Partner-Protector. Julie Miller

where the murder took place. That’s why I tried to describe it to you in detail.”

      “Or perhaps you’ve been intentionally withholding evidence on a capital crime.”

      “Inten—?” She swallowed hard, then tapped out each sentence onto the table top. “I didn’t get the impression until last night. I called right after. At three in the morning I called.”

      “Even if that doll was good for something, it’s so far removed from the crime scene and so tainted, it’d be worthless now.” He shoved the box back across the tabletop toward her. “So, no thanks.”

      Kelsey dodged to the side, avoiding the doll as if he’d fired his gun at her. “I didn’t know it was evidence.”

      “I’m not sure if you need to get some professional help, or if you just need to get a life.” He offered her an apologetic smile, arching one golden eyebrow and carving out a dimple at the side of his mouth, as if that would take the sting from his words. “But, plain and simple, Ms. Ryan, you’re wasting my valuable time on this case.”

      With that, she stood up. She knocked her leather bag to the floor and spilled some of the contents. The curse she muttered was neither ladylike nor subdued. Watching her lipstick roll beneath the empty table across from them did nothing to improve her mood. This conversation was done as far as she was concerned. But so much for making a dignified, hasty exit and salvaging some semblance of her pride. Squatting down, she shoved her arms into the sleeves of her coat while she snatched up her lipstick, keys and a pen.

      Detective Banning slid out of his seat to help her. She noted the tight set of his mouth as he knelt beside her, and idly wondered if his knee was giving him trouble. But Kelsey fought the sympathetic urge that would defuse her temper, grabbed the last item before he could reach it and shot to her feet. One coat sleeve caught at her elbow and tangled with the strap of her bag.

      Banning rose more slowly, moving more deliberately, while she struggled to free herself. “I appreciate that you mean well and want to help, Ms. Ryan. The department always appreciates when a citizen steps forward.”

      When he latched on to her collar to try to help her, she shrugged that efficient hand away and dug inside her pack. Kelsey pulled a ten dollar bill out of her bag and threw it on the table. “There. That’s for my burger and fries.”

      When she turned to leave, he blocked her path. He picked up the ten dollars and tried to hand it back to her. “Lunch is on me.”

      Too little, too late. “Oh, no. I insist. Heaven forbid I waste a moment of your precious time or a penny of your money, Detective. Forget the data I could have been evaluating at the lab or the class I should have been prepping for. And who’s going to go home and let my dog out now? I have to be on campus in half an hour. This was a waste of my time, Mr. Banning.”

      He patted the air with a placating hand, trying to calm her before she created any more of a scene. “Keep your money. It’s not a big deal. I’ll have the department reimburse me if that’ll make you feel better.”

      If Kelsey had kept hold of her temper, she would have seen it coming. She could have protected herself.

      “Take it.”

      He grabbed her left hand, slapped the ten-dollar bill into her palm and curled her fingers down over it, holding her loose fist between his hands. Bare hands. Skin to skin contact.

      Oh, hell.

      The bombardment of sensations came fast and furious. The detective continued talking, apologizing, but she heard no words. It was nothing but a hum of noise in the background as her skin burned beneath his touch. Her chest constricted and a flood of images flashed through her mind like movie clips spinning faster and faster, flying off their reel.

      Banning, lying broken on the ground. So much blood. So much pain.

      A tiny blond woman at the altar in a wedding gown. Longing. Sadness. Regret.

      The explosion of a gun, firing over and over at a shadowy target. Such anger. Such determination.

      The musky scent of sweat. Exertion. Banning’s muscles straining, harder and harder. A determined mind pushing the body beyond its limits.

      A little boy at a funeral, squeezing his mother’s hand. Confusion. Grief.

      T. Merle Banning, typed on a document, and a pencil, scratching out the first name. Gouging out a memory. Erasing shame.

      It was the shame that got to her. Washed over her like a bucket of icy water. The emotion inside her—her own emotion—woke her, breaking the spell.

      She jerked her hand away. “Let go of me.”

      Still disoriented, she saw broad shoulders and a forceful chin swim in front of her eyes. Years of rote training reminded her to reach into her pockets for her gloves and quickly pull them on.

      “Ms. Ryan?” She forced herself to breathe, in through her nose, out through her mouth. “Are you all right?”

      Firm, gentle hands closed around her shoulders. The twin spots of warmth shocked her back to reality. She lifted her gaze past the sensuous male line of Detective Banning’s mouth to read the concern etched beside his alert, assessing eyes. A frisson of energy that was neither psychic nor temper sparked along her nerve endings. He really was a good-looking man—in a buttoned-down, just-the-facts-ma’am kind of way.

      This is wrong.

      Kelsey wiggled her shoulders and shook herself free from his grasp, heeding the warning voice from her conscience. “Get your hands off me, T.”

      Without his touch she felt cold. Even colder than she’d been before the psychic impression had fully left her.

      The chill was nothing new to her. Nor was Detective Banning’s instant withdrawal. How many other people had she freaked out with her talent? How many others would scoff at her knowledge of things a normal person wouldn’t know? He spread his hands out to either side of her, in plain sight. “Did you just call me T?”

      “Isn’t that your name? T-something Banning?” She set her bag on the tabletop so she could tie her scarf and button her coat with some degree of grace and then get out of there. “Merle’s your middle name.”

      “The T’s for Thomas. But nobody calls me that. And I did not tell you that was my name.”

      Kelsey simply turned her face and glared, daring him to put two and two together to come up with the right explanation for her knowledge of his secret. But that wasn’t a leap of faith he was willing to make.

      “I don’t know where you did your snooping, lady. But this game isn’t funny anymore. I’ve done my duty.” He pulled another ten from his wallet and laid it with hers, leaving the waitress a huge tip. Then he was slipping into his long, camel-hair coat and limping toward the exit, robbing her of the glory of walking out on him. “Have a good day, Ms. Ryan. Drive safely.”

      Kelsey stared at the worn-out box he’d left on the table behind him.

      How had this gotten personal? How had she gone from ultracaution to trading barbs with T. Merle Banning and letting her emotions rule her? Lesson one in Grandma Lucy Belle’s book of down-home advice was keep your eyes focused on the goal. Kelsey’s goal had been to help that poor woman. To give a forgotten murder victim a chance to find justice.

      This meeting wasn’t about her, or justifying her gift, or making sense of the tumble of emotions Detective Banning stirred inside her.

      Ashamed that she’d let old wounds get the better of her, Kelsey took a deep breath, grabbed the doll box and hustled after Banning, beating him to the glassed-in lobby before he could open the outer door. She planted herself squarely in his path and pleaded her case one last time. “I don’t know who that woman was. I know she was naked. She was in some falling-down, ramshackle building. I know that man strangled her. She thought the scarf was payment. A gift. Maybe the doll, too.” She held it out. He didn’t take it. “I don’t know. Putting that all together