His To Protect Read online

  A twinge of guilt assailed her as she threw the suitcase on her bed. If she needed to get Jennifer away from danger, oughtn’t she take her to her grandfather, Andrew Leigh? He had the resources to keep her safe. She considered it. She would do anything for Jennifer. Even if she had painted herself into a corner, Jennifer deserved a chance.

  She swore under her breath. She tossed her own undergarments and toiletries into the suitcase, putting off going into Jennifer’s room. She hated running. But she knew she couldn’t sleep another night in her own bed, waiting for a stranger’s voice to call on the phone and tell her he was watching. It was better to go.

  But if she took Jennifer to Grandfather Leigh, she might never get her back. The thought of surrendering the child made her feel bereft, and she wanted to kick herself for failing to adopt her right after she’d married Scott. What had seemed like respect for Jennifer’s memory of her own mother at the time had grown into a bond deeper than either of them could have imagined. Now it was too late. She would adopt Jennifer now, but she had to fight Andrew Leigh first.

  She finally walked down the hall to where Jennifer had put on her pajamas and combed out her braids as best she could. She was sitting on her bed playing with her teddy bear. Tracy went in and sat on the bed with them.

  “Telling him about your day at the park?” she inquired.

  “Yes,” said Jennifer. “He liked hearing about the Big Wheel.”

  Tracy reached for Teddy and squeezed him on the head. “How would you and Teddy like to go spend the night at Rene Baker’s house?”

  “Hmm. Will you go with us?”

  “Yes, I will. Matt will take us over there. I’ll help you pack.”

  “Why are we going?”

  She felt her heart turn over. She wanted to protect her little girl, but Jennifer needed to know some of the truth. If worse came to worst and Jennifer were threatened, God forbid, there would be some things she could do for herself. Nonetheless, Tracy chose her words carefully.

  “You know that Matt is a police officer, don’t you?”

  “Yes, like Daddy was.”

  “Uh-huh. Well, Matt is chasing some bad men. There are some things he has to find out about, and he needs my help.”

  “He does?”

  “Yes.”

  She swallowed and forced herself to go on. “When your father was killed last year, it was so sudden he didn’t have a chance to tell us some things about the bad guys. Matt needs to find out what Scott knew and didn’t have time to tell us.”

  Jennifer’s eyes were round, and she listened seriously. But Tracy was relieved to see she wasn’t afraid.

  “Will Matt catch the bad guys?” asked Jennifer.

  He’d better, Tracy thought. Or we might all get hurt. She said, “He’ll do his best. But until he does, we thought Rene and her brother could take care of you. I’ll help Matt find out what he needs to know, then I’ll come back to Rene’s house and sleep there. Okay?”

  “Okay.” Jennifer moved off the bed and chose the things she wanted to take with her while Tracy stacked some clothes on her arm.

  By the time she had the suitcase zipped up and Jennifer ready in the living room, Matt had finished talking on the phone. She left some lights on to make it look as if they were home and then grabbed the keys off the lamp table.

  “Are you going to stay with us at Rene’s?” Jennifer asked, looking up at Matt.

  He caught Tracy’s glance before he smiled at Jennifer and squatted down to talk to her. “I just might do that. Would it be okay with you if I did?”

  “Yes. We could have a slumber party.”

  “Okay, then.”

  He straightened, tucked the appointment diary they’d found upstairs under one arm, and took Jennifer by the hand. They headed out together, and Matt stood outside the car, scanning the neighborhood, while Tracy fastened Jennifer’s seat belt. Then he slid in and started the engine.

  They drove in silence down the quiet residential street. Light from the corner streetlamps bathed them as they slowed at the intersections. Then they turned onto the major thoroughfare and headed east.

  She saw Matt glance in the rearview mirror after every stoplight, and she turned to look out the back herself. But it didn’t seem that they were being followed. Even so, she felt the unwelcome sensations that came with being on the run.

  On the run. As if she didn’t have enough problems to deal with, now she was caught up in some dangerous web that was life threatening. She didn’t know whether she should thank Matt for his protection or be angry with him for wanting to handle it his way.

  At least he trusted Roland Baker. She gritted her teeth, remembering what a tight group the SWAT team cops were. No wonder there was territorialism within the police department The SWAT team guys got the best training. After that, how could they trust anyone else to save their skins but themselves?

  Rene and Roland had inherited from their grandparents one of the old farmhouses still left in the eastern suburb of Aurora. Small brick duplexes and frame houses had multiplied as subdivisions ate up the original farmstead. But the two-story white house with fieldstone foundation and chimney sat back on an acre of grass. Behind the house, a barking Doberman pinscher paced the length of a chain-link fence.

  Jennifer was half-asleep by the time they got there. Matt picked her up in his arms and carried her from the gravel driveway to the covered porch.

  The porch light was on, and movement of the curtain behind the oval glass in the door was followed by Rene’s opening the door. She reached for Jennifer and patted her on the back while admiring Teddy.

  “I’ve fixed up the extra bedroom for you and Jennifer,” she told Tracy. “You staying here, too?” she asked Matt.

  Matt looked at Tracy briefly. “Yes,” he answered.

  “Fold-out sofa in the study upstairs is fixed up.”

  She nodded to a set of buttons and a steady red light on a box on the wall next to the door. “Lock the door. Alarms are set.”

  Matt followed Tracy up to the guest room and waited until she had Jennifer tucked into one of the two chenille-covered twin beds. Then Tracy followed him out into the hall so they could talk. He kept his voice low.

  “I’m going to follow up on these leads. Roland will be back soon to take care of anything that might come up.”

  “Where are you going?”

  In answer, he held up the appointment book he’d brought from Scott’s desk. “Liquor store, bowling alley.”

  “Now?”

  He jerked his head in a nod. “Now’s as good a time as any. I’ll need that photo of Scott.”

  She made her decision. “I’m coming with you.”

  He seemed to hesitate. “You know I’m not going by the book.”

  Her voice was tight. “I know. But I can’t just lie here and go to sleep.”

  “Why not?

  “I can help you.”

  He seemed to weigh the possible dangers against having her along. She herself wondered at her impulsive decision to go with him. Jennifer’s safety came first. But Jennifer was soundly sleeping in a burglar-alarmed house with a guard dog. And the SWAT team sniper himself was on his way here to sit on the porch with a shotgun across his knees if necessary.

  With all that security so she wouldn’t have to worry, Tracy realized that she was as curious about what those appointments in the Day-Timer meant as Matt was. She’d never questioned Scott about his work much, realizing now how she hadn’t really wanted him to bring it home. But if he’d been involved in something that ultimately had gotten him killed, she felt a sense of duty to help find out what it was, like it or not.

  Matt’s fierce expression softened, and his eyelids relaxed over his hazel eyes. He didn’t even touch her, yet she could feel the warmth emanating from his solid torso and flexed arms.

  “I can’t guarantee what we might be getting into,” he said. “Wouldn’t you rather rest?”

  Her hand went to his chest of its own volition, though s
he didn’t look up at his face. “I won’t rest. Not until I know why we’re being hounded.”

  She felt his breath in her hair. His hand slid up to her waist.

  “All right,” he murmured. “I’ll take you with me. Bring the picture.”

  Her limbs trembling, she returned to the room and quietly opened the suitcase to pull out the brown envelope in which she had a photograph of Scott.

  When the two of them returned downstairs, they saw Roland sprawled on one of the sofas in the living room. Rene sat on the edge of the other sofa across from him, leaning forward, a glass-topped coffee table between them. They rose when Matt and Tracy stopped in the wide-arched entryway. Roland crossed to them and stood, hands on hipbones, as he looked at Matt.

  “We’re secured here,” said Roland in the tone that reminded Tracy of the military-like tactics they were trained in. But Scott had also been one of them, and Scott was dead.

  Matt told Rene and Roland where they were going, and then Rene let them out, locking up securely behind them. As they walked to the car, a cool breeze blessed them, and the old maples and giant oaks that had stood here on the original farm rattled their leaves and swayed their branches. It was the kind of summer night lovers basked in...if they weren’t being hunted.

  Tracy fastened her seat belt and locked her door as they got under way. Matt drove in silence while Tracy flipped slowly through the Day-Timer. A sting of regret washed over her as she noticed that neither her birthday nor Jennifer’s was circled. Nothing but a few notations here and there about training days and the unexplained times and places she and Matt were now following up.

  Then she turned to the previous July, beginning with the Fourth of July weekend, exactly a year ago today. As she might expect, the Denver Police family day was duly noted. It had been held at the YMCA camp last year. She flipped forward to the next week, the next, and then the next.

  She stared at a date that had been circled in green ink. Friday, August 1. The day Scott had been killed. She felt the blood pound in her ears. No one had touched this Day-Timer, which had lain in Scott’s desk for the past year. She even recognized the green ink from the green ballpoint pens he used to keep at his desk.

  She lifted her head and looked out the window at the lights of Colfax Avenue as they headed downtown. She watched Matt’s determined profile while he glanced in his mirrors and at the sides of the streets as they drove.

  “It’s circled,” she said, feeling a chill creep along her spine. “August 1 is circled.”

  Matt didn’t speak for a second. Then he frowned. “The day Scott was killed.”

  She nodded, not taking her eyes from his shadowed face as he stared out the windshield.

  “Why would a man circle the day he was going to die?”

  Chapter Nine

  Matt didn’t answer for a moment as he slowed for a stoplight. Finally, he asked, “Are you sure?”

  The date she’d never forget had been heavily circled in green ink. “He knew,” she whispered to herself.

  Matt reached over to squeeze her hand. It was a comforting gesture. Then he returned his hand to the wheel. “We just need to find out what he knew,” he said.

  She stared out the window at the closed shops with gates across their windows. Colfax Avenue changed its appearance at night. Only a block away, fine old mansions had been renovated for use as offices and bed-and-breakfast inns. But this close to downtown, a block with chic boutiques and restaurants might be located next to a block where winos congregated on the steps of a church.

  They turned down a side street and parked. Matt opened the glove compartment and removed his automatic pistol. He checked the magazine and safety and then strapped on a shoulder holster. To conceal the bulk, he reached into the back seat and retrieved a khaki vest with pockets.

  “You sure you don’t want to wait in the car?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “I’m sure.”

  Looking around to see whether they’d been followed, he started to open his door. “Stay close to me.”

  She stepped onto a sidewalk sprinkled with broken glass. It wasn’t the kind of neighborhood she would ordinarily visit at night, but for a SWAT team cop it must seem routine. When she caught Matt’s face in the light from the streetlamp, she could see the steely glint in his slightly narrowed eyes. His jaw was set and his muscles flexed. Everything about him seemed coiled tightly, as if ready to spring into action.

  Even so, the protective grip of his arm around her shoulders was warm and reassuring as they crossed the street to the liquor store.

  Inside, several T-shirted clerks stocked shelves and took money. They looked as if they could handle any trouble that came through the door. Matt glanced around briefly and then approached the clerk behind the counter. He opened his wallet to show his badge. The blue-eyed, tattooed clerk in a sleeveless, cutoff T-shirt met his gaze evenly.

  “What can I do for you?”

  Matt reached for the photo. “If you have a memory for faces, I need to know if you saw this man in here about a year ago. He was a cop.”

  The clerk shook his head. “I never saw him. Hey, Nico, ever seen this guy? Man says he was a cop.”

  The dark-complected clerk addressed as Nico came over and took a look. “Who’s asking?” He spoke with a Latin accent.

  “Another cop,” said the first clerk, nodding at Matt.

  Matt adopted a relaxed manner. “He wrote down this address in a date book he had. He was here several times about a year ago. Any idea why?”

  Nico looked at the picture for a long time. He finally looked up. “Never saw him.”

  From the way he said it and from his guarded gaze, Tracy knew he was lying. She looked at Matt and felt certain in her gut that Matt knew it, too.

  Matt shook his head. “Too bad.”

  “Why’s that?” asked Nico.

  Matt placed both his hands on the counter and leaned forward, forcing Nico and the blue-eyed Romeo to look at him.

  “Someone shot him. I think whoever shot him was in here at the same times he was. It’d be helpful if you remembered anything.”

  He reached for a stubby pencil and wrote something on the back of a flyer advertising the motorcycle shop next door.

  “Here’s my cell phone number. You call me if you think of anything.” He put his hand on Tracy’s waist and guided her toward the door.

  She was glad to leave the high-crime neighborhood behind as they drove east on Fourteenth Avenue. Matt was thoughtful, and Tracy tried to relax some of her tense muscles.

  Twenty minutes later, they pulled into the parking lot at the bowling alley located in southeast Denver. Inside, the lanes were busy, and the familiar sound of heavy balls thumping on the wood lanes and knocking into the pins reverberated every few seconds. A glass partition separated a restaurant from the rest of the bowling alley. Matt steered her inside and they took seats at the counter.

  “Decaf coffee, please,” said Tracy when a middle-aged waitress with dyed-red hair came to serve them. Matt had the same.

  When the woman returned with their cups, Matt showed her the picture. “This man look familiar to you at all? He was in here several times about a year ago.”

  The waitress took the picture and drew her penciled eyebrows together in concentration. “Good-lookin’ face. Yeah, I seen him. Couldn’t tell you when. Been a long time. A year, you say?”

  Matt leaned his elbows on the counter and nodded toward Tracy. “This is his widow. We’re trying to find out who killed him.”

  The waitress widened her blue eyes into sympathy. “Oh, I’m sorry, honey. That’s a shame.”

  “Thank you,” said Tracy.

  She left the rest to Matt, who played on the woman’s sympathetic feelings. His voice was deeply intent, as if he were taking the waitress into his confidence.

  “He left behind some notes that indicate his interest in this location. Anything you can remember might help us. Who he was with, what he did while he was here, whether he
came and left alone.”

  The waitress cocked her head and frowned into the air above their heads as if trying to remember. “I served him coffee a couple of times,” she began. “He always sat over there.” She indicated a seat at a small table next to the glass partition.

  “Alone?”

  She shrugged. “Don’t remember anybody else with him.”

  Matt slid off the stool and picked up his coffee cup. “You mind?” He headed for the seat she’d indicated.

  Tracy felt a wave of queasiness as they took seats at the little table where Scott had sat. It was a little eerie to be following her deceased husband’s trail. Matt broke off from narrowing his gaze through the glass at the bowling alley. He settled a look of concern on her as if to make sure she was doing okay.

  “It’s all right,” she whispered hoarsely. “What do you think he was doing here?”

  Matt returned his gaze to the lanes visible through the glass. The sound of toppling bowling pins was muted.

  “Watching someone.”

  She, too, looked at the bowling teams. From here, she could see every lane to the right and left. Then she craned her neck around to see where Matt was looking past her head. Through the glass behind them, on the other side of the main entrance, was the counter where people rented shoes. When she turned back around, she read the look on Matt’s face. Seated where Matt was, Scott could watch whoever came in and see where he or she was playing. She swallowed.

  “Who do you think he was watching for?”

  He brought his steely gaze back to her eyes. “Give me the appointment book.”

  She reached into her bag and handed Matt the black leather Day-Timer. He flipped to the pages where Scott had marked down the bowling alley. “Tuesday nights,” he said. “Whoever he was here to meet or to spy on isn’t here now.”

  “Don’t tell me,” she responded. “We can’t wait around until Tuesday to see what he saw.”

  “Right you are.”

  He told the waitress they were ready for their check and handed her an extremely generous tip. “Anything special happen around here on Tuesday nights?” he asked her as she ripped the check from her pad and pocketed the ten.