Kansas City Confessions. Julie Miller

to make his rounds. And if he’d been close by already, why wouldn’t he have answered her shouts of distress or turned on a light for her to see?

      Who had closed this door? The same unseen person who’d flipped on the running lights and hidden in the dark theater?

      The man who’d run off into the woods after knocking her off her feet?

      No matter what the answers to any of those questions might be, Katie worked around enough cops to know that details mattered. So she moved past the door and angled her phone camera down to take a picture of the disturbing message.

      Her breath rushed out in a warm white cloud in the air, and she couldn’t seem to breathe in again.

      The message was gone.

      The marks of her heeled boots were clear in the new layer of snow. But the rest of the footprints—boy-size tennis shoes, paw prints, the long, wide imprints of a stranger running away from the theater—Stop before someone gets hurt—had all been swept away.

      A chill skittered down the back of her neck. She was bundled up tight enough to know it wasn’t the snow getting to her skin. This was wrong. This was intentional. This was personal.

      Katie backed away from the door. The man inside the theater had come back. He could still be here—hiding in the trees, lurking on the other side of that door, watching her right now. Waiting for her.

      She glanced back and forth, trying to see into the night beyond the lamplights and the snow. Nothing. No one. She hadn’t seen the man who grabbed her the night she’d been kidnapped, either.

      She was shaking now. Katie didn’t feel safe.

      Her son wasn’t safe.

      “Tyler.” She whispered his name like a storm cloud in the air as she turned and raced back to the car, banging on the window until Tyler unlocked the door and she could slip inside. She relocked the doors and peeled off her mittens before reaching across the seat and cupping his cheek in her palm again. “I love you, sweetie.”

      His skin was toasty warm from the heater, but she was shivering inside her coat as she shifted into gear and sped across the parking lot to the nearest exit.

      “Mom? What’s wrong?”

      Tyler’s voice was frightened, unsure. She was supposed to be his rock. She was a horrible mother for worrying him with her paranoid imagination. She was putting him in danger by not thinking straight.

      “I’m sorry, sweetie. I’m okay. We’re both okay.” She shook the snowflakes from her dark hair, smiled for him, then pulled out onto the street at a much safer speed. “Why don’t you tell me more about Padre.”

      * * *

      “CONFOUNDED WOMAN.” Trent slowed his pickup to a crawl once he saw that the parking lot outside the Williams College auditorium had nothing but asphalt and snow to greet him after his zip across Kansas City to get to Katie and Tyler.

      As he circled the perimeter of the empty lot, just to make sure he hadn’t misunderstood the location of the distress call, and the tiny Rinaldi family truly wasn’t stranded someplace out in the bitter cold, Trent admitted that Katie Lee Rinaldi knew how to push his buttons—even though she never did it intentionally. It was his own damn fault. If he hadn’t felt especially protective of Katie ever since she’d decided back in high school he was the one friend she could rely on without question, and if all the hours he’d spent with Tyler didn’t make him think he wanted to be a father more than just about anything—more than making sergeant, more than playing for the Chiefs, more than wishing he didn’t have the time bomb of one concussion too many ticking in his head—then he wouldn’t charge off on these fool’s errands to protect a family that wasn’t his.

      He pulled up at the sidewalk near the auditorium’s back entrance and shifted the truck into Park. He’d left before finishing a perfectly good workout to find out what Katie’s phone call had been about when he’d barely been able to work up a polite interest in lingering on Erin Ballard’s doorstep and trading a good-night kiss. Erin was an attractive blonde who could carry on an intelligent conversation, and who’d made it perfectly clear that she’d like Trent to come in out of the cold for some hot coffee and anything else he might want. Erin wasn’t impulsive. Her wardrobe consisted of beiges and browns, and nothing she’d said or done had surprised him. Not once. Cryptic phone calls, leading with her heart and putting loyalty before common sense were probably foreign concepts. If it wasn’t on Erin’s planner in her phone, it probably wouldn’t happen. Erin wasn’t interesting to Trent.

      She wasn’t Katie.

      No woman was.

      The proof was in the follow-up buzz in his pocket. Trent checked his phone again, admitting he was less frustrated to read the Are you mad at me? text from Erin than he was to see that he hadn’t heard boo from Katie since she’d called about witnessing something weird and had sounded so afraid.

      No. Busy. With work, he added before sending the text to Erin. Maybe the woman would get a clue and stop pestering him. He’d already turned down her efforts to take a couple of dates to the next level as gently as he could, and he was done dealing with her tonight.

      But he wasn’t done with Katie.

      After pulling his black knit watch cap down over his ears and putting his glove back on, Trent killed the engine and climbed out for a closer look. Because he was a cop and panicked phone calls about something weird happening at the theater tended to raise his suspicions, and because it was Katie, who was not only a friend since high school but also a coworker on the cold case squad, Trent wasn’t about to ignore the call and drive home without at least verifying that whatever problem had prompted her call was no longer anything to worry about.

      Not that he really knew what the problem was. Trent pulled a flashlight from the pocket of his coat and shined the light out into the foggy woods at the edge of the lot before clearing his head with a deep breath of the bracing air. The snow drifted against the brick wall of the building and crunched beneath his boots as he set out to walk the perimeter and do a little investigating before he followed up with Katie to find out what the hell she’d been babbling about.

      Katie had been frightened—that much he could hear in her voice. But she’d never really answered any of his questions. He didn’t know if she was having trouble with her car again, if something had happened to Tyler, if she was in some kind of danger or if she’d gone off to help a friend who needed something. With his interrogation skills, he could get straight answers from frightened witnesses with nervous gaps in their memories and lying lowlifes who typically avoided the truth as a means of survival.

      But could he get a straight answer from Katie Rinaldi?

      He checked the main entrance first but found all the front doors locked. He identified himself with his badge and briefly chatted with the security guard, who reported that the campus had been quiet that evening, that the on-campus and commuter students alike had pretty much stayed either in the buildings or made a quick exit in their cars as soon as evening classes had ended. Nobody was hanging out any longer than necessary to tempt the weather or waste time in these last days before finals week and Christmas break. After thanking the older man and assuring him he was here on unofficial police business and that there was no need to call for backup or stop making his rounds, Trent followed the lit pathway around the rest of the building. Other than the campus officer’s car, the staff lot to the south was empty, too.

      Unwilling to write the call for help off just yet, Trent circled to the back of the auditorium. But when the chomp of snow beneath his steps fell silent, Trent looked down. “Interesting.”

      What kind of maintenance crew would take the time to clear a sidewalk at this time of night when the snow wasn’t scheduled to stop falling for another couple hours? Trent knelt and plucked a bristle broken off a corn broom from the dusting of snow accumulating again beneath his feet. And what kind of professionals with an entire campus to clear would bother with a broom when they had snowblowers and even larger machinery at their disposal?

      Had