Modern Romance Collection: April 2018 Books 1 – 4. Lynne Graham

their busy lives permit. We all try to get together on Maggie’s birthday every year.”

      “I see. Go on.”

      She watched him taking notes, thinking he was way off base if he thought her friends would ever harm one hair on Maggie’s head. “Laura Marshall comes from money, a lot of money. Her father owns a large real estate company with several branches in Scottsdale. I think she attended U of A partly because she wanted to get away from his smothering control. She had a bad first marriage to a real jerk who just wanted her father’s money, but just recently she married a really nice guy. Sean Reagan’s an obstetrician and Laura sounds very happy.”

      “You haven’t met him? You didn’t attend the wedding?”

      He was probing an area she didn’t want to get into. Tate glanced out the window across the hall and watched fronds from a tall royal palm shifting in a gentle May breeze. She wished she were out there, away from the sickly smell of a hospital and the scrutinizing gaze of this man. “No, I couldn’t make the wedding.”

      Nick noticed her faraway look and wondered why she didn’t make it a point to attend a close friend’s wedding. She seemed genuinely pleased at both friends’ good fortune in finding happiness the second time around, yet there was an underlying sadness in her voice. “Since they’re both well-off, have either of these women offered to help Maggie with her financial difficulties?” He was wandering off the subject, but she’d aroused his curiosity. He wanted to know what kind of people her best friends were.

      “They sure did. After Molly married Devin, they offered to pay Maggie’s overdue taxes, calling it a loan to salvage her pride. But Maggie refused. Laura has access to a large trust fund and she offered as well, but again Maggie wouldn’t go for it.”

      “What about you?” Nick asked, wondering if it was the cop or the man wanting to know.

      Tate squared her slender shoulders and her green eyes turned frosty. “I’m not rich nor do I have a wealthy husband, but I help Maggie all I can. I pay rent, pay her for watching my son when I’m at work, buy groceries and I help out around the house. Is that what you wanted to know?”

      Nick drew in a deep breath and wished he hadn’t as the lightly floral scent of her wrapped around him. He managed to hold his ground, but not easily. “What about the boy’s father?”

      Tate’s expression tightened. “He’s been out of the picture for years.” She narrowed her eyes, not bothering to hide her annoyance. “Anything else?”

      Nick pocketed his notepad and pen. “I’ll need to go through the house and check the inventory as soon as possible. I’d like you to be there to let me know what if anything is missing.”

      Shoving her hands into her slacks pockets, Tate looked up at the ceiling, praying for patience. Why had she been naive enough to think this conversation would end her involvement? “I want to stay with Maggie for a while yet. I can meet you at the house about four.” She turned, anxious to walk away from his scrutinizing gaze.

      “That’s fine.” He knew his next statement would probably rock her, but she had to be told sooner or later. “And I’ll want to talk with your son.”

      Frowning, she swung back. “Why?”

      “The first officer to arrive on the scene wrote in his report that Maggie told him that the man in the ski mask kept asking where Josh was. Would you happen to know why that would be?”

      The blood drained from Tate’s face as she reached a hand to the arched wall to steady herself. No, please, no. It couldn’t be starting all over again, just when things had settled down. How long must she keep running?

      Her protective instincts on red alert, Tate straightened and licked her dry lips, trying belatedly to conceal her reaction from this observant detective. “No, I don’t. Josh has known Maggie all his life. Seeing her hurt like this is very hard on him. I won’t have him interrogated.”

      Nick almost smiled, but knew that wouldn’t win him any points with this mama bear protecting her cub. “I seldom grill little boys. I’d simply like to talk with Josh. With you present, of course. There has to be a reason the intruder asked about Josh, and perhaps whatever that is will be the key to his identity. You do want us to catch the man who did this to Maggie, don’t you?”

      “Of course I do.” Her words were clipped, angry. Guilt and fear mingled with her need to safeguard her son. Tate felt torn and very tired. “Please understand, I need to shield my son. He’s been through a great deal in his short life.” With that, she turned and left the alcove, walking quickly back to Maggie’s room.

      Watching her go, Nick wondered what exactly Josh had been through to make his mother so protective, and where his absentee father was. He’d have to be careful, to go slowly in questioning both the boy and his mother. Someone had hurt Tate Monroe, hurt her badly. He hoped he could convince her that he was one of the good guys.

      After stopping at the precinct to make a few calls, Nick Bennett drove his Taurus out of the parking lot heading for Maggie’s house on Mesquite Drive. He was in one of his infrequent reflective moods.

      For as long as he could remember, Nick had wanted to be a cop like his uncle Paul, a homicide detective up in Phoenix, much to the dismay of his parents. His father, Anthony, who’d been a building contractor until his recent retirement, had wanted Nick to go into business with his two older brothers, Tony and Sam, who now owned and operated their lucrative construction firm. But, although Nick had spent his high school and college summers working for Bennett Construction, he knew he wasn’t cut out for that kind of work.

      It hadn’t been easy disappointing his family, especially his mother, who wasn’t happy about the dangerous side of his chosen profession. Ten years later, since he’d never had to fire his weapon in the line of duty and never been injured, Roseanne Bennett was relaxing. A little.

      The thing was, when a man came from a big, loving Italian background where family was the most important thing, going against their wishes made him feel like a rat abandoning ship. Fortunately they’d set aside their disappointment and these days, his dangerous work was rarely mentioned. Now, all he heard was their nagging about when was he going to get married and give them grandchildren like his two brothers and two sisters had. Always something, Nick thought, but with a smile.

      All this introspection had been brought about by his conversation with Tate Monroe. She was a woman alone raising a son and living with a widow who had no family left. Nick thought about the weekly dinners and holiday get-togethers at his parents’ big cluttered house, everyone talking at once, laughter and lots of good food, and he felt sorry for those who didn’t have that kind of camaraderie and unqualified acceptance.

      Which brought him back to wondering just exactly what it was that Josh Monroe had been through in his short life. Nick couldn’t imagine having children without his family’s moral support. Where was Tate’s family?

      Nick pulled up in front of Maggie’s sprawling white house at exactly four, but the only vehicle nearby was the police car belonging to the officer guarding the house since the front door lock had been broken. Mesquite Drive was a narrow street in an older neighborhood of mostly two-story frame homes painted a variety of colors and sporting wide front porches. A teenage boy rode by on a bicycle, balancing a friend on his handlebars, both staring at him. Across the street, an older woman pulling a grocery cart stopped to talk with a middle-aged man trimming his shrubs, their eyes on him. Next door, a man with white hair put down the newspaper he was reading and eyed him, openly curious. Crime scenes always interested people.

      Getting out, he wondered if Tate had calmed down or if she’d stand him up.

      The yellow crime scene tape was still in place. Nick stepped around it and greeted the officer sitting on a rocking chair on the wood porch painted a deep gray. “Hey, Bobby. How’s it going?”

      The young officer scrambled to his feet. “Pretty quiet, Nick. A few nosy neighbors gawking is all.”

      “I’m expecting one of the occupants