tie them. She hadn’t known many cops, except the ones who’d come to her apartment a while back when someone she’d once trusted had sent a man to try to persuade her to give up her son. The police had taken lots of notes of her vague answers to their questions and then advised her to get a restraining order. How could she file charges against one of the most powerful men in the state, someone respected and admired by nearly everyone? She knew no one would believe her.
Familiar guilt washed over Tate as she sat still for a moment. One mistake and look at the ramifications, all these years later and all the years in between. That mistake had cost her dearly and now was probably the cause of Maggie’s beating. Fortunately the older woman would recover. But if Maggie had died…
No, she wouldn’t allow herself to go there. Rising, Tate took a deep breath and swallowed the old guilt as she’d done many times before. They’d get through this somehow.
She passed by Josh’s room and saw that he was busily playing with his Pokémon cards, talking to himself, involved. Relieved that he was handling the break-in and that the intruder hadn’t made it to the second floor, she started downstairs. Probably Maggie arriving home had interrupted his search.
At the archway into the kitchen, Tate stopped, staring. Nick had taken off his jacket and draped it over the back of a chair. His shoulder holster, the gun barely visible, was a stark reminder of his profession. But that wasn’t the astonishing part. The floor had been swept clean, the broken dishes piled into the trash bin and Nick was busily wiping off the counter. “Hey, what are you doing?” she asked, surprised enough to blurt out her first thought.
He glanced over as he turned on the faucet to rinse some lingering sugar down the drain. “Just giving you a hand.” He saw the play of emotions on her face—surprise, annoyance, relief.
Hands on her hips, she walked over. “Do you pitch right in like this for every case you handle? Must keep you pretty busy.”
Nick shrugged. “I’ve got the time. If you won’t let me call out a crew, then I’m volunteering.”
She was clearly taken aback. “But I…” The doorbell ringing startled her. She swung around, a question in her eyes.
“Easy,” Nick said, wiping his hands on a towel. “It’s just the locksmith. Come tell him what kind you want installed. You really should have a dead bolt.” He urged her toward the living room.
Silly to just about jump out of her skin at the sound of the doorbell, Tate told herself. The last thing an intruder would do would be to ring the bell. Besides, the young police officer was still outside. It was just her nerves, that was all.
While she talked with the locksmith, Nick watched her. In that casual outfit, her hair in a youthful ponytail, she looked younger. But there was no disguising that lush body, even though her clothes were anything but tight. She must have guys lined up at both doors.
When she finished, Tate turned and saw that Nick was picking up books and making piles by the bookcase. “Honestly, you don’t have to do this.”
Nick set down a small stack, then faced her. “Can you just say thank you and let it go at that?”
Her eyes narrowing, she couldn’t help wondering what he’d want in payment. “I’m not used to accepting help without…without…”
“Without someone wanting something in return?” He shoved a pile of paperbacks onto a high shelf. “Well, that isn’t the case here. Why don’t you check out the desk? If something’s missing, it’s probably from there.”
Okay, she’d take him at face value, Tate decided. At least until he showed his true colors. Which he probably would sooner or later.
It took Tate quite a while to sort out the piles of scattered papers and repack the desk drawers and the big file drawer. By the time she’d finished, Nick had completed the bookcase, straightened all the lamp shades, put the pillows back on the couch and had just dragged out the vacuum.
“As far as I can see, nothing’s missing,” Tate told him as she rose from the desk chair. “Of course, it’s Maggie’s desk and I don’t know what all she had in it. We’ll know more when she takes a look.”
“Were there any valuable papers in there and are they still there?”
“Yes, a few. Maggie doesn’t have a safe-deposit box. The deed to her house, an insurance policy, her will, even her bankbook are in those files, neatly labeled.” She shook her head. “I can’t imagine what he was looking for.” Even if it was the man she suspected, she could think of only one thing he’d want and that couldn’t be hidden on a shelf or in a cupboard.
Nick seemed lost in thought, Tate noticed. Funny how he managed to look even more masculine with one hand leaning on the handle of a vacuum. One of the few men who could carry that off.
“Apparently he didn’t find what he was looking for,” Nick mused aloud. Or was it who? Like maybe her son? He swung his gaze to Tate and saw her watching him. Though her expression was cautious, it wasn’t devious. Since he’d told her the man had pressed Maggie for Josh’s whereabouts, hadn’t she figured out what he was searching for? “What about an address book? Does Maggie have one and is it still there?”
Tate moved back, opened the middle drawer and held out an aged leather address book. When he walked over, she handed it to him without a word.
Nick flipped through it, seemingly casual, but when he got to the M’s, he stopped. Tate Monroe’s name was written in a shaky script like all the other entries, but there was no address or phone number next to it.
He looked into her eyes. “How long have you and Josh lived here with Maggie?”
“On and off, we’ve lived here several different times.”
Evasive. “When did you return this time?”
“A couple of months ago.”
He held out the page with her name on it. “And she had no address or phone number for you when you weren’t living here?”
She was determined not to look away from those searing gray eyes. “We moved around a lot. I checked in with Maggie by phone.”
Why did they move around a lot? Why wasn’t she telling him everything? No matter, Nick thought, closing the book and handing it back. She would in time. He was a patient man.
“All right,” he said, checking his watch. “It’s time to go. Call Josh.”
Tate stood, her eyes wide and suddenly suspicious. “Go? Where? Are you…arresting us?”
Nick raised a puzzled brow. “Arresting you? For what? No, I’m taking you to dinner.”
She felt like flopping back in the chair as relief flooded her, but she tried to make light of it, as if she’d been kidding. “Oh, right. Thanks, but I think you’ve done enough for us already.”
“Look, you’ve got to eat and I’ve got to eat. It’s nearly six and Josh is probably hungry. Why don’t we eat together?” Which would give him an opportunity to talk with the boy if only the mother would drop her guard a fraction.
Tate was sure Josh was getting hungry since his bag lunch at the zoo had been eaten around
