Trust No One

by Barbara Phinney

  While incarcerated, Clive Darlington hadn't been in contact with Cooms. In the past thirty days, he'd only spoken to a handful of Corrections officers, a few policemen and his mother. A guard had kept him informed on who visited him.

  The shiver rippled through him again and he clung tighter to Helen. Jamie Cooms hadn't ordered the grab on Helen.

  Someone else had.

  Chapter 4

  "I'll take you to the station," Nick said.

  "No!" Helen shut her eyes, sagging away from Nick and against the cold, damp wall. Her nightmare was over. Jamie was dead. Why couldn't they all forget it? Nick could go back to being a crooked cop and no one would be any the wiser. They both knew she had no evidence against him. It would be her word against his and no one would listen to a woman who had tried to fake her own suicide. Nick could easily twist the facts to make it look like she'd actually tried to kill herself.

  "Don't argue. You were assaulted and you should report it." He tried to grab her hand, but she was quicker.

  She whipped over beside her mother and glared at him. When a noise caught her attention, she shot one glance to her right.

  Oh, mercy. Another cop. A cruiser had just pulled in front of the coffee shop at the other end of the strip mall. She threw another glance at Nick, who caught her defeated expression and stepped out from beside the building. He muttered something she didn't catch.

  The officer climbed out and looked across the parking lot, his gaze connecting with hers. Nick growled out something else and latched on to her elbow. Her mother made a protesting noise and reached for her, but Helen held up her hand. "It's okay, Momma."

  "Over here," Nick said, steering her out of her mother's earshot and back to the wall. "Listen to me. Clive Darlington just got out of jail. He hasn't been in contact with Cooms for thirty days."

  Helen blinked up at him. A look of concern creased his face. His eyes glimmered with an intensity that nearly matched the other night when she'd made a fool of herself in his arms, enjoying the pleasure only this crooked cop could offer.

  She reddened and looked away, too tired to try to push Nick away. "So that explains why Clive hasn't been around lately. So what?"

  "Jamie Cooms probably died two or three days ago. He hadn't spoken to Darlington for a month."

  The truth sank into her fogged brain, leaving her limp. "Oh, my God."

  Nick turned her so her expression was hidden from her mother. "You're still in danger," he whispered. "Someone out there wants you dead. Maybe the same someone who put a bullet in Cooms's chest."

  An invisible band tightened around her lungs. Jamie had killed Tony, a life-long friend. Then someone had killed Jamie. And someone had ordered that slow-witted Darlington to kill her.

  Where did Nick stand in all of this? Did he want to be the one who finished her off? Was this some sick "good cop/bad cop" routine he was pulling here?

  She rubbed her temples. "What do you care? Why is it so important to you?" She was insane to ask the questions, but here, with that policeman just around the corner, what could he do? She already knew he wasn't carrying a weapon. She'd have felt it when she wrapped her arms around him just a moment ago.

  Nick frowned, his eyes not focusing on her, but rather expressing some inner turmoil. The lie she expected didn't come.

  It was too late for a conscience, she wanted to spit out to him. Two men were dead. "If I report this assault, will you leave me alone?"

  "I can't promise you that."

  She squared her jaw. "Then send my mother home. Put her in a taxi—" Oh, dear. She didn't have enough money for a cup of coffee, let alone a taxi fare into the city. "Pay her fare to my aunt's house, will you? She lives in Saint John, too. Then I'll go to the police." She waited a moment. "Deal?"

  "Where does your aunt live?"

  "In a senior's complex. It has a security guard out front. It's safe."

  Nick nodded. "Okay."

  She smiled at her mother. "I'd feel better if you went to Aunt June's for a few days, Momma."

  Her mother glanced toward the parking lot, then at Helen. "Come with me."

  Helen shook her head. "Her place is too small for both of us. And everyone will notice me. You go over there all the time, so no one will pay any attention."

  "Where are you going?"

  Helen paused. Her bus had already left and she had no cash on her. Apart from the outside chance she could trade in her bus ticket for another one to take her to Quebec, she was pretty much out of options. Momma didn't have any money, either, and Helen refused to give her anything more to worry about.

  "She's coming home with me," Nick said by her side.

  "What?" She snapped her head over, but the look on his face hit her hard, unrelentingly, right in her chest. His words were authoritative, direct and assumed there would be no argument.

  But his eyes…They weren't what she expected. Hot, plaintive…in need of something. Her insides tightened. Did he want her? Why?

  And why did her traitorous body answer in a way it shouldn't have? This kind of immediate reaction hadn't been there for the other men in her life. Mind you, the other men in her life hadn't pinned her to a couch and immersed themselves in the solitary task of giving her pleasure.

  "Nick…" Helen's feeble words of protest faded when a police officer appeared behind her mother.

  "Ladies." The officer touched his cap. "Nick? Problem?"

  Nick didn't smile. "Hello, Chief. No. There's no problem at all. This lady claims she was assaulted in the women's washroom. I was talking her into giving a statement at the station."

  Helen wanted to protest, but the burly, ruddy-faced police officer looked at her, taking in her rumpled and torn clothes and bruised jaw. His eyes narrowed and he looked grim. "Do you need to see a doctor first, Ma'am?"

  She shook her head, focusing on the nametag instead of the man's face. Dennis Hunt.

  "Then it's best you get down to the station as soon as possible," Chief Hunt said.

  "You won't catch him," she warned. "He's long gone."

  "Let's talk about it at the station." He turned to Nick. "I know you're under suspension, but why don't you bring her in?" His eyes went dark. "As a civilian, that is."

  * * *

  After he sent Connie Eastman to her sister's, Nick drove Helen to the police station. Once stopped, he shoved the gear shift of his truck into park and glanced across at Helen, hoping his own apprehension didn't show on his face. Not that he didn't want her to file a report.

  No, he wanted to get the bastard who'd brutalized her. But he didn't want the chief to take down the details. He wasn't sure what the chief knew about the Cooms's case and if he learned Helen was involved, he'd guess Nick was still investigating. Then any chances of him returning to the force would slide down the drain.

  Thankfully, the chief had returned to his office with no intentions of handling the statement personally. Nick let out a silent sigh of relief.

  Helen gave her disjointed version of what happened to another officer, the station's rookie. Nick tried to listen in, tried to focus on the facts, but his mind kept wandering as he weighed the options of telling Helen why he cared about her. But would she believe him? To her, he was a crooked cop. A suspended crooked cop.

  Mind you, that assumption kept a nice, prominent barrier between them. One that could clearly stop him from doing something stupid like finishing what he'd started on his couch.

  But it wasn't just that and he knew it. He didn't do the partnership thing very well. Not in his work life, and certainly not in his private life. He rolled his shoulder. It still ached after all these years. No, if you wanted things done, you did them yourself. And only by yourself.

  So why was he taking her home with him?

  The front door opened and he looked up in time to see Mark walk in. Still in uniform, he threw his briefcase on his desk and gave Nick a grim look when the other officer gave him a brief run down of what had happened, using all the proper jargon needed to keep H
elen baffled.

  Mark nodded. "Ms. Eastman, while you're here, I need to ask you a few questions about Jamie Cooms. And you, too, Nick."

  Nick frowned, sneaking a glance across the room into the chief's office. He sat working at his desk, ignoring them. But Nick knew he was the one who had called Mark in. He turned back to his ex-partner. "Are you still on the case?"

  "Loaned out until they wrap this up." His voice low, Mark met Nick's eyes with a challenge. "I may as well start with you while Ms. Eastman is busy."

  In the coffee room for the next hour, after Mark had consulted with the young rookie, Nick went over the barest facts of where he was when Cooms was murdered. In return, Mark would only tell him the approximate time of death.

  He knew what that meant. He was no longer a cop on the inside. He was a suspect. Along with Helen.

  "So." Mark frowned at the statement. "You scooped this woman up and took her back to your house and never asked her name?"

  Nick stood, irritated. "You know what happened, Mark. She was out cold and when she came to, I asked her name. She only told me her first name—Helen. She was terrified. And we were stuck there until the storm ended. I fell asleep and when I woke up, she was gone."

  Mark leaned back in his chair. "Do you think she knows who you are?"

  "Of course she does!" he snapped, driving his fingers into his hair before dragging them down his face. "To her, I'm a cop on the take." He frowned. "She didn't tell that rookie that?"

  "No."

  Nick focused his gaze out the window at the passing highway traffic. She had her chance, and yet she didn't report him. Why?

  "In that case," Mark said, throwing down his pen. "I don't want you to tell her any different."

  Fine by me, Nick thought.

  "Because," Mark continued, seeing the need to explain, "she may not know about the operation. I think she may have suspected Cooms of some illegal activities, but she didn't say so. All she knew about him was that he owned warehouses and other income property. So don't tell her any different."

  Nick nodded. There were other officers out there whose very lives depended on anonymity. He wouldn't put them at risk. "What did you ask her about Cooms?"

  Mark shut off the recorder he'd been using. He always complained he could write fast enough. "She told me pretty much what we already knew."

  Nick felt himself sag. Fatigue was taking its toll on him. All he wanted to do right now was crash on his couch.

  He mentally pulled himself from that idea. It was a bad one. Too many recent memories there.

  He stared at Mark. "Anything new on the money she 'borrowed'?"

  "You know I can't tell you, Nick."

  Of course. Mark followed the rules. Helen wasn't a suspect, she was a victim. Mark would protect her privacy as much as he could. Wearily, Nick nodded.

  Mark interviewed Helen in much less time. Nick had just begun to pace the floor when she was allowed to leave the small room. Why so short a time?

  "You can go, too," Mark said, looking at Nick. "You're taking her home with you?"

  Nick ignored the speculation in his ex-partner's eyes. Helen peeked up at him, too, and their gazes locked. He'd known then, as he knew now, what she was thinking. And if he didn't tear his gaze immediately away, his body would remind him that he hadn't given it satisfaction yet.

  Too late, the tightening in his groin taunted.

  He forced himself to look at Mark. "Just until she gets sorted out." There was still the rest of the investigation to consider. Cooms couldn't have worked alone. He was smart and obviously in charge, but there were too many drugs, too much laundered money involved. And someone else had been keeping the police several steps behind Cooms for the past few years. If that someone wanted Helen dead, too, that meant she knew something.

  And that something could salvage his career.

  As soon as they were outside, she turned to him. "Don't feel you have to take care of me. I'm fine."

  He took her arm. "You're still coming home with me." He had the barrier of the crooked cop routine between them, banking on it to make sure they both kept their distance.

  He hoped.

  "I'll be fine, Nick."

  "Do you think you'll be safer on a bus to the States, or wherever you were headed? Cooms didn't order Darlington to find you, but someone did. They found you pretty easily. And what about money? It wouldn't take a rocket scientist to check out which cash machine you used. Tracking your movements wouldn't be hard, trust me."

  Helen swallowed.

  "Or would you rather go to your aunt June's and endanger the whole damn building full of seniors?"

  "No!" Her eyes widened.

  "Then you have no other choice, do you?" He steered her toward his SUV.

  "Why would anyone want me dead now? I don't know anything. I only saw Jamie kill Tony. Nothing more."

  Nick turned to her and as if just realizing she'd spoken out loud, she bent her head down and hurried toward his truck.

  Disturbed, he unlocked the passenger door and walked around to the other side. She'd asked a good question. If she'd bought drugs and not paid for them, yeah, someone would pressure her to pay. But she sure as hell wasn't fitting that profile.

  As he climbed in, she said, "Nick, take me to that crisis center."

  He twisted in his seat. "And you figure you'll be safer there?"

  She wrung her hands in her lap, a habit he noticed she shared with her mother. "Yes."

  "You're wrong. Sure, they have the best security systems and sure their windows are bulletproof, but you'll be safer at my house."

  A shadow of fear skimmed over her face. "Will I?"

  It was a direct reference to his association with Cooms. For the first time, she was practically admitting she knew who he was. Or was it a reference to what he'd done with her on the couch?

  His reasons for keeping silent rang in his mind. The main one, the one becoming a mantra, rang the loudest. Trust no one.

  He could lie. It was his job. It kept him alive during undercover operations. But staring at her, seeing her innocence, feeling the way her fear struck a long, resonant chord deep inside of him, he realized this was the hardest lie he'd ever made. He reached across the seat and brushed his knuckles along her cheek, careful to avoid her bruise. "Yes, you're safer with me."

  Tears filled her eyes. And slowly, as if she didn't really want to, she shook her head. Her small mouth opened, almost forming a soft word, but relaxed back into that kissable, parted-lip pout.

  He couldn't believe he could ache so much with need. Merely looking at her was driving him to the point where he wanted nothing but her.

  Her mouth had looked like that last night. And if he hadn't pulled back, he'd have devoured it then and there, all the while filling her with his full length, satisfying himself with her perfect, responsive body.

  "I think you'd better take me to the shelter, Nick."

  He jerked his hand away from her cheek. Ramming the gear shift into reverse, he backed out of the parking spot, avoiding checking the rearview because turning around meant he'd have to face her again.

  What did he want, anyway? Her? His job back? He wanted to kill whoever attacked her. He wanted vindication that there were, as he suspected, more drugs, more money laundering and more corruption than they could now prove.

  But what he really wanted was Helen. He'd be a fool if he believed she didn't fascinate him. Her slight body, her innocence and the fear she exuded whenever she looked at him.

  There might be that perfect barrier of duty and secrecy to hold him back, and she might be saying to herself that barrier of a crooked cop and a woman's shelter were all she needed to stay away from him…

  But he wasn't sure even those barriers were strong enough.

  * * *

  As they pulled in front of the large, old home that housed the women's shelter, Helen peered out the windshield of Nick's truck and again wished her father was still alive. He would have protected her. He would have s
topped her from dating Jamie that very first time and prevented all this ensuing insanity from starting.

  But her father had been dead for five years. And she'd jumped into an awful relationship immediately after. She was still paying for that one, literally. Mercy, the police would know all the humiliating details, she bet. She'd filed a complaint. For all the good it had done. And then she'd left the province.

  And just when she'd finally relaxed, she met Jamie.

  "The volunteers at the shelter won't let me in," Nick softly interrupted her thoughts as he killed the engine. "I'm not here as a police officer and the shelter has a strict policy on male visitors. For good reasons, too."

  She nodded, wondering briefly if he was going to expand on his police business. Like why was he suspended?

  But he didn't and frankly, a part of her was glad for it. Through quirks of fate, she'd relied on a crooked cop and she kept telling herself she was better off without the details of his life. Safer, too, she added.

  Trouble was, in the dim light of the afternoon that threatened another bout of rain, she couldn't deny that a part of her refused to believe that she was better off.

  "Helen?"

  She turned to him, seeing again the perfect good looks that had made him stand out across that cigar party, months earlier. A rugged, almost Latin handsomeness.

  "Call me if you need anything," he said. "I'll try to get one of the female officers to come by and check on you, all right?"

  Again, numbly, she nodded.

  * * *

  Nick knew he had only a minute before the porch lights flicked on and the volunteer he'd called came out to escort Helen into the house.

  He wanted to kiss her and the chances of her letting him were pretty damn good right now, too. She'd looked at him just a moment ago as if he could grant her every wish and they were all centered on him.

  But if that volunteer got to the door in the next minute, his chances would dwindle rapidly.

  Besides husbands, boyfriends were the most likely cause for a woman to seek shelter and the volunteers would do their utmost to keep him away from Helen.