Blind Trust

by Sandra Orchard

Her heart leapt in response even as she braced for the impossibility. “I’d like that too . . .”

  “I sense a ‘but.’”

  “It’s just . . .”

  He fluffed his hair. “You don’t like my hair?”

  She giggled. “No, your hair is gorgeous.”

  “Wow, thanks. Hmm, what other compliment could I fish for?” His gaze tangled with hers in a playful tug-of-war. He tapped his fingers on his lips. “You don’t like the way I kiss?”

  “I wouldn’t know.” She smirked, forgetting for a moment that he was a cop and she was involved in two too many of his cases.

  “I could remedy that.” He brushed his thumb along her bottom lip, releasing a flurry of butterflies.

  She held her breath as his smoldering gaze drifted to her lips.

  With a bittersweet smile, he dropped his hand to his side. “Except . . . you’re still not sure you can trust me. What can we do about that?”

  What? He wasn’t going to kiss her? Of all the times to remember her half-joking question about whether she could trust him. She sucked in a sudden breath and jerked her attention back to his eyes. They were filled with a sincerity that tugged at her frenzied heart and drew her closer. “To be honest, these days I’m not sure if my own judgment can be trusted.”

  “I understand. No pressure. I promise. I care about you.” The raw intensity in his voice trembled through her. “I want to help you however I can.”

  A frog poked its head out of the pond, sending ripples across the placid surface, much like the ripples churning in her chest. She nibbled her bottom lip. “I read somewhere that you shouldn’t make any major decisions in the first year after losing someone close to you.”

  “A year, huh?” He made it sound like a life sentence.

  She giggled. “I’ve already broken that rule by moving into Daisy’s house and taking over her research project.”

  “Yeah, I did the same after my partner died. Left the FBI and moved back to Canada, to my childhood home no less.”

  “Any regrets?”

  His gaze traveled over her face. “Nope.”

  Once again, heat surged to her cheeks. She snapped a leaf from a nearby shrub and fiddled with it. “You don’t miss the excitement of working for the FBI?”

  “Nope. Trying to keep you out of trouble keeps my adrenaline pumping more than enough.”

  “Very funny.” She punched his arm.

  He hugged her to his side, pinning her arm between them. “I’m serious,” he said, all hint of cajoling gone.

  She supposed after losing his partner to a bomber, dealing with her troubles looked pretty good. “So . . .” she said, falling back to their lighthearted banter. “Am I officially off the hook for counterfeiting yet?”

  “You were never a suspect in my book. But I don’t have any solid leads. I’m still looking for that Peter guy.”

  Her throat pinched. Peter, right. She didn’t want to think about the fruitless night she’d spent calling every hotel in the book, at least a half dozen of which would neither confirm nor deny whether a Peter Ratcher was staying with them. “Let me call the research station’s receptionist, Marjorie. She might know where the GPC reps hole up when they’re in town.” And why hadn’t she thought of that last night instead of going cross-eyed working through the phone book?

  Moments later she had the name of a lakeside hotel a few miles outside of Port Aster. “If this is our Peter, that’s where he’ll be.”

  “Great.” Tom cupped her elbow and turned her back toward the parking lot. “I’ll take you home and then pay him a visit.”

  “What?” She dug in her heels and dragged him to a stop smack dab in front of the wedding arbor, of all places. “No way. I’m coming with you. It’s me he wants to talk to.”

  Tom’s brow furrowed. “But I didn’t think you wanted to talk to him.”

  “I didn’t. But now I do. He knew my father. Maybe . . .”

  “Maybe he’ll be able to answer some of your questions?” Tom said softly.

  She shrugged, suddenly afraid to hope she might get real answers after all these years.

  “Okay, let’s go.” By the time Tom twined his car through the side streets and pulled onto the highway, he was glancing at the rearview mirror every few seconds.

  “What’s wrong?” Kate turned and peered through the back window. The highway was packed with the usual glut of tourists returning from a weekend over the river.

  “Could be nothing.”

  “Or?”

  “A silver Ford Escort, two cars back. I think it might be following us. I noticed one behind us when we headed to the restaurant.”

  Bile rose to her throat. “One parked in front of my neighbor’s house last night.”

  Tom’s knuckles whitened on the steering wheel. “See if you recognize the driver.” He eased off the gas.

  She twisted in her seat for a better look. “Why would someone follow me?” Her voice verged on hysterical, but she couldn’t help it. “There have to be thousands of silver Escorts in the peninsula.”

  “I’m only interested in this one.”

  Heart thumping, she squinted at the car’s windshield. “It’s no good. There’s a glare. I can’t see inside.”

  “Okay, the next exit is ours. If he doesn’t follow us, we’ll get the license number.” Tom pulled off at the harbor exit.

  The car stayed on the highway, but as they peered at the rear bumper, a car zipped up the exit ramp beside them, blocking their view. “Did you catch any of the numbers?” Tom asked.

  “Started with B, I think. Do you think it was Peter?”

  “Probably not. Was an old car, not a rental.”

  Tom pulled into the hotel’s parking lot, then reached across the seat and squeezed her hand. “You okay?”

  “Yeah, it was probably just a coincidence. Right?”

  His fingers clasped hers a little tighter. “You can never be too careful, okay?”

  His concern rattled her almost more than the idea of someone following her. “Don’t worry, Tom, Port Aster isn’t like DC.” He didn’t like to talk about his stint with the FBI, but it had clearly left him a little paranoid.

  He climbed from the car without responding.

  A few minutes later, the hotel clerk rang Peter’s room for them but got no response.

  Kate let out a sigh. “Now what?”

  The corners of Tom’s mouth lifted, spreading into a full-blown smile. “We could walk by the water.”

  “You’re enjoying this!”

  He winked, then steered her toward the door. “What’s not to enjoy? I’ll take any excuse to spend more time with you.”

  She rolled her eyes. She knew he was teasing, but secretly she savored the truth in his gaze. If only she didn’t keep landing in the middle of his cases, maybe things could be different.

  They strolled toward the dock, but Kate didn’t miss Tom’s vigilant glances every which way. Thankfully, no silver Ford Escorts were anywhere to be seen.

  Halfway to the dock, Kate spotted Peter sitting on a bench overlooking the harbor. She pointed and was all the more unnerved by how her finger shook. Her breath crowded in her throat. “That’s him.”

  “Are you sure? You can’t see his face from here.”

  She gathered her courage. “There’s only one way to find out. Come on.” Steeling her spine, she stepped in front of her father’s former colleague. “You wanted to talk to me?”

  “Miss Baxter!” He surged to his feet. “What a surprise. How did you find me?”

  Tom extended his hand, sparing her from answering. “I’m Detective Parker. I’m here with Miss Adams.”

  “Detective?” Peter’s Adam’s apple bobbed. He looked to her, his forehead creasing. “Adams? But you are Gwen Baxter’s daughter, right?”

  “Yes, Mr. Ratcher, and I’m curious what information you have that convinced you I’d want to talk to you.”

  He slanted a glance at Tom. “It’s kind of personal.” At Tom�
�s raised eyebrow, Peter added quickly, “About your father.”

  Kate’s heart galloped at breakneck speed. “What?”

  Peter hesitated.

  “It’s okay. Detective Parker is a friend. He’s aware of what happened to my father.”

  Peter dropped back onto the bench. Kate sat next to him, angling her body to face him. Tom squatted beside her, the reassuring pressure of his leg calming her jittery nerves.

  “I kind of got the impression when we first met in the coffee shop that you were embarrassed by my mentioning your family,” Peter began.

  Kate caught herself squirming, just as she’d done that day when he’d addressed her by a name she’d been forbidden to utter for twenty years. Apprehension, not embarrassment.

  “After I thought about it, I realized you probably didn’t know the truth about your dad. I mean, I’m sure he told you and your mom, but with the way things went down, maybe you have your doubts?”

  Kate fought to keep her tone neutral, even as her thoughts spiraled. “What truth would that be?”

  “Your dad didn’t steal any secrets. He was railroaded.”

  Kate forgot to breathe. Indignation at what GPC Pharmaceuticals did to her father warred with joy that her faith in his innocence was finally vindicated. An image rose in her mind of her dad pressing his forehead to the window of the police car, tears streaming down his cheeks. “I love you, Kate,” he’d said as she ran to stop them. “Don’t ever forget I love you.” Railroaded? “How?” she whispered.

  Tom covered her trembling hand as Peter went on.

  “He’d just been to visit a village in Colombia where researchers from some obscure university were experimenting with an indigenous miracle plant. Your father had sent back glowing reports about its restorative properties.”

  “How—how do you know this?”

  “He was my friend. I picked him up at the airport when he returned from his trip. I found him glued to a news report on the TV monitor in one of the restaurants. He said, ‘I can’t let them get away with this.’”

  Kate clutched the edge of the bench. “Get away with what?”

  “I don’t know. He ranted on about innocent people. When I asked him what he was talking about, he said I was better off not knowing. That I should leave.”

  Tom squeezed her hand, the warmth of his touch loosening her death grip on the bench’s seat. “Did he say why?” he asked Peter.

  “Because of what he was going to do.”

  “What?” Kate gulped a breath. “What did he do?”

  “Near as I can figure, he destroyed the plants he was supposed to bring back.”

  A dark cloud blotted out the sun. “Destroyed them,” she repeated softly. What could Dad have possibly learned that made him destroy the plants? “But you said he believed they were beneficial?” His actions didn’t make sense.

  “Yeah, that’s why management was furious when he showed up without them. The supervisor had security onsite faster than your dad could hand over his resignation. Only they didn’t escort him from the building and bid him sayonara. They called the cops and accused him of stealing company property and secrets.”

  Kate’s heart wrenched at the memory, even all these years later. “But he must have had a good reason for destroying the plants.” Peter had to believe that too, or he wouldn’t have said her father was railroaded.

  “I figured he had something on GPC. Something they didn’t want getting out. They used their corporate muscle to ensure he didn’t make bail.”

  “They did that to your friend,” Tom hissed, “and you didn’t try to stop them?”

  “He refused to see me after he was arrested. Said I couldn’t afford to be seen with him. That they’d make my life difficult.” Peter plowed his fingers through his silver hair, anguish bleeding through his words. “I had a wife and kid to support.”

  “So did your friend.”

  Kate cringed at Tom’s emphasis on the word. “Why did you think I’d want to talk to you now?” she interjected. “Your message said I’d want to now. Did you learn something more about why he destroyed the plants?”

  Peter rubbed at his jaw. “Your father didn’t tell you and your mother anything?”

  “I was only ten!”

  “Right, of course. Well, I spotted you in the lunchroom at the research center Friday and overheard you express concerns about GPC’s proposed partnership with the research station jeopardizing your research project. A treatment for depression, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes.” She slid a nervous glance Tom’s way. As much as she hated GPC for what the company did to their family, she’d refrained from sharing her reservations about the proposed partnership too widely.

  “So your call had nothing to do with the counterfeit money?” Tom asked.

  With the revelation about her father, she’d forgotten Tom wanted to talk to Peter about his visit to the hardware store.

  “What counterfeit money?” Peter looked confused, and she was pretty sure it wasn’t an act. He hadn’t so much as flinched at Tom’s question.

  Tom must’ve thought the same, because he only asked a few questions about Peter’s hardware store purchase before revisiting what Peter had overheard at the research station. “Why did you think Kate would want to talk to you—a GPC employee—when she’s opposed to their partnership with her employer?”

  “Don’t you see? GPC Pharmaceuticals has a tendency to silence dissension quickly and decisively.”

  Kate shuddered. Okay, so maybe her suspicion that she was being framed as a counterfeiter wasn’t so far off after all, except maybe it was by GPC. Smearing her reputation would go a long way to neutralizing her opposition to their move.

  She glanced at Tom to see if he might be thinking the same thing.

  His eyes narrowed, focused on Peter. “Did you tell anyone what you know about Kate?”

  “No, of course not. Her father was my friend. I’d never betray him that way.”

  “When you were at the hardware store yesterday, an older guy in a plaid shirt, medium height, appeared to be watching you through the window. Any idea who he might be?”

  Peter frowned and shook his head.

  “Doesn’t sound like someone you’ve seen working for the pharmaceutical company?”

  “No.”

  “Would you mind coming down to the police station tomorrow morning and viewing the video clip just to be sure?”

  “Yeah, I can do that.” He glanced around, suddenly looking nervous. “I wouldn’t put it past GPC to spy on me. I could never prove it, but I was sure they had someone watching me for months after Baxter died.”

  Kate shivered.

  Tom squeezed her shoulder, and the warmth of his touch would have filled her with reassurance if not for the storm brewing in his eyes. “What do you think GPC will do if they learn Kate is Baxter’s daughter?”

  “You don’t want to find out.”

  6

  He pulled his fishing cap low over his eyes and meandered past the threesome on the bench overlooking the harbor. They were so intent on their conversation, not one of them glanced his way. Not even the detective—so much for his investigative training.

  He stopped at the edge of the dock, not more than fifteen feet from where they sat, and pretended to search his tackle box for the perfect lure. He chose a rubber worm and speared it on his hook. Peter Ratcher knew too much. Maybe too much for his own good.

  Definitely too much for Katy’s.

  Tom walked around Kate’s house a second time, double-checking the position of the wood blocks he’d installed in every window to ensure they were secure, and still couldn’t bring himself to leave. The locks wouldn’t keep out anyone determined to get in. Not that he wanted to point that out to Kate. He just couldn’t shake the feeling she was in danger—immediate danger.

  He hadn’t spotted the silver Escort again, but that you-can’t-protect-her-forever note had preyed on his mind all weekend. He found her in the living room watering the
plant on the table behind the sofa.

  “I’ll be fine.” She fluttered her free hand toward the window he’d just checked for the third time. “You’re overreacting.”

  He didn’t miss the way her hand trembled, though, or that she’d drawn the drapes over the sheers in the big bay window. “Do you always draw those curtains? Makes the room kind of dark.” He scooped the watering can from her hand, before she drowned the plant, and teasingly lifted an eyebrow.

  She snatched the jug back. “You’re the one who’s making me nervous. What could possibly make you think that GPC would care if I was a Baxter?”

  “Because Peter felt the need to warn you.” And whoever had been spying on him had a reason.

  She headed toward the kitchen with the watering can. “Do you think he has anything to do with the counterfeiting?”

  “No.” Tom trailed her to the kitchen and leaned back against the counter. “His responses betrayed no hint of guilt.”

  Kate folded her arms across her chest. “He’s a salesman. He’s used to pulling the wool over people’s eyes.”

  Tom mirrored her folded arms with his own. “I’m a former FBI agent. I’m trained to see through it.”

  She laughed at his imitation of her, and the sweet sound momentarily eased the tension that had knotted his stomach ever since their meeting with Peter.

  “But didn’t you get the feeling he was fishing for information?”

  “Definitely. What I’m less sure about is whether he was chumming the waters to see if you knew anything that could be a threat or to see if you knew something that would benefit him somehow.”

  “Yeah, I can’t explain it, but even after he told me all that stuff about my father, I still don’t quite trust him.”

  “That’s probably good.” Tom adjusted the bar bracing Kate’s patio door. “Trust your instincts.” And me. For her own protection, he needed to know if she planned to act on Peter’s revelations somehow. Asking the wrong people questions could land her in a lot worse trouble than being accused of passing counterfeit bills. “Have you ever heard of this miracle plant your father supposedly collected on his trip?” And never delivered. He didn’t say the last part aloud, but the pained look on her face said she’d heard it nonetheless.