Beauty and the Chief (4 page)

“Excuse me. I heard you asking about my daughter. You said you were at the park last night?”

“Yes. I was jogging with my dog.”

“You’re the one who saved her.”

“Actually, it was my dog that did. How’s Sandra?”

“I was just headed to the cafeteria. Would you join me?”

She nodded, letting him lead her away from the desk.

“She survived the night,” Sandra’s father said wearily. “The doctors are now hopeful, but they cautioned us it will be sometime before we know anything for sure. She would not have had that chance if not for you and your dog.”

“We just happened to be there at the right time.” Jillian suppressed a shudder. Until then she’d been feeling like it was bad luck being there. Now, talking with Sandra’s father it gave her a whole new perspective. Something good had come out of it. Sandra was alive.

Her father went on to thank her again. Her mind clung to the positive as they exchanged numbers and promises to keep in touch.

Jillian felt better as she headed to the police station. On the stone steps leading into the building, a blast of apprehension hit her, freezing her in place as her heart raced. She felt faint. She didn’t want to think of the attack, definitely didn’t want to read it.

Her nails dug into her palms as she forced her foot to the next step. She could do this. It was nothing. She just had to look over the report then sign it. No big deal, she tried to convince herself. Her stomach clenched, and she thought she’d be sick.

She didn’t want to think, didn’t want to remember The Beast and the fear. Unwanted, the image formed in her mind, dark, shadowy and menacing. She staggered back a step.

When had she dubbed him ‘The Beast’ in her mind? In her dream, when she heard him call her Beauty. Well, there was no love for this Beast. He killed, and he hurt Abby. She forced the image away, replacing it with Abby − her sweet, loving puppy. Abby saved Sandra, and Abby saved her. The Beast would have killed Sandra. And, he would kill again if he wasn’t stopped. She would do anything to stop him.

Pulling her confidence tight around her, Jillian started back up the steps, plastering on the smile she saved for difficult clients or challenging contractors. She was greeted inside the door by two police officers standing beside a metal detector.

“May I help you, ma’am?” the officer on her right asked. He was large, intimidating, with a buzz cut so short his skin glistened beneath it.

“I …” She took a deep breath, telling herself again that she could do this. “I was told to come and sign a statement.”

“All right.” He gentled his countenance with a smile. “Just put your purse, keys, and cell phone in one of the bins and step through, then you head to the desk over there, and the sergeant will instruct you from there.”

“Thank you.”

She took in the whole floor. The designer in her observed the area from the good quality, gray commercial carpet to the sand colored walls. There were several paintings, not expensive by any means, but they were pleasant. She felt a touch more comfortable. The cells and holding rooms must be somewhere else in the building. She realized that it made sense not to bring anyone dangerous in the same entrance as the visitors came in. Still, it looked a whole lot different from the police station she had visited on a field trip in elementary school.

The officer at the desk turned his attention to her. He seemed young. He kicked up his smile as he looked her over. “May I help you?”

“Yes. I was to come in and sign a statement.” She managed to say without her voice trembling.

“Who was the officer in charge of your case?”

“I … I don’t know. There were so many there.”

He looked surprised. “Okay, no problem. Can you tell me one of their names or what the case was concerning so I can look it up?”

“Chief Richards was there, and there was an Edwards.” Jillian stopped as the officer’s face grew very serious.

“The park last night?”

She nodded, feeling her throat tighten.

“You’re the witness?”

She figured his expression was as much awe as disbelief. “I was jogging with my dog.”

He nodded. “Let me see who’s handling it and who is here.”

He picked up the phone and punched an extension. After a minute, she heard him ask, “Well, who’s here covering? All right.” He hung up the phone and looked to her. “I’m sorry. All the leads on the case are gone at the moment or tied up. If you’ll give me a second I’ll check who’s on rotation and see if they can pull the statement.” He made another call then turned to her. “If you’ll just take the elevator to the third floor Detective Crocker will meet you.”

“Thank you.”

A second later, Jillian stepped out onto a floor buzzing with activity. Men and women sat at desks, some on the phone, others talking, and typing.

“I’m Detective Crocker. I wasn’t given your name.”

Jillian pulled back, startled at the officer’s gruff manner. He was medium height, slightly stocky, not bad looking. In fact, he might have been handsome if he’d been clean shaven and didn’t look so slothful. “Taylor, Jillian Taylor.”

“Sit at the second desk over there, I’ll get the paperwork.” The man walked away leaving her standing there.

Jillian shrugged and crossed the room, receiving several curious looks. The detective returned, reading from the folder in his hands and shaking his head. He sat down across the desk and glared at her. “When will you women ever learn?”

“Excuse me?”

“You go out, put yourselves in a position you should never be in, then cry when something happens.”

Jillian was so surprised at the venom in his voice she couldn’t answer.

“Here read this.” He shoved the file at her.

Jillian opened the file. A minute later, she found herself fighting to read each word. Even down in clinical clarity, they tore at her, bringing all that happened to harsh focus.

“Is there anything you want to add or change?” The words bit at the already shaky hold on her control.

“No, no, it’s complete.” She tried to calm her anxiety. “I’m sorry.” She wiped at a tear that threatened to break free.

The man shook his head in undisguised disgust. “What did you expect? Next time you decide to put yourself in a dangerous position, try growing a brain and don’t.”

Jillian felt the fire in her flare. “You make this sound like it was my fault. Do you think it was Sandra’s too? After all, she was walking home from work.”

“She should never have been walking alone so late, nor should you. You women ought to know that, or you should expect something to happen.”

“You can’t believe that a victim deserves what they get and be a police officer. It’s just … there’s no way. Sandra’s a nice girl. She’s hardworking and friendly. She does not deserve to be lying in the hospital. She didn’t do anything to justify this guy trying to kill her.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Oh yes, I do. I saw this man. He’s sick. A psycho. He doesn’t care who he kills or hurts. He’s just going to continue.”

“And you just gave him an excuse. Because he’s sick! See that’s it. It’s always ‘I was sick. I couldn’t help myself. I came from a poor background. Neglected. Drugs made me do it.’ It’s all the same excuse, and they walk out free and clear. So, if you don’t want it happening to you, then you shouldn’t go out alone in places like dark alleys, parks, alone in parking lots, or deserted streets. If you do, you deserve what you get.”

Jillian was furious. She wanted to shake some sense into the man. She couldn’t believe he thought that way, but it was there plainly on his face that he did. She grabbed the pen lying on his desk and scrawled her name on the signature line.

“Here.” She shoved the folder at him. “Good day, Detective.” She bit back the retort that wanted to explode out. Placing the pen on the desk instead of throwing it at him, she was on her feet heading out.

The crude comments from a punk handcuffed to a chair didn’t penetrate her anger as she stormed across the room, her heels clicking on the tile. She didn’t wait for the elevator. Pushing open the stairway door, the only thing going through her mind was she had to get out of there. She took the steps at a reckless pace. Jillian was out the door and halfway down the block before she realized she was going the wrong way. Her car was parked the opposite direction.

Tears escaped. Deflated, she leaned back against the building, feeling drained, thinking it all had to be a nightmare. It couldn’t be true, it just couldn’t. The denial didn’t keep the ghastly images from flipping through her mind. She shuddered, pushed away from the wall, and focused on her surroundings. She was not going to let nightmares, fear, or a soured, dim-witted, judgmental – correction − just mental police officer break her.

By the time she got back to the studio, she had herself under control again, but the newspaper Nan showed her didn’t help. On the front page was a blurry, but still discernible, picture of her being sheltered by the police chief. Well, so much for sheltering. She’d go with Detective Crocker’s advice and take care of herself. She didn’t need any handsome police chief looking after her. A pang zipped through her heart as the thought went through her head.

“Lousy picture quality. They need a better photographer.” Sarcasm slid out.

“You okay, Buttercup?”

The endearment once more deflated her like nothing else could have. Jillian poured it all out to the older woman.

“Well, that obnoxious jerk. I can’t believe they have someone like that dealing with people. What are they thinking?” Nan steamed.

“I don’t know, but I’ve done my duty. I never want to see a policeman ever again.”

The woman looked like she was going to say something back then made a shooing motion. “You go sit in the alcove and relax, and I’ll bring you a nice soothing cup of tea. There’s almost an hour before Mrs. Ostermiller gets here. I already have her stuff all laid out.”

***

Mark spied her the moment he walked into Taylored Interiors. Jillian Taylor was the picture of polish and poise. How could a woman look so perfect after almost being killed by a psychotic, serial killer only eighteen hours earlier?

His irritation rose. This was the woman he’d been worried about. The woman the night before who’d looked soft and sweet. The one who attracted him like he hadn’t been in a long, long time.

He made a mental shake of his head. Hadn’t he learned his lesson from his wife not to get caught up with a polished, professional woman who didn’t deal with the everyday normalness of his life? Not that he considered Jillian Taylor for himself. She was just a witness in a case − a witness who had been put in potential danger.

He smacked the newspaper against his leg. He’d like to get his hands on a certain reporter right now. He had some frustration to vent. Unable to do that, he approached Jillian Taylor.

He caught the action as she glanced in his direction then away, dismissing him. He felt his irritation double. He continued forward sparing only a fleeting glance at the alcoves that held tastefully displays of fabrics, carpets, and materials in an array of textures. His ex-wife would have been right in her element, lapping it all up.

Putting it out of his mind, he focused on Jillian Taylor. Before he could reach her, he was cut off by an attractive brunette in her mid-fifties.

“May I help you?” she asked moving in front of him as he started to sidestep her.

“I need to talk to Miss Taylor.”

“She’s with a client at the moment. She shouldn’t be long if you’d like to have a seat over here. I’ll get you some refreshments while you wait.” The whole thing was said extremely pleasantly but he had no doubt the woman was like a rhino protecting its young. For all her aged sweetness, he’d bet she had a hide as tough as steel and a temper that could be vicious when riled.

He debated a moment, then nodded and followed the woman to a sitting area in the back of another alcove.

“Juice or tea?”

“Water, please.”

The woman nodded and walked off, glancing back at him. Mark ignored her, focusing on the other voices. It wasn’t hard to pick up Jillian Taylor’s. The tone was still as soft as the night before, but it sounded more confident.

“I’ll get those drawings done right away so you can choose the look. I’ll also double check the availability, but I should be able to get them scheduled with the other installation the first of next week.”

“That would be wonderful, dear. You’re such a gem. Your ideas have been just perfect. It’s like you can read my mind about what I want.” The woman continued to chat.

Mark glanced at his watch. Five minutes passed, then ten, and the woman still showed no sign of leaving. Reaching the end of his patience, he placed both hands on the arms of the chair and pushed up just as the woman stood.

“Gracious, look at the time. I’d better hurry home. Henry and I are going to the club tonight. Thank you so much, dear.”

“You’re welcome, Mrs. Ostermiller. You have a good evening, and I’ll be in touch in a few days.”

Jillian stood, seeing the woman to the door and giving Mark his first view of her nylon clad legs. Trim ankles and nice shaped calves were set off by a pair of three inch heels and trim cut black skirt. The light-blue of the silk shirt she wore set her eyes to fire, or maybe it was the sparks she shot at him when she finally turned to him that made him think of fire.

“Chief.” She nodded her head, but her actions were rigid and non-welcoming.

Mark’s first instinct was to bite back, but his diplomacy held out. “Miss Taylor.” He kept his greeting formal. “I’ve been trying to reach you all day.”

“I’m sorry.” Her tone belied the apology. “I’ve been busy with appointments, and since I already stopped at the station earlier to go over my statement, I saw no further need.”

“I’m afraid I missed you at the station, and I assure you there is a great need to talk with you.”

“I can’t imagine why.”

She played verbal cat and mouse very well he decided, but it was time to close the trap. He held up the newspaper, displaying the fuzzy picture of her, taken just as he shifted to shield her.

“I’ve seen the picture.” She glanced at it and quickly away. “I cannot say I’m pleased.”

“Nor I. I would like to discuss some precautions with you.”

“Precautions?” She turned back, startled, and in that instant he saw the woman from the night before who had ignited his protective instincts, but she was gone as quickly as she appeared. Back was the firm, polished businesswoman. “What do you mean?”

“First, I would like to discuss some security.”

“Actually, I don’t have time right now.”

“Miss Taylor, I must insist. This is your life we’re talking about.”

“Don’t worry about it. I was already informed today that if a woman was stabbed by some psycho, it’s her own fault. She shouldn’t be on her own. So there’s no need to repeat the lecture. I assure you it was quite clear the first time.” Anger poured off her.

“I’m afraid I’ve missed something here. Maybe we could try this again if you’d give me a minute.”

She was already shaking her head. “I really must go.”