“I find that hard to believe considering how many men are in that prison” When he looked away, she pushed. “I noticed you refused to be interviewed even though you were Ramsey’s arresting officer. Why is that?”
“Is this on or off the record?”
The biting question would have been a red flag to anyone but Kate. “Anger like that makes it sound very personal.”
“Let it go, Kate.” Brad edged her to one side so he could walk back down the hallway.
Her spine pressed against the white wall, she watched him walk away. Every instinct told her to push and not just for a story. If Brad had some type of connection to Ramsey, he had to know something about the man no one else did. Maybe that was why he was so sure he could protect her. Whatever the reason, she had to know. Her life might very well depend on it.
“I’m getting the feeling you know more about Ramsey than what the media has revealed.” She came into the living room where Brad stood facing the fireplace. His shoulders tensed at her statement and she wasn’t surprised when he whirled around to pin her with icy blue eyes.
“My life isn’t a story, Kate, and not everyone wants to be interviewed.”
There went another red flag. “This isn’t about a story, Brad. It’s about being afraid for my own life. And if you know something about Ramsey, something like his Achilles’ heel, I want to know.”
“To my knowledge, he doesn’t have an Achilles’ heel.”
“Then how can you be so sure you can protect me?”
“You’re not real good at trusting people, are you?”
Kate folded her arms. “I’ll take that direct hit but I’m guessing you have the same fault.”
That brought a slight smile to his face before he turned away and retreated to the kitchen. “Are you hungry? My culinary skills aren’t the best, so the menu is limited.”
She followed him, her heart beating faster. “I’m not interested in food, Brad. I want information.”
“I said let it go.” His hand smacked the countertop so hard a silver tray scooted forward.
“Just tell me why you’re so sure Ramsey or his lackey can’t get past you.” Kate paused, then added, “Please.”
He wiped his face with one hand, dropped his head. When he responded his voice cracked. “I know how Ramsey thinks, the steps he’ll take to get to you now that I know you’re a definite target.”
Her chest tightened and Kate joined him in the kitchen. She touched his shoulder and thought she saw moisture in his eyes. A voice in her head told her to back off but she’d never been any good at listening to it. “How do you know the steps? Not every detail of his kills has been released to the press.”
“No, they haven’t, but as the detective who helped bring him down, I got up close and personal with the bastard.”
“So you’ve stopped him before?” Kate released a breath. Was that it? Brad had been the arresting officer?
Brad met her gaze, and she realized the tears hadn’t been a product of her imagination. “No, I didn’t stop him, Kate. My partner and I caught him moments after his last victim died.”
“But you stopped him from killing any more women.” She thought she was offering comfort but when Brad jerked away from her, she saw she’d angered him.
“Do you think that really helps? Knowing I got there seconds too late to save…” He stopped talking and rubbed his face again, palms rasping against the day’s growth of beard. His breath came heavily, his grip on the counter’s edge so tight his knuckles whitened.
Kate couldn’t stop herself from touching him again. She covered one of his hands with hers. “The victim’s family couldn’t have blamed you for that.” Her head tilted to one side, she watched him.
“I blamed myself.” Brad stared down at her hand before transferring his gaze to her face. “Ramsey’s last victim was my sister.”
Kate had grown quiet after his revelation, spending an inordinate amount of time studying her hands. Brad hadn’t expected her to know what to say. His life had undergone a drastic transformation after Hannah had died and nothing would ever be the same again. He could only imagine how someone on the outside would see it.
“How did you become the prison warden at the same prison Ramsey was in?” Kate’s question broke the stagnant silence.
He massaged the back of his neck with one hand. “Ramsey wasn’t at Marsden when I took the job.”
Something in his voice must have issued an invitation for Kate pressed. “So you had him transferred here.”
“That would have taken more strings than I had to pull. Two of Ramsey’s victims were discovered in New Jersey, which doesn’t have the death penalty. He was sentenced to two life terms, but once Ramsey was tried here for the other murders and was sentenced to death, New Jersey agreed to a transfer.”
“I’m surprised the state didn’t see your overseeing Ramsey as a conflict of interest.”
Brad pushed himself to his feet. “You should try to get some sleep. It’s already after midnight. There’re two rooms on the right down the hall. You’re welcome to either one.” He hoped she’d accept the change of subject and move on.
“I recognize a diversion when I hear one, but you’re right. It is late.” Kate stood, stretched, drawing Brad’s eyes to her long, lithe frame.
He should look away but the graceful curves of her hips, the flatness of her stomach, mesmerized him. Blaming it on his lack of a social life, he managed to drop his gaze before Kate caught him staring.
Kate bent at the waist for an additional stretch before straightening with a smile. “I guess I’ll see you in the morning, then.” She swept a gaze around the room, zeroing in on her bag.
Brad still hadn’t found his tongue. That last stretch had showcased flexibility and provided images his mind didn’t need. He watched her walk down the hallway, her long hair swinging.
Before he could talk himself out of his trance, he heard Kate curse. She retraced her steps to the living room and gave him an apologetic smile.
“I was in such a hurry to pack that I left out something to sleep in. Could I borrow a T-shirt or something?”
Oh hell. The thought of her in one of his T-shirts sentenced him to a long, sleepless night. His voice returning, he responded with a “yes” that sounded like a croak. He’d never walked to his bedroom so fast.
“Get it together, Brad.” He enunciated each word slowly, forcefully. With Ramsey’s puppet still out there somewhere, he needed to keep his wits about him. “Stop thinking of Kate as a woman.” She was a potential victim, one he had to protect.
A little more in control, he stepped out of his room, found Kate standing in the hallway with a curious look on her face.
“Who were you talking to?” She tried to see over his shoulder.
Brad yanked the door shut. “No one. Here you go.” He thrust a blue crew-neck T-shirt into her hand and skirted around her. “I’m going to go lock up. Let me know if you need anything.”
God, please don’t let her need anything.
“Okay.” She sounded confused but didn’t push further, which Brad considered nothing short of a miracle.
He heard the bedroom door shut behind her and breathed a sigh of relief as he sank down onto the sofa. His hands threaded through his hair. What had he gotten himself into? Protecting Kate was one thing, inviting her into his house was a little bit too much of another.
Over his years as a detective he’d protected many witnesses and potential victims. None had ever known his address. So why Kate? Why now? He didn’t have any answers.
The bedroom door opened again and he glanced over his shoulder, catching a glimpse of almost bare legs as Kate walked into the bathroom. No, he definitely wouldn’t be getting any sleep tonight.
Kate couldn’t sleep. Every time she closed her eyes she saw John Ramsey’s face outside her back door. Finally giving up on the pretense of trying to rest, she scooted to a sitting position and clicked on the Victorian lamp next to the bed. She’d thought it an odd decorating choice for a man when she’d first seen it and now looking at it made her even more curious about the man on the other side of the door.
How much did he know about John Ramsey, and what was keeping him from sharing it with her? He’d already told her about his sister, so why hide the rest? Frustration had her kicking the comforter off her legs.
Here she was alone in a house with a man she didn’t know and barely trusted, and she was more worried about what he wasn’t telling her than her own safety. For some odd reason, the panic had disappeared the moment she’d stepped inside Brad’s house. It wasn’t just the four walls that brought comfort. Brad did that, his undeniable strength offering a stronghold against whatever sick trick Ramsey had waiting for her next.
Her gaze flicked to the door again. Was Brad asleep? Her face flushed. Now wasn’t the time to be thinking about anything but safety. Yet her mind painted images she didn’t want to erase.
She could picture her head pillowed on his shoulder, and nestled safe in his arms, she’d fall asleep without worry. Though the spare bedroom wasn’t his, she could still smell his scent—a simple fragrance of wood and spice.
Restlessness propelled her from the bed and she paced around the four-poster, shivering a little at the coolness of the room. The air conditioner hadn’t shut off since she’d gotten into bed. It was no wonder, with the humidity still steaming up the windows.
She paused by the garden window, moving the curtain aside to peer out into the night. Brad’s house overlooked a marsh and the thin reeds waved in the wind. Her frustration climbed a notch. Usually she liked to enjoy a glass of wine out on her deck in the evenings but, for now, Ramsey had taken that away.
Still shivering, she retreated to the bed for the warmth of the blankets, pulling them up to her neck. Outside the room she heard footsteps that paused by her door. She held her breath, wondering if Brad would knock. He remained still for a long time before walking away. Seconds later his bedroom door closed, and Kate let out a sigh that was part relief and part wistfulness.
John Ramsey had taken so much away over the last couple of days, but were it not for the killer, she probably wouldn’t have met Brad. Not if he’d had his way, anyway. She’d never been a big fan of irony, and life had just dumped a heaping pile on her plate.
She gave the down-filled pillow a good thump and flopped her head back against it. Tomorrow would bring another day of hiding out or facing her fear, taking back control as Brad had suggested.
Kate groaned and buried her face into the crook of her arm. A part of her wanted to take the cowardly way out and remain in seclusion until Ramsey’s accomplice was caught, but she wasn’t willing to put her life on hold while the search for an elusive puppet was under way.
No. Tomorrow morning she’d return to work just as she had every day for the past twelve years. She didn’t doubt she’d have to circumvent Brad’s objections, but Ramsey wasn’t going to bench her.
Satisfied with her decision, she closed her eyes and sought the darkness that was finally within her reach.
You didn’t listen to me, Detective. Did you really think you could keep this sweet girl away from me?
Brad, help me!
No. He can’t help you now. Shhh. I’m the only one that can help you, and I will. I’ll make sure you never hurt again. No more pain. No more tears.
Brad fought against the nightmare but his subconscious held him in its grip.
A blood-spattered sleep shirt lay atop a rotted tree stump, arranged as though awaiting its wearer.
Murmurs of medical personnel couldn’t drown out the blood rushing in his ears.
“It can’t be Hannah. Please tell me it’s not Hannah.”
Several strands of chestnut hair were visible at the edges of the yellow covering.
His heart stopped, almost refused to beat again. He knelt beside her, gently pulling the plastic away.
“No!” Finally managing to break out of the horror he’d relived time and again, Brad sat up, his blood pumping faster than an oil geyser. He scrubbed his face with his hands and concentrated on breathing.
A light knock on his door brought his gaze to the bedside clock. 3:18 a.m. Not an unusual time for the nightmare. He rolled to his feet and crossed the hardwood floor to the door. When it cracked it open, Kate, her face scrunched in worry, stood outside.
“Are you okay?”
He released a quick gust of air and nodded. “Yeah, I’m fine. I’m sorry if I woke you.” One hand gripped the door sill. “Bad dream.”
Kate kneaded her hands as though uncertain of her next move. “You didn’t wake me. I couldn’t sleep.”
He widened the gap in the door, saw his T-shirt, which skimmed the tops of her knees, and immediately wished he’d sent her back to bed. He didn’t own a piece of clothing that looked that good on him.
“You’ve been awake all this time?” He stepped out into the hallway, pulling his door shut behind him. No need for her to see the damage he’d done to the sheets as he’d tossed and turned. She wouldn’t buy the “just a bad dream” excuse then.
Kate took a step back. “Off and on. Just when I actually think I can sleep, my eyes pop open. Maybe I’m too scared of what my mind will conjure up if I do fall asleep.”
“Sounds like you could use a sleep aid. Come on, I think I’ve got just the thing that’ll help you relax.” His hand at the small of her back, Brad walked her down the hall, every muscle in his body tense.
With each step he told himself he should have gone back to bed. This wasn’t a good idea. Kate was vulnerable. Emotions were running high. Being alone with her when she’d been put together had been difficult enough but now, with her hair tousled and her face washed clean of makeup, she looked innocent, more approachable. And that could be his undoing.
He pointed to one of the barstools behind the island in the kitchen before crossing to the double cabinets next to the refrigerator. As he opened the large oak door and removed the decanter, memories tagged along.
His father had a love of cognac and had dedicated a large portion of his retirement years touring the world to taste the finest brands. His last trip to France he’d brought back one of the most expensive bottles. He’d paid way too much for it but had been so proud to give it to Brad for Christmas that not even Brad’s mother could chastise him for the excess.
She certainly couldn’t have said much anyway considering the massive amount of money she’d spent on Hannah’s Christmas gifts that year. The smile faded from Brad’s face.
“You don’t look like you’re even in the same room with me,” Kate whispered.
He removed the top of the decanter. “I’m right here. This stuff just brings back some memories.” The amber liquid spilled into the twin snifters and he passed one to Kate.
“Good ones?” She took a sniff of the brandy, her nose wrinkling.
He turned to face her, his own glass in hand. “Let me guess. You don’t like brandy?” The expression on her face allowed him to dodge her question.
“I’ve actually never tried it.” She gave him a sheepish smile. “I hope that doesn’t make me sound like too much of a philistine.”
“Not at all. Now, if you’d tried it and didn’t like it, well…” He broke off with a smile. “My father would call that blasphemous.”
Her pink lips curving around the edge of the glass, Kate took a tentative sip. Her eyes closed as she savored the taste.
Brad couldn’t take his eyes off her. The dim light from Hannah’s favorite Grecian lamp shadowed her face as she murmured approval. The ability to speak deserted him when she took another sip. This time her eyes remained open and she hummed a little.
His stomach muscles coiled like a rattlesnake, he turned his back to her, searching for the composure he used to keep with him at all times. It had been missing since he’d met Kate.
“So I take it your father is a fan of brandy.”
Thankful she wasn’t sipping at the moment, Brad pivoted. Her hands curved around the snifter as though seeking the warmth only the liquid could bring. She might as well have kicked him in the stomach.