get out of your car. Lock the—”
“—doors. Have my key card ready to go into the building. Check the doors and windows. Call someone to let them know I’m home.”
“I see you were listening.” For the first time in the last thirty minutes, Spencer shortened his stride to let her walk naturally beside him. Was that a grin?
Bailey wondered what would happen to that stern, angular face if he loosened up enough to smile or laugh. “After hearing the same speech upstairs at your office, on the hike across the street and in the elevator coming up here, I started to pick up on what you were trying to say.”
That snort might be as close to a laugh as she was going to get out of him. And his warm breath formed a cloud in the cold air, masking a glimpse of what, if any, changes might have softened the strong line of his mouth or add warmth to the granite in his eyes.
But the grip on her arm eased as they crossed the concrete platform, heading toward the thick pillar where she’d parked. “Bailey, I don’t think you’re a dumb blonde. If anything, I think you’re a courageous woman. You may have pushed a few of my buttons earlier and I said some things that didn’t come out the way I meant them. I don’t normally lose my cool like that.”
Um, when exactly had he lost his cool? Brian Elliott’s temper had flared briefly in that hallway, throwing Bailey back to that night when he’d ranted at her and punished her for daring to speak her mind or beg for mercy. If Spencer thought he’d come anywhere close to a hotheaded reaction, he was apologizing for nothing. “You were just being a cop. You don’t have to explain yourself.”
“Yeah, I do. Logically, I think you feel you’re doing the right thing—God knows I and half of Kansas City are glad you’re testifying. But I worry that you may not fully understand the dangers and challenges you’ll have to face when this trial starts. Elliott won’t be in handcuffs in that courtroom. And if The Cleaner shows up—”
Bailey pulled his business card from her pocket and waved it in front of his face. “Then I’ll call you or your partner or 911.”
Another deep breath obscured his reaction. But she might have glimpsed a wry smile. “I guess I need to stop warning you, hmm?”
“You mean treat me like a grown-up?”
“Message received. Got your keys out?”
Bailey swapped the card for the keys in her pocket and pressed the remote, unlocking the car and starting the ignition. “Yes, sir.”
“Bailey—” The grip on her arm suddenly tightened and Spencer pulled her to a stop. “Ah, hell.”
A dark-haired woman climbed out of the car parked across from Bailey’s. The spiky heels of her black leather boots didn’t slow her at all as she crossed to the trunk of Bailey’s car. The striking brunette pulled a microphone from the folds of her coat. “Are you the star witness Dwight Powers keeps bragging about?”
“Bragging?” Hadn’t they escaped the onslaught of reporters?
A second door opened and the reporter waved her camera man forward. “I’m Vanessa Owen, Channel Ten News. Do you mind if I ask you a few questions, Miss Austin?”
Was the dark-haired woman giving her a choice? Vanessa was pushing for confirmation of her suspicions. But Bailey wasn’t going to give her what she wanted. When the camera pointed her way and the light came on, nearly blinding her in the dimness of the garage, Bailey kept her expression placid despite the clench of her fist. “I’m a witness. I’m sure the D.A. is talking to as many of the Rose Red Rapist’s victims that he can.”
“Don’t you mean alleged victims?” Vanessa Owen’s dark gaze flitted over Bailey’s shoulder to include Spencer in the interrogation. “Has he really been committing these crimes undetected for as many years as the D.A. claims?”
“Your questions are done, Ms. Owen.” Spencer reached around Bailey to push the camera lens toward the ground and warn the camera man to kill the light and stop recording. In a subtle move that wasn’t lost on either woman, he went into detective mode, sliding his shoulder in front of Bailey and blocking her from any attempt to question her again. Then he went on the offensive. “From what I hear, you and Brian Elliott have been pretty chummy. If you want to talk allegations, I have it on good intel that you and Elliott are having an affair.”
“Past tense, Detective...Montgomery, is it? Leader of KCPD’s illustrious task force? Brian and I may have attended a few social events together, but we’re no longer an item. Get your facts straight.” Vanessa’s ruby-tinted lips widened into a smile that never reached her eyes. “That’s all I’m trying to do.”
But Spencer didn’t back down from the taunt. “Either way, I’d think your viewers would be alarmed to learn just how biased your reporting on this case has been.” If anything, he leaned in. “Or did you get involved with a rapist just to get the inside scoop on his crimes? If that’s the case, I’d like to talk to you about withholding evidence from the police and abetting a suspected felon.”
With an amused laugh, Vanessa waved her cameraman back to their car. “Nicely played, Detective. I get your message. I’ll back off from Miss Austin. For now.” She tilted her head to acknowledge Bailey with a nod, then took a step closer to Spencer. “But this is the biggest story to hit Kansas City in years. I have a feeling there’s more to it than what KCPD or the D.A.’s office is sharing. And when her testimony becomes public record? Trust me, I’ll get the story. And I’ll take it all the way to the national market. Neither the D.A.’s stonewalling nor your task force are going to stop me from telling the biggest story of my career.”
“Just make sure you tell the truth.” Spencer turned his face to the side and Bailey gasped when she saw a black-haired man she hadn’t noticed leaning against a concrete pillar. “That goes for you, too, Knight. Whatever gripe you’ve got against KCPD, you’re not going to use Miss Austin to malign us in your editorials again.”
The second reporter, who’d been jotting something on a notepad, straightened. “They’re not editorials. They’re facts.” Even though his blue eyes were focused squarely on the detective, Bailey couldn’t help reaching for the sleeve of Spencer’s coat as the black-haired reporter approached. “How many months did it take your task force to capture Brian Elliott?” He stuffed his notebook and pen into the pockets of his insulated jacket. “And what kind of progress are you making on capturing his accomplice, The Cleaner?”
“Gabriel Knight, Kansas City Journal. I assume you already know Miss Austin, or you wouldn’t be here.” Spencer’s arm eased back against Bailey’s hand as he made the introduction, almost inviting her to hang on to his unflappable strength if she needed to.
Bailey curled her fingers into the wool but fought for a bit of independence by stepping up beside him. “Why aren’t you two with the other reporters?” she asked.
Vanessa Owen answered. “Because the story’s here.”
Gabriel Knight agreed. “I’ve heard all of Elliott’s claims of innocence. I’m more interested in knowing who’s going to finally shut him up.”
“Eloquent as always, Gabe,” Vanessa sneered.
Tension bunched in the muscles beneath Bailey’s hand, but Spencer’s authoritative tone never changed. “If you two want to talk KCPD business, you contact me or the task force press liaison, Kate Kilpatrick.
