Assumed Identity

chapter Five



Seriously?

Ghost Rescuer Saves RRR’s Latest Victim

Jake set down his mug of coffee and spread the newspaper open across the top of his kitchen table.

“Ghost Rescuer,” he muttered, zeroing in on reporter Gabriel Knight’s latest article in the Kansas City Journal. “According to one eyewitness, the unknown hero appeared ‘like a ghost from the shadows.’” Jake crumpled the edge of the paper in his fist. “What eyewitness?”

The only people who’d been there last night had been an infant who couldn’t talk and the blitz attacker who certainly wouldn’t want Kansas City’s top crime reporter covering his activities. That left the stubborn, dark-haired victim, Robin Carter, to blab about how he’d helped her. Some thanks.

“What are you doing to me, lady?” He didn’t need this kind of publicity. He didn’t need publicity, period. Getting featured in the newspaper worked against the whole idea of hiding out from the nightmares Jake suspected were all too real.

He swallowed the last of his tepid coffee and read the article from beginning to end. “Ah, hell.”

At least she hadn’t mentioned his name. But big, scarred face and man who likes his privacy were all apt descriptors that could lead anyone observant enough right to him.

He skimmed over Knight’s claims that the Ghost Rescuer had done what KCPD had been unable to do for over a year now—stop the Rose Red Rapist. The women of Kansas City could breathe a little easier knowing someone like him lurked in the shadows, watching over them, waiting to save the day. He was making Jake out to be some kind of folk hero. This reporter clearly had a beef with the police department, but Jake wasn’t about to sacrifice his anonymity to become a front-page news story in which Gabriel Knight could vent his anger and disappointment.

Jake glanced behind him at the closet where his go-bag, with all those IDs and his weapons cache, was stored. A man like...whoever he was...had a strong aversion to publicity, even good press.

Would whoever had cut his face, burned his skin and put a bullet in his head see this article and come back to finish the job? Would word of an anonymous hero lurking in the alleyways of Kansas City reach one of those Central American countries stamped on those fake passports? Or had he already taken out the people who’d done this to him? Was there enough detail in this article to get the attention of a law-enforcement agency that had him on their most-wanted list?

“Hell.” Jake knocked the chair backward as he stood up abruptly, sending the shirt he hadn’t yet put on tumbling to the floor. He wadded the newspaper in his fists and tossed it across the apartment. He could damn well be sure the local cops would be keeping an eye out for him now. And he worked in a cop bar! Great place to blend in and eavesdrop on official business, giving him a heads up on any investigation that might lead back to him. Bad place to be if KCPD had an actual suspect description that matched his face.

“You’re ruining my life, Robin Carter.” He stalked across the apartment to the fire escape window and pushed it open so he could sit on the ledge and breathe in several lungfuls of the storm-scrubbed morning air.

He didn’t want to move on. He’d learned how to be good at leaving. He could move quickly and silently and be gone before anyone knew it.

But he liked Kansas City. He didn’t know if he’d grown up a city boy or a country bumpkin, but he liked the mix of urban amenities and small-town sensibilities he’d found here. He could lose himself in a big city crowd or take a bus and be out in the wide-open countryside in thirty minutes. He couldn’t remember if he was a Southerner or a Midwesterner or even an American, but he felt at home here. As at home as a man with no connections could be, at any rate.

And what about those Carter girls? Jake looked down at the newsprint stains on his rough, nicked-up hands. These were hands that were used for fighting, heavy lifting, killing. And yet he could still feel the silky strength of Robin Carter’s wet, wavy hair tangled in his fingers. He could still remember how warm and fragile tiny Emma had felt sleeping in his hands and snuggling against his chest. The sensations had been as vivid and unfamiliar as they’d been strangely addictive.

Probably because he had no woman in his life. He had no family he remembered. He was starved for human contact. But he’d made a point of denying himself those things so there’d be no attachments if he had to leave, no regrets if something happened to a lover he cared about because of who he used to be. His face and personality made it easy to keep people away.

But that whole gotta-save-the-innocents hang-up of his had gotten him into trouble last night. Robin and Emma Carter were a family, in and of themselves. There was no man to protect them, no husband or boyfriend or daddy they’d called on for help. They’d needed him. Him. A pretty woman with that much sass and a beautiful baby should have someone taking care of them. They shouldn’t be alone to fight against would-be rapists or whatever that mess had been about last night.

Showing up once he could write off as self-preservation—he didn’t need any more guilt and what-ifs in his life. If he knew something was wrong, and he could do something about it, he needed to do it.

But showing up twice? Yeah, he’d been suspicious of the guy watching Robin’s shop. Maybe it had been this Gabriel Knight; maybe that’s how he’d gotten this story. But what had Jake been thinking? Hiding in the rain, waiting to catch her alone. Had he really just needed to see that she got safely home for the night? Or had he been hoping for something more? Had he really thought she’d let him kiss her? Thanks for the rescue, now pay up?

Jake closed his eyes and leaned back against the windowsill. He evaluated his options. Leave town before the Ghost Rescuer became any more of a buzz word. Leave a decent job with a fair boss who didn’t ask questions. Leave the woman and baby who’d gotten under his skin and into his head in just a few short hours.

Or did he stay and trust that his covert skills could keep him out of any more newspapers? Stay and blend back into the shadows so he wouldn’t show up as someone suspicious on KCPD’s radar? Stay and pretend he wasn’t worried about the single mom and daughter combo who’d been thrust into a world of violence with no one to protect them?

Could he remain in K.C. and not have a thing to do with Robin and Emma Carter?

None of those questions got answered. He might not remember his name, but he remembered the training that had kept him alive. Jake shifted his thoughts firmly to the present. There were eyes on him. Right now. He could feel someone was watching him, perched on the window ledge five stories above the street.

Without changing his body posture Jake opened his eyes and scanned the windows across the street. Unlived in or empty because the occupants had gone to work. He dropped his gaze to the street below to check out parked cars and moving traffic. Alleys? Clear. Rooftops? Clear.

And then he spotted the man in the trilby hat, leaning against the newsstand at the corner. He held a newspaper up as if he was reading it. The brim of the hat obscured his face, but it tipped up at least twice, indicating the man was looking up. At Jake.

Was he reading about the Ghost Rescuer in the Journal, and Jake’s silver-white hair had stood out against the black fire escape and caught his eye? Or was there something more personal, more sinister about the man’s curiosity?

Stretching his arms in a mock show of casual unawareness, Jake got up and closed the window. He jogged to the kitchen sink to wash his hands and splash water on his face and neck before pulling on a clean shirt and slipping out of the apartment to get a better look at just who might be fool enough to spy on him.

* * *

ROBIN PATTED EMMA’S bottom as the baby cooed contentedly in the sling Robin wore over her uninjured shoulder. Holding her daughter close to her chest, Robin leaned over the counter and turned to another page in the flower arrangement catalog.

She pointed to one of the pictures, hoping the middle-aged couple she was waiting on would see a little reason. “I could hang smaller sprays on each of the church pews if you want more color. But I think adding garland along the railing will make it look like the holidays, not a renewal of your wedding vows.”

“Hmm.” Chloe Vanderham tapped her hot-pink lacquered fingernail against the image of pastel spring flowers and sighed again. Then she turned to the balding man checking an app on his smart phone beside her. “What do you think, Paul?”

“That’s fine.” He raised his head without pulling his gaze from the phone. “Whatever you want, darlin’. This is my gift to you.”

Chloe wrapped those shiny nails around her husband’s chin and demanded his full attention. “This is supposed to be a celebration of our twentieth anniversary, Paul. Not just mine.” She turned his face toward the catalog. “I like this arrangement. But with red roses. Long-stemmed ones spilling down like a waterfall at the front of the church.”

“Do you really think red is appropriate, given the recent events in town?” He pulled her fingers from his jaw and gave them a placating kiss before releasing her. “You look so lovely in pink.”

The suggestion didn’t seem to please her. Robin thought she might even have heard the stamping of a platformed heel. “I had red at our first wedding. I’m not going to let that awful man dictate how I celebrate my own anniversary. I won’t have it.”

With his patience already overtaxed by coming to the shop with his wife in the first place, Paul made no effort to mask his frustration. He tucked his phone inside his suit jacket and pleaded to Robin. “Bail me out here, please.”

Silently forgiving them for not knowing she might have been the most recent victim of the Rose Red Rapist’s attacks, Robin searched for a resolution that would keep these two from walking out the door in an angry huff. She’d built a successful company out of giving customers what they wanted. Mediating disputes like this one, and helping her clients reach a decision, was all part of the business. Even if it was a chore to deal with when she’d rather be napping, looking at her accounting reports with fresh eyes or finding answers to the mysteries that lingered from last night. Who had attacked her? Why? Who was Lonergan? Why had he almost kissed her? Why had she been so foolishly ready to kiss him back?

Fighting back the curious heat that warmed her skin, Robin offered both the Vanderhams a reassuring smile. “Chloe, you said your original bouquet had red roses in it?”

“Yes. Red roses and white carnations.”

“Why don’t we re-create that bouquet and feature the red there? That would draw everyone’s attention to you, especially if we use softer tones and smaller arrangements for the decorations.” Plus, she wouldn’t risk over ordering stock and having a supply of the bloodred flowers on hand to tempt the infamous rapist.

Paul winked his gratitude and Chloe smiled. “You are a woman of excellent taste, Robin.”

“I try.”

Chloe twirled the cluster of diamonds and white gold on her ring finger. “I know it’s short notice, with the ceremony just a week away, but can you get everything ready?”

“I’ll need to check with my vendors to make sure we have what we need available. But at this time of year, it shouldn’t be an issue. And my staff works quickly once we have the proper materials.” She called to the blonde assistant stocking hydrangea bunches in the refrigerated display case. “Hey, Shirley. Would you run to the back and see if Leon has left to make his deliveries yet? If he’s still here, ask him to bring me the stock manifest for the flowers that came in this morning.”

“Will do.”

Shirley wiped her hands on her smock and exited through the swinging doors while Robin pulled up the Vanderhams’ order on her computer screen. Emma shifted in the sling, blowing bubbles through her tiny bowed lips and drawing Robin’s attention down to the contented baby smiling up at her. “You’re such a good girl,” she praised, adding baby talk sound effects that made Emma gurgle and squiggle even more. Robin wiped the bubbles from her baby’s lips and pressed a kiss to her velvety brown hair. “Did you want to get into your swing to see the world? It’s not fair that you got seven hours of sleep while Mommy only got two.” Emma started suckling on Robin’s finger and she nearly forgot about everyone else in the shop. “Ready for an afternoon snack, are we?”

The bell hanging over the front door jingled. Reluctantly, Robin pulled her attention away from Emma to greet the new customer.

Her one-time beau—the man she’d bought this very shop from after his company had renovated the building—Brian Elliott, walked in, circled the counter, kissed her cheek and wrapped her in a hug. Instinctively, Robin’s arms curled around Emma, protecting her from being crushed between them. “Oh, God, sweetheart, are you okay?”

She took note of his expensive cologne and the concern that lined his dark eyes. “I’m fine, Brian,” she reassured him, reaching one arm around his crisp gabardine suit to pat his back. “Just a few bruises.”

“That sick man was lying in wait for you? You should have called me as soon as this happened,” he insisted.

“In the middle of the night?”

“You know I still care about you.”

“There’s nothing you could have done. The police came. I answered their questions. Then we went across the street and spent the night at Hope’s.”

She left out the juicy bits about someone toppling Emma’s car seat, strangers watching her shop and a ghost saving the day and rousing an unfamiliar, dangerously potent desire inside her.

Unlike her bland “nope, nothing” firing anywhere in her system in response to Brian’s hug.

If the initial embrace had been awkward, the end of it was even more so. Brian must have realized how she shielded the baby between them and he sucked in his stomach and arched his back, breaking contact with Emma before he pulled his arms from Robin. He plucked the front edge of the sling between his thumb and forefinger and pulled it up around Emma, even as she buzzed her lips and reached for one of the buttons on his jacket. “Should she be here?”

Ah, yes. One of the reasons they’d broken up—Brian’s aversion to starting a family.

Robin reached inside the sling to let Emma’s delicate, grasping fingers grab hold of one of hers, silently apologizing for the rejection. Brian was a wealthy workaholic. That he’d taken time out of his busy schedule to pay her a visit was his way of saying he still cared. Too bad that caring didn’t extend to her daughter. “What are you doing here, Brian?”

He unrolled the newspaper he clutched in his hand and slapped it on the counter. “I came as soon as I read this. I’m disgusted with Knight’s coverage of the task force investigation. Pure publicity stunt if you ask me. At least the Journal had the decency not to run any pictures.” He reached out to touch the scrape along her jaw and she quickly averted her head to avoid the contact.

“Not very flattering, is it?” Robin had seen the small headline near the bottom of the front page. Local Woman Survives Assault. It was weird to see herself and the events of last night described in such impersonal detail. She’d read the short article over coffee with Hope this morning, and had cringed at seeing her name linked to a possible attack by the Rose Red Rapist. And even though they hadn’t mentioned Emma by name, she’d already put in a call to the paper complaining about the reporter’s emphasis on her being a single mother and how her child could have been left abandoned to the elements by a criminal with no moral regard for the minor’s safety. The only positive was Gabriel Knight’s mention of the Ghost Rescuer who’d come to her assistance and how the man should be decorated for his bravery.

“He said you were beaten. You could have died.”

“Mr. Knight made it sound worse than it was,” Robin lied, trying to placate the concern that steeled Brian’s handsome features and snagged the Vanderhams’ interest.

“You should let me hire security for this place,” Brian offered.

“Why? This is my shop, not yours. Whatever happens here is my responsibility.”

“But a team of bodyguards—”

“—would drive away business.”

“This isn’t the time to assert your independence, Robin. The Rose Red Rapist isn’t a man you want to take chances with.”

Needing to change the subject before the fear and helplessness she’d felt last night grabbed hold of her again, Robin turned to introduce everyone. “Brian Elliott, this is Paul and Chloe Vanderham. They’re longtime customers here.”

“We’ve done business together before.” Brian reached across the counter to shake hands with Paul. Making himself at home in her workspace, Brian helped himself to a paper towel from under the counter and wiped the black newsprint from his hands before extending a hand to Paul’s wife. “Chloe, how are you?”

“Wonderful, as always. Wonderful to see you, too.” The platinum blonde picked up the newspaper, then looked at Robin. “This is you? I felt so sorry for the woman in this article. And that man who came out of nowhere to rescue you? Gabe Knight made it sound like a fairy tale.”

Um, no.

Perhaps the three glares directed her way finally got through Chloe’s heartless rambling. She arched her brows in a pitying frown. “Are you all right? Should you be at work today?”

Brian answered before she could. “No, she shouldn’t.”

Okay. Another reason why she and Brian hadn’t worked. She could speak for herself. “I’m not going to let that man turn me into a recluse. I have to earn a living to support Emma. Besides, staying busy helps keep my mind occupied.”

She didn’t need the particular distraction these three provided, though, as the conversation veered off into a discussion of the Kansas City Journal’s editor-in-chief, Mara Boyd-Elliott.

Paul glanced at the paper over his wife’s shoulder. “Mara is doing a fine job of running the Journal in her father’s place. I miss old Jared Boyd, though. He was a man who didn’t mince words. I always enjoyed reading his editorials.” Brian bristled at the mention of his ex-wife. “Do you two still keep in touch?”

“My father-in-law is dead.”

“Ex-father-in-law,” Paul corrected, continuing the conversation as cluelessly as Chloe had, as if a deceased family member and divorced wife were better topics than Robin’s assault. “I meant Mara, of course. Do you keep in touch with her?”

“Only regarding legal issues that come up, or to discuss an article for the paper.”

“That’s right. She’s commissioned some glowing reviews and spectacular pictures of your downtown renovation project in the paper’s Kansas City Living section.” Paul went on, as oblivious to the discomfort he was causing as he’d been to his wife’s desire to share the ceremony planning experience with him. “I’ll bet Mara still does as much to benefit your business as she did when she was your wife.”

Robin could feel the tension radiating off Brian beside her. “Paul—”

“You wanted to see me, Ms. Carter?” Leon Hundley pushed through the swinging doors, thankfully interrupting the awkward conversation.

“Yes, Leon, thank you.” Robin’s greeting was more effusive than the friendly professionalism she normally treated her employees with. Although, she was taken aback for a moment when she saw the turtleneck the younger man was wearing beneath his green uniform shirt. Now that last night’s thunderstorm had blown past, the June afternoon had turned sunny and humid. “Aren’t you hot in that?

He shrugged his wiry shoulders. “You know how cold it gets in the fridge room, ma’am.”

“I suppose.” She herself kept an old sweater in her office for when she had to work in the fridge room for any length of time. Well, if he could tolerate the humidity, his discomfort wasn’t her concern. “I need to see the stock manifest from the flowers you picked up this morning.”

Leon pawed at his collar, as if the turtleneck felt as itchy and out of season as it looked. “I don’t have that list. I turned it over to Mark after I unloaded everything. We’ve been doing it like that for a while now since you’ve been gone. I just turn the paperwork over to him.”

Mark Riggins was her assistant manager, and had run the shop in her absence. Although an alarm bell went off in her head at the change in store procedure coinciding with the accounting discrepancies, she trusted Mark. From what she knew of his flamboyant personality, she wouldn’t think bookkeeping would be his favorite thing. Maybe he’d just made some honest mistakes—deliveries that hadn’t been entered, an order he forgot to record payment on. When the stream of customers died down, she could pull him aside and ask him about the books. “I guess I need to talk to Mark, then.” Leon nodded and started to walk away, but Robin stopped him. “So what did the market look like this morning? Were there shortages of anything I ordered?”

He scratched at his short brown hair, as though replaying his morning errands in his head. “Yeah. They were having shipping issues with some of the hothouse flowers. Orchids and birds-of-paradise. That kind of stuff.”

Chloe piped up. “Ooh. Birds-of-paradise would be beautiful standing up on the altar, wouldn’t they, Paul?”

Robin averted her head in case she rolled her eyes. Hadn’t the woman just heard there was a shortage of that particular flower? And did she really think the exotic orange flower would look good with anything else she’d picked out today? Once she had her tongue and patience firmly in check, Robin turned to Chloe. “Don’t worry. There will be plenty of roses, I’m sure.”

“Yes, ma’am. There always is.” Leon had always happier driving the truck than interacting with customers in the shop. He shifted on his booted feet and tugged at his collar again. “Is that all, Ms. Carter? I need to get those arrangements delivered to the hospitals before closing time.”

“Sure, Leon. You run along. Oh.” She tugged on his sleeve to catch him before her left. “Tomorrow morning, bring the stock manifests to me. I’ll explain the change to Mark.”

His wiry shoulders lifted in an irritated sigh. “Yes, ma’am.”

When he left, Robin wished she could go with him because Brian was at her side again, reaching for her hand. “Is there anything I can do for you? Anything you need? You could stay a few days at the penthouse—let my staff wait on you so you can relax.”

“I prefer my own home, thanks.”

Chloe asked another question about the exotic flowers. Paul pulled out his cell phone and Robin considered pulling out her hair. But her patience was given a respite by the ringing of the telephone. She quickly turned to the back wall and picked up the receiver before the second ring. “Hello. Robin’s Nest Floral. This is Robin, may I help you?”

“Ms. Carter?” The deep tone was brusque, and she instantly knew this wasn’t a customer. “Spencer Montgomery here. Can you talk?”

“Sure, I... Just a second. I’d like to get to someplace more private.” She covered the mouthpiece and stuck her head through the swinging doors and shouted to the back rooms. “Mark? I need you up front.” Then she turned to the people demanding her attention. “Mark is my top designer, Chloe. He’ll finish taking your order.” The phone’s long cord followed behind her as she stretched up on tiptoe and kissed Brian’s cheek. “Thank you for stopping by. But this is an important call I need to take. I’m sure you understand.”

Although he didn’t look terribly pleased by the dismissal, Brian kissed her cheek in return. Robin idly noted that there was not one flicker of erotic heat at the skin to skin contact, unlike that dangerous almost-kiss that had happened between her and Lonergan last night. Maybe she’d dated too many tailored suits like Brian Elliott over the years, and that was why someone as coarse and earthy as her rescuer seemed so appealing. Then again, maybe Chloe wasn’t too far off in her “fairy tale” description of last night’s rescue, after all, and Robin was succumbing to a little adolescent hero worship.

“Take care,” said Brian, as coolly articulate and handsome as Lonergan was not. “Call if you need anything.”

“I will.” She placed the detective on hold and hurried down the hallway to her office.

En route, she ran into Mark Riggins, smoothing his store apron over his striped shirt and khakis. “What’s the emergency?” he asked. “Leon said you were upset with him.”

“I wasn’t upset.” Robin frowned, anxious to get to the phone, anxious to explain her suspicions to Mark, just...anxious. “I asked him a few questions. I wasn’t accusing anyone of anything.”

His dark eyes narrowed. “Accusing?”

Robin groaned with impatience. “I asked him about the stock and whether we’ve been getting all the supplies we’ve ordered. He said he’s been funneling all that through you and didn’t seem to know the details.”

Mark made a little protesting noise and propped his hands on his hips. “Leon is a sweet young man who excels at driving the van and doing manual labor. But he’s no brain surgeon. I asked him to turn over all the paperwork to me because he was making a mess of it. If you have a problem with that, then you need to talk to me.”

“Let’s make an appointment and do that. Right now I need to take a phone call from KCPD.”

“About last night?” Robin nodded and Mark’s affronted stance melted away. He clapped his hands together. “That’s too frightening for me to even contemplate—you being hurt like that. And poor Emma. What do you need me to do? Are we overrun with customers?”

She reached up to straighten the bow tie he wore and patted his shoulder. “No. Just one who has a ton of money to spend and can’t make a decision. And I really need to take that call.”

“A ton of money—my favorite kind of client.” Mark fluffed his fingers through his curly brown hair and winked. “You deal with the police—I’ll help the customers spend their money.”

“Thank you. Owe you.”

“Always happy to do a girl a favor.” He burst through the doors with the flourish of a Broadway dance number and took over the appointment with the Vanderhams. “I’m Mark. Now what can I do for you, pretty lady?”

Knowing Mark could match Chloe Vanderham’s diva-licious personality, Robin closed the office door behind her. She quickly pulled the baby sling off her shoulder and lay Emma in her bassinet before picking up the extension. “Detective Montgomery? Sorry for the wait. Has something happened? Did you find the man who attacked me?”

“Not yet. But I think we found your Mr. Lonergan.”

Robin wedged the phone between her ear and shoulder so she could assemble a small bottle of formula for Emma while they talked. “Do you have a name? An address?”

“He goes by Jake.”

Jake. It fit. Manly and to the point. Finally, she had a name for the hero who’d saved her life and Emma’s. But wait a minute. Even as the news elated her, Robin frowned. “Goes by?”

Spencer Montgomery released a telling sigh. “There’s no record of him in the DMV database.”

“You mean he doesn’t drive?”

“I mean the name is bogus. It’s not like his license was taken away for DUIs or an accident. He doesn’t exist. I haven’t even found any IRS records on him.”

The math wasn’t hard to do. “That doesn’t make sense. He’s in his late thirties, maybe forty. And he’s no bum. He has to have had a job and paid taxes for twenty years or so.”

“Not according to my sources. No trackable history and he skips out before we can talk to him? Both are red flags in my book. Be careful with this man, Ms. Carter.”

Robin sank down into the chair behind her desk. But he hadn’t skipped out. Lonergan, make that Jake Lonergan, had been watching over her all night long. “Maybe he legally changed his name,” she theorized.

“There’d be a paper trail,” the detective explained. “This guy is way off the grid. My next step is to widen the search to Interpol because I can’t locate official American records on him anywhere.”

“Then how did you find him?”

“My partner, Nick, has good instincts about people. And he never forgets a face.”

“Detective Fensom knows him?” How could that be? Why would Lonergan avoid the cops if they were friends? Unless that familiarity with her mystery man meant they weren’t? Robin shot to her feet again, shaking the measured formula powder and bottled water together with more vigor than usual. “Do you think he’s a criminal? Because he wasn’t last night. He did a good deed. A great one as far as I’m concerned. I don’t want you to punish him.”

“Relax.” Spencer Montgomery’s tone sounded straightforward, taking the edge off her defensive anger, even if she didn’t necessarily think he’d agreed to her demand. “We just want to ask him some questions. We haven’t approached him yet—we’re not completely sure this is the right guy. We’d like a second opinion.”

“Do you need me to come down to the police station to identify him?”

“Not exactly.”

Robin groaned her frustration as one mystery compounded another. “Detective Montgomery, I thought you and I agreed we both like straight answers.”

“We did. I’m trying to spare you some stress and disappointment if this isn’t the guy.”

“I can handle stress and disappointment, Detective. I want to see this Jake Lonergan your partner found.”

“Do you know where the Shamrock Bar is?”

Jake Lonergan hung out in bars? He was secretive, yes. But he hadn’t struck her as the kind of guy who’d waste his time like that. “It’s around the corner, a couple of blocks from my shop. You want me to meet you there?”

“If you don’t mind. You can get a look at our suspect...er, person of interest there and see if he’s your guy.”

Robin hadn’t missed the detective’s slip. “He’s not the man who attacked me,” she reiterated, getting the idea it was up to her to prove that. “I can be there in twenty minutes.”

Torn between anticipation and anxiety at the chance to see if Detectives Montgomery and Fensom had tracked down the right Lonergan, Robin sat down for ten minutes to give Emma the bottle she needed. Then she burped her and changed her diaper before wasting another five minutes trying to track down Emma’s yellow hat. “Where is it?” She emptied out the contents of Emma’s bag and the hamper. “Never mind.”

Ignoring the phone ringing on her desk and from every extension in the front and back of the shop, she pulled out a shopping bag from a weekend excursion to the Plaza and opened up a new outfit she’d bought for Emma’s six-month picture. She left the flowered shirt and overalls in the bag and tied the matching sun hat onto Emma’s head. “Happy early birthday, sweetie. It clashes a little, but it’ll do.”

She was packing the stroller and heading out when Mark stuck his head through the swinging doors. “Robin? Phone.” He dropped his voice to a whisper. “I think it’s one of those reporters.”

“Would you tell him to...” Wait. If that was Gabriel Knight calling back about his news article, then she needed to have a discussion that made it clear that any mention of her daughter was off limits in any follow-up stories. “Never mind. I’ll take it in my office.”

By the time Robin had rolled the stroller back to her desk, Mark had transferred the call to her private line. She picked up the phone. “This is Robin Carter.” Several seconds of answering silence passed and she checked the lighted line on the phone to make sure they were still connected. “Hello? Is this Mr. Knight?”

She heard a sharp intake of breath before a woman’s voice spoke. “You don’t deserve to have that baby.”

A brief moment of confusion at the unexpected accusation was replaced by the chill that ran down her spine. “Who is this?”

“You aren’t her real mother. Her real mother wouldn’t put her in harm’s way like you did. She could have died.”

The words were slightly slurred, yet frighteningly articulate. A chill flowed through Robin’s body, sapped her strength. She obeyed the sudden weakness in her knees and sank to the floor beside the stroller—needing to see Emma’s bright blue eyes, needing to hear the soft, rhythmic sucking of her thumb, needing to touch the precious reality of her miracle baby.

“I’m on my way to talk to the police right now,” she warned, sounding braver than the fearful knot in her chest felt. “Who are you? Don’t you dare speak to me about my daughter.”

“Your daughter?” The woman laughed. “I know the truth about that baby. You don’t deserve her. He should have killed you when he had the chance.”

“Who are you? Why are you saying these hateful things? What do you want?”

Robin jumped at the loud click that ended the call.

The first thing she did was pick up Emma and hug her tightly to her chest, rocking her back and forth and pressing a kiss to each cheek, taking strength from the scents that had become as familiar to her as breathing. “You are my daughter,” she vowed, needing to hear the words herself as much as she wanted to reassure the infant who couldn’t understand those words yet. “I’m not leaving you. I’m not letting anyone take you from me.”

The second thing she did was strap Emma back into her stroller and head out the front door, turning up the sidewalk toward the Shamrock Bar. Detective Montgomery would want to hear about the call, right? That CSI last night had said the accomplice who cleaned up after the Rose Red Rapist’s attacks was a woman. Were those vile threats related to the assault? Even if the caller was just some crank drunk who’d been reading the morning paper, the message was disturbing.

Robin wasn’t ashamed to admit that her sense of independence and security had been rattled again. She needed to feel safe.

She needed to find Jake.