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