Julie Miller - Sudden Engagement

Brett couldn’t resist the challenge thrown up by her all-too-serious concession. “You missed me, didn’t you?”

But she didn’t rise to the taunt. Instead, she flashed her light past him to the second detective. “That’s my partner, Merle Banning.”

The trim, six-foot package of suspicion eyeballed him before shaking his hand. “Mr. Taylor.”

“Everybody calls me Brett.”

“I’ll remember that, Mr. Taylor.”

He wondered what he had said or done to earn the younger man’s disapproval. This guy didn’t look too far past the rookie stage. Maybe he was working on his tough-guy routine. He had the master champ to learn from in his partner. Brett backed off a step. “You do that.”

“Is the body still here?” Ginny asked. Apparently, what passed for pleasantries had ended.

Mac swung his light around to the hole in the wall. “In there.”

Ginny nodded, taking charge of the scene. Brett noted that his brother and her partner responded to her commands without hesitation. “Merle, you get Mac’s report. Then see if you can track down the two gentlemen who found the body. I want their statements ASAP.”

“Right.”

A split second passed before Brett understood that the others were leaving. And Ginny was heading toward the corpse. An instinct to protect, a need to shield shot through him. His property, his emotional territory had already been violated by the gruesome scene behind that wall. No one else should have to see it. Especially not a lady. With a lineman’s quick agility, he moved his big frame and blocked the opening. “Wait a minute. You can’t go in there.”

Ginny stopped at the broad expanse of red-and-white flannel. Damn the man! Couldn’t he put his flirting on hold for two minutes?

“Mr. Taylor, let me pass.” She looked up to add a practiced glare to the authoritative pitch of her voice. She gripped her toes inside her shoes to conquer the urge to take a step back. The teasing light that danced with perpetual humor in his eyes had disappeared behind a mask, cold and clear like the sapphire gems they resembled. He was sending her a silent message, telling her, warning…oh hell. She didn’t understand the silent message.

She never could read men. Not on a personal level, at any rate. And this smooth-talking con artist, with the old-fashioned chivalric edge she’d discovered the last time their paths had crossed, really perplexed her.

So she did what she had always done when she felt at a disadvantage. She buried her emotions, sucked in a deep breath and pretended she had everything under control.

“Mr. Taylor,” she repeated, glossing over the husky catch in her voice, “I am a detective, first-grade, KCPD, assigned to the Special Investigations Unit. I’m here to look into a possible homicide. Right now, you’re obstructing justice. I can have you arrested.”

“Then do it.” A hard chill had seeped into his chest-deep bass voice. “I’m trying to spare you a nightmare tonight, Detective.”

He propped his hands at the waistband of his jeans, an inherently masculine pose that accentuated the breadth of his shoulders and the imposing girth of his biceps and forearms.

He was such a big man. But then, next to her, most of them were. She’d fought the good fight her entire adult life. At five-three, she’d barely made the cut to enter law enforcement. But her determination had made the difference.

Too pretty, too petite to be taken seriously in a man’s world, she was used to having to prove herself. She trained harder, worked longer, studied more carefully than most of her male counterparts. She’d earned her badge, earned her rank and earned some respect.

But all that meant nothing each time she came up against a Wyatt Earp wannabe like Brett Taylor. A man who imagined himself to be a larger-than-life folktale hero, who still believed it was his mission to protect the little woman from the big bad world.

Acutely aware that he made up two of her, Ginny pocketed her flashlight and pulled out the one symbol of authority that most men did respect.

Her badge.

She jabbed it right at his chin, forcing him to turn his face to the side. “Move it, Taylor.”

He swept his gaze from the badge down to her upturned face. Considering the amount of time she spent on her feet in this job, it had always seemed impractical to wear high heels. But right now, she’d trade that badge for a pair of three-inch pumps.

Control, she reminded herself. If she didn’t feel, she couldn’t be hurt. It always came down to staying in control.

She refused to even blink.

Brute strength finally bowed down to sheer will. With a tired sigh, he relaxed his stance and moved aside. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Not allowing herself time to savor the small victory, Ginny clipped her badge to her belt and stepped inside the brick alcove. Darkness rushed at her, making her head spin. She squeezed her eyes shut against the dizzying sensation and struggled for a clear thought. She breathed in deeply, gagged on the stale air.

And then it hit her. She’d turned off her flashlight to haggle with Brett. Plunging her fingers into her pocket, she curled them around the reassuring bulk of stainless steel, the one weapon to fight her phobia. She pulled it out, flipped the switch on and opened her eyes.

“Oh God.” The scene before her wasn’t much better than what her fears had conjured.

Steel rivets bolted into the wall. Attached chains showing signs of rust from years of disuse in the damp air. A tiny stainless-steel bell hanging around his neck. Bony fingers clasping a chipped cup in its lifeless grasp.

Ginny snapped a mental picture, then tucked it away in a hidden corner of her mind to deal with later. She turned off her emotions and tuned in to logic and the power of her five senses.

She noted the partial decomposition of the body. The stale smell resulted as much from the lack of fresh air in the chamber as from the death itself. Even now, the faint crumbling sounds, showers of brick dust and dry mortar, told her the wall had been sealed together by an amateur. She ran her fingers along the original bricks. Age had taken its toll on the wood-and-iron framing down here, but the old masonry had stayed intact.

Kneeling down, she reached inside the skeletal fist and touched the china cup. The victim wasn’t inclined to release it. Ginny set her flashlight on the floor beside her and angled the beam at the milk-colored porcelain trimmed in blue and gold. Touching only the inside of the cup with her gloved fingers, she lifted it from the floor and turned it, along with the hand, to read the pattern name on the bottom. Liberty.

“What’s with the good china?” She spoke her thoughts aloud, wondering at the scenario of a man left for dead, yet being given something to eat or drink.

While she pondered, the cup slipped from her grasp. Ginny snatched at the falling arm, but as she shifted, she kicked her flashlight, jarring the electrical connection and plunging the tiny alcove into absolute darkness. The skeleton toppled onto its side, leaving only the sounds of the ringing bell and her pounding heart to keep her company in the darkness.

She squelched the instant panic with a useless trick she’d taught herself long ago. She squeezed her eyes shut, pretended the light was still there, pretended there were no enemies lurking in the dark, then groped through the shadows for the missing flashlight.

She touched Liberty Man’s arm instead.

Her breath whooshed out as fear and memories won out over logic. She pushed to her feet and whirled around, seeking light, needing light.

She shot through the opening, her fist pressed tightly to her mouth. She would not scream. She would not let this beat her.