Blind Trust

by Sandra Orchard

  His chest tightened. To think a week ago, all he’d wanted was to win Kate’s trust. Now he seemed to have it, and he felt like the worst kind of betrayer. If someone knew something this big about his dad and kept it from him, he’d be furious—no matter what the person thought he was protecting him from. And after the disappearing act Kate’s dad pulled earlier this evening, Tom wasn’t so sure the man was as concerned about Kate as he wanted him to believe.

  “I know what you’re thinking.”

  Tom jolted.

  Kate had stopped thumbing through the papers on her desk and was staring at him. “You think GPC somehow found out about my discovery and sent someone to dig up whatever proof he could find.”

  Tom shrugged noncommittally. “Something like that.” From the moment he’d mentioned the plant to Kate’s father, the man had latched onto it like a kid with a new toy. He clearly couldn’t wait to play with it. No wonder he’d scrammed the second Tom went into the research station. “You have other ideas?”

  “Yes.” She tapped a pencil against her chin. At least she’d stopped trembling. In fact, she looked confident, determined.

  Tom hitched his hip on the side of her desk. “Let’s hear them.”

  “I think you should check on Jarrett’s whereabouts this evening. Ask the neighbors if they saw his car on the street. He was unusually curious about the plant and knew about the translation.” She hesitated.

  “What is it?”

  “If whoever came in wanted to scare me out of looking into the plant, don’t you think he’d have left a threatening note or something?”

  “Not if he didn’t want to risk being exposed.” Like her father. Tom looked away. “I’ll pay Jarrett a visit after Reed gets back.” Right after I track down your father.

  Kate pushed her chair back from the desk. “I guess we’d better fetch Whiskers from Mrs. C’s.”

  Raising a hand to stop her, Tom stood. “I’ll go. I could really use a coffee. How about you put some on and heat up the pizza?”

  Her stomach gurgled at the suggestion, sparking a grin. “Sure, I can do that.” She caught his arm before he reached the door. “Tom.” Her voice hitched.

  He brushed the back of his fingers across her cheek. “Hey, it’s going to be okay.”

  The trust in her eyes made his heart stagger. “Thank you for being here. For caring. For—” She swallowed, dropped her eyes. “For not giving up on me.”

  “Never.” The word came out gravelly. He let his hand drop to his side even though every fiber of his being wanted to draw her into his arms. If he was going to keep her safe, he couldn’t act on emotion. He stepped out the front door. “Lock it behind me,” he said before closing it, and he listened for the click of the deadbolt before pulling out his cell phone to call his dad. He needed to talk to Baxter. After telling his dad to set the signal light in their front window, he texted Reed and asked her to check on Jarrett King’s whereabouts just in case his suspicions were wrong.

  The rain had stopped, but thunder continued to rumble in the distance, much like his unsettled thoughts. He should’ve been relieved when Kate realized her burglar stole the translation, but he was too furious.

  Revisiting how vulnerable she’d looked, Tom blew out a breath. The burglar had to have been her father. And her father would never hurt her.

  A twig snapped to the left of the house.

  His hand automatically went to his gun as he scanned the area. The streetlights scarcely pushed back the darkness so that he couldn’t make out anything more than the cars parked in the driveway and the outline of the trees beyond.

  A shadow detached itself from the tree closest to the house.

  Tom drew his gun. “This is the police. Put your hands in the air.”

  The man’s hands shot up as he took a step closer. “It’s me.”

  “Baxter?” Tom slid his weapon back in his holster and then yanked the man around the corner of the house out of sight of the front windows. “I have half a mind to haul you into jail after this stunt. Kate feels utterly violated.” Tom’s fingers tightened on the front of Baxter’s jacket. “Probably won’t be able to sleep for weeks, thanks to you. What were you thinking?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “The translation you stole. Did you honestly think I wouldn’t know?”

  Baxter shook himself loose of Tom’s hold. “You got the wrong man.”

  An icy chill that had nothing to do with his damp clothes slid through his chest. “It wasn’t you?” This changed everything.

  Baxter’s expression twisted in pain. “Is Kate hurt?”

  “No. She wasn’t here at the time. But emotionally . . .” Tom shook his head. “I don’t know.”

  “What’s this translation thing about?”

  “The plant. Some Spanish priest blogged about it.”

  Baxter’s eyes slipped shut and he leaned heavily against the side of the house.

  “Who did this?” Tom seethed, certain Baxter knew.

  “I don’t know. I got here just as the cop car left and hung around hoping to get you alone to find out what was going on.”

  Tom caught him by the shirt again and pinned him hard to the wall. “You must have some idea.”

  Baxter’s shoulders lifted a fraction, then dropped.

  Tom shook him. “Do you want to help your daughter or not?”

  “That number in my arrest file,” Baxter breathed.

  Tom glanced around the corner of the house to ensure no one had closed in on them in the dark. “Zoe’s?”

  Baxter nodded. “Did you call it?”

  “Yeah, I got her roommate.”

  Baxter clamped his head in his hands. “What have I done?”

  Tom yanked Baxter’s hands away from his face. “What’s Zoe got to do with this?”

  A screen door slapped shut next door. “Come on, Whiskers,” Mrs. C sing-songed from her front porch. “Let’s take you back to your new mistress.”

  “I gotta go.” Baxter clutched Tom’s shoulder. “Keep my Katy safe.” The raw yearning in his face cut to the core.

  “Tom?” Mrs. C’s voice shrilled from the sidewalk. “Is that you?”

  Realizing she must’ve heard them, Tom stepped into view. “Yes, I was coming to fetch Whiskers for Kate.” He glanced back at the side of the house. Baxter hadn’t moved. Tom had never seen an expression so tortured.

  “Give her my love,” Baxter whispered, then slipped through the trees and away.

  Tom felt like his heart had been knifed. He’d like nothing more than to give Kate her father’s love. She deserved to know she was loved by her father—and, Lord help him, by him—but how could he look into Kate’s eyes, knowing her father was alive, and remain silent?

  He tipped back his head. God, show me how to be your man here. Show me what’s right. Because I don’t know anymore.

  Tom stared at the starless sky as if he might see a flash from heaven, a sign, something.

  Instead Mrs. C came up the driveway with Whiskers in her arms and cocked her head. “You got a lot weighing on your mind by the looks of it.” A gleam lit her eyes. “Should we expect an announcement in church next Sunday?”

  “An announcement?” he muttered dumbly, before registering the meaning behind that matchmaker’s gleam.

  “I can see the signs. And once a fellow gets to your age, he can’t afford to dillydally, or some other young man will come along.”

  Relieved she’d misinterpreted his sky-gazing, he managed to tease, “Are you saying I’m old?” as he tried to ignore the effect of the sudden image of him dropping to one knee in front of Kate.

  “Just saying . . . why dillydally when you know what you want?”

  What did he want?

  Kate. Yes. But at the thought of keeping her father’s secret from her, he could scarcely stomach looking at himself in the mirror, let alone meeting Kate’s trusting gaze. A text-message alert spared him from dwelling on that thought.

  “You best g
et Whiskers inside now.” Mrs. C transferred the cat into Tom’s arms. “And remember what I said about dillydallying.” With a finger to the side of her nose in silent salute, she trundled back down the driveway.

  Kate swept open the door and took Whiskers into her arms as if he were the long-lost prodigal. “You poor thing, being locked outside in that horrible storm,” she cooed.

  The brush of her arm reminded Tom of the comforting hug they’d shared this afternoon, and he suddenly felt jealous of the silly cat.

  Kate led the way to the kitchen where she set Whiskers in front of a fresh bowl of food.

  The air smelled like coffee and pizza and cinnamon. “You baked?”

  Kate smiled. “Warmed up the muffins and dipped the tops in cinnamon and sugar.”

  “Mmm, sounds delicious.” He noticed a smudge of the sweet mixture on her cheek and, brushing it onto his finger, helped himself to a taste. “Sweet.”

  The flush in her cheeks made him feel a foot taller. And lower than dirt. He had no business flirting with her. How ironic that she’d warm up to the idea of spending time with him just when it was more important than ever that he keep a tight rein on his emotions. If he’d paid more attention to his judgment than his friendship with Ian, his former FBI partner might still be alive.

  “Sit.” Kate nudged him toward a kitchen chair and set a plate of pizza and mug of coffee in front of him, then bounced into the chair beside him. “I have a plan.”

  The gleeful declaration sent a shiver down his spine. He knew better than to shut her down without hearing her out. Last time he did, she went ahead anyway, and her plan almost got her killed.

  He swallowed a steaming gulp of coffee to fortify himself. “Let’s hear it.”

  “Okay, so whoever stole the translation is going to want to find the plant, right?”

  “Probably.”

  “For sure. Think about it. If Jarrett stole it, after he—”

  Tom held up his hand. “Jarrett didn’t steal it.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I asked Reed to look into his whereabouts tonight. She just texted back that he and Patti had dinner at The Wildflower and then went to the movies. There are witnesses.” Tom scooped up a slice of pizza and took a bite.

  “He could have slipped out unnoticed and then gone back. I don’t live that far from the theater.”

  “But as far as Patti knew, you were going out with Julie for supper and would likely have the translation with you.”

  “Hmm. I never thought of that.” Kate frowned at the paper on the table in front of her and crossed out a word.

  “What’s this?” Tom turned the paper for a better view.

  “My suspects.”

  “Lucetta?” he read from the top of the list.

  “Sure.” A proud glint lit Kate’s eyes that made her look so cute, he wanted to . . .

  He dropped his gaze to his plate.

  “I started thinking about all the things that have been happening to me, like the counterfeiting and the nasty letter about the mayor I was supposed to have written to the newspaper.”

  “And the text message,” Tom added. The mayor was still haranguing him about tracking the guy down.

  “Yeah, and then that creepy email this afternoon and the robbery tonight. I was trying to see if there might be a way they’re all connected.”

  Tom scanned the list of strikes against Lucetta. “Sold Verna’s tea set. Needs money to send home. That goes to motive for counterfeiting. But blames your father for her mother’s death. How do you figure that plays in?”

  “She was furious when she found my father’s photo. If she thinks I’m hiding something, which if she came in here and found the information about the plant, she now knows I am, who could blame her for wanting to get to the truth? Except that creepy fire on my computer—I don’t know how she would’ve pulled it off, but it had revenge written all over it.” Kate shuddered.

  Tom fought to keep a neutral expression and a clear head, when what he really wanted was to load her in his car and get her as far out of town as he could as fast as possible. “Hopefully Weller will find something to shed light on that. But Lucetta couldn’t have known you had the translation either, and from how undisturbed the house is, it seems that whoever let him or herself in knew exactly what he was after.”

  “She might’ve hoped to find more info about my father. Oh!” Kate sprang to her feet and ran to her bedroom.

  “What is it?” Tom trailed after her.

  Kate sat on her bed, a photo pressed to her chest.

  Tom didn’t have to see it to know it was the picture of her father. He steeled himself against the sight of moisture gathering in her eyes.

  “I thought Lucetta might try to see if anything’s written on the back, but it doesn’t look like she took it out of its frame.”

  Tom pried the photo from Kate’s hand and returned it to the drawer. “It would be better if that’s not out where Officer Reed might see it.”

  Kate sniffed. “Maybe Lucetta saw the translation on the table first and forgot about her original plan, or maybe she got spooked and didn’t want to risk getting caught.”

  “It’s credible.” Tom caught her by the elbow and urged her out of the bedroom, back toward the kitchen. “Trouble is, I couldn’t get a search warrant to check anyone’s possessions for the papers without information about the plant becoming a matter of public record. And I don’t think that’s such a good idea, considering all the trouble your father went to trying to keep it out of GPC’s hands. He must’ve had a good reason.”

  At the kitchen doorway, she whirled to face him. “That’s where my plan comes in!”

  “Your plan?”

  “Like I started to say before, whoever took the translation is going to go after the plant. Soooo”—she flounced into the kitchen and took a seat—“we keep the area under surveillance and nab her when she shows up.”

  Needing time to think, Tom refilled his mug from the coffeepot before joining Kate at the table. “Assuming Lucetta is your thief, how would she figure out where the plant is?”

  “Her nephew saw me in Verna’s woods. He probably told her. She’d put two and two together.”

  He sipped his coffee. It’d be a tough area to keep under surveillance, especially when they had no sharable reason to involve law enforcement. And even if they did, the less people who knew about the plant’s significance and whereabouts, the better. “Who else is on your list?”

  “Michael Beck. The guy in the silver Ford Escort.”

  “It’s not him.”

  “How do you know?” Irritation piqued her tone.

  “I’m not allowed to tell you that. Believe me”—he set down his mug—“I would if I could.”

  She stared at him a moment as if she thought she might wear him down, then glanced at her list again. “Brian Nagy, of course. For poisoning Verna. He clearly needs money, so he’s got motive to counterfeit, and he or his mother are indirectly connected to at least three counterfeit purchases that we know of since he pays both Lucetta and Vic Lawton.”

  “And he’s angry at you for interfering with his mother’s property, which might have prompted the nasty email.” Tom drained his cup of coffee. “But he wouldn’t have known about the translation either.”

  “No, but he might’ve noticed I wasn’t home and decided to come on a fishing expedition to see what I’d found to go to town council with.” Kate fussed with his empty mug. “After his real estate agent told him I was at the property.”

  Tom tensed, not liking her nervous fidgeting. “How do you know Westby told him?”

  “Brian told me I should mind my own business.”

  “He threatened you?” Tom half rose out of his chair, then forced himself to calm down. “Where? When?”

  Kate’s head dipped and she twisted the mug faster. “Earlier this evening, when I let myself into Verna’s house to borrow the nutmeg.”

  “He saw you?” Tom dragged down his voice. “
Kate, if he’s really poisoning his mother, he’s got to already be thinking you’re onto him.” Tom plowed his fingers into his hair. “Oh, Kate, what have you done?”

  19

  The sun shone brightly the next morning. Not the kind of weather Tom had hoped for. Too perfect for a little gardening. He hoped he wouldn’t regret asking his dad to watch Nagy instead of the plants on Verna’s property. Although he suspected Baxter would be thoroughly checking them out.

  Tom leaned over Weller’s worktable in the station’s computer forensics lab. “You got anything for me yet?”

  “Give me a break, will ya? I’ve only been at it for ten minutes. Why don’t you go harass Kate about getting you the nutmeg proof?”

  “Because you know as well as I do that the judge would throw the evidence out of court.”

  “Sure, but Nagy won’t know that,” Weller said, all the while peering at what looked like Greek on the computer screen and punching keys. “Suggest the judge might go easier on him if he comes clean now.”

  “First I need enough for an arrest warrant.”

  Weller wheeled his chair over to the fax machine and snatched up a page. “This just came in. The research station’s internet provider confirmed the sender’s IP address belongs to Brian Nagy.”

  “Yes! Any evidence he corrupted her data—something substantial I can charge him with?”

  “I thought you were building a criminal harassment case against him. Wasn’t he the guy following Kate? ’Cause the you’ll pay message—”

  “No,” Tom bit out, not wanting to get into who’d been following her.

  “Okay, I can get a warrant for his laptop, see if there’s evidence of plans to follow through on the threat.”

  Tom pulled out his cell phone to check in with his dad. “You still have eyes on Nagy?”

  “Yeah, he’s just getting in his car now.” The sound of an engine starting accompanied his dad’s words. “Carrying a stack of papers.”

  Kate’s? Tom rushed out to his car. “Which way’s he heading?”

  “Your way. Toward Main Street.”