Dani Sinclair - Police Protector

His hand swept the room indicating the mess. “You can’t stay here.”

“Can and am.” She set her jaw, taking what her colleagues called her fighting stance. “If Casey or the children are nearby, this is where they’ll come. I’m not leaving.”

His eyes narrowed. He didn’t glance at his partner when the other man strolled over to them. His focus was entirely on her.

“I can make that an order.”

Kyra raised her chin. “That would be petty. You’ve searched this place from top to bottom. I’m staying.”

“There’s nowhere for you to sleep.”

She reached up to toss back her long hair, remembered she’d had it cut and restyled on Saturday and brushed some hair back from her face instead. “Your concern is touching. Do you really think I’m going to sleep tonight, Detective?”

“We kicked in the front door,” he pointed out. “And the back window is broken.”

“You can board up the window and I can prop the front door closed with a chair if the lock is broken.”

His thunderous expression told her what he thought of that.

“Be reasonable, Detective. Someone’s already torn the place apart. Do you really think they’re going to come back tonight?”

“That isn’t the point.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Then what is the point? This is my sister’s home. I’m not leaving.”

He muttered something under his breath. His partner looked away, lips curving.

“Ms. Wolfstead, I don’t have the manpower to station someone here to protect you.”

“Protect me from what? If they didn’t get what they came for, they know it isn’t here. If they did get it, they aren’t coming back. I’ll be perfectly safe.”

He muttered something else under his breath. “No, and that’s final.”

“Very well. I’ll spend the night in my car out front.”

The other detective snorted. Lucan gave him a look that sent him moving away.

“Look, Detective, you’ve taken photos, dusted for prints and searched the house. Let me stay and at least see if I can clean some of this mess.”

“It’s late.”

“And getting later,” she agreed. “Go home, Detective. Get some sleep. One of us should.”

He closed his eyes, opened them again and lowered his voice. “There’s still the matter of an illegal weapon.”

Kyra’s stomach did a quick flip and roll, but she refused to back down. She held his gaze and projected a false calm. “Are you going to charge me?”

“I should.”

She read victory in his words and released a breath she hadn’t known she was holding.

“You aren’t going to be reasonable about this, are you?” he growled.

“I’m always reasonable.”

He cocked his head in patent disbelief.

She held up her hand. “I’m also very determined. This is my family, Detective. I have to be here. While I appreciate your help, go home. There’s nothing more you can do here tonight.”

His displeasure was obvious. He tried staring her down, but she’d faced too many other dominant males in her chosen career to be intimidated by looks or words. She wasn’t leaving until she found her sister.

He swore softly. Everyone else in the room was studiously looking the other way. She had no doubt they were listening intently so she was surprised when, with a quick glance around, the detective withdrew her gun from his waistband and handed it to her.

“I never saw this,” he told her gruffly in a voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t ever want to see it. Are we clear?”

“Perfectly.” She thrust it into her purse, deciding now wasn’t the time to demand the bullets as well. Was he really worried about her safety? Detective O’Shay was a hard man to read.

He handed her the canister of pepper spray, then withdrew a business card and scrawled a number across the back before handing her the card.

“My cell phone number. I live one block over. If anything happens or if you find anything or even think of anything I should know, call me. I can be here in minutes.”

Kyra took the proffered card, feeling inexplicably soothed. Good-looking and caring was a nice combination in a man. Lucan. His first name was Lucan.

“Come on,” he continued. “I’ll give you a hand in the kitchen.”

Startled, she tried not to gape. “That isn’t necessary.”

“Yes ma’am, it is. My mother would flay me with dark looks for months if I left you with that mess and went home to bed. I can at least get the rotted food out of here. Todd and I need to put some plywood across the window anyhow. I saw some in the garage. Todd!”

There’d been a trace of a brogue in his voice, she was sure of it. Second-generation Irish?

In no time he and his fellow officers had cleared the worst of the kitchen mess and nailed plywood over the window she had broken. Lucan checked out the front door and pronounced it useable.

“The dead bolt wasn’t on when we broke in so it still works,” he told her, checking to make sure the door closed and stayed closed. “I’ll have patrol cars swing by here as often as possible, but you should know the phones don’t work. The line was cut.”

Another item that didn’t bode well for Casey. Kyra shoved that thought down hard. “That’s okay, I have my cell phone.”

He nodded. “Do you want anything out of your car?”

“My coat and the suitcase on the back seat, but I can manage.”

“I’ll get them.”

Bemused, she waited alongside Detective Berringer while her small suitcase and leather duster were carried inside. She removed Lucan’s suitcoat and handed it over, immediately missing the warmth and the light spicy scent.

“Call if you need anything.”

“Thank you. Both of you.”

“Just doin’ our job, ma’am,” Detective Berringer told her. Her detective merely tipped his head. Together they left.

And when had Detective Lucan O’Shay become her detective?

They stopped outside and spoke quietly at the curb for several minutes. Kyra watched until they finally got in their separate vehicles and pulled away. She wasn’t sure, but she thought Detective O’Shay stared her way before leaving. Then she was alone in the dark, smelly house with only her fear for company.

There wasn’t a prayer she was going to sleep tonight despite the exhaustion tugging at her body. Her mind was too busy with fear and recriminations. She should have been hungry, but she wasn’t. The thought of food revolted her. And she had a sudden mad impulse to call Simon Testier.

Her coworker and former lover was an excellent investigator and he just might think of something she was missing. She’d been pretty hard on him before he’d left for Germany. But Simon wouldn’t take no for an answer. She’d been trying to break up with him for over a month now, and the egotistical jerk couldn’t believe she was serious.

Staring at the kitchen clock she computed the time and realized it was only five-thirty in the morning where he was. Simon hated mornings. That made the idea all the more tempting, but she stifled the impulse.

She didn’t want to do anything that would encourage Simon to believe she was reconsidering their relationship. Sighing, she salvaged what she could of her sister’s tree ornaments. Most of the glass ones were broken, including the handful that had survived their own childhood. Several of the handmade ones were intact, but somehow that almost made it worse.

Smoothing out a paper angel that had been one of her mother’s favorites, Kyra allowed a few tears to roll down her cheeks, before hunting up a vacuum cleaner. Cleaning gave her a channel for the pain and fear. As she turned off the vacuum, she froze.

Had she just heard someone whispering?

Goose bumps chased up her arms. She listened hard, but the house was silent except for the noise of the blower as the furnace started up once more. Had it been her imagination working overtime? She was tired. But what if she’d really heard someone?