Julie Miller - Yuletide Protector

Nothing more than starch and soap and cold, crisp air. Emanating from the charcoal-gray coat and crisp white shirt he wore, and maybe from the man himself, Spencer’s scent was as straightforward and masculine as every other detail she’d noticed about the steely-eyed detective.

Unlike the overpowering smell of Brian Elliott’s cologne that triggered nightmares, Spencer’s undoctored scent elicited something feminine and long forgotten inside her. Its simplicity soothed her overwrought senses, yet awakened warm frissons of awareness that she hadn’t been sure she’d ever be able to feel again for a man. It was a gentler, although no less impactful response than what she’d felt outside the look-at room when she’d anchored herself to the unwavering strength of his hand holding hers. Spencer’s unexpected touch had centered her, strengthened her, allowed her to push aside her gut reaction of panicked fear and handle Brian Elliott’s attempt to strike up a conversation and deny what he’d done to her.

Yes, they’d argued. Yes, he’d pushed her to keep up with his long strides. Yes, it irritated her that Detective Montgomery pictured her as some sort of naive girl who couldn’t think or do for herself, and had no idea what she was getting into. But it had felt invigorating for a few moments to have someone actually let her speak her mind and vent her emotions without trying to quickly apologize or change the subject. He hadn’t slowed down and lowered his expectations because he thought she was too fragile to handle any kind of stress. And she definitely wasn’t feeling anything girlish around the man.

Not when he smelled so good.

Not when he’d stood between her and her rapist.

Not when he made her feel, period.

After all this time, sheltered by her family, sheltered by the protective mental and emotional barriers she’d put up around herself since the rape, it was just as unsettling as it was intriguing to realize that the tall, no-nonsense detective could make her feel normal, womanly things again.

The elevator slowed; the signal dinged.

“Straight to your car, then straight home, right?”

Her secret grin faded at Spencer’s brusque reminder. Clearly, whatever crush was forming inside her head wasn’t mutual. She was just another piece of evidence in his case against the Rose Red Rapist he wanted to protect. She’d be wise to remember that, and keep the relationship between them as businesslike as he did. “Yes. I have plenty to do to keep me busy at my apartment tonight.”

The doors slid open and he wound his hand around her upper arm like he had before, pulling her into step beside him as soon as she pointed out her white Lexus. “You’ll check the parking lot before you get out of your car. Lock the—”

“—doors. Have my key card ready to go into the building. Check the doors and windows. Call someone to let them know I’m home.”

“I see you were listening.” For the first time in the last thirty minutes, Spencer shortened his stride to let her walk naturally beside him. Was that a grin?

Bailey wondered what would happen to that stern, angular face if he loosened up enough to smile or laugh. “After hearing the same speech upstairs at your office, on the hike across the street and in the elevator coming up here, I started to pick up on what you were trying to say.”

That snort might be as close to a laugh as she was going to get out of him. And his warm breath formed a cloud in the cold air, masking a glimpse of what, if any, changes might have softened the strong line of his mouth or add warmth to the granite in his eyes.

But the grip on her arm eased as they crossed the concrete platform, heading toward the thick pillar where she’d parked. “Bailey, I don’t think you’re a dumb blonde. If anything, I think you’re a courageous woman. You may have pushed a few of my buttons earlier and I said some things that didn’t come out the way I meant them. I don’t normally lose my cool like that.”

Um, when exactly had he lost his cool? Brian Elliott’s temper had flared briefly in that hallway, throwing Bailey back to that night when he’d ranted at her and punished her for daring to speak her mind or beg for mercy. If Spencer thought he’d come anywhere close to a hotheaded reaction, he was apologizing for nothing. “You were just being a cop. You don’t have to explain yourself.”

“Yeah, I do. Logically, I think you feel you’re doing the right thing—God knows I and half of Kansas City are glad you’re testifying. But I worry that you may not fully understand the dangers and challenges you’ll have to face when this trial starts. Elliott won’t be in handcuffs in that courtroom. And if The Cleaner shows up—”

Bailey pulled his business card from her pocket and waved it in front of his face. “Then I’ll call you or your partner or 911.”

Another deep breath obscured his reaction. But she might have glimpsed a wry smile. “I guess I need to stop warning you, hmm?”

“You mean treat me like a grown-up?”

“Message received. Got your keys out?”

Bailey swapped the card for the keys in her pocket and pressed the remote, unlocking the car and starting the ignition. “Yes, sir.”

“Bailey—” The grip on her arm suddenly tightened and Spencer pulled her to a stop. “Ah, hell.”

A dark-haired woman climbed out of the car parked across from Bailey’s. The spiky heels of her black leather boots didn’t slow her at all as she crossed to the trunk of Bailey’s car. The striking brunette pulled a microphone from the folds of her coat. “Are you the star witness Dwight Powers keeps bragging about?”

“Bragging?” Hadn’t they escaped the onslaught of reporters?

A second door opened and the reporter waved her camera man forward. “I’m Vanessa Owen, Channel Ten News. Do you mind if I ask you a few questions, Miss Austin?”

Was the dark-haired woman giving her a choice? Vanessa was pushing for confirmation of her suspicions. But Bailey wasn’t going to give her what she wanted. When the camera pointed her way and the light came on, nearly blinding her in the dimness of the garage, Bailey kept her expression placid despite the clench of her fist. “I’m a witness. I’m sure the D.A. is talking to as many of the Rose Red Rapist’s victims that he can.”

“Don’t you mean alleged victims?” Vanessa Owen’s dark gaze flitted over Bailey’s shoulder to include Spencer in the interrogation. “Has he really been committing these crimes undetected for as many years as the D.A. claims?”

“Your questions are done, Ms. Owen.” Spencer reached around Bailey to push the camera lens toward the ground and warn the camera man to kill the light and stop recording. In a subtle move that wasn’t lost on either woman, he went into detective mode, sliding his shoulder in front of Bailey and blocking her from any attempt to question her again. Then he went on the offensive. “From what I hear, you and Brian Elliott have been pretty chummy. If you want to talk allegations, I have it on good intel that you and Elliott are having an affair.”

“Past tense, Detective...Montgomery, is it? Leader of KCPD’s illustrious task force? Brian and I may have attended a few social events together, but we’re no longer an item. Get your facts straight.” Vanessa’s ruby-tinted lips widened into a smile that never reached her eyes. “That’s all I’m trying to do.”

But Spencer didn’t back down from the taunt. “Either way, I’d think your viewers would be alarmed to learn just how biased your reporting on this case has been.” If anything, he leaned in. “Or did you get involved with a rapist just to get the inside scoop on his crimes? If that’s the case, I’d like to talk to you about withholding evidence from the police and abetting a suspected felon.”