YULETIDE PROTECTOR Read online

  Harper Pierce, a tall, blond piece-of-work who’d stonewalled more than one KCPD investigation with his legal acrobatics, placed his hand at the small of Bailey’s back. “Then he can make an appointment. Let’s go.”

  Before Spencer could evaluate the way his own body braced at the proprietary touch, Bailey arched her back away from the other man’s hand and sent Pierce on his way. “Would you mind looking after Jackson and Mother? I know she’d appreciate the extra arm to lean on.”

  “I’m not leaving you with—”

  “Please, Harper. Go.” Her melodic voice lost its sweet tone and her body seemed to hug itself around the orange coat she clutched. So she didn’t like to be touched? Was that an aftereffect of the rape? Or was it that she just didn’t want her ex-fiancé putting his hands on her?

  Flashing a suspicious eye toward Spencer, as if he was somehow to blame for the dismissal, Harper relented. “I’ll hold the elevator for you.”

  “That won’t be necessary.”

  “Bails—”

  “I’ll walk her to her car,” Spencer volunteered, eager to send the others on their way. That’d give him a few minutes of private time with Bailey to have the conversation Chief Taylor wanted him to have with her. Then he could get back to some real work.

  “How did you know I drove myself?” Bailey arched a golden eyebrow as she turned her attention back to him.

  Spencer dropped his gaze down to the keys dangling from her fist and grinned. Easy deduction. “I am a detective.”

  A responding grin eased the strain on her mouth and relaxed some of the tension from her posture. “So you are.” The gentleness returned to her voice as she spoke to her parents and ex-fiancé again. “You all go ahead. I need to get back to my apartment and organize my portfolio for the job interview I have tomorrow, anyway. It’ll save you a stop.”

  “Can’t you put that off until another day?” Loretta sounded more irritated than hurt by her daughter’s excuse to leave them. “The Butler-Smythes are coming to dinner tonight, remember? Their son Cameron is just home from his trip to China. You know he was sweet on you back in school, and I thought—”

  “I can’t, Mother.” A rosy hue tinted Bailey’s cheeks, indicating the level of impatience or distress she was keeping in check at her mother’s efforts to plan her evening and her life. “I have errands to run before I go home. And I’m still fixing up my apartment. I want to finish painting the trim around the windows tonight.” Spencer would have stopped with a solid no, but Bailey threw in a bit of logic to salvage her mother’s feelings. “Besides, you know I’m not feeling terribly social right now. If you want me to make an appearance at your holiday gala this weekend, I need to save up my social energy to face all those people. Deal?”

  Loretta’s dramatic sigh indicated her daughter had finally come up with an excuse she could accept. “I suppose it’s a fair tradeoff. I do want you at the Christmas ball. I can guarantee yeses to every invitation if our guests know you’ll be there.”

  Spencer felt himself bristling on Bailey’s behalf. The young woman was gearing up to testify against her rapist—to face the man who’d nearly killed her—across the short distance of a courtroom. And her mother was worried about matchmaking and society fund-raisers?

  Although the tension crept back into her posture, Bailey continued to smile when her mother came to give her a hug. “Please give Cam and his parents my regards, but I won’t be there.”

  Loretta’s cutting gaze swept over Spencer as she pulled away. Then she brushed Bailey’s bangs off her forehead and straightened the angel pendant hanging around her neck. “Very well then. I’ll call you tomorrow about the Christmas Ball.”

  Bailey nodded. “I’ll talk to you then.”

  “Call me if you need an escort to the ball.” Bailey stiffened when Harper leaned in to press a kiss to her temple and Spencer felt a protective urge make him stand straighter. And even though she managed a smile before Pierce followed Loretta and Jackson Mayweather down the hallway, it didn’t last.

  “I apologize for my family and...” she thumbed over her shoulder “...my attorney.”

  “They’re understandably protective of you.”

  “Smothering is more like it.” She unfolded the coat she carried and flipped it around her shoulders. “Happy holidays, Detective. I hope you’re well.”

  “What?”

  Her mouth relaxed with a soft giggle, probably at catching him off guard with the friendly chitchat. “It’s customary when someone issues you a greeting like that for you say something similar in return.”

  “Oh. Right.” When she juggled her keys and purse to shrug into her coat, Spencer decided to test his no-touch theory. He pointed, alerting her to his intent before moving behind her to hold her coat. She paused for a moment before thanking him and sliding her arms into the sleeves. After settling the collar up around her neck, he smoothed his hands across her shoulders and patted her arms. It was Pierce’s touch she hadn’t liked. Or maybe being touched without being asked first. She wasn’t skittish with him standing behind her. She hadn’t frozen up. Maybe she was going to make a calmer, more reliable witness than Chief Taylor thought. “Happy holidays, Bailey.”

  What the heck? Spencer popped his grip open and stepped back when he realized he was still holding her shoulders, still breathing in the faint citrusy scent of her hair, still feeling her warmth.

  And did she just shiver when he pulled away? Was that a soft gasp he heard? She’d liked his touch. Or, at the very least, she hadn’t minded his hands lingering on her.

  There were times when possessing his finely honed eye for detail sucked. Think job, Montgomery. Forget the woman. Forget the attraction.

  You know what hell that will lead you to.

  “How are you holding up?” he asked, his tone more brusque than he’d intended.

  “Are you worried I’m going to screw up all your hard work?” Bailey slipped her purse onto her shoulder, inhaling a deep breath before turning to face him. They stood close enough now that she had to tilt her face up to see his. Good grief, her eyes were blue.

  A pair of pretty brown eyes, buried deep within his memory, suddenly surfaced in his mind, blurring his vision. Spencer blinked away the vision before the pain could follow. He slipped his hands into the pockets of his slacks and strolled a few steps toward the main room at the end of the hall, pretending he was still on his game. “Chief Taylor wanted me to run through some safety precautions with you—make sure you’re all ready to go for Monday, or whenever you get called to the stand.”

  “So you are worried. You don’t think I’ll go through with this, either, do you?”

  The accusation stopped him in his tracks and Spencer turned. “This is an important case, Bailey.”

  “It’s important to me, too.” She shoved her keys into her pocket and faced off against him. “Everyone thinks I’m going to freak out on the stand or run away and hide somewhere. But I have to do this. There has to be a reason why this happened to me.”

  Spencer’s eyes narrowed at the emotion staining her cheeks. If she got worked up arguing with him, how was she going to handle it if Kenna Parker tried to rattle her on the witness stand? “That’s a lot of pressure to put on yourself.”

  “Yes. But I can handle it.”

  He pulled his hand from his pocket and tapped the fingers fisted around the strap of her purse, silently arguing her cool-under-fire argument. “Have you ever done anything like this before? Have you ever bared your fears and soul and worst nightmare in front of the man who made you afraid?”

  “No. Of course not, but...”

  He let the reality of what they were asking of her set in, and watched her cheeks pale and her gaze drop to the center of his chest. “This is going to get messy before it gets done. Are you sure you’re up for this?”

  �
��You’d think I’d have at least one person cheering me on and bucking up my confidence instead of telling me all the reasons why I can’t or shouldn’t do it.” She tilted her chin up, venting a mixture of temper and frustration. “Since you’ve been so obsessed with catching this guy, I would have thought you’d be in my corner. But you’re as much of a doubting Thomas as anybody else.”

  “I’m not the kind of man to give pep talks, Bailey.” As Bailey’s voice grew louder and more animated, Spencer’s hushed, articulating every word as he dipped his head closer to hers. “There’s a lot that can happen between now and when you’re called up to that witness stand. Besides you ‘freaking out’ and deciding not to testify, there’s a possibility Brian Elliott’s accomplice may do something to try to stop you.”

  “You’re talking about The Cleaner, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, I’m talking about The Cleaner—and she’s nobody you want to mess with. You need to lock your doors and windows. Don’t go out by yourself at night. Have someone walk you to your car. Hang with people you know and trust. And if something does happen, call me or 911 before it’s too late to do anything about it.”

  With every sentence, her eyes widened and her skin cooled to a pale porcelain color. “Too late...?”

  “I’m not here to sugarcoat anything. I’m just stating the facts.”

  After an endless moment of silence she tore her gaze from his and focused her attention on buttoning her coat. “Don’t worry, detective. No one would ever mistake you for a warm and fuzzy kind of guy.” She tied her orange belt with equal fervor. “Now, was that the lecture you were supposed to give me? Watch my back and don’t be stupid? Or do you have some more doom and gloom you’d like to share? Let’s get it over with because I really do need to get home and hide away in my little ivory tower of naïveté and incompetence.”

  “I didn’t call you stupid.”

  “No, you’re just intimating that I can’t take care of myself.”

  Really? This defiant little show of sarcasm was supposed to convince him to trust her to close his case? Was this an attempt to show her strength? By butting heads with him? And since when did he get in anyone’s face and argue back?

  Spencer’s blood was still pumping hard through his veins when he heard a door open in the hallway behind him. He saw the shock register on Bailey’s face and instinctively went on guard against the unseen threat as he spun around.

  Two uniformed officers led Brian Elliott out of the nearby interview room. He’d changed into an expensively tailored suit and a smug untouchability that made him look more like a Forbes 500 mogul than the prisoner wearing a pair of handcuffs and ankle-band tracking device he truly was. An entourage of his attorney, Kenna Parker, and Elliott’s ex-wife, Mara Boyd-Elliott, followed behind. One a dark blonde, the other, platinum, both women wore business suits and carried winter coats and attaché cases, looking like they’d all just finished a business meeting instead of a legal debriefing.

  Spencer’s arm went out to push Bailey behind him as the group came closer. He felt her fingers curling into the back of his jacket and something inside him shifted, grew wary. When Elliott spotted Spencer, the bastard grinned in recognition. The other man slowed his stride and the soft gasp at Spencer’s back made him reach down to fold his hand around Bailey’s wrist beside him.

  “Keep walking, Elliott,” Spencer ordered.

  “Now, now, detective. I’ve missed our little chats in the interrogation room” the man taunted. “Arrest any other innocent people lately?”

  “Brian.” That was the ex, laying a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t make me regret my investment. I’m willing to support you to a point, but antagonizing the police won’t help your case.”

  Elliott shrugged off her touch. “You only posted bail so your paper could report on the trial without it looking like a personal vendetta against me.”

  Mara eased a calming sigh behind his back. “Unbiased reporting isn’t the only reason. There’s still a place in my heart for you. And I believe in...your innocence.”

  Innocence? The newspaper publisher could barely choke out the word. Spencer wondered how the woman could live with herself, putting Elliott out on the street just so she could sell more papers.

  Did he need to remind them about blood matching Elliott’s type being found at the scene of one of the assaults? Had they forgotten his DNA matching the child of a woman who claimed to have been raped by the Rose Red Rapist? Did any of them think Elliott could deny kidnapping a woman and being captured by the K-9 cop and his German Shepherd partner on Spencer’s task force?

  Spencer could easily imagine the arguments Elliott’s attorney would bring up. The blood sample had been corrupted and could match any number of suspects. The child’s birth mother, who’d never reported being raped, had had a nervous breakdown and been committed to a mental hospital, so her version of events was suspect. The abduction could be pled down to a lesser crime and argued that it was a solo occurrence, not the culmination of a reign of serial terror through the city.

  But there was no arguing away the eyewitness testimony of the courageous woman digging her fingers into his shoulder blade right now. Or Spencer’s driving need to protect the truth she represented.

  “Get him out of here, Ms. Parker.” Spencer repeated the command to move the handcuffed man.

  But when the uniformed guards urged the prisoner forward, Brian Elliott planted his feet and turned. “Wait. Do I know you, miss?”

  Bailey released her death grip on Spencer’s jacket and slid her right hand down his arm. At the brush of her chilled skin against his, he turned his palm into hers, lacing their fingers together, offering his protection and support against the man who’d terrorized her a year earlier. When she latched on to him with both hands, Spencer tightened his hold.

  Be tough, Bailey, he wanted to say. He could feel her trembling beside him. Be just as strong as you claim to be.

  Kenna Parker nudged aside one of the uniformed officers and moved in front of her client. “You shouldn’t have any contact with the opposing witnesses.”

  Damn straight.

  But Elliott ignored his attorney’s plea. “You’re Jackson Mayweather’s daughter, er, stepdaughter. I’ve had a few business dealings with Jackson, and I’ve given a lot of money to your mother’s charities. She does good work for local hospitals and children’s groups.” He was making small talk with Bailey? Was he hoping she’d recant her statement because he knew her parents or could pour on the charm? “You’re the woman who thinks I hurt you.”

  “Thinks?” The trembling stopped. Was some steel creeping into that delicate backbone of hers? Or was she on the verge of passing out?

  “Brian,” Kenna Parker warned. “Don’t say another word.”

  Mara Elliott tried to get him moving, too. “Darling, we need to go.”

  “Don’t darling me—!” The cuffs that linked Elliott’s wrist jangled as he jerked against them.

  Bailey’s hand jerked in Spencer’s grip. Good. Not passing out.

  He snapped an order to the two unis. “Get him out of here.”

  The brief show of anger quickly passed, and, with the officers grabbing hold of Brian Elliott, the perp raised his hands in calm surrender. “I’m all right, dear,” he apologized to his ex. “I’ve got this, Kenna.” Then he turned his attention back to Spencer. “I’m sorry for what happened to your friend there. Yes, I’ve made some mistakes, but I’m not the monster you think I am. The man you want is still out there, Montgomery, lying in wait to hurt some other helpless woman.” He gestured to the women there to support him, as if their presence was proof of his innocence. “I’m no serial rapist.”

  Maybe Spencer’s command hadn’t been clear. “Go. Now.”

  A brunette woman, wearing a coat over her suit, and holding a cell phone to her ear, came around the corne
r and stopped. Her dark eyes widened as she took in the confrontation in the hallway. “Mr. Elliott?” Regina Hollister, Brian Elliott’s executive assistant, paused for a moment, then asked the party on her call to wait while she joined the group. “I have your car waiting for us out front. Is everything all right?”

  “Get him out of here.” Or Spencer would do the job himself.

  The two officers pulled Elliott into step between them. Kenna Parker hurried ahead to consult with Elliott’s assistant. “Out front where the reporters are?”

  Regina nodded and put her cell phone back to her ear. “I’ll ask the driver to meet us someplace else.”

  “No.” Kenna stopped her and turned to face her client, walking backward as they continued down the hallway. “Let’s use the press to our advantage. The officers will uncuff you before you leave the building. I don’t want you to make any comment, but let’s show Kansas City that you’re a free man.”

  “For now,” Spencer called after them. “Don’t let that ankle bracelet pinch too tight, Elliott.”

  When Brian Elliott began a retort, Kenna Parker pressed her finger against his lips to shush him until he smiled and nodded his acquiescence. Spencer didn’t move or look away until Brian Elliott and the others had turned the corner toward the bank of public elevators and disappeared from sight.

  Easing out a tense breath as the threat left, Spencer quickly became aware of other sorts of tension humming through his body. Bailey had her left hand curled around his arm now. Her whole body was hugged up against his side, seeking shelter or maybe just something stronger than she was to hold her upright. Several more seconds passed before Spencer acknowledged that he wasn’t moving away from the warmth of her curves pressed against his arm. And that was his thumb stroking across the back of her knuckles, soothing the crushing grip of her hand.

  It was happening again. This was getting personal. This was how it had started with Ellen, and he couldn’t go through that again. Move away, Montgomery. Cop. Witness. Keep her safe. Don’t let any feelings get involved with this.