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  “That’s my girl,” said Dr. Hanson as she tested Jennifer’s muscles for strength. “Jennifer is looking very well today,” she told Tracy. “She has more strength in her diaphragm. That’s going to help her breathing efforts.”

  She had Jennifer lie down on the treatment table so she could adjust her.

  “Keep up that healthy diet,” said Dr. Hanson. “The stronger her immune system, the more likely she may be able to grow out of this.”

  “Yes, of course,” replied Tracy.

  It cost more to shop for the healthiest foods, and it took extra time to prepare them, but Tracy was committed to the healthy life-style if it gave Jennifer more of a chance. She still had the inhalers for use in an emergency and for when she had trouble breathing at night. But with ample research documenting the relationship between the spinal column, the nervous system and the respiratory system, Tracy had asked Jennifer’s primary-care physician to refer her to a chiropractor for treatments. The natural treatments relieved the nerve interference that caused the bronchial tubes to contract and reduced the risk of side effects from drugs.

  Jennifer’s gray eyes gleamed as she grinned at Dr. Hanson, who patted the girl’s shoulder. “Now, you do what Tracy says and eat a big, healthy dinner tonight, all right?”

  Jennifer nodded enthusiastically and rubbed her tummy. “We’re having turkey burgers on buns and a salad. We’re having company.”

  “Oh? That’s nice,” said the doctor.

  “Lieutenant Matt Forrest,” said Jennifer proudly.

  “A lieutenant? Well, that is something special.” Dr. Hanson smiled as she reached for Jennifer’s chart to make notations.

  “He was a friend of Scott’s,” Tracy said, feeling an unreasonable need to explain.

  Dr. Hanson mouthed an “Oh.”

  Tracy got up. “Thank you, Doctor.”

  She realized her step was lighter as they left the chiropractor’s office. Maybe, just maybe, as long as she kept Jennifer living a healthy life-style and stayed on top of the early-warning signs of an asthma attack, maybe Jennifer would be able to live a completely normal life someday.

  “Ouch, you’re squeezing my hand too hard.”

  “Sorry.” Tracy loosened her grip, then let go altogether as they reached the car.

  With the doctor’s appointment over, Tracy found herself thinking about the evening. Matt’s visit caused her mixed feelings indeed. She was conscious of the awkwardness between them. She’d been almost rude to him in the months following Scott’s death. Maybe he understood that in her grief, she needed to blame somebody for Scott’s getting killed. Then she had become even more illtempered because of her desperate financial straits and her worry over taking care of Jennifer alone.

  All the SWAT team cops were just like Scott, dedicated to the job and motivated by a sense of honor and duty about protecting the public. But men like that had a hard time seeing that their families needed them first. She had cried and cried over Scott’s death, realizing they had missed their chance to be a real family. His long hours had kept him away from home so much. She had begun to feel abandoned even before he’d been killed. But then his death was the final blow.

  Maybe their relationship hadn’t been the very best it could have been. But after he’d died, she was so acutely aware of having no one there at all to talk to. There had been times when she’d felt so low, she hadn’t known how she would keep going. But she had. For Jennifer. And she had learned to get through each day. Learned to combat the loneliness. Slowly, she’d climbed out of her depression and decided she had to keep going. That she would learn to be a single parent

  Tracy’s home was located a few blocks from Washington Park in an old residential neighborhood in central Denver. Dormered brick bungalows sat on small lawns with no driveways. Tall, mature oaks and elms provided shade.

  The cool interior of the small brick house greeted them as Tracy carried the groceries through the house to the old linoleum-floored kitchen. Jennifer dashed down the hall to her room at the back of the house, while Tracy checked the answering machine on the small white kitchen table. No messages. No news about Carrie, then.

  She bit her lip, fighting back worry. She just couldn’t take it if something awful had happened to her. She tried to think of whom to call. It made her realize, suddenly, how little she knew about Carrie Lamb. She’d never mentioned any family and didn’t seem to have anyone in Denver. Whom would the authorities have called about this predicament?

  She also wondered about Amanda Fielding. Only this morning, she’d considered the bank president an adversary. Now she was surprised and confused about Amanda’s offer to take care of Jennifer if anything happened to Tracy. She shook her head. Strange things happened sometimes in a crisis. She hardly knew Amanda and, of course, the woman had been wounded when she’d made the offer. Still, it gave her a curiously empathetic feeling toward the woman. She might be clinging to life by a thread right now. Surely Tracy ought to call the hospital.

  She was relieved to learn that Amanda was conscious. The doctors had found no serious internal injuries. Tracy asked the nurse at the desk to relay the message that she had called to ask about her.

  That taken care of, Tracy flew around the house picking up the clutter and then organizing in the kitchen. The house was already spotless because of her rigorous cleaning to reduce dust and molds, which could trigger Jennifer’s asthma. Now she took extra care cutting up the fresh vegetables for the salad and mixing up the ground turkey with egg and onion for burgers. She molded each patty carefully, thinking about how she wanted them to cook evenly.

  Matt was just a friend, she reminded herself. If she was excited about having him over, it was because of this morning’s scare. And she knew she was just clutching at straws in her loneliness for adult companionship.

  She and Matt had shared a loss. And emotions could make you do funny things.

  “Not with Matt,” she said out loud as she slid the burgers into the oven to await broiling.

  He was a cop, even if a compassionate one. But she shouldn’t let Matt get the wrong impression. Those strong shoulders and his concern today had done something to her insides, met a need she’d suppressed for a long time. A woman liked to be looked after in that kind, caring way. God, she’d been bearing the burden alone for too long. She obviously needed a shoulder to lean on.

  She gave a little laugh of derision at herself for where her thoughts were going. SWAT team officers were not the sort to rely on for punctuality. She couldn’t even be sure he’d show up on her doorstep at seven o’clock for dinner. He might be on a call-out. A SWAT team cop’s life wasn’t his own.

  She ran a bath in the claw-footed bathtub to freshen up, and afterward she studied her uninspiring wardrobe. This was not a special occasion, she reminded herself. He was just dropping by for dinner. Because it was so warm, she chose a light pink, lace-trimmed tank top and crisp white, loose-cut shorts with cuffs. She looked casual but clean. They would eat on the deck built onto the screened-in back porch. Just before seven, she called Jennifer to help set the round redwood table.

  When the doorbell rang at straight-up seven, she and Jennifer exchanged looks across the table. Jennifer had laid the blue quilted place mats in three places and set out the silverware. Tracy read the expectant look in her stepdaughter’s round gray eyes.

  “Okay, Jenn, you can answer the door.”

  The girl sped across the redwood deck, banged the screen door to the enclosed porch and raced through the house. One knee on the redwood bench, Tracy appraised the table. Perhaps she’d been working Jennifer too hard. Worried that she had fallen behind when she’d been sick so often during the school year, Tracy was desperately trying to get Jennifer up to speed by September. Of course she used to have Carrie to help tutor. Her heart clenched at the thought. She hoped Carrie was okay.

  Thinking of Carrie made something niggle at the back of her mind, but there was no time to think of it, for jubilant voices were coming through t
he house. She waited as Jennifer’s excited giggles preceded the two of them, and then Matt followed her out and stood on the deck.

  For a moment, Tracy caught her breath. It was a blissful summer evening, the kind that lasted a long time in Colorado. The sun was still high over the mountains to the west, but this side of the house was in shade. Matt looked devastatingly handsome standing there in an olive short-sleeved, collared shirt and belted fatigue-green shorts that covered his thighs. On his feet were dark brown leather loafers. His hair still gleamed with the dampness that must have come from a shower. He smiled hesitantly from beside the steps to the porch. Jennifer skipped across, waving an armful of roses.

  “Hi,” she greeted him, then took the flowers from Jennifer.

  “Look, look,” squealed Jennifer. “Roses. They’re for us both,” she said importantly.

  “Well, of course. Jenn, go find us a big vase under the sink. I think these flowers deserve special treatment.”

  She breathed deeply, inhaling their delicate scent. “Mmm, they’re beautiful.”

  How had he remembered that roses were not likely to trigger an asthma attack in Jennifer? She was sensitive to some wildflowers and some pollens, but not to the mild scent of roses.

  When he moved across the deck, the breeze caught his hair and lifted it slightly as his gaze roamed the backyard and her small herb garden. She was aware of his masculinity in a startling way. Then he brought his eyes back to her face.

  “The place looks nice.”

  “Thanks.”

  She felt self-conscious and glanced awkwardly around. It was pleasant just to stand there and enjoy the end of the day while Jennifer rummaged for a vase. But she guessed what Matt was probably thinking. That she was doing all right with the house in spite of having to do it alone. She turned and headed for the door. “I haven’t used the grill since...”

  Her gaze met his and she shrugged. “Anyway, I’m just broiling the burgers inside. It’ll only take a second.”

  “Can I help?”

  “I’ll hand you things to bring out.”

  Between Jennifer’s bubbly excitement and his easy way of making himself at home in the kitchen, Tracy began to relax. They sat down and stuffed themselves on the burgers and salad. After the meal, Matt and Jennifer tossed a Frisbee. When Tracy thought Jennifer had roughhoused enough, she called out to them.

  “Jenn, it’s time to get ready for bed.”

  She loved seeing her stepdaughter have a chance to play with a grown-up, but she couldn’t let her overdo it. If she got herself too out of breath, it might bring on an attack.

  Matt brought her up to the porch and promised he’d come in later to say good-night before he left.

  “All right,” Jennifer finally said, letting go of his hand. “I guess I’ll let you have grown-up talk now.”

  “Thank you,” said Tracy, smiling. “You go clean up and get into your pajamas. I’ll be in to tuck you in.”

  “Sure.” She looked up at both of them hopefully. “Will you read me a story, both of you?”

  Tracy and Matt glanced at each other, and she felt her cheeks flush. He gave her an amused smile, and she answered his grin. “Well, sure, if Matt’s still here by then,” she said.

  “I’ll be here,” he said quietly. “Now do as Tracy says, and we’ll read you a story in a little while.”

  As MATT WATCHED Jennifer trudge out of the kitchen to the narrow wood-floored hallway that led to her bedroom, he felt a tug at his heart. The evening had been pleasant in a way he’d forgotten. He hated the idea of infringing on that with serious matters; however, he wanted to find out more about this trust-fund problem.

  He looked around the kitchen with a critical eye. Guilt stung him as Tracy headed out the screened-in porch to the deck to finish bringing everything in. He had told her to call him if she ever needed any help with anything, but she never had. Perhaps he should have come over to check on things more often. If she was trying to access the trust fund, that meant she was having financial problems and it made his heart ache. Well, it was time he found out what he could do to help.

  Not that it would be an unpleasant task. Maybe he’d kept his distance for another reason this past year. He’d realized when he saw her this morning how beautiful she looked in that short cotton navy dress, belted at the waist. It emphasized the curve of her hips. And the color of the dress and her luxuriant hair brought out the vitality in her face. A face he found he wanted to touch. There’d been an instant connection between them, but one he couldn’t afford to acknowledge.

  He stuck his head out the door to see if she needed any more help. “Anything else?”

  She shook that mane of dark red hair and gave him a relaxed smile. “That’s everything.”

  He held the door for her and smelled her fresh, clean scent as she passed in front of him to the sink.

  “Give me those dishes,” he said. “I’m an expert in washing up. Bachelor, you know.”

  “Just scrape and rinse and we’ll throw them in the dishwasher. Coffee?”

  “You bet.” He was glad they’d have some time to talk alone while Jennifer was in her room.

  The aromatic coffee brewed and gurgled, and then they took their cups into the living room. The furniture was old, but it had a homey feel. Framed old photos filled the far wall above the small dining table, and a large pastel watercolor hung above the overstuffed burgundy sofa. Tracy pulled the chain under an antique lamp shade to cast a soft glow about the room, and they sat on the cushy sofa facing the brick fireplace.

  Tracy sat sideways, her attractive legs pressed back against the sofa. She sipped her coffee before setting it on the natural-wood coffee table.

  “Any news about Carrie?”

  He shook his head and set his cup down, as well. “None yet. They lost them. On that motorcycle, the robber outfoxed the patrol cars. Doubled back on some alleys. In that dense neighborhood, there wasn’t room to maneuver fast enough to keep up with them without endangering pedestrians and hitting the cars parked on both sides of the streets.”

  Tracy’s face seemed to lose color, and her brown eyes widened. “You mean she’s still a hostage?”

  He pulled his mouth sideways and flicked his gaze away from hers for an instant. From the deep frown formed by her brows and the examining look she gave him, he knew he wouldn’t be able to hide his other doubts from her.

  “Afraid so.”

  He paused for a minute. It tortured him to add any more worries to what Tracy already had to deal with. He stretched his arm across the back of the sofa in an unconscious gesture of protection, even though he wasn’t touching her.

  “Tracy, how much do you know about Carrie Lamb?”

  The question seemed to startle her. “Why? What do you mean?”

  When she leaned closer, he was distracted by the shadow visible behind the lace of her scoop-necked tank top. He looked away, then picked up his coffee cup to give him time to gather his thoughts. After a swallow, he faced her again.

  “They tried to do a background check on her and got nowhere.”

  He heard her soft intake of breath. “Why, what do you want to know?”

  “I don’t want to frighten you, Tracy. But the investigators are already considering that the attempted robbery might have been an inside job.”

  He waited for that to sink in and saw the reaction on her face before he continued. He leaned forward again, holding the coffee cup in both hands.

  “I’ve seen a lot of hostage situations,” he said, shaking his head. “There was something about the way she went with him that made me wonder.” He looked Tracy directly in the eye.

  “She didn’t even try to get off that motorcycle once he had her on it.”

  Tracy sat bolt upright and immediately came to her friend’s defense. “Well, he would have shot her.”

  “How? Once he was on the cycle with her behind, he couldn’t aim for her while he was making the getaway. She could have jumped off, even if she’d sustaine
d a minor injury. She didn’t.”

  The shock registered on Tracy’s face. “No,” she said, exhaling a sudden breath. “You must be mistaken. She would never have gone with a thief willingly.”

  “I hope not. And I hope she’s safe. But the fact that they haven’t even located the bike yet makes me worry. This guy was slick, not your common bank robber.”

  “But you have two other perpetrators in custody. Haven’t you made a deal with them yet?” He could hear the irritation rising in her voice.

  “One of them is in the hospital, heavily sedated for his injuries. The other one might talk. That’s all the feds on the case will tell us, but they’re still working on it.”

  Tracy sat dumbfounded, and he could see the wheels turning in her head. Damn! He hated doing this to her, but he had to find out if she knew anything that could help. And she needed to know where things stood for her own safety, as well. A bad feeling in his gut told him they weren’t through with all of this. And he still hadn’t told her about the gun.

  Even more disconcerting were the feelings that were smoldering inside him. In spite of the danger this morning and his anger at the patrol officers who’d showed up at the scene and made a mess of it before the SWAT team could get there, Matt was conscious of the warmth of Tracy’s home. It made him not want to leave. He’d feasted his eyes on her all evening, and he honestly took pleasure in little Jennifer’s company.

  Now he found himself wanting to lean closer to Tracy, to pull her into the curve of his arm. She was incredibly sexy in the loose-fitting shorts and pink tank top. He had to make an effort not to stare at the curve of her calves against the sofa. And he had to force his hand to stay away from the springy softness of her hair. He wanted to scoop her up in his arms and tell her things would be all right. Instead, he met her worried gaze with his own.

  He hated interrogating her about her friend, but something wasn’t right there. And where he had a personal interest, he wasn’t about to leave it to the official investigation. He was quite aware that he had done that once before and regretted it.