretta Austin-Mayweather’s disgusted snort was audible, her blue eyes unforgiving. “Jackson, please. I’d like to go home. I have nothing to say to this man. Bailey, come.”

Yes, he’d brought the Rich Girl Killer murder investigation to their home, and had been obligated to interrogate each and every one of them. And though Bailey’s brother, Kyle Austin, hadn’t ultimately been the murderer Spencer had sought, he had been guilty of other crimes, including embezzlement, stalking his own stepsister and kidnapping. And the real killer, who hadn’t appreciated a copycat using his M.O., had ultimately murdered the Austin heir while he’d been in prison.

Since Spencer had no children—no family at all, to speak of—he supposed he couldn’t truly understand a parent’s loss of a child. He could only play whipping boy and hold back the reminder that without KCPD’s intervention, the entire Mayweather family might have fallen victim to Kyle Austin’s desperate actions and the killer who’d threatened them.

“Detective.” Jackson Mayweather’s acknowledgment was more civil, but clearly the man had a meeting to get to, or an eagerness to defuse his wife’s displeasure, because he looped his arm around Loretta’s shoulder and started down the hallway. “Come along, dear. I’ll have the driver meet us at the front door.”

“Bailey.” Loretta practically clicked her tongue, calling her daughter to join them.

Despite a deep sigh that indicated she was schooling her patience, Bailey simply smiled and turned her head. “Detective Montgomery is the leader of the Rose Red Rapist investigation. He probably needs to discuss something with me.”

Harper Pierce, a tall, blond piece-of-work who’d stonewalled more than one KCPD investigation with his legal acrobatics, placed his hand at the small of Bailey’s back. “Then he can make an appointment. Let’s go.”

Before Spencer could evaluate the way his own body braced at the proprietary touch, Bailey arched her back away from the other man’s hand and sent Pierce on his way. “Would you mind looking after Jackson and Mother? I know she’d appreciate the extra arm to lean on.”

“I’m not leaving you with—”

“Please, Harper. Go.” Her melodic voice lost its sweet tone and her body seemed to hug itself around the orange coat she clutched. So she didn’t like to be touched? Was that an aftereffect of the rape? Or was it that she just didn’t want her ex-fiancé putting his hands on her?

Flashing a suspicious eye toward Spencer, as if he was somehow to blame for the dismissal, Harper relented. “I’ll hold the elevator for you.”

“That won’t be necessary.”

“Bails—”

“I’ll walk her to her car,” Spencer volunteered, eager to send the others on their way. That’d give him a few minutes of private time with Bailey to have the conversation Chief Taylor wanted him to have with her. Then he could get back to some real work.

“How did you know I drove myself?” Bailey arched a golden eyebrow as she turned her attention back to him.

Spencer dropped his gaze down to the keys dangling from her fist and grinned. Easy deduction. “I am a detective.”

A responding grin eased the strain on her mouth and relaxed some of the tension from her posture. “So you are.” The gentleness returned to her voice as she spoke to her parents and ex-fiancé again. “You all go ahead. I need to get back to my apartment and organize my portfolio for the job interview I have tomorrow, anyway. It’ll save you a stop.”

“Can’t you put that off until another day?” Loretta sounded more irritated than hurt by her daughter’s excuse to leave them. “The Butler-Smythes are coming to dinner tonight, remember? Their son Cameron is just home from his trip to China. You know he was sweet on you back in school, and I thought—”

“I can’t, Mother.” A rosy hue tinted Bailey’s cheeks, indicating the level of impatience or distress she was keeping in check at her mother’s efforts to plan her evening and her life. “I have errands to run before I go home. And I’m still fixing up my apartment. I want to finish painting the trim around the windows tonight.” Spencer would have stopped with a solid no, but Bailey threw in a bit of logic to salvage her mother’s feelings. “Besides, you know I’m not feeling terribly social right now. If you want me to make an appearance at your holiday gala this weekend, I need to save up my social energy to face all those people. Deal?”

Loretta’s dramatic sigh indicated her daughter had finally come up with an excuse she could accept. “I suppose it’s a fair tradeoff. I do want you at the Christmas ball. I can guarantee yeses to every invitation if our guests know you’ll be there.”

Spencer felt himself bristling on Bailey’s behalf. The young woman was gearing up to testify against her rapist—to face the man who’d nearly killed her—across the short distance of a courtroom. And her mother was worried about matchmaking and society fund-raisers?

Although the tension crept back into her posture, Bailey continued to smile when her mother came to give her a hug. “Please give Cam and his parents my regards, but I won’t be there.”

Loretta’s cutting gaze swept over Spencer as she pulled away. Then she brushed Bailey’s bangs off her forehead and straightened the angel pendant hanging around her neck. “Very well then. I’ll call you tomorrow about the Christmas Ball.”

Bailey nodded. “I’ll talk to you then.”

“Call me if you need an escort to the ball.” Bailey stiffened when Harper leaned in to press a kiss to her temple and Spencer felt a protective urge make him stand straighter. And even though she managed a smile before Pierce followed Loretta and Jackson Mayweather down the hallway, it didn’t last.

“I apologize for my family and...” she thumbed over her shoulder “...my attorney.”

“They’re understandably protective of you.”

“Smothering is more like it.” She unfolded the coat she carried and flipped it around her shoulders. “Happy holidays, Detective. I hope you’re well.”

“What?”

Her mouth relaxed with a soft giggle, probably at catching him off guard with the friendly chitchat. “It’s customary when someone issues you a greeting like that for you say something similar in return.”

“Oh. Right.” When she juggled her keys and purse to shrug into her coat, Spencer decided to test his no-touch theory. He pointed, alerting her to his intent before moving behind her to hold her coat. She paused for a moment before thanking him and sliding her arms into the sleeves. After settling the collar up around her neck, he smoothed his hands across her shoulders and patted her arms. It was Pierce’s touch she hadn’t liked. Or maybe being touched without being asked first. She wasn’t skittish with him standing behind her. She hadn’t frozen up. Maybe she was going to make a calmer, more reliable witness than Chief Taylor thought. “Happy holidays, Bailey.”

What the heck? Spencer popped his grip open and stepped back when he realized he was still holding her shoulders, still breathing in the faint citrusy scent of her hair, still feeling her warmth.

And did she just shiver when he pulled away? Was that a soft gasp he heard? She’d liked his touch. Or, at the very least, she hadn’t minded his hands lingering on her.

There were times when possessing his finely honed eye for detail sucked. Think job, Montgomery. Forget the woman. Forget the attraction.

You know what hell that will lead you to.

“How are you holding up?” he asked, his tone more brusque than he’d intended.

“Are you worried I’m going to screw up all your hard work?” Bailey slipped her purse onto her shoulder, inhaling a deep breath before turning to face him. They stood close enough now that she had to tilt her face up to see his. Good grief, her eyes were blue.

A pair of pretty brown eyes, buried deep within his memory, suddenly surfaced in his mind, blurring his vision. Spencer blinked away the vision before the pain could follow. He slipped his hands into the pockets of his slacks and strolled a few steps toward the main room at the end of the hall, pretending he was still on his game. “Chief Taylor wanted me to run through some safety precautions with you—make sure you’re all ready to go for Monday, or whenever you get called to the stand.”

“So you are worried. You don’t think I’ll go through with this, either, do you?”

The accusation stopped him in his tracks and Spencer turned. “This is an important case, Bailey.”

“It’s important to me, too.” She shoved her keys into her pocket and faced off against him. “Everyone thinks I’m going to freak out on the stand or run away and hide somewhere. But I have to do this. There has to be a reason why this happened to me.”

Spencer’s eyes narrowed at the emotion staining her cheeks. If she got worked up arguing with him, how was she going to handle it if Kenna Parker tried to rattle her on the witness stand? “That’s a lot of pressure to put on yourself.”

“Yes. But I can handle it.”

He pulled his hand from his pocket and tapped the fingers fisted around the strap of her purse, silently arguing her cool-under-fire argument. “Have you ever done anything like this before? Have you ever bared your fears and soul and worst nightmare in front of the man who made you afraid?”

“No. Of course not, but...”

He let the reality of what they were asking of her set in, and watched her cheeks pale and her gaze drop to the center of his chest. “This is going to get messy before it gets done. Are you sure you’re up for this?”

“You’d think I’d have at least one person cheering me on and bucking up my confidence instead of telling me all the reasons why I can’t or shouldn’t do it.” She tilted her chin up, venting a mixture of temper and frustration. “Since you’ve been so obsessed with catching this guy, I would have thought you’d be in my corner. But you’re as much of a doubting Thomas as anybody else.”

“I’m not the kind of man to give pep talks, Bailey.” As Bailey’s voice grew louder and more animated, Spencer’s hushed, articulating every word as he dipped his head closer to hers. “There’s a lot that can happen between now and when you’re called up to that witness stand. Besides you ‘freaking out’ and deciding not to testify, there’s a possibility Brian Elliott’s accomplice may do something to try to stop you.”

“You’re talking about The Cleaner, aren’t you?”

“Yes, I’m talking about The Cleaner—and she’s nobody you want to mess with. You need to lock your doors and windows. Don’t go out by yourself at night. Have someone walk you to your car. Hang with people you know and trust. And if something does happen, call me or 911 before it’s too late to do anything about it.”

With every sentence, her eyes widened and her skin cooled to a pale porcelain color. “Too late...?”

“I’m not here to sugarcoat anything. I’m just stating the facts.”

After an endless moment of silence she tore her gaze from his and focused her attention on buttoning her coat. “Don’t worry, detective. No one would ever mistake you for a warm and fuzzy kind of guy.” She tied her orange belt with equal fervor. “Now, was that the lecture you were supposed to give me? Watch my back and don’t be stupid? Or do you have some more doom and gloom you’d like to share? Let’s get it over with because I really do need to get home and hide away in my little ivory tower of naïveté and incompetence.”

“I didn’t call you stupid.”

“No, you’re just intimating that I can’t take care of myself.”

Really? This defiant little show of sarcasm was supposed to convince him to trust her to close his case? Was this an attempt to show her strength? By butting heads with him? And since when did he get in anyone’s face and argue back?

Spencer’s blood was still pumping hard through his veins when he heard a door open in the hallway behind him. He saw the shock register on Bailey’s face and instinctively went on guard against the unseen threat as he spun around.

Two uniformed officers led Brian Elliott out of the nearby interview room. He’d changed into an expensively tailored suit and a smug untouchability that made him look more like a Forbes 500 mogul than the prisoner wearing a pair of handcuffs and ankle-band tracking device he truly was. An entourage of his attorney, Kenna Parker, and Elliott’s ex-wife, Mara Boyd-Elliott, followed behind. One a dark blonde, the other, platinum, both women wore business suits and carried winter coats and attaché cases, looking like they’d all just finished a business meeting instead of a legal debriefing.

Spencer’s arm went out to push Bailey behind him as the group came closer. He felt her fingers curling into the back of his jacket and something inside him shifted, grew wary. When Elliott spotted Spencer, the bastard grinned in recognition. The other man slowed his stride and the soft gasp at Spencer’s back made him reach down to fold his hand around Bailey’s wrist beside him.

“Keep walking, Elliott,” Spencer ordered.

“Now, now, detective. I’ve missed our little chats in the interrogation room” the man taunted. “Arrest any other innocent people lately?”

“Brian.” That was the ex, laying a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t make me regret my investment. I’m willing to support you to a point, but antagonizing the police won’t help your case.”

Elliott shrugged off her touch. “You only posted bail so your paper could report on the trial without it looking like a personal vendetta against me.”

Mara eased a calming sigh behind his back. “Unbiased reporting isn’t the only reason. There’s still a place in my heart for you. And I believe in...your innocence.”

Innocence? The newspaper publisher could barely choke out the word. Spencer wondered how the woman could live with herself, putting Elliott out on the street just so she could sell more papers.

Did he need to remind them about blood matching Elliott’s type being found at the scene of one of the assaults? Had they forgotten his DNA matching the child of a woman who claimed to have been raped by the Rose Red Rapist? Did any of them think Elliott could deny kidnapping a woman and being captured by the K-9 cop and his German Shepherd partner on Spencer’s task force?

Spencer could easily imagine the arguments Elliott’s attorney would bring up. The blood sample had been corrupted and could match any number of suspects. The child’s birth mother, who’d never reported being raped, had had a nervous breakdown and been committed to a mental hospital, so her version of events was suspect. The abduction could be pled down to a lesser crime and argued that it was a solo occurrence, not the culmination of a reign of serial terror through the city.

But there was no arguing away the eyewitness testimony of the courageous woman digging her fingers into his shoulder blade right now. Or Spencer’s driving need to protect the truth she represented.

“Get him out of here, Ms. Parker.” Spencer repeated the command to move the handcuffed man.

But when the uniformed guards urged the prisoner forward, Brian Elliott planted his feet and turned. “Wait. Do I know you, miss?”

Bailey released her death grip on Spencer’s jacket and slid her right hand down his arm. At the brush of her chilled skin against his, he turned his palm into hers, lacing their fingers together, offering his protection and support against the man who’d terrorized her a year earlier. When she latched on to him with both hands, Spencer tightened his hold.

Be tough, Bailey, he wanted to say. He could feel her trembling beside him. Be just as strong as you claim to be.

Kenna Parker nudged aside one of the uniformed officers and moved in front of her client. “You shouldn’t have any contact with the opposing witnesses.”

Damn straight.

But Elliott ignored his attorney’s plea. “You’re Jackson Mayweather’s daughter, er, stepdaughter. I’ve had a few business dealings with Jackson, and I’ve given a lot of money to your mother’s charities. She does good work for local hospitals and children’s groups.” He was making small talk with Bailey? Was he hoping she’d recant her statement because he knew her parents or could pour on the charm? “You’re the woman who thinks I hurt you.”

“Thinks?” The trembling stopped. Was some steel creeping into that delicate backbone of hers? Or was she on the verge of passing out?

“Brian,” Kenna Parker warned. “Don’t say another word.”

Mara Elliott tried to get him moving, too. “Darling, we need to go.”

“Don’t darling me—!” The cuffs that linked Elliott’s wrist jangled as he jerked against them.

Bailey’s hand jerked in Spencer’s grip. Good. Not passing out.

He snapped an order to the two unis. “Get him out of here.”

The brief show of anger quickly passed, and, with the officers grabbing hold of Brian Elliott, the perp raised his hands in calm surrender. “I’m all right, dear,” he apologized to his ex. “I’ve got this, Kenna.” Then he turned his attention back to Spencer. “I’m sorry for what happened to your friend there. Yes, I’ve made some mistakes, but I’m not the monster you think I am. The man you want is still out there, Montgomery, lying in wait to hurt some other helpless woman.” He gestured to the women there to support him, as if their presence was proof of his innocence. “I’m no serial rapist.”

Maybe Spencer’s command hadn’t been clear. “Go. Now.”

A brunette woman, wearing a coat over her suit, and holding a cell phone to her ear, came around the corner and stopped. Her dark eyes widened as she took in the confrontation in the hallway. “Mr. Elliott?” Regina Hollister, Brian Elliott’s executive assistant, paused for a moment, then asked the party on her call to wait while she joined the group. “I have your car waiting for us out front. Is everything all right?”

“Get him out of here.” Or Spencer would do the job himself.

The two officers pulled Elliott into step between them. Kenna Parker hurried ahead to consult with Elliott’s assistant. “Out front where the reporters are?”

Regina nodded and put her cell phone back to her ear. “I’ll ask the driver to meet us someplace else.”

“No.” Kenna stopped her and turned to face her client, walking backward as they continued down the hallway. “Let’s use the press to our advantage. The officers will uncuff you before you leave the building. I don’t want you to make any comment, but let’s show Kansas City that you’re a free man.”

“For now,” Spencer called after them. “Don’t let that ankle bracelet pinch too tight, Elliott.”

When Brian Elliott began a retort, Kenna Parker pressed her finger against his lips to shush him until he smiled and nodded his acquiescence. Spencer didn’t move or look away until Brian Elliott and the others had turned the corner toward the bank of public elevators and disappeared from sight.

Easing out a tense breath as the threat left, Spencer quickly became aware of other sorts of tension humming through his body. Bailey had her left hand curled around his arm now. Her whole body was hugged up against his side, seeking shelter or maybe just something stronger than she was to hold her upright. Several more seconds passed before Spencer acknowledged that he wasn’t moving away from the warmth of her curves pressed against his arm. And that was his thumb stroking across the back of her knuckles, soothing the crushing grip of her hand.

It was happening again. This was getting personal. This was how it had started with Ellen, and he couldn’t go through that again. Move away, Montgomery. Cop. Witness. Keep her safe. Don’t let any feelings get involved with this.

“Do your job,” he mouthed to himself.

“What?” Bailey whispered beside him.

Even worse than feeling the damn emotions was someone else knowing they were there, providing a weapon they could use against him.

So he emptied his lungs on a forceful breath of air and pulled his body away from Bailey’s to face her. “You okay?” he asked.

“Yes.” Her nod wasn’t all that convincing. She squeezed her eyes shut for second and shook her head, as if clearing some graphic image from her mind. But when they opened again, that azure gaze tilted up and locked on to his. “I smelled that vile cologne he had on. I’m sure it’s something expensive, but...” The strength of her gaze faltered. “He had it on that night, too. I know he’s the man who raped me.”

“I have no doubt,” Spencer agreed. “That’s exactly the kind of detail that will make the D.A.’s case for us.” When the taut line of her mouth softened into a smile, he ignored that little kick of awareness that made him smile in return.

“Thank you for saying that. And thank you for being here when...” She visibly shuddered. “He was close enough he could have touched me.”

“Brian Elliott will never touch you again.” When he heard how vehemently he’d spoken those words, as if he’d just made some kind of promise to Bailey Austin, Spencer released her hand and broke contact entirely. It wasn’t his job to care about the awful turmoil she must go through each time she had to revisit the violence that had been done to her. Maybe she was okay with being touched, or maybe she’d been too scared to realize how hard she’d been holding on to him. Either way was a head game he wasn’t comfortable playing. She needed a sensitive kind of guy or her therapist to walk her through the emotional minefield of taking down the Rose Red Rapist. And he wasn’t that guy.

He needed some distance. This situation was getting inside his head—the woman was getting under his skin. Setting up a safe house and guarding a witness weren’t part of his job description anymore. He was not this woman’s protector. He was seeing his investigation through to the very end, like any good detective would. He was doing a favor for Chief Taylor.

He was not putting himself in a position to lose anyone else who mattered to him.

Ignoring the questioning look in Bailey’s eyes, Spencer inclined his head toward the bullpen—the maze of desks and cubicles in the main room where he and dozens of other detectives worked. “Come on. Let me get my coat and then I’ll walk you to your car.” He moved out without a backward glance, lengthening his stride to put some impersonal space between them. “I’ll give you my card and my partner’s, and, of course, you can call the precinct if you need anything else.”

Her heels clicked on the marble tiles behind him as she hurried to catch up.

All of Bailey’s brave talk about testifying had flown out the window when she’d come face to face with Brian Elliott...right along with Spencer’s resolve not to let things get personal with her.

He wouldn’t let either one happen again.