Kansas City Countdown

Poor Hud. He had his work cut out for him if he wanted to win the bet.

Instead of answering, Tammy beamed a smile at Keir’s partner. “This is Gigi. My older sister.” Tammy emphasized the age difference, as if the three or four years that must separate them meant big sis was over the hill and that she was the prime catch. Awkward. Clearly, Tammy was pawning her sister off on Hud, and had eyes only for Keir. “I’ll let Gigi tell you what it’s short for.”

But Hud wasn’t complaining. Once the introductions had been completed, he pulled out the stool Keir had vacated and invited Gigi to sit beside him.

Keir smiled down at the strawberry blonde. Whether her sister was shy about men or genuinely tired, Tammy was determined to hit on him. And Gigi seemed to be sufficiently entertained as Hud launched into his good ol’ boy spiel. “All right, then. Shall we?”

He picked up his drinks and escorted Tammy to a private table while she asked if the gun and badge he wore were real. Feeling older by the minute and wishing he’d trusted his gut and headed home, Keir briefly considered if this woman might be underage. But he was certain Robbie and his staff would have carded both women before selling them alcohol. Something about running a bar frequented by cops kept a man from bending the rules.

Still, the momentary rush of proving to Hud that (a) he always had his game on with the ladies, and (b) his partner didn’t need to worry about his mood, quickly faded. An hour passed and Keir was beginning to feel as though he was watching out for a friend’s kid sister rather than seriously considering extending the evening into something more. True, his thoughts kept straying back to those moments in the courtroom when the judge had chastised his unit for not making sure all their ducks were in a row in their case against Dr. Colbern.

But it seemed Tammy couldn’t sustain a conversation beyond flirty come-on lines, the classes she was taking at UMKC and all the adventures at bars she and her sister were having now that she’d turned twenty-one. Tammy was pretty. She was sweet. And he had a feeling she was sincere in her interest in him. But twenty-one was too young for a man in his early thirties, and Keir wisely kept the evening platonic until the cocktail waitress announced last call and he decided to call it a night.

Hud and the less animated Gigi had moved over to the pool tables, where he was teaching her some tricks of the game. A quick text exchange with Keir’s partner confirmed that they’d hit it off as friends and that Hud was fine giving the young lady a ride home after they finished their last set. Keir conceded the bet and paid for all their drinks.

Tammy was obviously disappointed that Keir decided to call it a night instead of inviting her out on a date or even asking for her number. He tried to soften the blow to her ego. “It’s been a long week for me and I’m tired. Plus, if you’ve got an exam Monday, you’d better try to get a little sleep so you can study this weekend.” He stood and took her hand. “Come on. I’ll walk you to your car.”

He traded a salute with Hud and led Tammy through the dwindling crowd outside the front door. The days had been warming up with the advent of spring, but the hour was late and there was a chill in the air that elicited an audible shiver from the young woman beside him. Whether her reaction was legit or one last attempt to stir his interest in her, Keir shrugged out of his suit jacket and draped it around her shoulders. “Which way?”

There might be a dozen or more cops inside the bar, but the downtown streets of Kansas City—even in neighborhoods that were being reclaimed like this one—were no place for a woman to be walking alone at night. She pointed past the neon shamrock in the bar’s window to the curb on the next block. Making a brief scan of the street and sidewalks, Keir dropped his hand to the small of Tammy’s back and headed past the bar’s parking lot, the valet stand for a nearby restaurant, past a north-south alley and the sports bar beyond it, then across the intersection to reach her car.

“I’ll wait until you get in and get it started,” he said, taking back his jacket and slipping into it.

“You’re a nice guy, Detective Watson.” Tammy latched on to the lapels of his coat and stretched up on tiptoe as he straightened the collar. “Are you sure I can’t change your mind about coming home with me? It looks like Gigi and your friend will be a while.”

He pried her hands loose and leaned down to kiss her forehead. “Good night, Tammy.” He grinned when she slipped a piece of paper into his pocket, suspecting it was the phone number he hadn’t asked for. He closed the door behind her once she’d started the engine, and stepped back onto the curb. “Be safe.”

Waving as she drove away, Keir loosened his tie and collar again. Time to call it a night. He hadn’t gotten drunk. He hadn’t gotten laid. And he sure as hell hadn’t figured out any answers to the unresolved cases weighing on his mind. Deciding that the night wasn’t going to get any better, and his day couldn’t get any worse, he turned and strode back toward the parking lot behind the Shamrock where he’d parked his own car.

He nodded to the trio of college-aged men bemoaning a call in the baseball game they’d been watching inside as they exited the sports bar. Then he stepped around the group of suits and dresses waiting for their ride outside the South American restaurant, shrugging at their fancy outfits in this workingman’s neighborhood. Keir’s attention shifted to a man standing on the sidewalk across the street. Hanging back in the shadows, wearing a dark hoodie, his shoulders hunched over with his hands buried in the pockets of his baggy jeans, the man’s face was unreadable. But his focus was unmistakable. There was something about the restaurant, something about the people walking down the street as the bars and restaurants let out, something or someone on this side of the street he was watching so intently that the hood over his head never even moved.

And that’s why you walk a lady to her car.

His suspicions pinging with an alert, Keir slowed his pace and stopped, discreetly pulling his phone from his pocket and snapping a picture while pretending to text. He doubted he’d get a clear shot, but he could at least record a location and vague description. But Hoodie Guy saw that he’d been noticed, and quickly spun away and shuffled on down the street.

“That’s right, buddy, I’m a cop.” Keir watched the man until he turned at the next intersection and disappeared around the corner of a closed-up building. “You’re not causing any trouble tonight.”

Detouring for a moment, Keir retraced his steps, wondering if there was anything in particular Hoodie Guy had been watching. Maybe he’d been waiting for someone to separate from the pack—someone to mug for drug money or mooch a drink from. Maybe he’d been watching an old girlfriend on a date with someone new. And maybe the guy just had a creepy sense of fashion and poor timing when it came to choosing where he wanted to loiter. There was no way for Keir to get answers unless he wanted to chase the guy down. And, technically, the guy hadn’t done anything to warrant such a response.

Satisfied for the moment that the street was safe, Keir turned around and resumed the walk to his car. Keeping one eye on the cars and empty spaces and drivers and pedestrians to see if Hoodie Guy reappeared, he pulled up his messages. Maybe he’d find a victorious text from Hud or news from his family about Seamus Watson’s shooting or his health as his eighty-year-old grandfather recovered from the brain injury that had left him relearning how to speak and use the left side of his body. Nothing. Not even an update from the detectives working the investigation.

Keir scrolled through the case notes he sent himself as texts on his phone as he stepped over the cable marking off a neighborhood parking area and cut through the public space to reach the Shamrock’s parking lot. He stepped over the cable at the back end of the lot, ignored the retching sounds of a drunk in the alley he passed and climbed a couple of steps over a short concrete wall to reach the lot where his Dodge Charger was parked.

He was considering sending a text to Hud about their failed pickup bet when he heard the scrabble of footsteps and a slurred, feminine voice from the alley behind him.

“One. One. One is the wrong number.”

Keir swung around at the garbled words, leaving the text half-finished and pulling back his jacket to rest his hand on his holstered weapon.

A tall, slender woman stumbled to the edge of the alley. “Three... Two... One isn’t right.”

“Ma’am?” She wasn’t drunk and she wasn’t a threat. She was hurt. Seriously hurt, judging by the blood on her face and clothes.

She tried to raise her head, but she groaned and braced her hand against the brick wall as she swayed. “Please. Help me.”

Keir leaped over the concrete barrier, taking in several details as he ran to assist the injured woman. Dark silvery blond hair bounced against her chin and clung to the bloody hash marks on one side of her face. The skirt of her fancy tan suit was ripped along one seam and there were dirty smudges on both sleeves of her jacket. She wore one ridiculously sexy leather pump on her right foot, and nothing but a torn silky stocking over the scraped-up knee and toes on her left foot.

“Ma’am, are you all right?” Keir slipped his arm behind her waist, taking her weight and guiding her to the concrete wall. Hoodie Guy’s curiosity about something Keir had missed was screaming at him now. Damn it. He should have followed up on his suspicions and stopped the guy for questioning. He helped the lady sit on the edge of the wall, wondering if Hoodie Guy was responsible for this. “What happened?”

“I woke up. I got sick. Everything...spinning.”

“Are you alone? Is anyone else hurt?”

She opened her mouth to answer, turned her chin toward the alley, then looked away. “I don’t remember.”

“Okay.” Clearly, she was a little disoriented. “Stay put. I’ll be right back.”

Once he was certain she wasn’t going to collapse on him, Keir pulled his weapon and darted back into the alley, making a cursory sweep of the trash bins and power poles. He startled a rat from its hiding place. But there was no one else in the alley. No signs of a struggle. Not even the missing shoe. This was a dump site. Whatever had happened to her hadn’t happened here.

Maybe Hoodie Guy hadn’t attacked her, after all. He’d moved away on foot, and it would be impossible to transport an injured woman through this maze of back alleys without a vehicle or someone noticing the two of them together.

Holstering his Glock, Keir jogged back out of the alley to find her on her feet, limping over to meet him. So much for staying put. “Is anyone else hurt?”

Keir caught her by the elbows and turned her back toward the wall and the nearest lamp in the middle of the lot. “Just you. I thought I told you to wait for me.”

“I don’t know where I...” she muttered beside him. “I don’t know how long I was there.” She flattened her hand over her stomach and bent forward, as if she was going to be ill. “I don’t feel so good.”

“Ma’am?” He stopped her beneath the light and waited for her to nod that she could stand straight again before brushing the angled line of bangs off her forehead. Keir swore under his breath as he tilted her face to the yellowish light. He knew this woman. “Kenna Parker? What the hell are you doing—”

“Who are you?” She squinted against the light shining in her eyes and backed away from him, fear making her skin pale.

He raised a placating hand to stop her wobbly retreat and pulled his badge from his belt. “I’m Detective Keir Watson, KCPD. Ms. Parker, how badly are you hurt? Can you tell me what happened?”

She shook her head. But the motion made her dizzy and she grabbed the sides of her head and tumbled.

“Watch out.” Keir caught her before she hit the ground and scooped her up into his arms. Her cheek fell against his shoulder and she curled into him without a protest as he stepped over the short wall and carried her to his car. “What does one mean?” he asked. Maybe her attacker had been wearing a jersey with a number on it, or she’d seen part of a license plate. “Why is it the wrong number?”

“What?” Her fingers curled into the lapel of his jacket. “I don’t understand.”

“You kept saying... Never mind.” Once he got the passenger door open, he set her feet on the pavement and helped her onto the edge of the seat before pulling the first-aid kit out of the glove compartment. “You were mugged. Assaulted. I can’t tell how badly yet. Can you tell me who did this to you? Do you know how you got into that alley? I don’t think the attack happened there.”

He dabbed at the cuts on her face, tried to assess how well her eyes were tracking the movement of his hands as he knelt in front of her. Besides their sensitivity to the light, her pupils were dilated, both signs that she had a concussion. “I should have a purse. Or a briefcase or something. Where are my things? I always carry...” Her voice trailed away and the thought escaped her.

“I didn’t see anything like that in the alley. Is one part of a phone number? If you need to call someone, you can borrow my phone.”

“Who do I need to call?”

He didn’t think she was married. There was no ring, nor any sign that she’d ever worn one, on her left hand. “A boyfriend? Any friend? Your doctor? Someone you work with?”