A MAN TO TRUST Read online

  "I know you won't drop this," he said, "and that means you could easily be in danger."

  "How do you know I won't drop it?" she asked, feeling a little reckless after his implication about worrying about her; perhaps, as she'd been thinking about him, he'd been thinking about her, just a little?

  "I can feel it, just like I can sense when a suspect's going to give up. You won't."

  Well, that was romantic as can be, wasn't it? Kelsey asked herself ruefully. What else did you expect?

  "You tried, Kelsey," Cruz said. "And if it was just Melissa, things might be different. But this is too much for a civilian to handle. There's a wild card involved, and you're risking too much. Let me help."

  "My dad's really good at helping people," Sam offered.

  It wasn't so much the words the little girl said as the simple, pure faith with which she said them that made up Kelsey's mind.

  "All right," she said, knowing she really had little other choice. But inwardly she swore that if he let her down, if Melissa got hurt because she'd trusted him, she would never forgive him.

  And, worse, she would never forgive herself.

  * * *

  Chapter 11

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  It had been nearly fifteen years, yet it seemed like just yesterday that she had been in a building like this one. She had to suppress a shiver and remind herself that she was no longer a scared, helpless kid, that this time she could get up and walk out if she wanted, that there was no man with a smiling face and a black heart on his way for her.

  She felt a gentle touch, stopping the ugly memory before it could form. Cruz, his hand on her shoulder, comforting, as if he'd guessed something was wrong, as if he'd sensed the horror that tormented her. She glanced swiftly at him and saw the accuracy of her guess reflected in the warmth of his eyes.

  She looked away before foolishness made her do or say something she shouldn't. She made herself study her surroundings instead. She supposed there were certain things common to all police stations; the constant ringing of phones, the cubbyhole offices, the piles of papers, notices on the walls, wanted posters. The computers hadn't been in evidence when she last set foot in one, but apart from that, this one didn't look very different.

  Except that the officers all looked younger, she thought with a wry smile at herself.

  Sam wandered ahead of them down the hall. The girl was clearly quite at home here, and Kelsey couldn't help contrasting the child's ease with her own discomfiture. The irony of it made her smile—outwardly, this time. And she noticed, as well, that Cruz, who had never let the child out of his sight or reach all day, seemed unworried about her here.

  "Kit!"

  She looked up as Sam cried out the name in the tone of one greeting a dear friend. Coming toward them was a tall, slender, attractive woman with a short, tousled mop of light blond hair, dressed in a pair of yellow slacks and a yellow-and-white-striped blouse that emphasized a trim figure. The woman's face lit up at the sight of the little girl.

  "Hi, Sam!" she exclaimed, and when the child was close enough, the woman bent to hug her rather fiercely. "How was camp?"

  Sam chattered away happily for a moment, until Kelsey and Cruz came up even with them. The greeting between Cruz and the woman was that of old friends, Kelsey thought, full of warmth, but devoid of heat.

  Or at least that's what you want to think, Kelsey told herself ruefully as the woman looked at her. Kelsey was aware of the intensity of the other woman's scrutiny, but not of what it meant. Before she could dwell on it, Cruz was performing introductions.

  "Kit, Kelsey Hall. Kelsey, this is Kit Walker, detective sergeant and stand-in animal feeder extraordinaire."

  "She takes karate classes where Lacey and I do, huh, Kit?"

  "That I do," the woman said with a smile at the child.

  Cruz eyed Sam then. "Did you thank her for feeding your critters?"

  "Of course," Sam said. "Didn't I, Kit?"

  "Yes, you did," Kit said, tugging on the girl's hair, which was almost as sunnily blond as her own. "And very nicely, too."

  Then she held her hand out to Kelsey. "Nice to meet you." Kelsey took the offered hand, but forgot to shake it when Kit added, rather archly, "Dare I hope this is a social visit?"

  Kelsey blinked, at a loss.

  "Sorry, I suppose I should ask Cruz." She turned to him. "So, have we finally rejoined the dating world?"

  Kelsey blushed then, realizing what the woman had meant. Kelsey was puzzled by the tone of open hopefulness in the woman's teasing question, but Cruz's quick denial diverted her.

  He didn't have to be that quick, she told herself. As if it were not only not true, but absurd to boot. Not that it wasn't, of course…

  "My social life isn't your problem," Cruz added, sounding a bit testy.

  "Your social life isn't anyone's problem," Kit countered, "because you don't have one."

  Cruz glared at the woman, but Kit appeared unruffled, though Kelsey was wishing she could retreat, anywhere. Sam seemed unmoved by the discussion, and Kelsey could only guess it was because it had taken place before, or something like it.

  "Why don't you go on down to the lunchroom, Sam?" Kit said. "I'll be down in a minute, and we'll see if there's anything evil to eat in the vending machines."

  Sam gave Kit a knowing look that was universal to kids who knew perfectly well they were being sent out of the way so adults could talk, but she went without complaint, disappearing through a door labeled Stairway with no hesitation. Kelsey wished she could follow, but she had no good excuse.

  After the girl had gone, Kit glanced at Kelsey, then back at Cruz, and her expression seemed to change, to soften. "Sooner or later, Cruz, you're going to have to deal with it. It may be in the past, but you haven't let go of it yet."

  "And you haven't learned to keep out of it," Cruz said, his voice tight.

  "You're my friend," Kit said to him, putting an odd emphasis on the last word while looking at Kelsey.

  "Then go make sure Sam doesn't con the jailer out of an ice cream bar. She's had enough junk today."

  "Okay," Kit said easily. "I'll buy her a nice, healthy candy bar instead."

  "Fine. I'll send her to you when the sugar crash hits."

  "You do that," Kit said, glancing at Kelsey. "Nice to meet you," she said, then went through the stairway door Sam had used.

  Kelsey searched for something neutral to say but decided to say nothing at all when she sensed Cruz's sudden tension. And when he ushered her farther down the hall, she went without comment.

  They'd barely gone two yards when Cruz stopped dead, stopping her, as well, by grabbing her elbow.

  "Damn," he muttered under his breath.

  Kelsey looked at him and saw that he was staring down toward the end of the hall, where a heavyset man in polyester pants and a garish plaid jacket, with brush-cut white-blond hair and a cigar clenched between his teeth, stood next to a young-looking man in uniform who clearly would rather have been somewhere else. Anywhere else. If the cigar smelled anywhere near as badly as it looked from here, Kelsey could understand why, even if not for the fact that the older man was obviously chewing as hard on the officer as he was on the butt of the cigar.

  "Sorry," Cruz whispered into her ear, and propelled her physically through a door to their left and closed it behind them.

  It was a very small room. The door had had a number on it, she thought vaguely. Number three, maybe. Inside were a single straight chair and a metal table with a fake wood-grain top. And in an instant Kelsey was twelve again, sitting in a room very like this one, waiting, knowing she was about to be sent back to what passed for her home. She fought off the sensation, lectured herself that she was not a child anymore, that if she wanted to, she could get up, open that door and leave, and neither Cruz nor anyone else had the right to stop her, had the right to make her do anything she didn't want to do. They couldn't make her go back…

  She sucked in a deep breath and ordered her stomach to unk
not, her muscles to ease up and her heart to slow down.

  "Kelsey?"

  Cruz was looking at her with concern, and she could only imagine what she must look like. He glanced around the room, which couldn't have been more than six feet square.

  "Claustrophobic?" he asked gently.

  "Only in police stations," she said, trying to sound glib but only managing to sound slightly panicked. She tried again and was pleased to hear that she sounded steadier this time. "I'm fine. But what was that all about?"

  He looked at her for a moment, as if wondering what past experience in police stations she might have had, but, thankfully, he let it go. "Not what. Who."

  "The man at the end of the hall?"

  He nodded. "Lieutenant Ken Robards. The bane of our existence."

  "He looked a little … nasty," Kelsey said tentatively, a bit bemused by his tone and words; she'd thought all cops stuck together, no matter what.

  "He looks a lot nicer than he is," Cruz said. "And I refuse to ruin my vacation by dealing with him if I don't have to."

  For the first time, it really struck her that he'd been doing all this on his own time, and vacation time at that.

  "I … didn't mean to ruin your vacation," she said contritely.

  He looked startled, then smiled gently. "You didn't. As I recall, it was me who butted in where I wasn't wanted."

  "It wasn't that, it's just that…"

  "You don't trust cops," he finished when she didn't. "And someday," he added, in the tone of a promise, "you're going to tell me why."

  Just the suggestion of that much of a future between them rattled her, and she looked down at the table that took up at least half of the tiny room. The imitation-wood surface was scratched and gouged, apparently randomly, except for the occasional set of initials dug into it. She understood the need so well, whether it was in a desk or a tree or on a wall, that need to leave something permanent, some sign that you'd been there, some sign that you'd lived, even though it didn't seem to matter to anyone else.

  "He should be gone now. We can get out of here."

  She looked up at him just as he reached for the door. "How can you be sure?"

  "He had his jacket on. He only puts it on when he's on his way out."

  "What if he was on his way in?"

  Cruz shook his head. "The cigar. The chief won't let him smoke them anywhere other than in his own office, and that one hadn't been lit yet."

  She gave him a lopsided smile. "Guess that's why you're the detective, huh?"

  He let out a low chuckle as he pulled open the door and looked down the hall. Then he stepped back to let her go first. She had to brush against him to get by, but he never moved to take advantage of the mere two inches' clearance. She could feel his heat and caught his scent, something undefinably male, underscored by a mix of salt air and some sort of spice-tinged aftershave.

  And ice cream, she thought with a smile. The thought helped her steady her pulse, which had started to race crazily all over again. She was beginning to wonder what was wrong with her, but she managed to ignore the idea that formed in the back of her mind that her nervousness was as much due to the close proximity of Cruz as to being in a police station. But she had to admit, Trinity West didn't seem like a particularly threatening place; in fact, everyone she'd seen was smiling and friendly, if a bit … edgy.

  No, that wasn't right. Not edgy. They seemed … alive. Very, very alive, with the kind of vitality common to people who were doing, not just existing. As she walked with Cruz down the hall, she tried to remember what she'd read about this place. The murder of their chief in a drive-by shooting nearly two years ago had been front-page news throughout the state, and probably, she guessed, because of the shocking nature of the crime, across the country. And, perhaps, because of the position of the victim. She somehow doubted a rank-and-file street cop would have gotten that kind of press.

  Trinity West had been a department under siege when their chief was murdered, she remembered reading. But Miguel de los Reyes, the captain who had replaced him, a man who had also been wounded in that drive-by shooting, had taken hold and begun running things with almost a siege mentality, adapting techniques that were sometimes called by detractors—most of whom didn't have to live in Marina Heights, the writer of the article had pointed out—nothing less than guerrilla warfare, and would no doubt have been frowned upon if they didn't produce such spectacular results. The law-abiding residents of the town had spoken of nominating Chief de los Reyes for sainthood, and his interim appointment had been made permanent with little protest.

  Perhaps that was why she'd been so stunned, she thought now. She'd always heard they were a different breed, a little rough around the edges and a little cold in the eyes, and that their reputation for now being the toughest, most effective small police force in the county was well deserved. None of which had disposed her to trust one of their number.

  And finding out that Cruz was one of them had been more than the shock of discovering he was a cop, it had been the shock of learning he was a Trinity West cop. One of the tough guys, the ones who lived on the edge.

  She supposed they had to; Marina Heights had every extreme, from the near wealthy residents of the western section to the comfortable middle class of the east, but it was the grim, gritty world of downtown, with its street gangs and graffiti-festooned walls, with barred windows and doorways blocked by the homeless, that got most of the attention, at least in the news. She wouldn't expect the people who policed those mean streets to be the same as those who worked in, say, affluent and sheltered Marina del Mar, just a couple of miles west.

  But she hadn't expected it to be so obvious, even inside the bastion of the Trinity West station. But it was, and she felt as if she'd wandered onto an action-movie set, where everything was a bit tense, a little larger than life.

  And reconciling this setting with the quiet man who visited Oak Tree was becoming more difficult every moment.

  When he turned and gestured her into a large room filled with ringing phones and talking people, she recoiled a little at the barrage of noise. Desks, at least a dozen of them, were set up back-to-back, separated by waist-high partitions. Along the far outside wall was a large office that she guessed belonged to the apparently despised Robards. Along the opposite, nearer wall were three much smaller offices, and she barely had time to register the names—Gregerson, Everett, Walker—before Cruz turned and headed down the aisle formed by the partitions.

  Kelsey saw the gleam of pale blond hair as they neared one of the occupied desks. It had that healthy, childlike shine and that way of falling that always reminded her of mischievous little boys about to get into trouble.

  When the man lifted his head as they approached, she blinked; she hadn't been far off, she thought. She knew he had to be in his twenties, at least, but with that baby face he looked more like that boy than—

  She stopped her own thoughts the instant she saw his eyes. Never had she seen eyes so shadowed, so old, and they gave the lie to the youthful arrangement of his features. This was a man who had seen some ugliness in his life, she thought, and moreover, he had never, ever forgotten it.

  He stood up as they came to a halt beside his desk. "Cruz," he said with a nod; his voice was also a contrast, low and rumbling and very male.

  "Kelsey, Gage Butler. He's the best in the county at what he does. Gage, Kelsey Hall. She's … interested in that MP case I had you pull."

  Gage looked at her for a moment. Intently. So intently that she had the feeling of being studied, assessed and classified, all in the space of a few seconds. Then those world-weary green eyes flicked to Cruz for an instant before turning back to her, and Kelsey had the oddest feeling that he wanted to ask what Kit Walker had asked. The feeling was so strong, she spoke hastily to avert the possibility; she wasn't up to another of Cruz's swift denials that there was anything at all between them. No matter that it was true.

  "Glad to meet you," she said politely. "I've heard a
lot about you."

  "Oh?" Gage said as he shook her hand with a grip that was firm and warm, yet not crushing. "You've known Cruz awhile, then?"

  Now there was an interesting question, she thought. Three years … and just over a month. Both were true answers. "Yes and no," she said finally.

  "Kelsey runs the place I go to every year, up the coast an hour," Cruz explained.

  "Ah," Gage said with a nod that said he understood her confused answer. "So what's your connection to the missing girl?"

  Kelsey flushed, sending a sideways glance at Cruz. Telling her part in this hadn't been part of the deal when she agreed to come here.

  "Melissa just showed up there. It … doesn't directly affect the case," Cruz said, meeting her glance with one of his own, that clearly told her he was going to be greatly unhappy if he was proved wrong. "But Kelsey can give you some exact dates that might help, and tell you what the girl said while she was there."

  Gage looked at them both then, as if he suspected there was more to it than Cruz was saying. But he didn't ask. Instead he reached down and fished something out of the stack of papers on his desk. When he held it out to Cruz, Kelsey saw enough to tell that it was a mug shot. Cruz looked at it, then, silently, handed it to her.

  The young man in the stark photo, holding a numbered plaque up in front of him, looked more than a little wild, with a sparse reddish mustache and chin beard, and a closely shaved head. Most of all, he looked angry, and there was something in his eyes that made her skin crawl.

  She swallowed, then looked at Gage. "This is … Doug Sutter, I presume?"

  "You've never seen him?"

  Why did cops always answer questions with questions? she wondered. "No. Melissa described him to me, but obviously she doesn't … see him this way."

  "Even when he's thumping on her?" Gage asked pointedly. "The supplemental report says they're sure he's sent her to the hospital a couple of times, but she would never cooperate, denied everything, and there were no witnesses who would talk."