Kansas City Cowboy Read online

“Right away, sir.” The young man was barely in his twenties. He was new to the job and eager to please the senior officer. “Dr. Kilpatrick.”

  “Hi, Pete.” She knew the rookie cop from a couple of counseling sessions on anger management issues he’d had that had carried over from his off-duty life into his work. “How are you doing today?”

  “Haven’t gotten myself into trouble yet.”

  “Good to hear.” Kate summoned the necessary smile to send him on his way. She wore a more serious expression when she handed the notebook back to Detective Montgomery. “It’s my understanding that the Rose Red Rapist hasn’t stayed true to his pattern. The woman he attacked is dead?”

  Spencer nodded. “Blow to the head. M.E.’s office has her now. They’ll have to tell us if it was intentional or the result of the struggle—maybe the vic saw his face or managed to get away, and he did it to stop her.”

  Two things that hadn’t happened with any of the Rose Red Rapist’s previous—surviving—victims. Changes in a perp’s behavioral patterns could mean something as simple and tragic as silencing a witness to his crimes. But it could also indicate a psychotic break—a dangerous development that meant his attacks would become both more frequent and more violent.

  Kate had counseled plenty of assault victims before, but she’d never been assigned to work on a case where the victim hadn’t survived. “And we’re sure it’s our guy? And not a sick coincidence?”

  The crime lab liaison assigned to the task force, Annie Hermann, approached the opposite side of the crime scene tape, holding up a bagged red rose in her gloved hand. “I don’t know anyone else who leaves one of these with his victim. I’ll run an analysis, but I’m betting it came from the flower shop where she worked.”

  “That’s gutsy.” Detective Fensom lifted the tape for the petite brunette in the navy blue CSI jacket to join them. “Buying a flower from the woman you plan to attack later? She probably looked him right in the face.”

  “Could be why he killed her,” Annie theorized. After a moment’s hesitation, she tucked her curly dark hair behind her ear and crossed beneath Detective Fensom’s arm to join their circle. “Maybe he was a regular customer and she recognized him by the sound of his voice, even if he did wear a mask to hide his face the way his other victims describe. If she called him by name, that could have been her death sentence.”

  Kate offered another, more disturbing explanation. “Or maybe rape is no longer satisfying enough for our unsub to display his power over the women he attacks.”

  Spencer Montgomery tucked his notebook inside the front of his suit jacket. “Yeah, well, let’s keep that tidbit of information to ourselves. The city’s already on edge. If they believe it’s a onetime thing, and not an escalation in the violence of his attacks, we might ease somebody’s fears.”

  Kate nodded her agreement and inhaled another fortifying breath.

  “Go work your magic, Kate,” Spencer encouraged her. “You calm this chaos down and we’ll finish up here.”

  “Right. We’ll debrief later at the precinct?”

  Detective Montgomery nodded. “This afternoon, if possible.”

  “Keep me posted.”

  As the detectives and CSI went back to work, Kate pulled up the sleeve of her coat to make sure her watch was visible. Short and sweet was the key to a successful press conference. She was already formulating a brief statement and would set a time limit for entertaining questions. When she was done, she’d send the press away to make their preliminary reports and tell the residents of Kansas City to remain cautious but not to panic—that KCPD was on the job. Then she could get back to her office at the Fourth Precinct to get some real work done on unmasking a serial rapist turned murderer and get him off the streets.

  Kate raised her hands to silence the onslaught of questions that greeted her and took her position on the sidewalk. She pushed aside a microphone that had gotten too close to her face and squinted as the bright lights of numerous cameras suddenly spotlighted her.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, if I could have your attention, please.” As her eyes adjusted to the unnatural brightness, some of the faces in the crowd began to take shape. She recognized Gabriel Knight, a reporter for the Kansas City Journal and one of KCPD’s harshest critics. She knew Rebecca Cartwright, another reporter who happened to be the daughter-in-law of KCPD’s commissioner, and who would no doubt put a more positive spin on things than Knight would.

  She hesitated for one awkward, painful, debilitating moment when she spotted Vanessa Owen, a woman who reported local news for one of the city’s television stations. Vanessa’s caramel skin, dark brown hair and smoothly articulate voice had become a fixture on Kansas City televisions. She’d once been a fixture in Kate’s life, as well. Vanessa had been a good friend, a sorority sister from college who continued to move in the same social circles as they established careers and marriages after graduation. The story between them that mattered the most had thankfully never been aired, though at times like this, the events that marked the end of their friendship still burned like a raw wound in Kate’s chest.

  But Kate was here to do her job, just as Vanessa was here to do hers. This wasn’t personal. Suck it up, counselor. You’re in control here. KCPD made you spokesperson for the task force because they know you can handle it. And with that mental pep talk sending her emotions back into the protective vault inside her, Kate blinked and moved on with the job at hand.

  Beyond that first row of reporters, the lights and flashes and eager crowd made identifying others in the sea of faces nearly impossible. “I’m Dr. Kate Kilpatrick. I’m a police psychologist and public liaison officer with KCPD.”

  Gabriel Knight didn’t wait for any further introduction. “Is it true that the Rose Red Rapist’s latest assault victim is dead?”

  Biting her tongue to maintain a patient facade, Kate looked straight into the reporter’s probing blue eyes. “I will be making a brief statement on behalf of the department and the task force investigating the attack, and then I will have time for a handful of questions.”

  “Make your statement,” Knight challenged.

  Kate eased the tension she felt into a serene smile and included the entire gathering, including Vanessa Owen, in her speech. “A twenty-eight-year-old woman was sexually assaulted in this neighborhood last night, sometime between ten p.m. and three o’clock this morning. There was a rose left at the scene, indicating the attack was committed by the man—” she paused and held out her hands, placing the blame for their perp’s notoriety squarely where it belonged “—you have dubbed as the Rose Red Rapist.”

  “Kate, is the woman dead?” Vanessa stole Gabriel Knight’s question before he could ask it.

  Although she bristled beneath her coat at the liberty her old friend had taken in addressing her by name, Kate merely nodded. “Yes. We are in the preliminary stages of a murder investigation—”

  “Who was she?” Vanessa followed up.

  “—and pending more exact information and notification of the family, I can’t give more details at this time.”

  “Kate,” Vanessa prodded. “You have to give us something.”

  She looked straight into the camera beside Vanessa. “This is what I can tell you. We will find this man. The task force members investigating these crimes are top-notch specialists—the best in KCPD. I guarantee that we will not rest until this attacker is caught and arrested.”

  A commotion at the rear of the crowd diverted Vanessa’s and Gabriel Knight’s attention for a moment, but the cameras were still rolling, so Kate continued with the briefing. “Rest assured that KCPD and the commissioner’s task force are doing everything in our power to identify the attacker and ascertain whether or not this crime is related to the attack that occurred in May, or to others that have occurred in previous years.”

  The shuffling of movement and Hey’s and What the’s? in the crowd behind them finally garnered Gabriel’s and Vanessa’s attention, too.

  The spo
tlight faded as cameras turned to see what the fuss was about. Normally, Kate was relieved when the cameras turned away to give her the privacy she preferred, but she had to say what she was required to say. “KCPD urges the women of Kansas City to practice common safety procedures. Don’t walk alone after dark. Lock your cars and doors. Carry your keys or even pepper spray in your hand, and be sure to check under and around your vehicle before approaching it. Remember that KCPD is offering free self-protection workshops, or you can look into classes offered elsewhere. And finally we ask that everyone remain vigilant….”

  Kate’s voice tapered off as the lights followed the parting of the crowd, splitting like a crack in an icy lake, and heading straight toward her.

  “Sir, you’re gonna have to...” She thought she heard Pete Estes’s voice, but it faded into the growing buzz of the crowd.

  She spotted a cowboy hat and broad shoulders a moment before Gabriel Knight was pushed aside and a man dressed in a tan-and-brown uniform and insulated jacket stood before her. His eyes, dark like rich earth and shadowed by the brim of his hat, captured hers.

  “Who are you?” Vanessa asked beside him. “Are you connected to this investigation? Has KCPD called in outside help?”

  But the questions went unheeded as the dark focus of the man’s eyes never left Kate.

  “Are you in charge here?” His dark voice was just as coolly efficient, just as menacing, as the gun and badge next to the hand splayed at his hip.

  Rarely at a loss for words, Kate cursed the splutter of hesitation she heard in her voice. But she shook off the foolish reaction and came up with a diplomatic answer. “I’m part of the task force that’s in charge— Hey!”

  Apparently, something she’d said was good enough for him. Immune to the flash of lights and uncaring of the public recording of the scene he was making, the cowboy closed his grip around Kate’s arm and pulled her aside. If he hadn’t been wearing a badge that identified him as law enforcement, Kate might have protested further.

  “Lady, I’ve been driving ever since the report came over the wire early this morning.”

  “What report?”

  With the interview effectively ended, she quickened her pace to keep up with his long strides. And though she tugged against his hand, his hold on her never wavered.

  “What can you tell me about the woman you found in that alley?” he demanded.

  “Excuse me, but we have rules about how a press conference is conducted here in Kansas City. We also have rules about interdepartmental investigations. If you need to speak to someone about a case, then you—”

  “I’m only interested in this case.” She nearly pitched off her pumps when he abruptly stopped to test the door on a nearby storefront. That same strong hand kept her upright and pulled her inside the boutique beside him, beyond the flashes of cameras and noise of the reporters and curious onlookers. Once he released her and shooed away the store clerk who offered to help them, Kate could face him. Only then did she see the jet-black hair with shots of silver at the temples. Only then did she clearly make out the chiseled jaw and six feet or so of height. Only then did she detect the scents of leather and man and some unnamed emotion that made her back up half a step.

  “Who are you?” she asked.

  This time, he answered. “I’m sheriff of Alton County.”

  Alton County? Central Missouri? “What are you doing here...?” Temper turned to confusion. She sputtered again while her brain shifted gears. “How do you know about the murder? We haven’t even released her name to the public, pending notification of her family.”

  “You’ve notified them,” Sheriff Cowboy stated. “My name’s Boone Harrison. Jane Harrison is...was...my baby sister. I want to know who the hell killed her, and what you’re doing to find him.”

  Chapter Two

  Boone paused at the doors leading from the medical examiner’s lab into the morgue and autopsy room. He pulled off his hat, working the brim between his fingers as he looked through the glass windows to the stainless steel tables inside.

  He watched a dark-haired woman in blue scrubs and a white lab coat working beneath the bright lights at the middle table. She wore gloves and a surgical mask. And as she circled around the table, the front of her lab coat gaped open, revealing a baby bump on her belly.

  But it wasn’t the pregnant medical examiner who had his attention. He wasn’t even shocked by the tray of wicked-looking tools or the cart filled with saws and hoses, glass containers and evidence bags.

  Boone touched his fingers to the cool glass partition, wishing he could reach through the glass and erase the images before him. It wasn’t his first dead body or even his first murder. But it was his first and only baby sister lying there—her life cut short, her beautiful laugh silenced forever.

  His jaw ached with the tight clench of muscles holding back the tears and curses. And his gut was an open pit of anger, grief and failure, eating him up from the inside out.

  “You don’t have to do this, Sheriff Harrison.” The firm, slightly husky tones of the blonde woman standing beside him filtered into his brain, tossing him a lifeline back to the reality at hand. Dr. Kate Kilpatrick stood shoulder to shoulder with him, viewing the same scene he was, maintaining a calm strength he couldn’t seem to find within himself. “Certainly not right now. Give us some time to work first, and then I’ll call you. I promise.”

  He flattened his palm against the glass and pushed the swinging door open. “I need to see her.”

  Startled, the medical examiner looked up from her work. She zeroed in on Boone and straightened to attention. “You shouldn’t be in here. Hi, Kate.”

  “Sorry, Holly.” Dr. Kate’s hand on his arm slowed him a step, giving her the chance to reach the steel table before he could. “Dr. Holly Masterson-Kincaid, medical examiner. This is Sheriff Boone Harrison from Alton County.” But she wasn’t much of a wedge when it came to stopping him. Boone moved in beside her, looking down at the raven-haired woman on the table. “He believes the victim is his sister.”

  “Well, then, he really shouldn’t be in here right now.” The M.E. reached for the sheet draped at the foot of the table. “I’m just about to start... Hey!” She swatted Boone’s hand from across the table. “Don’t touch her. Please.” She covered the body up to the shoulders as gently as if she was tucking a child into bed. “There may be evidence on her.”

  “I won’t compromise anything.”

  “Sheriff?” He felt Kate’s hand on his forearm again, but there was more comfort than warning in this particular touch, and his gaze locked on to the elegant, pale, practically manicured fingers resting on his sleeve. “Perhaps we should wait outside and let the doctor work.”

  But he’d already seen the bruises on Janie’s knuckles and the torn fingernails. He’d already noted the sticky-looking mat of hair beneath her head, indicating the blow that had ended her life. The worst of the bloody wound was hidden from view. There was nothing the M.E. or the police psychologist needed to hide from him. The loss had already imprinted itself in his brain, and deeper—in his heart. Boone’s sister had been a firecracker in life. He couldn’t remember ever seeing her this still, not even in sleep.

  But the shell of the girl he’d grown up with was still there.

  “It’s her. It’s Janie.” He lifted his gaze to the moss-colored eyes looking up at him. But the emotion there quickly shuttered, neutralizing their color to a grayish-green before Dr. Kate pulled her hand away. With that unconscious bit of caring denied him, Boone cleared his throat and looked over at the dark-haired doctor. “Jane Beatrice Harrison. Named for both our grandmothers. She’s twenty-eight. Born and raised on a ranch outside Grangeport, Missouri. Moved to K.C. about a year ago. She’s single, but dating, I think. Worked at a florist’s shop. Taught evening art classes at one of the community colleges here.”

  The M.E. picked up a computerized clipboard and started logging in some of the details he was sharing.

  Boone’s breath go
t stuck in his chest and he exhaled a big sigh before he could continue. “I talked to her on the phone just last week. But I haven’t seen her since the Fourth of July. The family gets together for a big celebration—fireworks, food. One of my brothers has a cabin on the lake. She got a sunburn out tubing on the water with our nieces and nephew.” Something numbing and merciless was eating its way through every nerve of his body, robbing him of rational thought. “Janie loved those kids.”

  “Is there anything else you can tell us about her life here in Kansas City?” Dr. Kilpatrick asked. “Any specifics about her daily routine?”

  The answers drifted out of his brain. For a few moments, it seemed it was all he could do to stay on his feet and take in the world around him. Boone was aware of the two women processing everything he’d said. Holly Masterson-Kincaid was dark, dressed in white. Her hair was long and wavy and anchored in a ponytail at her nape. Kate Kilpatrick was fair, dressed in deep chocolate brown. Her hair was short and chic, with every strand falling into place. Both women were in their thirties, although he guessed the blonde to be slightly older than the brunette. Both women had their eyes on him, watching him with a mix of trepidation and concern. Get it together, Harrison.

  Man, that Dr. Kate was a cool customer. He’d practically abducted her to get the answers he needed. He’d been bossy and on edge, yet she’d stayed calm and composed when she’d had every right to slap his face or call for backup to haul him away. She could have blown him off as the crazy out-of-towner stomping into their official territory, yet she’d answered every question with clear, if guarded, precision, and offered to bring him to the morgue herself.

  Some part of his foggy brain knew she was probably running interference, keeping him away from the CSIs and detectives investigating the crime scene and talking to potential witnesses. But she could have called a uniform to drive him through town. She could have arranged for a receptionist to guide him down to the building’s basement morgue. Instead, she’d volunteered to handle the ol’ bull-in-the-big-city country boy herself. That took a lot of compassion, and probably more guts than the woman realized.