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“Somebody was shooting yesterday.” Trip reminded him, “He worked with gang members last year when he was going after Audrey Kline. Maybe he has another ally this time.”
“The RGK is hands-on.” The detective continued to quote his by-the-book profile of the man he was hunting. “His failure with Miss Kline is fueling his pursuit of Charlotte. He likes to terrorize, torture and strangle. He’s methodical and precise—very much an in-your-face kind of killer. I believe he suffers from an obsessive-compulsive disorder and perceives that these wealthy young women have wronged him somehow. He’s exacting punishment. He’s coming. He can’t help himself.”
Laura Austin-Mayweather’s shocked gasp pretty much summed up the growing tension in the room. These people were talking about ongoing cases and estate security, placing blame and deflecting accusations. He was talking about one woman. “He’s already here. If you’re so smart, Montgomery, tell me—how do you plan to identify your killer and catch him before he succeeds in his quest?”
The detective’s light-colored eyes barely blinked. He’d be a tough one to go up against in a poker game. “We were misled by the gang involvement when he went after Miss Kline. But we know how he works now. We set up twenty-four-hour surveillance on Miss Mayweather, tap her phones and the security cameras here. Any time he calls we need to keep him talking as long as possible to help us pinpoint a location, or get some clue to his identity. The next time he delivers a message or tries to approach her, in any disguise, we’ll be ready.”
“That’s your plan? First, she’s too fragile, and now you’re using Charlotte as bait?”
“I hope that we can assemble evidence from enough of these stalking incidents to piece together their source— where he’s getting his inside information on these women. We find the common link and we can zero in on him.”
Trip scrubbed his hand over his jaw, not believing what he was hearing. “So you’re hoping this bastard terrorizes Charlotte long enough before killing her so that you can find your answers?”
“It’s a difficult choice, but I’ll be saving lives in the long run.”
“You’re not saving hers.” Trip turned to Jackson. “And you support this idiotic idea?”
“If we don’t find a way to catch him, my daughter will die—if not by his hand, then by driving her mad. I nearly lost her once—when she came back from those kidnappers, she was broken. I won’t let that happen again.”
Just a few long strides took Trip around the table and put him in Montgomery’s face. “How do you protect Charlotte when your unsub is living or working or regularly visiting in the same house where she lives? She has a fear of strangers. But how does she identify the enemy when all of your suspects are people she knows? How do you? She’ll be dead in her locked-up room before you figure it out.”
The huffing noise of a panting dog made Trip’s heart sink.
He spotted the red glasses and muddy jeans as soon as Charlotte appeared in the archway to the dining room. Max sat beside her, his leash held in a white-knuckled grip. She’d heard every word out of his big, stupid mouth. “Interesting plan. Maybe someone should ask me first.”
“AND YOU WONDER WHY I have trust issues. Now I can’t even mourn in peace.”
Trip stood at the bathroom door watching Charlotte, leaning over the edge of the tub, rinsing the last of the mud and suds from Max’s fur. Her bottom bobbed up and down as she moved, and he rolled his eyes away so he could concentrate on the discussion and not the distraction of all those curves emphasized by her clingy wet clothes. The woman really did have a seriously sweet figure, and a surprisingly sharp tongue for someone the rest of the world considered an introvert.
“I can’t believe it, all of you eating breakfast, plotting ways to intensify my nightmare or even get me killed.”
“I was the one defending you in there.”
She shut off the water and warned Max to stay put. “Because I’m too incompetent to defend myself?”
“Because you weren’t there.” Trip picked up one of the towels stacked on the toilet lid and handed it to her. She wrapped the towel around Max and rocked back on her heels as the dog climbed out of the tub. “Personally, I think Montgomery’s plan sucks. There has to be more investigating he can do, more suspects he can bring in, more clues he can uncover before resorting to surveilling you and hoping something new breaks on the case.”
Max licked her face while she toweled him dry—the perfect excuse for not making eye contact with him, the perfect barrier for keeping Trip at a distance. “Detective Montgomery told me he’s been investigating the RGK murders for two years now. I suppose he’s getting desperate. He must be if he thinks I can help him.”
“You don’t have to do this, Charlotte. Your father thinks catching the killer is the only way to save your life. But I don’t think he fully realizes the risk he’s taking.”
“And you do?”
“You do, too.” She was the only person in this house who’d been the victim of a violent crime. She knew better than any one of her well-meaning family the emotional and potentially deadly price they were asking of her. “Tell them no.”
Charlotte’s cheeks paled at the grim reminder. But her only response was to let the dog loose. The dog took two steps and shook himself from nose to tail, spraying water all over the bathroom—and Trip’s uniform. Point made. Discussion over. Shut up, already.
Or not. After letting out the stopper in the tub, Charlotte picked up a second towel and crawled around the bathroom, wiping splatters of water off the cabinets, walls and fixtures. “You said I could change things. That I didn’t have to be afraid the rest of my life.”
“I didn’t mean this.” Trip stepped aside to let the dog trot into the sitting room to find a warm spot on the rug to take a nap.
“How then?” Charlotte shifted her attention to the floor, mopping up the trail Max had made across the tiles. “One thing I agree with Detective Montgomery on is that this sicko will come after me again. He’ll leave a note or make a call—I haven’t revisited everything that happened during my kidnapping yet, and he’s enjoying the game too much. It’s like he was there. But those men are all in prison. How can he know so much about those weeks I was a hostage? Why is he doing this to me?”
“Charlotte.” Trip knelt down and pulled the towel from her hand.
She snatched the towel right back and kept working. “If I’m the one he’ll make contact with, then maybe I should help capture him. That’s being strong, isn’t it? I’d be taking control of my life, instead of the life outside these doors controlling me. Right?”
“It’s a crapshoot. I wasn’t talking about risking your life yesterday.”
Her hands stilled for a moment and she looked straight at him. “But catching him would make him stop, right?”
Oh, God. Those had better not be tears glinting in her eyes. Now Trip was the one rocking back on his heels as her pain, her bravery, her desperation twisted something deep inside him. But this was a woman he couldn’t lie to. “I think the threats will only escalate until we arrest him or—”
“—he kills me.”
“I don’t like that option.”
Trip’s husky whisper held her attention for one hushed, intimate moment in time.
And then she reached beneath her glasses to wipe the moisture from her eyes and resumed her work on the floor. “That’s why Dad is paying you to be my bodyguard, isn’t it?”
“I work for KCPD, not your father.”
After a brief hesitation, she ran the towel over the toes of his boots, drying the water droplets off them as well. “So I’m just a plain ol’ citizen of K.C. that you’ve sworn to protect and serve. Just like anyone else.”
He finally realized that all her cleaning was busywork, avoidance of him. And he very much wanted her attention. He needed to touch her and have her be okay with it. He took the towel away and tossed it on top of the hamper. Then, with a hand beneath each elbow, he rose, pulling her to her feet in front of him. “Honey, there’s nothing plain or old or like anyone else about you. I’m here because you’re in danger. I wouldn’t be doing my job if I let you get hurt.”
“There are plenty of guards around here. Dad hires the best.”
Her hands hovered in the space between them before finally, cautiously, coming to rest at the placket of his black uniform shirt. He liked that, feeling the gentle heat of her fingers seeping through the crisp material to warm his skin.
He dared to pull her closer, to turn her cheek into the pillow of his chest and wrap his arms around her. He rested his chin at the crown of her wild silky curls and savored the small victory of feeling her lean against him. The smells of wet dog and shampoo didn’t matter. Damp clothes soaking into his didn’t matter. Holding Charlotte mattered. Feeling her softness—under his chin, against his body, in his arms—mattered.
Trip felt stronger, yet oddly more vulnerable when Charlotte snuggled against him like this. Purely masculine instincts were stirring behind his zipper at the decadent sensations of heavy breasts and generous hips fitting up against his harder frame. Yet something scarier and completely unexpected was waking deeper inside him at the fragile trust she was showing by simply letting him hold her.
At least, he hoped it was trust. He prayed it was the beginnings of trust—and not some fear of what he might do if she resisted that allowed him to hold and inhale and feel and touch. That notion alone kept him from tightening his arms around her the way every sensitized cell in his skin yearned to. The idea that Charlotte wasn’t completely sure that his attraction to her was genuine kept his hands securely in the middle of her back instead of sliding up to test the weight of a luscious breast or dipping down to that sweet bottom to pull her more firmly into his masculine heat.
Instead, he rubbed his cheek against the caress of her hair and whispered into her ear. “You need someone from the outside looking after you. Because the threat is right here, in this house. We just can’t see it. I want to look after you.”
He didn’t mind when she curled her fingers more tightly into his shirt, pinching a bit of skin underneath. She was holding on, moving closer. “Don’t take away the one place I feel secure, Trip. I need my things, my work, my routine.”
“That doesn’t have to change. I won’t ask you to go to a safe house.” It would be a hell of a lot safer and easier to defend than leaving her to serve as the bait in her gilded mousetrap. But he hadn’t had any luck convincing Detective Montgomery or Jackson Mayweather. He doubted he’d have any more success making Charlotte see reason. So that left plan B. “But I will ask you to let me be a part of that routine.”
“You’ve already barged your way in to my rooms and my life. It’s not like I can stop you.”
He reluctantly leaned back, leaving his hands at the curve of her waist. She tipped her head up, tilting her gaze at him over the top of her glasses. Her eyes were storm-cloud gray, turbulent with questions and wary suspicion.
Yeah, that was the look he needed to get off his conscience and out of his head.
“Oh yes, you can.” A little frown appeared between her golden brows, telling him that his response confused her. But he wasn’t going to explain what he barely understood himself. Trip pushed her glasses up onto the bridge of her nose, masking her eyes before releasing her. “I’m asking you to let me stay. Let me be a part of your life until we get this guy. I promise I’ll keep you safe. Or I’ll die trying.”
She crossed her arms and drifted back a step. “I thought the whole idea behind a SWAT cop was to keep people from dying.”
He didn’t laugh. “Let me stay. Trust me, Charlotte. Please.”
“Why does it have to be your personal mission to protect me if Dad isn’t paying you?”
Guilty conscience? A very real fear that no one else fully perceived the danger she was in? Those big gray eyes that haunted his waking thoughts and dreams? “Let’s just say, you’d be doing me a favor.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I’m not sure I do, either. But I don’t think I could stand it if you got hurt and I could have done something to stop it.”
“I said you didn’t have to prove anything—”
Screw patience. Trip caught her face between his hands and pulled her up onto her toes, covering her mouth with his—silencing the excuses she used to push him away, silencing the frustrated need simmering inside him, silencing his own fears that he was growing way too attached to a woman he was completely wrong for.
He pressed his thumb to the swell of her bottom lip, coaxing her to part her lips for him, taking advantage of her warmth and sweetness when she did. Charlotte’s fingers crept up around his wrists, holding on as he plunged his tongue inside her mouth to introduce himself to hers. She answered back, her tongue chasing his as he learned each taste and curve. A husky moan, deep in her throat, quickened his pulse as surely as the graze of her curious lips across the jut of his chin. His blood hammered in his veins and pooled in all sorts of achy places when her fingers moved up higher, settling against his jaw and guiding his mouth back to hers as she sampled one lip, then two, then pushed them apart to touch her tongue to the softer skin inside.
Trip wound his arms around her, temptation taking his fingers down to the delicious curve of her bottom and lifting her into the full tutelage of his kiss. She opened for him, welcomed him, taught him a thing or two about the benefits of curiosity and enthusiasm when it came to assuaging and fueling needs like this. He slid a supporting arm around her waist and dropped one hand lower, cupping a buttock that perfectly fit the size of his hand.
It was only when he felt two pert nipples brushing against his chest and the need to take her down to the floor right here in the john surged through him that Trip remembered that business and safety had to come before pleasure. Scaring her off with his baser needs was one risk he could avoid, so with a reluctantly determined gasp for saner air, he summoned the strength to pull her fingers from his neck and lift his mouth from her full, pinkened lips. “Whoa. Whoa, honey. We need to slow down.”
Her eyes were dark and hooded and sexy with an innocent desire as she peeked over the top of her glasses at him. He pushed her glasses back into place, making sure to keep his eyes glued to hers and not to the tempting rise and fall of breasts as she crossed her arms beneath them and retreated. “Why do you keep doing that?”
Trip’s next several breaths came as deeply and erratically as hers. “Seriously? I didn’t think our second makeout session in your father’s home with everything else going on around us was the best time or place to go all the way.”
“All the way?” Her cheeks blanched a shocked shade of pale. “I meant, why do you keep kissing me?”
Ah, hell. Another encounter with Charlotte Mayweather had just taken a sharp turn into crazy land, and suddenly he was the bad guy again. “I don’t know. Why do you kiss me back?”
“Because you’re an overwhelming presence and apparently it’s hard to get rid of you when you put your mind to something.”
He scrubbed his hand over his mouth and jaw, and squared off against what sounded a lot like an accusation. “Like wanting to kiss you? Like feeling something and acting on it? I’m a healthy male and a human being, and you are gettin’ into my head in ways that make me want to …” Pull out my hair? Protect you? Bed you? Maybe he was the one riding on the crazy train. “What do you want me to say? How do I get you to believe in me?”
“Trip, you can probably guess that I don’t have a lot of experience with men. The truth is, I have no experience. At all. I don’t know how to kiss.”
“Then you’re a natural talent.”
That made her blush.
“I’ve never had sex. I don’t know how to make a relationship work. I don’t know if I even can.” She shook her head, scattering toffee curls around her face as she retreated another step. “I’m not used to feeling or kissing or needing or whatever it is you want from me.”
Frustration gave way to something infinitely more tender, and Trip found his patience again. “I want all those things from you. But only if you’re willing to give them.”
“I am feeling something for you, Trip. But do you have any idea how much that scares me?” She tucked a curl behind her ear, but it sprang back out to fall on her cheek. “I need to feel safe. In all things.”
“I said I’ve got your back.” He caught the independent curl with the tip of his finger and smoothed it back into place, then leaned down to press a kiss to her temple. “In this, too. Just give me a chance to show you I’m not the bad guy here. If I say or do anything you don’t like, you tell me.”
His body could scream away in protest if denying any physical or emotional need for this woman is what it took to see trust shining in her eyes.
Maybe it was time to go back to proving that. He pulled his hand away and turned into the sitting room. “You don’t have to worry about any us right now. Finish drying the dog and get his collar and leash. You said you wanted to go to the cemetery? Let me call the rest of my team. We’ll get you away from this house for a little while.
“You’re under KCPD’s watch now.”
Chapter Eight
Charlotte knelt down to lay the bouquet of roses on the turned-up mound of earth beside the flowers that had once been draped over Richard’s coffin. Max came over to sniff her handiwork and she scratched his head before shooing him on his way to follow the path of some squirrel or rabbit that’d come through earlier. She kissed her fingers and touched them to the plastic marker that held Richard’s name and dates until a permanent stone monument could be fixed into place, knowing it was as close to trading a hug with him as she could ever get again.
“Thank you, my friend. For everything. I’m sorry. So sorry.” Tears burned in her sinuses and squeezed out through the rapid blink of her lashes to warm her cheeks in the cooling air.
In the middle of the spring afternoon it felt like twilight. A storm was brewing overhead again, filling the sky with fast-moving clouds. Tall oaks and pine trees dotted each side of the road that twisted up through the hills of Mt. Washington Cemetery, their thick trunks and budding branches casting long shadows over her. But no shadow seemed as tall and foreboding as the sturdy bulk of Trip Jones standing beside her, with a handgun strapped to his thigh, a military-looking rifle draped in the crook of his elbow and a stone-cold expression of wary alertness stamped onto his rugged features.
“You okay?” Trip’s voice rumbled down on the breeze that was picking up.
Charlotte huddled inside her trench coat and the body armor Trip had insisted she wear, and slowly stood. “He should have been retired, enjoying his grandchildren. He shouldn’t have died because some freak wanted to get to me.”
She saw Trip’s black-gloved hand leave his rifle and reach for her. But just before he touched the small of her back, he curled his fingers into his palm and tapped at the headset hooked to his ear instead. “How are we doing?”
A chorus of “clears” and one “nothing here” answered loudly enough for Charlotte to hear.
Captain Cutler buzzed in as well. “Easy, people. Keep your eyes open. We’re not in any rush here.”
But Trip apparently was. He moved a couple of steps along the trail Max had taken, then circled around to stand beside her again. His hazel eyes stopping scanning their surroundings long enough to land on her. “Are you ready to head back?”
With his truck in the shop, Trip had driven her to Mt. Washington in one of the team’s SUVs, which was parked at the foot of the hill, while the others had followed behind them in an imposing armored SWAT van. It was parked around a bend, out of sight beyond a copse of trees, just like the other members of his team remained hidden in the trees and monuments around them.
“I think I’ve decided how I’m going to honor him.” Charlotte murmured the announcement to the flowers and the sign and anyone who might listen. “I’m going to set up a college fund for all his grandchildren. I’ll call the bank and our attorneys when I get home.”
“Sounds like a good plan to me.” He glanced toward the sky. “The storm’s about to break. I can feel the dampness in the breeze. We should get home so you can make those calls.”
But she wasn’t ready to disturb this solemn, secure moment. “Could we stay for a while? Richard was always so patient with me—I don’t want to rush my time here. I don’t mind a little rain.”
“A little?” That stern mouth eased into a grin. Trip’s easy capitulation to her request reminded her more of the man who’d kissed her and less of the warrior standing guard. “We’ve had so much this spring, creeks are flooding, roads are closing—they’re sandbagging the levees up by the river.”
Charlotte discovered she could smile, too, with the subtle glimpse of Trip’s humor. “Washing away is the least of my worries. I used to love playing out in the rain. I think when I was little, I thought I was combining bath time and playtime, meaning I could stay outside longer.”
“Why do I get the feeling you were a real handful growing up?”
“Me? An odd duck is more like it. I just spent a lot of time in my head. I was always curious, always reading, always thinking. I suppose I did give my dad a few headaches when I wandered off on one of my adventures and lost track of the time. I didn’t become any trouble until after high school.”
She shivered and slid her fingers up to her rebuilt ear to finger the gold earring there, her thoughts automatically including prom night and the disastrous events that had changed her life.
This time, his black glove settled at the small of her back. “Chilly?”
“I’m okay.” At first she stiffened at his touch, unsure of its motive. Comfort? Protection? Keeping her focused on the conversation? Years of shielding herself from anyone outside her family made it difficult to resolve this growing fascination with Trip’s passion and strength and almost poignant patience with her. He liked to touch and she … liked him touching her. But despite the fretful anticipation his sheer masculinity and straightforward desire seemed to have awakened in her, it took a huge leap of faith to admit she was developing feelings for this man she’d known for a week. Her body’s instincts to seek warmth and shelter let her relax and turn her cheek into his chest.
But her mind, her emotions, insisted on holding something back. In some ways, she knew as little about men as she knew a lot about archaeology. Boys hadn’t looked at her as dating material in school, and she hadn’t looked at men in that way since. There was a security in being able to shut off her feelings, knowing that was one aspect of her life she could control—no one could mock or hurt her, no one could trick or abuse her. Yet there was a loneliness in that particular skill, too, and she was just beginning to wonder whether it left her in a more perfect prison than all her phobias put together did.
