“What are you doing?” Kyra gasped.

“Preparing to kiss you.”

“You have to prepare?”

Lucan’s low chuckle sent waves of passion flowing through her blood.

“To do it right.”

His hand closed around her back. He drew her in slowly, giving her time to change her mind.

As if.

He crushed her against the hardness of his body and took possession of her mouth. She was moaning deep in her throat as she mashed herself against him, trying to get closer. She ran her hands over his back, tangling in the softness of his still damp hair. She could feel the hard thrust of him as their bodies sought a closeness barred by clothing.

He pulled her head gently against his shoulder, stroking her hair then cupping the back of her head. “I don’t want to hurt you and I’m losing control.”

His voice was rough, thick with need. She smiled against his sweatshirt and lifted her face. “You won’t hurt me. You would never hurt me.”

Police Protector
Dani Sinclair

For my mother, Ruth Ann, who shares much in common

with Maureen O’Shay, including a deep love of family.

And for Roger, Chip, Dan and Barb as always

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

An avid reader, Dani Sinclair didn’t discover romance novels until her mother loaned her one when she’d come for a visit. Dani’s been hooked on the genre ever since, but she didn’t take up writing seriously until her two sons were grown. With the premiere of Mystery Baby for Harlequin Intrigue in 1996, Dani’s kept her computer busy ever since. She’s a two-time RITA® Award finalist, for Better Watch Out in 1998 and Midnight Prince in 2008. Dani lives outside Washington, D.C., a place she’s found to be a great source for both intrigue and humor!

You can write to her in care of the Harlequin Reader Service.

Contents

Cast of Characters

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

CAST OF CHARACTERS

Lucan O’Shay—The detective has been working overtime to catch a gang of thieves. Now he has to find a kid who’s running around with hundred dollar bills in his backpack.

Kyra Wolfstead—She knew something was wrong at her sister’s, but she never expected to drive into town and find her eight-year-old nephew being arrested on the street.

Kip Bowman—The eight-year-old has his younger siblings, Brian and Maggie, to protect. He intends to do just that, no matter what.

Casey Fillmont—Kyra’s older sister is missing and her house has been ransacked. Her new husband, Jordan, and her ex are missing, as well.

Jordan Fillmont—Everyone claims to like the personable man who worked in the pro shop at the Oak Forest Country Club. So where is he?

Milt Bowman—Casey’s ex-husband is a nice guy…until he starts drinking.

Louis Ventner—The general manager at Oak Forest Country Club is concerned about his missing employee.

Ralph Montgomery—Ventner’s assistant doesn’t like all the police attention the club is generating.

Bobby Krinegolt—The country club’s gofer sees everything that goes on.

Maureen O’Shay—Lucan’s mother is happy to take three children and their aunt under her wing.

Simon Testier—Kyra’s ex-boyfriend won’t take no for an answer.

Chapter One

Christmas carols played on the overhead speakers as Lucan O’Shay stepped to one side of the drink dispenser. He watched a young boy move down the aisle of the local convenience store. No one in the busy store paid any attention to the dark-haired boy with the green backpack.

The kid couldn’t have been more than eight or nine years old, and he looked as if he hadn’t bathed or changed his clothes in days. His jeans were of good quality, but stained and rumpled. It appeared as if he’d slept in his winter coat, and his hair and skin were badly in need of soap and water. He was thin, though not overly skinny. In fact there was nothing remarkable about the boy except for the furtive way his eyes darted about the area around him, as if he were afraid.

Lucan tensed as the boy picked up a bag of cookies, a box of cereal and a jar of peanut butter. All disappeared into the backpack at his feet so smoothly that even watching him, Lucan had to blink. The kid moved on, effortlessly adding a small container of milk and a bag of potato chips and carefully selecting three chocolate Santas and a box of candy canes.

Stealing? But the manager had said—

Before Lucan could shift position, the boy was in line at the register behind a sweaty construction worker. He was careful not to meet anyone’s eyes. Lucan waited to see what the boy would do. Behind the counter, Salman’s gaze met Lucan’s. The manager inclined his head as the boy very carefully pulled each item from his backpack and set it on the counter.

Salman was outgoing and friendly with all his customers, but his efforts to make conversation with the boy netted him only a shake of the kid’s head or a shrug. The boy wouldn’t look at him.

“No bag.” His voice betrayed his nerves, as did the way he shifted from foot to foot. Obviously, he wanted to pay and leave as quickly as possible.

Salman returned each item to the backpack. Even though he’d told Lucan what to expect, Lucan’s jaw dropped as the boy pulled out what appeared to be an amazing wad of bills from the deep pocket of his coat. He peeled off a one-hundred-dollar bill from the top and handed it to the clerk with a grubby hand.

The boy shoved the change into his backpack without counting it. He sealed the pack with a speed and economy of motion that was impressive. Hefting the pack, he looked up and met Lucan’s gaze. Wary eyes filled with panic. He dashed for the door.

Lucan swore under his breath and began to move. Being a plainclothes police detective, he wasn’t wearing a uniform. He shouldn’t have spooked the kid. And now he was impeded by the people and shelves still between them. The boy took full advantage. By the time Lucan reached the main door, the boy was disappearing around the back of the building.

Lucan sprinted after him. “Hey, wait up a minute!”

The boy never paused. He was through a narrow hole in the crumbling stockade fence behind the building in seconds. Lucan eyed the fence and hesitated. The missing boards were wide enough for the child, but not for him. The remaining fence would never support his weight.

His own house was only a few blocks over, and being a runner, Lucan knew the neighborhood well. Yet despite his speed and longer legs, there was no sign of the boy when Lucan reached the street behind the store. The row of brand-new townhouses gave way to the original development where Lucan’s home was located.

The boy couldn’t have gone far. Lucan began searching the area but there was no sign of him. If the boy had gone into one of the houses, there was nothing to tell him which one. A cold wind whipped over his face as he searched the yards. He was certain the boy had ducked in somewhere nearby. Only when a middle-aged woman holding a cell phone stepped out onto her deck demanding to know what he was doing in her yard messing with her Christmas lights did Lucan concede defeat. Flashing his police badge, he apologized for disturbing her and asked about the boy he’d been pursing.

Lips pursed, she told him she didn’t know anyone matching that description. She hadn’t seen a child like that and she wanted him out of her yard immediately. Lucan returned to the store, where only one other customer remained.

The man paid for his purchase and left. Even so, Salman looked around and lowered his voice when Lucan approached. “He got away?”

“Unfortunately,” Lucan admitted ruefully. “He went through the hole in the fence out back.”

“I told corporate about that fence. They say it is not their responsibility. The builder put up the fence during construction, so it belongs to the townhouses behind us. Yet the neighbors say it is not their responsibility. What am I to do?” He handed Lucan the hundred-dollar bill the boy had used to pay for his food. “It is real?”

Lucan examined the bill with a frown. “Looks like it to me, but I’m no expert. You said the bank told you the other bills were fine.”

Salman nodded. “But a boy like that should not be carrying so much money.”

“You got that right. I’ll run the serial number just to check, but there’s nothing illegal about a boy paying for items with a large bill.”

The clerk nodded glumly. “This I know, but there is something wrong.”

“Yeah,” Lucan agreed, remembering the fear. “How often does he come in?”

“Every day since Sunday. First it was candy and cookies. Then he started buying bread and other items, as you saw. Sunday is my day off, but Ranji tells me that was the day it began.”

“And he always pays with a hundred-dollar bill like this one?”

“Yes. That is why I told you about him when you came in today. It is odd. The boy always waits until I am busy, like he did this time. I try to talk to him, but he says nothing. He is very quick.”

“I saw how fast he made stuff disappear inside that backpack. Be glad he isn’t stealing.”

Salman eyed the bill in his hand. “But did he steal this money?”

“Good question. He’s definitely afraid of something. Had you seen him in here before he started paying with big bills?”

“No. Never that I can remember. Many neighborhood children come in with and without their parents. One or two have taken something without paying, but most do not. He is not one of the children that I know.”

Lucan thought for a moment. “Were any of those townhouses up for sale recently—or unoccupied?”

“This I do not know. Do you not live nearby?”

Lucan rubbed his jaw, feeling tired. “I do, but I’ve been pulling double shifts lately. When I’ve had time to go out running I haven’t been paying attention. Since you don’t recognize him, I’m thinking the kid may be new to the area.”

Salman shrugged and Lucan tapped the counter absently. How had a boy of that age come by even one bill of that denomination, let alone those he’d already spent, unless he’d stolen them? This was Wednesday. The kid had been flashing that wad of hundred dollar bills for four days.

He opened his wallet and pulled out a business card. Writing his cell phone number on the back, he handed it to the clerk. “My office number and my cell phone number. Call me if you see him again.”

Salman scowled. “You will arrest him?”

“No. He hasn’t done anything illegal that we know about. I just want to talk to him and to his parents. There may be a reason he’s carrying that kind of cash, but it’s dangerous.”

“You do not think he stole the money?” Salman repeated the question, frowning intently.

Lucan shrugged. “I don’t know, Salman. I’d be more inclined to think that was the case if he was buying junk food and toys, but he picked up peanut butter and bread and even milk. That sounds like hunger to me. His clothing is dirty, and so is he.”

And what were the odds the kid had been abandoned?

“He wore the same pants yesterday,” Salman confirmed. “Perhaps even the day before, I do not recall for certain.”

Lucan knew his frown matched the clerk’s. “I’m glad you told me about him when I came in. Like you, I think something is wrong at home. I just want to be sure the kid is safe. If something is wrong, we’ll intervene for his sake.”

Salman shook his head, looking even more worried. “I do not want to cause any trouble.”

“Neither do I, Salman. Neither do I. Call me if you see him again.”

“Yes, that I will do,” the clerk promised unhappily as he pocketed Lucan’s card.

Lucan’s gaze swept the area as he walked back to his car. He didn’t really expect to see the boy again, but he needed to start paying attention to his surroundings. Being tired was no excuse for getting sloppy. The last time he’d been sloppy he’d taken two slugs to the chest and spent months recovering.

Lucan pinched the bridge of his nose before putting the car in gear. A recent spate of robberies had culminated in the murder of a local socialite. The press and politicians were screaming. The entire department was on overtime, and they didn’t have a single clue to the thieves’ identities. He’d had to cancel his date with Jennifer for the fifth night running. Now she wasn’t taking his calls.

Probably he should be more upset. Jennifer was a lot of fun. On the other hand, if she didn’t understand what it meant to date a cop, then it was time for him to find a new companion. There was always that nurse who worked with his sister-in-law, Sally. What was her name? Nancy? Nina? Something along those lines. The woman was attractive, and she’d put out plenty of signals that she was interested. The only drawback was that she was a friend of Sally’s.

Lucan made it a policy to stay away from friends of family members. They tended to expect their relationships to lead to something permanent. He’d been there and done that and had the divorce papers to prove it. Happily-ever-after only happened in fairy tales. He was no longer interested in anyone with commitment in their eyes.

Abruptly, Lucan realized he was pulling up in front of his house. He hadn’t noticed a single thing on the drive home. He swore softly and blinked. There was no missing the fancy sports car with the vanity plate parked in his driveway. Nor could he miss the heavily pregnant woman shutting his front door and locking it before hurrying back toward the driveway. In the twinkling Christmas lights from the houses on either side of his, he could clearly see her stomach bulging beneath the coat she wore unbuttoned. She looked up and paused when she saw his car.

Lucan parked at the curb and got out to greet his sister-in-law. “Hey, Whitney, what’s the rush?”

She shook her head and smiled a greeting. “What are you doing home at this hour?”

“It’s six forty-four. My shift was over at three.”

“Since when do you punch a time clock?”

“I don’t. That’s why it’s six forty-four. Dropping off another care package from Mom, I hope?”

She nodded. “Lasagna, garlic bread and a tossed salad with brownies for desert.”

His mouth watered. His Irish mother was an accomplished cook and he knew she was convinced that her only still-single son was going starve to death, since he didn’t have a woman of his own to feed him. As a result, she sent frequent meals his way.

“I stopped by to see her on my way home from work,” Whitney continued. “She was going to bring it over herself, but she said she was running late so I offered to do it for her since I had to come this way anyhow. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Are you kidding? Home-cooked food? I’m thrilled.”

Whitney smiled back at him. “I put the lasagna and the salad in the refrigerator since I didn’t know when you’d get here, but the lasagna is still warm. Everything else is on the counter,” Whitney continued. “If I hadn’t offered to come over here for her, maybe the two of you could have had dinner together.”

He winced. “Thanks for the subtle hint. I meant to go by and see her earlier this week, but I’ve been so busy….”

“Don’t be daft. O’Shays don’t do subtle. I know. I married one.”

“And we’re all glad of it, but you’d better watch out, Mom’s brogue is rubbing off on you.”

Whitney grinned impishly. “Your mother made enough to feed an army—or you and your three brothers.”

Lucan chuckled. “They aren’t invited, but you’re welcome to join me. Flynn’s working today isn’t he?” As a fireman, his youngest brother’s shift would keep him at the station overnight.

“He is, but I can’t stay. I promised my dad and Ruby I’d come by their place for a late supper.” She tossed her brownish-blond hair back over her shoulders. “Your mom’s worried about you, you know. She says you’re working too hard.”

“Tell it to the press. They think we’re sitting on our hands with this murder. Money talks, you know, and it doesn’t hurt that the woman’s husband knows everyone on the county council.”

He heard the bitterness in his voice and stopped before he really vented about the pressure the force was under to find the thieves-turned-killers working the area. “Besides, you know how my mother likes to worry. I’m surprised she isn’t mother-henning you to death about the baby.”

“Your mother’s great, as you well know, and the baby is on schedule. I’ve got a week yet and Flynn and I are as ready as we’re going to be.” She patted her rounded stomach. “Hear that, baby? You can come out now.”

“Uh, let’s not make it right now, okay?”

Whitney laughed and quickly sobered. “You look tired, Lucan.”

“I am tired. It goes with the job. You, on the other hand, look gorgeous.”

“I look like a pregnant walrus, but thanks just the same.”

“Pregnancy becomes you.” He nodded toward the car. “I thought you were selling that and buying a sedan.”

“We tried selling it, but the deal fell through. If you want it I’ll give you a good price.”

“Don’t tempt me.” He’d driven the brightly colored sports car once and been totally hooked. “That’s one sweet car.”

“But it isn’t practical, especially at this time of year.”

No, an expensive sports car certainly wasn’t practical, but he could dream. Whitney came from money. His family didn’t. Even though he knew Whitney would give him the car if she didn’t think it would ruffle his pride, a police detective in a flashy sports car like hers just shouted “cop on the take” to his mind.

“We’re picking up the new sedan tomorrow,” Whitney informed him. “At least think about it. I’ll give you a family discount.” She smiled easily. “I really hate to go through the whole selling process all over again, but Flynn says it’s a thief magnet.”

“Flynn’s right.” And that was another point. The car wouldn’t last three minutes in some of the areas he had to work. Still, Lucan gazed at the car wistfully.

“Like I said, think about it, Lucan. I hate to run, but I promised Dad—”

He gave her a brief hug. “Go. I’m amazed you and the kid can still fit behind the steering wheel. And thanks for dropping off dinner. I’ll call Mom as soon as I go inside. Maybe I’ll take the brownies over and have desert with her. She probably has ice cream to go with them.”

“You’re as incorrigible as your brother.”

Lucan returned her smile. “We’re related.”

“So true. Good night, Lucan.”

“Drive carefully.”

He watched Whitney pull out onto the street before returning to his car to move it into the driveway.

The smell of his mother’s lasagna hit him the minute he stepped inside. He called her while the oven heated. She had friends coming over for a meeting, so the conversation was short. Whitney would be relieved to learn she couldn’t have done dinner with him anyhow. Unfortunately, it also meant he’d have to have his brownies without ice cream unless he wanted to go back to the convenience store.

That thought reminded him of the boy, and he frowned. There was nothing more he could do about that situation tonight. The kid wasn’t likely to return to the store any time soon.

BUT LUCAN WAS STILL thinking about the boy in the morning as he ran through the neighborhood. The tree-lined streets were sleepy and peaceful as usual. Nothing struck a chord of concern. There were no houses up for sale and judging by the holiday decorations dotting the houses and yards, the homes were all occupied. The weather had been unexpectedly mild after the cold front that had ushered in the month of December, but according to the weather reports, that was going to change again soon.

Another robbery had been reported last night. The home owners had returned from vacation to find the alarms cut and the house ransacked. Naturally, the owner had to be a close friend of the most outspoken council member—as if the police department didn’t have enough pressure to find the thieves. The cases were stacking up.

Lucan spent another fruitless day talking to people and reviewing evidence only to come up empty once more. Frustrated and tired, he finally headed home after seven for a beer and leftover lasagna. He was nearly to the intersection where the convenience store was located when he remembered the boy. Changing direction, he turned down the street behind the convenience store and beyond where the single homes started. Astounded, he spotted the kid, still wearing the same dark coat and grungy pants and toting the green backpack as he hurried down the sidewalk.

Lucan pulled his car to the side of the road and set off after the kid on foot. The boy must have heard the car door because he cast a look over his shoulder and took off running. This time Lucan had the advantage. He got hold of the backpack and spun the boy around until he could grip the boy’s arm.

The kid turned into a wild thing, struggling for all he was worth, kicking, punching and wriggling but never making a sound. Lucan had all he could do to hold on to the boy. He tried to calm him down, but the boy was having none of it.

“I’m not going to hurt you. I’m a police officer. Take it easy! You’re going to hurt yourself!”

A woman’s furious contralto split the air. “Get your hands off him! Help! Police!”

Chapter Two

Lucan jerked his head over his shoulder. He’d been so focused on the boy he hadn’t heard the car that was now stopped in the middle of the road. But he certainly heard what proved to be a striking brunette. Knee-high brown leather boots with sexy high heels didn’t slow her down a bit. Nor did the pencil slim skirt above them as she ran toward him. Her pretty, delicate features were pinched with fury.

“Lady, I am the police!”

She didn’t appear to hear him.

“That’s my nephew! Let him go, you pervert!”

She swung a matching brown leather shoulder bag at him that looked almost too large for her frame. He turned away, letting his back and side take the brunt of the blow.

“Ow! Stop! What have you got in there? I said stop! I’m a cop!”

Automatically, his left hand came up to block the next swing of the purse, so she kicked him. That fast, the boy eeled away from his grip and took off at a dead run. The kid sprinted across the lawn and disappeared between the houses. Lucan swore. She hit him again.

“Hit or kick me one more time and I’ll arrest you for assault.” He pulled out his badge case, flipped it open one-handed and thrust it in her face.

She stopped swinging. Taking the leather folder with a perfectly manicured hand, she studied it intently, still radiating fury. Her sassy cap of short brown hair glinted under the streetlamp overhead. The fitted brown leather vest over a soft white blouse hugged nicely rounded breasts. A wide belt cinched at her waist emphasized the trim fit of her skirt. Her jewelry was understated, but the heavy gold bangles circling her wrists weren’t costume, and he’d bet neither were the flashing earrings or the simple gold chains at her throat.

Large brown eyes raised from the badge to pierce him in angry disbelief. “Are you really a cop?”

Exasperated, he set his jaw. “Hit me again and you’ll see my handcuffs.”

She thrust the folder back at him. “What were you doing with my nephew?”

“Trying to ask him some questions.”

“That’s not how it looked to me.” The sexy high-heeled boots brought her nearly to eye level with him at six feet tall. Her glare said she wasn’t the least bit intimidated by his badge or his height. “You looked like a pervert trying to kidnap him.”

Lucan tried counting to ten. He didn’t make it past four. That heart-shaped face and creamy smooth skin might tempt a man to want to learn more about her, but the shrew’s temper would quickly squash the idea. “Let me see your driver’s license.”

Her eyes snapped fire. Lucan held that gaze, narrowing his own eyes and waiting. Scowling, she opened her purse. A thirty-eight revolver was clearly visible despite the jumble of items inside.

Lucan jerked the purse from her grasp. Letting it fall to the ground, he spun her around. “You’re under arrest.”

“What?”

He snapped handcuffs into place.

“Let me go! You can’t arrest me for calling you a pervert.”

His jaw clenched. “No, but I can arrest you for carrying a concealed weapon, impeding an officer in the performance of his duty and assault on a police officer.” He glanced at the expensive car with its engine still running, sitting in the middle of the street, and steered her up against it. “And impeding the flow of traffic,” he added.

“You have to be kidding!”

She struggled as he patted her down quickly and impersonally despite the fact that the body beneath his hands was made for a different sort of patting entirely.

“You have the right to remain silent—”

“Oh, for crying out loud. I know my rights. I’m a lawyer.”

He managed to silence the oath that sprang to his lips and continued reciting the Miranda rights.

“What about Kip?” she demanded. “Don’t you understand? Something is wrong!”

The rising tenor of her tone almost stopped him, but he finished and held the stormy gaze she tossed over her shoulder at him. “Do you understand these rights as stated?”

“Yes!”

He stepped back and let her turn around. She tossed aside a drift of hair that had fallen across one eye and glared furiously.

“I apologize,” she offered without a trace of apology in her tone or manner. “But you were manhandling my nephew. It made me see red.”

“I was not manhandling him!” He lowered his voice wondering why he was letting this woman get to him. “Your nephew was kicking me.”

“Because you grabbed him. I saw you.”

Lucan swallowed a retort. “Lady, I’m not going to stand out here and argue with you.”

The scene probably had looked bad from a concerned relative’s point of view, but he was not about to concede that point. “If you’re the kid’s aunt, how come he took off?”

A flash of chagrin. She swung her head as if trying to toss long hair over her shoulder only to realize it wasn’t there.

“I live in Boston. I haven’t seen Kip in a couple of years.” Her eyes narrowed once more. “And you were scaring him to death.”

The boy had been scared.

Her striking blue eyes clouded. “I’m sorry I overreacted. It’s been a long day and there was no way I could know you were a cop when I intervened.”

She still didn’t sound contrite.

“We’re on the same side, Officer,” she added defiantly.

“Detective.”

She gave a negligent shrug.

Lucan reached for her handbag. This woman knew how to press his buttons. Under her watchful gaze he removed the revolver. “You want to explain this?”

Her frown twisted to annoyance. “I forgot it was in there.”

Lucan waited. Even her sigh was angry. “It’s completely legal. I have permits to carry concealed, Detective. You’ll find them in my purse.”

Lucan gritted his teeth, determined not to let her climb under his skin. The purse was so jammed with stuff he was surprised she could get it closed. No wonder it had felt like bricks when she hit him. The weapon was fully loaded. Beneath it sat a canister of pepper spray.

“Expecting a war?”

“I like to be prepared.”

He held his temper along with her gaze. “You aren’t a cop.”

“No, I told you, I’m a lawyer.”

“Then you don’t have a permit to carry concealed in Maryland.”

Irritation flashed in those bright blue eyes. “I’m an officer of the court, detective. I assure you all my paperwork is in order.”

“Uh-huh. Well as an officer of the court, you should know the state of Maryland doesn’t recognize the right to carry concealed weapons for anyone outside of law enforcement.”

If looks could burn, he’d be sizzling. It was her turn to grit perfectly even white teeth.

“It was an oversight. When I left work I forgot the gun was in there or I would have taken it out.”

He pulled out the pepper spray. “Boston must be rougher than I thought. Am I going to find a switchblade next?”

“No!”

“Good.” Lucan dug until he found the paperwork. A passport was there as well. That started a whole new set of alarm bells clanging.

“Planning a trip out of the country?”

“Yes. If you must know, my sister and I are taking her children on vacation this weekend. We’re flying to Bermuda.”

“Uh-huh. In December. Right before Christmas.”

“Can you think of a better time?”

Lucan eyed her. “Does your sister have a husband?” Her gaze flickered. He pressed home his point. “Does he know about your vacation plans?”

Her gaze dropped for an instant before challenging him once more. “That’s none of your business.”

“It is if he has custody and no knowledge of your plans.”

There was relief in her posture. “He doesn’t have custody. Milt’s her second husband. The children are all hers.”

Bingo. This was a family dispute of some sort. Reason enough for the kid to run off. If it wasn’t for all the money the boy was flashing around, Lucan might be tempted to dismiss the situation. As it was, however…“Are your plane tickets in here as well?”

“No. We haven’t booked our flight yet.” She flushed. “Okay, I know this sounds odd.”

He kept his expression neutral. Suddenly the fight seemed to go out of her.

“Look, something is wrong at my sister’s place. She was supposed to call me on Sunday to firm up our plans. She never called.”

Concern clouded her features. Lucan tried to determine if it was real. He had the impression of genuine emotion, but how could he tell?

“I haven’t been able to reach Casey all week. I wanted to come sooner but I had to finish a case before I could leave. You have my gun permits.”

“Permits, plural?”

“Yes.”

From inside her purse he pulled out an envelope he’d shifted while looking for her wallet. Kyra Wolfstead was licensed to carry a concealed weapon in the state of Massachusetts and two neighboring states.

He opened her bulging leather wallet and studied her driver’s license. The names matched. Her photo was crisp and clear. Lucan had a feeling cameras of any sort liked Kyra Wolfstead. He could understand their approval. If they’d met under different circumstances, he might approve as well.

“I have business cards in there too,” she added.

And a thick wad of cash that brought his head up sharply.

“I didn’t want to waste time going to an ATM after I got here,” she explained before he could ask.

Her tone was calm and brisk, but annoyance flashed once more. “We’re wasting time, Off—Detective. Casey has an ex-husband with a court injunction against him.”

Which could easily be checked out and just might explain the arsenal and the passport. Lucan lifted one of the business cards and scowled. “This says you’re an insurance investigator.”

She sighed. “I work for Dowlings Limited, as you can see. They are similar to Lloyds of London.”

“I’ve heard of Dowlings. So are you an investigator or a lawyer?”

“I’m both. I worked in international law for a time, which comes in handy with my current job. Many of our clients have places outside of the United States. Art objects and jewelry are often fenced in other countries. I know the laws and restrictions in many of those jurisdictions. Look, could we have this discussion later? I have an unusual job and it’s nice that you’re interested, but I’d like to go to my sister’s place and make sure Casey is okay. I’m deeply concerned.”

Headlights speared them as an approaching car slowed. In the time they’d been talking, dusk had settled over the neighborhood. The driver of the oncoming car swung into the opposite lane on the narrow street to pass Kyra’s car, which was still sitting there with its engine running. A woman and two children stared curiously at them as they drove by. Lucan’s car was parked half a block away, and he’d left his radio inside.

“Have a seat on the lawn under that tree.” He indicated an old elm with a wave of his hand. Kyra Wolfstead glared daggers. He raised a hand to forestall her next protest. “I need to move your car out of the middle of the street.”

“For pity’s sake. The ground is freezing.”

“I’ll hurry.”

“You’d better.” She strode to the tree without waiting for assistance and folded gracefully onto the yellowed grass. Lucan thought she might be trembling the slightest bit, but he read that as anger rather than fear.

Unloading her gun, he tucked the weapon in the back of his waistband, pocketing the shells. He removed the pepper spray and put that in his pocket as well. Then he drove her car to the side of the road.

In the back seat was a rich-looking, long leather coat that would no doubt match the boots and gloves. There was also an overnight-sized suitcase, a brown soft leather briefcase, what appeared to be a computer bag and two plastic sacks of brightly wrapped packages. An expensive GPS system sat on the dashboard displaying the car’s location. A set of printed directions from the Internet lay on the passenger’s seat beside a thermos.

Lucan opened the thermos and sniffed the contents. Some sort of spiced tea if he wasn’t mistaken, still warm. A sealed plastic drinking bottle was half full of what appeared to be water. This was a woman who obviously liked backup plans.

He checked the destination on the GPS device against the printed directions. They matched. The address was one block over. In the glove compartment, her registration was in order. The address matched the one on her driver’s license and the gun permits.

It appeared she was telling the truth. Still, that wad of cash and the weapon were a cause for concern. While this might be nothing more than a domestic dispute, there was a little boy running around with his own wad of cash.

Locking the car, Lucan went to where she sat and reached down to help her to her feet. She stiffened at his touch, but flowed up easily despite the skirt and heels.

“My car’s down the street,” he told her.

“Are you going to undo the cuffs?”

“No.”

“You’re really going to arrest me?” Despite her high-heeled boots, she kept pace with him easily. She had an athlete’s body. Lean and trim. He wondered if she was a runner.

“That remains to be seen,” he answered frankly.

He had her sit on the back seat of his car with her legs out while he ran her information. She seethed with impatience, but clamped her lips tightly against the complaint he could read so easily in her expressive features.

Unsurprised when she checked out clean, Lucan still hesitated before pulling her out of the car and releasing the cuffs. He handed her back her purse.

“I’ll follow you to your sister’s place.”

“You aren’t going to arrest me?” She all but vibrated with anger.

“I’ve had my quota of paperwork for the day, but push me and I’ll make an exception.”

She extended her hand. “And my gun?”

“Is illegal in Maryland.” He didn’t add that he didn’t like civilians with guns. “By all rights I should be taking you in for possession.”

“But you won’t?”

Lucan shook his head. “The jury’s still out on that, counselor. Let’s go see what your sister has to say.”

She pursed her lips. Turning on her sexy high heels she returned to her car, anger in every stride. He watched the tight sway of her body in that nicely fitted skirt, and his lips curved. Angry or not, Kyra Wolfstead was a very sexy, intriguing package. Too bad they hadn’t met socially.

She drove to the next block and pulled into the driveway of a small stone-and-vinyl-sided two-story house. An ancient Chinese elm covered most of the front yard. A tattered swing and several beat-up lawn chairs graced a wide front porch. A child’s bike with a flat rear tire leaned drunkenly against the side of the house.

There was nothing out of the ordinary in the setting. Lucan had passed this house several times on his morning runs. Only now did he notice that the drapes were pulled tight. And while the majority of the neighbors’ houses sported brightly colored Christmas lights and door decorations, this house was dark and forlorn-looking by comparison.

Kyra pulled into the driveway. She didn’t wait, but hurried to the front porch. Her large purse flopped against her side. He caught up with her as she pressed the doorbell. When there was no response, she rapped loudly and tried the doorknob.

“Locked.” She looked affronted.

“Your sister may be out.”

“No. Something’s wrong. I tried calling her cell phone again from the car. She always carries her cell phone and keeps it on because of the children, but my calls are going straight to voice mail.”

“Maybe her battery went dead,” he suggested as she began trying windows. “Lots of people forget to charge their cell phones. What are you doing? As a lawyer, you know you can’t break into her house.”

“It’s illegal entry if I don’t break anything to get in,” she corrected.

His lips curved. It was hard not to like her even if she was a pain in the neck. He followed her to the locked side door and on to the back porch with the same results.

“Does your sister work?”

“She’s a waitress.” Kyra changed directions, heading for the single car detached garage. The side door opened easily beneath her fingers.

Lucan yanked her back when she would have gone inside. He was starting to have a bad feeling about this situation.

“Wait.”

“Her car’s in there!”

“I said, wait!”

Unhappily, she did, tapping her foot in annoyance. The seven-year-old sedan inside was locked and empty save for two children’s car seats. Eyeing the trunk, he turned to Kyra only to find her going rapidly back toward the rear of the house.

Lucan started after her. “I’m going to call—what are you doing? Don’t—”

She lifted a child’s lawn chair from a pile of matted leaves, strode onto the porch and up to the kitchen window. Before he could reach her, she’d swung the chair at the pane with surprising force. The glass shattered into a million pieces.

“Now it’s breaking and entering,” she told him without looking his way. “You can arrest me later.”

Using the chair to clear away the broken shards, she poked her head inside. Her gasp had him reaching for her as she recoiled.

Chapter Three

The putrid stench that filled her nostrils made Kyra gag. She jerked her head back, barely aware of the hands pulling her away from the window. Tears swam in her eyes as she sucked air greedily into her lungs. Her worst nightmare had just been confirmed. Casey had to be dead.

Kyra barely heard the detective calling in the scene. She kept seeing the kitchen with dishes, food, flour and sugar canisters tossed about the room. Decaying meat and once-frozen foods rotted on the floor. And most chilling of all were the small footprints leading in and out of the mess.

She swayed. Hands pressed her down onto the back porch steps. He forced her head down to her knees.

“Breathe. Slow, deep breaths.”

“She’s dead.”

“We don’t know that yet. Sit still. I don’t need you passing out on me.”

That jerked her head up. “I’m not going to pass out.”

“Could have fooled me. Sit.”

“My sister—”

“If she’s in there, we’ll find her. That damage wasn’t done today. I have officers en route.”

“Kip!”

His tone gentled, but there was no mistaking the iron will behind his words. “We’ll find the boy. I promise.”

She shook her head, fighting tears. “No wonder he ran from us.”

“We’ll find him,” he repeated firmly.

“And the others?”

His expression blanked, then hardened. “How many others?”

“Two. Brian and Maggie. Brian’s five. Maggie just turned three.”

And the horror of those small footprints hit her again. Her stomach lurched. She swallowed hard, determined to conquer the upheaval in her stomach. If only she’d come sooner. She should have turned her case over to one of her colleagues. Hadn’t she known Monday night that something was wrong? If Casey was dead…

“Ms. Wolfshead. Kyra! Listen to me. I’m going to go around to the front of the house. I want you to come with me.”

It took her first name in that deep voice to get her attention. Eyes that had been chips of granite earlier were a warm, sympathetic gray now. She would not cry.

“I’m okay.”

“I know you are. Come on.”

In no time vehicles and people began arriving. Despite her need to see for herself what had happened inside, she obeyed the detective’s order and sat shivering on the porch swing under the watchful eye of a uniformed officer.

Long minutes dragged by before her detective returned. His features were grim. Her stomach dropped.

“No.” He shook his head moving quickly to her side.

She was on her feet, swaying, with no memory of having moved.

“The house is empty. There’s no one inside,” he assured her.

“But where—?”

“We’re canvassing the neighborhood. We know your nephew is somewhere nearby. Hopefully he can tell us what happened and where your sister and the other children are. Maybe they’re staying with a neighbor.”

Kyra shook her head. “They don’t know any neighbors. They just moved in a couple of weeks ago. I need to go inside. I need to see—”

“Give us a few minutes to process the scene. We need photos and prints before I can let anyone in there.”

She knew that. Anyone who watched crime shows on television knew that.

“Is the whole house like the kitchen?”

“Yes. This will take time. Are you going to be all right?”

Not if Casey was dead. Please don’t let her be dead. She shivered hard.

“I’m fine.”

He recognized the lie, but nodded all the same. Removing his jacket he handed it to her. “Put this on.”

“I don’t—”

“For once, will you stop arguing and do what I say?”

“You’ll get cold.”

His smile was so gentle, her heart constricted.

“The house has heat, Kyra. I’ll be fine. Wait here.” He patted her shoulder before turning away.

The coat had a light, clean, masculine scent and she inhaled deeply, burrowing into its warmth even though nothing would make her warm again. Casey was dead. She had to be dead. And the children. Where were the children?

Kyra had no idea how long she waited before he came back outside and joined her on the swing. He rested his hand on her arm and she felt that touch despite the cloth between them.

“We’re waiting for the local electric company to arrive. They need to restore power to the house.”

“Why isn’t there any power?”

He grimaced. “The line was cut. Tell me about your sister, Kyra,” he continued before she could say anything else. “You said she has an ex-husband.”

“Milt Bowman. He’s an engineer with Norris Transportation Systems, a local contracting firm. Casey has a restraining order against him.”

“He’s hit her? Been abusive?”

Kyra nodded, swallowing fear-laced bile. “Only when he’s drunk. He gets mean when he drinks. Casey covered for him for years, but one night he went after Kip. She stopped him and he broke her jaw. As soon as he passed out, she took the kids to a shelter. They got her to the hospital, helped her get a lawyer and a restraining order, and she filed for divorce. When Milt realized she wasn’t going to change her mind, he backed off and agreed to the divorce. In exchange she refused to file charges.”

That still angered her, but there was no arguing once Casey made up her mind.

“Then she met Jordan Fillmont. They started dating.”

Kyra tried not to let her feelings about that show.

“They married the day her divorce became final.”

And no amount of talk could convince her sister not to rush into another marriage. Casey didn’t like being a single parent.

“Milt was furious,” Kyra continued. “He threatened her.”

“She went to the police?”

“Yes. She applied for another restraining order. Milt hired a lawyer to sue for joint custody.”

“He wants the kids?”

“Of course not. He wants to make her pay for getting remarried. He’s a drunk and a jerk. My sister has terrible taste in men.”

She didn’t add that it seemed to be a family trait.

“Including her new husband?”

Kyra bit the tip of her tongue before answering. “I don’t know him. They were married a few months ago.”

“Where does Fillmont work?”

“The Oak Forest Country Club. I’m not sure what he does there, something to do with the golf course, I think.”

“O’Shay?” someone called.

“Be right there.” He turned back to her. “Sit here a little longer, all right?”

His hand was warm on hers. She wondered when he’d taken it. Now he gave her fingers a gentle squeeze and stood, leaving her to talk with a pair of plain clothes officers. After a moment the three disappeared inside the house.

The power company arrived and the repair crew was ushered through the police line. Time trickled past. Her watch was at a jeweler’s being repaired, so she had no idea how late it was. She fidgeted, needing to be doing something besides sitting and thinking in circles. Anxious now, she waited for the detective to return. When he did, he motioned for her to join him.

“This is Detective Todd Berringer and Captain Walsh, Kyra.”

She barely acknowledged the introduction. Her eyes riveted on what she could see of the living-room disaster through the open front door. She stepped past them and moved inside, surveying the scene in sick dread. Every stick of furniture had been sliced open. Every breakable object had been broken in sheer, wanton destruction. An undecorated artificial Christmas tree lay on its side, a box of ornaments crushed beneath it.

Tears blurred her vision. She blinked hard to hold them at bay. “Why?”

“It appears someone was looking for something,” one of the men said.

Kyra shook her head, keeping her eyes averted until she felt more in control. “My sister doesn’t have anything of value. Maybe a few pieces of jewelry, but this…”

Helplessly she stared at a handmade ornament that had rolled nearly to the door. She lifted it gently. Kip had made this when he was in kindergarten. She had a blue one just like it.

“Ms. Wolfstead, I’m sorry, but is this your sister?” Detective Berringer removed a picture from a shattered glass frame and handed her the torn photograph.

Casey and the children smiled up at her. The photo had been taken more than a year ago. Kyra carried a wallet-sized version in her purse.

The tears came close to spilling over as she stared at the photo. Everyone always commented on how much Kyra resembled her older sister. It was several seconds before she could do more than nod. “Yes. And that’s Kip, Brian and Maggie.”

He produced another photo in a cracked plastic frame that showed Casey and Jordan standing outside the courthouse on their wedding day. She had a copy of that picture as well.

“That’s Casey and her husband, Jordan,” she confirmed. “Is the entire house like this?”

“Pretty much.”

“Did you find…?” She couldn’t bring herself to say blood, but Detective O’Shay was there, touching her lightly.

“There’s no blood, Kyra. Nothing to tell us if this mess happened while the family was still here or if they came home to find the house like this. We know Kip is alive. There’s no reason to think the rest of the family isn’t as well.”

More than anything she wanted to believe him, but seeing this destruction…“Casey would have called me if she could have.”

The men exchanged looks. It was Detective Berringer who spoke again. “Ms. Wolfstead, you say your sister didn’t have anything of value. What about cash? Some people don’t like banks.”

“My sister’s a waitress. Her husband works at a country club. They don’t have a lot of cash.”

Once again Detective O’Shay touched her arm lightly. There was an almost apologetic expression in those deep gray eyes.

“Kip has been going into the local convenience store since Monday. He’s been buying food and carrying it away in his backpack. Every purchase has been paid for with a one-hundred-dollar bill.”

For a second she didn’t understand what he was telling her. Then she couldn’t breathe. “That’s crazy.” The words came out as a whisper.

“Could your sister or her husband be involved in drugs, Ms. Wolfstead?” Detective Berringer asked.

“What? No! Casey has children!”

The men exchanged another look. She could almost hear the silent question that passed between them. How well did she really know her sister? Choking back a protest, she forced herself to think. Even unvoiced, it was a valid question and it deserved an honest answer.

“I was a senior in high school when Casey married Milt. There are eleven years between us.” And the difference in their ages had kept them from being as close as she would have liked. “But she’s my sister. We keep in touch, even though we don’t see each other very often. My job’s in Boston. Casey lives here.”

Was it possible? Could Casey be using drugs? Would Kyra know if she was? Yes, she was sure she’d know. Casey was her sister!

“My sister isn’t into drugs,” she stated more firmly. “I can’t speak for her husband, but look at this house. They rent. They don’t even own this place. She’s had that same shabby Christmas tree since before Kip was born. If they had the sort of money drug-dealing is supposed to net, don’t you think they’d live better than this? My sister drives a seven-year-old car! It’s always breaking down. I’ve sent her money for repairs. Jordan’s no bigwig. I won’t believe they’re involved in drugs.”

Detective O’Shay’s gaze bored into hers. “Drug habits are expensive.”

Kyra closed her eyes. “I don’t believe it. I don’t want to believe it,” she added more softly.

“I understand, but where would Kip get several hundred dollars in cash?”

“I don’t know!” Her voice fell to almost a whisper. “I don’t know.”

And she still wanted to cry, but now her eyes felt dry and scratchy. In order to help Casey and the children, she needed to remain calm and answer their questions. And they had a lot of questions. It was dismaying to realize how few answers she could give. Tired beyond thought, she finally shook her head. “May I look around? Maybe I’ll see something that will help.”

Detective O’Shay nodded. “I was going to ask you to do that.”

She drew strength from his solid presence as they moved silently from room to room. The downstairs and the master bedroom had been the focus of the destruction. The children’s rooms showed more cursory searches. In those rooms, drawers and closets had been rifled and the mattresses had been sliced open and overturned, but the damage wasn’t nearly as bad as in the other rooms. Maggie’s bedroom had barely been disturbed at all.

Decorated in pastels, her tiny room had obviously been intended as an office. A built-in bookcase sat along one wall where a closet should have been. Stuffed toys and children’s books had been pulled from the shelves. The dresser drawers had been dumped but nothing was broken.

“Where are the pillows and blankets?” she asked as they stood in the hall after going through each room. The detective looked puzzled. She indicated one of the boys’ rooms. “There are no blankets or pillows in any of the children’s rooms.”

His lips parted. He returned to the master bedroom at the far end of the hall and flicked on the light.

“There are blankets and pillows in here. They’re ripped, but they’re here.”

He crossed to the room she’d indicated and studied the scene.

“Good observation, Kyra. We should have noticed that.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose as if he had a headache. She’d tried hard not to notice how attractive he was despite the lines that bracketed his mouth and eyes. Sure, he needed a shave. And what appeared to be a recent haircut couldn’t tame his dark, unruly hair. But he carried himself with an aura of command that was very appealing. His mannerisms said he was sure of his place in the universe. His expression was stern, but those tired gray eyes held empathy and genuine concern.

“Someone could have used the blankets to wrap the children in to carry them away.”

He was thinking out loud, but she shook her head.

“Kip’s still nearby, and why take the pillows?” She thought for a moment. “It’s getting cold out there, but it’s been fairly warm in Boston until now. Is there a tree house in the neighborhood?”

“I’m glad one of us is still thinking. Todd!”

The other detective bounded up the stairs. The search for a tree house or a shed was put in motion.

Kyra was in the living room moving cushions aside when Detective O’Shay returned to her.

“What are you doing?”

“Looking for her purse.”

“We didn’t find one.” He held up his hand before she could speak again. “We looked.”

“Doesn’t that strike you as odd? If someone took her, wouldn’t you expect her purse to still be here?” She gave him a flat stare. “I don’t see someone saying ‘get your purse, we’re kidnapping you.’”

“We don’t know she was kidnapped, Kyra.”

“No. We don’t.”

“Ms. Wolfstead—”

“Stick with Kyra, Detective. It’s late and I’m too tired for formality.”

The lines around his mouth deepened, but she couldn’t tell if it was from amusement or annoyance.

“It is late. Where are you planning to stay tonight?”

“Right here.”

This time there was no question. He was annoyed. “That’s out of the question.”

“Why?”

“This is a crime scene.”

“One you’ve already processed,” she reminded him.

His hand swept the room indicating the mess. “You can’t stay here.”

“Can and am.” She set her jaw, taking what her colleagues called her fighting stance. “If Casey or the children are nearby, this is where they’ll come. I’m not leaving.”

His eyes narrowed. He didn’t glance at his partner when the other man strolled over to them. His focus was entirely on her.

“I can make that an order.”

Kyra raised her chin. “That would be petty. You’ve searched this place from top to bottom. I’m staying.”

“There’s nowhere for you to sleep.”

She reached up to toss back her long hair, remembered she’d had it cut and restyled on Saturday and brushed some hair back from her face instead. “Your concern is touching. Do you really think I’m going to sleep tonight, Detective?”

“We kicked in the front door,” he pointed out. “And the back window is broken.”

“You can board up the window and I can prop the front door closed with a chair if the lock is broken.”

His thunderous expression told her what he thought of that.

“Be reasonable, Detective. Someone’s already torn the place apart. Do you really think they’re going to come back tonight?”

“That isn’t the point.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Then what is the point? This is my sister’s home. I’m not leaving.”

He muttered something under his breath. His partner looked away, lips curving.

“Ms. Wolfstead, I don’t have the manpower to station someone here to protect you.”

“Protect me from what? If they didn’t get what they came for, they know it isn’t here. If they did get it, they aren’t coming back. I’ll be perfectly safe.”

He muttered something else under his breath. “No, and that’s final.”

“Very well. I’ll spend the night in my car out front.”

The other detective snorted. Lucan gave him a look that sent him moving away.

“Look, Detective, you’ve taken photos, dusted for prints and searched the house. Let me stay and at least see if I can clean some of this mess.”

“It’s late.”

“And getting later,” she agreed. “Go home, Detective. Get some sleep. One of us should.”

He closed his eyes, opened them again and lowered his voice. “There’s still the matter of an illegal weapon.”

Kyra’s stomach did a quick flip and roll, but she refused to back down. She held his gaze and projected a false calm. “Are you going to charge me?”

“I should.”

She read victory in his words and released a breath she hadn’t known she was holding.

“You aren’t going to be reasonable about this, are you?” he growled.

“I’m always reasonable.”

He cocked his head in patent disbelief.

She held up her hand. “I’m also very determined. This is my family, Detective. I have to be here. While I appreciate your help, go home. There’s nothing more you can do here tonight.”

His displeasure was obvious. He tried staring her down, but she’d faced too many other dominant males in her chosen career to be intimidated by looks or words. She wasn’t leaving until she found her sister.

He swore softly. Everyone else in the room was studiously looking the other way. She had no doubt they were listening intently so she was surprised when, with a quick glance around, the detective withdrew her gun from his waistband and handed it to her.

“I never saw this,” he told her gruffly in a voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t ever want to see it. Are we clear?”

“Perfectly.” She thrust it into her purse, deciding now wasn’t the time to demand the bullets as well. Was he really worried about her safety? Detective O’Shay was a hard man to read.

He handed her the canister of pepper spray, then withdrew a business card and scrawled a number across the back before handing her the card.

“My cell phone number. I live one block over. If anything happens or if you find anything or even think of anything I should know, call me. I can be here in minutes.”

Kyra took the proffered card, feeling inexplicably soothed. Good-looking and caring was a nice combination in a man. Lucan. His first name was Lucan.

“Come on,” he continued. “I’ll give you a hand in the kitchen.”

Startled, she tried not to gape. “That isn’t necessary.”

“Yes ma’am, it is. My mother would flay me with dark looks for months if I left you with that mess and went home to bed. I can at least get the rotted food out of here. Todd and I need to put some plywood across the window anyhow. I saw some in the garage. Todd!”

There’d been a trace of a brogue in his voice, she was sure of it. Second-generation Irish?

In no time he and his fellow officers had cleared the worst of the kitchen mess and nailed plywood over the window she had broken. Lucan checked out the front door and pronounced it useable.

“The dead bolt wasn’t on when we broke in so it still works,” he told her, checking to make sure the door closed and stayed closed. “I’ll have patrol cars swing by here as often as possible, but you should know the phones don’t work. The line was cut.”

Another item that didn’t bode well for Casey. Kyra shoved that thought down hard. “That’s okay, I have my cell phone.”

He nodded. “Do you want anything out of your car?”

“My coat and the suitcase on the back seat, but I can manage.”

“I’ll get them.”

Bemused, she waited alongside Detective Berringer while her small suitcase and leather duster were carried inside. She removed Lucan’s suitcoat and handed it over, immediately missing the warmth and the light spicy scent.

“Call if you need anything.”

“Thank you. Both of you.”

“Just doin’ our job, ma’am,” Detective Berringer told her. Her detective merely tipped his head. Together they left.

And when had Detective Lucan O’Shay become her detective?

They stopped outside and spoke quietly at the curb for several minutes. Kyra watched until they finally got in their separate vehicles and pulled away. She wasn’t sure, but she thought Detective O’Shay stared her way before leaving. Then she was alone in the dark, smelly house with only her fear for company.

There wasn’t a prayer she was going to sleep tonight despite the exhaustion tugging at her body. Her mind was too busy with fear and recriminations. She should have been hungry, but she wasn’t. The thought of food revolted her. And she had a sudden mad impulse to call Simon Testier.

Her coworker and former lover was an excellent investigator and he just might think of something she was missing. She’d been pretty hard on him before he’d left for Germany. But Simon wouldn’t take no for an answer. She’d been trying to break up with him for over a month now, and the egotistical jerk couldn’t believe she was serious.

Staring at the kitchen clock she computed the time and realized it was only five-thirty in the morning where he was. Simon hated mornings. That made the idea all the more tempting, but she stifled the impulse.

She didn’t want to do anything that would encourage Simon to believe she was reconsidering their relationship. Sighing, she salvaged what she could of her sister’s tree ornaments. Most of the glass ones were broken, including the handful that had survived their own childhood. Several of the handmade ones were intact, but somehow that almost made it worse.

Smoothing out a paper angel that had been one of her mother’s favorites, Kyra allowed a few tears to roll down her cheeks, before hunting up a vacuum cleaner. Cleaning gave her a channel for the pain and fear. As she turned off the vacuum, she froze.

Had she just heard someone whispering?

Goose bumps chased up her arms. She listened hard, but the house was silent except for the noise of the blower as the furnace started up once more. Had it been her imagination working overtime? She was tired. But what if she’d really heard someone?

Impossible. The police had searched the house from top to bottom.

But what if they had missed something?

“Kip?” Her voice sounded loud in the silence. She strained to hear the slightest sound. “Kip, it’s Aunt Kyra. Are you here?”

Even the house seemed to hold its breath. Her pulse thundered in her ears.

“It’s okay to come out now. I’m here to help.”

Nothing. No sound. Calming her racing heart she stared at the staircase for what seemed like a very long time, listening to the noises of the old house. There was no other sound.

It must have been wishful thinking. If she didn’t get control of herself she’d be useless when they did find Casey. And they would, she vowed. She wasn’t leaving until she found her sister and her children. Maybe Kyra should take a break and try to rest.

The patter of small running footsteps overhead was real and distinct.

Her heart slammed into her throat. She flew up the steps calling Kip’s name. No one answered. There was no sound as she reached the dark landing. Surely if the children were here the police would have found them. Still, she went from room to empty room.

No footsteps. No voices. She was alone in the house and losing her mind.

Shaking all over, her gaze was drawn to the front window in the master bedroom. The drapes had been pulled back, giving her a view of the night beyond. A patrol car moved slowly down the street.

Kyra crossed to watch until the car turned the corner and disappeared. One quick phone call and they’d return. They could search the house with her. Did she want that?

The police had looked. She had looked. There was no one in the house. She didn’t want them to think she was crazy.

The crisp winter night spread out still and silent below her. She stood a long time with her forehead pressed against the cold glass, silently praying that Casey and the children were somewhere safe in the darkness.

If her sister was found unharmed, Kyra swore she’d make a serious effort to get to know Casey and her kids better. Kyra enjoyed her busy life, but she sacrificed a lot for her job. She was rarely home. Her work required a great deal of travel, and Simon had enjoyed finding remote places to vacation.

She and Casey stayed in contact by phone and e-mail, but it wasn’t enough. Casey was the only close family Kyra had. Though her sister was so much older, Kyra should have made more time for her as well.

“Just let Casey be all right,” she whispered silently to the darkness outside.

Turning around, her step faltered. Had she just seen a small shadow dart away near the end of the dark hall?

Chapter Four

Before Lucan could knock, the front door flew open. Kyra Wolfstead stood there, five foot seven inches of determination despite the exhaustion rimming the tired blue eyes that gazed at him. Lucan cocked his head.

“I am not crazy,” she announced.

He blinked. “Okay.”

“Don’t placate me.”

He held up his palms. “It’s three forty-two in the morning. I’m not awake enough to bother.”

She swiped at her hair. “I know what I saw.”

“A shadow.”

“There was someone in the hall upstairs. A child!”

He stepped past her. The living room showed that she must have indeed spent the entire night cleaning. The broken Christmas tree was in its stand in the corner looking sadly forlorn. Garland, bows and ornaments, laid out neatly, covered the battered remains of the couch. The floor had been vacuumed clean of broken glass and stuffing. All the furniture was in upright positions.

“Did you even try to sleep?”

“No. So I couldn’t have been dreaming. And I wasn’t hallucinating,” she told him intently.

He shrugged. “Okay.”

“Stop saying that!”

He spread his hands defensively. “Tell me again exactly what you saw, Kyra.”

“First I thought I heard whispering, but I wasn’t sure. I’d been running the vacuum cleaner and when I turned it off…” She looked toward the stairs. “I called out but no one answered. Then I heard footsteps running across the floor overhead. I ran upstairs but the rooms were all empty. I thought my mind was playing tricks on me.”

Lucan heard the desperation in her rising tone. She took a deep breath, firm round breasts rising beneath her sweater as she pushed at her hair absently.

“I watched the patrol car drive past from the master-bedroom window. I guess I stood there for several minutes after they went past.” Her gaze defied him to criticize.

“You’re tired, Kyra.”

“Of course I’m tired! But I didn’t imagine that shadow at the end of the hall. I think Kip is in the house. I saw what I saw!”

Lucan heaved a tired sigh. “I’m not saying you didn’t.” He rubbed at the stubble along his jaw. Her call had pulled him from sleep and he was feeling as rough as his stubble. He’d tugged on the nearest clothes at hand and rushed over.

“I’m not crazy,” she repeated.

He closed eyes gritty from lack of sleep and opened them again. “I don’t think you’re crazy. Let’s go have another look around.”

“Then you believe me?”

“I’m here, aren’t I?” He started up the stairs and paused. “Did you check all the doors and windows?”

“Before I went upstairs.”

“But not since you thought you saw someone?”

“You think someone came in after I went upstairs?”

“I just want to get the sequence straight. Finding an open door or window might mean exactly that. Let’s take a look.”

“I suppose Kip could have a key to the house.”

Lucan nodded. “There are a lot of latch-key kids around.”

She trailed him as he checked the doors and windows in each room. Everything was locked tight and the plywood over the kitchen window was undisturbed. The kitchen was clean enough to meet his mother’s approval.

“You really have been busy.”

Wearily, she shrugged. “I did what I could.”

She followed him to the stairs. “I keep wondering if Milt did this out of spite. Casey said his temper is terrible when he’s drunk. Maybe she came home and found him trashing the house. I keep thinking he killed her, maybe all of them. Maybe Kip is the only one who got away.”

Her voice broke. He took her arm, turning her to face him. Tears filled her eyes and she looked down, blinking hard. Her coping mechanisms were starting to fail as lack of sleep battered her tired brain.

“You need to rest, Kyra. There’s no evidence to support anyone being killed here.”

“Then where is she? Maybe she came in and he strangled her or forced her away at gunpoint.”

He tilted her chin up, forcing her to meet his gaze. “Don’t do this. You aren’t helping Casey or the children by going to pieces.”

Anger, hurt and fear swam in her eyes. She closed them and took a shuddery breath. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I’m not usually so emotional.”

He let go of her and stepped back, watching her draw on her fragile reserves. “I know. Let’s go up and have another look around.”

Kyra turned and began ascending the stairs.

“Does Casey’s ex own a gun?”

She considered before answering and when she did her voice was stronger, less emotional.

“I don’t know. I don’t think so. I think Casey would have mentioned it if he did, but I barely knew the man.”

“What about Casey?”

She stopped near the top of the steps. “What do you mean?”

“Does she own a gun?”

Kyra started to answer and stopped. There was dejection in the sudden slump of her shoulders.

“I don’t know.”

The words were a whisper. Lucan nodded. “Could she be using drugs?”

Anger flashed in her eyes. “You keep harping on that! I haven’t changed my answer. I can’t see Casey involved in drugs or condoning their use in any way shape or form. She loves her kids. She would never do that!”

No need to point out she didn’t seem to know her sister all that well. “But her new husband might?”

She continued up the stairs without answering. Experience told Lucan a drug connection was most likely the scenario behind this sort of destruction. That didn’t make it so, and he was keeping an open mind, but Kyra needed to accept the possibility.

He grimaced. Actually, she was handling everything far better than he would in her place. The woman needed some sleep. They both did.

Her cleaning efforts had stopped downstairs, he noticed after walking through each room once again. Nothing up here had changed. Lucan took the children’s step stool from the bathroom and used it to pull down the trap door in the hall ceiling. Narrow steps unfolded leading up to the attic.

“I didn’t even notice that.”

Kyra’s expression was dismayed.

“We did,” he told her gently, “but let’s look again.”

“A little boy wouldn’t be able to reach the pull-down even with the stool.”

“No,” he agreed and began to climb. “A child wouldn’t.”

Two bare bulbs overhead cast shadows over the space under the eaves. Lucan stood in the only spot he could, the center, under the sloped roof. Kyra poked her head through the opening and stopped as soon as she saw that the attic was empty. There was nowhere up here for even one child to hide, let alone three of them.

When he turned around, Kyra had disappeared. He found her in the master bedroom. Her head was bowed, her forehead pressed against the glass window. Her posture was one of utter dejection. It tore at him.

As he drew closer he saw the silver tears running silently down her cheeks. He started to back out and give her some privacy but stopped.

Casey Fillmont and her children were Kyra’s only close relatives according to the slim dossier he’d compiled on her so far. Their parents had died several years ago. While there were uncles and distant cousins, Kyra had told him they only had each other.

Lucan’s own family was tightly knit. He’d be devastated if something ever happened to one of his brothers or their families. Ronan, Neil and Flynn weren’t just his brothers, they were his best friends. He loved their wives like sisters and adored his nieces and nephews.

The members of his family were always there for each other. Hadn’t Whitney gone out of her way the other day to deliver his mom’s lasagna so Lucan could come home to something warm to eat after work? They were always doing things like that. Kyra was alone and frightened. She had no one but him at the moment.

He crossed to where she stood and put his hand on her shoulder in silent support. She turned, wiping furiously at her face.

“No,” he told her. “It’s okay to cry. Come here.”

Lucan drew her into his arms, half surprised when she let him cradle her against his chest. He hadn’t bothered to zip his jacket, so it hung open giving her access to his worn flannel shirt. After a few minutes he guided them to the torn-up bed and sat with his back against the headboard. Over her half-hearted protests, he continued to hold her as the tears turned to wrenching sobs.

She’d be embarrassed later, but they’d deal. This was what her body needed at the moment. He liked the light lemony scent of her hair and stroked the silky strands back from her face. It was a measure of her exhaustion that she didn’t pull back even when the sobs lessened to shudders that rippled through her.

“Relax,” he whispered when she would have raised her head. “It’s fine.”

And it was. He didn’t mind the way his shirt was damp against his skin or the mild cramping caused by his awkward position on the bed. It felt right, holding her this way. Gradually, she relaxed and he let his own eyes close, leaning back against the headboard.

A faint sound opened his eyes. With a start, Lucan realized he’d dozed off. He had no idea how long he’d been sleeping, but he still held Kyra, asleep in his arms. His left arm was badly cramped from her weight. Ignoring the pain, he listened for whatever sound had wakened him. It took his sluggish brain a long moment to recognize what he’d been hearing, and by then the house had fallen silent.

Someone had used the bathroom in the hall. They hadn’t closed the door or turned on a light and he waited, hardly breathing, for the sound of a flush. It didn’t come, but Lucan knew he hadn’t imagined the sound.

Very gently he eased Kyra out of his arms. Instantly, her eyes snapped open. Lucan covered her lips lightly with his fingers, clenching and unclenching his cramped hand. He nodded toward the hall. For someone who’d been asleep only a second ago, she woke quickly and alertly.

As silently as possible, he stood and crossed to the dark hall. The bathroom was empty, but a glance showed he hadn’t imagined the sound.

“Where exactly did you see that shadow?” he whispered in her ear.

“Down there, outside the baby’s room. He’s here, isn’t he? Kip’s in the house?”

Lucan nodded and stepped into the hall. If the boy had made it back to his hiding spot already, then he was hiding close by.

At the door of the baby’s room he listened to the silence a moment before flipping on the light. The room appeared empty, just as it had earlier.

He prowled the small space. There was nowhere for anyone to hide. Unless…He focused on the bookcases. Frowning, he tugged on one, feeling a slight give. He went back to the door and studied the depth of the wall, then met Kyra’s excited expression. She’d seen what he was thinking. Inclining his head in tacit agreement, Lucan indicated they should leave the room. He led her back to the master bedroom.

“I knew it!” she whispered excitedly. “I knew he was here somewhere!”

“We should have seen it. There’s a panic room behind the bookcases.” He gripped her arm when she would have headed back out the door. “Wait. The boy is scared. If he was going to trust you, he would have come out by now. I could force it open, but that would only add to his panic.”

“So what do we do?”

“It’s almost morning. Most likely, he went back to sleep which means he’ll need the bathroom again when he wakes up.”

“And he’ll be hungry.”

Lucan smiled. “Yes. He’ll come out if he thinks it’s safe. We’re going to help him think that it is by staying very quiet.”

“He’ll run when he sees us.”

“We’re going to make that tough for him to do. He’s smart. He’ll realize pretty fast that he has nowhere left to go.”

She thought that over. “Thank you, Lucan.”

He blinked, surprised by the sound of his first name on her lips. She’d seen his name on his badge and the card he’d given her, of course, but he was pretty sure if she’d thought about it, she would have called him Detective instead. Using his first name implied a level of trust. He liked that thought.

Kyra reddened. “Sorry. I—”

“It’s my name. Feel free to use it, but I haven’t done anything worthy of thanks just yet.”

She wouldn’t meet his eyes. “Yes, you have. You didn’t arrest me and you even let me cry on your shoulder.”

He’d been right. She was embarrassed. “You needed to cry. In your place I would have wanted to cry as well.”

She raised her face to meet his eyes. “I can’t see you sobbing your heart out on a stranger’s shoulder.”

“No, I probably would have wanted to hit something instead, but it’s the same principal. I’m not a stranger, Kyra. I’m your sister’s neighbor and I’m a cop. People cry on our shoulders all the time.”

Kyra managed a one-sided smile. He was glad to see the tension leave her features, even if only for an instant.

“All the same, thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Let’s go back in the baby’s room and wait for Kip to come out.”

KYRA HADN’T EXPECTED TO like the big Irish cop so much, let alone feel this comfortable with him. Dealing in the business world she was always careful to maintain a professional distance with men she met. Simon had claimed it took him three months to get up the courage to ask her out.

She tried to picture Simon offering silent comfort as Lucan had and couldn’t. But then, Simon wasn’t a touchy-feely sort of guy. She wouldn’t have thought Lucan would be either based on their first meeting. That hard-cop exterior hid a surprising well of softer emotions.

And why was she comparing the two men? They were nothing alike. She was so tired that her mind was running in crazy circles.

Shivering, she wished she dared close her eyes for a few more minutes. She jumped and stiffened automatically when Lucan slid his arm around her. He wasn’t coming on to her. He held her the way a friend would, offering comfort rather than intimacy. Sitting beside him on the edge of the bed with his broad shoulders pressed against the wall, Kyra realized she trusted Lucan.

She allowed herself to relax and settle back against him. Being touched and held this way was nice. She wondered if Lucan was married and if his wife would be upset if she saw him now. The lack of a wedding ring meant nothing. Many men didn’t wear them. But what had his wife thought when he left their bed in the middle of the night to be with another woman?

These were crazy thoughts. Lucan O’Shay was a cop and a nice man. His wife would be a warm, understanding person as well. And she knew thinking about Lucan and his possible wife was a way of keeping her mind from dwelling on what might have happened to Casey.

Her sister had felt so threatened that she’d built a panic room into a house she was renting. How had Kyra not known that?

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