Trust No One

by Barbara Phinney

  "I knew you existed. No man who says women are only for pleasure goes without a girlfriend. Or two."

  A flicker of distress danced over her features. As quickly as it came, it vanished. The stark light from the kitchen, the only light if you didn't count the TV, showed her tired face. But the emotion wasn't strong enough for him to guess what he'd seen.

  "Jamie was the kind of man who acted on whims. At least he was that kind of man around me. He would show up at my apartment unexpectedly, or send flowers for no reason, or call me and tell me he was taking me to some restaurant for the evening. My schedule was always pretty loose, so I went along with it."

  Nick stiffened. Cooms wasn't whimsical. He had been a calculating bastard who'd managed to charm people very easily. The sudden changes of plans Helen had just mentioned must have meant something. A meeting with a prospective client, a middle man for drugs, a possible businessman who could clean his money for him. Helen must know, without realizing it.

  "Where would you go?"

  "To his restaurants, mostly."

  "Did he ever leave you alone?"

  She shrugged. "Sure he did. He'd go into the kitchen or something to check the place out or order some special dish. But he was never gone long." She had resignation all over her face. It somehow reflected his own frustration. "I know now he wasn't a model citizen and that he would have killed me without thinking twice, but…"

  "But what?"

  "But he was a good date. Polite most of the time. Attentive, though sometimes a bit too possessive, but," she said, shutting her eyes as if trying to purge the memories with a shake of her head, "nice, without expecting anything back from me. Which was what I wanted."

  Nick felt his jaw tighten. "Not expecting what?"

  She opened her eyes, the look in her irises sad. "Permanence."

  "And that was good?" he gritted out.

  "Yes, it was." She stood and after staring at the TV for a moment, she gathered up the empty dishes. "I don't do relationships."

  The fifth tape ended. Damn, he'd barely watched it. He twisted around. "Why don't you do relationships?"

  She lifted her shoulders once and dropped the dishes into the sink. Wordlessly, she returned to the VCR and changed the tapes.

  Nick tried another tactic. "Why didn't you turn me in when you gave your statement to Mark about the assault?"

  She turned, the fifth tape still in her hands. "Because I was scared. Besides, would Mark have believed me? I was a murderer's girlfriend who hadn't reported what I'd seen, but rather took off and tried to fake my own suicide. Not exactly a credible witness."

  That was true. A good defense lawyer would have a heyday with her. And Mark liked to do things by the book. All the way. Though they'd been in a few difficult situations, their lives hadn't really been on the line. Mark wouldn't trust his instincts like Nick did.

  Nick would rather a partner who did. But more than that, he'd rather not have a partner at all. By the book or simply freezing up like his first partner had, either way could get him killed. Sometimes it worked better if you bent the rules occasionally.

  The next tape was running. A skinny, preadolescent Helen was having a birthday party, dancing around with her friends to music Nick couldn't hear because of the fast forward mode.

  "Do you trust Mark Rowlands? Do you think he would have believed me if I had told him I thought you were being paid off? If you hadn't been on an undercover assignment?"

  Nick glanced over at Helen as she walked toward the breakfast bar. "Mark would have listened to everything you said. He's a good cop and goes by the rules."

  She watched him, her expression showing a large dose of skepticism. "But you aren't? You said you were suspended. Did you deliberately break the rules?"

  Darkness seemed to take that moment to settle around the house. The cool kitchen lights strained to reach the entire downstairs. "You could say that."

  "Did it have anything to do with the investigation?"

  "Yes and no. I didn't fill out some forms I was supposed to." He couldn't think of anything else to say.

  Helen sat down on the stool beside him. Those same fluorescent kitchen lights that couldn't warm his home lit up the walnut highlights in her hair. Her skin, smooth he knew from personal experience, glowed clean and clear. Even in the harsh light, her beauty shimmered.

  "Who suspended you? The Saint John police?"

  "My own chief."

  "Sounds like a picky reason."

  "The forms were for the force's protection." He really didn't want to go into detail. Not when she was relaxed and ready to talk. Not when she sat close enough for him to smell her body heat. He swore to himself. There were other reasons for not telling her. Reasons, as a civilian, she wouldn't understand.

  She was nodding. "Sometimes we have to do things we don't like, for our own protection."

  The hairs on his arms tingled. She wasn't saying anything important here, was she? He scanned the room. The drapes were closed against the darkened sky. He knew his doors were locked, his alarm set. A part of him didn't believe that he was in danger here, so why the heck did he just get that telltale shiver?

  "What's wrong? Are you cold?"

  Nick looked at her. Cold? No way. He tried another tactic. "You said you didn't mind going out with Cooms because it was nothing serious."

  "That's right."

  She'd been an only child. The tape running now proved that. Christmas and loads of presents to unwrap. She'd had a stable upbringing. Then she'd dated a drug dealer because he was nice to her? Until he tried to kill her and she felt her only recourse was to fake a suicide. She had serious self-confidence problems.

  She should trust her instincts. They were good.

  But right now, the instinct that raised the hair on his arms was wrong. He'd always relied on it and this time, it was wrong.

  His instinct, which was more important than anyone's rules and as good as his training, was wrong?

  It couldn't be.

  He snapped his attention back to Helen. "What did you say?"

  "I asked you if you were cold."

  "No, I'm fine." She wasn't telling him everything but did what she was hiding have anything to do with Cooms? Or her mother?

  Or that mysterious con artist from her past?

  "What about my mother?" Helen stood and stalked to the VCR, unaware, it seemed, that she had just read his mind. She waited a few minutes, watching the images of her opening a present. A moment later, the tape ended and she peered over her shoulder at him. "These tapes haven't been tampered with. But my mother's missing. We have to find her more than we have to look at these things." She jabbed the eject button. "She's out there somewhere. Unprotected."

  Nick sighed. But Helen was safe here, working with him, trying to figure who wanted her dead, and maybe where her mother was.

  Damn, he didn't do partnerships or protection very well.

  Chapter 8

  The next morning, as Nick had promised, Mark arrived. Helen had spent the night upstairs in Nick's bedroom, with Nick downstairs on the cot in his study.

  She suppressed a yawn, as Nick let Mark inside. Neither of them had slept well. She'd listened to Nick pace the floor, run through the last of the tapes and knew he must have been hoping to drop off, bored stiff by her childhood.

  Across the living room, Mark nodded to her. This morning, he was in uniform and looked as tired as Helen felt.

  "Thanks for coming over," Nick said. "Coffee?"

  "Only if it's strong and black." Mark dropped his briefcase onto the breakfast bar and turned to Helen.

  He said nothing and in a fleeting moment, she got the uncomfortable impression that he was checking her out. What for? she wondered. Automatically, she stole a glimpse at Nick and knew then. Did Mark think she and Nick were lovers? Was he searching for signs that they had spent the night in each other's arms?

  She felt her face heat up, betraying the fact that she considered Nick, in some strange confusing way, to be
her lover. Foolish notion. One night going a bit overboard didn't make them lovers.

  Thankfully, Mark said nothing as he accepted a mug of steaming coffee. "So." He spoke after he'd taken a sip. "Let's start at the beginning, shall we? When was the last time you saw your mother?"

  "When Nick put her in a taxi."

  "The day you were assaulted?"

  She nodded. "I asked him to send my mother to my aunt's house."

  Mark asked the name of the taxi company and Nick supplied it. Then he asked for the addresses of her aunt June, her mother, the community center where she volunteered, even her friends.

  "She got to my aunt's place okay," she added hastily. "I called my aunt from the shelter and that was when she told me Momma had gone back home to get some clothes, shortly after she arrived. But when I went to her house, the door was wide open and Momma hadn't been there!"

  She tried to force down the fear that had tightened into a thick knot in her throat and had squeezed tears into her eyes. When she looked up, she found Nick watching her closely, his brows pressed together and expression hooded.

  Mark continued to write down all she said, including her garbled description of her mother. "Why wouldn't she stop at her house on the way to your aunt's? Would she take her car?" he asked.

  She clenched her hands together. "I don't know."

  Mark said, "If you don't mind, I'd like to take a look around her house." He looked at Nick. "Did you check it out?"

  Nick nodded. "It didn't appear that anything had been taken, but Helen said it felt different."

  "Like someone had been there," she added. "I can't explain it."

  When he'd finished writing, Mark chewed on the end of his pen, all the while studying her. Didn't he understand what she meant? She opened her mouth to speak, but Nick quickly interrupted her.

  "Drink your coffee, then," he ordered both her and Mark. "We're wasting time."

  Mark dropped his notes into his briefcase and clicked it shut. "Did you look at your tapes yet?"

  "There was nothing of importance on them," Nick said.

  "That's right." Helen threw a quick look at him as she agreed. "There wasn't anything unusual with them. Just my boring life."

  Mark made an agreeing noise, though his face remained expressionless. She couldn't help but wonder if he really believed her. Or was it Nick he didn't believe? After all, she hadn't stayed up to watch all of the tapes. She'd heard segments of them during the night, but what if there was something on them, and Nick wasn't telling Mark the truth?

  Forget it. She trusted him. But still, she didn't dare glance at Nick again, with Mark watching their every move. It didn't take a psychic to sense there was a mutual distrust between the two men. It shimmered just beneath the surface.

  Nick spoke. "Anything on the vehicle that tried to run Helen down?"

  A distinct silence lingered after his question. Finally, Mark said, "Actually, something interesting did show up on it this morning."

  Helen stopped buttoning her coat. Nick glanced at her and then back at Mark. "What was it?" he asked.

  "The license plate number says it had belonged to Clive Darlington."

  "Had belonged? Did he sell it?" she asked.

  Mark shook his head. "No. When he was incarcerated, all of his assets were seized and sold at a Crown assets auction, by order of the judge, to pay retribution and some outstanding fines. He had a lot of them. Anyway, there was an auction the next week and the car was bought by a man named William Townsend."

  Helen gasped. Both men turned to her. "You know him?" Nick asked her.

  "That was Jamie."

  "How do you know?" Nick's frown looked as tight as Mark's and Helen knew she was in for a grilling.

  "I found out one night when he was drunk."

  The two men shared a single understanding look. Helen knew they'd communicated something important—trusting each other—in that one split second.

  "His reason made sense, even though he'd been drinking. I didn't give it much thought at the time."

  Nick turned to Mark. "Did you run the name through the system?"

  Mark's expression turned cool. "Yes. A man called William Townsend did buy the car, and there is a driver's license issued to him. No photo, though. I don't have much more info than that. Yet."

  It wasn't mandatory to have a driver's license with a photo in New Brunswick. Helen didn't spend the extra money for it, either. "But surely someone would have recognized Clive," she protested.

  "I doubt it." Mark shook his head. "It's just a clerk who handles the paperwork and there were a lot of items sold that day." He faced Nick. "You heard of this alias before?"

  Nick said, "No."

  "Interesting." Mark walked to the door. "Meet you at your mother's place," he told Helen.

  When he was gone, Helen turned to Nick as she finished doing up her jacket. "He doesn't believe me."

  "Why would Jamie tell you about his alias?"

  "And not you?" She yanked on the hem of the jacket. "Remember I told you he got drunk one night and told me he had a few politicians in his back pocket? Later, he was fumbling with his jacket and his wallet fell out. I saw the driver's license with William Townsend's name on it."

  "Did you ask him about it?"

  "Of course I did. He said it was for tax purposes. That way, if any of his businesses went under, they wouldn't be able to seize all of his assets."

  Nick said nothing until he'd donned his own jacket. "That's not completely true, but it doesn't matter. Helen, weren't you the least bit suspicious?"

  She swallowed, feeling foolish. "No. Jamie wasn't that important to me. He was just a boyfriend who was nice. I told you, I don't do permanent relationships. Or even semipermanent. If he wanted to evade taxes, well, to me he was just one of millions in the country. I…I was getting ready to break it off with him, anyway."

  She looked into his eyes for something to tell her that he understood. In a way, he was like her. As an undercover cop living alone, he had no one permanent in his life, either. Did he?

  But thick, dark lashes shielded Nick's eyes and his expression told her nothing. Maybe he'd never understand what it was like to be protected all your life, then lose it all one day when your father's heart gives out.

  And then get involved with not only one, but two crooks. She pursed her lips as she walked past him. What lousy judgment she had.

  * * *

  Out in Nick's truck, Helen clicked on her seat belt and fell into a melancholy silence.

  Nick slid in beside her. "I didn't mean to give you the impression that we think you're stupid."

  She stared out the window. "But you do. It's all right. I know you don't understand." She twisted to face him. "I'm not a police officer. I'm not suspicious of everyone. And I made a mistake dating Jamie, okay? I may be naive, but I'm as tenacious as any of you cops. Now, let's go. My mother is still missing and I won't stop looking until I've found her."

  A short smile almost relaxed Nick's hardened features. For a flash, Helen was sure he was going to chuckle or shoot a devastating smile at her. She hadn't seen one yet, but knew incomprehensibly that any smile Nick had would be a killer to women.

  Instead, his features tightened again as he started his truck.

  After they reached the highway, she asked, "Was there anything on those tapes? I know you watched them last night."

  "Nothing except birthday parties and Christmas presents. And one time when you fell off your bike and skinned your knees."

  Helen smiled. "I remember. My first day with my new bike."

  "Your mother must have been filming you. It shows your father scooping you up."

  "He always took care of us." She froze, her mouth falling open slightly. "Wait! I just remembered something. Jamie bought me the VCR in my apartment. I mentioned it yesterday, too, but I just realized that it was a few days later, he asked to see my tapes."

  Nick frowned at her, as she leaned forward. "I remember he said he bought it at Globatec
h, just after they began to rent one of his warehouses. At the time, I thought it was odd, because Globatech doesn't make VCRs."

  "Did you say anything?"

  Helen shook her head. "No. When he brought it to my apartment, Chester was there, talking about heating pipes and such and it took a while for him to finish looking at my radiators."

  "Why didn't you ask someone at your work about it?"

  "Jamie asked me not to. He said that Globatech, like many other companies, just imports cheaper models and slaps their logos on them. It wasn't a good quality, top of the line one, he said, and asked me not to say anything, so as not to embarrass my bosses."

  "Still, it's a big present for just dating."

  "I thought he was just being nice to the company, thanking them for their patronage, that sort of thing. Besides, mine was on its last legs. It was my parents' old machine and I wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth. Remember, too, that Jamie acted like that with me. Spontaneously. And he didn't like to take no for an answer."

  "What does Globatech specialize in?"

  "They're best known for highly specialized electronic equipment. I know they have a government contract, but what for, I'm not sure. They also do computer systems and networks for big offices. All their stuff is top of the line."

  "Except their VCRs."

  She blinked at him, aware of only the cold chill that trickled down her back. "Yes. Except their VCRs," she repeated absently.

  Nick's eyes became hard and dark like coal. "Then let's take a look at the thing, shall we?"

  * * *

  "What about my mother? Won't Mark be waiting at her house? We need to find her!"

  Nick had been expecting her question ever since he took a left turn instead of a right as soon as they entered the city. "We won't be very long. I want to check out your VCR first."

  He sensed her disapproval. "But you're suspended. Are you supposed to be investigating this?"

  "No, I'm not supposed to be investigating anything." He gripped the steering wheel, refusing to elaborate on his words.

  She fell silent, only after shooting a curious look that even now still lingered on him. Damn, she wasn't missing much.