by Pat Warren
In the split second before he went over, Nick grabbed the baby from Jorge’s outstretched arm. The small blanket fluttered down after the man who screamed as he fell. Nick plastered himself to the building and drew in a shaky breath. Slowly he inched his way back to the window where Lou waited. Nick handed over the baby and crawled back inside, realizing his shirt was soaked through with nervous sweat.
“Did he make it?” Nick asked his partner.
“Yeah, he landed in the net, the idiot.” Lou handed the little girl to her mother who was weeping unashamedly. The paramedics were working on the boy still on the couch.
Nick pulled his handkerchief out and mopped his damp face. “Man, I don’t want to do that again anytime soon.”
“I don’t imagine you do” came a deep reply from the doorway. Lieutenant Ed Harris stood there scowling. “Didn’t exactly follow procedure, Bennett. You’re not the one who’s supposed to go out there and talk a man in. We have a team of experts who specialize in that, or weren’t you aware?”
“Yes, sir. But there wasn’t time.” Nick wasn’t worried. He knew the lieutenant had to chew him out a little. But since it had worked out okay, he wouldn’t come down too hard. However, if the fireman’s net hadn’t been there…
“I’ll verify that, Lieutenant,” Lou spoke up on behalf of his partner. “The guy was a ticking time bomb, ready to buy the farm he was so upset.”
“I promised Jorge I’d sit down with him and his wife and try to solve this work situation,” Nick mentioned.
“Yeah, well, that’ll have to wait,” Harris said. “He’s got to have psychiatric counseling, anger control management and probably face child abuse charges as well as reckless endangerment of an infant.” A tall, silver-haired man with deceptively lazy brown eyes, the lieutenant had seen a lot in his twenty-two years on the force. He walked over to Rocio Espinoza as the medics placed her son on a stretcher.
“What’s going to happen to Jorge now?” Rocio asked, looking at all three officers.
“You can ride with the boy to the hospital if you like,” Harris told her. “We’ll have someone talk with you there.”
Resigned, she gathered her baby close, then went over to Nick. “You saved my baby. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Nick put on his shoulder holster and jacket. “Let’s get out of here before the media sticks a mike in our face,” he told Lou.
The rescue of a baby from the third-floor ledge was all over the television news by noon. Tate had just settled Maggie on the couch, having gotten her released from the hospital, when Josh turned on the TV. He was about to channel-surf when the twelve o’clock news led off with the story of the daring save.
“Hey, it’s Nick,” Josh said as they played the tape showing the distraught father holding a blanket-wrapped infant and the courageous officer who’d climbed out on the ledge.
Maggie and Tate watched as the little scene unfolded, unable to hear what was being said between the two men up three stories from the ground, yet mesmerized by the drama. The camera’s zoom lens captured the troubled expression of the father and the calm demeanor of the officer. Then suddenly they both stood and the man almost stumbled, losing his balance. At what had to be the very last second, Nick caught the baby. The camera backed up and the father could be seen landing in the fire department’s safety net as the child’s blanket floated down. Then they zoomed in for a close-up of Nick handing the baby inside before climbing through the window.
“Wow,” Josh said as the voice of the newscaster went on excitedly explaining the events that led up to the daring rescue.
“I’d say that young man’s a hero,” Maggie said, relaxing back among the pillows.
Tate sat down at the far end of the couch and watched as a file photo of Nick Bennett in full uniform filled the screen and the voice-over told about another incident several years ago when the detective had kept a man from committing suicide atop a high-rise, then went on to talk about his career record, years of service and his three bravery citations.
Tate hadn’t heard from Nick in several days, not since the night of their pizza dinner. Not that she’d expected to, really. She stared at his picture now, thinking there was something about a man in uniform. But he’d worn plain clothes that day and he’d looked vastly appealing then, too. As he probably would wearing only a smile. She felt color move into her face and wondered where that thought had come from.
“I wonder why they sent such a special officer for my little problem,” Maggie said, wrinkling her brow.
Tate patted the older woman’s outstretched legs. “Only the best, Maggie, because you’re worth it,” she told her with a smile.
“Thank you, dear.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to be in your own bed? Or take a nap here? Josh can watch TV upstairs if you’d like to rest.”
“No, I want to be here and I like having Josh near.” She smiled as the boy came over to her. “It’s all right if you want to hug me,” she told him.
“I won’t hurt you?” he asked.
“No, sweetheart. Hug away.” She shifted her right arm in its cast out of the way and reached out to the boy with her left. “I missed you.”
“I missed you, too,” Josh said, straightening, staring at Maggie’s discolored cheek. “I’m sorry you got beat up.” He turned to his mother. “Mom, I changed my mind. I’ll look at the pictures Nick talked about. I want to help catch that man.”
Her little guy came through and she didn’t even have to ask him, Tate thought with no small measure of pride. Apparently he’d inherited her soft heart. And that heroic rescue had convinced Josh that Nick was one of the good guys. “I’ll call Nick,” she said, rising. “Of course, with all this publicity, he may be too busy for us.”
Maggie’s sharp blue eyes looked Tate up and down, seeing a lovely woman badly in need of a caring man. “I doubt that, honey. If you call, he’ll come.”
Chapter 3
Seated at Maggie’s dining-room table, Josh turned another page of the big book in front of him, carefully studying each face before going on to the next as Nick and Tate watched. “These guys look really mean,” he said. “Did they all do bad things like the man who beat up Maggie?”
“Pretty much,” Nick answered, not wanting to frighten the boy, but also not wanting to lie. “Most of them weren’t happy to have their picture taken so they look kind of angry.”
“It’s important that you pick the right one, if he’s in there, Josh, so look really hard,” Tate instructed.
“I know, Mom.” He turned the next page.
“I sure appreciate you doing this for us, Josh,” Nick told the boy, knowing that praise went a long way toward gaining cooperation, though he was curious as to why Josh had suddenly had a change of heart.
The boy looked up, in his eyes a question, uncertain whether he should ask. But Nick was a cool guy so he de cided to chance it. “Were you just a tiny bit scared yesterday when you were up on that window ledge with that guy?”
He was a serious boy, Nick thought, comparing Josh to his far more carefree nephews. The kid didn’t laugh much or even smile often. What had made him like that? he wondered. “Not a tiny bit, Josh. I was scared a lot. But everyone has to do scary things sometimes in order to help someone. I’ll bet you’ve done a few yourself.”
“Once I climbed Mrs. Stone’s tree next door to get her kitten down when he got himself stuck up there, but it was only two branches up.”
“Even two branches up would have meant quite a fall, for you and the kitten. But you did it even though you were scared. And I’ll bet you felt good afterward.”
“Did you feel good afterward yesterday?”
Nick drew in a breath, remembering that kids never let up. “Yeah, I was glad the baby was safe and relieved that we didn’t fall. But I felt bad for that whole family. They’ve got a lot of problems to work out.” More than he could explain to a seven-year-old.
He chanced a quick look at Tate and saw a l
ook of approval on her face. And something else. A contemplative look, as if she were trying to figure him out. Well, Nick thought, at least he had her thinking. Progress. Maybe.
“Sweetie, you’d better get back to the pictures. You’ve got one more whole book to go.” He’d already looked through two large mug shot books and not spotted the man. Tate was proud of her son’s desire to help, but she wondered how a fleeting glance at a park and another from a two-story window of a man wearing sunglasses would stay in Josh’s memory bank. She hated to disappoint both of them, Josh who was trying so hard and Nick who’d lugged the heavy books over in the hope they’d get a break.
“What happens if he doesn’t pick him out?” she asked Nick.
He shrugged. “Back to square one. This is just one avenue for us to try. It could be the guy’s never been arrested so we wouldn’t have his picture on file. He could even be from out of state.” Nick’s steady gaze trapped her eyes. “Or maybe someone else hired him.” He let the thought hang there between them.
Tate averted her eyes. “I suppose anything’s possible.” She rose and walked through the arch into the living room where Maggie was lightly dozing on the couch to check on her. Actually she’d left the table more to get away from Nick’s intense look than because she felt Maggie needed her.
The older woman’s eyes opened slowly and focused on Tate. “Did Josh find the man?”
“Not yet,” Tate answered, straightening her pillows a fraction.
“I only wish he’d have pointed him out to me that day in the park. Maybe I’d remember his features. Four eyes are better than two, you know.” Wincing, she shifted the cast on her right arm to a more comfortable position.
“Not to worry. Nick will locate him sooner or later. Want some more tea?”
“Yes, dear, that would be nice.”
Tate went to the kitchen, passing through the dining room as Nick closed the third book and opened the final one in front of Josh. Turning slightly, Nick studied Tate.
She’d changed clothes after picking up Maggie from the hospital since the temperature was already in the nineties, not unusual for late May in Tucson. She wore a loose mannish shirt with sleeves rolled up over a white knit top and denim shorts that showed off her shapely legs. She wasn’t very tall, five-five or six, which at his height of six-three made him over a head taller. Yet she held herself so erect that she appeared taller. He noticed that she’d gathered her wild reddish hair at her neck and reined it in with a gold clip. Nick’s hands itched to run his fingers through the thick waves and watch it fall to her shoulders.
Knowing full well that she didn’t need him to make a pot of tea, he meandered into the kitchen anyhow. “Need some help?”
Lost in thought, Tate was momentarily startled to find him at her elbow. “Oh. Thanks, but I can manage.” Turning the kettle on, she saw he wasn’t going to leave, so she waved a hand toward Josh. “No luck yet and that’s the last book. I feel badly that we dragged you over here, wasting your time.”
“You’re not wasting my time. Police work is a slow process, not like in the movies or on TV where a witness sits down and spots the suspect on page two. I’ve learned to be a patient man.”
Tate rinsed the pot and selected two tea bags. Maggie liked hot tea even in the summer. “I think I’ll make some iced tea as well.” She reached for the tall pitcher on the top shelf, but even on her tiptoes, couldn’t quite make it.
“Here, let me.” Nick moved closer to the cupboard and reached up, effectively hemming Tate in between himself and the counter. As he handed her the pitcher, their gazes locked. Just that quickly, he saw that unmistakable male-female awareness leap into her dark green eyes. He didn’t move, scarcely breathed as both their hands encircled the pitcher. He wasn’t even touching her, yet his senses were acutely tuned to her. Fleetingly, her face registered confusion and an almost heartbreaking need before she deliberately stepped back and looked away.
“Tate, I…” Nick wanted to say something, to acknowledge the moment, the connection, if only in some small way.
Her back to him, she shook her head. “Please, don’t.”
“Why not?” he asked, genuinely curious. He’d known a lot of women and was well aware that that indefinable con nection didn’t happen often. Hell, it scarcely happened at all. He also knew she’d felt it, too.
But just then, his beeper went off and Tate was saved from answering, from being confronted. Shaken yet relieved, she pointed to the desk through the arch. “Phone’s over there.”
Frowning as he recognized the number of the precinct dispatcher, he left the room. In moments, he hung up and turned back to Tate who was just closing the last mug shot book. “Not there, either?” he asked Josh. The boy shook his head.
Nick gathered up the books. “Thanks for trying.” He looked into the boy’s eyes, again thinking how much Josh reminded him of his mother, although he must have gotten his blond hair from his father. “If you ever see that man again, don’t go up to him or talk with him, but study his face very closely. And let me know right away if he shows up here, okay?” He watched the boy solemnly nod, then turned to Tate. “That goes for you and Maggie, too.”
Tate remembered the black car parked outside the other night and wanted in the worst way to tell Nick about it. But what good would that do? It would only open a can of worms she was unwilling to face. Even when she’d been confronted by the man Nick was looking for years ago, she hadn’t seen his features, either, for he’d worn a ski mask then, too.
The woman should never play poker, Nick thought as he caught her evasive look. Why wouldn’t she trust him? “I’ve got to go out on a call.”
“Another rescue?” Josh wanted to know.
Nick smiled at the boy and ruffled his hair. “Nothing so dramatic. At least, I hope not.” The call, unfortunately, was about a woman who’d been raped in the rest room of a supermarket. He was to meet his partner at the scene.
Hurriedly he said goodbye to Maggie and Josh as Tate followed him out onto the porch. “Are you going back to work tomorrow?” he asked her, wondering who would care for an incapacitated older woman and a young boy. Still, she had a job to protect.
“I’ve asked for a few days off, till Maggie’s better. And I’ve got to find some kind of summer program to enroll Josh in.” One that had iron-clad security.
Nick hadn’t forgotten that the creep who’d invaded Maggie’s house had been asking about the boy’s whereabouts. This whole incident somehow involved Josh, which led him inevitably to consider the father as a suspect. “Tate, I have to ask you. Is it possible that the break-in has something to do with Josh’s father?”
Tate stiffened, her features tightening. “I haven’t seen him in years. He didn’t even know I was pregnant.” Which was the truth, as far as it went. “I…I’ve got to go in.”
He knew he should have left by now, that he was needed at another crime scene, but he had one more point to make. He switched the heavy books under one arm and gently touched her hand. “Tate, I’m not the enemy. I want to help you.”
She felt the heat, from his touch, from his words. Tears leaped to her eyes, wanting badly to fall. But she couldn’t afford the luxury, nor could she let this kind man know her feelings. “I know,” she whispered, then quickly went inside.
All the way to his car, Nick swore inventively. Around the precinct, he was known as the great communicator. More often than not, he could get suspects to open up to him, to instinctively trust him. Yet here, with this woman who’d somehow gotten under his skin, he couldn’t get her to drop her guard, one he was certain she’d had in place for years.
Tossing the mug books on the back seat, Nick got behind the wheel. Where there’s a will, there’s a way, he reminded himself. He’d get Tate Monroe to trust him if it was the last thing he ever did, he vowed as he pulled away from the curb.
Nick left the interrogation room and stepped into the viewing room where the two-way mirror allowed others to ob serve and listen to
a suspect or witness being questioned. He and Lou had just done their good-cop-bad-cop routine with Ronda Philips, the woman claiming she’d been raped in an eastside supermarket rest room by a burly man with long hair and a chipped front tooth wearing an oil-stained T-shirt and carrying a big knife. Nick let out a ragged breath as he watched the woman he’d just left rummaging through her purse. “What do you think, Lieutenant?”
“I want to hear what you guys think,” Harris told his two detectives.
Lou Patrick shrugged. “I think she’s on the up-and-up. Nurse at the hospital said she had knife cuts along her inner thighs, both shoulders and two nicks on her breasts. The bruise on her cheek could have come from a punch to the face when she resisted him. Only thing is, the rape counselor said she had one major concern, that Mrs. Philips kept asking for her husband throughout the exam whereas most rape victims are frightened and ashamed at first and want nothing to do with their husbands for a while. But that’s not a hard and fast rule.”
The lieutenant toyed with his paisley suspenders and nodded. “What about you, Nick?”
“I think she made the whole thing up. The doctor who examined her said there was no bruising. And, like Lou said, she keeps asking where her husband is, how’s he taking all this, when can she go home with him. Not the usual reaction.”
“Lou, you were first on the scene. Did anyone in the store mention seeing a guy like she described?”
Lou shook his head. “Nada. That supermarket’s in an affluent neighborhood. You’d think a grease monkey like she described would stand out, that someone else would have spotted him and wondered what he was up to.”
“How about the husband?” Harris asked.
“We talked with him while she was being examined at the hospital,” Nick answered. “He seemed more angry than upset. Blames himself for leaving her alone so much because he works long hours as a new attorney at a big firm. Just last week, they’d planned to take a trip, but a case he was on caused them to have to cancel. Ronda didn’t take it well, crying a lot, brooding.”
