Man with the Muscle (4 page)

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.

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.

Just like he needed her tonight.

But she really should be practicing her opening statement.

Taking a long drink of water, Audrey pulled out a stool from the counter and sat. Using the center island and the two ovens as her imaginary audience, she began. “Your Honor, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I'm here today to prove that every citizen of Kansas City deserves justice. Every citizen deserves to feel safe, walking his own streets…” She groaned and shook her head. “Too pompous.” She tunneled her fingers beneath the tendrils of hair loosely pinned at her nape and massaged the back of her neck. “No child should live in fear of walking home from school… What's this?”

Lowering her glass, Audrey picked up the sealed envelope lying on top of the basket of pledge cards on the counter. Recognizing the neat handwriting on the front, she smiled. “Charlotte.”

Feeling as if she'd just gotten a hug, Audrey slit open the flap and pulled out a note card that was as smart and unassuming as the woman who'd sent it. Charlotte
Mayweather was another classmate who'd gone to the same private high school she, Gretchen and Harper Pierce had attended. Audrey tried to remember the last time she'd seen Charlotte—certainly not at Gretchen's funeral. And she hadn't been included on the guest list tonight because Audrey had known she wouldn't be able to come.

Still, as Audrey read the note, she wasn't surprised to see that Charlotte had enclosed a check for the scholarship fund. Somehow, Charlotte had known that they were honoring an old friend tonight. Although she'd never been the social butterfly Gretchen was, Charlotte had always been adamant about supporting the causes—and people—she cared about.

the note began.

Good luck? Audrey sighed with a bit of melancholy as she tucked the note and check inside the envelope and dropped it back into the basket. Was there anyone in Kansas City who wasn't watching how she handled the Smith case?

And how many of them expected her to fail?

The swish of the kitchen door sweeping across the threshold gave her a split-second notice to paste a smile on her face before company joined her. “There you are.”

Audrey turned to the distinguished man with the silvering, receding auburn hair and smiled. “Daddy.”

“I wondered where you'd gotten off to.” He picked up her sandals and carried them over to the counter where she sat. He pressed a kiss to her temple and dropped the shoes into her lap. “No fair skipping out if I can't. Our guests are starting to leave. Will you see them off at the door while I chat up another ten grand from the Bishops?”

“Of course.” Pulling up the skirt of her gown, she pinched her feet back into the high heels. She inclined her head toward the basket on the counter. “We received a card with a check from Charlotte Mayweather, too.”

“Charlotte? Now there's a name I haven't heard for a while.” He pulled the card from the basket. “How is she doing?”

“I'm not sure,” Audrey answered, fastening the delicate buckle at her ankle. “I haven't been to see her lately. But I know she misses Gretchen as much as I do.”

“You had a wonderful idea with this scholarship. Gretchen was such a patroness of the arts, it's fitting that she be remembered this way.” Audrey knew by his frown that he'd reached the end of Charlotte's note.

“Even she knows about this unpleasantness with the Smith trial.”

Audrey plucked the card from his hands and returned it to the basket. “That
unpleasantness
is my job. If I win,
I'll have the track record to be able to run for district attorney myself one day.”

“And if you lose, you'll be vilified by the press. Why don't you come back to Kline, Galloway & Tucker?”
Where I can protect you.

Where she'd never be anything more than Rupert Kline's daughter. Or wife to one of his partners, if he had his way. The unspoken arguments were clear and familiar.

But she needed to make her own decisions—captain her own victories and suffer her own mistakes without her father's money or influence to either make them happen or go away. Audrey needed him to know that she was smart enough, capable enough—that
she
was the necessary element to build her own career and find her own happiness, instead of accepting that her life was the result of whatever her father's doting yet misguided love for his only daughter allowed it to be.

Not wanting to tax what energy either of them had left tonight, Audrey wisely changed the subject. “So, are we a rousing success?”

Rupert pulled back the front of his tux and stuffed his hands into the pockets of his tailored wool trousers. “Everyone is interested in giving this time of year. I think Clarice earned her money with this event—pulling it together so quickly and bringing in a lot of donations. She knows how to throw a party.”

Did she detect a hint of admiration when her father mentioned the event planner's name? Audrey felt a smile curve her own lips. Her father had been widowed for nearly three years now. If the right woman turned his eye, she wasn't against him seeing where things might lead. A new girlfriend might even distract him from
his fixation on her. “Are you and Clarice planning on staying up late tonight to, um, go over some numbers after our guests leave?”

“I may have invited her to stay for a brandy to congratulate her.” Rupert took her elbow and helped Audrey to her feet once she was cinched in and ready to report for duty again. He tapped the tip of her nose with his finger and smiled. “But you just put those matchmaking thoughts away, missy. We're only discussing business.”

“Does Clarice know that?” As much as she hated the nickname he'd given her as a toddler, she loved her father even more, and let that argument slide, as well. She laid her palm over his heart, brushing over the bulge of his pacemaker to feel the strong beat of it beneath her hand. “I just want you to know, that if business turns to pleasure, I'll be locked up in my office upstairs, and I won't hear a thing that might go on in your study—or anywhere else on the first floor.”

“You're wicked, missy.” He scooted her out of the kitchen and Audrey was instantly assaulted by the noise and colors and pressure to be the perfect hostess again. As one of the tallest men in the room, it was easy to spot Harper Pierce when he excused himself from a conversation and headed into the foyer. Harper strode toward them, and Rupert whispered against her ear.

“Speaking of matchmaking, I noticed Harper has been sticking close to your side all evening. He knows the board is considering him for a partnership at the firm. Do I give him credit for wanting to date you, or hold it against him?”

“Daddy!” Audrey swatted his arm for teasing her.
“Harper was engaged to Gretchen. Don't start throwing him at me before he's done mourning her loss.”

He arched one of his silvery-red brows in a paternal warning. “Harper's an ambitious man. I don't know that he'd let grief stand in the way of getting what he wants.”

“I don't care for him in that way anymore. He's just a friend—one who's co-hosting this evening's fundraiser with me. That's why he's been so attentive.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Seriously.” Audrey reached up to straighten her father's bow tie. “I'm looking for a man who's a little more into me than he is my daddy's law firm or bank account.”

He caught her hands in his and pressed a kiss to her fingers. “I want that for you, too.”

Audrey grinned. “And he has to have a personality, support my career, be a good kisser and treat me like a princess.”

Rupert laughed. “You don't ask for much, do you? Just promise me you won't be so hard on the boys and focused on success that you wind up all alone.”

“That formula worked for you, didn't it?”

“Yes, I found success. But I also found someone to love. I married your mother and had a family.”

“I will, too, Daddy.” Audrey stretched up on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. “I promise.”

As he excused himself to speak with the Bishops, Audrey turned and fixed a smile on her face for Harper's benefit.

“Were you and Rupert talking about me?” Harper asked, his lawyer's voice smooth and concise. Audrey hoped he couldn't feel the flinch that came with
automatically steeling herself against the possessive touch around her waist. “I thought I heard something about marriage?”

“Don't flatter yourself, Romeo.” Maybe her father was right. Was Harper rebounding from his relationship with Gretchen and setting his sights on becoming more than friends again? Their dates in high school seemed like a lifetime ago and, as far as Audrey was concerned, that was where any romance with him should stay—in the past. Subtly twisting to move his hand to a less intimate position, she pointed to the front door at the far end of the foyer. “I see the Hunts are leaving. I'd better go thank them and say good-night.”