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 eleven. And, truth to tell, she didn’t feel like cooking tonight or even like hanging around this house with all its mysterious shadows. “All right, but we pay our own way.”
“Let’s fight about that later. Go get your son and I’ll make sure the locksmith’s finished.” Nick went to the kitchen and shrugged into his jacket before walking out onto the porch, thinking that Tate Monroe had to be the most distrustful woman he’d met in a very long time.
And the most desirable.
Chapter 2
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.