Kansas City Cop Page 7

  Funny how she’d lost control of everything during those few seconds in the street outside Vicki Bismarck’s house.

  Not funny how well this man could read her fears and insecurities. But she wasn’t about to admit those vulnerabilities to Mike or anyone else. Better a chauffeur than a therapist. “All right, then. You can drive me.”

  He arced an eyebrow, looking as surprised by the one-time concession as she’d meant him to be. But her plan to catch him off guard and stop him from analyzing her emotions backfired when Mike pushed to his feet. Suddenly, she was nose-to-chest with Mike’s lanky frame. His broad shoulders blocked her peripheral vision and she could feel the heat coming off his body. “Give me fifteen minutes to shower and change, and we’ll go.”

  Catnip. She retreated a step when she realized she was inhaling the earthy smells of sweat and soap and man, and savoring the elemental response his scent triggered inside her. “Make it ten,” she challenged, denying her body’s feminine reaction. “How much time do you think I can spare for you out of my busy day?”

  Mike laughed at her mimicking comeback, and she smiled for a moment before mumbling one of her great-uncle’s curses and spinning away to march toward the women’s locker room. When had his silly sense of humor started rubbing off on her? She wasn’t supposed to like a man like Mike Cutler. At least, she wasn’t supposed to like him as anything other than a physical therapist and maybe a friend. Besides, she already had enough responsibilities demanding her time and energy. When did she think she was going to squeeze in dating?

  Mike was right about one thing. She needed to be in control of her life, in control of her future, again. She’d be smart to ignore any fluttering of her pulse, any urge to laugh at their banter, and that relentless pull to the heat of his body.

  “Ten minutes, Choir Boy.”

  Gina had learned long ago how to get in and out of the bathroom quickly and came out of the shower five minutes later, her skin cooled and fresh, her libido firmly in check. She towel-dried her hair and finger-combed the chin-length waves into place before she started to dress. After the shooting, she’d switched to a front hook bra and button-up blouses so she could dress herself. But, though she’d taken Mike’s advice and worn her KCPD sweats for their therapy sessions, she wasn’t about to show up at Precinct headquarters looking like she’d just come from the gym. It would be hard enough to be there out of uniform, sending the obvious message to her coworkers and superior officers that this was just a visit. Looking like a bum might also give them the impression that she wasn’t coming back.

  But the fitted jeans she took from her bag were a little tricky when she had to pull them up, especially when her skin was still dewy from the shower. The twinge in her shoulder and resulting tingling in her fingers when she gave them a tug warned her she needed to swallow her pride and ask someone to help her. When she heard a woman’s voice out in the locker area, Gina gave a mental prayer of thanks that she wouldn’t have to leave the locker room with her jeans hanging on her hips to go get Mike.

  “Hey, could you help...?” Gina’s question died when she saw Frannie dabbing at her red-tipped nose as she folded towels from a laundry basket and stacked them on a shelf. The woman with hair the color of a penny kept muttering something that sounded like stupid ninny. Gina cleared her throat to announce her presence. “Are you okay?”

  Frannie spun around, hugging a fluffy towel to her chest. “I’m sorry. Did you need something?”

  Gina pointed to her jeans. “I’m stuck.”

  “Oh, right.” Frannie dropped the towel into the basket and hurried over to give the black pants a final tug. “Mike said you needed to be careful with that arm.”

  “Thanks.” Gina took over buttoning the waistband and pulling up the zipper. “I guess I need to stick to sweats.” But Frannie had gone back to folding. Maybe this wasn’t any of her business, but the woman had just helped her pull up her pants, so there was a bit of a connection there. Moving closer, Gina plucked a hand towel from the basket and held it out to the taller woman. “What happened? And don’t say nothing because you’ve been crying for a while.”

  Frannie took the towel and pulled off her glasses to dry her eyes. “I got a phone call.”

  “From your ex?” Even the eye that didn’t seem to focus looked startled. When the other woman backed away, Gina reached for her hand. “I eavesdrop. I’m a cop. I like to know who the people around me are. You and Troy were arguing about a restraining order for your ex yesterday.”

  Frannie put her glasses back on and sort of smiled. “We were arguing about Troy’s van. He drove me to the judge’s office to reinstate the order. Troy can’t use his legs, you know, so he has this special van where he uses a hand brake and accelerator to drive. I mentioned one thing about how fast he was going before a jerky stop at a red light, and he started yelling about the van falling apart, and that he hadn’t had a chance to clean it up before I rode in it. I thought he was mad at me. I don’t deal with confrontation very well.”

  “Have you ridden with Troy before?”

  Frannie shook her head.

  Sounded like wounded male pride. She thought she’d detected a few stolen glances between the two coworkers. Maybe Troy wasn’t keen on Frannie seeing the extent of his handicap. “Not everyone who argues with you is going to hurt you.”

  “I know. Troy’s usually really sweet and funny. I probably caught him on a bad day.” That sounded like a woman who’d been victimized making excuses for a man who’d yelled at her or hurt her.

  This whole conversation—and all the other interactions she’d had with the skittish Frannie—reminded her of Vicki Bismarck. She wondered if that last call she’d been working on before the shooting had been resolved. Was Gordon Bismarck still in jail? Had his big brother, Denny, and his friends retaliated against Vicki in any way? Had Vicki gotten the medical treatment she’d needed? Moved in with her sister? Pressed charges against Gordon?

  Or were Denny and his biker boys more interested in retaliating against the police officers who’d arrested Gordon? Had he been the man in the rusty SUV the day she’d been shot? Gina’s fingers drifted to her right shoulder—not feeling a physical or even phantom pain, but remembering with vivid detail the bullet tearing through her body, the multiple gunshots exploding all around her and the snow soaking up her blood and body heat.

  Gina realized she was shivering before she pulled herself from the memories. The Bismarcks weren’t her case anymore. And everyone at KCPD was working on finding out who’d shot one of their own. Everyone but her, that is. She wasn’t used to being the victim. She didn’t like being out of the investigative loop or being taken off the front line of protecting her city, her family and herself.

  But the situation right in front of her was one she could handle. Gina sat and patted the bench beside her. She had a feeling Frannie’s tears weren’t really about the argument with Troy. “Tell me about the phone call.”

  “From Leo?” Frannie hesitated for a moment before sitting. “I was getting ready for work this morning. I didn’t pick up. As soon as I heard his voice, I let it go straight to my machine. He said he missed me. That he still loved me. That he always would.” She paused a moment before adding, “He wants to see me.”

  “Is he supposed to have any contact with you?” When Frannie shook her head, Gina’s first instinct was to pull out her own phone and file a report. But she wasn’t a cop right now. She couldn’t take action, but she could give advice. “Polite or not—even if Leo pulled at your heartstrings—you need to call the police and report it.” The jerk had probably just been served with the restraining order and thought he could talk her out of it. “Keep a record of any contact he makes with you—by phone, email, certainly in person. Do you know his parole officer’s name? He needs to know about the call, too.”

  The other woman straightened her shoulders and nodded. “I know that’s what I’m supposed to do. I can ask Mike to help. He said his dad was looking into it.” Frannie offered Gina a smile that quickly faded. “I’m such a ninny. Have you ever been so scared of a person that you can’t even think when he’s around?” She stood abruptly and carried the hand towel to the clothes hamper near the shower room. “Look who I’m talking to. You’re not scared of anything.”

  Gina was thinking that never regaining the full use of her hand and arm was a pretty terrifying thing to contemplate. Losing her job. Letting her family down. Never getting the life she wanted for all of them. “Maybe not people,” she confessed.

  Although there was one faceless shooter who’d put her on guard from the moment she’d regained consciousness in the hospital. Like nearly every other waking moment, Gina wondered if there’d ever be an arrest of the man who’d targeted her and her partner. They weren’t on Gordon Bismarck’s good side after arresting him. There’d certainly been plenty of time for Denny to switch vehicles and come back to the house to shoot her and Derek. According to Mike, the SUV’s plates had been unreadable. A citywide search for a rusted SUV matching the description he’d given the police had turned up nothing useful. Even the license number on the tan sedan she and Mike had seen wasn’t any help. The plates were stolen, according to Derek. The car they’d been registered to belonged to an elderly man who rarely drove it and didn’t even know the plates were missing.

  Could the Bismarck brothers and their friends be running a stolen-car ring? Or even have legitimate access to a variety of vehicles? In her mind, Bobby Estes was a viable suspect, too. She wouldn’t put it past Bobby to try something like that. From what she knew of her sister’s smarmy boyfriend, his driving a stolen car, or one with a falsified registration and plates like the Mercedes she’d see
n following her, wouldn’t surprise her. Shooting the woman who stood in the way of getting what he wanted wouldn’t surprise her, either.

  Surely someone at KCPD had looked into the background of the prime suspects who’d been at the scene right before the shooting or lived in the same neighborhood. She certainly would. If she was on the case. But she wasn’t. And until someone else found the answers, identifying a suspect and a motive, the shooter remained at large—and had the advantage of knowing her, while she remained clueless to his face and name and whether he was coming after her to finish the job he’d started.

  “I know what fear is.” Gina stood when Frannie resumed folding the towels, probably thinking the long pause meant the conversation was over. “You just have to decide you’re not going to let it rule your life.”

  “That’s easier said than done.”

  “I know. You have to keep trying—every day—to be stronger than the fear. If it gets you one day, then you wake up the next and you try harder.” Frannie hugged a towel to her chest again and nodded, trying to internalize the hard-won advice that Gina had learned in No-Man’s Land. Gina smiled and added a little practical advice to that philosophical wisdom. “If Leo does come to see you, call 9-1-1. If he physically threatens you, fight back. As hard as you can.” She gestured as she gave each instruction. “Stomp on his instep. Gouge his eyes. Ram your hand against the bottom of his nose. And, of course, there’s always the old goodie—kicking him where it counts.” Frannie silently repeated each hand movement. Gina repeated them for her, encouraging her to use more force. “Scream your head off, too. Help will come running. At least around here. Either Troy or Mike has his eyes on you whenever I’m here. Probably when I’m not, too. Those two have a good-guy streak in them a mile wide.”

  Frannie nodded. “I know. They’ve been through so much, and they’re still so nice. Any girl would be lucky to...” Her cheeks turned pink as she swallowed whatever emotion she’d been about to share. “Mike’s like a big brother to me.”

  Gina wasn’t forgetting where this conversation had started. “And Troy?”

  Frannie’s blush intensified. Interesting. Maybe she wasn’t so keen on Troy seeing her shortcomings, either. “They’re the best. I’ll talk to Mike and call Leo’s parole officer.” She divvied up the clean towels and put half away before carrying the basket to the locker room door. She paused there, looking to Gina before repeating her advice. “Feet. Eyes. Nose. Family jewels.”

  Gina grinned. “And scream like crazy.”

  “Thanks.”

  For what? All she’d done was give the woman a few tools to use if she ever needed to defend herself against her ex. It was what any cop would do. Acknowledging that it felt good to do something that made her feel useful again, Gina quickly finished dressing. No doubt Mike would have some comment about missing her ten-minute challenge to be ready. He’d expect her to laugh. And if she wasn’t careful, she probably would.

  They’ve been through so much...

  What had Frannie meant by that comment? What could Troy and Mike, especially Mike, have endured that would make the other woman sound surprised—almost awestruck—that the two men would end up being such nice guys? Such hero figures to her?

  And why was Gina so curious to find out the answer to that question?

  * * *

  “I’D LIKE TO check in with my partner first.” Gina stepped into the elevator and pushed the 3 button on the panel, taking her and Mike upstairs instead of down to the shooting range in the basement. “Our desks...” Hopefully hers hadn’t been filled yet, but she knew her partner had been temporarily reassigned to ride with someone else until she could get back to patrol duty. “Derek’s desk,” she corrected, “is on the third floor.” She checked the time on her phone before tucking it into her back pocket. “They’re probably getting out of morning roll call about now.”

  “Not a problem. My schedule’s flexible.” Mike joined her at the back railing. “Today is all about taking your recovery to the next level. Making that hand usable again.”

  Gina inhaled a deep breath. “I hope there’s a level after that. Usable doesn’t sound like it’ll get me the job I want.”

  “The healing part I can’t control. But I’ll teach your body to do everything it’s capable of. I promise. It’s just a matter of time and training.” Even leaning against the car’s back wall, Mike was a head taller than she was.

  Gina was used to being shorter than most men, often shorter than anyone in the room except for her great-aunt. But her bulky uniform vest, gun and determined attitude usually beefed up her presence. Yet there was something about Mike Cutler that seemed to fill up the limited space of the elevator and make her feel tiny, fragile, more feminine than usual. Perhaps it was the lack of the uniform and gear she usually wore. Or perhaps it was the protective way he opened doors for her and stood on her right side, shielding her injured arm now that she didn’t have to wear the sling around the clock anymore. Although she might be vertically challenged, Gina had never considered herself delicate in any way. Not since she was a child had she needed anyone to protect her. Back then, an absent father and an ailing mother had forced her to grow some tough emotional armor and learn to fight and stay smarter than any adversary. Gina took care of herself and her family all on her own. She didn’t need a man taking care of her.

  Even if he did smell good and generate the kind of heat she fantasized about on chilly spring mornings like this.

  “Am I your only patient today?” she asked, needing to start a conversation before she did something damsel-like and leaned into that body heat.

  He tucked his fingers into the pockets of his jeans and answered. “Yeah. Business has been slow.”

  She wasn’t blind to the lack of company at the CAPT Center in the mornings. “You didn’t exactly pick the most lucrative area of the city to set up shop. Have you ever thought of affiliating with a hospital? Even moving the center a couple of blocks over to Westport would make it appealing to a broader audience. Not everyone feels safe spending a lot of time that close to No-Man’s Land. You know, that part of the city where urban renewal hasn’t quite reached—”

  “I know what No-Man’s Land is. Son of a cop, remember?” He tilted his face down to hers. “I’ve done the hospital thing. We’re exactly where we want to be, offering physical therapy services to an underserved part of the city. We’re our own bosses now. Troy grew up in the neighborhood, and I’ve had my share of experience there.”

  “Your share of experience?” Gina scoffed. “You’re telling me you’ve been on the mean streets of the city? You’ve broken the law? I pegged you for a middle-class suburbia guy all the way.”

  Was that a scowl? Did Mr. Good Guy have a secret sore spot she’d just poked? He straightened away from the railing. “I’m not the choir boy you think I am. I’ve done things.”

  “Like what? Cheat on a test? Run a red light?”

  The scowl deepened. Gina felt a stab of guilt, thinking back to Frannie’s comment about Mike going through something terrible in his past. Had her smart mouth just crossed a line?

  “You don’t live in the suburbs? Have enough land that you can’t touch your house and the neighbor’s at the same time?” Good grief. Was she actually making light of the topic to try and restore that goofball smile to his face? “I was really hoping you had three bathrooms because I was totally going to come for a visit and spend the afternoon soaking in one of those tubs.”

  She heard an exhale of breath that sounded like a wry laugh.

  “You want to get in my bathtub?” There was the glimpse of white teeth amid the sexy dusting of his beard. His voice dropped to a throaty whisper as he leaned in. “I wouldn’t object to that.”

  Gina couldn’t remember the last time she’d blushed hard enough to feel heat in her cheeks. “I meant...our house is small. I share one bathroom with four... I can’t take my time...” She growled at her flummoxed reaction to his teasing innuendo.

  Not a boyfriend. Not a lover. Not a man who should be getting under her skin.