Police Protector

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.”