The Lawman And The Lady

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.”