LAST SEEN... Page 5

  She handed him the makeshift ice pack, then again returned to the chair opposite his. He pressed the towel against his head. "You asked me about his build."

  She nodded. His eyes were the purest blue she thought she'd ever seen. Like drowning pools, they seemed to beckon her closer … deeper. A flood of warmth swept through her and she stared down at her notepad, trying to remain focused on what he was saying.

  "…not fat, just kind of stocky. At least, that's the impression I got before I saw stars."

  "So, about five-ten or so and rather stocky." She looked at him again. "Doesn't tell us much, does it? But, as I said before, it was probably just some kid." She frowned as she thought of the phone calls she'd received. Surely the two weren't connected, or were they?

  "What?" Adam leaned forward and set the ice pack on the table.

  "Oh, it's nothing," she said quickly, as if by convincing him she would also convince herself.

  "Breanna." He reached across the table and covered her hand with his. Pinpricks of heat sparked in her hand and shot warmth up her arm. "You have a very expressive face," he said, "and right now it's telling me that there's something else that has you worried."

  It worried her that she liked the feel of his big, strong hand over hers. It bothered her that through the mere touch of his hand, she somehow felt safe … protected.

  "I've gotten a couple of strange phone calls the last two nights," she said and pulled her hand from beneath his.

  He leaned back, a furrow of concern creasing his forehead. "What do you mean by strange?"

  She explained to him about the two calls she'd received, about the woman singing the lullaby and then earlier that night when the man had called her a bitch.

  She'd thought Adam's eyes to be the clear, crisp blue of a cloudless autumn sky, but when she finished speaking his eyes were a slate blue … darker … harder.

  "Have you told anyone else about the phone calls? Anyone down at the police department or any of your family?"

  "No. When I got the call last night, I just assumed it was a wrong number or a silly prank." She fought against a shiver as she thought of the hatred … the utter malevolence in the man's voice as he'd said that single word.

  "Can you think of anyone you might have ticked off lately?" he asked.

  She smiled wryly. "Adam, I'm a cop. I tick people off on a regular basis." Her smile fell and she frowned once again. "But I can't think of anyone I've ticked off that would play a tape of a woman singing a child's lullaby, then peep into my window."

  Adam stood and grabbed the makeshift ice pack that was beginning to puddle on the table. He carried it to the sink, then turned back to look at her.

  "What worries me about the window peeping is how easily the guy resorted to violence to get away. There was no warning, no hesitation when he swung that brick at my head."

  "I know," she said. "That worries me, too." A pounding began in her head, a dull thud that threatened to intensify at any moment.

  She pushed away from the table and stood. "Adam, I'm sorry you got hurt and I really appreciate your help, but we aren't going to solve this little mystery tonight and I'm exhausted."

  Together they left the kitchen and walked out the front door and onto the porch. "If you were a really good neighbor you'd offer to sleep with me."

  She stared at him, certain she'd misunderstood what he'd just said. "Excuse me?"

  He grinned. "You know, so that you could wake me up every hour and look at the pupils of my eyes. Isn't that what you're supposed to do with somebody who might have a concussion? What else did you think I meant?" His eyes held a knowing twinkle.

  "I knew that's what you meant," she replied, wondering if her cheeks appeared as red as they felt. "But if you're that concerned about it, I highly recommend an emergency room at one of the local hospitals."

  "I like my idea better." The twinkle in his eyes faded and his smile fell. "Breanna." He reached out and touched her cheek with his warm fingertips. "I'm right next door if anything happens or if you just get afraid. I can be over here in mere seconds."

  He dropped his hand, murmured a good-night, then turned and disappeared into the shadows of the night.

  Breanna stepped back inside and carefully locked the front door. Gazing at her watch she realized it was after eleven.

  She should go to bed. Maggie was usually an early riser and Rachel wasn't officially on duty for the next two days. Sundays, Mondays and Tuesdays were Breanna's days off, then she worked four ten-hour shifts on the other days. However, those ten-hour shifts often became twelve- or fourteen-hour shifts when she was in the middle of a case.

  She climbed the stairs and checked in on Maggie before going into her own room. As she changed into her nightshirt, her four-poster bed beckoned to her, but her head was too jumbled for sleep.

  Instead she shut off her bedroom light and curled up in the overstuffed chair by the window.

  From this vantage point she could see part of Adam's front yard and a portion of her own. The huge oak tree that brought birdsong and the sound of scampering squirrels into her window each morning obscured the rest of the view.

  She still couldn't help but believe the phone calls were some kind of crazy mistake of some kind. Why would anyone play her a tape of a woman singing a lullaby? It made absolutely no sense.

  What made even less sense were the thoughts that filled her head where Adam Spencer was concerned.

  Why was she wondering what it would be like to sleep with him? She knew his skin would be warm against hers, knew that his scent would surround her. By even mentioning it in jest, he'd let her know that he was attracted to her.

  With a sigh of irritation she got up from the chair and stepped closer to the window. She leaned her forehead against the glass pane. What would it be like to make love to Adam?

  The question came unbidden to her mind, along with a tumble of related questions. Would he be a slow and sensual lover, relishing each touch, every caress?

  Kurt had been the only lover she'd ever had, and although she'd believed herself to be deeply in love with him, she'd found their lovemaking to be vaguely unsettling … unfulfilling.

  He'd always made love quickly, as if eager to get to the ultimate destination instead of enjoying the scenery along the way. She'd always been left with an emptiness inside. Would making love with Adam fill that emptiness?

  She whirled away from the window and got into bed. She was thinking crazy thoughts. Anyone would think that she'd received a blow to the head that had shot all rational thought straight out her ears.

  She'd only known Adam for less than two days. She knew very little about him and certainly had no idea what kind of a man he was.

  Yes, you do, a small voice whispered in her head. You know he's the kind of man to put himself at risk when he suspects trouble. She reached up and rubbed her cheek in the same place he'd caressed it. You know he has a gentle touch, the voice continued.

  "Shut up," she said aloud. At that moment she heard the sound of car doors shutting, then a moment later the sound of her front door opening, then closing.

  Footsteps whispered against the carpeting on the stairs as Breanna reached over and turned on her bedside lamp. A second later Rachel appeared in the doorway.

  "Did I wake you?" she asked. "I was trying to come in quietly."

  "No, you didn't wake me." Breanna sat up and patted her bed. "Come in and tell me all about your date."

  With a wide smile, Rachel flew to the bed and bounced on the mattress, looking far younger than her twenty-five years. "It was the best day and night of my life," she exclaimed.

  Thoughts of Adam receded as Breanna listened to Rachel telling about her date with David. "The picnic went beautifully. We ate, then went for a walk in the park. He's so easy to talk to. We talked about anything and everything."

  "I told you that you'd have a great time."

  Rachel's smile was beatific. "We did. In fact, when the picnic was finished, we weren't ready to ca
ll it a day. That's when he suggested we see a movie."

  "So, when are you seeing him again?"

  "Next Sunday. We're going to church together, then out to dinner afterward."

  "That's great," Breanna replied. "We had a bit of excitement around here tonight." She briefly told Rachel about the window peeper and Adam getting hit in the head.

  "Oh, my gosh … is he all right?"

  "He's fine. We iced his head and he insisted he didn't need to see a doctor. You haven't received any strange phone calls lately, have you?"

  "Strange phone calls?" Rachel eyed her curiously. "What do you mean?"

  "The past two nights I've gotten calls where I answer and somebody plays a tape recording of a woman singing 'Rock-A-Bye Baby.'"

  Rachel gasped and one hand rose to the scar on her cheek as her eyes filled with tears of horror. "It's Michael … it's Michael and he's calling to torment me." She burst into tears.

  Breanna quickly put an arm around Rachel's shaking shoulders. "Rachel, don't cry. As far as we know Michael is still in jail. Besides, why on earth would he be playing that song to torment you?"

  "Because of the baby … because of our baby." Rachel grabbed for a tissue from the box on Breanna's nightstand.

  "What baby?" Breanna asked in surprise.

  Rachel wiped her eyes and drew a deep breath. "When I finally got up the nerve to leave Michael, I was three months pregnant. It was the baby that gave me the strength, the courage to finally leave. I'd allowed him to be abusive to me, but I couldn't allow him to hurt our baby."

  "And so you left him," Breanna said.

  She nodded and dabbed at her eyes with the tissue. "Somehow he found out I was pregnant and that's when the stalking began. Three weeks later I miscarried. The doctor told me it was possibly stress related. Anyway, I told Michael there wasn't a baby, that I'd miscarried."

  "But, he didn't believe you," Breanna guessed.

  "He thought I'd had an abortion. That last night when he caught up with me in the grocery store parking lot, he beat me up because I'd left him, but when he cut me, he said he was doing it because I'd let a doctor cut his baby out of me." She began to cry once again.

  Breanna held her close and murmured the same kind of soothing sounds she did when Maggie cried. Her heart ached with the pain of what Rachel had been through.

  She let Rachel cry until her tears were finally spent, then she placed her hands firmly on Rachel's shoulders and eyed her with all the confidence she could muster.

  "Okay, here's the plan. First thing in the morning I'll get on the phone and find out if Michael Rivers is still a guest of the Oklahoma Department of Corrections. If he is, we'll find out if he has access to a phone, and if he is indeed making these calls. If he is, then we'll see to it that his telephone privileges are revoked."

  "And what if he's not still in jail?" Rachel asked, fear darkening her eyes.

  "Then I'll find out exactly where he is and what he's up to. One thing you have to remember, Rachel. You aren't the same woman you were two years ago. You're stronger, strong enough to deal with whatever you have to."

  Breanna grabbed Rachel's hand and squeezed tightly. "The next thing to remember is that you aren't alone this time. You're living with a cop and there's no way in hell I'm going to let anything happen to the best baby-sitter in the world."

  A tentative laugh escaped Rachel. "Thanks, Bree."

  The two women hugged, then Breanna stood and pulled Rachel to her feet. "Don't you worry about anything. We'll have some answers in the morning and will figure it all out then."

  A few minutes later Breanna shut off her bedside lamp and settled into bed. Now that she knew about the baby Rachel had lost the phone calls made more sense. They were sick … and wicked, but they made sense.

  It had to be Michael. He was about five foot ten and although he'd been on the thin side when he'd been convicted, Breanna knew the starchy prison food could quickly transform a thin man into a stocky one.

  He'd been sentenced to three to five years and that had been almost two years ago. With good time served he could conceivably be out now.

  It was a proven fact that he had a penchant for violence. He wouldn't have thought twice about hitting Adam over the head to save his own skin.

  If he was out then he was probably on parole and hunting down Rachel, peeping in windows, would get that parole revoked in a second.

  It has to be Michael, she thought. That was the only thing that made sense. If it wasn't Michael and the phone calls weren't meant for Rachel, but rather for herself, then it didn't make sense. And things that didn't make sense worried Breanna. They worried her a lot.

  * * *

  Chapter 5

  «^»

  "Tell the truth, Adam. You like taking care of my women after I dump them because it allows you to get close to women who otherwise would never give you the time of day. Face it, you're boring and you'll always be second choice when I'm around."

  Adam bolted upright in bed, his heart thudding rapidly. The image of Kurt faded as sleep fell away. Sunshine streamed into the small bedroom, letting Adam know he'd slept later than usual.

  He raised a hand to his forehead, pleased to discover the goose egg from the night before had diminished to a small lump.

  As he got out of bed, he thought about the dream he'd had just before awakening. It wasn't so much a dream as it was a memory … a painful memory of the fight he and Kurt had had the last time they'd seen each other before Kurt's accident.

  Adam had been giving Kurt hell for his treatment of his latest girlfriend, a young woman named Renata. Kurt had gone out with her three times, finally managing to sweet talk her into his bed. He hadn't called or spoken to her after his night of pleasure.

  Renata had called Adam, distraught. She'd begged him to talk to Kurt, to see what she'd done wrong, how she could fix it. It was obvious her heart was broken, and Adam had confronted Kurt and an argument had ensued.

  A few minutes later, Adam stood beneath a hot shower spray and resolutely shoved thoughts of Kurt away.

  Instead, thoughts of Breanna blossomed in his head. He'd actually attempted flirting with her the night before with his little comment about her sleeping with him. He had no idea what had possessed him. He had no intention of forming any kind of permanent relationship in his life.

  He shut off the shower and dried off. There was no denying the fact that he was intensely drawn to Breanna on a physical level. Her scent enticed him, the feel of her skin intoxicated him and the thought of tasting her lips electrified him.

  However, to follow through on his physical attraction to her, knowing he would be offering her only a few nights of pleasure and nothing more, made him no better than Kurt.

  Physical attraction aside, he was concerned about Breanna. The incident last night with the peeper had been bad enough, but coupled with the odd phone calls she'd received, he couldn't help but be concerned.

  He pulled on a pair of jean shorts and a polo shirt, then went into the kitchen to make some coffee. He was surprised to see it was after nine. He'd definitely slept in.

  He poured himself a cup of the fresh-brewed coffee and carried it through the tiny living room and out the front door.

  It felt odd not to be heading for his office, where phones rang, faxes transmitted and businesses depended on his firm to keep their books straight.

  He couldn't remember the last time he'd sat and enjoyed a cup of coffee with the pleasures of a spring morning surrounding him. Most mornings he was up and at the office by six or six-thirty.

  The sounds of an awakened neighborhood filled the air. A dog barked cheerfully in the distance as a bird sang a melodic tune overhead.

  Adam's place in Kansas City was an apartment at the top of a high-rise building. He never heard neighborhood noises and now found himself enjoying the novelty of utter relaxation.

  A slam of a door sounded from Breanna's place and he looked over to see Maggie exiting, her arms laden with a variety of
items. She deposited her load in the shade of the big oak tree, then went back into the house only to return a moment later with another armful of things.

  Adam sipped his coffee and watched curiously as she made three more trips in and out. By the time she was finished it appeared she'd brought every toy she owned from her room to the front yard.

  She spread a sheet on the ground and began to organize the items on the sheet. As she worked, he could hear her singing. Although he couldn't quite make out the song, he found the sound of her sweet, childish voice infinitely charming.

  He finished his coffee and set the cup on the porch. At that moment she saw him. "Hi, Adam." She waved at him with a bright, friendly smile. "Come on over."

  Why not, he thought. He got up and ambled over to her. "I'm playing house," she said. "Wanna play?"

  He was going to decline, but a wistfulness in her eyes called to him. "All right," he agreed. "What do you want me to do?"

  "First you have to say hi to Mr. Bear." She gestured to the big brown stuffed bear that sat in a doll's high chair.

  "How do you do, Mr. Bear?" Adam shook one furry paw. "It's nice to make your acquaintance."

  "He says it's nice to make your 'quaintance, too. This is my table," she said and pointed to an overturned cardboard box. "Would you like to have a cup of coffee?"

  "That sounds nice." He sat cross-legged on the sheet at the end of the box.

  Maggie dug into a little pink duffel bag and withdrew a plastic cup and saucer. "Be careful," she said as she placed them before him. "It's very hot."

  "Thank you." Adam pretended to sip from the cup. "You make great coffee."

  Maggie's little smile faded as she gazed at him. "You have a boo-boo on your forehead. Does it hurt?"

  "Only a little," he replied.

  To his surprise she walked up to him, placed a tiny hand on each of his cheeks and soundly kissed his boo-boo. "There," she said with obvious satisfaction. "Kisses are like magical Band-Aids. They take the hurt away."