Kansas City Secrets. Julie Miller

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      And though Howard’s interest might have as much to do with the generous percentage his firm had received from the settlement, Rosemary appreciated his attempts to be kind. However, her gratitude didn’t go so far as to want to encourage a more personal connection between them. She’d thought Richard Bratcher was her hero, rescuing her from the dutiful drudgery of her life, and she’d fallen hard and fast. Richard had been her first love...and her biggest mistake—one she never intended to make again. But her business relationship and friendship with his older brother, Howard, shouldn’t suffer because of it. She glanced across the seat and smiled. “Is that okay?”

      Knowing her history with his brother, Howard was probably relieved she hadn’t given him a flat-out no. He nodded his agreement, willing, once again, to please her. “Fast food, it is.”

      Almost three hours later, Howard pulled off the interstate and turned toward her home on the eastern edge of Kansas City. Although it was nearly eight o’clock, the sun was still a rosy orange ball in the western sky when he walked her up onto the front porch that ran clear across the front of her ninety-year-old bungalow.

      From the moment the car doors had shut and she’d stepped out, she could hear the high and low pitches of her two dogs barking, and was eager to get inside to see them. She had her keys out and her purse looped over her shoulder when she realized Howard had followed her to the top of the stairs, waiting to take his leave or maybe hoping to be invited in for coffee.

      What one woman might see as polite, Rosemary saw as suffocating, maybe even dangerous. As much as she loathed going out in public, she hated the idea of being trapped inside the house with a man even more. No way was she reliving that nightmare. With the dogs scratching at the other side of the door now, anxious for her arrival, Rosemary turned and lifted her gaze to Howard’s patient expression. “Thank you for going with me to Jefferson City.”

      “My pleasure.”

      “Do I owe you some gas money?”

      He chuckled. “Not a penny.”

      Finally getting the hint that this was goodbye, he leaned in to kiss her cheek. But Rosemary extended her hand instead, forcing some space between them. “Good night, Howard.”

      He gently took her hand and raised it to his lips to kiss the back of her knuckles instead. “Good night. I’ll pick you up tomorrow?” he asked, releasing her from the gallant gesture and pulling away.

      Right. More papers to sign. “I can drive, you know.”

      “But the drive will give me a chance to explain the trust fund and scholarship you’ll be setting up before you sign anything.” There’d already been plenty of explanation and she’d made her decisions.

      “Howard—”

      “That way you won’t have to spend any longer than a few minutes at the office.”

      Now that was a selling point. Rosemary nodded her acquiescence. “I’ll be ready. See you then.”

      She waited until he was backing out of the driveway and waved before turning around to unlock the door. She typed in the security code to release the alarm, but her hand stopped with her key in the lock. She wasn’t alone.

      Was he watching her? Would there be another vile message waiting on her answering machine?

      I see you, Rosemary. Thinking your money can buy you security. Thinking those dogs will keep you safe. One of these days it’ll be just you and me. I’ll show you how justice is done. I’ll take you apart piece by piece.

      With her shaking hand still on the key, she glanced up and down the street at the peaceful normalcy of a summer evening in the older suburban neighborhood. There was an impromptu ball game in the Johannesens’ front yard across the street. Mrs. Keith was out trimming her shrubs while her husband washed the car in their driveway.

      Squinting against the reflection of the sunset in her next-door neighbors’ living room window, Rosemary caught the shadowy silhouette of Otis or Arlene Dinkle. The brief ripple of alarm that had put her on guard a moment earlier eased. The Dinkles had lived next door for years, and had been friends with her parents long before Rosemary had moved back home to care for her teenage brother.

      Unable to get a good look at which of the couple was eyeing her, Rosemary exhaled a sigh of relief and waved. They’d watched over her for a long time, including that night Richard had attacked her and she’d run to their house to call the police, fearing he’d come back after he’d stormed out. Her wave must have been all the reassurance the Dinkles needed to know she’d arrived home safely. The shadow disappeared and the blinds closed.

      Breathing easier now, Rosemary unlocked the door and went inside. “Hey, ladies. Mama’s home.”

      Her smile was genuine as she locked the door behind her and dropped to her knees to accept the enthusiastic greeting from the German shepherd with the excited whine and the miniature poodle leaping up and down around her.

      “Hey, Duchess. Hey, Trixie. I missed you guys, too.” She spared a few moments to rub their tummies and accept some eager licks before rising to her feet and doing a quick walk through the house with the dogs trailing behind her.

      She really should have no worries about an intruder, especially with the yappy apricot poodle and the former K-9 Corps dog who’d been dismissed from the program because of an eye injury on hand to guard the place. If the dogs weren’t alarmed, she shouldn’t be, either. Still, she checked all the rooms, including the guest suite upstairs, before she set her purse down beside the answering machine on the kitchen counter.

      No blinking red light.

      “Thank goodness.”

      Her day had already been long and troubling enough without having to deal with another message from the unwanted admirer she’d picked up the night after news of her settlement being finalized had appeared in the Kansas City Journal. And she was certain the police department was tired of her calling in to report the disturbing calls. She knew she was tired of hearing the subtle changes in their tone once she identified herself. The officers were sympathetic when they saw her name in the system as a victim of domestic violence, but seemed to think she was some kind of crank caller when they read her abuser was dead and that she had once been a suspect in his murder. They probably thought she was some sort of paranoid crazy lady—or a woman desperately seeking attention when, in reality, she’d be far more content to fade into the woodwork.

      The advice from the officer she’d finally been connected with had been to keep a log of the calls and let her know if she thought they were escalating into something more serious. If she’d known when Richard Bratcher’s controlling demands were going to escalate into violence, she might have been spared a split lip, a broken arm and... She ran her fingers beneath the collar of her blouse, resting her palm over the old scars there. Talk about a sudden and unexpected escalation. But when images from that horrific time tried to surface, Rosemary pulled her hand away and stooped down to busy her fingers and brain with the much more enjoyable task of petting the dogs and rubbing their bellies.

      After a happy competition for her affection, Rosemary kicked off her sandals and relished the cool tile under her toes. With both dogs dancing around her, she unbolted the back door and opened the screen door to let them out into the fenced-in yard to run around.

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