His To Protect Read online

  A smile touched Rene’s wine-colored lips, but she remained sympathetic. “I know it’s rough. But who ever said we live by our heads?”

  They both stood there for a minute watching Roland and Matt, until Matt slid off the table and came their way. His eyes locked on Tracy’s as if reassuring himself she was still all right. Then he pulled his gaze away to greet Rene.

  “You two cooking up trouble?” asked Rene in a low, half-joking voice, including her brother in her comment.

  “Why? Did you have something in mind?” Matt replied cheekily, waggling his eyebrows at Rene just as some other people approached to speak to the Bakers. He moved closer to Tracy and murmured in her ear. “If you’ve had enough, there are some things we need to do. Get Jennifer and meet me by the sidewalk over there in five minutes.”

  She nodded without looking at him. But she felt her blood respond to his protective nearness. She caught Rene studying her just as she stepped away to call Jennifer from her game. Rene’s words sang in her mind, Who ever said we live by our heads?

  Jennifer’s laughter rang out across the soft grass. It was good for her to have fun and run and play. But she shouldn’t overexert herself, either. The rides had been exciting, and if she didn’t start to wind down now, she might bring an attack upon herself tonight.

  “Jennifer,” she called, interrupting the Frisbee game. “Sorry, hon, but we need to go now.”

  “We do?” Jennifer ran over to her, and Tracy saw the grass stains on her shorts. Her braids were a wreck, but it was good that she wore these signs of healthy play.

  “Yes. Matt needs to take us home. He has some work to do.”

  Jennifer’s pale skin wrinkled in question. “Work? But it’s a holiday weekend.”

  “Well,” Tracy teased her. “The official holiday isn’t until Saturday. This is only Thursday.”

  “Oh.”

  Tracy held out a hand. “Come on. You’ve had enough fun for the afternoon. Time for a little bit of rest.”

  “All right.”

  It amazed Tracy how obedient the child was. She didn’t know anything about how her mother had raised her, and Scott had been around only in the evenings. But neither Scott nor Tracy had wanted to spoil Jennifer, either. She shook her head, thinking about it. Somehow, among all of them, Jennifer had learned some restraint and wisdom.

  In the Blazer on the way home, Tracy gnawed on the problems facing her, not the least of which was her growing relationship with the man beside her. She was all too conscious of the body language developing between them. Matt was a gentleman and no doubt restraining himself. And now he was even putting himself on the line for her.

  Or was it for her? A man of action, he was clearly used to taking matters into his own hands. They couldn’t talk with Jennifer in the car, but she found herself doubting his methods.

  With relief, she opened the door and stepped out onto the curb in front of the house. Jennifer took Matt’s hand and pulled him along to the porch, where they waited for Tracy to dig out her key. She didn’t even have to ask to know that Matt was coming in.

  “Go brush out your hair, Jenn,” said Tracy. “It’s a mess.”

  Jennifer skipped off to her room, and Tracy went to the kitchen to check the answering machine. The red light was steady, indicating no calls. She realized what trepidation she felt at the thought of playing back messages. Too many bad things could be on that tape.

  “Nobody’s called,” she said on a breath.

  “Oh?”

  She went to the sink to wash her hands, as much to give herself a chance to think as because she needed to get rid of the grime from the amusement park.

  “Want anything to drink?” she asked Matt.

  “No, thanks. I’m okay.”

  When she turned around, she was conscious of the way he was looking at her. The evening shadows wrapped around them, drawing them together. But he didn’t touch her, just looked at her face, as if examining every small detail he saw there. Finally he spoke, tilting his head toward the back stairway that led to the attic room.

  “You go up to Scott’s den much?”

  The house had no basement. But the steep roof allowed a single attic room that had been made into an extra bedroom by the former owners of the house. Scott had adapted it into his den.

  She shook her head. “I always told myself I’d make it into a guest room. But every time I went up there to work on things, it made me depressed. I haven’t touched his papers, except for what I needed, like insurance.”

  Matt rubbed his chin, looking upward. “That might be a good thing. Mind if I have a look?”

  She straightened her spine. “What are you looking for?”

  “Something that will tell me why he got killed.”

  She shivered. “Matt, why don’t we just go to the division chief? We can’t fight this thing alone.”

  He gave her a stony look. “If that’s what you really want me to do, I’ll do it. I’m not here to mess with your life. You’re already in too much danger.”

  She moved closer, lifting her face to meet his gaze. “You don’t play by the rules, do you?”

  She could see a muscle in his jaw flinch.

  “Not if the rules get in the way. I saw a cop’s shoe print in that room today. If I report that, there’ll be a flap. Chief Bartola won’t reopen the investigation into your husband’s death without solid evidence. And someone in the department will see that it isn’t reopened. Chief’ll say I have a chip on my shoulder.”

  “Well, don’t you?” She regretted saying the words as soon as she spoke them.

  “You didn’t mean that, Tracy.”

  She half turned away. “Maybe not. I’m sorry. It’s just that...I’m so tired.” She slumped against the kitchen counter.

  Matt came over and massaged her shoulders. “I know you are. And I want to help you.”

  Fatigue seeped into her every limb. “How can you help me? You’re not a lawyer.”

  “No, I’m just a cop. But I have some powers of observation, and I don’t like what’s going on.”

  She turned, placing herself in the circle of his arms. “Then why not report what happened today to the federal investigators looking into the attempted bank robbery? If that raspy-voiced maniac is chasing Carrie Lamb, isn’t that connected with her disappearance? And you told me she’s now a suspect, as well as a victim. Shouldn’t we be telling someone about all of this?”

  “I will, I will. Just give me a chance to follow up on this hunch first.”

  His face was very close. His hand was caressing the back of her head, and he was making her hair dance around his fingers. He rested his forehead on hers for a minute, and she felt her breath grow shallow. Consenting adults. Who ever said we live by our heads?

  “What do you think you’ll find upstairs?” she said breathlessly.

  He sobered and pulled away an inch.

  “Maybe someone got rid of Scott because he knew something.”

  He backed away and let his hands slide from her shoulders down her arms. “Did Scott ever imply any suspicions about anyone else on the force?”

  She shook her head. “No, not that I remember.”

  “You’re sure.”

  “I don’t know. I think I’m sure. He said nothing to arouse my suspicions.” She looked away. “He didn’t confide in me about work that much.”

  “What did he confide in you about?”

  She jerked her head back around. “Isn’t that getting rather personal?”

  His hold on her arms increased slightly. “Aren’t we getting personal?”

  She heard the huskiness in his voice and felt the swell of desire. Damn him for being so...so...desirable. His masculinity invaded every pore of her body, making her blood sing out for more. Her loneliness cried out to him to hold her, comfort her, make her forget everything. She was losing control, and fast.

  “Damn it,” she swore as he slid his arms around her back.

  “What?”

  “
This,” she whispered as he lowered his mouth to kiss her lips.

  She felt her lips respond to his as the kiss deepened. They hadn’t turned the light on in the kitchen, and it remained dim and secretive as their bodies began to respond to each other.

  He pulled her tighter as if he didn’t care anymore if he hid the physical presence of his desire. Her breasts pushed against him, aching with arousal. When one of his hands strayed up to brush across her erect nipple, he stopped to gently pinch it, and a scorching flame ignited deep between her legs. Damn it, she wanted him.

  Urgency increased their breathing as they held and caressed each other. Finally, sense penetrated the haze in her mind, and she whispered into his ear, “We can’t.”

  “Why not?” was his answer.

  Why not indeed, except that a seven-year-old might walk in on them at any minute. “Jennifer,” she managed to croak in his ear.

  She heard his tight grunt. Still he kissed her. But she could tell he realized where they were. After one more long moment of clutching each other, he took a deep breath. She tried to steady herself and stepped back when he released her. She couldn’t speak for the effect he’d had on her.

  She wanted him. And why not? She was a healthy young woman who enjoyed sex when she had a reliable, steady partner. But sex with Scott had never felt like that. And all Matt had done was kiss her!

  She tried to still her excited breathing and calm her beating heart. Something told her that she would make love to Matt someday if all their dire complications could be sorted out. And if she did, it would be like nothing she’d ever experienced in her life. Her hand went down hard on the countertop. His searing gaze told her he felt the same way.

  But they had to hold back. She wasn’t the kind of woman to indulge in sex merely for the physical pleasure. And she had told herself she didn’t want a relationship with a SWAT team cop. She didn’t want that all over again.

  Matt satisfied himself by bending over and swiping his lips across hers one more time as if he wanted to savor the taste of her mouth. Then he drew in a large breath and looked toward the stairs again.

  “I want to go up there.”

  She swallowed. “I’ve got to help Jennifer get ready for bed. Go ahead. You know where things are. I never locked his desk. I’ll join you after Jennifer’s tucked in.”

  MATT HAD TO USE all his mental powers to cool his desire for Tracy. It was beginning to seem kinky to want to make love to his old buddy’s gorgeous widow. Almost as if he needed permission. But the man had been dead for a year. Scott Meyer was gone. Some people said that the spirit was reborn into a new body and started over again. But wherever Scott had gone, even if he were still hovering around the house as a ghost, Matt hoped he understood. It was just him and Tracy now.

  “I’m doing this for you, old buddy,” he whispered as he pushed open the door to the attic room and walked across to the desk.

  Their dire circumstances made him put aside his overwhelming desire for Tracy. His professional instincts told him it would be foolish to immerse himself in a bout of lovemaking that would make them both more vulnerable to the threats that were closing in on them. They weren’t secure, and he needed to keep that foremost in his mind.

  Already the responsibility of keeping Tracy and Jennifer safe was making him reconsider his plans. They could no longer stay alone. And the sooner he figured out what this was all about, the sooner they could get on with their lives. Whether those lives had room for him in them, it was too soon to tell. But as he stepped into the room that had been Scott’s den and sometime family playroom, he realized in an ironic way how close to this family he already was.

  Putting personal thoughts out of his mind, he began to examine Scott’s desk. His sharp eyes and trained senses sought anything that might help him.

  “Sorry to invade your privacy like this,” he whispered to his dead friend. “But I have to find out what you knew.”

  He poked in the slots where some old letters and papers were folded. He glanced over all of those, but they seemed to offer little.

  Opening the drawers below, he saw that Tracy had sorted through things and stacked papers in categories. Car insurance, health insurance, tax returns. He paused over the tax returns. He knew approximately what salary Scott had made, and nothing unusual showed up on his taxable income. No large sums of money, at least none had been declared.

  He heard soft footsteps behind him and knew that Tracy had joined him. He felt himself wishing she would come over and lay a hand on his shoulder. He craved her touch. But she simply moved up beside him and hugged herself in that protective gesture he recognized as meaning that she needed to keep herself apart and that she was confronting something unpleasant.

  “Any luck?” she asked.

  “Not yet.” He turned to look up at her. “Did Scott ever come into unusual sums of money?”

  She brushed some hair back over her ear and shook her head. “Not that I know of. We lived on both our salaries. I did the budget, so I knew what went into the bank account.”

  So it wasn’t money they were after. Matt felt some measure of relief. He couldn’t believe his old partner had been on the take, but he had to make sure. He put away the tax returns and dug elsewhere.

  Giving up on the drawer, he returned to the main part of the desk, drumming his fingers slowly on the clean blotter. Then he stopped. Small indentations showed where a pen had pressed down on paper on top of it. He drew his hand away.

  “Have you changed the blotter since Scott used this desk?” he asked Tracy.

  “No. Like I said, I didn’t do any more than I had to up here.”

  “Good.”

  He picked up the blotter and held it near the lamplight “Daylight will work better than this. We might be able to see impressions of what he wrote if he pressed hard.”

  “What do you think you’re going to find?” she asked.

  “I’m not sure.”

  He squinted at the marks there. If he took the blotter to the lab, they could probably do even more with it. But this wasn’t an official investigation.

  He set the blotter upright beside the desk for a better look tomorrow.

  “I’ll know it when I find it,” he added. His fingers drifted across a zipper-bound, black leather Day-Timer. He pulled it out, saw that it was for the previous year and began to thumb through it. Most of the pages were blank.

  “Did Scott write down his appointments or just keep them in his head?” he asked. He never remembered Scott using this book on the job.

  She shrugged. “He wasn’t very good about writing things down. I bought that for him as a gift.” She sighed. “I’d hoped it would encourage him to plan dates with us. It didn’t seem to help much.”

  Matt frowned at the little book. There were some things noted that he didn’t understand. A few phone numbers, some locations, but they didn’t reveal a lot. A bowling night was noted, along with the name of a liquor store on that same day. Matt searched his memory. The liquor store might have been one where they’d served a high-risk warrant. He’d have to check that out.

  He flipped several weeks ahead. There was the bowling night again, and then again two weeks later. He looked at Tracy. “I didn’t know Scott was into bowling.”

  “He wasn’t,” said Tracy.

  He held her gaze. “Then he was awfully interested in someone who was. Look at these.” He showed her the entries, sniffing a trail.

  Then he swiveled the chair and gazed vaguely at the bookshelves on the other side of the room and at the closet with its half-open door. “Did internal investigations ever come here after the incident that killed him?”

  “No. Commander Udal assured me the incident was being looked into, but it was more along the line of condolences than investigation. I guess he didn’t think Scott was murdered.”

  She grimaced, and he knew it meant that she still wished it weren’t so. He couldn’t resist reaching out to wrap his hand around hers. “I wish he hadn’t been,”
he said softly.

  She lifted her chin as if to acknowledge that they had a job to do, even if she didn’t like it. Matt had to make a decision. There wasn’t any time to waste, and he couldn’t risk exposing Tracy to any more danger.

  “I don’t want you to stay here,” he said. “Can you and Jennifer spend the night at Rene Baker’s house?”

  If he had to be out chasing clues, then he would have to rely on some help. Nobody was going to mess with the house where the SWAT team sniper and his sister lived. Not if he had any brains. And Matt thought that whoever was behind all this had some brains.

  Tracy tightened her lips, then gave a quick nod. “I’ll get Jennifer ready. Do you want me to call Rene?”

  “No, I’ll call Roland. He’ll tell her what we need.”

  Tracy’s eyes dwelled on his for a second, opened wider as if allowing a slight amount of help. That was good, he thought. In her fight for self-reliance, she didn’t realize that she was shutting out people who wanted to help. But there wasn’t time for the sentiment to be voiced. He touched both her arms and spoke gently.

  “Okay. Go pack. And bring along a photo of Scott, if you have one.”

  IT WAS TIME to tell Jennifer the truth. Tracy dreaded doing that, but she knew she had to. As she walked down the narrow, carpeted stairs and through the kitchen to the hall closet, her stomach clenched tightly. She couldn’t allow herself to feel the tremors of fear that drove her thoughts. And the sour resentment that curled in her stomach. Her parents’ cautions about marrying a police officer echoed in her mind as she yanked open the door and pushed back coats to reach for the suitcase hidden in the depths.

  Was she bent on a course of self-destruction, then? She’d just fanned the flames of intimacy with Matt, and now they were on a wild-goose chase, trying to solve what Matt was certain was a murder.

  “The trail is cold,” she said to the closet, as if arguing with it over what they were about to do.

  She wanted to pack the suitcase and take Jennifer away, all right, far away from everything. Then let Matt charge around on his white horse and take care of whoever was hounding them.