Man with the Muscle. Julie MillerЧитать онлайн книгу.
do this.” She swiped away the first tear, chiding her own weakness.
“You don’t cry pretty, do you?”
She croaked on a sound that was half laugh, half groan, and swiped at another tear, willing it to be her last. “Gee, thanks. Is that the best line you’ve got?”
“Never found the need to use lines. Here.” He reached behind him and pulled a blue bandanna from his pocket. The hint of a smile eased the firm line of his mouth as he held out the cloth like a peace offering. “Was the woman inside a friend of yours?”
With an embarrassing snivel, Audrey nodded and snatched the gift from his fingers. She wiped her cheeks and nose, then pressed the soft cotton, still warm from the heat of his body, against her eyes. “Thank you.”
“There’s nothing pretty about losing an innocent life, is there?”
Although his hushed voice was as dark and soothing as the night around them, she got the faint impression that he was speaking about something personal rather than philosophical. Audrey shook her head. “No, there’s not.”
He shifted his stance, his eyes sweeping the area around them. “Look, I’m not trying to be a hard-ass when you’re clearly dealing with something here. But KCPD has established a perimeter and wants to control the crowd for a reason.”
“I heard about the bomb.”
“We’re thinking that was an empty threat—neither the dogs nor my team have found anything.” He nodded his head toward the street. “But it got the perp the response he wanted. Detective Montgomery—he’s in charge of the investigation—thinks the killer is getting off on all this attention. Chances are he’s here somewhere, watching.”
Audrey tensed and glanced over her shoulder, remembering the footsteps she’d heard.
“So you can see why it might not be too smart to wander off on your own.”
She turned her gaze back to Alex Taylor’s face, feeling more than a little unsettled by the possibility he was suggesting. “There has to be a hundred people involved with the party tonight. Double that if you count all the press and cops and curiosity seekers. You really think the killer is one of them?”
“I’m not the detective. But I do make sure everyone stays safe. Especially someone from the D.A.’s office who has a major trial coming up.”
“What do you know about that?”
“Like I said, I watch the news. I’m one of the men who brought in Demetrius Smith. You cannot let that murderer walk.”
“I’ll do my best.”
“I’d like it better if you said you were sure you could win. Or if D.A. Powers was handling the case himself.”
Audrey bristled at the dig. It wasn’t the first time someone had doubted her abilities because of her looks or her father’s bank account or the fact she turned red in the face when she lost control of her emotions. “No one bought my law degree for me, Mr. Taylor. And I didn’t just earn it—I was top of my class. I’ve worked as a defense attorney and now for the prosecution, so I know criminal law inside and out. I asked for this assignment, and Dwight Powers gave it to me because he knew I could handle it.”
Did he just take an accusatory step toward her? “So you are trying to make a name for yourself with this trial.”
Not in the glory-seeking way he was implying. Audrey tilted her chin and met the charges head-on. “I’m doing my job. I only got the case this afternoon. Just because I haven’t had a chance to weigh all the options to develop a prosecution strategy yet doesn’t mean I’m going to lose.”
“He killed a ten-year-old boy today and didn’t bat one eye of remorse. He’s not going to be afraid of you.”
Audrey saw the anger tighten his jaw, felt the pain radiating through the edge of his voice and regretted getting on her soapbox. It explained the “innocent life” remark he’d made earlier. Despite the sting of his doubts about her abilities, a keen understanding—a shared sympathy—passed between them. “I’m sorry. You were there, weren’t you? When the boy died?”
For a split second, the intensity in those midnight-colored eyes wavered. “That bastard can’t go back out on the streets.”
“Then let’s hope he underestimates me as much as you have tonight.”
“Audrey, I … Hell. I shouldn’t have opened my mouth.” With a deep sigh, those broad shoulders lifted and relaxed a fraction. “You can hang here in the shadows for a minute to get it together, but then I really need you back out by the street.”
Was that an apology? Or just a resignation to duty? Either way, after the charged intimacy of their argument, his unexpected capitulation surprised her. She found something calming about his breathing, slowing and evening out along with hers, something soothing in the way he altered his protective stance to stand between her and the world beyond this shadowy hedgerow. She touched the soft blue cotton to her eyes one more time. Even though it was just a bandanna, the old-fashioned gesture charmed her. “I didn’t think men carried handkerchiefs anymore.”
His soft chuckle warmed her. “You don’t know my grandmother. There are rules to follow with the Taylors. Family dinner every Sunday. Men carry handkerchiefs in their pockets.”
“Your grandmother tells a tough guy like you what to do?”
He winked, and Audrey felt like smiling, too. “She’s my best girl. I do what she asks.”
A check of his watch and Audrey suspected the minute to compose herself was up. She held out the bandanna. “Well then, thank her, too.”
He wrapped his hand around it and her fingers, holding on longer than necessary to give her a sympathetic squeeze. She was startled by the heat emanating from his skin, even through the protective leather glove he wore. “Keep it. And you get Smith.”
Audrey nodded, making a promise.
His grip suddenly tightened and he whirled around, pulling her behind him. A split second later, a camera flashed.
Alex Taylor was already on guard before her own defenses locked into place. “What the hell?”
Another light flashed. He took a menacing step forward.
An older, heavyset man slipped to the side, trying to make eye contact with her. “Miss Kline, could we get a statement?”
Alex shifted his shoulder between her and the reporter, giving Audrey nothing but the large white SWAT letters on the back of his vest to look at. “Get back to the sidewalk, behind the yellow tape.”
“Do you think this is the work of the Rich Girl Killer, Miss Kline?”
“The what?”
“I heard her throat was crushed like the other one.” “Oh, my God.” The white letters blurred in front of her.
Alex Taylor was moving forward. “I said, back to the street.”
She heard another reporter shouting from farther away. “It’s Audrey Kline. Over here. Miss Kline, you fit the killer’s victimology. Are you worried for your own safety?”
The whirs and clicks of flashing cameras crawled over her skin like an assault of mechanical spiders.
“This is a restricted area. If you don’t leave, I’ll have you arrested.”
“Are you friends with Miss Kline, officer? Why were you holding hands? Is she in danger?”
“I said—”
“I’ll handle this.” Audrey blinked her vision clear. It was up to her and no one else to pull it together. She touched Alex’s arm as she moved beside him, and gave him a squeeze of silent apology for getting dragged into her society-page world. His tricep was as hard and sinewed as his forearm, his skin as