Читать книгу Man with the Muscle - Julie Miller - Страница 7

Audrey Kline squinted against the swirling strobe effect of the four police cars and other official vehicles lined up on the street in front of the Cosgrove mansion as she climbed out of her Mercedes and tried to make sense of what was going on here. The scene outside the sprawling stone house resembled the aftermath of some kind of natural disaster, with people huddling under blankets, women wearing their escorts’ suit jackets over designer dresses, one man sitting at the back of an ambulance with a blood pressure cuff around his arm, and many others silently weeping.

It was true. It hadn’t been some cruel tabloid rumor that had blipped past on her local internet news site.

Gretchen was dead.

The certainty of it hit her like a punch to the gut and, for a moment, she sagged against the open door, her shocked breaths forming frosty clouds in the damp November air. How? Why?

Screeching brakes alerted her a split second before the glare of headlights spun around the corner half a block away, hitting her square in the face. A television news van. Audrey turned away and closed the car door, instinctively shielding her face from the unwelcome intrusion.

There was already a slew of other reporters here, searching for someone noteworthy from the wealthiest and most powerful of Kansas City society to give them a sound bite. And more of those underground bloggers who’d broken the news of the murder half an hour ago were probably mingling with the guests, texting away.

But Audrey was in no mood to be a media darling tonight. Gretchen’s death was personal. Private. She needed answers. She needed this to make sense. This was the second friend she’d lost in the past two years. Her mother had died the year before that. Standing around and waiting with the others would only give her time to feel, to remember, to hurt. And to have that kind of weakness caught on tape and posted in the public eye would only make the grief that much tougher to deal with. If she ever wanted to be known as something more than Rupert Kline’s little princess, then weakness wasn’t something anyone here was going to get a chance to observe.

With newfound resolve giving her strength, Audrey buttoned up the front of her cashmere blazer, stuffed her keys into the pocket of her jeans and slipped through the suits and cocktail dresses of the party guests gathered outside the front gate. They parted like zombies, shocked and murmuring, as she made a beeline for the uniformed policeman standing by the driveway’s wrought-iron gates. “Excuse me, officer? I’m a friend of the family.”

Her father had taught her that standing as tall as her five feet five inches allowed and walking and talking with a purpose usually convinced people that she belonged wherever she wanted to be. But the young officer wasn’t fooled. Leaving one arm resting on his belt beside his gun, he raised his hand to stop her. “I’m sorry, miss. No one’s allowed to come inside the gate.”

She tilted her chin to argue that she belonged here. “My father and Mr. Cosgrove went to Harvard together. I don’t think he would mind …”

And then she saw the two detectives—one tall and light-haired, jotting notes, the other shorter and darker—talking to a pair of crime scene investigators, each wearing their reflective vests and holding their bulky kits in their hands. What were they doing outside the house? Had something happened on the grounds, as well? The blip she’d seen on her laptop said the victim had been found in her bedroom upstairs.

Why weren’t they interviewing suspects? Taking pictures? Why were they just standing around? Didn’t they know what a beautiful soul Gretchen had been? How much her parents and friends had loved her? Why weren’t they tearing that house apart to find out who’d killed her?

Audrey took a deep breath to cool her frustration, wishing she’d taken the time to don a suit and high heels instead of quickly pulling on jeans and a jacket over her pajamas. She’d been up late working at home instead of attending Gretchen’s party where she might have been able to do some good by kick-starting the investigation and putting these people to work. With no makeup and her hair hanging down to her shoulders in loose waves, she knew she looked more like a teenager than a grown woman. But she wasn’t about to let her appearance stop her anymore than had the two red lights she’d run speeding across town to get here.

She’d known Gretchen Cosgrove since kindergarten. Their adult paths had taken them in different directions, but they saw each other at social functions like this one often enough to keep in touch. A friendship like that didn’t die. A woman Audrey’s own age shouldn’t die.

“Please.” She reached into her back pocket and looped the lanyard with her Office of the District Attorney identification badge around her neck. The job was new, her switch from private practice to public prosecutor a calculated bid to establish her independence beyond the shadow cast by her father. She hadn’t had the opportunity to pull rank without her father’s influence to back her up yet. But this was as good a time to try as any. “I’m an officer of the court. I’m sure there’s something I can do to help.”

“Sorry, ma’am,” the officer apologized, “but my orders are strict. Nobody crosses the cordon tape until SWAT clears the scene, not even the commissioner herself.”

“I don’t understand. Wasn’t the body found a couple hours ago? The crime scene is getting cold.”

His gaze dropped down to her ID badge. Apparently, the judicial emblem held enough sway for him to lean in to whisper. “There may be a bomb inside.”

“A bomb?”

He put a finger to his lips. “That’s what the note with the body said. Captain Cutler said until we know more, we don’t want to say or do anything that will cause a panic.”

Cutler. She knew that name. That meant his SWAT team was on the premises, and that Gretchen’s death might not be the only tragedy KCPD had to worry about. Audrey glanced around, recognizing many of the guests in attendance. There was the party planner Audrey had hired herself in the past, Clarice Darnell, along with her staff—servers, caterers, parking attendants. These were friends, colleagues, acquaintances Audrey had met at society events similar to this one. They were already traumatized by the news that their hostess tonight had been murdered. She didn’t wish more trouble on any of them. “No. We wouldn’t.”

“You can check with me later,” the policeman offered. “I’ll let you in as soon as Captain Cutler gives the okay.”

She nodded her thanks. “In the meantime, is there someone in charge I could speak with to get some details about what’s happened? It’s already on the internet. Rumors are going to fly if we don’t contain this.”

“Ma’am, all I’ve been told is to keep people back—”

“Never mind.” She put up her hands, knowing she was pushing too hard, knowing he was just doing his job, knowing she wouldn’t get her answers here. “Thank you.”

“Audrey?”

She turned at the familiar voice and hurried to meet the tall blond man striding toward her. “Harper.”

He wrapped his arms around her waist and lifted her clear off the ground, squeezing her tight as he wept against her neck. “She’s gone, Audrey. Gretchen’s gone.” She held on tight and rocked back and forth with him. “I loved her, you know.”

“I know. We all did.”

He gulped in a shuddering breath and eased his grip enough so her toes could touch the ground. “We were always together at school—you, me, Gretchen, Charlotte, Donny, Val and the others.”

Audrey rubbed circles at the collar of his gabardine suit, inhaling his familiar scents of tobacco and aftershave, sharing the loss with him. Their whole group of friends through high school had been tight, and though their lives and jobs had taken them in different directions after graduation, they’d found a way to keep in touch, trading calls and notes, coming together in times of tragedy like tonight.

“I used to think you were the one.” Harper sighed, recalling the brief time they’d dated in high school. “But when I got back from law school, something about Gretch had changed. She was still as beautiful and fun and goofy as ever, but …”

“She grew up.” She’d seen the new maturity in the once-capricious Gretchen, too.

“I asked her to marry me. We were going to announce it tonight.”

That she didn’t know. Tears welled up in Audrey’s eyes, and she pulled back to touch his face. “Oh, Harper.”

“I saw her tonight. In her bed. Before the cops chased us out.” His red-rimmed eyes were dry now, and a brave smile creased his face. “You know she never gets anywhere on time—she changes her mind about what she’s wearing or can’t find the right jewelry to match. But after the guests had been here for almost an hour, I got worried. I went upstairs to …” His smile faltered and Audrey’s stomach clenched to receive the blow. “She looked so perfect lying there, like she was sleeping. But she … That bastard hurt her. Tortured her. There were marks around her wrists and neck. Her face was … I touched her and she … she was so cold.”

Audrey looped her arms around his neck and hugged him again, hiding her own face against the starch of his collar. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s just like Val all over again.” They’d consoled each other the night Valeska Gordeeva Gallagher had been murdered, too. “Only, I never saw Val’s body until the visitation at the funeral home. I saw Gretch—”

“Shh, Harp. Don’t think of that. Let’s remember how beautiful Gretchen and Val were.”

“You’re right. You’re always right. I can count on you to say the right thing, can’t I?” Someone jostled them in the crowd and Harper pulled away, straightening his tie, breathing deeply, tightening his jaw to keep the tears from falling again. “She’s not coming back. I’ll never see her smile or hear her laugh again.”

With that grim pronouncement, the first tears spilled over onto Audrey’s cheeks. She quickly swiped them away. “Harper—”

“I’d better get back to her parents. The press want them to say something. I’ve been running interference.” He bent down to press a chaste kiss to her forehead. “They’ll be glad to know you’re here.”

Another tear burned in the corner of her eye. She sniffed as her sinuses began to congest. Harper might have sucked it up, but she needed a minute to compose herself. “I’ll be over to talk to them soon.”

“Gotta go.”

He walked away, leaving her shaking. She’d listened and offered comfort without realizing how much she needed it herself. They might not have been the closest of friends anymore, or else she would have known about the engagement—Gretchen had chosen a social path while Audrey had focused on her career—but she had been her oldest friend. And now there was a spot inside her, splitting open, emptying out, leaving grief and regret and helplessness in its place.

Audrey pressed a fist to her trembling lips and surveyed the crowd. She wasn’t going to lose it here. The size of the gathering had nearly doubled with press and police, people who knew the Cosgroves and curious strangers. She couldn’t expect to hold on to her anonymity much longer, yet she couldn’t afford to be spotted as a bawling wreck—not if she wanted to impress her father and his old-school cronies, not if she intended to win the case she’d been assigned this afternoon and solidify her position in the D.A.’s office.

But the tears were burning for release. Hugging her arms in front of her, Audrey ducked her head and shuffled through the crowd, trying to draw as little attention as possible as she desperately sought out a private refuge. Her exposed skin would flush with every emotion she was feeling—a telltale, redheaded curse she’d endured her whole life—and there’d be no hiding the ache blooming inside her.

She shifted directions, deciding she should just get inside her car and drive away. But she stopped when she reached the curb. A camera crew was setting up a remote broadcast post on the opposite side of the street, and they’d recognize her as soon as she walked by.

Her throat raw from the constriction of emotions she held in check, Audrey turned and followed the sidewalk around the fringe of the gathering and just kept walking. Once she realized the voices from the crowd were fading, she stopped and raised her head, pulling her hair back from her face and tucking it behind her ears. She’d nearly reached the neighbor’s house an eighth of a mile away.

There was her sanctuary. Not the house, but the red-leafed hedgerows and iron fencing that ran between the two properties. With the press and police focused at the front of the estate, the side yards were empty, shadowed and blessedly quiet. Audrey glanced behind her to Gretchen’s house. They’d played hide-and-seek together on the massive grounds when they were children, and the memories of Gretchen’s easy laugh and adventurous imagination reignited the grief that was set to consume her.

She needed to get out of here. Now.

She darted around the brick pillar at the corner of the Cosgroves’ fence. Oh, Lord.

The security lights in the neighbor’s front yard flashed on, reflecting off the white gold of her watch band. Reacting like the trespasser she was, Audrey tugged the sleeve of her jacket over her wrist and crouched down between the fence and hedge. The night was conspiring against her efforts to find a private moment to acknowledge her grief and center herself. Maybe she should just curl up in a ball here and let the tears flow.

But that would only add fuel to the paparazzi’s rumor mill if they discovered an assistant district attorney huddled in the mud behind a burning bush shrub outside a crime scene.

“Why didn’t I just stay home?” she muttered. Yet, as her jeans soaked up the chilly dampness from the ground beneath her knee, Audrey saw that she hadn’t triggered the security lights, after all.

Instead, she got a clear look at the culprit. An armed

SWAT cop, wearing a flak vest over his black uniform, was lugging a large metal box to the back of the SWAT van parked in the driveway. Where had he come from? He was grinching to himself, maybe complaining about setting off the lights with his approach.

He set the box on the van’s bumper with a heavy thunk, and the entire vehicle rocked, giving an indication as to the considerable weight he’d carried. The man unsnapped the strap beneath his chin and pulled off his helmet, dropping it to the concrete at his feet before scrubbing his black-gloved fingers over the top of his hair.

For a moment, Audrey forgot about the reporters and the mud and her grief. As he opened the back doors and hefted the box inside, his movements caught the lights in his short dark hair, revealing blue-black glints in the rumpled waves. Was he packing up? Did that mean the house had been cleared? The bomb discovered and dismantled?

He had the doors closed before she could think to move, and now she was forced to kneel there until the motion-detector lights went back off or the officer climbed inside the van. But he didn’t appear to be in any hurry. With his rifle looped casually through the crook of his arm, he slowly turned, taking note of the vehicles in the street, the neighbors scurrying along the sidewalk to get a closer look at all the activity. Apparently oblivious to the approach of winter in the air, he unbuttoned the cuffs of his black shirt and rolled up the sleeves over a pair of muscular forearms. With a simple tilt of his head, he spoke into the microphone strapped to his Kevlar vest.

He was on guard, looking for something or someone, scanning his surroundings, his dark gaze skimming past her hiding spot. Audrey hugged her arms closer to her body and made herself even smaller. Had he seen her? Sensed her presence? She could hide from friends and avoid the press, but something about the intensity of those watchful eyes warned her that it would be very hard to keep anything hidden from him.

Audrey held her breath. Waited. Tried to ignore the little tingles of awareness sparking beneath the emotions she held so tightly in check. He wasn’t as tall as Harper or even her father. But he was all muscle, all alertness, all coiled energy. If the killer had planted a bomb inside the Cosgrove house, he looked like the type of man who could take care of it. He looked like the type of man who could have saved Gretchen’s life in the first place.

Gretchen would have called him hot. She would have been introducing herself, flirting with him by now. She would have welcomed him as a friend and made him feel glad to be a part of her life long before Audrey even decided to admit he was handsome in an earthy, unpolished sort of way.

A tear leaked out, its hot moisture chapping her cheek in the cool breeze. Gretchen would have thought hiding in the shrubs to avoid the press and spy on hot guys was a grand adventure, but for Audrey this was pure torture. Another tear trailed along the same path, marking her skin. Grief could no longer wait for privacy and a sob squeezed through her throat in a muffled gasp.

Not here. Not now. The SWAT cop’s gaze swung back around and she shoved her knuckles against her lips, stifling the breathy whimper of each sob while the tears streamed over her hand. She could read the headlines now—Lawyer Can’t Handle Crime Scene, Muddy Misstep for Kline’s Daughter or Newest A.D.A. Runs and Hides. Just the kind of decorum and control that would inspire public confidence as she led the prosecution against gang-leader Demetrius Smith. Not.

But then a KCPD pickup pulled into the driveway behind the SWAT van and she had her chance to escape public scrutiny.

Audrey pushed to her feet, stumbling back against the iron fence, as that all-seeing cop walked up to meet the truck. Another uniformed officer—minus the armored vest and extra gear and weaponry of the first man—climbed out of the truck with a German shepherd bounding down behind him, to shake hands and trade greetings. By the time the SWAT cop had stooped down to wrestle the dog around its ears, Audrey was moving. Holding up her hand to shield her face from the prickly branches of the hedgerow, she jogged several yards along the fence until the bustle and bright lights from the front of the house could no longer be seen or heard.

She inhaled a lungful of the cool night air and exhaled on sobs that shook through her. Curling her fingers around the cold, unyielding iron of a fence post, she held on and let the grief overtake her.

Seconds passed, maybe a minute or two, as the pain knifed through her. With one hand braced on her knee and the other gripping the fence to keep from toppling over, she wept for Gretchen and for the void her death created in so many lives, including her own. She’d never learned Gretchen’s gifts for spontaneity and handling stress and sharing joy, and now she never would. Kansas City had lost a generous and enthusiastic young benefactor.

Harper Pierce had lost a fiancée. The Cosgroves had lost a daughter. Audrey had lost another friend.

Finally, the sobs became little gasps and hiccups as the worst of it passed. Audrey’s diaphragm ached, her sinuses throbbed against her skull, her eyes felt puffy and hot. But she could think again. She could feel something beyond the pain—anger, perhaps, determination to honor Gretchen’s memory and vindicate her murder.

And she could hear.

Footsteps.

Audrey snapped her attention to the soft, even rhythm of someone moving through the Cosgroves’ backyard. Although muffled by the fallen leaves and dewy grass, there was no mistaking the tread of company cutting between the garden paths and towering oaks that shaded the yard on the other side of the fence.

The police officers she’d seen all carried flashlights. But this, this was something different. A noise in the dark. The whisper of stealth.

Pushing her hair away from her hot, sticky cheeks, Audrey peered between the iron bars to identify the source of the sound among the trees. Too big to be a squirrel or rabbit. Too real for her to feel safe. The breeze rustled through the hedge, sending a chill dancing along her spine. If that was a cop, where was his flashlight? And if it wasn’t, how had he gotten past security inside the front gates?

She pressed her face against the bars, trying to spot the movement among the trees. But the footsteps had fallen silent. With no sound to listen for and nothing to see, her other senses took over. The breeze was damp and cool against her skin, and it carried the subtlest hint of cigarette smoke into her nose. Since when did cops smoke on the job?

Audrey straightened, her breath still coming in stuttering gasps, her legs willing her to back away. She dabbed at her nose with the back of her hand and brushed the moisture on her pant leg. Had he gone? Was that scent the whisper of a shadow that had moved on? Or was he standing there, waiting, watching from the darkness?

Watching her?

A beam of light hit the side of her face, blinding her. With a startled yelp, she raised her hand to block the light and turned. “Stop it!” She pointed through the fence. “Were you …? How …?” Her pulse raced faster than her thoughts could keep up. Run. No. Even as the instinct shot through her, she knew she had no place to go. Game face, Audrey. Get your Rupert Kline, killer-in-the-courtroom game face on. With a noisy sniffle, she pulled back her shoulders and lifted her chin. “Could you get that light out of my face, please?”

She was going for confidence, strength, with that order. But her bout of crying and uncertain fear made the tone husky, revealing she was far more rattled than she cared to admit.

“Audrey Kline?”

Oh, boy. Here it comes. “I don’t have any statement to make at this time.”

“Okay.”

Okay? In a moment of confusion, her strength deflated. “The light?”

Thankfully, the man tilted the flashlight down to the ground. Not a reporter. Not a killer. He wasn’t giving off a whiff of anything beyond leather and starch and clean, musky man. She didn’t need to see his face to know from the width of his chest—and the assault rifle pointed down to the ground at his side—that she’d been discovered by the SWAT officer she’d been ogling only minutes earlier. “Better come out of there, ma’am.”

He pulled back the hedge where she’d been hiding. No way had he just climbed that fence. She’d been so busy sobbing and sniffling, then spying through the trees, that she simply hadn’t heard his approach from the opposite direction. She pointed over her shoulder as she stepped out. “There was someone over there. Maybe just having a smoke, maybe something else.”

“And you were checking it out?” He let the hedge spring back into place and positioned himself between her and the noise she’d heard. He pointed the beam of his flashlight into the trees on the other side of the fence.

“No, I …” Despite the warm, rich timbre of his voice, she detected the tinge of sarcasm there. “How do you know me?”

Apparently, he didn’t see anything more than she had, although he did pause a moment to touch the microphone at his shoulder and ask someone called Trip to take another check through the Cosgroves’ backyard. “You’re with the D.A.’s office.”

Audrey struggled to wedge her defenses back into place when he faced her with the abrupt pronouncement. “I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage.”

“I saw you on the news earlier tonight. Besides,” he continued as he shone his flashlight on her chest, “I can read your name tag.” He swung the light to the badge hanging from a chain around his own neck. “Alex Taylor. I’m with KCPD.”

Her gaze darted from his black vest to the handgun strapped to his right thigh, over to the ominous-looking rifle and back up to dark eyes that were nearly black in the shadows. “I figured out you were a cop for myself.” Her throat grated as she coughed to clear it. But she managed a smile as she moved around him. “Nice to meet you. Excuse me.”

“You can’t go that way.”

She shrugged off the gloved hand on her arm and gestured out to the street. “Well, I can’t go that way. I’ll just cut through the neighbor’s yard and circle around to my car.”

“No.”

“No?” She uttered a sound somewhere between a sob and a curse. “I know it means nothing to you, but I have a reputation to uphold in this city. I have on no makeup and I’ve been crying my eyes out. If you recognized me, then those reporters who track my every move certainly will.”

“Do you always hide in the bushes when you’re upset?”

“Do I hide …? You …” Audrey clamped her mouth shut as her temper rekindled other emotions. She tipped her chin to look him in the eye. “I’m not trespassing on your crime scene. All I need is the chance to slip away undetected so I embarrass neither my family nor the D.A. You can’t stop me.”

He took a single step and blocked her path. “Yes, I can.”

Oh, God. He was serious.

Temper. Grief. Frustration. Humiliation. Any one of those could have busted through her tenuous control of her emotions. Being hit by all four at once released the flood gates again. Audrey’s eyes stung.

“Don’t do this.” She swiped away the first tear, chiding her own weakness.

“You don’t cry pretty, do you?”

She croaked on a sound that was half laugh, half groan, and swiped at another tear, willing it to be her last. “Gee, thanks. Is that the best line you’ve got?”

“Never found the need to use lines. Here.” He reached behind him and pulled a blue bandanna from his pocket. The hint of a smile eased the firm line of his mouth as he held out the cloth like a peace offering. “Was the woman inside a friend of yours?”

With an embarrassing snivel, Audrey nodded and snatched the gift from his fingers. She wiped her cheeks and nose, then pressed the soft cotton, still warm from the heat of his body, against her eyes. “Thank you.”

“There’s nothing pretty about losing an innocent life, is there?”

Although his hushed voice was as dark and soothing as the night around them, she got the faint impression that he was speaking about something personal rather than philosophical. Audrey shook her head. “No, there’s not.”

He shifted his stance, his eyes sweeping the area around them. “Look, I’m not trying to be a hard-ass when you’re clearly dealing with something here. But KCPD has established a perimeter and wants to control the crowd for a reason.”

“I heard about the bomb.”

“We’re thinking that was an empty threat—neither the dogs nor my team have found anything.” He nodded his head toward the street. “But it got the perp the response he wanted. Detective Montgomery—he’s in charge of the investigation—thinks the killer is getting off on all this attention. Chances are he’s here somewhere, watching.”

Audrey tensed and glanced over her shoulder, remembering the footsteps she’d heard.

“So you can see why it might not be too smart to wander off on your own.”

She turned her gaze back to Alex Taylor’s face, feeling more than a little unsettled by the possibility he was suggesting. “There has to be a hundred people involved with the party tonight. Double that if you count all the press and cops and curiosity seekers. You really think the killer is one of them?”

“I’m not the detective. But I do make sure everyone stays safe. Especially someone from the D.A.’s office who has a major trial coming up.”

“What do you know about that?”

“Like I said, I watch the news. I’m one of the men who brought in Demetrius Smith. You cannot let that murderer walk.”

“I’ll do my best.”

“I’d like it better if you said you were sure you could win. Or if D.A. Powers was handling the case himself.”

Audrey bristled at the dig. It wasn’t the first time someone had doubted her abilities because of her looks or her father’s bank account or the fact she turned red in the face when she lost control of her emotions. “No one bought my law degree for me, Mr. Taylor. And I didn’t just earn it—I was top of my class. I’ve worked as a defense attorney and now for the prosecution, so I know criminal law inside and out. I asked for this assignment, and Dwight Powers gave it to me because he knew I could handle it.”

Did he just take an accusatory step toward her? “So you are trying to make a name for yourself with this trial.”

Not in the glory-seeking way he was implying. Audrey tilted her chin and met the charges head-on. “I’m doing my job. I only got the case this afternoon. Just because I haven’t had a chance to weigh all the options to develop a prosecution strategy yet doesn’t mean I’m going to lose.”

“He killed a ten-year-old boy today and didn’t bat one eye of remorse. He’s not going to be afraid of you.”

Audrey saw the anger tighten his jaw, felt the pain radiating through the edge of his voice and regretted getting on her soapbox. It explained the “innocent life” remark he’d made earlier. Despite the sting of his doubts about her abilities, a keen understanding—a shared sympathy—passed between them. “I’m sorry. You were there, weren’t you? When the boy died?”

For a split second, the intensity in those midnight-colored eyes wavered. “That bastard can’t go back out on the streets.”

“Then let’s hope he underestimates me as much as you have tonight.”

“Audrey, I … Hell. I shouldn’t have opened my mouth.” With a deep sigh, those broad shoulders lifted and relaxed a fraction. “You can hang here in the shadows for a minute to get it together, but then I really need you back out by the street.”

Was that an apology? Or just a resignation to duty? Either way, after the charged intimacy of their argument, his unexpected capitulation surprised her. She found something calming about his breathing, slowing and evening out along with hers, something soothing in the way he altered his protective stance to stand between her and the world beyond this shadowy hedgerow. She touched the soft blue cotton to her eyes one more time. Even though it was just a bandanna, the old-fashioned gesture charmed her. “I didn’t think men carried handkerchiefs anymore.”

His soft chuckle warmed her. “You don’t know my grandmother. There are rules to follow with the Taylors. Family dinner every Sunday. Men carry handkerchiefs in their pockets.”

“Your grandmother tells a tough guy like you what to do?”

He winked, and Audrey felt like smiling, too. “She’s my best girl. I do what she asks.”

A check of his watch and Audrey suspected the minute to compose herself was up. She held out the bandanna. “Well then, thank her, too.”

He wrapped his hand around it and her fingers, holding on longer than necessary to give her a sympathetic squeeze. She was startled by the heat emanating from his skin, even through the protective leather glove he wore. “Keep it. And you get Smith.”

Audrey nodded, making a promise.

His grip suddenly tightened and he whirled around, pulling her behind him. A split second later, a camera flashed.

Alex Taylor was already on guard before her own defenses locked into place. “What the hell?”

Another light flashed. He took a menacing step forward.

An older, heavyset man slipped to the side, trying to make eye contact with her. “Miss Kline, could we get a statement?”

Alex shifted his shoulder between her and the reporter, giving Audrey nothing but the large white SWAT letters on the back of his vest to look at. “Get back to the sidewalk, behind the yellow tape.”

“Do you think this is the work of the Rich Girl Killer, Miss Kline?”

“The what?”

“I heard her throat was crushed like the other one.” “Oh, my God.” The white letters blurred in front of her.

Alex Taylor was moving forward. “I said, back to the street.”

She heard another reporter shouting from farther away. “It’s Audrey Kline. Over here. Miss Kline, you fit the killer’s victimology. Are you worried for your own safety?”

The whirs and clicks of flashing cameras crawled over her skin like an assault of mechanical spiders.

“This is a restricted area. If you don’t leave, I’ll have you arrested.”

“Are you friends with Miss Kline, officer? Why were you holding hands? Is she in danger?”

“I said—”

“I’ll handle this.” Audrey blinked her vision clear. It was up to her and no one else to pull it together. She touched Alex’s arm as she moved beside him, and gave him a squeeze of silent apology for getting dragged into her society-page world. His tricep was as hard and sinewed as his forearm, his skin as warm and reassuring as the grip of his hand had been. But it was time for her to be strong now. “I’ll handle this,” she repeated, pulling away.

His questioning gaze met hers over the jut of his shoulder. “You don’t have to talk to them.”

“Who knows what they’ll say if I don’t?” She stood in front of him, grateful for the wall of heat at her back as the vultures circled around them. “Officer Taylor is securing the scene of a crime. Please respect his orders and move back to the street so that KCPD can do their job and find Gretchen Cosgrove’s killer.”

“Do you think this death is related to Valeska Gallagher’s unsolved murder? You knew both victims.”

“No comment.”

“Can you comment on the Demetrius Smith trial?” the heavyset reporter asked. “Not tonight.”

“Are you and—Officer Taylor, is it?—an item?”

That was the news they wanted to report? “One of my best friends was murdered tonight. My love life is not up for discussion.”

Audrey startled at the broad hand at the small of her back and the hushed voice against her ear. “Don’t let ‘em rile you up, Red.” And then Alex was reaching around her, moving the reporters back. “Miss Kline has no further comment at this—”

“What are you doing way over here?” The small crowd parted as Harper Pierce nudged his way to the front. Without so much as a nod of acknowledgment to her or Alex, he pulled her hand through the crook of his elbow. “I leave you alone for a few minutes and you get lost.”

“Harper.” Even in that teasing tone, it felt like a reprimand, as if she was a child.

“Take the help when you can get it,” he whispered. He patted his hand over hers, pinning her fingers to his arm so that she couldn’t pull away without making a scene and really giving the press something to talk about. “I need you. Gretch’s parents want to know if you’d read a statement to the press for them.”

“I appreciate the rescue, but I don’t think I’m the best person for that right now.” But Harper wasn’t slowing down. He wasn’t taking no for an answer. Maybe he just needed a friend at his side right now. Audrey set aside her own discomfort and summoned compassion. “Of course. Any way I can help.”

Although he didn’t seem to have the will to smile either, Harper paused with her to allow a picture of the two of them together before escorting her out to the sidewalk. Then his hand was blocking the next camera and they were striding on.

The number of people in the crowd was still growing, and Audrey couldn’t help but glance at the technician by the news van, the parking attendant who was retrieving a car for one of the guests, the man in his bathrobe, pajamas and a pair of galoshes on the opposite sidewalk looking on. Alex Taylor said the police suspected that Gretchen’s killer was here somewhere, watching the chaotic results of his gruesome handiwork. Had she just brushed past a killer? Been photographed by him? Looked him in the eye? Was it that man? That one there?

Audrey’s gaze swept past two young black men, barely out of their teens, if that, lounging against a car at the fringe of the crowd. The shorter one, wearing a white ball cap twisted sideways on his head, leaned over to whisper something to the tall one in a black hoodie. The tall one laughed and looked right at her. At her.

And then they both raised two fingers and pointed them at her, flicking their thumbs as if they were firing a gun.

“Oh, my God,” Audrey gasped. She quickly turned away, missing a step and stumbling into Harper’s side.

“Are you all right?” he asked, pausing a moment to help her regain her balance.

What was that about? Did they have something to do with Gretchen’s murder? Did those boys know her? Or were they just taking delight in compounding the misery of an easy target?

“I’m fine,” she lied, knowing her focus should be on Gretchen and Harper and whatever the Cosgroves needed from her tonight. “I’ll be fine.”

She looked over her shoulder to see Officer Taylor herding the reporters who’d found them back to the restricted area. He was watching the two young men who’d mimicked a shooting, too, and was already weaving through the crowd toward them. He looked up from whatever message he was relaying into the radio on his shoulder. She caught one last glimpse of those dark, watchful eyes focused on her before the crowd shifted and he was blocked from view.

Suddenly, she felt oddly alone, even attached to Harper’s side in the midst of the crowd. The enormity of potential suspects—of one man, or maybe two—knowing, gloating, getting off on this chaos, closed in on her, constricting her breathing, making her skin crawl. She felt like a specimen under a microscope, completely at the mercy of unknown eyes.

Without really considering the significance of her actions, Audrey shoved the bandanna she still carried into her jeans. She kept her fingers in her pocket, clinging to the one true piece of comfort she’d had since hearing of Gretchen’s murder.