Police Protector

“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.”