Julie Miller – Task Force Bride (страница 5)

Pike Taylor rested his hand on the gun at his waist as his broad shoulders came up behind her father and dwarfed him. “Is everything all right, Miss Lockhart?”

Chapter Two

Why did that woman jump every time he spoke to her?

Edison “Pike” Taylor bit down on the urge to curse and concentrated on the wiry older man who’d put his hands on Hope Lockhart. With his canine partner, Hans, loudly making it known that Pike had backup—in case six feet four inches of armed cop wasn’t intimidating enough—he subtly maneuvered around the gray-haired coot who smelled as if he’d just walked out of a bar. Despite a nonchalant adjustment to the bill of his KCPD ball cap, Pike turned his shoulder into the space between Hope and her assailant, blocking any chance of the man reaching for her again.

Damn it. She drifted back another step, as if she was just as afraid of him as she was this guy. He and Hans had been patrolling this neighborhood for months now. And, as members of KCPD’s Rose Red Rapist task force, they had answered every call to the scene of a female assault victim in the area, including one this past summer to the flower shop across the street that Hope’s friend Robin Carter—well, Robin Lonergan now that she’d recently married—owned.

Up until that night, Hope Lockhart had been this prim, uptight shop owner—a stereotyped old maid who wore glasses, buttoned-up suits and her hair in a bun. She’d said barely more than “Hello, Officer” to him whenever they ran into each other on the street. She was either too busy, too snooty or too disinterested to make friendly conversation with him, despite his best efforts. It had become a challenge of sorts every day or night he worked for Pike to walk Hans by her storefront and wave or tip his hat to her through the display windows to see her sputter or blush or quickly turn away.

But on the night of the flower shop attack, when Hope had come over to check on the well-being of her friend Robin, and Robin’s infant daughter, he’d suddenly seen her in a whole new light.

Hope Lockhart wasn’t a snob at all. She was shy—a woman on the quiet side—maybe about as awkward making conversation with him as he’d been trying to tease and get a rise out of her. Hope Lockhart was guarded, a little mysterious, even. She was pretty, too. Not in a knock-your-socks-off kind of way. But if a man looked—and he’d been doing more looking than he should have that night—he’d notice there was more to Hope than a tight bun and those boring suits she wore like some kind of uniform.

That night she’d worn the same trench coat she had on now, hastily tied over a nightgown, showing a V of creamy skin that dropped down between some seriously generous breasts. Without the pins and barrettes, long, curly hair tumbled over her shoulders in sexy, toffee-colored waves. He’d noticed her eyes behind those skinny glasses that night, too. They were big and gray and deep like a placid fishing lake early in the morning before any boats or lines had disturbed the surface. But she’d about bolted from the room and gone all shades of pale when he’d tried to talk to her. Kind of hard on a man’s ego.

Shyness didn’t explain why she didn’t like him much. But with her unwillingness to get better acquainted, he had no idea why. An aversion to cops? Was she intimidated by big men? Had he said something to offend her? Hope’s reaction to him that night—and every other time he and Hans had crossed her path since—read fear to him. And that kind of fear—when he was damn sure he was one of the good guys—rubbed him the wrong way.

Pike glanced down over the jut of his shoulder to see Hope massaging the arm this man had grabbed. “Are you hurt, ma’am?”

That gray gaze darted up to meet his for a split second before dropping down to the pavement. “I’m okay.”

Anything creamy or sexy or pretty was locked up tight beneath the buttoned-up coat and tightly pinned hair she wore tonight. Pike discovered that that bothered him, too. Why would a woman go to so much effort to hide what were potentially the prettiest things about her?

Hiding? Afraid?

Ah, hell. Why hadn’t he fit the puzzle pieces together sooner? If Hope’s covered-up appearance and skittish behavior didn’t speak to some history of abuse, Pike didn’t know what did.

Pike focused squarely on the man in front of him, even though he spoke to Hope. “Do you want him to stay?”

“We were just having a conversation, Officer, um...” The older man squinted the name on Pike’s shirt into focus. “Taylor. I’m Hank Lockhart—Henry Lockhart the first.” He extended a hand that Pike ignored. “I’m Hope’s daddy. I happened to be in town and thought I’d drop by and have a visit.”

Her daddy? Paying a surprise visit after midnight?

“Hank?” A blonde woman, wearing a top that was too tight and skimpy for her age and the autumn weather, climbed out from behind the wheel of a parked Toyota. “Is everything all right? You said this would only take a minute. You’ve kept me waiting for more than an hour.”

“Not now, Nelda.” Hank waved off the woman, who’d tried to signal Pike’s arrival when he pulled up.

“You didn’t say she was friends with the cops. You said this was going to be easy—”

Hank swung around, pointing a bony finger at the woman. “Get back in the car.”

With an annoyed huff, the woman tossed back her overbleached hair and slid behind the wheel.

Friends with the cops.

Pike slipped another peek at the woman cradling a small package in her hand and warily keeping an eye on everyone involved in this late-night tête-à-tête, including him. Hope didn’t seem any more open to the idea of becoming friends now than she’d been during the other brief encounters they’d shared. And though he wished he knew what he’d done to earn such a cool reception from the bridal shop owner, Pike knew he didn’t have to be liked by all the residents he’d sworn to protect and serve—he just had to protect and serve them.

“Did you want to press charges against him, ma’am?” Pike asked.

“Charges?” both Lockharts answered in unison.

But while Hope didn’t seem to know how to answer the question, Hank had no trouble arguing his innocence in the matter. “Charge me with what? We were having a family discussion. A private one, I might add. I don’t know where you came from or why you’re here. But I haven’t done anything wrong.”

“Hope?” Pike prodded, willing her to snap out of her meek silence. He’d come here, looking for a suspicious white van, and he’d shown up right in the middle of some kind of domestic dispute. He could arrest this guy and make him go away for the night, but not for any longer if she refused to speak up. Pike hooked his thumbs into the top of his utility belt and waited for an answer. “What do you want me to do?”

Nelda honked the horn again and Hank swore beneath his breath.

To Pike’s surprise, he heard a soft voice behind him. “My father was just leaving.”

So the old man hadn’t completely knocked the spirit out of her.

“We’re not finished, girl,” Hank dared to argue. When he turned that bony finger on Hope and took a step toward her, Pike quickly shifted to block his path. “About that job we were discussing—”

“I said he was leaving.”

The rising confidence in Hope’s tone made it that much easier to back her up—and made it clear that in this situation, at least, she’d appreciate a little help from him. Pike nodded toward the irritated blonde. “I wouldn’t want to keep you, Mr. Lockhart.”

The grizzled older man sized up Pike with one contemptuous glance, then angled his head to make a final plea to his daughter. “Don’t you do this to me. You can’t punish me forever. You know I need—”

“I suppose it’s about time to walk my dog.” Pike pulled out his black, reinforced leather gloves and nodded to the muscular German shepherd fogging up the rear window of his departmental vehicle, intently watching Pike’s every move. Right on cue, the dog started barking again. “Hans has been cooped up inside my truck for a long time tonight.”

He watched the color bleed from Hank Lockhart’s cheeks, making the broken capillaries in his alcoholic’s nose stand out in redder, sharper detail. That’s what he figured. Pike’s canine partner had a knack for convincing people to do exactly what Pike asked.

“I get your message loud and clear.” Offering a placating hand that sported half a dozen homemade tattoos that indicated the man had done some jail time, Hank Lockhart finally retreated. “I’ll talk to you later.”

A soft trace of vanilla joined the damp scent of dying leaves on the late-night breeze as Hope stepped onto the sidewalk beside Pike to watch Hank and his lady friend drive off down the street. The sounds of a heated argument leaked through the open car windows and faded as the car turned the corner and vanished into the night.

Pike stuffed his gloves back into his pocket. “He’s hurt you before, hasn’t he?”

Hope’s breathy sigh was confirmation enough. So maybe he’d been a little blunt with his speculation. Knowing she’d grown up with an abusive man went a long way toward explaining her ready distrust of him. And made him more determined than ever to prove that he wasn’t the bad guy here.