Police Protector

“That’s not how it looked to me.” The sexy high-heeled boots brought her nearly to eye level with him at six feet tall. Her glare said she wasn’t the least bit intimidated by his badge or his height. “You looked like a pervert trying to kidnap him.”

Lucan tried counting to ten. He didn’t make it past four. That heart-shaped face and creamy smooth skin might tempt a man to want to learn more about her, but the shrew’s temper would quickly squash the idea. “Let me see your driver’s license.”

Her eyes snapped fire. Lucan held that gaze, narrowing his own eyes and waiting. Scowling, she opened her purse. A thirty-eight revolver was clearly visible despite the jumble of items inside.

Lucan jerked the purse from her grasp. Letting it fall to the ground, he spun her around. “You’re under arrest.”

“What?”

He snapped handcuffs into place.

“Let me go! You can’t arrest me for calling you a pervert.”

His jaw clenched. “No, but I can arrest you for carrying a concealed weapon, impeding an officer in the performance of his duty and assault on a police officer.” He glanced at the expensive car with its engine still running, sitting in the middle of the street, and steered her up against it. “And impeding the flow of traffic,” he added.

“You have to be kidding!”

She struggled as he patted her down quickly and impersonally despite the fact that the body beneath his hands was made for a different sort of patting entirely.

“You have the right to remain silent—”

“Oh, for crying out loud. I know my rights. I’m a lawyer.”

He managed to silence the oath that sprang to his lips and continued reciting the Miranda rights.

“What about Kip?” she demanded. “Don’t you understand? Something is wrong!”

The rising tenor of her tone almost stopped him, but he finished and held the stormy gaze she tossed over her shoulder at him. “Do you understand these rights as stated?”

“Yes!”

He stepped back and let her turn around. She tossed aside a drift of hair that had fallen across one eye and glared furiously.

“I apologize,” she offered without a trace of apology in her tone or manner. “But you were manhandling my nephew. It made me see red.”

“I was not manhandling him!” He lowered his voice wondering why he was letting this woman get to him. “Your nephew was kicking me.”

“Because you grabbed him. I saw you.”

Lucan swallowed a retort. “Lady, I’m not going to stand out here and argue with you.”

The scene probably had looked bad from a concerned relative’s point of view, but he was not about to concede that point. “If you’re the kid’s aunt, how come he took off?”

A flash of chagrin. She swung her head as if trying to toss long hair over her shoulder only to realize it wasn’t there.

“I live in Boston. I haven’t seen Kip in a couple of years.” Her eyes narrowed once more. “And you were scaring him to death.”

The boy had been scared.

Her striking blue eyes clouded. “I’m sorry I overreacted. It’s been a long day and there was no way I could know you were a cop when I intervened.”

She still didn’t sound contrite.

“We’re on the same side, Officer,” she added defiantly.

“Detective.”

She gave a negligent shrug.

Lucan reached for her handbag. This woman knew how to press his buttons. Under her watchful gaze he removed the revolver. “You want to explain this?”

Her frown twisted to annoyance. “I forgot it was in there.”

Lucan waited. Even her sigh was angry. “It’s completely legal. I have permits to carry concealed, Detective. You’ll find them in my purse.”

Lucan gritted his teeth, determined not to let her climb under his skin. The purse was so jammed with stuff he was surprised she could get it closed. No wonder it had felt like bricks when she hit him. The weapon was fully loaded. Beneath it sat a canister of pepper spray.

“Expecting a war?”

“I like to be prepared.”

He held his temper along with her gaze. “You aren’t a cop.”

“No, I told you, I’m a lawyer.”

“Then you don’t have a permit to carry concealed in Maryland.”

Irritation flashed in those bright blue eyes. “I’m an officer of the court, detective. I assure you all my paperwork is in order.”

“Uh-huh. Well as an officer of the court, you should know the state of Maryland doesn’t recognize the right to carry concealed weapons for anyone outside of law enforcement.”

If looks could burn, he’d be sizzling. It was her turn to grit perfectly even white teeth.

“It was an oversight. When I left work I forgot the gun was in there or I would have taken it out.”

He pulled out the pepper spray. “Boston must be rougher than I thought. Am I going to find a switchblade next?”

“No!”

“Good.” Lucan dug until he found the paperwork. A passport was there as well. That started a whole new set of alarm bells clanging.

“Planning a trip out of the country?”

“Yes. If you must know, my sister and I are taking her children on vacation this weekend. We’re flying to Bermuda.”

“Uh-huh. In December. Right before Christmas.”

“Can you think of a better time?”

Lucan eyed her. “Does your sister have a husband?” Her gaze flickered. He pressed home his point. “Does he know about your vacation plans?”

Her gaze dropped for an instant before challenging him once more. “That’s none of your business.”

“It is if he has custody and no knowledge of your plans.”

There was relief in her posture. “He doesn’t have custody. Milt’s her second husband. The children are all hers.”

Bingo. This was a family dispute of some sort. Reason enough for the kid to run off. If it wasn’t for all the money the boy was flashing around, Lucan might be tempted to dismiss the situation. As it was, however…“Are your plane tickets in here as well?”

“No. We haven’t booked our flight yet.” She flushed. “Okay, I know this sounds odd.”

He kept his expression neutral. Suddenly the fight seemed to go out of her.

“Look, something is wrong at my sister’s place. She was supposed to call me on Sunday to firm up our plans. She never called.”

Concern clouded her features. Lucan tried to determine if it was real. He had the impression of genuine emotion, but how could he tell?

“I haven’t been able to reach Casey all week. I wanted to come sooner but I had to finish a case before I could leave. You have my gun permits.”

“Permits, plural?”

“Yes.”

From inside her purse he pulled out an envelope he’d shifted while looking for her wallet. Kyra Wolfstead was licensed to carry a concealed weapon in the state of Massachusetts and two neighboring states.

He opened her bulging leather wallet and studied her driver’s license. The names matched. Her photo was crisp and clear. Lucan had a feeling cameras of any sort liked Kyra Wolfstead. He could understand their approval. If they’d met under different circumstances, he might approve as well.

“I have business cards in there too,” she added.

And a thick wad of cash that brought his head up sharply.

“I didn’t want to waste time going to an ATM after I got here,” she explained before he could ask.

Her tone was calm and brisk, but annoyance flashed once more. “We’re wasting time, Off—Detective. Casey has an ex-husband with a court injunction against him.”

Which could easily be checked out and just might explain the arsenal and the passport. Lucan lifted one of the business cards and scowled. “This says you’re an insurance investigator.”

She sighed. “I work for Dowlings Limited, as you can see. They are similar to Lloyds of London.”

“I’ve heard of Dowlings. So are you an investigator or a lawyer?”

“I’m both. I worked in international law for a time, which comes in handy with my current job. Many of our clients have places outside of the United States. Art objects and jewelry are often fenced in other countries. I know the laws and restrictions in many of those jurisdictions. Look, could we have this discussion later? I have an unusual job and it’s nice that you’re interested, but I’d like to go to my sister’s place and make sure Casey is okay. I’m deeply concerned.”

Headlights speared them as an approaching car slowed. In the time they’d been talking, dusk had settled over the neighborhood. The driver of the oncoming car swung into the opposite lane on the narrow street to pass Kyra’s car, which was still sitting there with its engine running. A woman and two children stared curiously at them as they drove by. Lucan’s car was parked half a block away, and he’d left his radio inside.

“Have a seat on the lawn under that tree.” He indicated an old elm with a wave of his hand. Kyra Wolfstead glared daggers. He raised a hand to forestall her next protest. “I need to move your car out of the middle of the street.”

“For pity’s sake. The ground is freezing.”

“I’ll hurry.”

“You’d better.” She strode to the tree without waiting for assistance and folded gracefully onto the yellowed grass. Lucan thought she might be trembling the slightest bit, but he read that as anger rather than fear.

Unloading her gun, he tucked the weapon in the back of his waistband, pocketing the shells. He removed the pepper spray and put that in his pocket as well. Then he drove her car to the side of the road.

In the back seat was a rich-looking, long leather coat that would no doubt match the boots and gloves. There was also an overnight-sized suitcase, a brown soft leather briefcase, what appeared to be a computer bag and two plastic sacks of brightly wrapped packages. An expensive GPS system sat on the dashboard displaying the car’s location. A set of printed directions from the Internet lay on the passenger’s seat beside a thermos.

Lucan opened the thermos and sniffed the contents. Some sort of spiced tea if he wasn’t mistaken, still warm. A sealed plastic drinking bottle was half full of what appeared to be water. This was a woman who obviously liked backup plans.

He checked the destination on the GPS device against the printed directions. They matched. The address was one block over. In the glove compartment, her registration was in order. The address matched the one on her driver’s license and the gun permits.

It appeared she was telling the truth. Still, that wad of cash and the weapon were a cause for concern. While this might be nothing more than a domestic dispute, there was a little boy running around with his own wad of cash.

Locking the car, Lucan went to where she sat and reached down to help her to her feet. She stiffened at his touch, but flowed up easily despite the skirt and heels.

“My car’s down the street,” he told her.

“Are you going to undo the cuffs?”

“No.”

“You’re really going to arrest me?” Despite her high-heeled boots, she kept pace with him easily. She had an athlete’s body. Lean and trim. He wondered if she was a runner.

“That remains to be seen,” he answered frankly.

He had her sit on the back seat of his car with her legs out while he ran her information. She seethed with impatience, but clamped her lips tightly against the complaint he could read so easily in her expressive features.

Unsurprised when she checked out clean, Lucan still hesitated before pulling her out of the car and releasing the cuffs. He handed her back her purse.

“I’ll follow you to your sister’s place.”

“You aren’t going to arrest me?” She all but vibrated with anger.

“I’ve had my quota of paperwork for the day, but push me and I’ll make an exception.”

She extended her hand. “And my gun?”

“Is illegal in Maryland.” He didn’t add that he didn’t like civilians with guns. “By all rights I should be taking you in for possession.”

“But you won’t?”

Lucan shook his head. “The jury’s still out on that, counselor. Let’s go see what your sister has to say.”

She pursed her lips. Turning on her sexy high heels she returned to her car, anger in every stride. He watched the tight sway of her body in that nicely fitted skirt, and his lips curved. Angry or not, Kyra Wolfstead was a very sexy, intriguing package. Too bad they hadn’t met socially.

She drove to the next block and pulled into the driveway of a small stone-and-vinyl-sided two-story house. An ancient Chinese elm covered most of the front yard. A tattered swing and several beat-up lawn chairs graced a wide front porch. A child’s bike with a flat rear tire leaned drunkenly against the side of the house.

There was nothing out of the ordinary in the setting. Lucan had passed this house several times on his morning runs. Only now did he notice that the drapes were pulled tight. And while the majority of the neighbors’ houses sported brightly colored Christmas lights and door decorations, this house was dark and forlorn-looking by comparison.

Kyra pulled into the driveway. She didn’t wait, but hurried to the front porch. Her large purse flopped against her side. He caught up with her as she pressed the doorbell. When there was no response, she rapped loudly and tried the doorknob.

“Locked.” She looked affronted.

“Your sister may be out.”

“No. Something’s wrong. I tried calling her cell phone again from the car. She always carries her cell phone and keeps it on because of the children, but my calls are going straight to voice mail.”

“Maybe her battery went dead,” he suggested as she began trying windows. “Lots of people forget to charge their cell phones. What are you doing? As a lawyer, you know you can’t break into her house.”

“It’s illegal entry if I don’t break anything to get in,” she corrected.

His lips curved. It was hard not to like her even if she was a pain in the neck. He followed her to the locked side door and on to the back porch with the same results.

“Does your sister work?”

“She’s a waitress.” Kyra changed directions, heading for the single car detached garage. The side door opened easily beneath her fingers.

Lucan yanked her back when she would have gone inside. He was starting to have a bad feeling about this situation.

“Wait.”

“Her car’s in there!”

“I said, wait!”

Unhappily, she did, tapping her foot in annoyance. The seven-year-old sedan inside was locked and empty save for two children’s car seats. Eyeing the trunk, he turned to Kyra only to find her going rapidly back toward the rear of the house.

Lucan started after her. “I’m going to call—what are you doing? Don’t—”

She lifted a child’s lawn chair from a pile of matted leaves, strode onto the porch and up to the kitchen window. Before he could reach her, she’d swung the chair at the pane with surprising force. The glass shattered into a million pieces.

“Now it’s breaking and entering,” she told him without looking his way. “You can arrest me later.”

Using the chair to clear away the broken shards, she poked her head inside. Her gasp had him reaching for her as she recoiled.

Chapter Three

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.”