Man with the Muscle. Julie Miller

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      Audrey bristled at the dig. It wasn’t the first time someone had doubted her abilities because of her looks or her father’s bank account or the fact she turned red in the face when she lost control of her emotions. “No one bought my law degree for me, Mr. Taylor. And I didn’t just earn it—I was top of my class. I’ve worked as a defense attorney and now for the prosecution, so I know criminal law inside and out. I asked for this assignment, and Dwight Powers gave it to me because he knew I could handle it.”

      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 СКАЧАТЬ