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  She shook her head as if to herself. “I’m all right. I was worried about...” She looked vaguely in the direction of the ambulance that had taken the woman away.

  “Would you like to go with her to the hospital?” he asked.

  “No, I don’t know.” She looked up again, a confused expression on her face. “We’re not...it’s not that we’re close. But she said something...in there, that I...” She paused to draw a deep breath, her hand on her diaphragm. “I think I should sit down.”

  “Over here.”

  With his professional eye still on the rest of the proceedings, he led Tracy to the concrete edge of a low retaining wall on the property next to the bank. The police information officer was giving an interview to the press on the outer perimeter. The ambulances had pulled away with the wounded, and the patrol cars with the prisoners had driven off. Bystanders still stood around talking about what had happened. He pulled out his radio to talk to his partner.

  “Hobbs,” he spoke into the radio. “Matt. I’m with a witness. Everything okay?”

  “We’re clear,” came the answer into his earpiece. “You need some time?”

  “Right.”

  “Commander says we’ll be here for a few. Udal’s mad. Whoever fired at that getaway vehicle, it wasn’t one of us.”

  “Didn’t think so. They have the ID on the girl yet?”

  “Yeah, bank employee.”

  “I’m here if you need me,” said Matt, and signed off.

  “I can tell you who she is,” murmured Tracy.

  Matt sat down on the concrete wall beside her and unconsciously reached over to give her hand a squeeze. She returned the light pressure, and he felt the bond between them. A bond built of mutual sympathy and loss. It was as much a shield as a bond.

  It was hard to face Tracy again. Hard because he still felt somehow at fault that Scott had gotten killed last year at a call-out where Matt and the rest of the squad should have been. It had left a bitter taste in his mouth and a gulf in his life. It was hell losing a team member who’d been a close friend, as well, and it was even harder confronting his widow.

  “Who is she?”

  He heard the hardness in his voice as he tried to keep the conversation in the present. Now wasn’t the time to fight the demons of the past.

  “Carrie Lamb. She’s Jennifer’s tutor. You met her at Scott’s funeral.”

  “Sorry. I didn’t recognize her.”

  “That’s okay.”

  He saw her lips start to tremble and he had to force his hand to stay down and not reach up to smooth the tangled hair on the back of her shoulders. The dark blue cloth of her short, belted dress contrasted with the deep red of her hair, and he was conscious of confused emotions inside of him. Never good at sorting out his feelings in the first place, he felt the situation getting more awkward by the moment.

  “Tell me what happened,” he said as smoothly as he could. She would be asked to give a statement later. In fact, he felt a twinge of conscience that he didn’t have her talking to the investigators now. They’d want a description of the robber that had gotten away and anything she’d heard him say.

  Tracy placed both hands on the ledge beside her and held herself up stiffly. “We were having a meeting,” she explained. “It was about Jennifer’s trust fund.”

  Matt frowned. “I see.”

  “I...” she glanced at him quickly, and he saw the doubt in her eyes, as if she didn’t want to tell him.

  He spoke softly. “You know I just want to help.” It wasn’t his place to pry into her private life.

  Tracy struggled with her words. “I wanted to access some of the money in the trust fund. For Jennifer. She’s being treated for her asthma. I’m using some alternative therapies that even her doctors agree are helping. But the insurance...” She broke off and turned her head away. “Sorry. I sound like I’m complaining. None of this is your problem.”

  Matt frowned. “You mean you were discussing the money when the robbery happened?”

  She gave a slow nod. “I had Scott’s revolver out on the table. It had been in my safe-deposit box. Anyway, the robber took it upstairs. I guess it’s out there on the grass somewhere. I saw Carrie grab it when we went outside. But the robber made her drop it.”

  “Scott’s revolver?”

  She nodded. “The one they returned to me after the funeral.”

  She squeezed her eyes shut, and he didn’t press her further. Loud voices were drifting their way from the perimeter around the bank where officers were taking statements. He heard Commander Udal raising his voice with someone. Matt tried to keep his attention focused on Tracy a moment longer.

  “Are you up to giving a statement now?”

  She nodded and stood up. In spite of her ramrod spine and the way she squared her shoulders when she stood up, he could still see the anguish in her brown eyes. Her cheeks looked hollow, and there were faint worry lines across her forehead where there shouldn’t have been. Damn! The situation was getting to him. He had to see her alone and find out what was really going on with Jennifer and her. He knew about the trust fund and had been glad when the Denver Police League had come up with a flood of donations. He had thought that would see her through. But there must be some hang-up that he hadn’t foreseen.

  Placing a hand gently on her back, he guided her toward the scene and into the midst of an argument. Captain Brad McAllister was near the front door, legs spread, hands on hips, glaring at SWAT team Commander Udal.

  “You’ve done your job, Udal. This is my turf now. If you don’t mind, I have a crime scene to secure.”

  “You can secure it all you like,” replied the tall, normally unruffled Udal. “I just want to know why you took it upon yourself to negotiate with perpetrators and then open fire when a hostage’s life was in danger.”

  “If you don’t like what I did, why don’t you take it to the division commander? I didn’t see your squad preventing that suspect from escaping for all your fancy training.”

  Udal’s jaw clenched, but Matt could see that his commander knew this argument would get them nowhere. “We’ll get out of your way, then.”

  McAllister looked over Udal’s shoulder and seemed to just now recognize Tracy. His belligerent expression changed to one of compassion and sympathy a bit too smoothly for Matt’s taste. The large, square-built captain came forward.

  “Mrs. Meyer. I’m so sorry to involve you in this. Would you like to sit down?”

  “Thank you, I’ve been sitting. I can give you a statement if you wish.”

  Matt admired the way she stood up to him, as if she didn’t care for McAllister’s solicitousness very much, either.

  “The sergeant will take your statement, then, when you’re ready.”

  Matt saw her give a little frown, but let her go. He knew McAllister wouldn’t want him nosing around any further, especially since there seemed to be a turf war going on.

  But there was something funny here. The revolver Tracy mentioned clearly hadn’t been Scott Meyer’s gun at all. While it was true that the officers in the Denver Police Department purchased their own weapons, and any weapon of Scott’s would be part of his personal effects, SWAT team members used automatic pistols for the extra rounds they needed. Not revolvers.

  He crossed the grass to where he remembered the robber taking his hostage with him. The crime-scene investigators had marked off a perimeter, and the photographer was snapping pictures. Matt didn’t see any gun. Maybe it had already been confiscated as evidence.

  But if it wasn’t Scott’s gun, whose was it?

  Chapter Two

  By the time she finished giving her statement to the sergeant, Tracy just wanted to go home. She had to take Jennifer for her chiropractic visit today. She ground her teeth, swallowing the resentment she couldn’t help feeling at having to do all this alone. Much of the time, she just told herself to put one foot in front of the other. Nobody ever said being a single parent was easy, but sometimes the problems she�
�d had to deal with since Scott’s death were too much. She used to talk to Carrie about it sometimes. But now Carrie was God knew where.

  “We’ll have your statement typed up,” the sergeant said. “Then you’ll need to come downtown to sign it. I’m sorry, Mrs. Meyer.”

  “It’s all right.”

  The young sergeant had the sorrowful look she’d seen in so many eyes since Scott had been killed. She winced inwardly. Didn’t they understand? It wasn’t sympathy she wanted anymore. Gradually, during the past year, grief over her loss had been supplanted by the struggle of daily living. She couldn’t afford to dwell in the past, with only memories of Scott to sustain her.

  She forced her expression into one of acknowledgment and turned to go. Up ahead she saw Matt tossing his vest and equipment into the back of the van. She tried not to look at him. Something inside her felt glad he’d been there today, but she didn’t dare talk to him. Feelings were still too raw between them.

  Scott had been his partner and friend. It was hard for Tracy to come to grips with the fact that the living, breathing man she’d been married to had departed his capable, virile body. She knew Matt had trouble dealing with it, too. It felt almost like cheating that she and Matt were still on earth, while the man they had both cared about had gone on to the next life.

  But she felt cheated, too. She bit back a new source of bitterness and helplessness as she walked to her car. Her financial dilemma hadn’t been settled and wouldn’t be with Amanda in the hospital. Tracy shook her head, inserted the key into the red Mazda Protégé and unlocked it.

  “Tracy.” Her heart bolted into her throat.

  Matt crossed the street to the shade, stopped a foot away from her and glanced back at the SWAT team van. “I just didn’t want you to leave without seeing if you were okay.”

  “Thanks. I guess I’m done here.” Even she could tell her voice had a resentful quality to it. “Sorry, I don’t mean to sound...”

  “Tracy.” His voice was mellow, full of compassion and a strength that warmed her. “You don’t have to punish yourself. You’ve just been through a trauma. Are you sure you won’t go to the hospital to let the doctors check you out?”

  “I don’t have time,” she said firmly.

  “Okay, sorry. It’s just that I’m worried about you.” His tanned face frowned in concern.

  “I know, I know. And I’m sorry, Matt. I guess I’m a little on edge.” She drew a deep breath and sighed.

  Matt still hovered near her, and she was aware of the awkward sensation of comfort his presence offered. He was several inches taller than her, but he wasn’t a hulk. His keen physical condition was a job requirement. And his face was handsome without being glamorous. His manners had always been pleasing. Now they had taken on a quality of what, extra concern? She saw the same anguish reflected in his hazel eyes that she knew he must read in hers.

  Being with Matt reminded her of good times long ago. But it also reminded her of the terrible hours after the shooting. Identifying Scott’s body in the morgue, answering questions. As she stood there staring into Matt’s handsome face, it jolted her that she still blamed the SWAT team for her husband’s death. She knew Matt felt that guilt, too, had tried to express it in a hundred ways.

  “Matt,” she said, turning to him and lowering her head a little so she didn’t have to look up into his eyes. “You don’t have to feel responsible for me. I can take care of myself.”

  She lifted her head, summoning her resilience. “What happened here today just... happened.” She frowned. “But I am worried about Carrie. Will you let me know what you learn about her?”

  He nodded solemnly. “I will.” His brow creased in frustration. “I don’t understand what happened here. The patrol cars gave chase, but that bastard got away with your friend. Don’t worry. They can’t get far. We have the ID on the motorcycle, and an all-points bulletin went out immediately. We’ll find her.”

  Tracy closed her eyes and leaned against her car. “If anything happens to her...”

  “Don’t think that,” Matt said, his jaw stiffening. “We’ll find her.”

  Tracy opened her eyes, her heart doing a figure eight in her chest. “Okay. I believe you.” She turned to open the door. “I have to go.”

  Matt placed his hand on the door, still looking at her. “Listen, I’d like to come around later to check on you.”

  He glanced away again, as if he, too, felt a little awkward. “We really haven’t had a chance to talk.”

  She swallowed. Hadn’t she just been thinking she needed to talk about her situation with someone? If only he wouldn’t think she was trying to take advantage of him.

  “All right. You can come. Jennifer would like that.”

  At the mention of Scott’s daughter, Matt’s eyes filled with a hopeful look, and his attractive lips smiled in that boyish way she’d forgotten until now. She suddenly realized with a twist in her heart, how long it had been since she’d seen that smile.

  “I could fix something to eat if you want to come around when you get off.” She arched one of her dark eyebrows in a query. “If you get off.”

  “Yeah, no problem. I can make it. And maybe by then I’ll be able to tell you what’s happened to your friend.”

  “Good.”

  She knew the rules. SWAT team members did regular shifts, but there was no guaranteeing when they’d be called out for an emergency. Long hours and the pay wasn’t any greater than regular police work. Why did they do it? she wondered for the thousandth time in her life.

  He waited while she got into the car and pulled away. She drove slowly along the narrow residential blocks in the old neighborhood, where tall oaks and elms leaned toward the street. If Matt was coming for supper, she’d better think about what to fix. There would just be time to shop for groceries before she needed to pick up Jennifer.

  AN HOUR LATER, Tracy pulled up next to the curb at the Washington Park Elementary School, where summer day camp was in progress. The sound of children’s voices filled the air as clusters of brightly clad kids romped on the fenced-in playground. Tracy searched for Jennifer among the exuberant children flying from swings to jungle gym to sandpit. She prayed it had been a good day for her stepdaughter.

  Then she spotted Jennifer with her day-camp counselor, coming out the front door, and went to meet them. She smiled and waved, relieved to see Jennifer’s round face with color in her cheeks. Her long blond braids had loosened, and wisps of hair floated around her face in the light breeze. Her gray eyes gleamed with mischief, and she didn’t look out of breath at all. A good day.

  Tracy ruffled Jennifer’s hair, knowing Jennifer would be embarrassed by the hug Tracy longed to give her. In her own emotionally distraught state, she longed to kneel and grasp the little girl in her arms, holding on to her for loving warmth and to reassure herself that at least they had love. Instead, she let Jennifer slip her hand into her own and smiled at Jennifer’s counselor, Malla Luethe.

  “Jennifer made a beautiful plaster-of-paris horse in craft session today,” said Malla, a young woman with light brown hair twisted into a long French braid.

  “You did?” asked Tracy. “Let me see it.”

  Jennifer held out a white horse that did look rather realistic. “I have to leave him here so I can paint him tomorrow.”

  Tracy took the figure. “Why, that’s wonderful, Jennifer. Did you give him a name yet?”

  Jennifer frowned thoughtfully, taking the figure back and turning it over in her hands. “No, not yet. I haven’t decided if he’s a girl or a boy.”

  The three of them laughed, and Tracy felt a twinge in her heart. How desperately she wanted such normal exchanges to be the very stuff of which her life was made. If only she could find a way.

  Malla held out her hands for the unnamed, dubiously gendered horse. “I’ll take it back inside and put it on the shelf for you, Jennifer. He or she will be waiting for you tomorrow.”

  Jennifer surrendered the horse and then tightly cl
utched Tracy’s hand as they walked to the car. Tracy pressed her lips together, hoping Jennifer wouldn’t ask about Carrie today. The little girl had undergone so much tragedy at such an early age that Tracy didn’t dare introduce another loss into her fragile existence. It had taken a lot to hold Jennifer’s world together after her father had been killed. After a year, Tracy knew Jennifer must still feel the loss, but life was beginning to have some good days. Except that they still lived on the edge, never knowing when the next asthma attack would come.

  As she waited for Jennifer to get into the front seat and strap herself in, Tracy fought the feeling of imminent disaster. Closing the door carefully, she braced herself momentarily on the top of the car. The very environment seemed full of threats after this morning. On such a beautiful summer day, in such a pleasant neighborhood, it shouldn’t seem that way. She calmed her own labored breathing in an effort to keep going and to preserve the mask of normalcy for Jennifer’s sake.

  “So, how was your day?” Tracy asked as she climbed into the driver’s side.

  “We had a history project today. It was about the Colorado gold rush. Mrs. Luethe told us about the gold discovered in Cherry Creek. We’re going to have a field trip where one of the first homesteads was.”

  “That’s nice, Poops. Maybe I can go, too, as an extra helper.”

  “Would you?”

  “Sure. Just tell me when.”

  Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Jennifer looking pleased. She was playing with her braids, which were certain to be a complete mess by the time they got home from the chiropractic clinic.

  They negotiated the traffic on Colorado Boulevard and pulled into the parking lot of a tall office complex. Tracy kept up a stream of conversation, trying to keep Jennifer’s mind off her health problems. In the waiting room at the chiropractor’s office, they looked at picture books together until the assistant came for them. Tracy sat in on the examination so she would know exactly what the chiropractor was doing. She also felt it reassured Jennifer to have her in the treatment room.

  Dr. Hanson was a pleasant, attractive woman approaching fifty, with gray touching her curly brown hair. She had a broad background in health-care-related fields, in addition to more hours of training than most medical doctors.