Trust No One

by Barbara Phinney

  Mark sat down on the couch and folded his arms. He looked like he wasn't planning to say a thing, until he glanced at Helen. "At work last night, I went over the whole investigation again. That's when I noticed the report was gone. I made a mental note to get another copy. When I gave it to Sandra, she told me she'd already had a copy faxed in."

  "Do you have any idea where the first copy went?"

  Mark said nothing. Helen knew he was holding something back. Had they uncovered something so important that he felt he needed to keep it from Nick and her?

  She sat beside him. "Please, Mark. Regardless of your regulations, I can't just sit back and wait for someone to try to kill me. We know Clive Darlington didn't try to run me over. Do you know who did?"

  Mark glanced up at Nick's dark, clenched expression before he looked down at her. Helen reached out and squeezed his arm, feeling the tension in him.

  "You should let the police do their job, Helen," he said, "and keep Nick from getting in the way." He stood to face Nick. "I don't know why the report went missing. DiPetri was shot and the autopsy detailed the beating you laid on him, but that was all. It was pretty straightforward, as far as autopsies go." He stopped. "Mind you, I haven't seen the ballistic report, nor have the toxicology tests come back yet. They may tell us more. But if that's so, why steal such a basic report?"

  "Who was at the station yesterday?"

  Mark shrugged. "Everyone. We were in and out all day. Even had a couple of officers from Saint John in."

  "Why?" Nick asked.

  Mark yawned. "Setting up the new computer system. The chief had done some of the work, but didn't have time to finish it." He looked at Helen. "They have all the experts, so they often loan us some computer whiz."

  Helen stood. Nick's frown was starting to deepen and Mark was losing steam fast. They had to leave so he could sleep. "Thank you for all your help—"

  The phone interrupted her. Mark strode over to it. "Yeah?" he answered in an exasperated tone.

  He listened, rubbing his brow and finally saying, "Thanks. Tell him I'll be in later to talk to the guy."

  He hung up and turned to Nick. Helen watched and waited.

  "That was Sandra," Mark told him, suppressing a yawn. "The hospital called. Ron Mills says he's ready to talk. The chief thought I should know. I'll talk to him tonight and to whoever takes his statement."

  Chapter 13

  "What?" Nick took a jerking step toward him. He could hardly believe his ears. Mark was going to sit on this? "You're going to wait?"

  Mark stifled a yawn. "Nick, I've been up for twenty hours. I'm in no shape to drive in, let alone question anyone. Besides, he's still in ICU. The guy can't even stand up, let alone walk away. Saint John is sending someone over."

  "I'll drive you." Nick strode to the front door. He flung the thing open, hoping it would bang against the front hall closet. Mark had always been so damn by the book and yet it didn't take a psychiatrist to see he was holding back on this. Nick didn't know what he was holding back, but he was sure as hell going to find the guy who wanted Helen dead.

  Mark tossed a tired glance at Helen and Nick could see her dark eyes grow wide against the pale skin of her face. She was tired herself. Tired and scared and unable to find safety anywhere, except with him. She was also tired because he'd had her up a few times in the night.

  "Come on," he growled at the two of them. "Mark, you can sleep in the truck."

  Muttering under his breath, Mark grabbed his briefcase and gestured to Helen to precede them out the door. With her head tilted down, she slipped past Nick. He purposely exhaled to avoid drawing in any more of her gentle scent. Without waiting for Mark, he walked out to the truck.

  Mark climbed into the back of the SUV and threw his briefcase to the far end of the bench seat. Helen quickly clipped on her seat belt and sat in the front passenger seat as rigid as a nun.

  Nick flipped up the sun visor. It was early afternoon, but the sun was gone. The sky hung down close to them, threatening rain.

  Within minutes, they were on the highway, heading west into Saint John. Nick rotated his stiff neck and tried to relax with a short, controlled sigh. It wasn't working. And why should it? He hadn't been able to relax since he carried Helen off the cliff.

  A shudder ran through him. It was hard to believe only a few days ago he found her, a tiny bedraggled wisp of a woman who was so desperate, she was ready to fake her own suicide. He didn't want her to go anywhere near that damn cliff again.

  Not that she would. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed she still remained prudently upright, her hands clenching each other in her small lap.

  She'd never handle being a cop's wife. She simply wasn't strong enough.

  A cop's wife? Nick gripped the steering wheel and swallowed. That was stepping a bit too far into the future. They had to get through this day first. Just because he'd fallen head over heels in love with her, didn't mean she was ready to return that love. Hadn't she already told him she didn't do relationships?

  His stomach hurt.

  A soft, vibrating noise rumbled from the back seat. Both he and Helen turned around at the same time. Mark was snoring behind them, his mouth open and his head flung back at an awkward angle.

  Nick faced the front, ignoring Helen's soft smile.

  "What's wrong?" she asked. "He's just asleep."

  He kept his attention on the road without saying anything. The very sound of the gentle question sent ripples of unwelcome pleasure through him. He must be getting soft because he didn't need to catch a glimpse of her wearing a quiet smile, the kind of smile that stretched out her lips enough to tease him with erotic images of really making her smile. Or better still, making her too limp with sated exhaustion to smile.

  "He's asleep," he muttered.

  "You heard him. He'd been awake for twenty hours. I can't blame him for passing out."

  Nick refused to answer. Over the drone of the engine, he listened to Mark's snoring. So what if Helen thought he was being unreasonable? Mark should remember that two men had been murdered, one man clung to life in the ICU and someone wanted Helen to join the list of casualties. Permanently.

  "You can't be upset he's fallen asleep, surely?"

  "I expected more out of him," he snapped. "Personally, I'd like to know he can stay awake if I needed him. It's as bad as freezing up the first time you draw your weapon."

  Helen frowned at him. "Did Mark do that to you?"

  Nick flexed his fingers. They ached from clenching the steering wheel. "No. Years ago, I had a partner who was fresh from the academy. He froze up right when I needed him the most."

  Helen let out a small gasp. "What happened? Did he get shot?"

  He rolled his shoulder, trying to loosen the tight scar. "No, I did. So did the suspect."

  "So your partner did end up shooting him."

  "I shot him. I wasn't much for negotiating back then."

  Helen raised her eyebrows, but thankfully kept to herself the comment he knew hovered on her lips.

  "I didn't want to shoot the kid," he went on to explain. "He was still in high school, and my partner was supposed to be covering me. But the kid panicked. We both knew he was going to fire. If the bullet he'd fired had hit me three inches to the right, I would have been killed." He tilted his head to stretch out the tense muscles of his neck.

  "What happened to the boy? Did he…"

  "No. I had to shoot him. But I couldn't take the kid down. His own mother was standing nearby and she looked directly at me when I'd been shot. I could see her begging me with her eyes."

  For a long time, Helen said nothing. Eventually, she asked, "Has Mark ever given you reason to believe he would do the same?"

  "Look, Helen, you don't understand." Glancing in the rearview mirror at his snoring ex-partner, Nick continued in a quieter tone. "Mark is by the book, one hundred percent. Only thing is, sometimes the book doesn't help an officer who's out there in the real world. Sometimes we need instinct, speed
and guts. We have to be willing to break the law if need be. Mark would rather check with the chief first."

  "What would you have wanted to do with that boy?"

  He couldn't answer. He'd broken the rules and shot the kid in the leg simply because he was a kid. His chief had been furious, not happy that Nick had risked not only his life, but the lives of the people around him, by allowing the kid to live. A kid who, for a few seconds, was injured and carrying a deadly weapon.

  But would Mark have followed the standard operating procedures and killed the boy? Now, reliving it all, he wasn't sure.

  A raindrop splattered the windshield, directly in his line of vision. Immediately, it raced up the glass away from his vicious stare.

  Helen twisted around to study Mark, whose snoring had increased. "Yes, Mark isn't the same as you. But did you really want your partner to kill a boy when you wouldn't do it yourself? Is that what you wanted your partner to do?"

  He didn't know. Anger and bitterness and the urge to work alone had ate at him and fed his desire not to sort out his feelings. "You're making it sound like I wanted someone else to shoulder the blame. Forgive the pun."

  "I know you didn't. Maybe it's time to accept that Mark isn't like your first partner. I think you two make a good team. You need the balance."

  "I need to find out who has been trying to kill you. And I'm hoping Mills will tell me just that." Glad that he was able to terminate the conversation, he reached for some change they'd need for the toll booth over the Saint John River. He threw in one of his quarters. When the light ahead turned green, and the gate lifted, he gunned the engine.

  "If Mills talks, you'll be able to get your job back?" Helen's question was cool.

  They needed to talk. He didn't want her to think he'd been using her only to clear his name, or prove his suspicions that Cooms had more than just an illegal drug trade going on. He had control of some public officials.

  But now wasn't the time. They'd reach the hospital in a few minutes. Besides all of that, Nick didn't want to tell Helen how he felt. What if she reminded him that she didn't do relationships? What would be his argument? He was still suspended and it looked more and more like he'd stay that way. A relationship wouldn't be the answer to his problems, then.

  They said nothing until they reached the hospital. It was then that Nick turned around and grabbed Mark's knee, shaking him awake. "We're here."

  At the main desk of the ICU, a nurse told them that Ron Mills had been taken down to the surgery ward. She gave them the number of his room.

  It wasn't hard to spot which room, Nick thought, stepping off the elevator. Another officer was guarding the door. Nick headed toward it, but Mark grabbed his arm. "This is my job, Nick. Now let me do it."

  * * *

  Helen's gaze ping-ponged back and forth between the two tall men. She waited, holding her breath as she fully expected Nick to have it out with Mark right then and there.

  He didn't. He stole a quick glance at her, pursed his lips and nodded. "We'll be in the TV room if you need us." With that, he grabbed Helen's elbow and directed her to a nearby corner room.

  There were several people watching TV. They turned when she and Nick entered. One was a patient, the others obviously family members.

  She refused the seat Nick offered. How could she sit down and relax while Mark found out, this very minute, perhaps, who wanted her dead? She felt useless, forced into a corner. Like that night she'd tried to fake her own suicide.

  Not quite. Somewhere along the way, she'd begun to see herself in a different light, like she'd begun to see Nick differently, too.

  She wandered to the tall, tightly shut window. The view was unremarkable. The other side of the hospital. She hadn't wanted to trust Nick but he somehow managed to get under her skin. That clean tang of aftershave that was uniquely him still lingered in her nostrils. The memory of seeing his strong, chiseled muscles that first night still weighed heavily in her mind. Nothing could erase it. Not the busy hum of the ward around them, not the television, not the astringent odor all hospitals had.

  She couldn't get him out of her system.

  She was a fool. She'd been looking for a white knight, someone to sweep her away and protect her. Nick wasn't that person, and though she knew it was foolish to think she might find such a man someday, she wasn't crazy enough to try to mold Nick into him.

  He wasn't into the kind of caring relationship she needed. That much was obvious.

  With a hard pivot on the tiled floor, she turned and strode to the open door. Behind her, the strains of a TV sitcom tried to reach her, but she ignored them. "I'm going to the washroom," she muttered without looking at Nick.

  To her left, Helen noticed the curtains hanging in the window of Ron Mills's private room were open. Several people were standing by the bed. One was Mark. He glanced at her through the old-styled observation glass.

  The door swung open and her boss stepped out of Mills's room. Helen swallowed the urge to cringe. She had been hoping that it would be days before she would have to confront Mr. Parker. By then, hopefully, everything would have been sorted out and she could be exonerated. She had, after all, abused the privilege of knowing the alarm system codes as well as stolen the warehouse keys. Even Mr. Parker didn't have access to them right now. The police had taken them away and sealed the warehouse. Production was probably at a standstill.

  Mr. Parker noticed her immediately. He shut the door behind him and strode over to the still and silent Helen, who stood in front of the nurses' station.

  "I'm glad I ran into you, Helen."

  The tone of his voice chilled her. No, she told herself. What she did was the right thing to do. Hadn't Nick said the same thing? Hadn't he said that sometimes the rules needed to be bent and a person had to go on instinct and guts to do what was right?

  She straightened, catching a glimpse of Nick out the corner of her eye. He was standing at the threshold of the TV room, watching her. She turned back to Mr. Parker's cool stare.

  "What is it that you'd like to discuss, sir?"

  "A few of your indiscretions. I trusted you with the security of my company, Helen. We both know how that turned out, and here isn't the time to discuss that, but I'd like to see you in my office as soon as you feel well enough to return to work."

  Helen folded her arms, refusing to be stung by the icy barb. She'd even lied to him about needing a few days off, but she didn't feel guilty about that. "Until I return to work, I think you should also consider that I did what I had to do. You wouldn't have done any different under the same circumstances. I didn't set out to deceive you, Mr. Parker, but I'm sure by now you're aware that someone tried to kill me. And had I not taken the initiative to find out who, Ron Mills wouldn't be alive today."

  Her heart was pounding in her throat. When she'd first secured her job at Globatech, the company was new. Parker was a seasoned executive with international experience. He was also tough. But she wouldn't back down. She wouldn't beg for her job because she'd risked it trying to save her own life and would do it again in a heartbeat if necessary. Despite the wet palms she'd just wiped on her sleeves, her heart pounded and her spirit soared. It felt wonderful.

  After watching the elevator doors close in front of a group of people, Parker said, "Ron Mills is a crook."

  She took a step forward, encouraged by her exhilaration. "He may be a crook, but he's a live crook. And I heard your welcome-to-the-company speech, Mr. Parker. You put the emphasis on manpower. You said yourself human resources were the most important. That wasn't rhetoric. You meant it."

  Her shoulders ached from holding them back so far. "I'm sorry if you feel I haven't lived up to your expectations. I've only done what I thought was right."

  Parker said nothing for a moment. Then, slowly, he began to nod. "Helen, when the police called to tell me what had happened, I was furious. I was ready to fire you right then and there. But I learned a long time ago to temper my initial reactions with time and what I consid
er good sound judgment. I don't agree that what you did was the most prudent, but I can see where you're coming from. And you're right. People are the most important. I can't say you'll be back with all the privileges you enjoyed before, but I can say, your job will be waiting for you when you do come back."

  Tears stung her eyes, but Helen refused to blink. She smiled briefly. "Thank you." She couldn't help but glance over at Nick, hoping that her small victory would prove to him that she wasn't looking for a savior. She was strong enough all by herself.

  Nick wore a difficult, almost pained expression.

  Parker shot his own curious look at Nick as the elevator door open, then he walked onto it, after a big, burly orderly wearing wrinkled scrubs stepped out.

  The man had his head down, his hand up scratching his cheek closest to her. Something in the other hand glinted in the stale fluorescent lighting, catching Helen's attention. It looked like a small knife.

  The man dropped his hand slightly, exposing enough of his face to—

  She gasped.

  Clive Darlington! His ugly, distorted features slackened slightly with shock a moment before he swung away from her. His hair was cut short and he'd shaved off the scruff of a beard he always seemed to have, revealing deep acne scars.

  She turned to Nick. "That's Clive!"

  Immediately, Nick lunged at him.

  Just before they connected, Helen caught another glimpse of the knife, pointed directly at Nick.

  But her feet fused themselves to the floor.

  Chapter 14

  No! She couldn't let Nick fight him unarmed. She couldn't let him die!

  The two men hit the tiled floor and rolled against the closed elevator door. Helen wrenched her feet free at the same time she screamed out to no one in particular, "That's Clive Darlington!"

  The door to Mills's room flew open and out charged Mark. He knocked Helen out of the way and she staggered backward. Nick grunted out something incoherent, like a groan of exasperation.

  Or pain?

  Clive yanked his hand free. Helen gasped. The knife! Blood smeared the tip of it. She clenched her jaw, refusing to scream as Mark hurled himself on Clive and grabbed his arms. But Nick finished the battle. One clean sweep of his fist connected with Clive's pockmarked cheek. Clive, as big as he was, took the full force of the hit and slumped out of Mark's grasp to the blood-splattered floor. His knife slipped out and skittered over to where Helen stood.