Task Force Bride (11 page)

“That’s horrible,” Hope whispered. “What woman would do something like that? That monster needs to be put away.”

“Mr. Matuszak.” The sharp voice of rebuke came from Regina Hollister this time. “On behalf of women everywhere—shut up.” Then she looked to her boss and tapped her watch. “The mayor?”

Brian circled around Hope to stand toe-to-toe with his attorney, warning him. “I won’t hear another word against Vanessa’s character.”

Despite his superior height, Adam seemed to understand who paid his salary and relaxed his defensive posture. “You’re right, of course. I know Vanessa means something to you. She and I dated a couple of times before I got wise to her. I’m just trying to spare you the pain I went through. As I said before, I’m looking out for your best interests.”

A moment more passed before Brian smacked Adam’s shoulder and nodded. “That’s why I pay you the big bucks, Adam. Thanks. Don’t worry. I understand the kind of woman Vanessa is. I’ve got both eyes wide-open.”

What kind of people formed a relationship with someone they couldn’t trust? Brian Elliott was an attractive, wealthy man—he could have any woman he wanted. Adam Matuszak, as abrasive as he was, would be considered a catch, too. How did he feel about his boss dating his ex? Was he jealous? Or was he truly concerned that Brian would get burned, too?

And why did they have to bring all their drama into her world when everything was already such a frightening mess?

The bell chiming above the shop’s side entrance offered her the diversion she needed to interrupt her thoughts for a few minutes. “Excuse me, I have a customer.”

Brian nodded as she left them at the window. “I’ll have Regina call you. We’ll show ourselves out.”

Hope smoothed her hand against her neck, battling the urge to button her open collar and hide like the turtle she was used to being.
Stay out of your head,
Lockhart.
She quickly pulled her hand down and headed toward the woman who was admiring a display of beaded evening purses.

She recognized the brassy blonde chauffeur who’d been with her father the other night. So much for keeping her father out of her life. “Nelda, is it?”

“You’re Hope, right? We didn’t get to meet the other night.” Her smoky voice was friendly enough. She extended her hand. “Nelda Sapphire. It’s my stage name. For my blue eyes. I’m a dancer. Well, I used to be. I own the place now.” She tilted her head to one shoulder, indicating the door. “That’s where I met Hank.”

Hope wasn’t about to judge Nelda on her name or profession or the overprocessed pouf of her hair—only on her taste in men. Had Hank duped Nelda, promising some sort of caring relationship with the same empty words he’d used with his late wife and children? Or was the woman fingering the expensive purses in a business partnership with Hank, working with him to beg or con whatever money they could out of Hope?

A glance beyond Nelda confirmed the worst. The older woman hadn’t come alone. Her father stood out in the parking lot, finishing off a cigarette. “How can I help you?”

“You’re going to give me a good deal, aren’t you?” Nelda’s smile seemed sincere. “You know, the family discount?”

Giving Nelda the benefit of the doubt, Hope politely corrected the status of her relationship with her father. “I’m sorry. I think Hank may have misled you if he intimated that I’d be doing him any favors.”

Nelda shifted on the ridiculously high heels she wore. “You know your father regrets what happened between you, don’t ya, sweetie? He didn’t really come to Kansas City for a handout. He wants to work, to earn the money you give him. He’s awfully handy with repairing things and cleaning up. It’s hard for an ex-con to get a respectable job that pays much. But we thought that maybe, since you’re family—”

“No. I’m sorry.”

The friendly smile vanished. “Then I hope that lady out there is paying him for all those questions she’s asking. We need money.”

“What lady? Oh, no.”

Hope dashed to the vestibule and pushed her way out the second door to the parking lot before the inner door had fully closed. Why hadn’t Vanessa Owen gone back to the TV station? Instead of prepping for the evening broadcast, she stood in the parking lot, shivering against the autumn chill while she chatted with her father—and hung on to every word.

Her father, of course, was eating up the attention. “I ain’t proud of what I done. But I served my time. Hope’s stubborn like her mama was. She ain’t forgiven me yet. But she’s got a good heart. She will.”

Forgive? Yes. Her peace of mind demanded it. Forget? Never.

Hope walked up behind her father. “Why are you talking to Ms. Owen? She doesn’t even have her coat. I’m sure she needs to get back to the TV station to finish her report.”

“Nonsense. I have plenty of time.” Vanessa hugged her arms in front of her against the cool temperature, but her smile never wavered. “Your father and I are getting acquainted.”

Hank dropped his cigarette to the asphalt and ground it out beneath his boot before facing her. His leathery face creased with a smile she didn’t believe. When he reached out to hug her, she put up her hands and backed away. That was a charade she couldn’t play. Hank laughed when he turned back to the brunette reporter. “My girl was always makin’ up stuff in her head. Like she wanted to be a princess or there were witches in the woods.”

Vanessa’s assessing gaze darted over to Hope and back. “Do you think she made up seeing the Rose Red Rapist?”

“Well, it’s gettin’ her lots of attention now, isn’t it?”

“Do you think I want this kind of scrutiny in my life?” Hope wondered if Hank could see that Vanessa’s amused smile never reached her eyes. She wondered if she smelled booze on his flannel shirt and denim jacket because he’d already been drinking that morning or because he hadn’t changed from the night before. “This man is not a reliable source for any news story. I saw what I saw. The van, the driver, everything. I didn’t make up any of it.”

But Vanessa truly was the shark Adam Matuszak had accused her of being. And she was on the trail of a juicy sidebar to Hope’s story. “You’ve got a bit of a charming country boy accent there, Mr. Lockhart. What part of the state are you from?”

“I asked you to call me Hank, ma’am.” He pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and tapped out another smoke. “You ever been down to the lakes around Branson? Deep in the Ozark Mountains?”

“How about I buy you a cup of coffee, Hank, and we talk someplace warmer? You can tell me all about those mountains.” She waved to Damien in the news van and pointed down the street before linking arms with Hank and pulling him into step beside her. “Did your daughter grow up there, too?”

“Hank, no one needs to know—” Hope chased after them, but a bright flash of light blinded her as soon as she reached the sidewalk. Hope threw up her hands to protect her eyes, remembering for a split second the mysterious flashes that had wakened her in her bedroom that morning.

“Gabriel.”

“Vanessa.”

Before Hope could blink her vision clear and push aside her nerves, Vanessa Owen was trading cheek-to-cheek air kisses with a handsome, black-haired man wearing jeans and a corduroy sports coat. The camera and plastic ID badge hanging around his neck identified him as another reporter. “You’re a few steps behind on this scoop, aren’t you, Gabe?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Let’s do lunch sometime and compare notes.”

“Sure.” The male reporter watched Vanessa and Hank walk off together toward the coffee shop on the corner before shrugging. “When hell freezes over.”

Hope was torn between following her father, to shut him up about the pitiable past she’d overcome, and retreating to the shop to hide from his lies. But the second reporter raised his camera again and she put up her hands to shield her face. “Don’t. Please.”

“Fair enough.” He lowered his camera and pulled out a pad and pen. “Gabriel Knight,
Kansas City Journal.
I got the shot I needed. Unlike my colleague Ms. Owen, I’m not into sensationalism. I’m all about getting the real story.” His blue eyes seemed to size her up and find her wanting. “So KCPD finally has a witness who’s going to wrap up this fiasco of an investigation for them.”

“Fiasco?” The urge to defend the people she was helping proved stronger than the desire to flee. “The task force has made huge strides in identifying the rapist.” She repeated one of the talking points Kate Kilpatrick and Detective Montgomery had given her to share. “I’m just one little cog in the wheel that represents all the hard work they’ve done to protect this city.”

“That task force has been pursuing their serial rapist for over a year now. Where are their results? Why isn’t a picture of the man you saw splashed all over my front page?”

“I didn’t get that good a look at him. The sketch artist’s picture wasn’t...conclusive. It could start a panic. People might start turning in any man on the street who vaguely fits the description.” Hope curled her toes inside her pumps, standing her ground when Gabe Knight tapped his pen on the edge of his notepad before he wrote down whatever observation he’d just made about her.

“But
you
could identify him if you saw him again.” His piercing gaze reminded her of the intensity of another pair of eyes, leaving Hope feeling vulnerable, defenseless.

Lying didn’t come easily under that challenge. “I think so.”

“And the van?”

“Absolutely.”

But the reporter was shaking his head. “There’s something more going on here. What aren’t you telling me?”

She’d spent the whole morning battling Vanessa’s questions, and after a few minutes, this man had already done more to rattle her composure. “What do you mean?”

The reporter narrowed his gaze as though studying her through a microscope. “What makes you so special? What secrets are you hiding?”

“I’m not hiding anything.” A movement in the corner of her eye turned her attention to the floral shop across the street. Leon Hundley was there in his green uniform shirt, carrying a tray of flower arrangements out to the delivery van. He’d stopped his work, no doubt watching the parade of people in and out of her shop. When their eyes met, he set the tray in the back of his van and took a couple of steps toward her. But his attention turned up the street and he stopped. A moment later, Pike’s black-and-white K-9 unit truck was pulling into the parking lot beside her.

But Gabe Knight seemed oblivious of Leon’s concerned interest or the brawny uniformed cop climbing out of the truck he’d hastily parked. “A woman who calls her father ‘Hank’ and hates seeing him walk away with a reporter as much as she hates seeing him at all? There’s a story there.”

“You were spying on me?” Goose bumps scattered over Hope’s skin as she swept her gaze up and down the street. She felt eyes on her even now, and she hated it. The lights, the reporters, her father, her friends...and someone else.
He
was watching her. But from where? Who was he? Someone on the street? Someone hidden? Someone she knew?

“The press conference is done, Knight.” Pike loomed up behind the reporter, the broad shoulders of his black uniform dwarfing the other man. “No more questions.”

“Pike.” Relief crashed through Hope, and she reached for his hand as he came around to stand beside her. She didn’t realize how badly she’d been shaking until she felt the anchor of Pike Taylor’s grip closing around hers. “I’m glad you’re here.”

His sharp blue gaze ran over her face. “You okay, honey? Did this guy upset you?”

Honey.
Right. He wasn’t here to pull her back from the brink of another panic attack. He was here to play the part of the concerned fiancé.

Disappointment joined the roller coaster of emotions that left her feeling drained. But when she extricated her hand from the false comfort of Pike’s grasp, he draped his arm around her shoulders and hugged her to his side, as if sensing her retreating into her shell or getting ready to run. “You’re cold.” When she didn’t respond, Pike turned his interrogation on the reporter. “Are you pestering my fiancée, Knight? She agreed to give a statement to the press, but she doesn’t have to answer any questions she doesn’t want to.”

The wall of heat pressed against Hope felt as foreign as the hard shell of the flak vest Pike wore beneath his shirt. And the crisp, starchy scent of his uniform was more basically male and more enticing than the eye-watering potency of Brian Elliott’s cologne had been. Yet the same intriguing sensations that left her feeling so unsettled and out of her depth seemed to fill her with strength and a quieting sense of calm, as well. They didn’t have to be a real couple. She could accept comfort from a friend, couldn’t she? She could latch onto this much-needed support from her partner on this mission. Slowly, she wrapped her arm behind his waist and leaned against Pike’s treelike strength. She was as aware of the gun and handcuffs and other survival equipment strapped to his belt as she was the tapered waist and abundant heat emanating from the man himself. Next to this man, she was safe.

Despite the protective shield of Pike’s arm around her, Gabe Knight still didn’t seem to be in any hurry to leave. “I have one last question, Officer Taylor.”

“What’s that?”

The reporter looked up to Pike and down to Hope, then farther down to the hand she clutched at her side. “If you two are engaged, where’s her ring?”

Pike’s grip tightened on her shoulder, the only indication that he’d been caught off guard by Knight’s question. But with eyes watching and her eagerness to get rid of the reporter combining with her determination to get past this crippling timidity, Hope blurted out, “It’s at the jewelry store, getting resized.”

Pike squeezed her shoulder again, perhaps out of gratitude this time, as he followed her lead. “That’s right. It’s my grandmother’s ring.”

Hope flared her fingers in front of her face. “She had small hands.”

“I see.” Gabriel Knight tucked his pen and pad back inside his jacket. His expression as to whether he believed the ruse or not was hard to read. “Congratulations to you both. I look forward to seeing the announcement in our paper. May I?” Before either of them could answer, he’d raised his camera again and snapped a picture of Hope and Pike standing side by side. “I’ll send you a copy.” With a nod in lieu of a goodbye, he turned and climbed into a silver SUV sedan parked beside the curb. “So many secrets.”