His To Protect Page 6

  “Yes, sir, Lieutenant. What can I do for you?”

  “This is Mrs. Meyer. She was a hostage during the crisis.”

  The young sergeant’s smooth face turned to acknowledge her. His dark hair was clipped above his ears. “I see. Is there something you need here?”

  Matt turned on a charming smile. “Actually, yes. Mrs. Meyer debriefed her experience to me. We need to go down to the safe-deposit room where her things were tossed aside when the gunman entered the room. She said something in her statement that she’s not sure of now. Seeing the scene of the incident may jar her memory.”

  “Uh, well, I wasn’t supposed to let anyone in tonight.”

  Matt frowned as if he were a busy man, and this minor barrier disrupted his important schedule. “Surely they’ve finished lifting prints and taking photographs.”

  “Well, yes, sir. I believe so. My only orders are to protect the place.”

  Matt smiled again. “And you’re doing a fine job of that. I’ll be sure your commander knows of your cooperation.”

  Matt was already walking and had grasped Tracy’s elbow to escort her in. The sergeant acquiesced to Matt’s seniority and bravado. He lifted a heavy key ring and unlocked the double lock to the front doors.

  “Thank you, Sergeant. We won’t be very long down there. You can lock the door up again, and I’ll tap on the glass when we want out.”

  “Very well, sir.”

  The electricity was out, but a milky glow from all-night security lights gave the place an eerie feel. Matt turned on his flashlight They crossed the marble floor to the stairs leading to the safe-deposit-vault area below, and Tracy could see that the scene was still a mess. Obviously the bank would be closed for business.

  Office equipment still lay on the floor, and papers were scattered. Someone must have put the money away, for the timed vault appeared to be locked up tight. But the acrid, smoky smell still hadn’t left the place.

  Just being here again caused a tremor to race through her. She saw again in her mind’s eye the people lying on the floor, fearing for their lives. The man who’d been shot and taken out bleeding. She hadn’t even thought to inquire whether he still lived. Matt seemed to sense her discomfort and tightened his hold on her arm in a reassuring way.

  “Don’t trip,” he said. “Hold on to the railing while I go first.”

  She waited until light from his flashlight made a pool in the darkness. Then she went down. “We were in here,” she said, pointing the way.

  “Stay there,” said Matt. He used his foot to push the door open.

  Her heart missed a beat when she looked into the room.

  The table had been cleared. Then she saw her safe-deposit box at the side. She opened it quickly to see if the papers were all inside. When everything appeared to be in order, she breathed easier.

  “Everything seems to be here. They must have been planning to have me check it and put it away tomorrow morning.”

  “What about the bullets?”

  She shook her head. “Not here. They must’ve taken them.”

  “That’s strange. Why would the investigating team come all the way down here and pick up bullets from a gun that obviously hadn’t even been fired?”

  She knew enough about police work to know that didn’t make sense. “You’re right. Whoever took them might have recognized them as matching the revolver that was on the grass.”

  She couldn’t see Matt’s face in the dark, but she could imagine that his brows were arched high in speculative query.

  “They might have at that.”

  When he flicked the flashlight around the rest of the room, the shadows made her jump.

  “I’m going to check with ballistics myself to see what happened to that gun,” he said.

  “Because it’s the same type of gun that killed Scott?”

  He paused for a heartbeat, and she trembled.

  “I hope there’s no connection. But I want to rule out that possibility. If it is the gun that killed Scott, we have a big problem.”

  She gave a shiver in the darkness. If it had been the gun that killed Scott, then someone may have known that—may have purposely given it to her in lieu of his real weapon, thinking, perhaps, that she would keep it out of sight. No one would think to search the widow’s own house for the weapon that had killed him.

  They returned upstairs, their shoes crunching on broken glass on the marble floor. Matt tapped on the door, and the sergeant came to let them out The fresh summer air and the light breeze never felt so good. She stayed close to Matt as they crossed the parking lot to his car. Then they drove through the old residential neighborhood in strained silence.

  Tracy wanted to tell herself that his fears were unfounded. For a year since Scott had died, she had struggled to give Jennifer as normal a life as possible. True, the financial strain was eating away at her, but she just didn’t need the evil specter of Scott’s death coming back to haunt them now.

  They passed the busy intersection at Downing and Alameda and soon were cruising beside Washington Park. The park was dark now, its broad expanse of grass leading to a lake around which runners jogged during the day. Fragrances from the formal gardens softened the night air.

  A sigh escaped Tracy’s lips. What she wanted more than anything in the world was a quiet life with Jennifer. The doctors were giving her hope that with the proper nutrition and care, Jennifer might grow out of her asthma. If only they could hang on. They had lost Scott. Nothing would bring him back. She half decided to tell Matt he was chasing a phantom and to leave the past alone. She didn’t want to look back anymore.

  She had almost decided to unload her sentiments once they were inside the house, but Mrs. McCaffrey got up with a worried look on her face when they entered the living room. Tracy’s heart immediately leaped to her throat.

  “What is it?” she asked urgently, thinking something had happened to Jennifer.

  “Jennifer’s fine, my dear. But you had a phone call.”

  “From whom?”

  “It was rather hurried. The caller didn’t seem to have much time.”

  “Who was it?”

  “I’m sorry, she didn’t leave a number. She said she’d call back when she had a chance. She said to tell you she was all right.”

  Tracy froze, waiting for Mrs. McCaffrey to finish.

  “I wrote her name down before I’d forget She even spelled it for me.”

  The neighbor handed Tracy a small piece of paper. On it was scrawled the name Carrie Lamb.

  Chapter Four

  “What else did she say?” Tracy asked. “Where is she?”

  “I’m sorry.” Mrs. McCaffrey looked apologetically first at Tracy and then at Matt. “The call was very hurried. I’m not sure I caught everything. She was speaking so softly. She just said to tell you she was all right and that she was sorry.”

  Tracy felt her veins turn to lead, but she tried not to show her agitation in front of her neighbor. “That’s all right, Mrs. McCaffrey. I’m sure she’ll call back. I hope we weren’t gone too long.”

  “Not at all, dear. And Jennifer didn’t even wake up.”

  Matt offered to see Mrs. McCaffrey to her house. When he came back in, he had his cell phone with him. His cheeks were tense, his hazel eyes serious.

  “I’ll arrange for a wiretap. She might call again.”

  Tracy nodded woodenly. “Do what you have to.”

  She sank down onto the sofa while Matt made the call. He paced away from her so she didn’t have to listen to the details.

  Carrie had said she was sorry. Sorry for what? If she could call here, she could call the police to come help her if she were in trouble.

  Matt made a second call. When he hung up, his look in the dim light cast from her living-room lamp told her it wasn’t good news.

  “The motorcycle they got away on was apparently stolen. The owner lost it over six months ago. They haven’t found them yet.”

  Tracy swallowed a lump in her thro
at. “Then she’s still with that bank robber. What does he want?”

  Matt shook his head, his golden eyes flickering with knowledge she had the feeling he hesitated to impart.

  “There have been no demands. If he abducted her to use as a hostage, he would have reached the police by now and made a deal.”

  She could tell from the look on his features that he was trying to communicate what she didn’t want to hear.

  “Maybe she just can’t get away from him,” she suggested. “He might have locked her up in a motel room somewhere and she had a chance for a quick phone call,” she said.

  “Then why didn’t she call the police?”

  Her heart dropped to her feet, and they stared at each other for a moment. She read the suspicion written all over his face. He continued his patient reasoning.

  “When Amanda Fielding’s doctor allows her to be questioned, the FBI agents will have some hard questions for her. Carrie Lamb’s background seems to stop with her arrival in Denver. If Amanda Fielding hired her, she must know some things about her we don’t.” One eyebrow arched in grim cynicism.

  Tracy’s lips parted in shock. “What about her fingerprints? Aren’t all bank employees fingerprinted?”

  “They’re checking on that now.”

  Tracy slumped against the sofa. “She never talked much about her past. But I assumed it was because she had things in her life she didn’t want to remember. She let it slip out that she’d been married once, but she hadn’t wanted to talk about it. I could understand that”

  Matt put his phone down and lowered himself into the easy chair next to the fireplace. He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees.

  “I’m sorry your friend is mixed up in this.”

  She caught a glimpse of his eyes flicking in the direction of the hallway and Jennifer’s bedroom. She shivered, knowing what Matt was thinking. But at the same time, she just couldn’t believe his suspicions.

  “You’re worried that Jennifer was being tutored by a criminal.”

  “I didn’t say that, Tracy. But it does look like Carrie has something to hide.”

  “Well, whatever it is, I can assure you that since I’ve known Carrie Lamb, her behavior has been exemplary. She truly likes children and is a good tutor. It was as if Carrie missed her old profession and was grateful for the opportunity to be able to teach someone.”

  Matt gave her a penetrating stare. “Then why wasn’t she a teacher here in Denver? There are job openings all the time, at least at the substitute level. If she liked to teach so much, why was she working as a bank teller?”

  “I...I don’t know.” Tracy’s mind raced for an explanation. She’d never even considered the reasons before. “She did know Amanda prior to getting the job here. Maybe Amanda arranged the job before Carrie moved to Denver so she’d have employment right away. I don’t know.”

  Matt’s voice softened. “I don’t mean to be giving you the third degree. It’s just that I know these are questions the FBI is going to research. They’ll probably want to talk to you, as well”

  “I know.”

  They let the heavy silence hover over them for a moment. Tracy felt a series of overwhelming sensations—regret, worry, a growing dependence on Matt that scared her.

  “Are you sure you’ll be all right? I can arrange for some extra protection for you.”

  Tracy hugged herself. She’d never liked living in the house alone with Jennifer after Scott had died. And now that real trouble was afoot, she ought to take Matt up on his offer. But there wasn’t a real need for him to stay here. A bank had been robbed. There was no reason trouble should follow her home. If Carrie called again, she would try to keep her on the line long enough for the call to be traced. There was nothing else to be done.

  “No, thank you, Matt. We’ll be all right. If Carrie calls again...”

  Matt nodded. “Keep her on the line. The sooner this is resolved, the better. Until then, you’d better get some rest. I’ll go.”

  His eyes blazed across the room at her, and it made her heart skitter. The words to ask him to stay were on the tip of her tongue. But that wasn’t fair. He was working overtime just by involving himself in something that should have ended for him when the crisis was over this morning. And he would have his regular shift tomorrow, as well.

  She got up. “Thank you,” she said in a husky voice. “You’ve done more than your share already.”

  “Anytime.”

  She could hear the emotion in his voice. The old bond between them was still there. As if he owed her something because he hadn’t been there the day Scott had been killed. She saw the pain in his eyes every time he was reminded of it. She wanted to wrap her arms around him and lay her head against his shoulder, to tell him to stop thinking about his friend’s death, that it hadn’t been his fault.

  But she didn’t say anything except good-night. Their eyes locked for a moment, and then he turned to go. She shut the door after him and locked it.

  After Matt left, Tracy peeked into Jennifer’s room. The soft night-light in the outlet by the door cast dim outlines of the furniture in the room. A sliver of moonlight slipped between the curtains and splayed across Jennifer’s face. She lay sleeping and breathing fairly normally. Tracy felt a clutch of tenderness as she tiptoed to the bed and pulled the covers straighter, making sure Jennifer had plenty of room to breathe if she turned over.

  It made Tracy think again about Andrew Leigh, Jennifer’s grandfather. Surely if she talked to the man, she could persuade him that she could take care of Jennifer. She would get to see her grandfather anytime he wanted. But Tracy just couldn’t let this little girl be tom from her. A sob clutched her heart.

  Was she being selfish? Did she really want what was best for Jennifer? Tracy swallowed hard as she left the bedroom and quietly made her way down the narrow hallway, past the bathroom to her own bedroom at the front of the house. Jennifer’s grandfather had money. He would find the best and most expensive doctors, and could send her to special private schools. A niggling self-doubt pried itself into her desperate determination. She loved Jennifer, but maybe love wasn’t enough.

  She took off her clothes and tossed them into her laundry basket, donning a cotton knit sleep T-shirt that came to her knees. The ringing phone made her practically jump out of her skin.

  Before she snatched it up, she hesitated. It might be Carrie, and she tried to control her thumping heart enough to remember what to do: keep her on the line, try to find out where she was. Her overwhelming concern was for Carrie’s safety.

  “Hello?”

  The hiss of breath that came over the line wasn’t Carrie’s voice. When the voice came, it was low and tense. And the threatening edge to the words sent a shiver of dread coursing through her veins.

  “Where’s your friend Carrie?” asked a raspy but distorted voice.

  “What?” She heard what he’d said, but she was so startled, she gasped.

  “She called you, Mrs. Meyer. Just tell me what she said.”

  “Who is this?” Her heartbeat rose and hammered even louder. But she kept her voice low to avoid waking Jennifer.

  “A friend of Carrie’s,” he said. “I’m going to help her.”

  Tracy tried to think. If the police had activated the wiretap, they were picking this up. They could find out where the caller was phoning from. She had to play along.

  “What makes you think she needs help?” she asked in what she hoped was a seminormal voice.

  “Don’t play games, Mrs. Meyer. Your little girl’s tutor is in a tight spot. I can fix it for her.”

  Hearing the caller mention Jennifer made Tracy break out in perspiration. Her chill of dread turned to terror. Where was this caller? And who was he? Still, she tried to think logically, say the right things to find out what she needed to know.

  “Listen, mister,” she said with a sexy swagger she didn’t feel. “I might be willing to tell you what she said if you tell me a little more about who you are. What’s
Carrie to you?”

  Now the voice became impatient and irritated. “I told you, a friend. If you want to keep safe, you’ll cooperate with me. I have a very long reach. Very long indeed.”

  Now anger began to accompany her fear. “How dare you threaten me,” she said, allowing her voice to get louder than she intended. She glanced toward the hallway but didn’t perceive any stirrings from Jennifer’s room. “It so happens that I don’t know where Carrie is,” she said, hoping to be able to bargain. “I might be able to help you if she calls again, but only if you’ll help me.”

  She waited, listening to the wheezing breath coming from what sounded like very far away.

  “Well?” he finally asked. “What do you want me to do for you?”

  “I want you to tell me where you think Carrie might have gone. If she’s not with that bank robber, why has she disappeared? What reason would she have to hide?”

  She thought she heard the voice chuckle, but it was muffled and sarcastic. The sound was not reassuring.

  “You ask a lot of questions, Mrs. Meyer. That cop friend of yours putting ideas into your head?”

  She squeezed the phone with one hand, her other hand curling up into a ball. She glanced toward the windows, wondering if the caller were watching her now. Icy fear gripped her, but she tried to keep that from seeping into the sound of her voice.

  “Maybe my friends have a long reach themselves, Mr. Whoever You Are. Can I give a message to Carrie if she calls again?” She prayed the call was being traced.

  “Tell her I’m waiting for her with open arms.”

  “Who? Who is waiting for her?”

  The line clicked off. For several seconds, Tracy just sat on the edge of her bed staring at the phone in her hand. She was petrified. Who was the mysterious caller, and how did he know Carrie had called here? She pressed her lips between her teeth and gnawed on her lower lip. Then she started to shake. In a delayed reaction to the threats and danger, she perceived the fact that the caller knew an awful lot about her personal life. She shivered and shook so hard, she could barely get the receiver back into its cradle.

  Then she sat upright, hugging herself, trying to decide what to do. She’d refused Matt’s offer of putting someone outside to watch her house. Now she didn’t feel so brave.