His To Protect Page 5

  Tracy’s lips tightened. She grasped the arm of the sofa with her right hand and held her body rigid. “I can’t believe Carrie would do anything wrong.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  She drained her cup of coffee and got up to get a refill. “More?” she asked him.

  “Sure.” He handed her his cup.

  After she turned away, he shook his head, still bothered by the way she was arousing him. As she walked back to the kitchen, he tried to shift his attention to the fireplace. She was an attractive woman, and he cared what happened to her. But she’d been his best friend’s wife. Surely she would be offended if he offered any advances. And what would be the motive behind those advances anyway? They hadn’t seen each other in several months. Wasn’t this just the hunger of two lonely people caught up in the aftermath of a crisis?

  Or maybe she wanted his reassuring touch as much as he wanted hers....

  Chapter Three

  Tracy used the time in the kitchen to steady her jangling nerves. She was conscious of an attraction growing inside her caused by Matt’s nearness. It shocked her how attractive he had looked to her all evening. In the midst of the growing worry about what had happened this morning, she was aware of tingling sensations that she thought had been dead for the past year. Matt’s all too male presence in the house fanned a slow-burning ember deep within her that she hadn’t looked to rekindle any time soon. And she felt a twinge of guilt about finding Scott’s partner attractive. It seemed disloyal, somehow.

  She paused after pouring her second cup of decaffeinated coffee and fiddled with the cream just to have a few extra seconds to catch her breath. Did he know the way his sandy blond hair fell over his brow made her want to run her fingers through it? Had she been so starved for a man that she was reaching out to her friend like the needy widow she truly was? She had caught Matt gazing at her breasts, though he’d tried to hide it. Okay, so they were human. She had thought she’d dressed conservatively, but maybe she should have worn an ankle-length skirt to cover her legs.

  She placed a hand on her midriff and straightened her back. Then she marched into the living room. But when she sat down again, she pressed herself farther into the corner of the engulfing couch. Matt, too, had moved farther away and was slouched down on the couch, his hands folded across his taut stomach, his legs stretched forward under the coffee table.

  When she set the coffee cups down, he scooted himself back up so he could turn his head toward her again. “Now, tell me about this trust-fund problem. I’d just like to know if there’s anything I can do to help.”

  She lifted her chin. Though she didn’t like to sound pitiful, at least talking about money would help distract her from the feelings that were starting to be too evident between them.

  She drew a breath. “As you know, I’ve had to take Jennifer to a lot of doctors. I wanted second opinions, so I consulted a nutritionist and a chiropractor for allergy testing. Fortunately, her medical doctor agrees that the results are positive.” She shook her head regretfully. “But the insurance only covers about half of it.”

  He frowned. “I take it you bought new insurance after....”

  She nodded. “With Scott’s death, I had to shop around for another plan. It’s not cheap.”

  His brow furrowed. “I hear you. Go on.”

  She lifted her shoulders and let them drop in a shrug. “There just wasn’t a question of going back to work. Jennifer needs me to manage her condition. Not that I don’t want to work. I loved working. But I have to find something I can do that has flexible hours.”

  She hesitated to go into the litany of details about washing Jennifer’s pillows once a week, keeping the house dust free, shopping for healthy food.

  She just said, “I’ve had to take her to the doctors so often, and if she has an episode at school or day camp, I have to bring her home.”

  He started to reach a hand toward her shoulder and then seemed to think better of it and swung it to the back of the couch instead. “So things have been even rougher than I’d thought,” he said pensively.

  “’Fraid so,” she admitted. “That’s what we were arguing about this morning. I thought if I could access some of the donations that had gone into the trust fund for Jennifer, it would help. Amanda said no.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because it would weaken my position against Andrew Leigh, Jennifer’s maternal grandfather. He wants custody.” She felt the anger and desperation creeping into her voice and caught the emotion reflected in Matt’s eyes.

  “You didn’t tell me he was suing for custody.”

  “I only recently found out.”

  Matt let a long sigh escape, and they sat in silence for a moment. She leaned sideways against the sofa back, feeling low. Her irrational urges aside, she was thankful at that moment that Matt was here. Just to have someone who cared about her dilemma was a help. Except for doctors and teachers, Tracy realized how much she’d cut herself off from adult company. Especially male adult company.

  Was that why gazing at Matt’s long, tightly packed physique stretched out on the other end of the sofa gave her such a warm feeling? His muscled thighs rippled where they peeked out from under the green fatigue shorts. And her heart pattered when she let her gaze drift to his strong shoulders.

  Stop it! she told herself. Just because she hadn’t been with a man for so long, it wouldn’t be right to throw herself at her late husband’s partner. He would realize anyway that she was in a desperate situation. These were not his problems, and probably the last thing he wanted was a woman clinging to him in her time of need.

  Then he turned his hazel eyes on her, and she caught her breath. His worried look burned with something else. She saw the muscles in his cheek tense as his eyes swept her hair and face, darting to her neckline and then to the coffee table. The heat between them simmered again, and she felt a sharp jolt of desire.

  Matt seemed to be forcing his gaze to the coffee table, but she noticed how his left hand clenched the padded arm of the sofa. He frowned and lifted his head.

  “There’s something else, Tracy. I know you well enough to be certain you’d rather I be honest with you.”

  Apprehension darted through her. “About what?”

  “I want to know about that gun the police confiscated today.”

  She blinked. The gun was definitely not something she’d expected to be discussing. “The gun?”

  He nodded slowly. “Yes, you said it had been in your safe-deposit box.”

  Confused thoughts tumbled through her mind, and she tried to focus on this new topic. Tried to ignore the sexy look of his firm, sensual mouth and jaw and concentrate on the subject at hand.

  Drawing a breath, she said, “The gun was returned to me after Scott’s funeral, along with his other belongings. Since all the officers purchase their own guns, I guess they thought I might like to keep it.” She frowned, remembering. “It was a .38 Smith and Wesson.”

  The crease between his brows deepened. “I knew Scott’s weapons. That wasn’t Scott’s gun.”

  “What?”

  He leaned closer, as if trying to convey the significance of what he was saying.

  “SWAT teams don’t use revolvers. There aren’t enough rounds of ammunition. Six shots isn’t enough if we get into a tight spot. There isn’t time to reload.”

  She swallowed, trying to relieve the dryness in her throat. “Go on.”

  She could tell he didn’t like bringing this up. But from the urgency in his voice, she believed he wouldn’t if he didn’t have to. He must be vitally concerned about something related to the gun.

  “Scott carried a SIG-Sauer P-226 automatic pistol with an extended magazine of twenty rounds. All of us on the team bad them.”

  She nodded, beginning to grasp the significance of what he was saying. “Then you’re wondering if that gun ever really belonged to Scott.”

  “That’s right.”

  His gaze wandered over his shoulder toward
the door to the hallway that led to Jennifer’s bedroom. The way he glanced that way told Tracy that whatever he had to say, he didn’t want Jennifer to hear.

  “Maybe I should go read Jennifer that story now,” he suggested with a lift of one eyebrow.

  “All right, she’d like that. You can read to her while I take care of these cups.”

  “Good idea. Then after we’ve tucked her in, how ’bout you and I sit out on the deck for a while?”

  She nodded at the suggestion. “Sounds good to me.”

  Best invitation I’ve had in a long time, she couldn’t help but think. He was in no hurry to leave. But he seemed to have something more to tell her that might be important. Why would the department give her a gun that wasn’t Scott’s? The thought made her uneasy, and she hoped Matt could shed some light on it.

  She could hear his good-humored baritone voice joking with Jennifer as they selected the story. She finished with the dishes and turned on the dishwasher, its hum covering up the giggles coming from the back room. When she walked in to join them, Jennifer was under the covers and Matt was in the rocking chair beside the bed. He was acting out the part of a dragon in one of Jennifer’s favorite tales.

  Tracy’s heart turned over to see them together, and she pressed her lips together in a moment of wistfulness. She knew Jennifer missed her father but, stoically, rarely referred to it.

  After Tracy got Jennifer settled, Matt followed her out onto the deck. It was getting dark, but the sky would retain its light cast for another hour. The backyard was shadowy, and a pleasant breeze tickled her skin as she and Matt unfolded aluminum chairs and placed them side by side on the other side of the deck, away from Jennifer’s open window.

  “Now, what did you want to tell me?” she asked.

  Matt struggled with what he wanted to say to Tracy. It was made all the harder because of the mixed signals he was getting from her. He had come here out of a sense of duty and concern. But he had to wonder now if there was something else going on. Something neither of them would readily admit aloud.

  He hadn’t yet gotten over his frustration that she’d been in danger this morning. And he knew the police would lean on her further, since she had been a hostage and a witness.

  Damn, he was getting in too deep. A SWAT team member was supposed to be emotionally stable and able to control himself in the aftermath of situations. But sitting here with Tracy reminded him of the festering dissatisfaction he’d felt ever since Scott had been killed in the line of duty.

  He shifted in his aluminum chair so he could face her in the fading light. He could still see the glimmer in her warm brown eyes, and the softness about her mouth. He frowned, concentrating harder on what he had to say. They kept their voices low, so Jennifer wouldn’t be disturbed.

  “Tracy, you know I’d never say anything to hurt or worry you, if I could help it.”

  A little crease of worry marred her brow. “I know, Matt. But tell me what’s bothering you. It’ll be better to get it out in the open.”

  “Since the revolver that was in your safe-deposit box wasn’t Scott’s service revolver, I just want to make sure it wasn’t a gun he might have bought for practice shooting when off duty.”

  Her narrow shoulders lifted and released in a shrug. “Not that I know of. I don’t like guns, so I didn’t pay any attention. But he wasn’t a collector, if that’s what you mean.”

  He noticed she tilted her chin as she moved her face away an inch.

  “Scott did keep up with his training, pushed himself pretty hard. Sometimes I wondered if...well...if he enjoyed work more than family.” She stopped for a moment, pressed her lips together, and then plunged on. “Maybe it was because Jennifer couldn’t do the things with him he wanted to do if she’d been a boy. I don’t know.”

  She was treading on territory he thought she might not want to speak of. And when he saw her lip tremble, he had the urge to comfort her. Instead, he squeezed the aluminum arms of the folding chair.

  “Go on.”

  She shrugged her shoulders. “I just didn’t think anything of it when that gun was returned to me. I didn’t want to keep it at the house. Too dangerous with a child. So I just put it in the box at the bank.”

  She turned to stare straight into his eyes. “Why is it so important?”

  “It might not be. It’s just that that gun is the same caliber and make that killed Scott.”

  An icy chill swept down Tracy’s back. She knew where he was headed. The weapon that had killed Scott had never been found. Everyone assumed the criminals had gotten away with it But this coincidence was just a little eerie.

  The apprehension she’d tried to push down ever since leaving the bank this morning returned to engulf her. Her mouth felt dry again, but she moistened her lips as she formed the words she knew she had to say.

  “That gun wasn’t fired this morning,” she told him. “It was empty.”

  The aluminum chair creaked as he leaned forward. “How do you know?”

  She repeated the scene as it had occurred in the basement conference room near the safe-deposit vault. Even in the near darkness, she could see the grim lines that etched deeper into his face.

  “Then the bullets are still at the bank?”

  “I suppose so,” she answered. “They wouldn’t let me back in after they took my statement. I was angry that I couldn’t get back to my valuables, but that sergeant guaranteed nothing would be disturbed. I’m supposed to go back in the morning to check the contents and sign a form confirming that everything else is as it was when I left the safe-deposit box open during the robbery. Then I can lock it back up again.”

  He nodded thoughtfully, but didn’t speak for a minute. He was obviously thinking seriously about what she’d said.

  “Tracy, I think I should go back to the bank now. It might be important.”

  Small hairs pricked at the back of her neck and along her shoulders. “Why?”

  “If someone seized that gun, there might be a reason.”

  “But it was evidence. They thought it had been fired. Maybe they wanted to check it for fingerprints.”

  He leaned back again. “Maybe. You said Carrie and the robber handled it?”

  “Yes, and I guess I did, too, when I lifted it out.”

  “If they can get Carrie’s prints off it, that might be useful, but it’s doubtful they’ll be able to get anything clear enough. And you told me the robber had gloves on.”

  “I think so. He might have taken them off later.”

  He stood up. “I want to see the ballistics on that gun for myself. And I want to see if the investigators took the bullets in for evidence, as well.”

  She also stood up and moved closer to him, scrutinizing his intensity. Her pulse pounded with the urgency of the situation as Matt had painted it. His seriousness was frightening her, but she didn’t want him to leave her alone yet to contemplate what he was saying.

  “Are you going to the bank, then?” she asked softly.

  He nodded almost imperceptibly. “There will still be a patrol on guard there, but I have rank. With luck, I’ll be able to get in and look for myself.”

  She straightened her spine. “Then I’m going with you. You’ll need me to show you where the safe-deposit box was left on the table.”

  “But you can’t leave Jennifer.”

  She hesitated. “My next-door neighbor is an older woman and a close friend. She sometimes doesn’t mind coming over and sitting up when I have an emergency errand to run. She knows what to do if Jennifer has a bad asthma attack. I can see if she’s home.”

  Matt ran a hand through his thick hair. “All right. If you’re sure. I don’t like dragging you into this, Tracy. Your place is at home.”

  “I’m already in it, aren’t I, Matt?” She heard the sardonic edge to her voice, but she didn’t stop to apologize.

  She hurried into her bedroom and picked up the phone there, dialing the familiar number. Mrs. McCaffrey was home and said she didn’t mi
nd at all. In a few moments, Tracy let her neighbor in and introduced her to Matt. As they shook hands, the woman beamed at his good looks.

  “Yes, I remember seeing you here before.”

  She sent Tracy an approving glance that made her blush.

  “We won’t be too long.”

  “Take your time, dear. I’ve brought some gardening magazines I haven’t had a chance to go through yet. Don’t worry about a thing.”

  After a few last-minute instructions about where to find the inhalers if she should need them, Tracy led Matt out the front door. He opened the door to his Chevy Blazer, and she slid in. The car smelled masculine and leathery, but clean—just like Matt. A clamor in the back of her mind wouldn’t be ignored. They were just friends, weren’t they? So why this attention to Matt’s strong, male desirability?

  She chalked it up to her year of loneliness and her traumatic day. Who wouldn’t want to lean on a strong, capable friend? But she forced herself to remember just where all his capability came from. He was a cop, well trained and able to take care of business, to be sure. But SWAT team cops didn’t have time for personal lives. As soon as they cleared up Matt’s questions about the gun, he would be back to business as usual.

  In a few minutes, they were driving slowly along Pearl Street, approaching the bank. Tracy glanced out her open window at the well-lit high-rise that towered on the corner of Second and Pearl. She thought Carrie had mentioned that Amanda Fielding lived there in a luxury condo. It made her shiver again, wondering if the bank president were going to be all right.

  Matt swung into the bank parking lot and turned off the engine. The small, two-story building was still encircled with yellow police tape reading Police Line, Do Not Cross, and the shattered windows were boarded and sealed with plastic. The patrolman watching the premises came over to Matt, who got out of the car and showed his police ID.

  “Lieutenant Matt Forrest,” he said. “I was on the assault team this morning.”