A MAN TO TRUST

by Justine Davis

  "Remarkably well. What he doesn't do so well is give them back."

  Charmed, Kelsey laughed. Apparently he didn't mind her looking further, since he took the keys from her to open the door and left her the book, so she turned another page.

  "Oh, my," she said as she gaped at the drawing of the most dramatic-looking man she'd ever seen, his high cheekbones, strong jaw and long black hair, held back by a bandanna tied around his forehead, speaking of ancestors who had walked this country long before the white man had.

  "Ryan Buckhart," Cruz said, his tone wry.

  "He's … amazing."

  "Yes." He pushed open the door and ushered her inside, then closed it behind them. "He's six-foot-two and looks like some kind of Native American god. Women tend to think he's amazing."

  "I can see why."

  "Lacey—his wife—is a tough lady, to put up with it. But she knows he's crazy about her, so I suppose that helps. As much as anything can help being married to a cop."

  Her eyes shot to his face as they stepped into the great room from the hall. "He's … a cop, too?"

  Cruz nodded. "He's my best friend on the force. I was best man at his and Lacey's remarriage a few months—"

  A high, stifled cry came from across the room. They both spun around, Cruz going into a slight crouch that was so swift it had to be instinctive, while Kelsey simply yelped and nearly dropped the sketchbook. And then she groaned when she saw Melissa in the kitchen doorway, staring at them, wide-eyed and pale, wrapped in one of Kelsey's flannel robes; in her concentration on the drawings, she'd forgotten to give a warning knock before they came in.

  "He's a cop?" the girl cried out in a tone of sheer horror usually reserved for ax murders, staring at Cruz.

  Cruz's gaze shifted from the girl to Kelsey's face. His brows were lowered, his eyes probing, and she imagined that this was what he must have looked like when she called him that night.

  And judging by his expression, he was even more suspicious now than he'd been then.

  * * *

  Chapter 5

  « ^ »

  "I can't believe this!" Melissa wailed. "I thought you were suppose to be straight with us—everybody said so!"

  "Melissa—"

  "I trusted you, because you didn't preach, or tell me what to do, you just said when I felt safe again I could decide what to do. But it was all a trick to stall me while you called the cops, wasn't it?" the girl cried accusingly, weeping now.

  Kelsey felt Cruz's gaze on her. She glanced at him, then back at the girl, her heart turning over at the girl's obvious distress.

  "Melissa, listen to me—"

  "What a joke, you telling me to stay out of sight, when all along you had a damn cop here, spying!"

  The girl whirled and ran back through the kitchen.

  "You want to explain this?" Cruz said.

  Gone was the charming dinner companion, gone was the clever artist she'd never expected to find, gone was the loving father who had unknowingly moved her to tears. She was looking at the cop now, and she knew it to the depths of her knotted stomach. If he'd been anybody else, she might have been able to bluff her way out of this, but the only thing in his unexpectedly blue eyes besides suspicion was a razor sharp intelligence that wouldn't be fooled. But she had to try.

  "She's my … cousin," Kelsey began, then stopped when she saw the disbelief that was clear in his face. There was no point in going on. She shouldn't even have tried, that late-night phone call had taught her as much.

  "I suggest you don't try that again, Kelsey," he said. "I've been lied to by the best, and believe me, you're not very good at it."

  No, she wasn't, she admitted silently. Not anymore. There had been a time when she was very, very good at it. But it had been a long time since her very survival depended on her ability to lie convincingly.

  But it had also been a very long time since she let herself be cowed just because someone was bigger and stronger than she was. She might have had to do as the cops said once, but she was an adult now, and he might be a cop, but this wasn't his … what did they call it? Jurisdiction?

  She drew herself up straight and forced herself to meet his gaze head—on. "It's none of your concern," she said.

  He drew back slightly, as if startled. Or hurt, she thought, then nearly laughed out loud at herself for the absurdity of that idea. And she knew how absurd it was when he spoke; his voice was cool, almost mild.

  "She's been here all along, hasn't she? I had the feeling somebody else was here. The lights … and I didn't remember the place making that many noises at night. Why was she hiding? Why did you tell her to stay out of sight? Because of me? What's she done?"

  Kelsey cringed inwardly at the barrage of questions, but she made herself hold his gaze. "I told you—"

  "You also told me you had a water leak," he said, cutting her off, "to keep me from coming at all. She was the reason, wasn't she? I was right all along. You didn't want a cop here, did you?"

  Anger sparked through Kelsey. She welcomed it, grasped at it, needing it. She'd spent too much of her life in fear, too much of her life facing a man who fired question after unrelenting question at her, to accept it easily now. She would not let it happen again, would not live like that, afraid, intimidated. She'd fought hard to conquer her fears, and she wasn't about to buckle to them again now. And anger was the only thing that would help her.

  "You're not on duty here, Cruz. And I'm not under any constraint to answer your idle questions."

  "Believe me, there's nothing idle about them."

  His tone was ominous enough that her stomach took a little leap. She ignored it; she would not revert to the frightened child she'd once been. Not when Melissa was depending on her. Not when the girl already felt betrayed by her.

  "Then let's just say I don't feel compelled to satisfy your cop curiosity. Why don't you just go home as planned and forget it?"

  He looked at her for a long moment, and she found it very hard to meet those steady blue eyes without looking away. But she did it, simply because she stubbornly refused to do anything else.

  "Maybe," he said softly, "because I'd like to help."

  She wished she could believe him. But nothing she knew of cops gave her reason to think that he would be any different than any other cop when it came to bending the rules, no matter what the circumstances. It was a lesson she'd learned early, and painfully well. And she couldn't put Melissa at risk on the hope that Cruz might be different, just because he seemed that way. Or had. He certainly didn't seem any different from any other cop she'd ever seen now. Not when he was firing questions at her as if this were an interrogation session.

  "I'm not a suspect you've arrested, Cruz. Just go home," she said, stifling a sigh. "Please."

  "Kelsey, whatever it is, whatever you've gotten yourself into, maybe I can—"

  "Go home, Cruz. Won't your daughter be waiting?"

  He glanced at the watch he'd put on this evening in preparation for going back to the world where time mattered. His mouth tightened when he read the time. Then he looked back at her.

  "Kelsey, whatever she's hiding, whatever you're hiding—"

  "She's just a friend staying here for a while," Kelsey said firmly. "Don't assume there's anything … clandestine going on just because she didn't want to be sociable."

  Cruz gave her a steady look. "Why not?" he said, his dry tone tinged with what sounded almost like disappointment. "You assume just because I'm a cop I… What? Just what is it you're assuming about me?"

  Cruz's mouth thinned when she didn't answer, just looked at him miserably.

  "It was all a scam, wasn't it? All the attention, the long talks, the—"

  He broke off and looked away, and again Kelsey got that odd sense that he was, if not hurt, at least upset. The idea of such vulnerability in a cop startled her, and the thought that she had hurt him, however unlikely that seemed, stung.

  "Cruz…" she began, but stopped when she realized there was noth
ing she could say that wouldn't make this worse.

  "Some people don't like my looks," he said tightly, "or my heritage. I've been called everything from the worst Hispanic slur to half-breed."

  Kelsey winced, but Cruz didn't stop.

  "But the most consistent, unreasoning prejudice I've ever faced isn't because I'm half-Mexican and my skin color doesn't go with my eyes. It's because I have a badge. People who don't even know me assume they know who I am because of it. People who would never dream of calling me a wetback or a spic don't think anything of calling me 'cop' with the same kind of distaste in their voice."

  He let out a compressed breath.

  "I just never thought you'd be one of them."

  He turned then, grabbed the bag that was packed and waiting by the door and was gone. Leaving Kelsey standing alone, thinking he'd learned well from his father, because the way he had sounded, the way he had looked at her, made her feel exactly like pond scum.

  * * *

  He'd been too damned hard on her, Cruz thought as he drove through the night. Whatever she was up to, whoever that girl was, they'd both been more scared than anything else.

  Scared of him.

  He supposed that was what grated. That, and that he'd been fool enough to convince himself that there was something more than just ulterior motives to all the attention she'd been paying him this week. He'd been hurt, something that hadn't happened in a long time, and he'd reacted nastily.

  His mind veered away from that painful thought and settled on something else, something he could at least wrestle with without feeling like a fool. What on earth was Kelsey up to? Who was that girl, and why had she gone into such a panic when she heard he was a cop? Why had she been hiding in the first place, if she hadn't already known? What had she done that had made her want to hide from someone who was, for all she knew, just a guest at the inn? Had Kelsey told her some horror story about him, or was whatever the girl had done so awful that she didn't dare risk being found even by an average civilian?

  He couldn't believe it. The girl was just scared, it had been written all over her young, weary face. Not the ugly expression of viciousness, just a scared kid. Besides, Kelsey wouldn't protect somebody vicious.

  At least, he didn't think she would. But he hadn't thought she would turn on him because he was a cop, either.

  Fine thing, he thought to himself wearily. You become a cop to try to help people, and half the time they just run scared from you.

  Even Kelsey had been scared. He'd sensed it, beneath the determination, behind the grit, with which she faced him. She'd been scared, and he didn't like thinking that it had been because of him, for whatever reason.

  He rubbed at his eyes, wondering if any of it had been real. Had all of it—the companionable chats, the laughter, the moments when he'd caught her looking at him as if she were … interested—had it all been simply part of the plan to keep him from noticing the girl's presence? And what the hell had she expected him to do if he did notice?

  I'm not a suspect you've arrested, Cruz.

  Maybe he had come on a little strong, he thought as her words echoed in his mind. Sometimes that cop instinct just took over. When you were presented with someone clearly hiding something, it was a deeply ingrained habit to find out what and why. And he supposed Kelsey had no idea of his motivation for pushing for an explanation, other than what would be obvious to her, that he was a suspicious cop. How could she? Even he wasn't sure what his motivation was.

  He was concerned about what she might have gotten herself into, nothing more, he told himself as he changed lanes, handling the big four-wheel-drive with automatic skill. He'd always liked her, and in this past week he had even grown fond of her, and that was all.

  Except that this past week had all been a sham, an exercise in distracting the cop, keeping him busy so he wouldn't notice her phantom guest.

  And there he was, back in that rut, forced to admit to what stung more than anything, and hating himself for letting it happen.

  "You've been alone too damn long, Gregerson," he muttered as he took the freeway off-ramp that would get him home. "You let a pretty face, some soft curves and a pair of big green eyes lead you right where she wanted you to go."

  But he knew it wasn't just that. He'd really liked the time he spent with her; he'd liked her quick intelligence and her quiet humor. And he'd more than once found himself wishing he could chase away whatever shadows haunted her, those memories that turned her eyes so sad and made her voice hollow.

  He hadn't felt that way about a woman in a very long time. That her actions had apparently been all for show was a blow to more than just his pride. It crippled whatever fledgling feelings had been developing for this woman.

  Just as well, he thought. He'd been a fool to let it happen, anyway. He and Sam were doing just fine; she was the only female he had time for or wanted in his life.

  So why couldn't he put it out of his mind? Why did he still want to know what was going on, who Melissa was, what she had done, and why Kelsey was hiding her? There was only one explanation for that: he just couldn't stop being a cop.

  Or else Kelsey had completely gotten to him, more than he even suspected, and that was why he couldn't let it alone.

  He wasn't sure which explanation bothered him more.

  * * *

  Kelsey stifled a sigh and wondered if there was anything else that could possibly go wrong. She quickly retracted the thought, thinking better of tempting a fate that seemed determined to prove to her that there was always something else that could get messed up. She lifted her cup of coffee in mock salute, hoping the offering would stave off any further ideas that fate had about playing with her.

  Cruz's last words still seemed to echo in the air, and Melissa hadn't set foot outside her room this morning, after refusing steadfastly last night to even listen to Kelsey.

  Great, she muttered to herself. Now you've not only made him suspicious, you've made him mad.

  She wondered if he would do anything. How deep did that cop mentality run? Would he pursue this, even though it clearly had nothing to do with him? Was he going to show up back here, demanding answers? Or since it wasn't his jurisdiction, would he call whoever's it was? Or would he just walk away?

  And never come back?

  Kelsey was startled by the strength of the pain that thought caused. She traced the wood-grain pattern of the kitchen table with a finger, pressing down hard, as if the pressure could relieve the ache. The idea that he might never come back—no, she corrected herself grimly, the likelihood—made her feel much more miserable than it should. He was only a guest, after all. True, he was a special guest, her very first paying guest, her first repeat guest, but that was all.

  "God, you can't even lie to yourself," she said to the empty room, her words punctuated by a self-deprecating laugh.

  It was true. Cruz had become much more than just a guest to her in the past week. How ironic, that the interest she'd always had in him had made it easier for her to concentrate on distracting him, yet had also resulted in her falling into the trap she'd set. She'd found him fascinating, charming, and far too attractive; it had been a long time since she met a man who made her wonder if another stab at love might be worth it. But she had found herself thinking that way about Cruz, wondering what it would be like…

  She leaped to her feet, abandoned her coffee mug and fled from the kitchen into the great room, curling up on the sofa before the cold ashes of last night's fire. An appropriate setting for her mood, she thought glumly. The emptiness of the coming days was pressing down on her already. The Taylors would not arrive for another two weeks, and for once, instead of welcoming the break between guests, she dreaded it.

  She knew she'd brought it all on herself. If only she'd thought it out when Melissa showed up on her doorstep, shaking, cold, hungry and scared. She'd listened to the girl pour out her story between gulping sobs, a confused tangle of cruel parents, an angry boyfriend and the police hunting her down
. She had fed her, soothed her, assured her she was safe here … and then panicked when she remembered that Cruz Gregerson, due to arrive the next day for his annual visit, was a cop.

  Now she let her head loll to one side, smothering a yawn; she hadn't slept much last night. Her weary eyes closed, then snapped open again as something she'd seen registered. She stared at the end table beside the sofa and the spiral-bound pad that lay there. The sketchbook Cruz had shown her last night. She vaguely remembered dropping it there after they'd seen Melissa, and after their emotional confrontation before he departed last night, Cruz must have forgotten it.

  With a sad smile, she picked it up. She hesitated, then decided she probably couldn't be any more miserable than she already was and flipped it open.

  A half-dozen sketches like the ones she'd already seen were on the first few pages, different angles and moods of the little girl who was clearly his favorite subject. And she saw again that while it was true that the child didn't particularly look like him, there was an undeniable resemblance in the set of her chin and the steady determination in her eyes. It was, she supposed, a tribute to his skill that even those intangibles came across so clearly.

  She turned to the drawing of that exotic, breathtaking man he'd called Ryan Buckhart, seeing now the different approach he'd taken here, the firm slash of lines, as opposed to the gentle brushstroke type of technique he'd used for Samantha.

  She fiddled idly with the book, wondering if he'd ever gone to art school, or if the talent was so natural he'd never had to learn. Yet another thing she never would have expected from a cop, she thought, beginning to realize that she was perhaps as guilty as he'd suggested of judging him simply by the fact that he wore a badge. Maybe she should—

  Her breath caught, sharply, audibly. She stared down at the sketchbook she held, at the page it had fallen open to, the back of the last page. It was as if he'd turned it over to start fresh from the other side.

  She stared at herself.