Helen shrugged. "Sure. But by now they'd know I'm not at work. They won't keep quiet."
Nick glanced at the time. "It's just after one. What time do they take lunch?"
"Usually between twelve and one, splitting it up so the warehouse isn't empty. Let's go to my office first. Nothing will get done if I can't get the keys."
Nick parked around the corner. Helen scrambled out and dug through her pocket for some change for the meter. She offered a short smile. "No need to get a ticket. You may not be able to get it fixed."
Very funny. Nick took her arm and led her into the building. Globatech rented the fourth floor.
As the elevator doors slid open at the correct floor, Helen peered out gingerly. "I told my boss I was taking some sick days. He wasn't impressed. I doubt I'll have a job to come back to, especially if we get caught."
"We won't." He steered her out.
"Hello."
He turned to face the voice. Seated at a reception desk nearby was a young woman. "May I help you?" she asked.
Helen strode up. "Hello." She threw a cautious look over her shoulder to him. Judging from the woman's polite expression, she didn't recognize Helen. He took a step forward, but Helen took command of the situation.
"I'm looking for Mr. Parker."
The young woman smiled back, obviously hired to fill the void Helen left. "Everyone's in a staff meeting right now. Did you have an appointment?"
Helen smiled back. "No. I'm just a friend. It's not important. Perhaps I could leave a message?"
The woman handed her a piece of paper and a pen. When Helen flicked her foot, Nick stepped up to the desk. "I wonder if you could show me where the washrooms are?" He gave her his best smile, hoping his face didn't show his fatigue and strain.
"Certainly." She stood up and walked around the desk. He caught a glimpse of Helen's slight nod as she lifted the pen. The receptionist walked around the corner with him. He could only give Helen about ten seconds, maybe a few more, to "borrow" the keys.
"You seem familiar to me," he told the woman, stopping her in the middle of the corridor. "Did you work over at city hall last year?"
She shook her head. "No. I did work for some time at the university, though."
He nodded, devoting as much of his attention to her as possible, all the while keeping an ear out for Helen. "That's it. I took a course on computer programming last year," he lied, his face relaxing into a polished smile. "I'm sure that's where I've seen you."
The woman smiled back. Adrenaline hit him hard. He'd forgotten the feeling of working undercover. The improvisation and need to remember every detail of every lie. Any slip could mean immediate danger. And yet, any lie that passed unnoticed was a powerful victory.
The rush felt good.
Nick gritted his teeth. Another emotion surged in just as quickly. Regret? Contrition? He shoved whatever it was away. Now wasn't the time to gain a conscience.
Helen appeared around the corner. "Ready?" she asked Nick. She smiled at the woman. "I put the note on your desk. Thank you."
Outside and around the corner, she flipped the key up in the air. "Child's play. And we're in luck. Mr. Parker doesn't hold staff meetings very often, but when he does, he gets really long-winded. And he likes everyone to be there."
Nick didn't share her optimism. "Why do you suppose he's holding the meeting now?"
"Probably to talk finances. Mr. Parker watches every cent the company makes. He probably wants everyone to tighten their belts."
The hairs on Nick's arms rose. He didn't like the timing of this meeting. Did it mean anything to the undercover op? What did it mean to the flow of drugs into the city? He had to warn Mark. Those working undercover might not know.
"The best news is that the warehouse will be empty," Helen chatted on as they strode to the car.
Nick unlocked the passenger door. "Good. I'll need it to be empty."
Helen's smile fell away. "You're not going in there without me."
"I am." Something wasn't right and he'd be damned if he was going to risk Helen.
"You need me, Nick, and we have an agreement."
"Which is over now. Your mother's safe. You'll unlock the door, turn off the alarm and go sit in my truck. Doors locked, engine running."
"No way." Helen glared at him. "I know where everything is. I've worked at the warehouse when they've been shorthanded."
"We don't even know what we're looking for," he muttered.
"All the more reason to have an extra pair of eyes. Oh, come on, Nick, we both know what's going on here. You suspect Globatech of smuggling drugs. That means the paperwork will have to be very creative in order to get past the city's reviewers and Canada Customs. I know the paperwork. It'll shorten our time."
She leaned over as he pulled out of his parking space. He felt her hand settle on his arm, the warmth of it soaking in, relaxing the hairs and coaxing them to settle down and enjoy the sensation of her touch. "You know I'm making sense here."
"But you also want me to protect you, too," he said, trying to ignore her hand.
A frown skittered over her face. She blinked as she withdrew her hand. "What I want is to be able to go back to my own life again."
Without him. Those two words rose unbidden into his chest, squeezing his lungs until he was sure he would let out a strong hiss.
"You need me, Nick. Admit it."
Yeah, he needed her. He needed her soft, pouting mouth and warm blue eyes. He needed to feel her warm, soft body again.
Forget it! This wasn't why he was letting her tag along. The sooner they got to the bottom of this investigation, the sooner he could get his career back on track. The sooner they found out what Globatech had to do with Jamie Cooms, the sooner he could warn those undercover cops who were risking their lives right now.
It had nothing to do with Helen Eastman and her soft, trusting body.
Nick drove in silence to the warehouse and they climbed out of the truck.
Despite the clear day, the air was heavy with the smells of the port. Nick glanced casually around, finding the street relatively quiet.
"This key is for the back door," Helen told him as they circled around. The building was the last in the row, closest to the terminal where the ferry from Nova Scotia docked. A gull screamed at them overhead.
Helen quickly unlocked the narrow steel door and left Nick to shut it as she hurried inside to turn off the alarm.
"They left the lights on," she commented, coming back through the maze of shelving.
Nick looked up. "They're sodium lights. They take a long time to heat up. Where's the office?"
"Up here." She pointed to a flight of stairs that hugged the wall ahead of them. Up above was the balcony style office.
As soon as they entered, Nick went straight to the row of windows that stretched across the far wall. "Keep the lights off," he ordered. Keeping himself low, he peered through a section of window that opened outward.
Helen appeared beside him, and he hauled her down to keep her out of sight.
"Hurry up, will ya? I haven't got all day."
Helen gasped at the voice that filtered up to them. The whine of an electric forklift cut off any answer.
Nick stooped down farther and found himself face-to-face with Helen.
Her eyes were wide with fear and he knew in an instant that she recognized the voice.
"It's Clive!"
Chapter 10
Nick straightened and, hugging the window frame, peered down at the warehouse floor. Below, two men worked quickly, one driving the electric forklift as it carried in a large open tri-wall box. The other, a smaller man he hadn't seen before, moving smaller cartons out of the way.
"Okay, that's good."
Nick felt Helen's hand grip the back of his light jacket, but couldn't afford the sudden movement to look down at her.
"What's that name we're looking for?"
"Four small boxes. They should have the name W. Townsend on them."
> The second man began to search. "Here's one," he said, pulling it out of the tri-wall.
The first man remained obscured by the forklift's safety cage. "There should be three more. Find them."
As Nick sank down beside Helen, she hissed, "That's Clive!"
He stared at her through the dim light of the office. The yellow sodium lights cast eerie shadows on her face. "Are you sure?" he mouthed. He knew Darlington by face only, not voice.
"Yes." Her words were barely above being mouthed. "And the other is Ron Mills. He works here."
Nick rested his head against the wall below the open window, listening as the two men hunted through the tri-wall. Helen shimmied closer. He could feel her body heat, smell the barest remains of her apple shampoo.
"Don't worry. Ron won't come up here. He suffers from vertigo and hates the view from the windows."
Nick shifted away, using the excuse of sneaking another peek out the window at the two men. Helen's words were welcoming news. He didn't really want to take on both men should they decide to come up to the office.
She'd been right. He needed her expertise. The words felt heavy in his stomach. So why did that revelation hit him so hard?
"Here's the last box," Ron Mills said.
Clive Darlington grabbed it and took it to a nearby bench. Sweeping the packaging equipment off it with his forearm, he dumped the boxes down.
"Hey, don't go wrecking the place! I have to clean up, you know."
"Not anymore." Darlington turned, pulling out a handgun from inside his jacket.
He fired it, the report splintering the still air. Helen jumped beside him, and Nick hauled her close, forcing her face into his side to stop her from witnessing another horrific act.
Then he watched Ron Mills drop like a stone.
Darlington ignored the fallen man. Instead, he sliced open the first box and snapped the cover off an exposed piece of electronic equipment.
He pulled out sandwich sized bags of snowy white powder.
Nick's stomach clenched. Cocaine. Cooms hadn't been smuggling it in on fishing boats as the chief had suggested. Maybe at first, but not now. It was coming in through Globatech.
Darlington grabbed his boxes and without even a glance down at the dying Mills, he stalked out the far exit.
As soon as the door slammed shut, Nick shoved Helen toward the nearest desk. "Call 9-1-1!"
"What happened?" she cried as he sprinted to the door.
"Darlington shot the other guy. Hurry!"
* * *
Helen's fingers shook as she struggled to punch out the simple numbers. When she was assured that an ambulance was on the way, she dashed downstairs to help Nick.
He'd dragged a first aid kit off the wall and had already donned latex gloves. One hand was pressed against a splotch of red on the man's shirt, while Nick's other hand searched for a gauze pad.
"Get me some bandages," he ordered as she knelt down beside him.
She did as he said. "He's still alive?"
"Just barely. Call 9-1-1?" He worked quickly to wrap the bandages around the man's chest.
"Yes." She slipped her fingers over the prone man's throat and found a thready pulse.
Then lost it.
"No pulse." She repositioned, but still couldn't find it. Nick paused, but she shook her head frantically. "I can't get a pulse!"
"Okay. Calm down. Do you know CPR?"
She nodded, immediately shifting to face the man's head and opening his airway.
Please Lord, don't let him die. Not another murder, please.
Not since her father had she been this close to a dying man. She blinked rapidly, all the while trying to quell the fear rising in her.
"Give him mouth to mouth, Helen. You can do it. Watch my rhythm. Every five compressions. Ready?"
She gave him another shaky nod.
"Now." She gave two hard blows. Immediately, Nick began chest compressions. She watched the bandages on his stomach stain more and more with bright red blood.
They worked together for what seemed like an age. Her back ached and her knees were on fire by the time they heard the wail of a siren.
"Go open the doors for them," Nick ordered.
She leapt up, adrenaline pumping through her tingling legs as she raced for the main loading dock door. She hit the overhead door button and then rushed over to the smaller door beside it. Already, the ambulance was backing into the warehouse.
"Here!" she cried out, leading the EMT men toward Nick and Mills.
Nick gave a quick rundown of what happened and what he and Helen had done.
One of the men did an equally quick body survey and looked up. "Good work. We have a pulse."
She sagged against Nick, who caught her and wrapped a strong arm around her waist. She didn't care that he was covered in blood and had smeared her. Another screaming siren approached and she turned to see who it was.
"The police," she said, her voice low enough for only Nick to hear.
He let her go, forcing her to stand on her own wobbly legs. "Now the you-know-what hits the fan."
* * *
By the time they returned to Nick's house, every muscle in Helen's body ached, her eyes felt gritty and she wanted nothing but sleep. She'd even ignore the growl in her stomach for the promise of a good night's rest.
Ahead of her, Nick opened his front door and waited stoically as she dragged herself inside. It was dark and cold, the sun long since set. The last she'd heard of Ron Mills's condition was that he'd gone into surgery and that his wife had been called. The police and Mr. Parker both questioned her. She knew the outcome of one of the conversations, even though Mr. Parker didn't say it directly. She'd stolen the warehouse key and then broken into both the warehouse and its office. She certainly wasn't up for a promotion after this.
And police had been just as critical, asking her with incredulity about her reasons for breaking the law.
What Nick had said to the Saint John police, she didn't know.
He pushed her gently toward the couch. "You're dead on your feet. Go lay down."
She fell onto the soft cushions. "I'm not usually this bad," she muttered as her eyes closed.
The next instant, Nick touched her. Like when they first met, she jerked awake, her heart starting to pound. "What?"
"I've got something to eat. After, if you like, you can take a bath and hit the sack."
She looked around, rubbing her eyes and yawning widely. The small clock on the wall told her she'd been asleep for over an hour. The living room was warm, thanks to a bright fire. Through the open curtains of the kitchen window, she spied the full moon rising over the cliff at the edge of the cove.
Her gaze settled on him. He'd showered and changed into fresh clothes.
The enticing aroma of fresh pizza wafted around her, and she swallowed hungrily. "Any word on Ron Mills?" she asked.
Nick opened the flat box. "I called about ten minutes ago. He got through the operation okay, but is still in intensive care, heavily sedated." He indicated the food. "I ordered a pizza for us. The last time I cooked, you tried to knife me."
"Sorry about that."
He smiled. "I even got the delivery guy to pick up some groceries for us."
She stood, stretching out the painful kinks in her protesting body. "Smells good, but if you don't mind, I'd like to shower first."
Their gazes locked. "Sure." The single word rippled through her, its low growling tone possessing none of the succinct crispness she'd learned to associate with Nick. Maybe it was the heat in his eyes, seeing the flames from the stove dancing in his irises. Maybe it was the warmth of the room, the rich, spicy scent of hot pizza, or her own languid, half-asleep state.
Maybe this attraction was getting too hard to control, even after the terrible circumstances of the day. "Thanks," she murmured, before fleeing to the bathroom.
A few minutes later, they sat down, awkwardly, Helen felt, at the breakfast bar and began to devour the pizza.
Swallowing the last of her third piece, Helen straightened up and dared a glance at Nick. Something wasn't right here, and it had nothing to do with the thick, potent attraction she felt toward Nick.
No. Now that her stomach was full and a nap had restored some of her attention, she knew something was wrong. She studied Nick, finding him silent, but far from relaxed.
Some of the wavy tips of his hair were still damp from his own shower and over the aroma of cheese and tomato and oregano, she caught the citrusy tang of the aftershave he'd splashed on his clean-shaven face.
She swallowed. The urge to haul him into a tight embrace almost overpowered her. As if holding him could conquer the unsettled feelings inside of her.
But still something nagged at her. She stood. "What's on your mind, Nick?"
He took the last piece of pizza and then rolled the empty box into a tight cylinder. "Everything." He walked to the woodstove and threw the cardboard into the firebox. "I want you to go to your aunt's and lie low. Don't leave the apartment, not even to go to the lounge downstairs."
She felt her jaw drop. With a shake of her head, she stepped toward him. "What? I can't do that." She stumbled over her words for a few seconds. "I won't risk my mother or Aunt June. Why are you asking me that?"
He didn't meet her shocked stare. "I don't want you following me around in the investigation anymore. It's dangerous enough for me, let alone a civilian. Frankly, I don't want to waste my time protecting you."
She bristled. "You don't have to protect me."
"I do. You know that."
"I don't need protection."
He whirled around. "You know you do! That's what you look for in a man, isn't it? What you got from your father all your life. Even what you looked for in Cooms, too."
His words stung, as if he'd slapped her face. It took a moment to recover. "You're wrong. It's not what I looked for in Jamie or Scott!"
"Scott? Who the hell is Scott?"
She stiffened. "No one. Just someone…an old boyfriend."
"I though you didn't have boyfriends?"
"I don't." Mercy, she should never have blurted out his name.
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