Tate’s thoughts drifted to Detective Nick Bennett.

She could tell he wanted her to open up to him, but how would a man like him ever be able to understand her problems? If she revealed too much, somehow her son could be in danger. And what could she do then to stop it?

Closing her eyes, she tried to concentrate on something pleasant. Unbidden, her mind conjured up a pair of steady gray eyes in a tanned face, and a mouth that looked hard and a little grim, yet that she imagined could be soft and warm.

Now she knew that Nick Bennett wasn’t the man for her. No man was.

But she could dream….

Dear Reader,

What is there to say besides, “The wait is over!” Yes, it’s true. Chance Mackenzie’s story is here at last. A Game of Chance, by inimitable New York Times bestselling author Linda Howard, is everything you’ve ever dreamed it could be: exciting, suspenseful, and so darn sexy you’re going to need to turn the air-conditioning down a few more notches! In Sunny Miller, Chance meets his match—in every way. Don’t miss a single fabulous page.

The twentieth-anniversary thrills don’t end there, though. A YEAR OF LOVING DANGEROUSLY continues with Undercover Bride, by Kylie Brant. This book is proof that things aren’t always what they seem, because Rachel’s groom, Caleb Carpenter, has secrets…secrets that could break—or win—her heart. Blade’s Lady, by Fiona Brand, features another of her to-die-for heroes, and a heroine who’s known him—in her dreams—for years. Linda Howard calls this author “a keeper,” and she’s right. Barbara McCauley’s SECRETS! miniseries has been incredibly popular in Silhouette Desire, and now it moves over to Intimate Moments with Gabriel’s Honor, about a heroine on the run with her son and the irresistible man who becomes her protector. Pat Warren is back with The Lawman and the Lady, full of suspense and emotion in just the right proportions. Finally, Leann Harris returns with Shotgun Bride, about a pregnant heroine forced to seek safety—and marriage—with the father of her unborn child.

And as if all that isn’t enough, come back next month for more excitement—including the next installment of A YEAR OF LOVING DANGEROUSLY and the in-line return of our wonderful continuity, 36 HOURS.

Leslie J. Wainger

Executive Senior Editor

The Lawman and the Lady
Pat Warren

www.millsandboon.co.uk

This book is dedicated to my cousin, Vi Brown,

with love and affection.

PAT WARREN,

mother of four, lives in Arizona with her travel agent husband and a lazy white cat. She’s a former newspaper columnist whose lifetime dream was to become a novelist. A strong romantic streak, a sense of humor and a keen interest in developing relationships led her to try romance novels, with which she feels very much at home.

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 1

She was drop-dead gorgeous! Detective Nick Bennett couldn’t help thinking as he stood in the shadowy doorway of the private hospital room staring at the woman talking softly to the patient in the bed. Small-boned yet with a lush figure that her white silk blouse and slim charcoal slacks couldn’t disguise, she had a wild fall of auburn hair resisting all attempts at taming by the gold clip at her nape.

He was here to do a job, not gawk at a beautiful woman. But, at thirty-three and having been around the block a few times, Nick wasn’t often stopped in his tracks by a woman who could cause his mouth to go dry. She didn’t have the freckled skin usual for a near redhead, but rather her coloring resembled that of a fresh peach. Stunning, Nick thought. Absolutely stunning.

His gaze shifted to the reason he was here, the woman lying in the hospital bed looking as pale as the starched white sheets. A sixty-five-year-old widow, Maggie Davis had arrived home and interrupted an intruder who’d proceeded to attack her. Her doctor had told Nick just now that she had a broken arm most likely due to its being severely twisted behind her back, two cracked ribs, several bruises and a swollen cheek from a nasty punch to her face.

What could this small, elderly woman have done to warrant such a beating? Nick wondered. According to the notes taken by the first officer on the scene, the downstairs of her two-story house had been thoroughly ransacked. Had the thug been looking for valuables to steal or searching for something in particular?

The officer’s notes indicated that Tate Monroe, twenty-nine years old, lived with Ms. Davis, along with her seven-year-old son, Josh. Tate had been at work at Brennan’s Book Emporium in downtown Tucson where she was the manager. The report didn’t indicate where the boy had been, but he hadn’t been with Maggie Davis at the time of the assault. Fortunately.

Sensing his presence, Tate Monroe straightened. Eyes the color of the green Caribbean Sea, where he’d once vacationed, met Nick’s assessing gaze. A frown creased her forehead and a look of wariness had her taking a step back. She glanced quickly to the corner chair where a young boy was asleep. Probably her son, Josh.

Although the male in Nick would like to question Tate Monroe, preferably alone in a quiet place, the detective in him was more interested in the now sleeping boy. The officer’s report indicated that, though hurting badly, Maggie had mumbled that the man beating on her kept asking where Josh Monroe was. However, no matter how hard he hit her, she wouldn’t tell him anything. Why would the trespasser be interested in the schoolboy son of a single mother? Nick asked himself.

He stepped inside the hospital room and watched the wariness in Tate Monroe’s eyes deepen. Deliberately he moved close to the bed and gave Maggie Davis a reassuring smile.

“I’m Detective Nick Bennett from the Tucson Police Department, Ms. Davis,” he said, his voice gentle as he made note of several purpling bruises on her neck. He flashed his badge, then put it in his pocket. “I wonder if you feel up to answering a couple of questions.”

Tate moved closer to Maggie’s other side, wishing the police had sent a Columbo-type older, rumpled detective instead of this tall, attractive cop with his short black hair and gray eyes that seemed to look right through her. She dealt much better with silver-haired fatherly types. “She already told the officer at the house everything she knows,” Tate told him protectively. “The man had his hands on her throat, bruising her. It hurts her to speak.”

“It’s all right, Tate,” Maggie managed to say in a croaking voice, reaching toward the younger woman.

Mrs. Davis was a small woman with sharp blue eyes and snow-white hair worn short and curly. Rimless glasses sat low on her nose. Despite her many bruises, she squared her shoulders against the mound of pillows and seemed unafraid, as if to say she’s no one’s victim. This time Nick’s smile was one of admiration.

“I don’t want to cause you more discomfort,” he told her. “Why don’t you just shake or nod your head by way of an answer?”

Maggie nodded, but Tate again protested.

“You don’t have to do this now, Maggie. I’m sure the detective can wait until you’re feeling better.” She spoke to Maggie but her narrowed gaze was on Nick.

“No, no,” Maggie whispered. “I want to help catch the man.”

Nick found himself liking the spunky senior citizen. “Did you recognize him?”

Maggie shook her head. “Wore a ski mask,” she rasped out followed by a short cough. She grimaced at the pain in her throat, but gamely continued. “He had black hair in a long ponytail and wore black pants and shirt.” She began coughing more strenuously.

Tate decided she’d had enough. “No more questions for Maggie today,” she told Nick. “Let’s go out in the hallway and I’ll fill you in.” She again glanced at the boy sleeping soundly in the corner chair before turning to Maggie. “I’ll be right back. Try to rest.”

Leaving the room with the detective close behind her, Tate felt uneasy. She knew he was trying to help find the creep who’d done this terrible thing to Maggie and that persisting with questions was part of that objective. Nonetheless, she wouldn’t allow Maggie to be upset further. Despite her show of bravado, the older woman was more fragile than she seemed. Tate had been terribly shaken up since she’d received the phone call at work about Maggie’s ordeal. Her hands were still trembling as she led the way to a small alcove off the hallway.

Swinging around to face Nick Bennett, she crossed her arms over her chest and took a moment to study him. He didn’t look like her mental image of a detective. He was quite tall, several inches above six feet, causing most people to have to look up at him. That probably came in handy if he used it to intimidate suspects.

His face was tan, angular, square-jawed, his eyes a pewter-gray and somewhat hooded. His shoulders under a blue shirt open at the throat and a tan lightweight sport coat seemed wide as a fullback’s. His hands were big and looked callused, as if he worked outdoors. The clean, pressed jeans he wore hugged powerful thighs and long, long legs. He noticed her taking inventory, yet didn’t seem impatient. He appeared relaxed but there was a hint of intensity in his steady gaze. Right now, he looked slightly amused as he waited for her to speak.

“What is it you need to know?” Tate finally asked him.

“Good-looking boy,” Nick began, waving a hand toward the room where the child slept. “Lucky he wasn’t with Maggie today. Where was he?” Maggie had told the officer that she often baby-sat Josh Monroe.

“On a field trip to the zoo with his second-grade class on the last day of school.”

“Does he still take naps?” How was it that at two in the afternoon, a second-grader was fast asleep?

“No, it’s just that he has asthma and the vegetation at the zoo spiked his allergies. I picked him up after I got the call about Maggie and gave him his medication before he could work up to a full-blown attack. It makes him sleepy.”

“I see. Do you know anyone who’d do this to Ms. Davis and why?”

Tate drew in a deep breath. “Maggie’s a wonderful woman, but she’s a tad eccentric. It’s been rumored for years that her late husband brought back some valuable artifacts from World War II and a large sum of money, then hid them all over the house. Would-be thieves broke in a while back when no one was home and thoroughly searched the place then, too, leaving a godawful mess.”

Nick found himself fascinated with her expressive face, the way emotions came and went, her full lips bearing just a trace of pink lip gloss. He took out a small notebook and pen, thinking he’d better make a few notes since he was having trouble concentrating standing so close to her. “Any truth to the rumors?” he asked, jotting down a few key words.

“None at all. Contrary to the stories of hidden riches, after her husband, Elroy, died, Maggie had to turn her large home into a boardinghouse for college girls since it’s near the University of Arizona. The income supplemented her social security checks. She has no living relatives. Their only child, Peggy, died in a boating accident at the age of twelve. Maggie gets by on very little and still owes on back taxes. Thank goodness Elroy worked for the city so she has good health insurance.”

He was staring at her, Tate noted. She’d been stared at since her early teens and was quite used to it, but she felt oddly disappointed that this calm, confident man was like all the rest. Why that was so, she couldn’t have said.

“And you think the rumors of hidden wealth caused someone to break in and search the place?” Apparently Tate didn’t know that the intruder kept asking about her son.

“Well, sure.” She dropped her gaze and studied her black leather flats. “What else could it be? I’m certain we’ll find that nothing’s missing because Maggie doesn’t have anything of value. Perhaps that’s why he beat her up, because he was frustrated to realize the rumors were wrong.”

Funny how she averted her eyes just then and her husky voice sounded nervous. Now she shifted her feet, tightened her arms and gazed longingly toward Maggie’s room. In the course of his career, Nick had studied body language, something that helped him determine a person’s unspoken thoughts. And veracity. He was certain that Tate Monroe wasn’t telling him everything and that she badly wanted to get away from him.

“That’s one theory, I suppose,” he said. “How long ago did the other break-in occur?” He’d check it out when he got back to the precinct, but he wanted her version.

On safer ground, she looked up. “Two years ago, I believe. We weren’t living with Maggie at the time.”

“Mmm-hmm. I would’ve thought that word would have spread that there was nothing of value in Maggie’s house. Random thieves seem to pick up on that kind of information.”

Tate shrugged, trying for nonchalance. “Maybe this thief is new in town, or maybe he’s cocky enough to believe he could find buried treasure that someone else missed. I really don’t know.”

He shifted gears somewhat, hoping to keep her a little off balance. “Is that how you met Maggie, staying at her boardinghouse when you were in college?” That had to be some time ago, Nick thought, since she was twenty-nine with a seven-year-old.

“Yes. There are three bedrooms and two baths upstairs. My two roommates and I were the first to live in Maggie’s house. She has a first-floor bedroom off the kitchen. We stayed until graduation.”

“Maggie was like a house mother, then?”

“More than that.” Tate’s expression softened as she thought back. “For one reason or another, none of the three of us had had a strong maternal influence before meeting Maggie. She not only filled in the gaps, but she became something of a surrogate mother to all of us. And many of those who followed, I’m sure.” A bit embarrassed at having revealed so much, Tate assured herself she’d only done it because she felt that the more the police knew, the quicker they could find the man in the ski mask.

And she prayed he’d turn out to be a random thief and not the man she feared it might be.

“Tell me about your roommates,” he said, watching her carefully. “Do you stay in touch with them?” Tate Monroe was without a doubt one of the most beautiful women he’d ever met, yet there was something about her that bothered Nick. Not just because she was holding something back, not an uncommon happening in any investigation. But rather there was a deliberate distancing, a warning not to get too close. Was it because he was with the police or was it something about him personally that caused this edginess in her?

“I honestly don’t see what they would have to do with this break-in. They’re both married and haven’t lived in Tucson since graduation. They…”

“Humor me.” He’d noticed the absence of a wedding ring on her finger and wondered where Josh’s father was and if he had anything to do with Maggie’s invasion.

Resigned to his insistent probing, she began. “Molly Shipman was the first to move in at Maggie’s. She had a full scholarship and is positively brilliant. She dropped out in her senior year to get married. The marriage broke up after four or five years and she was taking accounting courses to become a C.P.A. when she met Devin Gray, the author. They got married about a year and a half ago and built a house in north Scottsdale.”

“Do they ever visit Maggie?”

“Whenever their busy lives permit. We all try to get together on Maggie’s birthday every year.”

“I see. Go on.”

She watched him taking notes, thinking he was way off base if he thought her friends would ever harm one hair on Maggie’s head. “Laura Marshall comes from money, a lot of money. Her father owns a large real estate company with several branches in Scottsdale. I think she attended U of A partly because she wanted to get away from his smothering control. She had a bad first marriage to a real jerk who just wanted her father’s money, but just recently she married a really nice guy. Sean Reagan’s an obstetrician and Laura sounds very happy.”

“You haven’t met him? You didn’t attend the wedding?”

He was probing an area she didn’t want to get into. Tate glanced out the window across the hall and watched fronds from a tall royal palm shifting in a gentle May breeze. She wished she were out there, away from the sickly smell of a hospital and the scrutinizing gaze of this man. “No, I couldn’t make the wedding.”

Nick noticed her faraway look and wondered why she didn’t make it a point to attend a close friend’s wedding. She seemed genuinely pleased at both friends’ good fortune in finding happiness the second time around, yet there was an underlying sadness in her voice. “Since they’re both well-off, have either of these women offered to help Maggie with her financial difficulties?” He was wandering off the subject, but she’d aroused his curiosity. He wanted to know what kind of people her best friends were.

“They sure did. After Molly married Devin, they offered to pay Maggie’s overdue taxes, calling it a loan to salvage her pride. But Maggie refused. Laura has access to a large trust fund and she offered as well, but again Maggie wouldn’t go for it.”

“What about you?” Nick asked, wondering if it was the cop or the man wanting to know.

Tate squared her slender shoulders and her green eyes turned frosty. “I’m not rich nor do I have a wealthy husband, but I help Maggie all I can. I pay rent, pay her for watching my son when I’m at work, buy groceries and I help out around the house. Is that what you wanted to know?”

Nick drew in a deep breath and wished he hadn’t as the lightly floral scent of her wrapped around him. He managed to hold his ground, but not easily. “What about the boy’s father?”

Tate’s expression tightened. “He’s been out of the picture for years.” She narrowed her eyes, not bothering to hide her annoyance. “Anything else?”

Nick pocketed his notepad and pen. “I’ll need to go through the house and check the inventory as soon as possible. I’d like you to be there to let me know what if anything is missing.”

Shoving her hands into her slacks pockets, Tate looked up at the ceiling, praying for patience. Why had she been naive enough to think this conversation would end her involvement? “I want to stay with Maggie for a while yet. I can meet you at the house about four.” She turned, anxious to walk away from his scrutinizing gaze.

“That’s fine.” He knew his next statement would probably rock her, but she had to be told sooner or later. “And I’ll want to talk with your son.”

Frowning, she swung back. “Why?”

“The first officer to arrive on the scene wrote in his report that Maggie told him that the man in the ski mask kept asking where Josh was. Would you happen to know why that would be?”

The blood drained from Tate’s face as she reached a hand to the arched wall to steady herself. No, please, no. It couldn’t be starting all over again, just when things had settled down. How long must she keep running?

Her protective instincts on red alert, Tate straightened and licked her dry lips, trying belatedly to conceal her reaction from this observant detective. “No, I don’t. Josh has known Maggie all his life. Seeing her hurt like this is very hard on him. I won’t have him interrogated.”

Nick almost smiled, but knew that wouldn’t win him any points with this mama bear protecting her cub. “I seldom grill little boys. I’d simply like to talk with Josh. With you present, of course. There has to be a reason the intruder asked about Josh, and perhaps whatever that is will be the key to his identity. You do want us to catch the man who did this to Maggie, don’t you?”

“Of course I do.” Her words were clipped, angry. Guilt and fear mingled with her need to safeguard her son. Tate felt torn and very tired. “Please understand, I need to shield my son. He’s been through a great deal in his short life.” With that, she turned and left the alcove, walking quickly back to Maggie’s room.

Watching her go, Nick wondered what exactly Josh had been through to make his mother so protective, and where his absentee father was. He’d have to be careful, to go slowly in questioning both the boy and his mother. Someone had hurt Tate Monroe, hurt her badly. He hoped he could convince her that he was one of the good guys.

After stopping at the precinct to make a few calls, Nick Bennett drove his Taurus out of the parking lot heading for Maggie’s house on Mesquite Drive. He was in one of his infrequent reflective moods.

For as long as he could remember, Nick had wanted to be a cop like his uncle Paul, a homicide detective up in Phoenix, much to the dismay of his parents. His father, Anthony, who’d been a building contractor until his recent retirement, had wanted Nick to go into business with his two older brothers, Tony and Sam, who now owned and operated their lucrative construction firm. But, although Nick had spent his high school and college summers working for Bennett Construction, he knew he wasn’t cut out for that kind of work.

It hadn’t been easy disappointing his family, especially his mother, who wasn’t happy about the dangerous side of his chosen profession. Ten years later, since he’d never had to fire his weapon in the line of duty and never been injured, Roseanne Bennett was relaxing. A little.

The thing was, when a man came from a big, loving Italian background where family was the most important thing, going against their wishes made him feel like a rat abandoning ship. Fortunately they’d set aside their disappointment and these days, his dangerous work was rarely mentioned. Now, all he heard was their nagging about when was he going to get married and give them grandchildren like his two brothers and two sisters had. Always something, Nick thought, but with a smile.

All this introspection had been brought about by his conversation with Tate Monroe. She was a woman alone raising a son and living with a widow who had no family left. Nick thought about the weekly dinners and holiday get-togethers at his parents’ big cluttered house, everyone talking at once, laughter and lots of good food, and he felt sorry for those who didn’t have that kind of camaraderie and unqualified acceptance.

Which brought him back to wondering just exactly what it was that Josh Monroe had been through in his short life. Nick couldn’t imagine having children without his family’s moral support. Where was Tate’s family?

Nick pulled up in front of Maggie’s sprawling white house at exactly four, but the only vehicle nearby was the police car belonging to the officer guarding the house since the front door lock had been broken. Mesquite Drive was a narrow street in an older neighborhood of mostly two-story frame homes painted a variety of colors and sporting wide front porches. A teenage boy rode by on a bicycle, balancing a friend on his handlebars, both staring at him. Across the street, an older woman pulling a grocery cart stopped to talk with a middle-aged man trimming his shrubs, their eyes on him. Next door, a man with white hair put down the newspaper he was reading and eyed him, openly curious. Crime scenes always interested people.

Getting out, he wondered if Tate had calmed down or if she’d stand him up.

The yellow crime scene tape was still in place. Nick stepped around it and greeted the officer sitting on a rocking chair on the wood porch painted a deep gray. “Hey, Bobby. How’s it going?”

The young officer scrambled to his feet. “Pretty quiet, Nick. A few nosy neighbors gawking is all.”

“I’m expecting one of the occupants soon. I’ll wait for her inside. Has a locksmith been called?”

“On his way.”

Nick checked out the jimmied lock and wondered where all Maggie’s neighbors had been that one hadn’t noticed this guy messing with her door, then going in. And why had Maggie marched right in when she’d returned home and found the lock broken? The woman was too gutsy for her own good.

Inside, he stopped, hands on hips, looking around. What a mess! Cushions yanked off the couch and tossed on the floor, books and curios from the bookcase flung aside, the desk drawers methodically upended and emptied. The man left no space untouched.

Then the fingerprint guys had come through dusting every surface with fine black powder. When Tate saw this, she’d be horrified. No sooner had the thought formed than he heard a car with a wheezing engine pull into the driveway. Glancing out the window, he saw Tate and her son climb out of an older yellow Buick LeBaron convertible. A ’92 or ’93 he’d guess and probably had the mileage to prove it.

Her arm protectively around the boy’s shoulders, Tate guided Josh onto the porch and nodded to the officer who greeted them both.

“Is that yellow tape necessary now?” she asked the police officer. “People are driving by and staring.”

Nick answered for him. “Officer, you can take the tape down now.” He held the door open for them, aware this would be her first glimpse of the wreckage.

“Thanks,” Tate said, stepping inside. She looked around, her lips thinning, the hand on her son’s shoulder tightening. Otherwise, she gave no sign of how upset she must be inside. Nick had seen worse, but she probably hadn’t.

“Listen,” he began, “I can call this cleaning crew that we recommend. They’re honest, reasonable and work fast. Why don’t I help you look through things to see if anything’s missing, then I’ll call them to do the heavy stuff?”

She’d wandered to the large kitchen where canisters of coffee and sugar and flour had been emptied onto the floor, some dishes smashed as if in an angry frenzy, doors to the cupboards hanging open, spice containers helter-skelter on the counter. Tate felt her shoulders sag at the enormity of the cleanup task. But she couldn’t afford to pay a crew no matter how reasonable they were. And this was her obligation, not Maggie’s.

Since her frightening conversation with the detective at the hospital, all she’d been able to think of was that her worst nightmare was beginning all over again. He’d tracked her down and found her again, just when she’d begun to think he’d forgotten all about her. And now Maggie was hurt and Josh was in danger. Where could she go? Where could they hide? Would this ordeal ever end, and end happily?

Nick couldn’t tell if the weary look on Tate’s face had to do with the mess she was facing or something else. When she turned, he caught a hint of fear in her eyes. Anyone who’s experienced a home invasion would have lingering fear, but he had a feeling she was afraid of something else. “Tate, did you hear me?” he asked gently.

“I heard you. We can’t afford a cleanup crew. I’ll manage.” She placed her shoulder bag on the kitchen table, just about the only clean spot in the room as Josh spotted something and rushed over to a box upended near the back door. “What is it, sweetie?”

Kneeling, the boy choked back a sob. “My…my Pokémon cards. They’re all over and some of them got wet.” Obviously upset, he tried to pick up the scattered cards.

Moving to his side, Tate felt her heart twist. The new craze of collecting Pokémon cards and playing games with them had been the first thing Josh had shown real interest in in ages. She’d bought him as many as she could afford and Maggie had found a tin box to store his collection. “Don’t worry, honey. You pick up the dry ones and I’ll clean off the others. They’ll be okay.”

Having watched the scene, Nick wandered over. “I have two nephews who collect these, too.” He stooped down and began to help the boy. “Which are your favorites?”

Josh looked at him suspiciously, moving closer to his mother. Tate had explained to him on the way over that Maggie’s place had been trashed by bad guys and that the police were going to catch them. He’d been okay with that, but it was hard to tell the bad guys from the good ones sometimes, especially if you were seven, she thought.

She brushed a lock of her son’s blond hair off his forehead. “Josh, Mr. Bennett’s a detective. He’s going to find out who hurt Maggie and made this mess. It’s okay. He’s here to help us.” Tate prayed she was right, that Nick could find the person responsible and put him away for good. But if her worst fears were realized, she doubted that, even if identified, any investigation would get to the arrest stage. Unfortunately some people were above the law.

It was hard to tell if Josh believed his mother since he didn’t answer Nick, but he did accept his help. Tate watched for a few minutes, then straightened. “I have to change clothes before I can start here. I’ll check to see if I find anything missing as soon as I return. Josh, come upstairs with me, please.”

Left alone, Nick decided this was way too large a job for one small woman. He found a utility closet next to the back door and pulled out a broom and dustpan. Then he went to work sweeping up the kitchen floor.

Changed into a navy T-shirt and jeans, Tate brushed her hair back, trying to tame the unruly waves, then quickly formed a ponytail. Her mind, however, was downstairs focusing on the mess someone had made of dear Maggie’s home. And it was most likely her fault, all her fault. That sharp-eyed detective was already suspicious of her answers to his many questions. She’d have to watch that.

Sitting down, Tate pulled on her white canvas shoes and stooped to tie them. She hadn’t known many cops, except the ones who’d come to her apartment a while back when someone she’d once trusted had sent a man to try to persuade her to give up her son. The police had taken lots of notes of her vague answers to their questions and then advised her to get a restraining order. How could she file charges against one of the most powerful men in the state, someone respected and admired by nearly everyone? She knew no one would believe her.

Familiar guilt washed over Tate as she sat still for a moment. One mistake and look at the ramifications, all these years later and all the years in between. That mistake had cost her dearly and now was probably the cause of Maggie’s beating. Fortunately the older woman would recover. But if Maggie had died…

No, she wouldn’t allow herself to go there. Rising, Tate took a deep breath and swallowed the old guilt as she’d done many times before. They’d get through this somehow.

She passed by Josh’s room and saw that he was busily playing with his Pokémon cards, talking to himself, involved. Relieved that he was handling the break-in and that the intruder hadn’t made it to the second floor, she started downstairs. Probably Maggie arriving home had interrupted his search.

At the archway into the kitchen, Tate stopped, staring. Nick had taken off his jacket and draped it over the back of a chair. His shoulder holster, the gun barely visible, was a stark reminder of his profession. But that wasn’t the astonishing part. The floor had been swept clean, the broken dishes piled into the trash bin and Nick was busily wiping off the counter. “Hey, what are you doing?” she asked, surprised enough to blurt out her first thought.

He glanced over as he turned on the faucet to rinse some lingering sugar down the drain. “Just giving you a hand.” He saw the play of emotions on her face—surprise, annoyance, relief.

Hands on her hips, she walked over. “Do you pitch right in like this for every case you handle? Must keep you pretty busy.”

Nick shrugged. “I’ve got the time. If you won’t let me call out a crew, then I’m volunteering.”

She was clearly taken aback. “But I…” The doorbell ringing startled her. She swung around, a question in her eyes.

“Easy,” Nick said, wiping his hands on a towel. “It’s just the locksmith. Come tell him what kind you want installed. You really should have a dead bolt.” He urged her toward the living room.

Silly to just about jump out of her skin at the sound of the doorbell, Tate told herself. The last thing an intruder would do would be to ring the bell. Besides, the young police officer was still outside. It was just her nerves, that was all.

While she talked with the locksmith, Nick watched her. In that casual outfit, her hair in a youthful ponytail, she looked younger. But there was no disguising that lush body, even though her clothes were anything but tight. She must have guys lined up at both doors.

When she finished, Tate turned and saw that Nick was picking up books and making piles by the bookcase. “Honestly, you don’t have to do this.”

Nick set down a small stack, then faced her. “Can you just say thank you and let it go at that?”

Her eyes narrowing, she couldn’t help wondering what he’d want in payment. “I’m not used to accepting help without…without…”

“Without someone wanting something in return?” He shoved a pile of paperbacks onto a high shelf. “Well, that isn’t the case here. Why don’t you check out the desk? If something’s missing, it’s probably from there.”

Okay, she’d take him at face value, Tate decided. At least until he showed his true colors. Which he probably would sooner or later.

It took Tate quite a while to sort out the piles of scattered papers and repack the desk drawers and the big file drawer. By the time she’d finished, Nick had completed the bookcase, straightened all the lamp shades, put the pillows back on the couch and had just dragged out the vacuum.

“As far as I can see, nothing’s missing,” Tate told him as she rose from the desk chair. “Of course, it’s Maggie’s desk and I don’t know what all she had in it. We’ll know more when she takes a look.”

“Were there any valuable papers in there and are they still there?”

“Yes, a few. Maggie doesn’t have a safe-deposit box. The deed to her house, an insurance policy, her will, even her bankbook are in those files, neatly labeled.” She shook her head. “I can’t imagine what he was looking for.” Even if it was the man she suspected, she could think of only one thing he’d want and that couldn’t be hidden on a shelf or in a cupboard.

Nick seemed lost in thought, Tate noticed. Funny how he managed to look even more masculine with one hand leaning on the handle of a vacuum. One of the few men who could carry that off.

“Apparently he didn’t find what he was looking for,” Nick mused aloud. Or was it who? Like maybe her son? He swung his gaze to Tate and saw her watching him. Though her expression was cautious, it wasn’t devious. Since he’d told her the man had pressed Maggie for Josh’s whereabouts, hadn’t she figured out what he was searching for? “What about an address book? Does Maggie have one and is it still there?”

Tate moved back, opened the middle drawer and held out an aged leather address book. When he walked over, she handed it to him without a word.

Nick flipped through it, seemingly casual, but when he got to the M’s, he stopped. Tate Monroe’s name was written in a shaky script like all the other entries, but there was no address or phone number next to it.

He looked into her eyes. “How long have you and Josh lived here with Maggie?”

“On and off, we’ve lived here several different times.”

Evasive. “When did you return this time?”

“A couple of months ago.”

He held out the page with her name on it. “And she had no address or phone number for you when you weren’t living here?”

She was determined not to look away from those searing gray eyes. “We moved around a lot. I checked in with Maggie by phone.”

Why did they move around a lot? Why wasn’t she telling him everything? No matter, Nick thought, closing the book and handing it back. She would in time. He was a patient man.

“All right,” he said, checking his watch. “It’s time to go. Call Josh.”

Tate stood, her eyes wide and suddenly suspicious. “Go? Where? Are you…arresting us?”

Nick raised a puzzled brow. “Arresting you? For what? No, I’m taking you to dinner.”

She felt like flopping back in the chair as relief flooded her, but she tried to make light of it, as if she’d been kidding. “Oh, right. Thanks, but I think you’ve done enough for us already.”

“Look, you’ve got to eat and I’ve got to eat. It’s nearly six and Josh is probably hungry. Why don’t we eat together?” Which would give him an opportunity to talk with the boy if only the mother would drop her guard a fraction.

Tate was sure Josh was getting hungry since his bag lunch at the zoo had been eaten around eleven. And, truth to tell, she didn’t feel like cooking tonight or even like hanging around this house with all its mysterious shadows. “All right, but we pay our own way.”

“Let’s fight about that later. Go get your son and I’ll make sure the locksmith’s finished.” Nick went to the kitchen and shrugged into his jacket before walking out onto the porch, thinking that Tate Monroe had to be the most distrustful woman he’d met in a very long time.

And the most desirable.

Chapter 2

They were both too subdued, Nick thought as he drove along. Buckled into the passenger seat of his Taurus, Tate stared out the window, her body language revealing an almost palpable tension. What was she so nervous about? he wondered. The possibility of another break-in, Maggie’s condition or something more disturbing?

Glancing over his shoulder, he saw that Josh was gazing out the side window while his hands restlessly stroked the seat belt. He had to get them to relax, Nick decided, or he’d never find out a thing.

“Do you like pizza, Josh?” he asked the boy.

“Uh-huh.”

Great start. Nick turned onto Broadway heading toward central Tucson, shifting his thoughts back to Tate. She’d wanted to change clothes, but he’d assured her that she was dressed just right for where they were going. Oddly, she’d not asked where it was he was taking them. “I’ll bet you’ve never tasted pizza as good as Giovanni serves.”

“Probably not.” Tate kept her eyes on the road, wishing she hadn’t agreed to go. She could have opened a can of soup for the two of them. She hadn’t been out with a man in so long she scarcely remembered how to behave. Not that this outing could be considered a date. Yet she was as uneasy as if it were.

First, there was his maleness and his size coupled with a gentleness that didn’t seem to go with the package. Then there were those searching gray eyes. Cop’s eyes, to be sure, missing nothing, questioning everything. And last, but certainly not least, there were those probing inquiries. Tate was certain he’d asked them out so he could quiz Josh. She’d have to be on guard and she hated that. If only she could relax and put this whole nasty business out of her mind. But when would she be allowed the luxury of that?

“Giovanni, the guy who owns the restaurant, is a friend of the family,” Nick began, hoping if he revealed some personal things, she’d be inclined to follow his lead. “We call him Johnny but his Italian name is Giovanni. See, I have two older brothers, Tony and Sam, and Johnny has two older brothers, Vic and Paul. We all grew up in this wonderful ethnic neighborhood over that way.” He pointed west in the general direction of his old stomping grounds. “My folks still live there in this great two-story house. They raised five kids in that house.”

Despite a case of nerves, Tate found herself interested. “Ethnic as in Italian? Bennett doesn’t sound Italian.”

“My father was born Anthony Bennedetto, but somewhere along the line, the name got changed to Bennett. Both my parents are first-generation Americans. But we had other nationalities around us—German, Hungarian, Russian. And more recently, Mexican. It was a great place to raise children. My mother used to say that if a kid fell down on Palmetto Drive, three mothers rushed out before he had a chance to get up.” He smiled at her and noticed that at least she was looking at him and not the passing scenery.

“That must have been nice. I always wanted that for Josh, but…well, our plans don’t always work out.” Tate looked down at her hands, noticing they were in a near-death grip, and forced her fingers to relax.

His casual chatter was loosening her, so Nick hurried on. “No, they sure don’t. My dad wanted me to work in construction like him and my brothers, but doing the same thing over and over day after day bored me. When I got accepted at the Police Academy, I think my mother spent all her free time on her knees saying the rosary that I’d flunk out. She hates that I’m a cop, even now.”

“As a mother, I can understand that. It’s a dangerous job.” His gun was hidden by his jacket now, but she was acutely aware of its presence and what it represented.

“I suppose. But Tony broke both shoulders once falling off a roof he was prepping. Took him six months to recover. Sam got cut by a piece of rusty tin and ignored it until it got infected. He nearly wound up with blood poisoning. On any given day, any one of us can get run over by a bus, too. Danger is relative.”

“You’re talking accidents, which can happen to anyone. But your brothers aren’t dealing with criminals who have guns and other weapons and might somehow wind up cornered and decide to use them on a cop. You go looking for trouble every day.” And she wondered how he stood it. She’d had a small taste of danger and hated it.

“Not really, but trouble seems to find me anyhow.” Nick pulled into a crowded parking lot adjacent to a stucco building painted bright green and sporting a big red-and-white neon sign that flashed on and off, reading Giovanni’s. Strings of blinking red, white and green lights outlined the roof, the door and windows. Outside the main door was a huge fountain with cement cherubs pouring recirculated water. He saw that both of them were staring openmouthed. He was used to the place, as most everyone in the neighborhood was, but he knew it looked garish to a newcomer.

“The Italian flag colors, you know—red, white and green. It’s not as gaudy inside, the pasta’s to die for and the pizza can’t be beat.” Turning off the engine, he got out from behind the wheel and was about to go around to assist them, but Tate was already out and helping Josh unbuckle his seat belt. Okay, so chivalry was out.

Nick waited until they joined him before leading the way through the heavy wood door. Inside, he paused to let his guests absorb the atmosphere.

Dean Martin was crooning That’s Amore through the piped-in music system, adults and kids alike were chattering and several waiters wrapped in big white aprons were serving large trays of food and pitchers of cold drinks. A table of four joined Dean, singing loudly and off-key. They competed with a round table consisting of six kids and two adults who were singing birthday greetings to a boy of about eight.

“It’s never boring in here,” Nick said, leaning close to Tate in order to be heard. He caught the very feminine scent of her hair and quickly straightened.

A big man with wavy black hair and a full mustache spotted them and came rushing over. “Nickie, how you been?” He grasped Nick into a huge bear hug.

“Fine, Johnny.” Nick urged her forward with a hand to the small of her back. “I’d like you to meet Tate Monroe and her son, Josh.”

“Glad you’re here,” Johnny said, his dark eyes smiling. “Any friend of Nickie’s is a friend of mine.” He turned, looking around, then swung back. “Two minutes and I’ll have a booth for you, okay?”

“That’d be great.” Nick kept his hand at her back, wondering if she’d leave it there after Johnny walked away.

In a smooth move, Tate shifted fractionally and slipped her arm around Josh’s shoulders, aligning the two of them slightly apart from Nick. “What do you think, Josh?” she asked the boy.

“It smells good in here,” he answered shyly.

“And it tastes just as good,” Nick told them as he caught Johnny’s wave and led them to a booth where the table was draped with a red-and-white checkered cloth topped with bright green plastic place mats. He thanked his friend and accepted two huge menus, passing one to Tate who let Josh slide in, then followed him. Nick sat down opposite them.

“You can tell me what kind of pizza you like or I can let Johnny build us a special one,” he told Tate. “Your choice.”

Feeling a bit weary suddenly, Tate was glad to let him take over. “Why don’t you order for us?”

“No green peppers, though, okay?” Josh added.

“I’ll take the green peppers off yours, honey,” Tate told him.

Nick signaled Johnny over. “Not to worry. Hey, Big John, we want one of your specials, an extra large, hold the green peppers. And to drink?” He looked inquiringly at Tate. “Root beer or…” He saw them both nod. “A large pitcher of root beer.”

“Sure thing, my man. Be right back.” An Italian opera was now playing and Johnny took up the aria with the tenor, singing loud and boisterously as he made his way to the kitchen.

“He’s a bit of a character, but he has a heart of gold.” Nick studied the boy who was watching the kids at the next table with the birthday celebration. There was such longing in those green eyes that were so much like his mother’s. “Parties like that are great, aren’t they?” he asked Josh.

The boy didn’t answer, just kept staring. “When’s your birthday, Josh?”

“In March,” he answered, his eyes on the boy wearing the cone-shaped hat proclaiming him the birthday boy. They’d finished eating and the table was piled high with gifts. Wearing a gap-toothed grin, the boy began ripping open the nearest package while the others cheered him on.

Nick remembered that Tate had said they’d moved around a lot. That probably meant that Josh had few friends, too shy to make new ones in each new place that he’d soon have to leave. But why had they moved around so much? He shifted his gaze to Tate who was toying with her spoon thoughtfully.

“Maybe next March, we can arrange a party for you and your friends here,” Nick offered, hoping to lighten the mood.

“Don’t,” Tate said, her husky voice low but firm. “Please don’t make promises that you might not be able to keep. False hope is a terrible thing to live with.” She’d blurted it out before she thought how she’d sound, but this man they’d only just met had to know that she didn’t want Josh counting on things that may never happen. And who knew where they’d be by next March.

Nick saw that Josh was still occupied in watching the kids, pretending he hadn’t heard. “I didn’t mean any harm,” he said to Tate.

“I’m sure you didn’t.” She raised a hand to smooth back a curling lock of hair that was trying to escape the ponytail and sighed wearily. “People often make those kinds of statements and have no intention of following through. I’m not saying you’re like that, but…”

“I’m not like that, Tate. I realize you don’t know me, but I follow through.”

The arrival of a short, dark-haired young woman carrying a huge pizza and a frosty pitcher cut short their conversation. “Nickie!” she said, greeting him. Quickly she put everything on the table, then leaned over to hug him. “Long time, no see.”

“Hi, Gina. Yeah, I’ve been kind of busy.” He angled his head toward the room. “You’ve got a big crowd tonight.”

Gina nodded, smiling broadly at him. “Every night. You know Johnny. He’s not happy unless it’s standing-room only. Did you see Joey and Fran across the way?”

Nick looked over and caught his friends’ attention, smiled and waved. “Your sister’s expecting again, I see.”

“Oh, sure. Gotta keep Papa happy. He wants more grand-kids to spoil. He’s after me all the time to get married, get married. Drives me nuts.”

“I know the feeling. Gina, this is Tate and her son, Josh. Gina’s Johnny’s sister.”

Tate acknowledged the introduction with a smile while Josh was busily eyeing the huge pizza. “You enjoy,” Gina said, leaving.

Nick picked up a plate and began dishing out the pizza slices.

Tate scanned the room, listening to an old Perry Como recording playing. The place, at least the music, was caught in a time warp. She had no idea neighborhood places like this still existed, ones where friends met regularly. “The Italians have a way of turning a meal into a celebration,” she commented, accepting her plate with a piece so large it hung over the edges.

“You’ve got that right,” Nick said as he handed Josh his piece.

“Do you need help cutting that?” Tate asked her son.

“Mom, you don’t cut pizza. You pick it up and bite it.” Wrapping both hands around it, curling the piece, he took a huge bite, demonstrating.

“Yeah, Mom,” Nick echoed. “Where you been?”

She smiled as she picked up her fork. “Some of us are more civilized.”

“Fingers were made before forks,” Nick added before tasting his piece. “Mmm,” he purred. “This is better than…better than most pizzas.” He’d been about to say better than sex, but stopped himself just in time.

Meeting his eyes, Tate guessed exactly what he’d been thinking. For the first time, she gave him a genuine smile, one that reached those incredible eyes. “I agree, to your first thought, that is.” When he laughed out loud, she joined in.

The atmosphere, the good food, the noise insulating them in their own little pocket of privacy—all seemed to relax them and they ate in comfortable companionship. When Josh asked for a second piece, Tate was truly shocked. She dished it out, pleased her picky eater had an appetite on this disturbing day. She was glad she’d accepted Nick’s invitation after all, if the visit here made Josh put Maggie’s ordeal out of his mind even temporarily.

Intent on keeping things pleasant, Nick searched his mind for a neutral subject. “You never came here when you were going to U of A? It’s a big college hangout on weekends.”

Tate dabbed at her lips with the paper napkin. “No. I didn’t have a car so we stuck kind of close to the campus.”

Nick finished his second piece, debated about a third, then decided to go for it. “I’d have thought some of your dates might have brought you here. It’s been open about ten years.”

Tate shook her head. “I didn’t date much.”

He had trouble believing that. A woman as gorgeous as she was had to have had her pick of men. “From where I sit, I find that impossible to imagine.”

“I had to spend more time studying than either of my roommates. Molly was the smart one. She helped me a lot on subjects we took together.” Remembering those happier times, Tate felt a rush of nostalgia. “We had these nicknames for each other. Molly was the brain and Laura was the big bucks.”

“And you?” he asked, thinking that he knew.

Tate shrugged. “Seems silly now.”

“You were the beauty, right?”

Her green eyes raised to his, studying him, not answering. She was trying to figure him out, Nick decided. He liked keeping her off balance. “Want to know what they labeled me in college?”

The spell broken, Tate nodded.

“Bookworm. I’m the first, the only one in my family to go to college, much less graduate. Now you’d think that would fill my parents with pride. Nope. As I said earlier, they wanted me in the family business, and you don’t need a degree to build houses, or so my father said. I’d get tired of books and come back to them, he predicted. So I studied and studied so I could prove him wrong. I was dull, a regular nerd.”

It was Tate’s turn to register disbelief. “Come on. With your build, you must have gone out for football or maybe basketball. I can’t believe you sat in your room studying instead of dating a whole flock of coeds.” Even if she shaved off ten years, he was more than average attractive. Was he fishing?

“Not so. You can ask my family. Girls scared me so I hid behind books.”

Still smiling, Tate shook her head in amazement. “Me-thinks you doth protest too much.”

Josh drained his root beer mug and, having made it halfway through his second piece, sat back looking stuffed.

“You really like this pizza, eh?” Tate asked, handing him his napkin.

“It was great.” Josh swiped at his mouth halfheartedly.

Now that they were well fed and smiling, Nick decided they were relaxed enough to give him some answers. “Josh, Maggie watches you after school and sometimes on weekends when your mom has to work, right?”

The boy shot a look to his mother.

“It’s all right, sweetie. Remember, Nick’s a detective and he wants to find the man who hurt Maggie. You can answer him.” But she intended to guide this question session.

“Yes,” Josh said.

“Do the two of you usually stay in the house or does Maggie take you places?”

“Sometimes we go to the park. I like the jungle gym.”

“Have you ever noticed any strangers, someone you might have seen more than once, hanging around the park or near your house?” Nick watched Josh again glance at his mother before answering.

“There was this one guy. I saw him one day at the park, then later he was in a big black car across the street from Maggie’s.”

Now they were getting somewhere. “What did he look like?”

Josh screwed up his face, thinking. “Just a guy. He had black hair in a ponytail, not as long as Mom’s. And both times, he wore black pants and a black shirt. He had on sunglasses.”

Tate’s gaze swung to Nick’s face, recalling that Maggie had told them the intruder who beat her had a black ponytail and wore black clothes. She saw that he remembered, too.

“You’re very observant, Josh,” Nick praised. “You’re doing great.” Even though there was a look of anxiety on Tate’s face. It seemed that the boy hadn’t told his mother about the man in black. Did she recognize that description?

“Did the man come up to you, try to talk to you?”

Josh shook his head.

“About that car, can you tell me what it looked like?”

“It was black and really long. And the windows were dark.”

“You mean like tinted windows?”

“Yes. The man got out of the car and stared at our house. I was watching from mom’s bedroom window.”

“He just stared, didn’t do anything else?”

“He talked with someone in the back seat.”

“Did that person get out, too?”

“No. The window was open halfway, but I couldn’t see him. He was smoking a cigarette and he tossed it out. Then the other guy got back in and they drove away.”

Nick looked at Tate. “Your son has the makings of a first-rate detective. He seems to take in every detail.”

“That’s not the life I want for him, thank you.” Tate stroked her son’s blond hair. “Is that all?”

“Just one last question. Josh, if I showed you a bunch of pictures, do you think you could pick out the man with the ponytail?”

Suddenly frightened, the boy moved closer to his mother. “No. He had sunglasses on. I don’t want to look at any pictures.”

“Okay,” Nick hastened to reassure him, as well as his mother. “No pictures.” What had spooked the kid? he wondered. Realizing the tension was back, Nick signaled for the check.

There was a short discussion about paying, but Nick won. “You can pay next time,” he told her.

Out in the parking lot, he held the door for Tate while she made sure Josh was buckled into the back seat. But before she stepped in, he leaned close to her, resolutely ignoring her scent that had been playing havoc with his concentration all day, and told her that if she could convince Josh to look at some photos or even give a more detailed description to their police artist, they’d have a better chance of finding this guy.

Tate’s reluctance was evident as she quickly sat down. “I don’t want him to be put through that if he doesn’t want to do it,” she said, and reached to close her door, effectively ending the conversation.

The ride home was even more quiet than the ride over. Nick hated putting that fearful look into her beautiful green eyes, but he felt sure that Tate Monroe knew more than she was revealing. However, he reminded himself, he’d have to move slowly if he wanted her to open up to him.

And meanwhile, he’d do a little investigating on his own.

When he pulled up in front of Maggie’s, Tate had the door open before he’d shifted into Park. “Thank you for dinner. We both really enjoyed it, but it’s been a long day and I’ve got to get Josh to bed.” Moving quickly to forestall any resistance from Nick, she got out and helped her son.

Nick got out anyway. “Would you like me to go in and check out the house, just to make sure it’s okay?”

“No, thanks. We’ll be fine.” With cops crawling all over the house most of the day, she doubted the intruder would return.

“Okay, then. I’ll be in touch,” Nick said, wondering if she heard. Or if she even cared.

“Good night, sweetie,” Tate said as she pulled Josh’s bedroom door halfway closed. “Sleep tight.”

“Leave the hall light on, please, Mom.”

“Okay.” Even though he had a night-light on in his room, Josh liked the hallway lit in case he had to get up. Drawing in a deep breath as she made her way to her own room, Tate didn’t mind. If a hall light meant her son would rest more easily, it was a small thing. If only her own sleep would be less fitful by the simple addition of a light on.

Checking her watch, she wondered if it was too late to call her district manager and arrange for a couple of days off until Maggie was home and settled. She’d also have to find a day-care center or summer children’s program for Josh until Maggie was once more able to take care of him while she was at work. Picking up her bedside phone, Tate decided she’d best call now.

Ten minutes later, she hung up, ever so grateful that Judith Dunn was so understanding. How many times had she had to call her boss and explain yet another reason she couldn’t be in? Too many to count. And all the times she’d taken a leave of absence, moved away for several months, only to return and have Judith pleased she was back and ready to go to work again. Of course, when she was there, she worked hard, but she still felt lucky to have Judith on her side.

Tate slipped off her shoes and began undressing. Lucky. It wasn’t a word she associated with herself ever really. Luck wasn’t something a person could rely on anyhow. We make our own luck, good or bad, her father used to say. How true those words were, she thought as she stepped into the adjoining bathroom and turned on the water. A hot soak would feel good.

Pinning her hair up onto her head, Tate gazed dispassionately at her image in the mirror. Most of her life, she’d had people tell her how lucky she was to have such lovely skin, such beautiful hair, such a lovely figure. She supposed that was luck of a sort, being born to good-looking parents from a great gene pool. But it was nothing she’d personally done. Her looks were just there, no big deal.

Others often made it a big deal, Tate acknowledged, testing the water with her fingers, then adding fragrant bubble bath. Men fell over backward over a beautiful woman until the woman no longer heard the compliments and wound up wondering if only her looks were of importance to them and not who she truly was. Women often became jealous even if she did nothing more than walk into a room. Tate knew she’d never deliberately done anything to earn that reputation, but there it was. Which was probably why she trusted only Molly and Laura.

And men not at all.

Shutting off the water, Tate climbed into the bubbly, steaming water gingerly, then lay back, closing her eyes. Her mother, from the little she could remember, had also been beautiful. Only she’d gloried in it, flirting outrageously, breaking hearts along the way. Especially her father’s when she’d walked away from her family the year Tate turned eight and her brother, Steve, was only six. Later Tate had learned that she’d left a note saying she simply couldn’t stay the wife of a small-town tailor. She needed to be free.

Dad had handled her departure better than Tate or Steve, who’d both blamed themselves way into their teens. Her father never spoke of their mother with bitterness, saying that she was like a beautiful butterfly who’d stayed with them a while, then had flown off to share her beauty with the world. However, he’d warned Tate that beauty was a gift and that she mustn’t take unreasonable pride in it. She’d heeded his advice.

Tate inhaled the warm aroma, letting the soothing water heal her tired body and mind. Where, exactly, had being beautiful gotten her? Because she’d instinctively known early on that men wanted her mostly for one thing only, she’d been reluctant to date. Then one had come along who’d seemed way above the crowd, a handsome, charismatic man who’d looked into her eyes and actually listened to what she said as if her words mattered, as if she were important, special.

He hadn’t rushed her into bed, but rather they’d talked for hours—about books and music and horseback riding and hiking—all manner of things. They’d taken long, leisurely walks in the woods together, cooked dinner at his place, camped by the river and slept under the stars. Gradually she’d allowed herself to trust him. Loving had followed as surely as night follows day. The morning she realized she’d been thinking of love and he’d been thinking of an interlude was one of the worst times in her life.

Tate trailed damp fingers through the floating bubbles, her mind floating, too, back in the past. Everything had fallen apart then and nothing had been the same since. Her warm and tender love had turned to bitter ashes. At first, she’d wanted to die—of heartache, of shame. But Maggie had pulled her through, talking softly, encouraging, some nights just holding her while she wept. And there’d been Molly and Laura, more like blood sisters than friends, always there for her in those days when she’d been so needy.

The only good thing that had come out of that terrible time was Josh, her beautiful boy. He was the only male she could trust without question, the only one she’d ever allow to get close to her. And yet, because of her mistake, her error in judgment, both Josh and Maggie were in danger. Last year, when they’d been on the run, she’d known that Molly had been threatened, too. Then Laura had been stalked and even forced off the road, landing in the hospital. That had somehow frightened even the madman hounding all three of them, for there’d been no sign of him for many months. Tate had prayed he’d abandoned his sick plans.

How could she have been so naive?

No, she might as well admit her suspicions. The invasion at Maggie’s wasn’t caused by some intruder looking for valuables rumored to be hidden in her home. Tate could think of only one person who might have ordered the break-in and she could guess what his hired thug had been searching for. What she didn’t know was how to handle him.

Sitting up, she soaped her washcloth and swished it around her shoulders and arms. Her thoughts drifted to Detective Nick Bennett. She could tell he wanted her to open up to him, but how could a man who’d come from the warm and loving family he’d described ever be able to relate to her problems? Get a restraining order, he’d suggest probably. But if she named names, he’d realize she couldn’t do that. If she revealed too much and if somehow the news got out, the stalker would turn up the heat and somehow manage to take Josh. She couldn’t be with her son every minute. And what could she do to stop such a man? Move again? The very thought started her trembling.

The bathwater had cooled. Tate pulled the plug, rinsed off and wrapped herself in a large white terry-cloth towel. As she walked into her bedroom, she thought she heard a car engine start up right outside. Cautiously, she moved to the window and peeked out between the soft folds of the sheer curtains. Just then, a sleek black car with tinted windows flashed on its lights and slowly pulled away from the curb.

Damn him!

With shaky hands, she drew the drapes closed over the windows, then did the same across the room before hurrying to Josh’s room, his windows facing only the rear of the house. He was sleeping soundly, thank heaven. The new dead bolt had been installed and before she’d come upstairs, she’d checked the back door as well as made certain the window locks were all secure. Yet she knew that if someone really wanted to get in, they would. Not overtly though, for the man in question had too much to lose if an illegal move could be proven and traced to him.

Just because she felt better doing it, she went around and pulled drapes closed over all the windows. Both she and Maggie hated the closed in feeling, but Tate felt she had no choice if she wanted to get even a small measure of sleep tonight. Gazing around the living room, she felt such a wave of repulsion, of violation, that someone would come in here and touch their things. Would she ever truly feel safe here again? Was there even a secure place for her somewhere?

Climbing the stairs, Tate forced herself to square her shoulders. Damn it, she was not going to let him win. She would find a way to fight him. He was trying to spook her, to intimidate her into giving up. Apparently, he didn’t know her as well as he thought he did, for she wasn’t a quitter. Maybe Nick was right and she should persuade Josh to look at pictures of known area criminals. If the stalker was among them, if the henchman of the man she feared most landed in jail, perhaps he’d back off. She held little hope for this scenario, but it was worth a try.

Tate hung up the towel and slipped on an old University of Arizona football jersey that she liked to sleep in. Slipping under the covers, she prayed sleep would come and without the accompanying nightmares that so often interrupted her nights.

Closing her eyes, she tried to concentrate on something pleasant. Unbidden, her mind conjured up a pair of steady gray eyes in a tan face and a mouth that looked hard and a little grim, but that she imagined could be soft and warm. Nick Bennett wasn’t the man for her. No man was. But she could dream…

Nick stepped closer to the open window in the living room of the small third-floor apartment and cautiously stuck his head out. The nervous Hispanic man, about thirty-five, was sitting on a narrow ledge holding his infant daughter in his arms while sweat poured down his face. “Mr. Espinoza, my name’s Nick. Why don’t you hand the baby to me, then we can talk better? I want to help you.”

“Go away,” the man sobbed. “No one can help.”

The domestic violence call had come in just as Nick and his partner, Detective Lou Patrick, were heading back to the precinct from a routine check on a probation violator. It was the worst kind of call, the one where a woman and two children were in grave danger from an angry husband, the call police officers dreaded most. In many cases, the man was a loose cannon, totally unpredictable and usually dangerous. Lou had radioed back that they’d take it since their car was close to the address. Nick had done a quick U-turn and turned up the speed, but he hadn’t turned on the siren, thinking the arrival of the police might push the guy over the edge.

As they’d entered the apartment, Nick saw a small, dark-haired Hispanic woman sitting on the couch cradling a boy of about six and moaning softly. She’d managed to tell them that she and her husband had been quarreling because she wanted to go back to work now that the baby was no longer nursing because they needed the money. But Jorge didn’t want her working. One thing led to another and when his son had tried to protect his mother, Jorge had slapped the boy so hard that he’d fallen, hitting his head on the end table. Shortly before they arrived, Jorge had climbed out the window with the baby. Rocio Espinoza wailed out her fears.

While Lou called for medical assistance for the boy, Nick decided to try to talk the distraught man back inside. Once before, he’d managed to talk a jumper off a rooftop ledge, but he was well aware how the slightest wrong move could end in disaster.

Now, as he studied Jorge Espinoza hugging his baby and rocking as tears coursed down his cheeks, Nick prayed he wouldn’t make a mistake. Peripherally he saw a fire truck arrive down below, the men hurrying to get a net in place in the event that Jorge either jumped or fell. Or, even worse, tossed the baby down. He also noticed a TV truck pull up and swore under his breath. Just what they needed, media attention during a volatile situation.

Nick removed his jacket and took off his gun holster, leaving them with Lou. Taking a deep breath, he climbed out the window and managed to sit down on the ledge several feet from where Jorge watched him with sullen, unfriendly eyes.

“Don’t come no closer or I throw her down,” Espinoza warned.

“Okay. But I don’t think you really want to do that, Jorge. I can tell by the way you’re holding your baby that you love her. Am I right?”

Jorge paused to gaze at his baby’s face. “She’ll grow up to be just like her mother. Rocio was a good woman, but not no more. She don’t want to stay home and take care of the kids. She wants to work in that bar every night where men can stare at her and grab at her. I make good money. Why does she want to work? Only for the men, for the attention.” He hugged the baby closer. “It’s better my little girl dies now than she grows up like her mother.”

At least he now knew the problem, Nick thought as he searched for the right words. “It’s hard, isn’t it, working long hours and then having to stop to pick up the kids at day care, dinner not ready when you get home.”

Jorge nodded as he swiped tears from his face with his shirt sleeve. “Yeah. She don’t think about that. Already my son talks back to me. Where’d he learn all that? At that day care where the older boys teach him. He’s got no respect.”

Which was undoubtedly why he’d hit the boy. Was it the first time he’d hit his son? “I understand but, Jorge, there’s a way to work this out.” Moving ever so slowly, Nick scooted nearer, his eyes on Jorge’s face. “I’ll help you talk to Rocio. I know a nice family restaurant not far from here where she could work the day shift. The owner’s a friend of mine and he’s a good man. Like you, a hard worker. I could make sure your wife’s home by the time you get here. What do you say?”

“The baby’s too young to leave with strangers. They mess up your kids.” Jorge met Nick’s eyes for the first time. “You have kids?”

“No, but I have six nieces and nephews, so I know how you feel. Suppose we talk Rocio into waiting until the baby’s six months old, or even a year? How about that?”

“She don’t listen to no one. She disrespects me, you know.” Jorge shifted his little bundle and the baby woke up and started crying, undoubtedly picking up on the tension. Inside the apartment, Rocio could be heard wailing and moaning.

Nick saw the TV cameras, two by now, trained on them, and wished the news hadn’t gotten out. The EMS truck pulled up and two men jumped out, running into the building with their medical equipment. He swung his gaze back to Jorge and saw that the man was fidgeting on the narrow ledge, trying to quiet the baby.

He had to do something and fast.

“Look, Jorge, let me have the baby. You’re a proud man, a good man. You don’t want to hurt your daughter. Let’s put her inside and then you and I will talk to Rocio.”

Jorge shook his head, pushing to his feet unsteadily. “No, you’re lying. You’ll just lock me up and Rocio will be free to mess up my kids and shake her butt around at that bar.”

Nick pressed his back to the building and managed to stand, but his heart was in his throat. He saw the net below, but would it catch them? “I promise you, Jorge, I will sit down with you and Rocio and work this out. Just hand over the baby.”

Jorge shook his head vigorously. “You don’t care about me. No one cares about me.” Then suddenly, he lost his footing, his arms flailing out, trying to regain his balance.

In the split second before he went over, Nick grabbed the baby from Jorge’s outstretched arm. The small blanket fluttered down after the man who screamed as he fell. Nick plastered himself to the building and drew in a shaky breath. Slowly he inched his way back to the window where Lou waited. Nick handed over the baby and crawled back inside, realizing his shirt was soaked through with nervous sweat.

“Did he make it?” Nick asked his partner.

“Yeah, he landed in the net, the idiot.” Lou handed the little girl to her mother who was weeping unashamedly. The paramedics were working on the boy still on the couch.

Nick pulled his handkerchief out and mopped his damp face. “Man, I don’t want to do that again anytime soon.”

“I don’t imagine you do” came a deep reply from the doorway. Lieutenant Ed Harris stood there scowling. “Didn’t exactly follow procedure, Bennett. You’re not the one who’s supposed to go out there and talk a man in. We have a team of experts who specialize in that, or weren’t you aware?”

“Yes, sir. But there wasn’t time.” Nick wasn’t worried. He knew the lieutenant had to chew him out a little. But since it had worked out okay, he wouldn’t come down too hard. However, if the fireman’s net hadn’t been there…

“I’ll verify that, Lieutenant,” Lou spoke up on behalf of his partner. “The guy was a ticking time bomb, ready to buy the farm he was so upset.”

“I promised Jorge I’d sit down with him and his wife and try to solve this work situation,” Nick mentioned.

“Yeah, well, that’ll have to wait,” Harris said. “He’s got to have psychiatric counseling, anger control management and probably face child abuse charges as well as reckless endangerment of an infant.” A tall, silver-haired man with deceptively lazy brown eyes, the lieutenant had seen a lot in his twenty-two years on the force. He walked over to Rocio Espinoza as the medics placed her son on a stretcher.

“What’s going to happen to Jorge now?” Rocio asked, looking at all three officers.

“You can ride with the boy to the hospital if you like,” Harris told her. “We’ll have someone talk with you there.”

Resigned, she gathered her baby close, then went over to Nick. “You saved my baby. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Nick put on his shoulder holster and jacket. “Let’s get out of here before the media sticks a mike in our face,” he told Lou.

The rescue of a baby from the third-floor ledge was all over the television news by noon. Tate had just settled Maggie on the couch, having gotten her released from the hospital, when Josh turned on the TV. He was about to channel-surf when the twelve o’clock news led off with the story of the daring save.

“Hey, it’s Nick,” Josh said as they played the tape showing the distraught father holding a blanket-wrapped infant and the courageous officer who’d climbed out on the ledge.

Maggie and Tate watched as the little scene unfolded, unable to hear what was being said between the two men up three stories from the ground, yet mesmerized by the drama. The camera’s zoom lens captured the troubled expression of the father and the calm demeanor of the officer. Then suddenly they both stood and the man almost stumbled, losing his balance. At what had to be the very last second, Nick caught the baby. The camera backed up and the father could be seen landing in the fire department’s safety net as the child’s blanket floated down. Then they zoomed in for a close-up of Nick handing the baby inside before climbing through the window.

“Wow,” Josh said as the voice of the newscaster went on excitedly explaining the events that led up to the daring rescue.

“I’d say that young man’s a hero,” Maggie said, relaxing back among the pillows.

Tate sat down at the far end of the couch and watched as a file photo of Nick Bennett in full uniform filled the screen and the voice-over told about another incident several years ago when the detective had kept a man from committing suicide atop a high-rise, then went on to talk about his career record, years of service and his three bravery citations.

Tate hadn’t heard from Nick in several days, not since the night of their pizza dinner. Not that she’d expected to, really. She stared at his picture now, thinking there was something about a man in uniform. But he’d worn plain clothes that day and he’d looked vastly appealing then, too. As he probably would wearing only a smile. She felt color move into her face and wondered where that thought had come from.

“I wonder why they sent such a special officer for my little problem,” Maggie said, wrinkling her brow.

Tate patted the older woman’s outstretched legs. “Only the best, Maggie, because you’re worth it,” she told her with a smile.

“Thank you, dear.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to be in your own bed? Or take a nap here? Josh can watch TV upstairs if you’d like to rest.”

“No, I want to be here and I like having Josh near.” She smiled as the boy came over to her. “It’s all right if you want to hug me,” she told him.

“I won’t hurt you?” he asked.

“No, sweetheart. Hug away.” She shifted her right arm in its cast out of the way and reached out to the boy with her left. “I missed you.”

“I missed you, too,” Josh said, straightening, staring at Maggie’s discolored cheek. “I’m sorry you got beat up.” He turned to his mother. “Mom, I changed my mind. I’ll look at the pictures Nick talked about. I want to help catch that man.”

Her little guy came through and she didn’t even have to ask him, Tate thought with no small measure of pride. Apparently he’d inherited her soft heart. And that heroic rescue had convinced Josh that Nick was one of the good guys. “I’ll call Nick,” she said, rising. “Of course, with all this publicity, he may be too busy for us.”

Maggie’s sharp blue eyes looked Tate up and down, seeing a lovely woman badly in need of a caring man. “I doubt that, honey. If you call, he’ll come.”

Chapter 3

Seated at Maggie’s dining-room table, Josh turned another page of the big book in front of him, carefully studying each face before going on to the next as Nick and Tate watched. “These guys look really mean,” he said. “Did they all do bad things like the man who beat up Maggie?”

“Pretty much,” Nick answered, not wanting to frighten the boy, but also not wanting to lie. “Most of them weren’t happy to have their picture taken so they look kind of angry.”

“It’s important that you pick the right one, if he’s in there, Josh, so look really hard,” Tate instructed.

“I know, Mom.” He turned the next page.

“I sure appreciate you doing this for us, Josh,” Nick told the boy, knowing that praise went a long way toward gaining cooperation, though he was curious as to why Josh had suddenly had a change of heart.

The boy looked up, in his eyes a question, uncertain whether he should ask. But Nick was a cool guy so he decided to chance it. “Were you just a tiny bit scared yesterday when you were up on that window ledge with that guy?”

He was a serious boy, Nick thought, comparing Josh to his far more carefree nephews. The kid didn’t laugh much or even smile often. What had made him like that? he wondered. “Not a tiny bit, Josh. I was scared a lot. But everyone has to do scary things sometimes in order to help someone. I’ll bet you’ve done a few yourself.”

“Once I climbed Mrs. Stone’s tree next door to get her kitten down when he got himself stuck up there, but it was only two branches up.”

“Even two branches up would have meant quite a fall, for you and the kitten. But you did it even though you were scared. And I’ll bet you felt good afterward.”

“Did you feel good afterward yesterday?”

Nick drew in a breath, remembering that kids never let up. “Yeah, I was glad the baby was safe and relieved that we didn’t fall. But I felt bad for that whole family. They’ve got a lot of problems to work out.” More than he could explain to a seven-year-old.

He chanced a quick look at Tate and saw a look of approval on her face. And something else. A contemplative look, as if she were trying to figure him out. Well, Nick thought, at least he had her thinking. Progress. Maybe.

“Sweetie, you’d better get back to the pictures. You’ve got one more whole book to go.” He’d already looked through two large mug shot books and not spotted the man. Tate was proud of her son’s desire to help, but she wondered how a fleeting glance at a park and another from a two-story window of a man wearing sunglasses would stay in Josh’s memory bank. She hated to disappoint both of them, Josh who was trying so hard and Nick who’d lugged the heavy books over in the hope they’d get a break.

“What happens if he doesn’t pick him out?” she asked Nick.

He shrugged. “Back to square one. This is just one avenue for us to try. It could be the guy’s never been arrested so we wouldn’t have his picture on file. He could even be from out of state.” Nick’s steady gaze trapped her eyes. “Or maybe someone else hired him.” He let the thought hang there between them.

Tate averted her eyes. “I suppose anything’s possible.” She rose and walked through the arch into the living room where Maggie was lightly dozing on the couch to check on her. Actually she’d left the table more to get away from Nick’s intense look than because she felt Maggie needed her.

The older woman’s eyes opened slowly and focused on Tate. “Did Josh find the man?”

“Not yet,” Tate answered, straightening her pillows a fraction.

“I only wish he’d have pointed him out to me that day in the park. Maybe I’d remember his features. Four eyes are better than two, you know.” Wincing, she shifted the cast on her right arm to a more comfortable position.

“Not to worry. Nick will locate him sooner or later. Want some more tea?”

“Yes, dear, that would be nice.”

Tate went to the kitchen, passing through the dining room as Nick closed the third book and opened the final one in front of Josh. Turning slightly, Nick studied Tate.

She’d changed clothes after picking up Maggie from the hospital since the temperature was already in the nineties, not unusual for late May in Tucson. She wore a loose mannish shirt with sleeves rolled up over a white knit top and denim shorts that showed off her shapely legs. She wasn’t very tall, five-five or six, which at his height of six-three made him over a head taller. Yet she held herself so erect that she appeared taller. He noticed that she’d gathered her wild reddish hair at her neck and reined it in with a gold clip. Nick’s hands itched to run his fingers through the thick waves and watch it fall to her shoulders.

Knowing full well that she didn’t need him to make a pot of tea, he meandered into the kitchen anyhow. “Need some help?”

Lost in thought, Tate was momentarily startled to find him at her elbow. “Oh. Thanks, but I can manage.” Turning the kettle on, she saw he wasn’t going to leave, so she waved a hand toward Josh. “No luck yet and that’s the last book. I feel badly that we dragged you over here, wasting your time.”

“You’re not wasting my time. Police work is a slow process, not like in the movies or on TV where a witness sits down and spots the suspect on page two. I’ve learned to be a patient man.”

Tate rinsed the pot and selected two tea bags. Maggie liked hot tea even in the summer. “I think I’ll make some iced tea as well.” She reached for the tall pitcher on the top shelf, but even on her tiptoes, couldn’t quite make it.

“Here, let me.” Nick moved closer to the cupboard and reached up, effectively hemming Tate in between himself and the counter. As he handed her the pitcher, their gazes locked. Just that quickly, he saw that unmistakable male-female awareness leap into her dark green eyes. He didn’t move, scarcely breathed as both their hands encircled the pitcher. He wasn’t even touching her, yet his senses were acutely tuned to her. Fleetingly, her face registered confusion and an almost heartbreaking need before she deliberately stepped back and looked away.

“Tate, I…” Nick wanted to say something, to acknowledge the moment, the connection, if only in some small way.

Her back to him, she shook her head. “Please, don’t.”

“Why not?” he asked, genuinely curious. He’d known a lot of women and was well aware that that indefinable connection didn’t happen often. Hell, it scarcely happened at all. He also knew she’d felt it, too.

But just then, his beeper went off and Tate was saved from answering, from being confronted. Shaken yet relieved, she pointed to the desk through the arch. “Phone’s over there.”

Frowning as he recognized the number of the precinct dispatcher, he left the room. In moments, he hung up and turned back to Tate who was just closing the last mug shot book. “Not there, either?” he asked Josh. The boy shook his head.

Nick gathered up the books. “Thanks for trying.” He looked into the boy’s eyes, again thinking how much Josh reminded him of his mother, although he must have gotten his blond hair from his father. “If you ever see that man again, don’t go up to him or talk with him, but study his face very closely. And let me know right away if he shows up here, okay?” He watched the boy solemnly nod, then turned to Tate. “That goes for you and Maggie, too.”

Tate remembered the black car parked outside the other night and wanted in the worst way to tell Nick about it. But what good would that do? It would only open a can of worms she was unwilling to face. Even when she’d been confronted by the man Nick was looking for years ago, she hadn’t seen his features, either, for he’d worn a ski mask then, too.

The woman should never play poker, Nick thought as he caught her evasive look. Why wouldn’t she trust him? “I’ve got to go out on a call.”

“Another rescue?” Josh wanted to know.

Nick smiled at the boy and ruffled his hair. “Nothing so dramatic. At least, I hope not.” The call, unfortunately, was about a woman who’d been raped in the rest room of a supermarket. He was to meet his partner at the scene.

Hurriedly he said goodbye to Maggie and Josh as Tate followed him out onto the porch. “Are you going back to work tomorrow?” he asked her, wondering who would care for an incapacitated older woman and a young boy. Still, she had a job to protect.

“I’ve asked for a few days off, till Maggie’s better. And I’ve got to find some kind of summer program to enroll Josh in.” One that had iron-clad security.

Nick hadn’t forgotten that the creep who’d invaded Maggie’s house had been asking about the boy’s whereabouts. This whole incident somehow involved Josh, which led him inevitably to consider the father as a suspect. “Tate, I have to ask you. Is it possible that the break-in has something to do with Josh’s father?”

Tate stiffened, her features tightening. “I haven’t seen him in years. He didn’t even know I was pregnant.” Which was the truth, as far as it went. “I…I’ve got to go in.”

He knew he should have left by now, that he was needed at another crime scene, but he had one more point to make. He switched the heavy books under one arm and gently touched her hand. “Tate, I’m not the enemy. I want to help you.”

She felt the heat, from his touch, from his words. Tears leaped to her eyes, wanting badly to fall. But she couldn’t afford the luxury, nor could she let this kind man know her feelings. “I know,” she whispered, then quickly went inside.

All the way to his car, Nick swore inventively. Around the precinct, he was known as the great communicator. More often than not, he could get suspects to open up to him, to instinctively trust him. Yet here, with this woman who’d somehow gotten under his skin, he couldn’t get her to drop her guard, one he was certain she’d had in place for years.

Tossing the mug books on the back seat, Nick got behind the wheel. Where there’s a will, there’s a way, he reminded himself. He’d get Tate Monroe to trust him if it was the last thing he ever did, he vowed as he pulled away from the curb.

Nick left the interrogation room and stepped into the viewing room where the two-way mirror allowed others to observe and listen to a suspect or witness being questioned. He and Lou had just done their good-cop-bad-cop routine with Ronda Philips, the woman claiming she’d been raped in an eastside supermarket rest room by a burly man with long hair and a chipped front tooth wearing an oil-stained T-shirt and carrying a big knife. Nick let out a ragged breath as he watched the woman he’d just left rummaging through her purse. “What do you think, Lieutenant?”

“I want to hear what you guys think,” Harris told his two detectives.

Lou Patrick shrugged. “I think she’s on the up-and-up. Nurse at the hospital said she had knife cuts along her inner thighs, both shoulders and two nicks on her breasts. The bruise on her cheek could have come from a punch to the face when she resisted him. Only thing is, the rape counselor said she had one major concern, that Mrs. Philips kept asking for her husband throughout the exam whereas most rape victims are frightened and ashamed at first and want nothing to do with their husbands for a while. But that’s not a hard and fast rule.”

The lieutenant toyed with his paisley suspenders and nodded. “What about you, Nick?”

“I think she made the whole thing up. The doctor who examined her said there was no bruising. And, like Lou said, she keeps asking where her husband is, how’s he taking all this, when can she go home with him. Not the usual reaction.”

“Lou, you were first on the scene. Did anyone in the store mention seeing a guy like she described?”

Lou shook his head. “Nada. That supermarket’s in an affluent neighborhood. You’d think a grease monkey like she described would stand out, that someone else would have spotted him and wondered what he was up to.”

“How about the husband?” Harris asked.

“We talked with him while she was being examined at the hospital,” Nick answered. “He seemed more angry than upset. Blames himself for leaving her alone so much because he works long hours as a new attorney at a big firm. Just last week, they’d planned to take a trip, but a case he was on caused them to have to cancel. Ronda didn’t take it well, crying a lot, brooding.”

“Yeah, he swore to us he was going to cut back, to spend more time with her,” Lou interjected. “I just can’t figure what she’s got to gain by faking a rape.”

“How about sympathy and more attention from the husband?” Nick volunteered.

“We’ve got to follow through even if her story’s suspicious,” Harris told them. “Send her home with her husband and put out a description of the rapist.” He walked out of the viewing room ahead of his detectives. “But don’t let’s drop this. Wait a few days, then call her in again, just to clear up some points. Put on a little pressure. If she’s faking, maybe she’ll break down.”

“Right.” Nick strolled back to his desk, his mind already back on what he’d been doing when they’d brought the rape victim in. Sitting down at his desk, he booted up his computer.

“Hey, Nick, you mind if I take off a coupla hours?” Lou asked. “We’re not up for a while, fourth in line actually, and our shift’s over in an hour. I’ll have my cell with me. My son’s first Little League game’s today.”

“No problem. Have fun.” Nick went to work on a fishing expedition, keying in various lead words, hoping to learn a thing or two. More than one way to get information if the lady refuses to confide in him, he’d decided. Tate Monroe was a mystery he was determined to solve.

He wasn’t an expert on the computer, nor could he surf the Internet or the police information network as expertly as some, but he usually could find what he needed. Strictly speaking, the data he was seeking had little to do with the home invasion of Maggie Davis and a great deal to do with his curiosity and interest in Tate Monroe. Okay, so there was no use hiding the truth from himself. He was intrigued by the woman and wanted to know everything he could about her.

As he scrolled through choices, highlighting a few, he began to make headway. Tate had been born twenty-nine years ago to Dennis and Rita Monroe in Tucson. The father, who’d died last year at sixty-nine, had been a tailor at an upscale men’s store, yet he’d earned only about thirty thousand in his best year. That meant her father had been about forty when she’d been born, nearly twenty years older than his wife, Rita, who seemed to have vanished off the data base. Nothing on her since way back when Tate was quite young. She also had a brother, Steve, two years younger, a career navy man, currently an instructor at the navy base in San Diego.

So much for family. He punched in more facts he knew in order to get facts he didn’t know. Tate had entered the University of Arizona at eighteen and graduated at twenty-two with a Fine Arts degree in Literature. The bookcase at Maggie’s had been stuffed to overflowing and he had a feeling most of the books were Tate’s. Her social security number, from the information sheet she’d filled out for the officer on the scene, revealed that she’d never made much money, mostly due to a sporadic work schedule. Not one year since graduation had she worked the full twelve months. Why? Nick wondered. Because of her son? He’s been through a great deal in his short life, Tate had said about Josh at the hospital. What had she meant?

He tapped into Brennan’s Book Emporium site, employee information, and found Tate had been working there, on and off, since a part-time job during high school. Currently she was listed as manager of their eastside store; district manager was Judith Dunn, and Tate’s assistant was Dave Anderson. She’d lived for a while in an apartment on State Street. There was a gap five years ago where she’d taken a leave for nearly two full years, returned to live at Maggie’s address, then left again, returning only four months ago. That was about the time her father had died.

Nick glanced around the bull pen and saw he was almost alone, so he continued his clandestine search. Strictly speaking, he’d wandered off Maggie’s case and moved into personal information on Tate Monroe. Checking records on births and deaths again, he found that Josh had been born on March 1 seven years ago. A home birth, taking Tate’s last name, father listed as unknown. That he seriously doubted.

Just for the hell of it, he checked her status with the police department and found a record of an assault two years ago, a man who’d invaded her apartment and attacked her. The police report said she’d had numerous bruises and contusions, a black eye and a cracked rib. The assailant, described as “tall, husky, with a long, black ponytail” had never been apprehended.

There was that description again.

Nick sat back in his chair, his mind busily considering possibilities. A coincidence that recently both Maggie and Josh and a while back Tate had encountered the big guy with the ponytail? Highly doubtful. If the man was one and the same, why wasn’t Tate able to give them a description, if he’d been in her apartment? Tate had endured a beating similar to Maggie’s and mostly likely dished out by the same thug. Why wouldn’t she have mentioned this to Nick since it could hardly be labeled irrelevant? Did she know the man and was, for reasons unknown, trying to protect him? Josh was blond so it seemed unlikely his father would have black hair. Who was this ponytailed character?

Hands behind his head, Nick narrowed his eyes. Tate didn’t strike him as the type who’d stand still for a beating. Unless she had a very good reason. And where had her son been that night? Not a mention of a child in the report. The officer in charge had written that he’d advised Tate to get an order of protection, but there was no record of one being issued. Yet shortly after that, she’d taken a leave of absence from Brennan’s and disappeared with her son. Curiouser and curiouser.

Where had she gone for nearly two years? An intensified search could find no trace of her. No job record, no medical reports, no address nor phone numbers available. Had she stayed with one of those roommates she put such store in? Something to check out since both were well off financially. Or did she have relatives somewhere who’d put her up along with Josh? No mention of any other Monroes related to her father. Could she have looked up her mother and gone to her?

Nick straightened, realizing that in getting some answers, he’d also brought up more questions. He checked his watch and saw that he was off the clock in twenty minutes. Maybe he’d run over to Brennan’s and see if Tate’s co-workers were inclined to discuss their manager with him. He’d have to be careful, though. If Tate found out, she wouldn’t be pleased.

Dave Anderson, assistant manager at Brennan’s, was about five-eight with a wiry build, thinning sandy hair and brown eyes behind horn-rimmed glasses. In the absence of his boss, he was in charge and took the job seriously. After checking his credentials, he ushered Nick to a quiet corner where two easy chairs faced a low table.

Brennan’s encouraged their customers to linger, to browse through aisle after aisle of their thousands of books on every topic imaginable, to stop at their coffee bar at the far end of the huge room and have a latte while perusing a book. The homey atmosphere must work for Nick noticed at least two dozen people strolling around, sitting at the coffee bar or in comfortable chair groupings.

“What is it you want to know about Tate?” Dave asked, getting right to the point.

“First, I need to tell you that this interview is confidential, Mr. Anderson. Ms. Monroe is not in any trouble nor is she a suspect in any way. But the rooming house where she lives was invaded several days ago and her landlady badly beaten. I just want to ask a few questions, such as, have you seen anyone hanging around the store, someone who might have a particular interest in Ms. Monroe?”

Dave chuckled behind his fist as he crossed his legs. “Have you met Tate, Detective? She’s a knockout. We have lots of guys come in here who notice her, some who practically drool over her.”

Nick had suspected as much. “I’m sure you’re right. But I mean someone who looks just a little different, who sits staring at her from one of these little seating areas you have, who stays longer than is usual. Maybe a tough-looking guy.”

The man looked thoughtful for a moment, then shook his head. “I honestly can’t remember anyone like that. This is a fairly upscale neighborhood. We don’t get many tough-looking guys in here.”

“That’s why someone like that would stand out, eh?”

“I suppose. But I don’t believe anyone like that’s been in here. If I had a good description, perhaps I could watch out for him, maybe call you if I spot him?”

A junior detective, but he couldn’t risk civilian involvement. “I can’t give you a good description. Tell me, does Ms. Monroe ever respond to these…admirers of hers?” It was the man wanting to know, not the detective.

Quickly and emphatically, Dave shook his head. “No, never. She’s nice, always polite, but she discourages every one of them. Listen, I’ve tried for years to get her to notice me. I’ve asked her out, done her favors, tried to win her over. She just smiles and thanks me, but she won’t date. Not anyone.”

Why that made Nick feel good he wasn’t willing to think about right now. Rising, he stuck out his hand. “Thanks for your help. And please remember, this visit is between the two of us.”

Dave pursed his lips together and nodded conspiratorially. “I’ll remember.”

“Here’s my card if you can think of anything that could help our investigation.” Nick left the man studying his card as he turned and walked through the big double doors. Keys in hand, he decided he’d drop in on Maggie to see how she was doing after being home from the hospital for two days now. If Tate was there, well, so much the better.

“The problem with growing old, Nick, is that it sneaks up on you and you’re never ready,” Maggie Davis said, then chuckled at her own observation. They were seated on her long corduroy couch across from the fireplace, Maggie stretched out at one end, Nick in the opposite corner, his body angled toward the small widow with the gentle smile. He could easily believe Maggie had been far more than a housemother to Tate, for she just looked maternal and loving. Much like his own mother.

“My mom says the same thing. She just turned sixty and although I don’t think she looks it, she often tells me she feels it.”

Maggie pushed her gold-rimmed glasses higher on her nose, thinking she liked this young man. Liked him a lot. His smile was warm and sincere. “Do you have any brothers or sisters?”

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