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“Come with me now, or I’m going to call park security. Someone can look at you at the first-aid station. You can just say you were mugged by teenagers if you don’t want to tell them the truth.”

  He released a jagged sigh. “It might have been teenagers, for all I know.” But he meekly followed her out.

  Partway along the rows of plants, with Jennifer and Roland going ahead, Matt stopped and swore. Tracy turned to see him glaring at a table full of geraniums receiving a soft spray from the sprinkling system. A clear plastic tube traveled two feet above the table and emitted the spray.

  “I’m an idiot,” he said, rubbing his neck and glaring at the water, obviously connected to a timer.

  “What is it?”

  He gave a long, impatient sigh. “So much for kindly old gardeners.”

  Then he dropped his arm and moved forward, grabbing her elbow to propel her along. “Let’s get out of here.”

  No one argued with her as they plowed through the crowd to the first-aid station. Matt duly reported that he’d been slugged by some kids, but that they hadn’t gotten his wallet. His descriptions were fuzzy, and the head of security who questioned him apologized profusely. Matt assured them he wouldn’t hold the park responsible.

  The doctor pronounced his contusions minor. There were no fractures, but he told Matt to head home and rest. Instead of going to rest, he took Tracy with him to the family-style pub and ordered two cool, foaming glasses of beer.

  Roland elected himself baby-sitter, and since Jennifer was hungry, took her with him to the picnic area where the family-day party was being held. There she could fill herself up on burgers, coleslaw and potato salad.

  The tension hadn’t left Tracy as she and Matt slid into a high-backed booth in the air-conditioned pub. On the other side of the sash windows next to their booth, tables filled a shady patio. Only halfway satisfied that Matt was really all right, she had to ignore how physically fit he looked in spite of having been out cold less than an hour ago. He had his color back, and his hazel eyes were sharp and penetrating. His muscular arms and chest were only too obvious underneath the black T-shirt. He chugged a drink from the tall glass, and she sipped at hers, feeling wary.

  Glancing around to make sure no one was paying attention to them, she leaned forward. “Who do you think hit you?” she asked.

  His eyes met hers, and she could see the wheels turning in his head. When he spoke, he kept his voice low. “I don’t know. But before I passed out, I saw a familiar shoe print.”

  She lifted her eyebrows in question and took another sip.

  Matt drew his eyebrows down in a frown and glanced at the crowd placing orders at the counter. Then he looked at Tracy, matching the intent look in her dark brown eyes. He didn’t like telling her what he was thinking.

  He didn’t want to tell her how many hours he’d spent investigation Scott’s murder last year. The official report read that there had been no wrongdoing on anyone’s part. It had been just an unfortunate accident. He didn’t want to burden Tracy with how he’d agonized over it.

  Scott shouldn’t have responded to that call without backup he could trust. The cops who’d rushed to the scene had botched it, and Scott was dead.

  He didn’t want to tell Tracy how many nights he’d stayed up pacing his living room, rethinking it. And how he’d made diagram after diagram of his own, based on the statements of the witnesses and on the sketches of the bank’s layout.

  But the way she gazed back at him over the rim of her glass made him desperately want to drown in her eyes. He hadn’t realized how isolated he’d been all this time. After his last girlfriend had dropped him for someone else, he’d avoided intimate contact with women. He hadn’t considered himself lonely. He’d just considered himself a man involved in his work.

  Obsessed with his work, maybe, as a bitter place hardened inside him every time a cop was killed on the job. He wanted a reason why these things happened. Coming from an honorable family, who’d brought him up to do his duty and protect the public, he couldn’t stomach random acts of violence. And when it was close to home, someone had to pay.

  Tracy let her silky eyelashes droop partway over her eyes as she ran a hand through her tousled hair. It bounced to her shoulders. The long fingers of her other hand curled around the beer glass, drumming against its icy smoothness. Her kissable lips pressed together. Then she sat up straighter, raised her eyelids and bored her gaze into his once again.

  “What about the shoe print?”

  “I’d recognize that print anywhere,” he said in a husky voice that rumbled with anger. “Standard issue, rubber soles with markings worn by Denver’s finest.”

  She blinked and swayed slightly. Her beautiful eyes narrowed. “A street cop?”

  He nodded a quarter of an inch, feeling his own gaze narrow. He watched her shiver and wished he had a jacket to offer her in the air-conditioning. He couldn’t even reach around and put an arm across her shoulders because the Formica tabletop was between them. For a minute, neither one of them spoke.

  Then she asked, “What are you going to do about it?”

  “Find out what’s going on, that’s what.”

  He saw the sparks in her eyes. “That’s exactly what the man in the greenhouse warned us not to do.” Her voice shook a little. “He said you should stick to your job.” She looked a little embarrassed. “I told him you considered what you’re doing to be part of your job.”

  In spite of the seriousness of the situation, he realized he liked the way she said “us.” And his heart turned over at the way she must have stood up for him during her scary interrogation. He responded warmly to the camaraderie he hoped she was offering.

  “There are only two reasons people like us receive threats. Either to stop us from doing something they don’t want us to do, or because they think we know something they don’t want us to know.”

  She nodded pensively and glanced over her shoulder. “Like that man who wants to know where Carrie Lamb is.”

  She brought her eyes back to Matt’s face, and he read the desperation there. “I don’t know her past. But if that man is after her, then I don’t blame her for running.”

  He twitched the side of his mouth, keeping his voice down. “What concerns me more is that he’s getting close to you.”

  Tracy’s arms pressed down on the table, the curve of her breasts pushing downward against the soft material of her T-shirt. He tried to ignore the increasing arousal he felt every time he was with her.

  Damn it, the situation was getting more dangerous. There was enough to figure out without wanting to abscond with her to some safe haven away from prying eyes, where he could pamper and caress her. Instead, they were caught in a web of evil that was threatening to strangle them. Today’s threat had definitely been too close for comfort. It was time to make a plan.

  He was considering his next move when the door opened and a group of Denver cops came in. Matt narrowed his eyes as the group moved to the counter and placed their orders. Though they were out of uniform, he recognized most of them, especially the square-built man on the end. His golf shirt and chino trousers did nothing to hide his boisterous, self-absorbed attitude.

  “Well, well,” Matt murmured to Tracy. “Guess these guys don’t like the brand of beer they’re serving at the picnic. Lucky for me. I see just the man I need to talk to.”

  She looked at the group by the bar and frowned. But if she recognized Captain Brad McAllister, she didn’t give any indication.

  “I should be getting Jennifer,” she told him. “Roland might need some help.”

  “Good idea,” replied Matt, taking the last slug from his beer glass. “I’ll meet you at the picnic grounds in fifteen minutes. I need a word with our friend, Captain McAllister.”

  He saw the flash of concern in her eyes. But as they slid out of their booth, he gave her a reassuring squeeze on her shoulder, then he dropped his hand. He didn’t know how much of a display of his feelings Tracy would appreciate in front of
mutual acquaintances.

  “Tracy.”

  “What?”

  “Stay in plain sight.”

  He gave her a wink as she moved toward the door, and felt the urge to follow her outside. But he stopped himself. Surely she would stick to the well-populated areas this time and go find Roland. He turned and glided over to the counter, sliding in next to McAllister. When he asked for another beer, McAllister hefted his body around to face him.

  “Well, Forrest. Enjoying yourself?” inquired the beefy captain.

  “I suppose so. You?”

  McAllister raised his glass, then slurped up some of the foam from the top. Matt waited, giving himself time to gauge the other man’s mood and attitude. Finally, he faced him and leveled his words directly.

  “Say, McAllister, what happened to the gun that was confiscated from the grass at the bank yesterday morning? Somehow it didn’t get turned in with the rest of the evidence.”

  He saw the flicker in McAllister’s eyes. He had surprised him. But the man kept his cool and returned a cold stare. “It’s where it’s supposed to be, though I don’t see what business it is of yours, Mr. Elite SWAT Officer.”

  Matt forced a laugh. “Someone doesn’t want me asking—I got that message loud and clear. But what I don’t understand is why that would be.”

  McAllister shrugged. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Forrest. Seems to me you’ve had a chip on your shoulder for a while now. You talk to your commander about that? They don’t like jumpy guys on SWAT.”

  Matt took the dig. SWAT team members were selected because they were supposed to be able to keep their cool in hot situations.

  “I’m not jumpy when I’m doing my job, McAllister. I just want to know what happened to that gun.”

  “Now, why would that be? You’re not a detective, last I checked.”

  “Is it your turf you care about, McAllister? Or are you trying to hide something?”

  McAllister glared at him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  He started to turn his back, but Matt growled low in his ear. “I’m going through proper channels this time, and if that gun isn’t in the evidence room and on the list when I look in there again, I think I’ll have a chat with the internal-investigation guys.”

  McAllister glowered. “Like I said, I mind my own business, and I’d suggest you mind yours, Forrest. As to the gun, some red-tape slipup, most likely. Relax. You know how things can fall between the cracks.”

  “Is that so? I wonder if your division chief would appreciate your sentiments.”

  Matt swallowed another slug of his beer and set the icy glass down with a thud. McAllister was hiding something, he was sure of it. As he moved away, he let his gaze drift over the shoes of the cops picking up drinks at the counter. Sneakers rather than uniform shoes rested on the floor and against the booths. He looked at the faces of the men who hung out with McAllister. Any of them might have held Tracy prisoner and stumbled into the potting soil. But if they had, they’d changed their shoes.

  The shade had claimed most of the park, since the boiling sun was now behind the mountains. Beyond the roller coaster, a red sunset streamed across the sky. Matt ignored the revelry in the park and the canned music and hurried his steps to where the smell of a barbecue was overpowering.

  When he saw Tracy safely talking to a group of friends, he relaxed. Some of the guys had Jennifer off to the side throwing a Frisbee in the grass. He realized how famished he was and stopped long enough to stack a burger, onions, lettuce and tomato on a thick bun and bite into it. Keeping his eyes peeled warily, he ate.

  A couple of rookies wandered in, just off duty and still wearing uniforms. He squinted at their shoes—dusty and scuffed, but not rimmed with potting soil. He couldn’t tell for certain, of course, unless he examined their soles. But who would be stupid enough to leave that kind of a trace?

  But then the kind of man who would lay hands on an innocent victim had to be stupid to begin with. He finished his hamburger, wiped the catsup off his mouth and stuck a plastic fork in his potato salad. It irked him that Tracy had to be worried. While she talked to some of Scott’s old friends, he sat down on one of the picnic tables, his feet on the bench, eyeing the crowd.

  Someone here was a dirty cop. Not anyone he knew and trusted. But somebody in the department must be involved in these goings-on. The thought made him sick to his stomach. And he wasn’t sure what he could do about it.

  He ought to report everything to the internal-investigations squad. Let them handle it. But something made him cautious. Internal investigations had looked into the incident when Scott had been killed and they’d come up with nothing. It would take some powerful evidence to make them reopen the case.

  He watched the crowd mill around in front of him. Everyone was having a good time but him.

  Roland strolled over, leaned on the table and crossed his long arms. “Heavy thoughts behind those sunglasses,” he said.

  Matt grunted. “Had a little chat with McAllister just now.”

  “And?”

  Matt shrugged. “He told me to mind my own business.”

  “Good advice, if you want a career.”

  Matt glanced at his friend. “But you know I don’t let things drop.”

  “I know.”

  Matt considered his next move. He had a hunch. Someone didn’t want Scott Meyer’s death dragged out into the open again. The threats were clear. That meant he had to return to the past, painful as that might be for Tracy, as well.

  If Scott had been murdered, and it hadn’t been just an accident, then it had been for a reason. He had to find out what that reason was.

  Chapter Eight

  Tracy warmed to the expressions of concern and the interest Scott’s former colleagues took in Jennifer and her. She’d forgotten about the outpouring of sympathy when Scott had gone down in the line of duty. The staunch support and regal display of respect shown at his funeral had moved her then. And the generosity that had flooded in had also touched her.

  But all that had been washed away in the following months as it had gotten tougher and tougher to manage as a single parent. And now with Andrew Leigh’s custody suit looming, all her focus had been geared to just hanging on. Until today.

  Still shaken after their unsettling encounters in the greenhouse, Tracy stood on wobbly legs. But as officers and their wives came around to greet her and ask after Jennifer, she began to thaw amid their expressions of friendship and concern. She was still one of them. Oddly, it was something she hadn’t necessarily wanted to be. She was part of this group of peace officers, part of their victories and sorrows, part of the everyday struggle to keep the streets safe.

  Everyone had heard about the attempted bank holdup, and the women had wanted to hear her version of the story, shaking their heads at the scary situation. All of them patted or hugged her, said they were glad she was okay.

  When Matt strolled into the group, she caught his eye briefly, but didn’t hold it. Just knowing he was here made her feel safer again. She hadn’t mentioned her abduction to anyone else, but the cops all knew Matt had been mugged. Some of the rookies had gone to help security do what they could.

  It was eerie to realize that she and Matt were withholding evidence. She should be in the safest place in Denver right now, with nearly the entire police department enjoying the special day in the park for their families. It was ironic that she couldn’t just announce what had really happened.

  But as she chatted with other women and asked about their children, she realized the truth of the matter. There was something fishy going on, and Matt wanted to solve it alone. She lost track of the conversation with the group of three other women and had to apologize.

  “I’m sorry, I was daydreaming,” she said to Rene Baker, the brunette who had just addressed her. “You were saying?”

  Rene was Roland’s sister and had been watching her brother toss the Frisbee with Jennifer and some other kids until Rol
and had left the children to go lean against a picnic table with Matt. Now her sharp eyes glanced in the direction Tracy had been staring. When she looked back at Tracy, she lifted a dark eyebrow.

  “Hmm. Seen much of Matt Forrest lately?”

  Tracy shrugged. If her thoughts were this easy to read, she must be like an open book to Matt and everyone else, for that matter. But why not speak the truth? Rene would hardly begrudge her friendship with Matt.

  “He did come over last night. He’s fond of Jennifer.”

  Rene nodded and gazed across the thirty yards that separated them from her brother and Matt. The two men seemed to be in an intense conversation, even though they weren’t looking at each other. When Rene looked back at Tracy, the sincerity in the other woman’s dark eyes was evident.

  “Good man, Matt Forrest. A lot like Scott in some ways.” Then she bit her lip and looked apologetic.

  “It’s all right,” said Tracy. “I’ve been making the comparison myself.”

  “Ooh, I see. Sounds like you’re not too sure whether that’s a good thing or a bad thing. Take my advice, Tracy, don’t be so hard on yourself. I know it must be rough, taking care of Jennifer alone and all.”

  “You don’t know how rough. Her maternal grandfather wants her.”

  “Oh, I didn’t know that. Where does he live?”

  “Chicago.”

  “Oh my.”

  Tracy sighed. “I can’t bear the thought of her moving away.”

  “You’re very attached to her, aren’t you?”

  “Of course. And we grew closer after Scott’s passing.”

  Rene put her hand on Tracy’s arm. “Good luck, then.”

  “Thanks.”

  “And let me know if there’s anything I can do. Though from the looks of it, you might be getting some help from other quarters.”

  Tracy felt a blush threaten and decided to be frank with her friend.

  “Darn it, Rene. Even if I like Matt, which I’m not saying I do, I’d be crazy to get involved in all that again.” The wave of her hand indicated the police life they were standing in the midst of. She didn’t mind aiming her words directly at Rene. “I’ve already had the pleasure of being a SWAT team widow. It’s the last thing I’d want to do again.”