Task Force Bride

Hiding? Afraid?

Ah, hell. Why hadn’t he fit the puzzle pieces together sooner? If Hope’s covered-up appearance and skittish behavior didn’t speak to some history of abuse, Pike didn’t know what did.

Pike focused squarely on the man in front of him, even though he spoke to Hope. “Do you want him to stay?”

“We were just having a conversation, Officer, um...” The older man squinted the name on Pike’s shirt into focus. “Taylor. I’m Hank Lockhart—Henry Lockhart the first.” He extended a hand that Pike ignored. “I’m Hope’s daddy. I happened to be in town and thought I’d drop by and have a visit.”

Her daddy? Paying a surprise visit after midnight?

“Hank?” A blonde woman, wearing a top that was too tight and skimpy for her age and the autumn weather, climbed out from behind the wheel of a parked Toyota. “Is everything all right? You said this would only take a minute. You’ve kept me waiting for more than an hour.”

“Not now, Nelda.” Hank waved off the woman, who’d tried to signal Pike’s arrival when he pulled up.

“You didn’t say she was friends with the cops. You said this was going to be easy—”

Hank swung around, pointing a bony finger at the woman. “Get back in the car.”

With an annoyed huff, the woman tossed back her overbleached hair and slid behind the wheel.

Friends with the cops.

Pike slipped another peek at the woman cradling a small package in her hand and warily keeping an eye on everyone involved in this late-night tête-à-tête, including him. Hope didn’t seem any more open to the idea of becoming friends now than she’d been during the other brief encounters they’d shared. And though he wished he knew what he’d done to earn such a cool reception from the bridal shop owner, Pike knew he didn’t have to be liked by all the residents he’d sworn to protect and serve—he just had to protect and serve them.

“Did you want to press charges against him, ma’am?” Pike asked.

“Charges?” both Lockharts answered in unison.

But while Hope didn’t seem to know how to answer the question, Hank had no trouble arguing his innocence in the matter. “Charge me with what? We were having a family discussion. A private one, I might add. I don’t know where you came from or why you’re here. But I haven’t done anything wrong.”

“Hope?” Pike prodded, willing her to snap out of her meek silence. He’d come here, looking for a suspicious white van, and he’d shown up right in the middle of some kind of domestic dispute. He could arrest this guy and make him go away for the night, but not for any longer if she refused to speak up. Pike hooked his thumbs into the top of his utility belt and waited for an answer. “What do you want me to do?”

Nelda honked the horn again and Hank swore beneath his breath.

To Pike’s surprise, he heard a soft voice behind him. “My father was just leaving.”

So the old man hadn’t completely knocked the spirit out of her.

“We’re not finished, girl,” Hank dared to argue. When he turned that bony finger on Hope and took a step toward her, Pike quickly shifted to block his path. “About that job we were discussing—”

“I said he was leaving.”

The rising confidence in Hope’s tone made it that much easier to back her up—and made it clear that in this situation, at least, she’d appreciate a little help from him. Pike nodded toward the irritated blonde. “I wouldn’t want to keep you, Mr. Lockhart.”

The grizzled older man sized up Pike with one contemptuous glance, then angled his head to make a final plea to his daughter. “Don’t you do this to me. You can’t punish me forever. You know I need—”

“I suppose it’s about time to walk my dog.” Pike pulled out his black, reinforced leather gloves and nodded to the muscular German shepherd fogging up the rear window of his departmental vehicle, intently watching Pike’s every move. Right on cue, the dog started barking again. “Hans has been cooped up inside my truck for a long time tonight.”

He watched the color bleed from Hank Lockhart’s cheeks, making the broken capillaries in his alcoholic’s nose stand out in redder, sharper detail. That’s what he figured. Pike’s canine partner had a knack for convincing people to do exactly what Pike asked.

“I get your message loud and clear.” Offering a placating hand that sported half a dozen homemade tattoos that indicated the man had done some jail time, Hank Lockhart finally retreated. “I’ll talk to you later.”

A soft trace of vanilla joined the damp scent of dying leaves on the late-night breeze as Hope stepped onto the sidewalk beside Pike to watch Hank and his lady friend drive off down the street. The sounds of a heated argument leaked through the open car windows and faded as the car turned the corner and vanished into the night.

Pike stuffed his gloves back into his pocket. “He’s hurt you before, hasn’t he?”

Hope’s breathy sigh was confirmation enough. So maybe he’d been a little blunt with his speculation. Knowing she’d grown up with an abusive man went a long way toward explaining her ready distrust of him. And made him more determined than ever to prove that he wasn’t the bad guy here.

A long twist of honey-brown hair had freed itself from the severe confinement of the clip at the back of her head and lifted like a feathery banner in the breeze. As she captured the wayward curl and tucked it behind her ear, Pike realized that that was where the sweet scent from a moment ago had come from. Once again, he wondered why Hope Lockhart would hide something so feminine and pretty as that glorious hair from the world.

Either unaware of or uninterested in the stirrings of awareness she sparked inside him, Hope turned away to the parking lot, dismissing him. “Good night, Officer Taylor.”

Pike got the brush-off message but followed her, anyway. “Do you have a restraining order against him?”

She set aside a small package on the rear fender of her car and reached for a bigger, heavier box. “I haven’t seen him for a couple of years. He doesn’t even live in Kansas City.”

“He’s here now. I’d consider filing for one.” Pike nudged her aside and picked up the box for her. “Where to?”

Her mouth opened to voice a protest, but once she understood he wasn’t leaving her here alone at this time of night, she pointed to the side entrance of her shop. “Thank you.”

“Miss Lockhart—Hope—is it okay if I call you that?” After a momentary hesitation, she nodded and opened the door for him. “You want to tell me about that 911 call?”

She held open the interior door, as well. “It had nothing to do with my father, Officer Taylor.”

“Pike.”

“Pike,” she repeated, then paused, knotting the smooth skin above the nosepiece of her glasses. “What kind of name is Pike?”

He grinned, seeing the first opportunity for a normal, friendly conversation between them. “There’s a story behind it. Taylor is my adoptive parents’ name. But I was born Edison Pike.”

No comment. But the curiosity was still there.

So he forged ahead. “Like Thomas Edison. I think my grandmother who raised me was hoping for an inventor—someone brainier than I turned out to be. And for a while, I did think about going into veterinary medicine. But what can I say? I come from a family of cops and firefighters. I always liked the action more than the books. But I kept the nickname as a way of honoring the woman who took care of me for the first few years of my life.”

She tilted her eyes up to his, flashing him a look that said his words didn’t make sense, before she led him through her shop to the back room. “Your grandmother raised you—but you’re adopted?”

Well, at least he knew she’d been listening. Pike ignored the gowns, mannequins and fancy accessories surrounding him and focused in on the curly lock bouncing against Hope’s neck as she walked. “Gran died when I was ten. I went into foster care, where I met my mom and dad and my three brothers. They’re adopted, too. Alex is the oldest. Then there’s me, Matthew and Mark.”

Hope turned on the light and hugged the door frame to stay out of his way as he carried the box into the storage room. He set the box of picture frames and photo albums down on the shelf she indicated. “There was no other family to take me when Gran got sick. I lucked out, though. My mom, Meghan, had been a foster child in the same house when she was younger, and she liked to come back and help out whenever she could. She brought me my first dog—a smaller, mutt version of Hans—that she’d rescued from a fire. I named her Crispy. I think Mom kind of adopted us even before she married Gideon Taylor.”

Pike paused when he realized he was rambling to fill up the silence. He reached over Hope’s shoulder to turn off the light switch and watched her scuttle out of the room, leaving a trail of vanilla deliciousness in her wake. Hmm. Maybe the KCPD brass had made a mistake in selecting him and Hans to do frontline PR and security work between the task force and the community. Apparently, his presence was more unsettling than reassuring—at least with this particular community member.

Protect and serve. Forget the sweet fragrance and tempting lock of hair. He just had to earn Hope’s trust and keep her safe. She didn’t have to like him.

Inhaling a deep, resigning breath, Pike followed Hope out to the counter at the center of the shop. “I’m doing all the talking. If you don’t say something soon, I’ll never shut up.”

Was that...? No. A smile?

“I don’t mind. I like to listen.”