by Pat Warren
“Jeez, Mom, how’d you ever find your classroom?” Josh wanted to know, confused by the many buildings.
“They give you a map and eventually you memorize where everything is.” Seated in the back with him and Ralph who had two paws up and was busily gazing out the window, Tate smoothed back his hair. “We need to get you a haircut, young man.”
“Nick says he cuts hair,” Josh informed her.
Her eyebrows rose as she sought Nick’s eyes in the rearview mirror. “Is that so?”
Nick shrugged. “My dad used to cut all the boys’ hair to save money. He taught me, so now I do the nephews. I told Josh and he thought it’d be a good idea if I cut his.”
“I see. You two ganging up on me?” she asked, but she was smiling.
“It appears that Nick walks on water,” Maggie interjected, “wouldn’t you say, Tate?”
“Just on lake water,” Nick answered, grinning. “I haven’t tried the ocean yet.”
He turned onto the road leading up Mount Lemmon. “I’m surprised you haven’t been up here, any of you. It’s a real popular spot.”
Tate’s smile slipped. “I was here once, several years ago,” she said very quietly.
Watching her in the rearview mirror, Nick got the impression the trip hadn’t been pleasant. He couldn’t help wondering if the memory had anything to do with Senator Adam Weston.
The area with the shops was crowded with tourists so it took Nick some time to find a parking space. They all climbed out as he attached Ralph’s leash to his collar. “Loop your hand through this twice, Josh, so he doesn’t get away from you,” Nick instructed.
“I’ve got him.” Josh moved ahead of them on the crowded sidewalk.
Nick offered his arm to Maggie who was moving a little slowly today. “Are you all right?” he asked her.
“I’m just fine,” the older woman informed him, but she let Tate hold her other arm as they strolled along.
“Josh, wait for us,” Tate called out, uneasy at having him too far ahead. She glanced at Nick and saw his cop’s eyes scanning the crowd, looking for anyone familiar or someone who looked as if he didn’t belong. She relaxed fractionally as they stopped in front of a store selling Western artifacts.
By the time they’d walked one side of the street of stores, then back along on the other side, everyone was hungry. They ate at a crowded little outdoor luncheon café while Ralph napped in the sun, his leash tied to the fence post next to their table.
Afterward, wanting to walk off his lunch, Nick suggested a stroll up the mountain, which had well-marked trails. Maggie opted to wait at street level, sitting down on a bench with Ralph by her side. As the three of them started up the path, Nick thought that Tate seemed a little nervous, but he decided she was just concerned over Josh.
“Stay right by us, Josh,” Nick told the boy. “It’s really easy to slip off the path and, in some places, it’s a long way down.” He positioned the child between himself and Tate as they climbed.
They passed other climbers, some going up and some already coming back down. The sun was hot overhead, though it had been fairly cool at the outdoor restaurant with the mountain breezes. Tate removed her sweater and tied the sleeves around her waist.
“I used to come up here a lot when my brothers and I lived at home. It’s a great place to get some exercise.” He glanced at Tate’s face and saw that moisture had beaded on her brow, whether from the sun or the physical exertion he wasn’t sure. Each step seemed to require an extra effort on her part.
They came to a small plateau that looked out on where the trail wound around itself. Across the way, the path narrowed and overlooked a steep ridge, the gulley below rocky and dangerous. A small stream snaked its way out of sight, the water clear enough to count the stones at bedrock.
Nick noticed that Tate was standing very still, gazing across the chasm, her eyes narrowed, her lips pressed together. He stopped, pointing out some shiny stones to Josh who immediately stooped down and began picking through them. Returning his attention to Tate, who hadn’t moved, Nick slipped his arm around her. “What’s wrong? Tell me.”
For a moment, she didn’t move, just swallowed hard. “I was here once before, over there where that rock forms a sort of ledge.” She felt a shiver take her, unable to hide her reaction.
“Tell me what happened.”
“He’d stopped his limo outside Brennan’s and waited for me, insisting I get into the car and talk about Josh,” she explained, her eyes on the gully below, her voice low. She knew she didn’t have to explain who he was. “Rafe was driving and they brought me up here. It was twilight and there was no one else around. We stood over there and we were quarreling and…and…”
Nick tightened his arm around her. “It’s all right. I’m here. You’re safe now. Tell me what he did.”
“Adam knew I was terrified of heights, so he had Rafe pick me up and dangle me over the precipice. And he stood there and laughed at my fear. When Rafe set me down, Adam told me to remember how that felt, that if I didn’t start cooperating with him about his son, he’d have Rafe finish the job next time. He’d make it look like an accident and no one would question a senator’s word.” Tate shuddered and turned into Nick’s arms.
“You believed him, of course.”
“Wouldn’t you?”
Gently Nick made her face him. “Honey, plenty of important lawmakers have gotten in hot water for abusing their power. Being a senator isn’t a free license to do as you please. We’ll get him. I want you to stop worrying.”
“I wish I could.”
“Hey, Nick, look!” Josh came running over, all excited. “I think there’s diamonds in this stone.”
Nick kissed Tate’s forehead lightly, then turned to her son. “Mmm, that’s a beauty, all right. Only I think it’s more apt to be quartz than diamonds.” He saw that the boy had a whole handful of shiny stones, washed clean by the stream. “You can take those home. Are we about ready to go back?”
“Can’t we climb up there?” Josh asked, pointing to the higher path.
“No!” both Tate and Nick said in unison, causing the boy to look at them wide-eyed.
Nick softened the refusal. “I’ll bet that ice-cream stand is still open. What do you say we get a cone before driving home?”
Josh brightened. “I want chocolate with sprinkles.”
“You got it.” Taking Josh’s hand, his other hand curling around Tate’s fingers, he led them back down. Though he was trying to be upbeat for Josh’s sake, inside Nick was seething. What kind of man would hold a woman over a precipice, then laugh at her fear? A man drunk with power, a threat to society.
Senator Adam Weston had to be stopped.
Nick leaned back in his desk chair at the precinct, thoughtfully considering the information he’d gathered from a variety of sources like the newspaper archives, magazine articles and the Internet. To all outward appearances, Adam Weston was a wunderkind.
His father had died when he was eight and his mother had raised him, an only child she doted on. She’d started a small restaurant, called it Hattie’s on the Hill, and worked round the clock to make a go of it. By the time Adam was in his teens, she had enough saved to send him to a prestigious prep school back east.
Adam did his part, carrying a B-plus average, excelling in basketball as well. In his final two years, he improved his grades to 4.0 and made all-American in his sport of choice two years running. He applied at Harvard and got accepted.
By then, Mrs. Weston had two more restaurants and bought a big house in the foothills of the Catalina Mountains. She joined a country club where Adam learned to play golf and met more people who could advance his career. He went on to Harvard Law, making his mother proud. He was sought after by several very good law firms, settling on Tremaine, Emory and Whitfield, the biggest, the best. When he decided to run for political office, the firm was behind him, knowing it would add to their prestige.
Though Adam won his senatorial seat by bar
ely squeaking by, it might just as well have been a landslide according to the enormous party Mrs. Weston threw in celebration. Nick was sure that Tate and the others who’d worked to get him elected hadn’t been invited.
After a whirlwind courtship, according to the article Nick had located in the back files of the Arizona Daily Star, Adam married Angela Templeton, only daughter of Senator and Mrs. Roger Templeton of Connecticut, shortly after starting his first term. The in-laws had a lovely home built for the newlyweds next to theirs overlooking Long Island Sound, though Adam listed his mother’s home as his primary voting address since he’d been elected to represent the good people of Arizona.
According to his voting record, Adam walked the fence, just liberal enough so his constituents wouldn’t abandon him, yet conservative enough for the old guard. A careful man is the junior senator from Arizona who doesn’t get “home” as often as he wishes to see his beloved mother, according to one interview.
The interviewer ended with speculation as to just what position Adam was being groomed for by his powerful father-in-law. It was simply a matter of time before the entire country would know the name Adam Weston.
Right, thought Nick as he straightened, but perhaps not for his political contributions. After what he’d done to Tate, especially the way he’d treated her on Mount Lemmon, he’d like just ten minutes alone with the guy. There had to be a way to flush the man out without endangering either Josh or Tate or Maggie.
“Hey, Nick,” Lou called from across their two desks facing one another as he hung up the phone. “We got a 911 from Jorge Espinoza’s wife. He’s there with a gun.” Rising, Lou reached for his jacket from the back of his chair.
“Damn!” Nick said, shrugging into his own jacket. “I just knew this was going to happen.” Racing after Lou, he followed him outside.
They were too late. Nick knew that as they approached the apartment building and saw the meat wagon waiting. The uniformed officer first to arrive met them as they hurried to the entrance. The kid was new, looked about twenty-five, his face ashen. “I never saw anything like it,” he said, taking deep breaths. “So much blood everywhere.”
“Take it easy,” Nick told him. “Sit down and put your head between your knees.” They didn’t need a cop to pass out on the scene.
His partner was an older, experienced officer with a full mustache and face that had seen too much sadness. He came toward them carrying a baby in a blanket. “Guy killed his wife, then turned the gun on himself,” he said wearily. “But, as luck would have it, he only winged his arm.” He glanced toward the EMS. “Hey, over here,” he called out.
“Where is he?” Nick asked.
“In the ambulance with my partner, handcuffed.”
“Anyone else in the apartment?” Lou asked.
“No one.” The cop handed the baby over to the paramedic. “I heard they have a son, but I don’t know where he is.”
“He’s still in the hospital,” the paramedic said. “He’s got internal injuries from when his father punched him out a while back.” Her face registered anger and sadness as she carried the baby over to the EMS wagon.
“Let’s have a look,” Nick said, dreading the whole thing.
“Once these guys start knocking their wives and kids around, they never quit,” Lou commented as they climbed the stairs. “Not until one or both of them are dead.”
Exactly what Nick was thinking. Adam hadn’t made a move in quite a while, nor had Rafe Collins been spotted lately. He knew better than to believe they’d given up. And he was scared to death that one day he’d get a call telling him that all three in Maggie’s house had been wiped out. The warped SOB might decide that if he couldn’t have Josh, he was going to see to it that Tate didn’t, either. Wrapped in his political cocoon, Adam apparently felt invincible.
There had to be a way.
Nick found himself genuinely liking Tate’s former roommates and their husbands. At his request, she’d arranged for both women and their spouses to come down to Tucson so he could talk with them informally. He’d been tied up at the precinct with paperwork on the Espinoza murder and had joined them and Maggie after dinner, allowing Tate a chance to talk privately with her friends. He’d arrived just in time for dessert and coffee. Despite the work it took to put on a big dinner, Tate seemed more relaxed and smiling than perhaps he’d ever seen her.
Sipping his coffee and listening to the friendly bantering, Nick studied the new foursome seated around Maggie’s big oak dining table. Molly Shipman Gray, the one they called the brainy one because of her high IQ, was an attractive, slender blonde who patiently handed pieces of cookie to her eighteen-month-old son wiggling on her lap. Nick had liked Molly’s husband, Devin Gray, immediately, a man with powerful genes since both of their children had inherited his black hair and green eyes and none of Molly’s fair good looks. Devin was a fairly well-known author, but he downplayed his celebrity. Tate had mentioned reading his Western-mystery novels and enjoying them. Nick made a note to pick one up.
He also noticed that Josh had overcome his shyness with the Grays’ eight-year-old daughter Emily and even now, they were on the couch playing Pokémon. Too bad the Grays didn’t live closer, he thought. Josh could use a friend nearby.
Dr. Sean Reagan, a tall, sandy-haired obstetrician, was finishing a story about a woman who’d thought she had a large stomach tumor only to deliver an eight-pound baby girl. Sean’s wife, Laura Marshall Reagan, was the rich one, though you’d never know it from her down-to-earth attitude. Laura was willowy with shoulder-length black hair and warm blue eyes. She’d just learned she was pregnant and the two of them were overjoyed.
Although both Molly and Laura were attractive, Tate was stunningly beautiful in a white pantsuit, her auburn hair hanging loosely to her shoulders, her green eyes sparkling. But then, perhaps he was prejudiced.
Everyone smiled at the end of Sean’s story as Maggie got up to pour fresh coffee all around. Nick thought that the older woman looked happy tonight to have her little family around her table. Then the mood sobered, almost as a cue for Nick to explain why he’d wanted this impromptu meeting. He started by asking Tate how much she’d told her friends before he’d arrived.
She glanced over and saw that Josh was absorbed with the game and the television was on, further blocking out their conversation. “I told them who the father is and the name of his so-called aide.”
“Aide my aunt Tillie,” Sean spoke up. “That guy tried to kill Laura by forcing her off the road with his car.” As if to reassure himself that his wife was all right, he reached to take her hand in his.
“So I heard,” Nick said. “Did you report that incident to the Scottsdale Police?”
“Yes,” Laura answered. “But I couldn’t get the license plate number—he was alongside me and behind—so all I could give was a vague description of the car. A long, black limo-type vehicle. The windows were tinted so I couldn’t make out the driver. The police said it simply wasn’t enough to go on.”
Nick caught Tate’s look, knowing she recognized the car’s description. “The driver was probably Rafe, doing Weston’s dirty work. That same car and that same man have been spotted across the street here and once at the park watching.” He kept his voice low, his eyes drifting to Josh to make sure he wasn’t listening. “I need to know if either of you have had any other contact with him.”
“A man with a gruff voice called our home several times looking for Tate,” Molly offered. “But when I put Devin on after he became insistent, and he more or less told him off, he never called again. Apparently realizing there was a man on the scene, he backed off. I imagine he’s the same man, right?”
Tate answered. “Yes, Rafe has a gravelly voice. He left plenty of messages for me.”
“For me, too,” Laura said. “We also think he’s the one who broke into my condo some months before Sean and I were married, and ransacked it thoroughly.”
“Did you fill out a police report?” Nick asked.
Laura shook her head. “At the time, I was having trouble with my ex-husband and I was sure he’d done the damage. But later, Sean confronted my ex and determined it wasn’t him. That was several weeks later and I didn’t call the police because I thought there’d be no point since I had no proof it was him.”
“There was also a previous incident where he messed with the brake line of Laura’s car,” Sean interjected, “causing her to go into a skid and slam her Bronco between two trees during a snowstorm. Fortunately she wasn’t badly hurt, but she could have been killed then, too.”
Frowning, Nick looked at the notes he’d been taking. “Is that when she wound up in the hospital?”
“No,” Sean corrected. “That was the second incident, when he banged into her rental car with that black limo on a stretch of road in Scottsdale, forcing her car off the road into a gully. That happened right after Laura told him she didn’t know where Tate was and wouldn’t tell him if she did.” His remembered anger had his face hardening. “How long is this bastard going to keep this up? He’s obsessed.”
Molly reached over to place her hand over Tate’s, realizing how badly her friend felt that because of their friendship, both women had been put in harm’s way. “What I’d like to know is, what on earth would Weston tell his wife in the event he got the boy?” She looked at her husband a long moment. “We’ve been through something similar, where suddenly a child you didn’t know you have shows up. Let me tell you, it takes some adjusting.”
“It sure does,” Devin added.
“That forced meeting I had with Adam after he first saw…saw me with the boy,” Tate said, unwilling to speak her son’s name in case he overheard and began listening, “he told me his wife can’t have children. Undoubtedly he’s sweet-talked her into accepting a child of his from a former relationship. He’s good at that.”
