LITMIR.BIZ

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up the box for her. “Where to?”

      Her mouth opened to voice a protest, but once she understood he wasn’t leaving her here alone at this time of night, she pointed to the side entrance of her shop. “Thank you.”

      “Miss Lockhart—Hope—is it okay if I call you that?” After a momentary hesitation, she nodded and opened the door for him. “You want to tell me about that 911 call?”

      She held open the interior door, as well. “It had nothing to do with my father, Officer Taylor.”

      “Pike.”

      “Pike,” she repeated, then paused, knotting the smooth skin above the nosepiece of her glasses. “What kind of name is Pike?”

      He grinned, seeing the first opportunity for a normal, friendly conversation between them. “There’s a story behind it. Taylor is my adoptive parents’ name. But I was born Edison Pike.”

      No comment. But the curiosity was still there.

      So he forged ahead. “Like Thomas Edison. I think my grandmother who raised me was hoping for an inventor—someone brainier than I turned out to be. And for a while, I did think about going into veterinary medicine. But what can I say? I come from a family of cops and firefighters. I always liked the action more than the books. But I kept the nickname as a way of honoring the woman who took care of me for the first few years of my life.”

      She tilted her eyes up to his, flashing him a look that said his words didn’t make sense, before she led him through her shop to the back room. “Your grandmother raised you—but you’re adopted?”

      Well, at least he knew she’d been listening. Pike ignored the gowns, mannequins and fancy accessories surrounding him and focused in on the curly lock bouncing against Hope’s neck as she walked. “Gran died when I was ten. I went into foster care, where I met my mom and dad and my three brothers. They’re adopted, too. Alex is the oldest. Then there’s me, Matthew and Mark.”

      Hope turned on the light and hugged the door frame to stay out of his way as he carried the box into the storage room. He set the box of picture frames and photo albums down on the shelf she indicated. “There was no other family to take me when Gran got sick. I lucked out, though. My mom, Meghan, had been a foster child in the same house when she was younger, and she liked to come back and help out whenever she could. She brought me my first dog—a smaller, mutt version of Hans—that she’d rescued from a fire. I named her Crispy. I think Mom kind of adopted us even before she married Gideon Taylor.”

      Pike paused when he realized he was rambling to fill up the silence. He reached over Hope’s shoulder to turn off the light switch and watched her scuttle out of the room, leaving a trail of vanilla deliciousness in her wake. Hmm. Maybe the KCPD brass had made a mistake in selecting him and Hans to do frontline PR and security work between the task force and the community. Apparently, his presence was more unsettling than reassuring—at least with this particular community member.

      Protect and serve. Forget the sweet fragrance and tempting lock of hair. He just had to earn Hope’s trust and keep her safe. She didn’t have to like him.

      Inhaling a deep, resigning breath, Pike followed Hope out to the counter at the center of the shop. “I’m doing all the talking. If you don’t say something soon, I’ll never shut up.”

      Was that...? No. A smile?

      “I don’t mind. I like to listen.”

      Some unknown weight lifted off his chest and Pike grinned right back. He’d almost made her laugh.

      But just as soon as it had softened her mouth, Hope’s smile disappeared. She pulled her purse from beneath the counter and looped the strap over her shoulder. “I was a foster kid, too. My mother passed when my brother was born. And Hank wasn’t... He couldn’t handle her death and we... Harry—my brother—is just a year younger. When I aged out of the system, I filed for guardianship and we moved to Kansas City. I went to school and Harry enlisted in the Marines.”

      “Sounds a lot like my mom’s story.”

      Ah, hell. Wrong thing to say. Telling a young woman she reminded him of his mother—no matter how much he loved that mother—wasn’t the smoothest line a man could use.

      Just as he thought he was getting somewhere with Hope, her body language became all stern business again, and she spun toward the parking lot exit. “I called because there was a van following me home from the wedding I worked today. At least, I thought it might be. When I saw it drive past my shop several minutes later, I realized it matches the description of the van your task force may be looking for.”

      Pike shook his head at the abrupt change in topic. But then the import of what she was saying hit and he hurried after her to catch her before she reached the door. He turned in front of her, blocking her path. “This van was following you?”

      She tipped her head back, adjusting her glasses at her temple to look him in the eye even though she was sliding back a step. “I don’t know that he was intentionally following me. But he was driving behind me, maybe a little closer than I’d like, on the street. When I saw him drive by again and circle the block, that’s when I called KCPD.”

      This was exactly the type of lead the task force had been looking for. And he’d been worried about making nice with her? “Did you get a license plate? A description of the driver?”

      She shook her head. “I can’t tell you much. He was dressed in black. Wore a stocking cap pulled down over his forehead and...”

      “And what?”

      Her shoulders lifted as though she doubted what she’d seen. “At first I thought he was wearing a white scarf around his neck. But I got a closer look the second time he drove by. He had on a surgeon’s mask.” She raised her hand to her face to indicate how little she’d been able to see. “It covered his nose, mouth and chin.”

      Wait a minute. Pike propped his hands on his belt, tuning in to the details beyond her description of the driver. “The second time?”

      She nodded. “He circled the block and came back by the shop.”

      “Did he see you? Do you think he was looking for you?”

      “I don’t know. I know we made eye contact, but then he sped off and my father showed up and...” She shrugged again. “Sorry I can’t tell you more. But I can give a pretty accurate description of the van if that helps.”

      “We’ll take whatever help we can get if it leads us to our rapist.” Pike hesitated a moment before stepping aside and following her into the vestibule and waiting for her to lock the shop door. He guessed the other interior door, built of antique walnut and bolted tight, led upstairs to the apartment above the shop. Had she carried in all those other boxes, packed with the similar white netting and tissue paper tonight? By herself? After midnight?

      With a serial rapist at large in the city?

      How many other nights had she worked this late and come home alone? Even if the guy in the van wasn’t the Rose Red Rapist, and her father hadn’t been on-site to bully her, she’d been at risk.

      Swallowing the acrid taste that suspicion left in his throat, Pike gave one last glance at the racks of fancy dresses and froufrouy displays that marked her bridal shop as foreign territory. He was too big, too male, too comfortable in his black uniform to ever fit in with all the lace and glitz and monkey suits there. Maybe that’s why she’d barely spoken a dozen words to him over the past few months. They had next to nothing in common. But ignoring the extra security he provided this neighborhood wasn’t an option. Not anymore. Hope Lockhart needed to accept somebody’s help in making her habits smarter and safer.

      “How often do you come home late like this?” he asked, holding the outside door open for her.

      “Once or twice a month,” she answered, walking to the trunk of her car. “Depending on how elaborate the wedding is and how late the ceremony or reception runs.”

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