Kansas City Countdown

He clapped Hud on the shoulder of his plaid flannel shirt and stood. “Hey, buddy, I’m heading home.”

Hud threw up his hands and frowned. “You’re kiddin’ me, right? The night is young and this place is crawlin’ with opportunities.” His brown eyes swept the bar, indicating the disproportionate number of female to male customers. “I need you to be my wingman.”

Chuckling at his partner’s humorous determination, Keir tossed a couple of bills onto the bar to pay for their drinks. “Sorry. Guess I’m lousy company tonight.”

“Tell me about it. I’m givin’ you my best stuff and all I’ve gotten out of you is a smirk.”

Keir conceded the truth with a nod. “It’s not your job to make things right when a case goes wrong.”

“The hell it isn’t.” Hud polished off the last of his beer and swiped his knuckles over his mouth to erase the foamy mustache. “You’ll still be in a mood when you come back to work on Monday, and I’m the guy who has to look at you all day.” He pushed aside the money Keir had put on the bar and set a twenty-dollar bill in its place. “I dare you to stay and have a little fun. I know there’s a lady here tonight who can put a full-blown smile on your face and make you forget all about the Terminator. In fact, I’ll bet you that last round of drinks that I can score some action and be smiling before you.”

“Really?” Hud knew his weakness for refusing to back down from a dare. Keir’s older brothers had given him plenty of practice at holding his own growing up. Still, he was about to tell his partner that he’d take that bet on some other night when he wasn’t quite so tired or distracted, when the Shamrock’s owner, Robbie Nichols, set a beer and shot on the bar in front of him. Keir frowned. “I didn’t order this.”

The bushy-bearded Irishman nodded toward someone behind Keir’s back and winked. “She did. Good luck to you, Detective.”

Keir turned to see a sweet little strawberry blonde smiling at him as she wove her way through the maze of tables to reach him. Maybe he should take a lesson from his laid-back partner and blow off a little steam. Suddenly, spending Friday night at home with work wasn’t as appealing as it had sounded a minute ago. “Are you responsible for this?” he asked the man staring, openmouthed, beside him.

“I wish.” Hud had turned, too, and was shaking his head. “Even on your worst night, the ladies love you. Why don’t I have that kind of luck?”

“Because you’re half hillbilly. And—” Keir buttoned his collar and adjusted his tie as the young woman approached “—a man in a well-tailored suit is like catnip to the ladies.” Keir picked up the drink. “I promise you, my friend—if you’re going to bet me, you’re going to lose.”

Robbie returned, popping the cap off a chilled bottle of beer and setting it in front of Hud. “Not to worry, Detective Kramer. The ladies got you one, too.”

“Ladies? As in plural?” Quickly tucking his shirt into his jeans, Hud stood beside Keir, focusing in on the burgundy-haired woman with glasses trailing after her friend. “Game on, catnip boy.”

The strawberry blonde reached them before Keir could respond to Hud’s challenge. “Hi. I’m Tammy. I hope you’re not leaving. My sister and I took a vote and decided you were the cutest guy here.”

Cute? Well, now, didn’t that make him feel about twice this girl’s age and a little less eager to win the bet? Still, from a very young age, his mama had taught him to have manners, so Keir extended his hand. “I’m flattered. Keir Watson. Thank you for the drink.”

“Keir? That’s an unusual name.”

“It’s Irish. My mother was born in Ireland.”

“Awesome.”

The shy redhead at her shoulder looked a few years older and a little less enthusiastic about picking up a guy in a bar. She nudged her friend and glanced at Hud. “Tammy, it’s getting late. How long is this going to take?”

Poor Hud. He had his work cut out for him if he wanted to win the bet.

Instead of answering, Tammy beamed a smile at Keir’s partner. “This is Gigi. My older sister.” Tammy emphasized the age difference, as if the three or four years that must separate them meant big sis was over the hill and that she was the prime catch. Awkward. Clearly, Tammy was pawning her sister off on Hud, and had eyes only for Keir. “I’ll let Gigi tell you what it’s short for.”

But Hud wasn’t complaining. Once the introductions had been completed, he pulled out the stool Keir had vacated and invited Gigi to sit beside him.

Keir smiled down at the strawberry blonde. Whether her sister was shy about men or genuinely tired, Tammy was determined to hit on him. And Gigi seemed to be sufficiently entertained as Hud launched into his good ol’ boy spiel. “All right, then. Shall we?”

He picked up his drinks and escorted Tammy to a private table while she asked if the gun and badge he wore were real. Feeling older by the minute and wishing he’d trusted his gut and headed home, Keir briefly considered if this woman might be underage. But he was certain Robbie and his staff would have carded both women before selling them alcohol. Something about running a bar frequented by cops kept a man from bending the rules.

Still, the momentary rush of proving to Hud that (a) he always had his game on with the ladies, and (b) his partner didn’t need to worry about his mood, quickly faded. An hour passed and Keir was beginning to feel as though he was watching out for a friend’s kid sister rather than seriously considering extending the evening into something more. True, his thoughts kept straying back to those moments in the courtroom when the judge had chastised his unit for not making sure all their ducks were in a row in their case against Dr. Colbern.

But it seemed Tammy couldn’t sustain a conversation beyond flirty come-on lines, the classes she was taking at UMKC and all the adventures at bars she and her sister were having now that she’d turned twenty-one. Tammy was pretty. She was sweet. And he had a feeling she was sincere in her interest in him. But twenty-one was too young for a man in his early thirties, and Keir wisely kept the evening platonic until the cocktail waitress announced last call and he decided to call it a night.

Hud and the less animated Gigi had moved over to the pool tables, where he was teaching her some tricks of the game. A quick text exchange with Keir’s partner confirmed that they’d hit it off as friends and that Hud was fine giving the young lady a ride home after they finished their last set. Keir conceded the bet and paid for all their drinks.

Tammy was obviously disappointed that Keir decided to call it a night instead of inviting her out on a date or even asking for her number. He tried to soften the blow to her ego. “It’s been a long week for me and I’m tired. Plus, if you’ve got an exam Monday, you’d better try to get a little sleep so you can study this weekend.” He stood and took her hand. “Come on. I’ll walk you to your car.”

He traded a salute with Hud and led Tammy through the dwindling crowd outside the front door. The days had been warming up with the advent of spring, but the hour was late and there was a chill in the air that elicited an audible shiver from the young woman beside him. Whether her reaction was legit or one last attempt to stir his interest in her, Keir shrugged out of his suit jacket and draped it around her shoulders. “Which way?”

There might be a dozen or more cops inside the bar, but the downtown streets of Kansas City—even in neighborhoods that were being reclaimed like this one—were no place for a woman to be walking alone at night. She pointed past the neon shamrock in the bar’s window to the curb on the next block. Making a brief scan of the street and sidewalks, Keir dropped his hand to the small of Tammy’s back and headed past the bar’s parking lot, the valet stand for a nearby restaurant, past a north-south alley and the sports bar beyond it, then across the intersection to reach her car.

“I’ll wait until you get in and get it started,” he said, taking back his jacket and slipping into it.

“You’re a nice guy, Detective Watson.” Tammy latched on to the lapels of his coat and stretched up on tiptoe as he straightened the collar. “Are you sure I can’t change your mind about coming home with me? It looks like Gigi and your friend will be a while.”

He pried her hands loose and leaned down to kiss her forehead. “Good night, Tammy.” He grinned when she slipped a piece of paper into his pocket, suspecting it was the phone number he hadn’t asked for. He closed the door behind her once she’d started the engine, and stepped back onto the curb. “Be safe.”

Waving as she drove away, Keir loosened his tie and collar again. Time to call it a night. He hadn’t gotten drunk. He hadn’t gotten laid. And he sure as hell hadn’t figured out any answers to the unresolved cases weighing on his mind. Deciding that the night wasn’t going to get any better, and his day couldn’t get any worse, he turned and strode back toward the parking lot behind the Shamrock where he’d parked his own car.

He nodded to the trio of college-aged men bemoaning a call in the baseball game they’d been watching inside as they exited the sports bar. Then he stepped around the group of suits and dresses waiting for their ride outside the South American restaurant, shrugging at their fancy outfits in this workingman’s neighborhood. Keir’s attention shifted to a man standing on the sidewalk across the street. Hanging back in the shadows, wearing a dark hoodie, his shoulders hunched over with his hands buried in the pockets of his baggy jeans, the man’s face was unreadable. But his focus was unmistakable. There was something about the restaurant, something about the people walking down the street as the bars and restaurants let out, something or someone on this side of the street he was watching so intently that the hood over his head never even moved.

And that’s why you walk a lady to her car.

His suspicions pinging with an alert, Keir slowed his pace and stopped, discreetly pulling his phone from his pocket and snapping a picture while pretending to text. He doubted he’d get a clear shot, but he could at least record a location and vague description. But Hoodie Guy saw that he’d been noticed, and quickly spun away and shuffled on down the street.

“That’s right, buddy, I’m a cop.” Keir watched the man until he turned at the next intersection and disappeared around the corner of a closed-up building. “You’re not causing any trouble tonight.”

Detouring for a moment, Keir retraced his steps, wondering if there was anything in particular Hoodie Guy had been watching. Maybe he’d been waiting for someone to separate from the pack—someone to mug for drug money or mooch a drink from. Maybe he’d been watching an old girlfriend on a date with someone new. And maybe the guy just had a creepy sense of fashion and poor timing when it came to choosing where he wanted to loiter. There was no way for Keir to get answers unless he wanted to chase the guy down. And, technically, the guy hadn’t done anything to warrant such a response.

Satisfied for the moment that the street was safe, Keir turned around and resumed the walk to his car. Keeping one eye on the cars and empty spaces and drivers and pedestrians to see if Hoodie Guy reappeared, he pulled up his messages. Maybe he’d find a victorious text from Hud or news from his family about Seamus Watson’s shooting or his health as his eighty-year-old grandfather recovered from the brain injury that had left him relearning how to speak and use the left side of his body. Nothing. Not even an update from the detectives working the investigation.

Keir scrolled through the case notes he sent himself as texts on his phone as he stepped over the cable marking off a neighborhood parking area and cut through the public space to reach the Shamrock’s parking lot. He stepped over the cable at the back end of the lot, ignored the retching sounds of a drunk in the alley he passed and climbed a couple of steps over a short concrete wall to reach the lot where his Dodge Charger was parked.

He was considering sending a text to Hud about their failed pickup bet when he heard the scrabble of footsteps and a slurred, feminine voice from the alley behind him.

“One. One. One is the wrong number.”

Keir swung around at the garbled words, leaving the text half-finished and pulling back his jacket to rest his hand on his holstered weapon.

A tall, slender woman stumbled to the edge of the alley. “Three... Two... One isn’t right.”

“Ma’am?” She wasn’t drunk and she wasn’t a threat. She was hurt. Seriously hurt, judging by the blood on her face and clothes.

She tried to raise her head, but she groaned and braced her hand against the brick wall as she swayed. “Please. Help me.”

Keir leaped over the concrete barrier, taking in several details as he ran to assist the injured woman. Dark silvery blond hair bounced against her chin and clung to the bloody hash marks on one side of her face. The skirt of her fancy tan suit was ripped along one seam and there were dirty smudges on both sleeves of her jacket. She wore one ridiculously sexy leather pump on her right foot, and nothing but a torn silky stocking over the scraped-up knee and toes on her left foot.

“Ma’am, are you all right?” Keir slipped his arm behind her waist, taking her weight and guiding her to the concrete wall. Hoodie Guy’s curiosity about something Keir had missed was screaming at him now. Damn it. He should have followed up on his suspicions and stopped the guy for questioning. He helped the lady sit on the edge of the wall, wondering if Hoodie Guy was responsible for this. “What happened?”

“I woke up. I got sick. Everything...spinning.”

“Are you alone? Is anyone else hurt?”

She opened her mouth to answer, turned her chin toward the alley, then looked away. “I don’t remember.”

“Okay.” Clearly, she was a little disoriented. “Stay put. I’ll be right back.”

Once he was certain she wasn’t going to collapse on him, Keir pulled his weapon and darted back into the alley, making a cursory sweep of the trash bins and power poles. He startled a rat from its hiding place. But there was no one else in the alley. No signs of a struggle. Not even the missing shoe. This was a dump site. Whatever had happened to her hadn’t happened here.

Maybe Hoodie Guy hadn’t attacked her, after all. He’d moved away on foot, and it would be impossible to transport an injured woman through this maze of back alleys without a vehicle or someone noticing the two of them together.

Holstering his Glock, Keir jogged back out of the alley to find her on her feet, limping over to meet him. So much for staying put. “Is anyone else hurt?”

Keir caught her by the elbows and turned her back toward the wall and the nearest lamp in the middle of the lot. “Just you. I thought I told you to wait for me.”

“I don’t know where I...” she muttered beside him. “I don’t know how long I was there.” She flattened her hand over her stomach and bent forward, as if she was going to be ill. “I don’t feel so good.”

“Ma’am?” He stopped her beneath the light and waited for her to nod that she could stand straight again before brushing the angled line of bangs off her forehead. Keir swore under his breath as he tilted her face to the yellowish light. He knew this woman. “Kenna Parker? What the hell are you doing—”

“Who are you?” She squinted against the light shining in her eyes and backed away from him, fear making her skin pale.

He raised a placating hand to stop her wobbly retreat and pulled his badge from his belt. “I’m Detective Keir Watson, KCPD. Ms. Parker, how badly are you hurt? Can you tell me what happened?”

She shook her head. But the motion made her dizzy and she grabbed the sides of her head and tumbled.

“Watch out.” Keir caught her before she hit the ground and scooped her up into his arms. Her cheek fell against his shoulder and she curled into him without a protest as he stepped over the short wall and carried her to his car. “What does one mean?” he asked. Maybe her attacker had been wearing a jersey with a number on it, or she’d seen part of a license plate. “Why is it the wrong number?”

“What?” Her fingers curled into the lapel of his jacket. “I don’t understand.”

“You kept saying... Never mind.” Once he got the passenger door open, he set her feet on the pavement and helped her onto the edge of the seat before pulling the first-aid kit out of the glove compartment. “You were mugged. Assaulted. I can’t tell how badly yet. Can you tell me who did this to you? Do you know how you got into that alley? I don’t think the attack happened there.”

He dabbed at the cuts on her face, tried to assess how well her eyes were tracking the movement of his hands as he knelt in front of her. Besides their sensitivity to the light, her pupils were dilated, both signs that she had a concussion. “I should have a purse. Or a briefcase or something. Where are my things? I always carry...” Her voice trailed away and the thought escaped her.

“I didn’t see anything like that in the alley. Is one part of a phone number? If you need to call someone, you can borrow my phone.”

“Who do I need to call?”

He didn’t think she was married. There was no ring, nor any sign that she’d ever worn one, on her left hand. “A boyfriend? Any friend? Your doctor? Someone you work with?”

She touched her finger to the drops of blood staining the knobby silk of her jacket and blouse, as if discovering the spots distracted her from the conversation.

Stay with me, lady. Keir slipped two fingers beneath her chin and tilted her face back to his. “Do you want me to call them for you?”

“I can’t think of names right now.” Her fingertips tickled the back of his wrist as they danced against the skin there. “Aren’t you my boyfriend? Isn’t that why you’re here?”

“No, ma’am.” He carefully plucked a stray lock of hair from the wound on her cheek and tucked it behind her ear. “Detective Watson, remember? I showed you my badge.”

Instead of answering, she raised her fingers to touch the seeping gash. But Keir ripped open a gauze pad and batted her hand away to stanch the wound. This was more than a mugging or purse snatch. These cuts were fine and deep, made by something with a short, sharp blade. She was damn lucky she still had her eye. Carving up half her face like this indicated a lot of rage, and something very personal. The senseless brutality of this attack wasn’t something he’d wish even on the woman who’d humiliated him in court. “Here. Can you hold that there while I check the rest of your injuries?”

“It hurts.” Her shaking fingers brushed against his as she reached up to apply pressure against the cut. Her eyes were pale gray, almost like starlight, in the dim illumination of the car’s overhead light. But though her voice sounded far less steady and sure than it had in the courtroom that afternoon, she was determined to hold his gaze. “My thoughts aren’t very clear, Detective. I can’t seem to concentrate. I don’t think that’s like me.”

“It’s not.”

“So you do know me.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Keir gently tunneled his fingers into the straight, silky curtain of her chin-length hair, probing her scalp until he found the goose egg and oozy warmth of blood at the base of her skull. She winced and he quickly pulled away to open an emergency ice pack and crush the chemicals together between his hands to activate its frosty chill. He placed the ice pack over the knot on her scalp and tried to estimate if he had enough gauze or something else to anchor it into place. He sought out her starlit eyes again. “Looks like you suffered a pretty good blow to the head. Tell me what you can remember.”

Although concentrating on the answer seemed to cause her pain, she bravely came up with an answer. “I was going to a meeting. Dinner. A dinner meeting.”

Dinner would have been hours ago. “Who was your meeting with?”

“I don’t know.”

“Where did you eat? Were you walking to your car? Do you remember where you parked? Did a chauffeur or taxi pick you up?”

“I don’t know.” Seeming to grow more agitated, she pulled the gauze pad from her face and saw the scarlet stain on it. “Is all this blood mine?”

“I need to get you to an ER.” She leaned over against the seat, closing her eyes as he placed a call to Dispatch and gave his name, location and badge number. “I need an ambulance...” He dropped the phone into her lap and cupped his palm over the uninjured side of her face. “No, no. Don’t close your eyes. Ms. Parker? Kenna? Kenna, open your eyes.”

Her silvery eyes popped open. “Stop saying that.”

Now, that tone sounded like the Terminator. “Are you kidding me? You’re going to the hospital if I have to drive you myself.”

“What’s happened to me? I don’t understand.”

“Ah, hell.” He swung her legs into the car and buckled her in. “That’s it. We’ll make sense of this later.” He snatched up the phone and relayed the necessary information to complete the call before shrugging out of his jacket and draping it over her like a blanket. “We’re going to the hospital, Kenna.”

She grabbed the front of his shirt as he leaned over her, pulling her injured face close to his. “Why do you keep calling me that?”

“Fine,” he snapped. “You’re Ms. Parker. Don’t suppose I can get away with calling you the Terminator to your face.”

Her pale lips trembled. “Why would you do that?”

He was a sorry SOB for losing his temper for even one moment with this woman. She was probably five or six years older than Keir, and had been his enemy in the courtroom. He had less in common with her than that Tammy Too-Young from the bar. But he couldn’t look at the tragedy that marred her beautiful face or the fear that darted in the corner of her eyes and not feel something. He covered her hands where she still held on to him and eased her back into the seat. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be a jackass. But you’re the last person I expected to be helping tonight.”

“You don’t like me, do you?” She gave him a graceful out for that question by asking another. “You know who I am?”

“Yes, ma’am. Kenna Parker. You’re a criminal defense attorney.”

Her fingertips dug into the muscle beneath the cotton of his shirt, holding on when he would have pulled away. “How do you know? You said you couldn’t find my purse.”

She wanted to argue with him? Patience, Watson. The woman is scared. “You shredded a case of mine in court this afternoon. But I’m a cop before anything else. Now something terrible has happened to you tonight. I don’t know what exactly, but I’m going to help you.”

Her posture sagged, although her grip on him barely eased. He couldn’t tell if she was frightened or angry or some combination of both.

“Detective Watson. I don’t remember what happened to me tonight, much less this afternoon. I don’t know how I got into that alley. I don’t know why someone wanted to hurt me like this.

“I don’t even remember my name.”

Chapter Two

Kenna Parker.

Shivering in an immodest gown in the sterile hospital air, she silently worked the name around her tongue and wondered if she was truly remembering her name or if she’d simply heard it said to her so many times over the past few hours that she was now accepting it as fact.

Kenna.

She was Kenna Parker. She’d been named after her late father, Kenneth. She was an only child, a surprise gift to older parents who’d never expected to have children at all. No one had told her that tonight—or make that the early hours of Saturday morning. Kenna breathed a cautious sigh of relief. She was remembering. Some of her life, at least—like the growing-up parts that did her no good answering questions from the clerk at the reception desk or the admitting nurse or the criminologist who’d scraped beneath her fingernails and taken pictures of her injuries before the attending physician went to work.

She couldn’t remember whether or not she was in a relationship. She couldn’t remember where she’d eaten dinner or even if she had eaten. And hard as she tried, she had absolutely no memory of being brutalized and left for dead, no image of her attacker haunting her thoughts. She had no memory of who hated her or something she represented or had done so much that splitting her head open and taking a sharp blade to the left side of her face seemed justifiable. The nicks on her hands, and the scrapes on her knee and foot, indicated she’d put up a fight. Surely she’d eventually remember a face or mask or height or voice or something if she’d done that kind of battle with her assailant.