Читать книгу The Lawman And The Lady - Pat Warren, Pat Warren - Страница 9

They were both too subdued, Nick thought as he drove along. Buckled into the passenger seat of his Taurus, Tate stared out the window, her body language revealing an almost palpable tension. What was she so nervous about? he wondered. The possibility of another break-in, Maggie’s condition or something more disturbing?

Glancing over his shoulder, he saw that Josh was gazing out the side window while his hands restlessly stroked the seat belt. He had to get them to relax, Nick decided, or he’d never find out a thing.

“Do you like pizza, Josh?” he asked the boy.

“Uh-huh.”

Great start. Nick turned onto Broadway heading toward central Tucson, shifting his thoughts back to Tate. She’d wanted to change clothes, but he’d assured her that she was dressed just right for where they were going. Oddly, she’d not asked where it was he was taking them. “I’ll bet you’ve never tasted pizza as good as Giovanni serves.”

“Probably not.” Tate kept her eyes on the road, wishing she hadn’t agreed to go. She could have opened a can of soup for the two of them. She hadn’t been out with a man in so long she scarcely remembered how to behave. Not that this outing could be considered a date. Yet she was as uneasy as if it were.

First, there was his maleness and his size coupled with a gentleness that didn’t seem to go with the package. Then there were those searching gray eyes. Cop’s eyes, to be sure, missing nothing, questioning everything. And last, but certainly not least, there were those probing inquiries. Tate was certain he’d asked them out so he could quiz Josh. She’d have to be on guard and she hated that. If only she could relax and put this whole nasty business out of her mind. But when would she be allowed the luxury of that?

“Giovanni, the guy who owns the restaurant, is a friend of the family,” Nick began, hoping if he revealed some personal things, she’d be inclined to follow his lead. “We call him Johnny but his Italian name is Giovanni. See, I have two older brothers, Tony and Sam, and Johnny has two older brothers, Vic and Paul. We all grew up in this wonderful ethnic neighborhood over that way.” He pointed west in the general direction of his old stomping grounds. “My folks still live there in this great two-story house. They raised five kids in that house.”

Despite a case of nerves, Tate found herself interested. “Ethnic as in Italian? Bennett doesn’t sound Italian.”

“My father was born Anthony Bennedetto, but somewhere along the line, the name got changed to Bennett. Both my parents are first-generation Americans. But we had other nationalities around us—German, Hungarian, Russian. And more recently, Mexican. It was a great place to raise children. My mother used to say that if a kid fell down on Palmetto Drive, three mothers rushed out before he had a chance to get up.” He smiled at her and noticed that at least she was looking at him and not the passing scenery.

“That must have been nice. I always wanted that for Josh, but…well, our plans don’t always work out.” Tate looked down at her hands, noticing they were in a near-death grip, and forced her fingers to relax.

His casual chatter was loosening her, so Nick hurried on. “No, they sure don’t. My dad wanted me to work in construction like him and my brothers, but doing the same thing over and over day after day bored me. When I got accepted at the Police Academy, I think my mother spent all her free time on her knees saying the rosary that I’d flunk out. She hates that I’m a cop, even now.”

“As a mother, I can understand that. It’s a dangerous job.” His gun was hidden by his jacket now, but she was acutely aware of its presence and what it represented.

“I suppose. But Tony broke both shoulders once falling off a roof he was prepping. Took him six months to recover. Sam got cut by a piece of rusty tin and ignored it until it got infected. He nearly wound up with blood poisoning. On any given day, any one of us can get run over by a bus, too. Danger is relative.”

“You’re talking accidents, which can happen to anyone. But your brothers aren’t dealing with criminals who have guns and other weapons and might somehow wind up cornered and decide to use them on a cop. You go looking for trouble every day.” And she wondered how he stood it. She’d had a small taste of danger and hated it.

“Not really, but trouble seems to find me anyhow.” Nick pulled into a crowded parking lot adjacent to a stucco building painted bright green and sporting a big red-and-white neon sign that flashed on and off, reading Giovanni’s. Strings of blinking red, white and green lights outlined the roof, the door and windows. Outside the main door was a huge fountain with cement cherubs pouring recirculated water. He saw that both of them were staring openmouthed. He was used to the place, as most everyone in the neighborhood was, but he knew it looked garish to a newcomer.

“The Italian flag colors, you know—red, white and green. It’s not as gaudy inside, the pasta’s to die for and the pizza can’t be beat.” Turning off the engine, he got out from behind the wheel and was about to go around to assist them, but Tate was already out and helping Josh unbuckle his seat belt. Okay, so chivalry was out.

Nick waited until they joined him before leading the way through the heavy wood door. Inside, he paused to let his guests absorb the atmosphere.

Dean Martin was crooning That’s Amore through the piped-in music system, adults and kids alike were chattering and several waiters wrapped in big white aprons were serving large trays of food and pitchers of cold drinks. A table of four joined Dean, singing loudly and off-key. They competed with a round table consisting of six kids and two adults who were singing birthday greetings to a boy of about eight.

“It’s never boring in here,” Nick said, leaning close to Tate in order to be heard. He caught the very feminine scent of her hair and quickly straightened.

A big man with wavy black hair and a full mustache spotted them and came rushing over. “Nickie, how you been?” He grasped Nick into a huge bear hug.

“Fine, Johnny.” Nick urged her forward with a hand to the small of her back. “I’d like you to meet Tate Monroe and her son, Josh.”

“Glad you’re here,” Johnny said, his dark eyes smiling. “Any friend of Nickie’s is a friend of mine.” He turned, looking around, then swung back. “Two minutes and I’ll have a booth for you, okay?”

“That’d be great.” Nick kept his hand at her back, wondering if she’d leave it there after Johnny walked away.

In a smooth move, Tate shifted fractionally and slipped her arm around Josh’s shoulders, aligning the two of them slightly apart from Nick. “What do you think, Josh?” she asked the boy.

“It smells good in here,” he answered shyly.

“And it tastes just as good,” Nick told them as he caught Johnny’s wave and led them to a booth where the table was draped with a red-and-white checkered cloth topped with bright green plastic place mats. He thanked his friend and accepted two huge menus, passing one to Tate who let Josh slide in, then followed him. Nick sat down opposite them.

“You can tell me what kind of pizza you like or I can let Johnny build us a special one,” he told Tate. “Your choice.”

Feeling a bit weary suddenly, Tate was glad to let him take over. “Why don’t you order for us?”

“No green peppers, though, okay?” Josh added.

“I’ll take the green peppers off yours, honey,” Tate told him.

Nick signaled Johnny over. “Not to worry. Hey, Big John, we want one of your specials, an extra large, hold the green peppers. And to drink?” He looked inquiringly at Tate. “Root beer or…” He saw them both nod. “A large pitcher of root beer.”

“Sure thing, my man. Be right back.” An Italian opera was now playing and Johnny took up the aria with the tenor, singing loud and boisterously as he made his way to the kitchen.

“He’s a bit of a character, but he has a heart of gold.” Nick studied the boy who was watching the kids at the next table with the birthday celebration. There was such longing in those green eyes that were so much like his mother’s. “Parties like that are great, aren’t they?” he asked Josh.

The boy didn’t answer, just kept staring. “When’s your birthday, Josh?”

“In March,” he answered, his eyes on the boy wearing the cone-shaped hat proclaiming him the birthday boy. They’d finished eating and the table was piled high with gifts. Wearing a gap-toothed grin, the boy began ripping open the nearest package while the others cheered him on.

Nick remembered that Tate had said they’d moved around a lot. That probably meant that Josh had few friends, too shy to make new ones in each new place that he’d soon have to leave. But why had they moved around so much? He shifted his gaze to Tate who was toying with her spoon thoughtfully.

“Maybe next March, we can arrange a party for you and your friends here,” Nick offered, hoping to lighten the mood.

“Don’t,” Tate said, her husky voice low but firm. “Please don’t make promises that you might not be able to keep. False hope is a terrible thing to live with.” She’d blurted it out before she thought how she’d sound, but this man they’d only just met had to know that she didn’t want Josh counting on things that may never happen. And who knew where they’d be by next March.

Nick saw that Josh was still occupied in watching the kids, pretending he hadn’t heard. “I didn’t mean any harm,” he said to Tate.

“I’m sure you didn’t.” She raised a hand to smooth back a curling lock of hair that was trying to escape the ponytail and sighed wearily. “People often make those kinds of statements and have no intention of following through. I’m not saying you’re like that, but…”

“I’m not like that, Tate. I realize you don’t know me, but I follow through.”

The arrival of a short, dark-haired young woman carrying a huge pizza and a frosty pitcher cut short their conversation. “Nickie!” she said, greeting him. Quickly she put everything on the table, then leaned over to hug him. “Long time, no see.”

“Hi, Gina. Yeah, I’ve been kind of busy.” He angled his head toward the room. “You’ve got a big crowd tonight.”

Gina nodded, smiling broadly at him. “Every night. You know Johnny. He’s not happy unless it’s standing-room only. Did you see Joey and Fran across the way?”

Nick looked over and caught his friends’ attention, smiled and waved. “Your sister’s expecting again, I see.”

“Oh, sure. Gotta keep Papa happy. He wants more grand-kids to spoil. He’s after me all the time to get married, get married. Drives me nuts.”

“I know the feeling. Gina, this is Tate and her son, Josh. Gina’s Johnny’s sister.”

Tate acknowledged the introduction with a smile while Josh was busily eyeing the huge pizza. “You enjoy,” Gina said, leaving.

Nick picked up a plate and began dishing out the pizza slices.

Tate scanned the room, listening to an old Perry Como recording playing. The place, at least the music, was caught in a time warp. She had no idea neighborhood places like this still existed, ones where friends met regularly. “The Italians have a way of turning a meal into a celebration,” she commented, accepting her plate with a piece so large it hung over the edges.

“You’ve got that right,” Nick said as he handed Josh his piece.

“Do you need help cutting that?” Tate asked her son.

“Mom, you don’t cut pizza. You pick it up and bite it.” Wrapping both hands around it, curling the piece, he took a huge bite, demonstrating.

“Yeah, Mom,” Nick echoed. “Where you been?”

She smiled as she picked up her fork. “Some of us are more civilized.”

“Fingers were made before forks,” Nick added before tasting his piece. “Mmm,” he purred. “This is better than…better than most pizzas.” He’d been about to say better than sex, but stopped himself just in time.

Meeting his eyes, Tate guessed exactly what he’d been thinking. For the first time, she gave him a genuine smile, one that reached those incredible eyes. “I agree, to your first thought, that is.” When he laughed out loud, she joined in.

The atmosphere, the good food, the noise insulating them in their own little pocket of privacy—all seemed to relax them and they ate in comfortable companionship. When Josh asked for a second piece, Tate was truly shocked. She dished it out, pleased her picky eater had an appetite on this disturbing day. She was glad she’d accepted Nick’s invitation after all, if the visit here made Josh put Maggie’s ordeal out of his mind even temporarily.

Intent on keeping things pleasant, Nick searched his mind for a neutral subject. “You never came here when you were going to U of A? It’s a big college hangout on weekends.”

Tate dabbed at her lips with the paper napkin. “No. I didn’t have a car so we stuck kind of close to the campus.”

Nick finished his second piece, debated about a third, then decided to go for it. “I’d have thought some of your dates might have brought you here. It’s been open about ten years.”

Tate shook her head. “I didn’t date much.”

He had trouble believing that. A woman as gorgeous as she was had to have had her pick of men. “From where I sit, I find that impossible to imagine.”

“I had to spend more time studying than either of my roommates. Molly was the smart one. She helped me a lot on subjects we took together.” Remembering those happier times, Tate felt a rush of nostalgia. “We had these nicknames for each other. Molly was the brain and Laura was the big bucks.”

“And you?” he asked, thinking that he knew.

Tate shrugged. “Seems silly now.”

“You were the beauty, right?”

Her green eyes raised to his, studying him, not answering. She was trying to figure him out, Nick decided. He liked keeping her off balance. “Want to know what they labeled me in college?”

The spell broken, Tate nodded.

“Bookworm. I’m the first, the only one in my family to go to college, much less graduate. Now you’d think that would fill my parents with pride. Nope. As I said earlier, they wanted me in the family business, and you don’t need a degree to build houses, or so my father said. I’d get tired of books and come back to them, he predicted. So I studied and studied so I could prove him wrong. I was dull, a regular nerd.”

It was Tate’s turn to register disbelief. “Come on. With your build, you must have gone out for football or maybe basketball. I can’t believe you sat in your room studying instead of dating a whole flock of coeds.” Even if she shaved off ten years, he was more than average attractive. Was he fishing?

“Not so. You can ask my family. Girls scared me so I hid behind books.”

Still smiling, Tate shook her head in amazement. “Me-thinks you doth protest too much.”

Josh drained his root beer mug and, having made it halfway through his second piece, sat back looking stuffed.

“You really like this pizza, eh?” Tate asked, handing him his napkin.

“It was great.” Josh swiped at his mouth halfheartedly.

Now that they were well fed and smiling, Nick decided they were relaxed enough to give him some answers. “Josh, Maggie watches you after school and sometimes on weekends when your mom has to work, right?”

The boy shot a look to his mother.

“It’s all right, sweetie. Remember, Nick’s a detective and he wants to find the man who hurt Maggie. You can answer him.” But she intended to guide this question session.

“Yes,” Josh said.

“Do the two of you usually stay in the house or does Maggie take you places?”

“Sometimes we go to the park. I like the jungle gym.”

“Have you ever noticed any strangers, someone you might have seen more than once, hanging around the park or near your house?” Nick watched Josh again glance at his mother before answering.

“There was this one guy. I saw him one day at the park, then later he was in a big black car across the street from Maggie’s.”

Now they were getting somewhere. “What did he look like?”

Josh screwed up his face, thinking. “Just a guy. He had black hair in a ponytail, not as long as Mom’s. And both times, he wore black pants and a black shirt. He had on sunglasses.”

Tate’s gaze swung to Nick’s face, recalling that Maggie had told them the intruder who beat her had a black ponytail and wore black clothes. She saw that he remembered, too.

“You’re very observant, Josh,” Nick praised. “You’re doing great.” Even though there was a look of anxiety on Tate’s face. It seemed that the boy hadn’t told his mother about the man in black. Did she recognize that description?

“Did the man come up to you, try to talk to you?”

Josh shook his head.

“About that car, can you tell me what it looked like?”

“It was black and really long. And the windows were dark.”

“You mean like tinted windows?”

“Yes. The man got out of the car and stared at our house. I was watching from mom’s bedroom window.”

“He just stared, didn’t do anything else?”

“He talked with someone in the back seat.”

“Did that person get out, too?”

“No. The window was open halfway, but I couldn’t see him. He was smoking a cigarette and he tossed it out. Then the other guy got back in and they drove away.”

Nick looked at Tate. “Your son has the makings of a first-rate detective. He seems to take in every detail.”

“That’s not the life I want for him, thank you.” Tate stroked her son’s blond hair. “Is that all?”

“Just one last question. Josh, if I showed you a bunch of pictures, do you think you could pick out the man with the ponytail?”

Suddenly frightened, the boy moved closer to his mother. “No. He had sunglasses on. I don’t want to look at any pictures.”

“Okay,” Nick hastened to reassure him, as well as his mother. “No pictures.” What had spooked the kid? he wondered. Realizing the tension was back, Nick signaled for the check.

There was a short discussion about paying, but Nick won. “You can pay next time,” he told her.

Out in the parking lot, he held the door for Tate while she made sure Josh was buckled into the back seat. But before she stepped in, he leaned close to her, resolutely ignoring her scent that had been playing havoc with his concentration all day, and told her that if she could convince Josh to look at some photos or even give a more detailed description to their police artist, they’d have a better chance of finding this guy.

Tate’s reluctance was evident as she quickly sat down. “I don’t want him to be put through that if he doesn’t want to do it,” she said, and reached to close her door, effectively ending the conversation.

The ride home was even more quiet than the ride over. Nick hated putting that fearful look into her beautiful green eyes, but he felt sure that Tate Monroe knew more than she was revealing. However, he reminded himself, he’d have to move slowly if he wanted her to open up to him.

And meanwhile, he’d do a little investigating on his own.

When he pulled up in front of Maggie’s, Tate had the door open before he’d shifted into Park. “Thank you for dinner. We both really enjoyed it, but it’s been a long day and I’ve got to get Josh to bed.” Moving quickly to forestall any resistance from Nick, she got out and helped her son.

Nick got out anyway. “Would you like me to go in and check out the house, just to make sure it’s okay?”

“No, thanks. We’ll be fine.” With cops crawling all over the house most of the day, she doubted the intruder would return.

“Okay, then. I’ll be in touch,” Nick said, wondering if she heard. Or if she even cared.

“Good night, sweetie,” Tate said as she pulled Josh’s bedroom door halfway closed. “Sleep tight.”

“Leave the hall light on, please, Mom.”

“Okay.” Even though he had a night-light on in his room, Josh liked the hallway lit in case he had to get up. Drawing in a deep breath as she made her way to her own room, Tate didn’t mind. If a hall light meant her son would rest more easily, it was a small thing. If only her own sleep would be less fitful by the simple addition of a light on.

Checking her watch, she wondered if it was too late to call her district manager and arrange for a couple of days off until Maggie was home and settled. She’d also have to find a day-care center or summer children’s program for Josh until Maggie was once more able to take care of him while she was at work. Picking up her bedside phone, Tate decided she’d best call now.

Ten minutes later, she hung up, ever so grateful that Judith Dunn was so understanding. How many times had she had to call her boss and explain yet another reason she couldn’t be in? Too many to count. And all the times she’d taken a leave of absence, moved away for several months, only to return and have Judith pleased she was back and ready to go to work again. Of course, when she was there, she worked hard, but she still felt lucky to have Judith on her side.

Tate slipped off her shoes and began undressing. Lucky. It wasn’t a word she associated with herself ever really. Luck wasn’t something a person could rely on anyhow. We make our own luck, good or bad, her father used to say. How true those words were, she thought as she stepped into the adjoining bathroom and turned on the water. A hot soak would feel good.

Pinning her hair up onto her head, Tate gazed dispassionately at her image in the mirror. Most of her life, she’d had people tell her how lucky she was to have such lovely skin, such beautiful hair, such a lovely figure. She supposed that was luck of a sort, being born to good-looking parents from a great gene pool. But it was nothing she’d personally done. Her looks were just there, no big deal.

Others often made it a big deal, Tate acknowledged, testing the water with her fingers, then adding fragrant bubble bath. Men fell over backward over a beautiful woman until the woman no longer heard the compliments and wound up wondering if only her looks were of importance to them and not who she truly was. Women often became jealous even if she did nothing more than walk into a room. Tate knew she’d never deliberately done anything to earn that reputation, but there it was. Which was probably why she trusted only Molly and Laura.

And men not at all.

Shutting off the water, Tate climbed into the bubbly, steaming water gingerly, then lay back, closing her eyes. Her mother, from the little she could remember, had also been beautiful. Only she’d gloried in it, flirting outrageously, breaking hearts along the way. Especially her father’s when she’d walked away from her family the year Tate turned eight and her brother, Steve, was only six. Later Tate had learned that she’d left a note saying she simply couldn’t stay the wife of a small-town tailor. She needed to be free.

Dad had handled her departure better than Tate or Steve, who’d both blamed themselves way into their teens. Her father never spoke of their mother with bitterness, saying that she was like a beautiful butterfly who’d stayed with them a while, then had flown off to share her beauty with the world. However, he’d warned Tate that beauty was a gift and that she mustn’t take unreasonable pride in it. She’d heeded his advice.

Tate inhaled the warm aroma, letting the soothing water heal her tired body and mind. Where, exactly, had being beautiful gotten her? Because she’d instinctively known early on that men wanted her mostly for one thing only, she’d been reluctant to date. Then one had come along who’d seemed way above the crowd, a handsome, charismatic man who’d looked into her eyes and actually listened to what she said as if her words mattered, as if she were important, special.

He hadn’t rushed her into bed, but rather they’d talked for hours—about books and music and horseback riding and hiking—all manner of things. They’d taken long, leisurely walks in the woods together, cooked dinner at his place, camped by the river and slept under the stars. Gradually she’d allowed herself to trust him. Loving had followed as surely as night follows day. The morning she realized she’d been thinking of love and he’d been thinking of an interlude was one of the worst times in her life.

Tate trailed damp fingers through the floating bubbles, her mind floating, too, back in the past. Everything had fallen apart then and nothing had been the same since. Her warm and tender love had turned to bitter ashes. At first, she’d wanted to die—of heartache, of shame. But Maggie had pulled her through, talking softly, encouraging, some nights just holding her while she wept. And there’d been Molly and Laura, more like blood sisters than friends, always there for her in those days when she’d been so needy.

The only good thing that had come out of that terrible time was Josh, her beautiful boy. He was the only male she could trust without question, the only one she’d ever allow to get close to her. And yet, because of her mistake, her error in judgment, both Josh and Maggie were in danger. Last year, when they’d been on the run, she’d known that Molly had been threatened, too. Then Laura had been stalked and even forced off the road, landing in the hospital. That had somehow frightened even the madman hounding all three of them, for there’d been no sign of him for many months. Tate had prayed he’d abandoned his sick plans.

How could she have been so naive?

No, she might as well admit her suspicions. The invasion at Maggie’s wasn’t caused by some intruder looking for valuables rumored to be hidden in her home. Tate could think of only one person who might have ordered the break-in and she could guess what his hired thug had been searching for. What she didn’t know was how to handle him.

Sitting up, she soaped her washcloth and swished it around her shoulders and arms. Her thoughts drifted to Detective Nick Bennett. She could tell he wanted her to open up to him, but how could a man who’d come from the warm and loving family he’d described ever be able to relate to her problems? Get a restraining order, he’d suggest probably. But if she named names, he’d realize she couldn’t do that. If she revealed too much and if somehow the news got out, the stalker would turn up the heat and somehow manage to take Josh. She couldn’t be with her son every minute. And what could she do to stop such a man? Move again? The very thought started her trembling.

The bathwater had cooled. Tate pulled the plug, rinsed off and wrapped herself in a large white terry-cloth towel. As she walked into her bedroom, she thought she heard a car engine start up right outside. Cautiously, she moved to the window and peeked out between the soft folds of the sheer curtains. Just then, a sleek black car with tinted windows flashed on its lights and slowly pulled away from the curb.

Damn him!

With shaky hands, she drew the drapes closed over the windows, then did the same across the room before hurrying to Josh’s room, his windows facing only the rear of the house. He was sleeping soundly, thank heaven. The new dead bolt had been installed and before she’d come upstairs, she’d checked the back door as well as made certain the window locks were all secure. Yet she knew that if someone really wanted to get in, they would. Not overtly though, for the man in question had too much to lose if an illegal move could be proven and traced to him.

Just because she felt better doing it, she went around and pulled drapes closed over all the windows. Both she and Maggie hated the closed in feeling, but Tate felt she had no choice if she wanted to get even a small measure of sleep tonight. Gazing around the living room, she felt such a wave of repulsion, of violation, that someone would come in here and touch their things. Would she ever truly feel safe here again? Was there even a secure place for her somewhere?

Climbing the stairs, Tate forced herself to square her shoulders. Damn it, she was not going to let him win. She would find a way to fight him. He was trying to spook her, to intimidate her into giving up. Apparently, he didn’t know her as well as he thought he did, for she wasn’t a quitter. Maybe Nick was right and she should persuade Josh to look at pictures of known area criminals. If the stalker was among them, if the henchman of the man she feared most landed in jail, perhaps he’d back off. She held little hope for this scenario, but it was worth a try.

Tate hung up the towel and slipped on an old University of Arizona football jersey that she liked to sleep in. Slipping under the covers, she prayed sleep would come and without the accompanying nightmares that so often interrupted her nights.

Closing her eyes, she tried to concentrate on something pleasant. Unbidden, her mind conjured up a pair of steady gray eyes in a tan face and a mouth that looked hard and a little grim, but that she imagined could be soft and warm. Nick Bennett wasn’t the man for her. No man was. But she could dream…

Nick stepped closer to the open window in the living room of the small third-floor apartment and cautiously stuck his head out. The nervous Hispanic man, about thirty-five, was sitting on a narrow ledge holding his infant daughter in his arms while sweat poured down his face. “Mr. Espinoza, my name’s Nick. Why don’t you hand the baby to me, then we can talk better? I want to help you.”

“Go away,” the man sobbed. “No one can help.”

The domestic violence call had come in just as Nick and his partner, Detective Lou Patrick, were heading back to the precinct from a routine check on a probation violator. It was the worst kind of call, the one where a woman and two children were in grave danger from an angry husband, the call police officers dreaded most. In many cases, the man was a loose cannon, totally unpredictable and usually dangerous. Lou had radioed back that they’d take it since their car was close to the address. Nick had done a quick U-turn and turned up the speed, but he hadn’t turned on the siren, thinking the arrival of the police might push the guy over the edge.

As they’d entered the apartment, Nick saw a small, dark-haired Hispanic woman sitting on the couch cradling a boy of about six and moaning softly. She’d managed to tell them that she and her husband had been quarreling because she wanted to go back to work now that the baby was no longer nursing because they needed the money. But Jorge didn’t want her working. One thing led to another and when his son had tried to protect his mother, Jorge had slapped the boy so hard that he’d fallen, hitting his head on the end table. Shortly before they arrived, Jorge had climbed out the window with the baby. Rocio Espinoza wailed out her fears.

While Lou called for medical assistance for the boy, Nick decided to try to talk the distraught man back inside. Once before, he’d managed to talk a jumper off a rooftop ledge, but he was well aware how the slightest wrong move could end in disaster.

Now, as he studied Jorge Espinoza hugging his baby and rocking as tears coursed down his cheeks, Nick prayed he wouldn’t make a mistake. Peripherally he saw a fire truck arrive down below, the men hurrying to get a net in place in the event that Jorge either jumped or fell. Or, even worse, tossed the baby down. He also noticed a TV truck pull up and swore under his breath. Just what they needed, media attention during a volatile situation.

Nick removed his jacket and took off his gun holster, leaving them with Lou. Taking a deep breath, he climbed out the window and managed to sit down on the ledge several feet from where Jorge watched him with sullen, unfriendly eyes.

“Don’t come no closer or I throw her down,” Espinoza warned.

“Okay. But I don’t think you really want to do that, Jorge. I can tell by the way you’re holding your baby that you love her. Am I right?”

Jorge paused to gaze at his baby’s face. “She’ll grow up to be just like her mother. Rocio was a good woman, but not no more. She don’t want to stay home and take care of the kids. She wants to work in that bar every night where men can stare at her and grab at her. I make good money. Why does she want to work? Only for the men, for the attention.” He hugged the baby closer. “It’s better my little girl dies now than she grows up like her mother.”

At least he now knew the problem, Nick thought as he searched for the right words. “It’s hard, isn’t it, working long hours and then having to stop to pick up the kids at day care, dinner not ready when you get home.”

Jorge nodded as he swiped tears from his face with his shirt sleeve. “Yeah. She don’t think about that. Already my son talks back to me. Where’d he learn all that? At that day care where the older boys teach him. He’s got no respect.”

Which was undoubtedly why he’d hit the boy. Was it the first time he’d hit his son? “I understand but, Jorge, there’s a way to work this out.” Moving ever so slowly, Nick scooted nearer, his eyes on Jorge’s face. “I’ll help you talk to Rocio. I know a nice family restaurant not far from here where she could work the day shift. The owner’s a friend of mine and he’s a good man. Like you, a hard worker. I could make sure your wife’s home by the time you get here. What do you say?”

“The baby’s too young to leave with strangers. They mess up your kids.” Jorge met Nick’s eyes for the first time. “You have kids?”

“No, but I have six nieces and nephews, so I know how you feel. Suppose we talk Rocio into waiting until the baby’s six months old, or even a year? How about that?”

“She don’t listen to no one. She disrespects me, you know.” Jorge shifted his little bundle and the baby woke up and started crying, undoubtedly picking up on the tension. Inside the apartment, Rocio could be heard wailing and moaning.

Nick saw the TV cameras, two by now, trained on them, and wished the news hadn’t gotten out. The EMS truck pulled up and two men jumped out, running into the building with their medical equipment. He swung his gaze back to Jorge and saw that the man was fidgeting on the narrow ledge, trying to quiet the baby.

He had to do something and fast.

“Look, Jorge, let me have the baby. You’re a proud man, a good man. You don’t want to hurt your daughter. Let’s put her inside and then you and I will talk to Rocio.”

Jorge shook his head, pushing to his feet unsteadily. “No, you’re lying. You’ll just lock me up and Rocio will be free to mess up my kids and shake her butt around at that bar.”

Nick pressed his back to the building and managed to stand, but his heart was in his throat. He saw the net below, but would it catch them? “I promise you, Jorge, I will sit down with you and Rocio and work this out. Just hand over the baby.”

Jorge shook his head vigorously. “You don’t care about me. No one cares about me.” Then suddenly, he lost his footing, his arms flailing out, trying to regain his balance.

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.”