Her Sworn Protector

“Smart,” he allowed grudgingly.

It was the first decent thing she’d heard the man say since he’d pounced on her. Vindicated, Kady chose not to comment—just in case it was another verbal trap. To her way of thinking, her action hadn’t been smart so much as desperate.

Wilkins began flipping through the notes he’d jotted down during her recounting of the events. Kady couldn’t help wondering just how much he’d annotated. For the first time in her life, she understood what the term railroaded meant.

Finally Wilkins flipped the cover closed, returned the pad to his back pocket and nodded. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll have someone take you in to the station. You can work with a sketch artist.”

“I’ll take her,” Byron volunteered quietly.

The sound of his voice coming up behind her surprised Kady. She thought he was downstairs with the other detective. The bodyguard seemed to materialize out of nowhere.

Had he been there all the time, listening?

Wilkins had blotted out everything with his close proximity, keeping her from being aware of anything else but him. She knew the detective had meant for it to be that way.

Byron had been the first to be questioned, but he had caught Wilkins’s partner instead of Wilkins. Luck of the draw, she supposed.

She saw Wilkins look at Byron for a long moment, then the older man passed a hand over his all but bald pate and snarled, “Okay. You know the way.”

Byron met Wilkins’s scrutiny without flinching. “Yeah, I know the way.”

“Why do you know the way?” Kady asked the bodyguard several minutes later as they left the penthouse.

Just before they left the building, they passed one of the maids. The young woman, not more than twenty-two, was standing off to the side, sobbing. Kady fought the urge to stop and comfort her. But her morning was quickly disappearing and she still had a practice waiting for her. Mercifully, Mondays she went to the office in the afternoon.

Byron made no answer. He led her to a well-cared-for Nissan Z. She knew little about cars, but decided it had to be old since the insignia on the back said Datsun instead of Nissan. He opened the passenger door for her.

Getting in, she looked at Byron. “Or am I not supposed to ask?”

Byron got in on his side and turned the ignition on. The car hummed to life. “You can ask.”

He picked his way through the maze of police cars and the coroner’s van crowding the exit of the underground parking structure. His voice had trailed off even before they hit the street.

“But will you answer?” she probed. And then she made an attempt to fill in the blank herself. “Did you work out of that precinct?” He looked at her sharply just before he made a turn. “You said you were a cop once,” she reminded him.

He nodded. He’d forgotten he told her. Milos’s murder had thrown everything else into the background. He hadn’t deserved to have been cut down that way. If he’d had to die in his bed, it should have been after enjoying himself with a lusty, willing partner. He should have died with a smile on his face, not staring into a gun barrel.

Kady was still waiting for an answer. With a shrug, he gave her one. “I was based in Brooklyn.”

“And they had an exchange program with the detectives in Manhattan?”

It was an absurd thing to say and she knew it, but she was trying to get him to talk, create some distraction from the thoughts of what she’d just left behind and what she’d been a witness to. Besides, she knew nothing about this stoic man beside her. She wanted a few blanks filled in.

He laughed shortly at the display of tenacity. “There was an attempted robbery at the penthouse about six months ago.” He had caught the thief before the man could get away, but he left that part unspoken. “I took Mr. Plageanos in to file a report.”

The details didn’t quite jibe but she couldn’t think of a reason why Byron would lie to her. Something was missing. “And Wilkins was working the Robbery Division at the time?”

“Our paths crossed.”

The answer told her nothing except that he wasn’t willing to talk about it. Frustrated, Kady blew out a breath. It was like trying to get into a conversation with the sphinx.

“Okay, you pick the topic.”

He spared her a glance as he stepped on the gas, making it through the amber light before it turned red. The streets were swollen with cars. “What?”

“Well, you obviously don’t want to answer any questions and I’m not in the mood to sit here beside you in silence until we get to the police station, so talk about anything you want to. Just talk,” Kady added with emphasis.

He made a right at the end of the next block. Kady couldn’t tell if he was amused, or if it was just the angle of his profile that made him look as if his lips were curving.

“It might have escaped you,” he finally said, “but I don’t talk much.”

“No, it hasn’t escaped me.” It wouldn’t have escaped her even if she’d been a single-cell amoeba. “But I thought in light of everything, today might be a good day to start.”

He didn’t follow her logic, but then, she was a woman and he found that he’d never been able to tune in to the way they thought, a by-product of being raised by just his father. “Why?”

Ordinarily she didn’t like to showcase a weakness. She prided herself on being strong. But today someone had thrown out the rule book.

“Because I don’t want to cry, and right now I’m about this far away from it.” Kady held her thumb and forefinger an inch apart almost directly in front of him.

He moved her hand aside so that he could see the road more clearly. “Didn’t sound like you were going to cry when Wilkins was questioning you.” Again, that odd little half smile took possession of his mouth. “I thought I might be called in to restrain you.”

He was amused, she thought. “You heard?”

He inclined his head in an abbreviated nod. “Got a temper on you,” he observed, then glanced at her as they came to a red light. “Wouldn’t think it to look at you.”

As far as she was concerned, she had good reason to be angry. “Wilkins was accusing me of being involved in Mr. Plageanos’s murder.”

“Wilkins accuses everyone. It’s what he does. Or did,” he added. The last part was under his breath. “It levels the playing field for him.”

She’d thought that some sort of recognition had passed between the two men. “Then you do know him.”

He wouldn’t exactly say that. He doubted that anyone really knew Wilkins. He knew that no one really knew him. He didn’t let people in. Not anymore. “I told you, our paths have crossed.”

Kady read between the lines. “Not over the burglary,” she surmised.

Annoyed, Byron blew out a breath. The woman just didn’t back off. He looked at her. “You’re like a junkyard dog, you know that?”

“No,” she contradicted with a smile, denying the comparison. “I’m Polish.”

Eyebrows as dark as night drew together over the bridge of his nose. “What the hell does that have to do with it?”

She’d learned a long time ago that beyond demeaning ethnic jokes, most people have a very limited knowledge of anything Polish. She set about educating him. “Polish women are known for their stubbornness.”

He didn’t know about Polish women being stubborn, but she damn well was. “I didn’t know.”

“Now you do.” She paused, waiting. Byron made no effort to continue. Biting back a sigh, she prodded him again. “You were about to tell me about crossing paths with Wilkins.”

For a moment Byron debated telling her to back off, then decided that it didn’t matter anymore. Nothing mattered anymore. Not since Bobby died. “Wilkins used to be with IAB.”

“The Internal Affairs Bureau?” she cut in. Now that she thought of it, the man was perfect for it. He was relentless and intimidating and, she had no doubt, probably ruthless as well, given half a chance. He’d probably loved his job.

Byron looked at her, mildly impressed. “You know about IAB?”

“Sure.” And for the first time since she’d gone in to wash her hands after examining Milos, she grinned. “I watch TV like everyone else.” But because the subject was serious, she sobered again before asking, “What was it that Wilkins investigated?”

The moment the question was out of her mouth, she knew.

“You?” She saw his jaw harden. She didn’t think of herself as the world’s best judge of character, but she was pretty high up there, she reasoned. IAB investigated cops who were crooked. Her gut told her that Byron was as honest as they came. “Why?”

“Every time a detective discharges his weapon, there’s an investigation.” He stared straight ahead, his hands tightening on the steering wheel. He was beginning to regret his offer to bring her down here.

“And did you? Kill someone?” she prompted when silence was the only answer that greeted her.

“Yeah.” He slanted a look in her direction. “You don’t remember me, do you?”

By the way Byron asked the question, she knew he wasn’t referring to anything recent, nor was he referring to the time he’d brought his employer into the E.R. But instinct told her it had to have had something to do with the E.R. That would explain why, the first time she recalled meeting him, she’d had this nagging feeling that she’d seen him before. At the time she’d chalked it up to someone looking like him. So many faces came and went in the E.R., it was hard to remember them all.

“Not specifically,” she admitted. “Although I’ve had this feeling that I’ve seen you before you walked into the E.R. with Mr. Plageanos.”

He nodded, hardly hearing. “I came in the ambulance with this rookie cop.” His voice was completely dead, as if he was reading lines from a teleprompter. “He was off duty and he’d walked into this mom and pop deli to pick up some provolone for his brother.”

This was hard for him, Kady thought, watching as each word labored its way past his lips. She kept her peace, waiting for him to go on.

“There was a robbery going on. The rookie tried to stop it.”

His voice died away. He couldn’t just leave her dangling here. “How did you figure into it?” she finally asked quietly.

He took his time replying. She could have sworn that he was physically erecting a wall around himself. A wall between him and the pain the words caused.

“I was in the car, waiting.”

She made the natural assumption. “You were the brother?”

He nodded so slowly she thought his head hadn’t moved. “I was the brother.” And then his voice hardened. “I should have been the one who went in, not him, but there was a news bulletin on the radio and I wanted to hear the end of it. So Bobby hopped out of the car and went into the deli. The next thing I knew, there were gunshots and then this tall, skinny guy, still holding a piece, came running out. It was as if I saw the whole thing that had happened inside in slow motion. I yelled out that I was a cop, told the guy to stop. When he didn’t, I shot him.” He didn’t add that he’d looked into the store and saw Bobby on the ground in a pool of his own blood, or that the robber had turned his weapon on him and was about to fire when he killed him.

“It was a clean shoot.”

She said it with such confidence, he had to look at her. He would have said she was pandering, but there was nothing to gain. So he shrugged it off. “Wilkins didn’t see it that way.”

Wilkins, she decided, was a man that people could easily hate. “They brought you up on charges?” she asked incredulously.

“No, I was cleared.” But it had been close for a while. IAB had everyone afraid of coming forward. It was as if, to prove everyone was vigilant, a scapegoat had to be sacrificed. “And then I quit.”

If there were no charges, he should have remained to work toward his pension. To leave seemed foolish. “But why?”

He’d thought of the police force as his family. The family—except for Bobby—that he had never actually had. When Bobby died, and everyone on the force backed away while the investigation was ongoing, he felt as if he’d lost everything. His marriage, such as it was, fell apart. So, he’d shut down and backed away himself.

“Didn’t seem to be any purpose to staying on a force that turns against you just when you need support.” And then his own words played themselves back to him. His expression hardened as he turned to her. He looked formidable. “Why are you asking all these questions?”

“Because I want to know,” she replied simply.

That still didn’t tell him anything. “Why? We’re strangers.”

Her answer surprised him. “Only because you want it that way.” When he looked at her quizzically, she added, “Me, I make friends with everyone.”

She was making assumptions. “Maybe I don’t want any friends.”

“Everyone wants friends,” Kady countered quietly. “You just might not know it.”

“Same thing,” he insisted.

“No,” she replied, her voice as firm as her belief, “it’s not.”

“We’re here,” he told her, pulling up into the parking lot.

And none too soon, he added silently.

Chapter 4

It was only after Kady had gotten together with the sketch artist, bringing to life the man she’d seen murder two innocent people, that she remembered. Remembered that the rookie policeman that she’d worked over in the E. R. that night Byron had recreated for her had died shortly after he’d been brought in. Died despite all her best efforts to save him. The damage had been too extensive.

Numbed, she looked around to see if she could glimpse Byron, but he was nowhere to be seen. Kady sighed inwardly. She’d been so involved in trying to secure bits and pieces of information from Byron, she’d missed the elephant in the living room.

“Something doesn’t look right to you?” the technician asked, ready to hit another set of keys.

“No.” She forced herself to focus on the image that was coming together on the screen. This needed to be out of the way first. “You’re getting it.”

“Good, now about his hair…”

As soon as the sketch artist completed the composite, Byron materialized at her elbow, almost as if he’d been standing behind some invisible curtain. One moment he wasn’t there, the next, he was. It took everything she had not to jump. But inside, she could feel her adrenaline launch into high gear.

“How do you do that?” she wanted to know, turning to face Byron. “How do you suddenly just appear out of nowhere like that?”

The slightest hint of a smile whispered along his lips. She couldn’t decide if he was patronizing her. “I don’t. You just didn’t notice me because you were distracted.”

“I’d have to be dead not to notice you,” she told him matter-of-factly.

Kady wasn’t flirting with him, although God knew she’d done more than her share in med school, partying to shake off the stress of having to study all but nonstop for days on end. What she’d said had been a simple observation. She’d come to realize that Byron didn’t say much verbally, but his presence certainly did. He had a commanding aura about him that turned all eyes in his direction. He was what her younger sister, Tania, would have referred to as drop-dead gorgeous.

Noting the way he handled himself, and because he’d once been a cop, Kady couldn’t help wondering just how many people had dropped dead because of him.

There was an air of danger about Byron, and yet, for some reason, he made her feel safe.

Byron pretended that he hadn’t heard her comment. Instead he asked, “Ready to go?” directing the question more to the man sitting at the computer than to her.

The computer technician nodded, then pushed up the glasses that had slid down his nose. “We’re finished. Unless there’s something else?” he added, looking at Kady.

“No, that’s him,” Kady said, taking one last look. “That’s the man I saw leaving Mr. Plageanos’s bedroom.”

“Then she’s all yours,” the tech told Byron.

After thanking the technician, she rose and hurried after Byron, already headed for the door. Catching up, she pressed her lips together. She had no idea how to start. Full speed ahead was ordinarily her style, but it didn’t seem to quite fit here. Part of her just wanted to let it go.

Still, she didn’t want Byron to think that she was crass or insensitive. She wanted him to know that although she did deal with death on occasion, it wasn’t just something she shrugged off without a backward glance. His brother had lost too much blood by the time she’d gotten to him. It wasn’t a matter of her being in above her head, or not having enough expertise to save him. The man had been beyond anyone’s ability to save. He’d needed a miracle and the hospital and she were fresh out of miracles that night.

That didn’t make it any less of a loss. Not to her. Not to Byron.

Lost in thought, she’d managed to fall a little behind. “I’m sorry about your brother,” she said to his back.

Leading the way out of the precinct to his vehicle, Byron looked over his shoulder at her. “What?”

“Your brother. Bobby.” She’d remembered his name the moment the circumstances had come back to her. Almost skipping to cut the distance, she caught up to Byron, then continued to take long strides to match his pace. “He died that night. I’m sorry I couldn’t save him.”

He’d spent some time hating her, hating the hospital, the ambulance drivers, everyone. And then he’d turned that hate on himself. It never got him anywhere, but that was just the way things were. He was over it, mostly. He just hadn’t forgiven himself yet.

Byron pulled open the passenger door for her, then rounded the hood and got in on his side. She’d already buckled her belt by the time he got in.

“Wasn’t your fault.” The words were short, staccato, as if they were being fired out rapidly. “It was mine.”

The wealth of guilt she heard in his voice was staggering. Had he been carrying that around all this time? It was a miracle that he hadn’t self-destructed.

Byron pulled out of the lot, his profile rigid. A lesser woman would have backed away. But she had started this; she was going to see it through.

“You had no way of knowing what would happen to him,” she said gently.

Knowing or not, that didn’t change what he should have done. “I should have gone in and gotten my own damn cheese.”

Her heart went out to him. He couldn’t continue to carry this burden, couldn’t continue beating himself up about it. “Things happen for a reason. Maybe you were supposed to stay alive.”

He looked at her sharply. She would have drawn back if she hadn’t been belted in. “And Bobby wasn’t?”

That wasn’t what she’d meant. Kady sighed, shaking her head. “You’re a hard man to cheer up, Byron.”

“There’s a solution for that,” he replied crisply. “Don’t try.”

Too late, she thought. It was obvious that Byron wanted her to stop talking, to slip into silence and pretend that nothing had been said. She was willing to drop the subject of his brother, but not to spend the rest of this trip in silence. What she’d witnessed was still too much with her, too raw. For now, she needed to be distracted and he was her only resource.

“What’s your name?” she asked suddenly.

Caught off guard, Byron looked at her as if she’d lapsed into baby talk. “Did that gunman hit you in the head?”

“No, he never even saw me,” she reminded him, incredibly grateful for that.

He frowned to himself as he went down a one-way street four miles over the posted speed limit. “Then why are you asking me what my name is? You know what it is. It’s Byron.”

She shifted in her seat, the belt digging into her hip as she turned to look at him. “Yes, I know, but is Byron your first name? Your last? Is it some nickname they pinned to you in elementary school?”

Maybe that getting-hit-in-the-head theory wasn’t as far-fetched as it sounded. The woman was babbling, he thought. “What kind of nickname is Byron?”

She shrugged. It was possible. “Maybe your mother liked the romantic poets and saw a little of Lord Byron in you.” Because, she added silently, if Byron had been taller and believed in working out, she would have said that the man beside her was a dead ringer for the tragic poet.

“Never knew my mother,” Byron answered curtly, hoping this would be the end of it. “She died after Bobby was born.”

It seemed as if she couldn’t win for losing. She hadn’t meant to open any more old wounds. “Oh, I’m sorry.”

Byron made no comment. Instead he continued to stare straight ahead at the road, his hands wrapped around the wheel.

Finally, after several minutes had passed, he shrugged. “It happens.”

More often than he probably realized, she thought. That didn’t take the sting away. “But it’s still rough, growing up without a parent.”

He slanted a look at her. Was she about to build on some common thread? “You?”

She felt almost guilty at having had the kind of childhood she’d had. Loving parents and sisters who would have done anything for her, would always be there for her if she needed them.

“No,” she replied quietly. “Both of mine are still alive.”

And probably doted on her, Byron guessed. She had that look about her. Hardest thing she probably had to deal with is finding a pair of shoes that went with the outfit she’d chosen.

“Then how would you know?” It almost sounded like an accusation.

The smile on her lips unsettled him. It was completely disarming. “I have a vivid imagination.”

Byron laughed shortly. “I can believe that.”

“So?” she asked, her tone light again as she attempted to get back to her original question.

Byron’s eyebrows drew together, knotting in totally confusion as he glanced at her before switching lanes. “‘So’ what?”

Kady sighed. The man could bob and weave with the best of them. She wondered if he’d been a handful, growing up. And if he’d missed his mother, or at least the idea of a mother. Her heart ached a little, knowing how she would have felt without hers. Completely lost.

“Is Byron your first or last name?” she pressed.

It really was like dealing with a junkyard dog. “First,” he ground out grudgingly.

Talk about baby steps. The man was not willing to meet her halfway, or even a quarter of the way. “Do you have a last name?” she finally asked when he volunteered nothing beyond the single word.

“Yeah.”

Okay, he was doing this on purpose, she decided. “And is it a government secret?”

His voice was mild. If he didn’t know better, he would have said he was even enjoying himself. “Not that I know of.”

Byron paused, playing the moment out for his own amusement. He had no idea why the doctor’s questioning amused more than annoyed him. Maybe it was because this pint-size doctor stood out from the rest of all the people he’d encountered since he’d come to work for the late shipping magnate. In a sea of interchangeable people, she was unique, like the color red in a box of beige crayons.

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