Dani Sinclair - Police Protector

The putrid stench that filled her nostrils made Kyra gag. She jerked her head back, barely aware of the hands pulling her away from the window. Tears swam in her eyes as she sucked air greedily into her lungs. Her worst nightmare had just been confirmed. Casey had to be dead.

Kyra barely heard the detective calling in the scene. She kept seeing the kitchen with dishes, food, flour and sugar canisters tossed about the room. Decaying meat and once-frozen foods rotted on the floor. And most chilling of all were the small footprints leading in and out of the mess.

She swayed. Hands pressed her down onto the back porch steps. He forced her head down to her knees.

“Breathe. Slow, deep breaths.”

“She’s dead.”

“We don’t know that yet. Sit still. I don’t need you passing out on me.”

That jerked her head up. “I’m not going to pass out.”

“Could have fooled me. Sit.”

“My sister—”

“If she’s in there, we’ll find her. That damage wasn’t done today. I have officers en route.”

“Kip!”

His tone gentled, but there was no mistaking the iron will behind his words. “We’ll find the boy. I promise.”

She shook her head, fighting tears. “No wonder he ran from us.”

“We’ll find him,” he repeated firmly.

“And the others?”

His expression blanked, then hardened. “How many others?”

“Two. Brian and Maggie. Brian’s five. Maggie just turned three.”

And the horror of those small footprints hit her again. Her stomach lurched. She swallowed hard, determined to conquer the upheaval in her stomach. If only she’d come sooner. She should have turned her case over to one of her colleagues. Hadn’t she known Monday night that something was wrong? If Casey was dead…

“Ms. Wolfshead. Kyra! Listen to me. I’m going to go around to the front of the house. I want you to come with me.”

It took her first name in that deep voice to get her attention. Eyes that had been chips of granite earlier were a warm, sympathetic gray now. She would not cry.

“I’m okay.”

“I know you are. Come on.”

In no time vehicles and people began arriving. Despite her need to see for herself what had happened inside, she obeyed the detective’s order and sat shivering on the porch swing under the watchful eye of a uniformed officer.

Long minutes dragged by before her detective returned. His features were grim. Her stomach dropped.

“No.” He shook his head moving quickly to her side.

She was on her feet, swaying, with no memory of having moved.

“The house is empty. There’s no one inside,” he assured her.

“But where—?”

“We’re canvassing the neighborhood. We know your nephew is somewhere nearby. Hopefully he can tell us what happened and where your sister and the other children are. Maybe they’re staying with a neighbor.”

Kyra shook her head. “They don’t know any neighbors. They just moved in a couple of weeks ago. I need to go inside. I need to see—”

“Give us a few minutes to process the scene. We need photos and prints before I can let anyone in there.”

She knew that. Anyone who watched crime shows on television knew that.

“Is the whole house like the kitchen?”

“Yes. This will take time. Are you going to be all right?”

Not if Casey was dead. Please don’t let her be dead. She shivered hard.

“I’m fine.”

He recognized the lie, but nodded all the same. Removing his jacket he handed it to her. “Put this on.”

“I don’t—”

“For once, will you stop arguing and do what I say?”

“You’ll get cold.”

His smile was so gentle, her heart constricted.

“The house has heat, Kyra. I’ll be fine. Wait here.” He patted her shoulder before turning away.

The coat had a light, clean, masculine scent and she inhaled deeply, burrowing into its warmth even though nothing would make her warm again. Casey was dead. She had to be dead. And the children. Where were the children?

Kyra had no idea how long she waited before he came back outside and joined her on the swing. He rested his hand on her arm and she felt that touch despite the cloth between them.

“We’re waiting for the local electric company to arrive. They need to restore power to the house.”

“Why isn’t there any power?”

He grimaced. “The line was cut. Tell me about your sister, Kyra,” he continued before she could say anything else. “You said she has an ex-husband.”

“Milt Bowman. He’s an engineer with Norris Transportation Systems, a local contracting firm. Casey has a restraining order against him.”

“He’s hit her? Been abusive?”

Kyra nodded, swallowing fear-laced bile. “Only when he’s drunk. He gets mean when he drinks. Casey covered for him for years, but one night he went after Kip. She stopped him and he broke her jaw. As soon as he passed out, she took the kids to a shelter. They got her to the hospital, helped her get a lawyer and a restraining order, and she filed for divorce. When Milt realized she wasn’t going to change her mind, he backed off and agreed to the divorce. In exchange she refused to file charges.”

That still angered her, but there was no arguing once Casey made up her mind.

“Then she met Jordan Fillmont. They started dating.”

Kyra tried not to let her feelings about that show.

“They married the day her divorce became final.”

And no amount of talk could convince her sister not to rush into another marriage. Casey didn’t like being a single parent.

“Milt was furious,” Kyra continued. “He threatened her.”

“She went to the police?”

“Yes. She applied for another restraining order. Milt hired a lawyer to sue for joint custody.”

“He wants the kids?”

“Of course not. He wants to make her pay for getting remarried. He’s a drunk and a jerk. My sister has terrible taste in men.”

She didn’t add that it seemed to be a family trait.

“Including her new husband?”

Kyra bit the tip of her tongue before answering. “I don’t know him. They were married a few months ago.”

“Where does Fillmont work?”

“The Oak Forest Country Club. I’m not sure what he does there, something to do with the golf course, I think.”

“O’Shay?” someone called.

“Be right there.” He turned back to her. “Sit here a little longer, all right?”

His hand was warm on hers. She wondered when he’d taken it. Now he gave her fingers a gentle squeeze and stood, leaving her to talk with a pair of plain clothes officers. After a moment the three disappeared inside the house.

The power company arrived and the repair crew was ushered through the police line. Time trickled past. Her watch was at a jeweler’s being repaired, so she had no idea how late it was. She fidgeted, needing to be doing something besides sitting and thinking in circles. Anxious now, she waited for the detective to return. When he did, he motioned for her to join him.

“This is Detective Todd Berringer and Captain Walsh, Kyra.”

She barely acknowledged the introduction. Her eyes riveted on what she could see of the living-room disaster through the open front door. She stepped past them and moved inside, surveying the scene in sick dread. Every stick of furniture had been sliced open. Every breakable object had been broken in sheer, wanton destruction. An undecorated artificial Christmas tree lay on its side, a box of ornaments crushed beneath it.

Tears blurred her vision. She blinked hard to hold them at bay. “Why?”

“It appears someone was looking for something,” one of the men said.

Kyra shook her head, keeping her eyes averted until she felt more in control. “My sister doesn’t have anything of value. Maybe a few pieces of jewelry, but this…”