Man with the Muscle

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.

Chapter Three

One Month Later

The strains of chamber music muted as Audrey closed the kitchen door behind her. The din of eager, friendly voices from all the polite conversations she’d endured tonight still seemed to echo in her ears, leaving her nearly deaf in the empty room as she breathed a sigh of relief. “That’s what I needed.”

After allowing herself a moment to savor the quiet, she kicked off her strappy Gucci heels and curled her aching toes against the cool tile, wishing she could shed the fitted gown with the stays that poked into her ribs, as well. But since hostess nudity wasn’t the kind of buzz she wanted to generate with this holiday fundraising event, she settled for padding across the kitchen and opening the fridge in search of some caffeine. “Great.” She scoped the shelves up and down. “Just great.”

Not one diet cola to be found. Coffee? She closed the refrigerator and turned to the empty coffeemaker on the counter.

Out of luck. The only caffeine in the house was on the serving tables the caterers had set up, and she wasn’t going back to the party any sooner than she had to. The whole point of sneaking off to the kitchen was to find ten minutes of silence where she could nurse her headache and maybe think a bit more about how she wanted to open her statement to the jury when Demetrius Smith’s trial started in the morning.

She already had her arguments lined up. Her evidence was all in order, the witness list approved. Her boss, District Attorney Dwight Powers, had signed off on her strategy for putting away the reputed gang leader. Smith claimed he’d been an innocent bystander as the ten-year-old boy had been shot and killed in his backyard, thinking he could plead out to lesser charges. But Audrey intended to nail him to the wall for a list of crimes ranging from drug-dealing and witness intimidation to Calvin Chambers’s murder.

As it did every time she read or thought about the ten-year-old’s death, Audrey’s memories went back to the night of Gretchen’s murder—to the much more personal understanding she now had about violence and innocent lives so cruelly and callously taken. Inevitably, her thoughts of that night ended up at a shadowed hedgerow, where a dark-eyed, opinionated, compassionate cop had given her a few moments of respite from her grief.

You get Smith.

Alex Taylor had angered her, touched her heart, held her hand and handed down an edict. Right. No pressure.

Apparently, the support of KCPD, as well as career success and personal independence, hinged on winning this trial.

No pressure whatsoever.

No wonder her head ached.

It was Audrey’s first big case as a prosecutor. Her chance to prove she was smart enough, gutsy enough and tough enough to win a case without the backing of her father’s firm. Rupert Kline expected her to fail and was waiting to pick up the pieces with a hug and a told-you-so. He expected her to come to her senses and accept the lucrative partnership he’d offered in his firm. All his money and influence hadn’t been able to save her mother from the cancer that had ravaged her body and ultimately silenced her beautiful spirit. So, by damn, he wasn’t going to let anything happen to his little girl.

Even if all that love was smothering her.

So in the kindest, most reassuring way she knew how, Audrey was fighting to be her own woman, to create her own success story—to build her own life that included her father, but wasn’t dominated by him. Her mind was more focused, her goals clearer now, than they’d ever been. She didn’t need Daddy’s money to get the job done. She didn’t need his name to give her clout.

She didn’t need lectures from some doubting Thomas of a cop, either. She could do this.

She had to do this.

Beyond getting a ruthless criminal off the streets, she needed to succeed in order to prove that, at twenty-seven, with a degree from Smith and a juris doctor from the University of Missouri, she was no longer Daddy’s little girl. She was more than the pretty princess in the gilded Kline cage.

So why had she agreed to help her father host this fundraiser for a scholarship to honor Gretchen’s memory on the night before the trial began?

Proof that she was her own woman, indeed.

Audrey pulled out a glass and filled it with water from the tap, hating that vulnerable place in her heart. “Why can’t I say no to you, Daddy?”

Probably because the arts and friendship were worthy causes. Probably because she was as fiercely protective of her father as he was of her. Audrey had moved back home those last few months when her mother had been ill—to take care of Rupert as much as her mother. Despite the tragedy, Audrey had finally understood what it felt like to be needed. Her. Not her family’s money, not her father’s name. Her parents had needed their daughter to be there, to love them, to be strong when they couldn’t be.