A MAN TO TRUST Page 3

  But if he'd been anything other than a cop, would he have needed the peace of this place so badly? It made so much sense now, that tension that she always saw in him when he first arrived and that she sensed gradually returning whenever he got ready to leave. And it explained the pager that was always attached to his belt, even when he was supposedly on vacation.

  It wasn't that she disliked cops. Really, she didn't. She had once, but she didn't even blame them anymore. At least, not very much. She was sure that she'd outgrown that, that she'd finally come to see there hadn't been anything they could do to save the child she'd been, not under the circumstances. Not given the laws that they were bound to enforce.

  But that didn't mean she trusted them. None of them had ever been willing to bend those laws, even a little, for the sake of a lost and bewildered child.

  And they had that nasty tendency to ask questions, she thought as she rummaged in the drawer for knives, forks and spoons. She knew he hadn't believed her last night. She had heard it in his voice, even in the silences that had seemed to her so tense. He hadn't believed her, just as those long-ago cops hadn't believed her and had, instead of saving her, as she'd prayed they would, sent her back into hell.

  With an effort, she wrenched her mind out of an old, worn track that was an exercise in futility. She really didn't think about those days much anymore, except to wonder and worry about Cecelia. There was nothing she could do to change them. She would be much better off concentrating on the problem at hand.

  The problem named Cruz Gregerson.

  Perhaps it would be all right. He'd seemed okay, once he got here. He hadn't even called her on the obvious lie about the water leak, although she'd seen in those incredible blue eyes that he knew perfectly well it had been a fib from beginning to end.

  Maybe he would just let it go. Maybe—

  "Kelsey?"

  She dropped the silverware she'd been holding and spun around.

  "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you."

  The girl who'd spoken hovered in the doorway to the kitchen, in the manner of someone unsure of her welcome and ready to run if necessary. Too-blonde hair, dark roots showing clearly, hung in lank strands over her face, the overgrown remnants of what had once been a trendy haircut. Her eyes were a medium brown, dulled now, dark-circled with exhaustion and scared-looking. She was an inch or so taller than Kelsey's own five-foot-four, but painfully thin. Even at nearly five months, her pregnancy barely showed.

  She'd told Kelsey she was sixteen, but Kelsey suspected she was younger. She understood all too well that need for any kind of confidence, even the false confidence gained by pretending to be older than you were. Her heart went out to the girl, because she knew what it was like to feel so alone that you clung to even that small solace.

  She also knew just how frightened the girl was.

  "It's all right, Melissa," she said quickly.

  "But … I saw that man come," the girl said hesitantly, looking more and more like a terrified fawn ready to bolt any second.

  "It's all right," Kelsey repeated. One look at the girl's frightened face told her that she didn't dare explain the truth. "He's a regular guest. He's been coming for years."

  The girl didn't look at all convinced. "Maybe I should just go—"

  "It will be fine," Kelsey hastened to assure her. "He'll only be here a week. And I'll do my best to keep him … occupied." Right, she thought miserably. Like you've ever had any luck keeping a man occupied. "Just stay out of sight as much as you can," she added, telling herself it would do no good if she frightened the girl further. "With any luck, he won't even know you're here."

  The girl hesitated, then nodded. "I—I'll eat in my room," she said hastily. "And stay there when he's in the house."

  "That might be a good idea," Kelsey agreed, and helped the girl scoop food onto a plate. Melissa froze when they heard footsteps on the stairs. Then she grabbed the glass of milk Kelsey had poured and bolted out the back door of the kitchen.

  Kelsey sighed and stepped into the main room to meet Cruz, wondering all the while if there was anything worse to have around than a suspicious cop, if you had a secret to keep.

  * * *

  Chapter 3

  « ^ »

  There was no doubt about it. He wasn't going to have to change his approach at all, because Kelsey had changed. Or her attitude had. And he wasn't sure what it meant, because she hadn't changed in the way he would have expected, had it been simply that she didn't like cops. She hadn't become more formal, more aloof; in fact, she'd done the opposite. Never before, in the three separate weeks he spent here, had he ever seen so much of her. In fact, he'd seen more of her in these past three days than he had all together before.

  "Hi. Mind if I sit down?"

  I rest my case, Cruz said to himself, but he closed the book he'd been reading without comment.

  "I … don't mean to intrude," she said hesitantly.

  "It's all right," he said, meaning it; whatever the reason, he'd found himself enjoying their conversations. "I'm not finding this particularly riveting."

  She smiled as he gestured with the book. "I suppose not. Police books must seem old hat to you."

  Well, Cruz thought, that was hardly the comment of someone who had it in for cops enough to not even want one around. "Mainly it's annoying," he said, again lifting the paperback. "They get away with things that'd get me suspended in a big hurry. But that's what I get for reading about what I'm here to get away from."

  For a moment, she looked at the fire dancing on the hearth. It wasn't really cool enough tonight for it to be a necessity, but she said she liked the smell, look and sound of it, and he couldn't argue with that. He'd been nearly dozing off when she joined him.

  "It must be … a very hard job, sometimes."

  "Sometimes."

  "Do you … have times when you wish you could do things differently?"

  He studied her silently. Her words were casual enough, but that hesitation made him wonder if there wasn't some specific intent behind the question. Was she going to tell him what was going on?

  "Often," he said after a moment, picking his words carefully. "Cops have a little leeway, but it's mostly in interpretation. You make a judgment call and hope it doesn't backfire on you. Sometimes you wish you could do more, but the laws won't let you. Sometimes you wish you didn't have to do something, but the laws won't let you not do it."

  An oddly sad and wistful expression crossed her face. "I thought it must be like that."

  There was more to this than casual curiosity, he thought. This was something personal, although somehow he sensed it wasn't immediate; that almost melancholy expression had been distant, as if it were about some long-ago memory, rather than whatever her current problem was.

  "Kelsey—" he began, but before he could go on, she quickly and definitely changed the subject.

  "Did you have a good walk today?" she asked brightly.

  "Yes. Kelsey—"

  "I saw you head up the hill. Did you go to the pond?"

  He had, in fact, gone to the small pool of water that had once served as a reservoir for the house, before waterlines had been brought out this far. He'd sat on the small boulder that overlooked the pool of water and watched the reflections of the few puffy white clouds skid by across the glassy surface, trying to let all his tension go with them.

  It had been a rough year, with the breakup of the Pack, the Marina Heights gang that had made the youth gangs look like a church choir, and with Ryan getting himself shot in the process. But it had been a good year, too. Ryan and Lacey were back together; Ryan had opened up enough to ask Cruz to be his best man at their remarriage, and now there was a baby on the way.

  They'd also picked up a damn good cop in Quisto Romero, and Miguel de los Reyes was turning out to be exactly the kind of chief the department needed: trusted by his men because he'd come up the hard way, yet able to handle the politics and keep the confidence of the city leaders, who tended to
make a cop's life more difficult than it already was with their unrealistic and sometimes ludicrous demands. Cruz did not envy de los Reyes the path he had to walk, but he admired the way he did it.

  He'd reminded himself then that he was here to put all that out of his head, to spend as much as he could of this precious week not thinking about the job.

  "I did go to the pond," he said now. "It's a good place to try not to think."

  She looked startled for a moment; then a smile curved her lips in a way that had Cruz suddenly thinking how soft and warm her mouth looked.

  "It's the perfect place for that," she said. "I like to watch the clouds reflected in the water, and if they're moving, I send my troubles along with them."

  It was Cruz's turn to look startled. "Exactly," he said after a moment.

  They both smiled then—the smiles of two people who have found common ground.

  "You know," Kelsey said, the new easiness of her tone only now making Cruz aware that there had been a slight tension in her voice before, "this is the fourth time you've been here, and I just realized I've never really thanked you for always coming back."

  "You don't have to thank me. This place is exactly what I need."

  "A lot of people can't stand being away from things. No televisions or phones in the rooms makes them crazy."

  Cruz grinned. "That's one of the things I like best."

  Her smile widened. "I got that feeling. Most of my repeat guests are that way."

  "Speaking of which, am I the only one here now?"

  Something flashed across her face, a flicker of something that, if he was confronting a suspect, he would have called guilt. He hadn't meant to interrogate her, had even managed to pretty much put that mysterious late-night phone call out of his mind. But at the sight of that furtive look, the memory came charging back. Along with the odd sense he'd been having that there was someone else around; he'd thought it might be Dolores, but it was unlike the outgoing woman to come and go so unobtrusively, and Kelsey had said she wouldn't be back until her daughter had her baby.

  "I… Yes," she said, recovering. "The rest of this month is light. You're the only guest registered."

  Concern overcame his misgivings for the moment. "Are you … doing all right?"

  "Yes. My bookings are heavier as summer really gets rolling."

  "Heavy enough?"

  He was genuinely concerned, and not simply because he would hate to try to find another place where he could be less than an hour away and yet feel as if he were in another world. He'd seen the enthusiasm and energy in Kelsey's voice when she spoke of this place and how she loved it, and he would hate to see her run into financial trouble.

  Her expression softened at his unfeigned solicitousness. "Really, Cruz, I'm fine. The first couple of years were tough, but I … came into some money last year, so I have a nice cushion now. And more often than not nowadays, I break even."

  "That's quite an accomplishment," he said, meaning it. "There aren't many people who can say they've even started, let alone made a success of, a business like this at your age."

  "My age?" She started blushing the moment the words were out and she realized what they sounded like. "I didn't mean… I'm not…"

  One corner of Cruz's mouth quirked upward. "Not fishing for a compliment?"

  She put her hands up to hide her face as she shook her head in obvious embarrassment. "I'm probably older than you are," she said ruefully.

  "Honey," he drawled teasingly, "it ain't the years, it's the mileage, and I've got more than you have on both counts, I'm afraid."

  Her hands came down and she met his gaze, and for a moment Cruz saw something old and painfully wise in those green eyes. Perhaps she wasn't quite as young as she appeared on the surface. But sometimes it wasn't just the passing of time that put that kind of look in your eyes, he thought.

  "I'm thirty," she said abruptly.

  He lifted a brow in surprise.

  "Thank you," she said, but her expression still held a trace of that cynicism that seemed so at odds with her appearance.

  "You must know you don't look it. So," he said, purposely keeping his tone light, "we're even. We've both made it to the big three-oh."

  For a silent moment, she just looked at him, and as if it were a drop of water vanishing before the sun's heat, he saw that weary look fade away, to be replaced by an oddly curious expression.

  "Even though you've been here so often, I don't know much about you," she said.

  "You know I like getting away from phones and TV. You know reading about fictional cops who get away with things I can't frustrates me. You know I like strawberries, your banana pancakes and Dolores's chicken salad. You know I like sitting on my butt staring at clouds for hours. You know I can laze the day away under your oak tree." He shrugged. "You know a lot about me."

  "But I don't know … basic things. Like if you're married, or—"

  Her hands flew back up to her face and again she looked horrified at what she'd said. Had she simply asked if he was married, he might have thought she was flirting, as uncharacteristic as it might seem. But her reaction to her own words either meant she was not very practiced at it or simply that she was afraid he would think she was flirting when she hadn't meant to at all.

  Either way, he found her far too appealing for his own comfort.

  "I'm not married," he said, as much to end his own speculations as to fill the uncomfortable silence.

  "Oh."

  She seemed unable to meet his eyes, and by the color still staining her cheeks, he judged she was still embarrassed by what she'd blurted out.

  "I thought you would have guessed that, since I've never brought a wife along."

  She looked at him then. The blush was gradually fading, and he saw a glint of that cynical look again. "Some husbands prefer it that way. Or they bring their girlfriends."

  Cruz barely managed not to wince at the tightness in her voice. "Ouch," he said. "Did yours?"

  "Mine?" She blinked.

  "Husband."

  "Oh. No. I've never been…"

  Her voice trailed off and her eyes widened as she stared at him. He read her thoughts as clearly as if she'd spoken them; he'd easily gotten her to volunteer what she'd baldly asked.

  "I've had a lot of practice, Kelsey."

  For a moment she looked as if she wanted to ask exactly what he'd had practice at, but if so, she held it back. She also looked as if she wanted to bolt but was afraid of being rude.

  He wondered yet again if it was he himself who made her nervous or the fact that he was a cop. She'd never acted this way before she knew. And he couldn't picture her making that midnight phone call before, even if the water leak had been for real.

  But whatever had provoked that midnight phone call, it certainly wasn't something obvious at first glance, now that he was here. And as far as he could tell, the only thing that had changed was that now she knew he was a cop. And apart from the sort of innate or learned dislike she didn't seem to feel, there was usually only one reason why people didn't want to have a cop around.

  They had something to hide.

  "Whatever it is, Kelsey," he said softly, "I wish you'd let me help."

  She nearly jumped. She paled as she stared at him.

  "Not me the cop," he added, trying to calm her. "Just me, Kelsey."

  But she didn't answer. Finally she gave a rather wild shake of her head and got up, retreating hastily to the kitchen. Cruz watched her go, letting out a long breath as the door closed behind her.

  Maybe he'd jumped the gun. Maybe he should have left well enough alone. Maybe she would have told him eventually if he hadn't pushed. But he hadn't quite been able to shake the thought that the real reason she was acting so out of character, the reason she was there every time he turned around, the reason she seemed to want to talk to him all the time, was not, however much he might like it to be, because she was irresistibly drawn to him, but because she wanted to keep him occupied.

&nbs
p; And if she wanted his attention on her, it was because she didn't want it on something else.

  And he would really like to know what that something else was.

  * * *

  She supposed she could be making a bigger hash out of this, but she wasn't sure how.

  Kelsey let out a huge sigh as she heard Cruz make his way upstairs for the night. She sank down into one of the kitchen chairs.

  She should have known better than to even try; the few times in her life when she tried to gain a man's attention, she'd failed miserably. And she never would have tried it with a man like Cruz if she hadn't had to; men who looked like Cruz only paid attention to quiet, slightly too-round women like her out of politeness. And she felt awful about using that politeness, using his innate good manners, to intrude upon the stay he clearly treasured as a time of peace and quiet.

  Although he'd never betrayed by action or word that he wished she would leave him alone. He'd never even hinted that she was being intrusive, or that he wished she would just go away. He'd never shown the slightest bit of irritation or impatience with her fumbling attempts to overcome her natural reserve and be sociable.

  In fact, except for her unease, she'd quite enjoyed the time she spent simply talking to him. And although it was a bit wearing, always being on guard, she was finding it intriguing getting to know this man. Well, she had to admit she'd always found him intriguing, but she'd never dared indulge herself before. And finding out he was a cop had startled her so much that she hadn't been sure how she felt.

  But now she had no choice; she had to keep him occupied. And as a result, she was finding he wasn't anything like she had imagined a cop would be.

  Also as a result, she was finding herself more attracted to him than ever, so much so that if she hadn't had to do this, she would have run the other way; she couldn't have a cop around, no matter how appealing the idea of Cruz Gregerson around all the time might be. If word got out that she fraternized with the enemy…

  She gave a low, rueful laugh at the thought of a man like Cruz, cop or not, even being interested in her. Not that she wanted him to be. It was pointless. If she'd learned nothing else in her limited experience with men, it was that. Richard, Alan, her father…