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If not, she had to keep it that way. Anyone looking for her would be looking for a woman with an eighteen-month-old boy. Not a woman wistfully watching a man with one.

And if he'd seen them together?

Then her walking off alone would at least throw him. Taylor was safe with Scott. Would be safest with him if something happened. She had to go. Separate herself from them. Be a woman on her own, unencumbered, unknown, spending a quiet Saturday alone in Coronado.

A brunette who'd lost twenty pounds in the past fifteen months wearing store-bought clothes and big plastic sunglasses.

Up the beach a couple of yards was a road access. Tricia took it, not once looking back. She didn't know that man and child, had never seen them before in her life. Leaving them was nothing to her.

God, let me escape before Taylor sees me. Calls out to me. Let me go before Scott notices….

She didn't breathe until she made it to the street—and then almost passed out with dizziness. She walked on. Half a mile. Maybe more. Unhurried, glancing at the flowering bushes, the palm trees lining the road. The resorts in the distance. Maybe she was on vacation. Or perhaps she was there on business.

Maybe her folks had a condo on Coronado Island.

Yeah, that was it. A condo. She could play that role.
Had
to play a role in her mind if she was to give the appearance of being someone else. A woman on the run looked like a woman on the run—a woman whose body was so filled with fear it hurt her muscles to move.

Tricia was a woman visiting her parents' condo. Appearances were everything. They had to be. Without them, she and Taylor would've been dead two years ago.

A car passed. A light-blue Toyota. Going too fast. Probably because a high-school-age boy was driving. He had a young girl in the passenger seat.

No sign of the man. She couldn't be sure he wasn't behind her, though. She didn't hear footsteps. Didn't see shadows.

Pulling her bag over her shoulder while she walked,
Tricia took out a tissue, dropping the pack in the gravel. Bending to pick it up, she looked back between her legs. And saw the dress slacks. He'd stopped, too. Was leaning against a lamppost, lighting up a cigarette. His hair was blond. And too long. He needed a shave. And he should lose about thirty pounds.

Mouth dry, Tricia was sweating beneath the sun as though it were midsummer rather than a balmy April day.

Scott and Taylor would have noticed her missing by now. Scott would be worried. She'd have to come up with something damn good to explain this. An urgent need for a bathroom might do it. Guys didn't usually ask questions when a woman needed to take care of personal matters.

The man was still there, facing in her direction.

If she had to, she could always meet up with Scott at the house later. He'd return there eventually. It would be better, though, if she could get to a phone and call his cell. He always had it with him in case of an emergency at the station. The bathroom excuse would be more credible if she called him.

If she had a chance. She was away from Taylor now. It might be the perfect time to get her. After all, she was the commodity; the baby had been unnecessary baggage.

She walked on. She could feel the man following behind her. Was he merely visiting relatives on the island? Stopping for a smoke because he had the time and nothing better to do? Still, she'd spent countless hours on
Coronado Beach since arriving in San Diego and she hadn't seen many vacationers there in dress slacks and shoes.

None that she could remember.

Maybe she was overreacting. It wouldn't be the first time since this nightmare had consumed what had once been a satisfying life.

And yet, what if she
didn't
react? What if she grew complacent, quit watching, quit taking action—and was found?

Tricia turned onto the next major street, strolling slowly—and watching. The possible price if she relaxed her vigilance was too high to pay.

She was a woman on vacation at her parents' condo. She'd go to her grave with that story if she had to. If it meant Taylor lived.

“H
i, it's me.”

“Trish? Oh, my God. Thank God.” He'd picked up his cell phone on the first ring. “Where are you? What happened? Are you okay?”

It was worse than she'd thought. He was more upset than she realized he'd be. After all, it wasn't as if they had any kind of commitment to each other. Or expectations. She was just a woman he'd picked up in a bar, slept with, shacked up with, no strings attached. She'd only been gone half an hour. And he had to have known she'd come back for Taylor.

Which meant he was just plain concerned.

And that wasn't good.

“I'm fine,” she said, her chest still tight with tension as she peered around her from the pay phone on the patio at the Coronado Del—one of the island's plushest resorts. Tricia's favorite, not that she had anyone in her life she could share that with.

“Where are you?” She could hear Taylor babbling
happily in the background. The baby's chatter made it easier to take the note of anger edging into Scott's voice.

“At the Hotel Del. My stomach was upset and I had to find a bathroom, fast.” Not at all sexy or glorious. But, as it turned out, the truth. And better yet, a truth that would work as a perfect cover now that the danger, if there'd been any, had apparently passed.

When she'd veered into the Del, the man who'd been behind her disappeared.

“I would've driven you!”

“I know, but Taylor was having so much fun and I didn't think it was this far.”

Lame. Too lame. Scott wasn't a stupid man.

“You're half a mile away!”

He was talking like a husband.

“I'm really sorry, Scott.” About so many things that were out of her control. “I thought there was a public restroom at the top of the road,” she lied, “but it was closed for renovation and by that time I figured it would be quicker to walk to the next place rather than turn around and go all the way back to you and then have to hike to the car. I had no idea it would take me this long to find a public restroom.”

Please don't let there be a sign for one on the road, making this an obvious lie.

Things were getting too difficult.

Scott's sigh was long and clearly distinguishable. She could hear her son babbling in the background.

“Mama?” She recognized the warning tone of impending upset in Taylor's baby sounds.

“She's right here, sport.” Scott's voice was kind, reassuring. “Okay.” The word was louder as he spoke into his phone. “I'm just glad you're safe.”

Turning her back to the pay phone, nestled into the half-booth along a wall on the edge of the courtyard, Tricia took one more glance around, just in case.

The stricture on her chest loosened a little more. “Yeah,” she said, “me, too.” And then added, “I'm really sorry.” More than he'd ever know.

“You don't need to apologize, love. I overreacted.” He sounded so sincere; he was accepting this so easily. “Is your stomach better?”

“Yeah.”

“Then walk out front. We're pulling up now. We missed you and want you back.”

Tricia had to blink back tears as she hung up the phone, avoiding the eyes of the guests she passed on her way through the resort. If she'd still been free to indulge in dreams, Scott would have been the star of every one of them.

 

Scott thought he'd had himself completely under control. He'd put the episode behind him. Was completely on board with the program. He and Tricia were ships passing in the night. So it was turning out to be a longer night than he'd figured, they were still just passing.

She owed him nothing. And he wanted nothing except the moments she was with him.

Lying in bed on Saturday night, staring at the shapes of moonlight and dark gray shadows on the ceiling, he willed himself to let it go.

God, it was hot. Kicking off the covers he lay there, nude and exposed. But it wasn't the physical exposure that had him feeling so raw.

Arms beneath his head, he closed his eyes. Told himself to rest, something eleven years on the department had taught him to do on command. He instantly saw a vision of Tricia—lying on the beach, bleeding. In the first run-through she'd been mugged. Her clothes were torn, that bag she'd sewn and been so proud of was gone, she was bruised, but otherwise all right. She heard Taylor call out to her and opened her eyes, focusing. A small smile spread over her face as she reached out a hand….

With Taylor on one hip, he bent to pull her up and suddenly it was scenario two. She was lying on the beach again, but it was hours later. Taylor was with Joe Valentine's wife—not that he'd ever been with a sitter, as Tricia was one of those moms who'd yet to trust her firstborn to anyone else's care.

Except for him.

Which said a lot.

Just as his heart started to settle, the vision was back. The guys were all out with him, looking for her, but he was the one who found her. Nude. Injured. Bleeding.

He couldn't stand the thought of someone doing that to her. Of her experiencing such degradation and pain. He started to cry.

Eyes open, Scott concentrated on the ceiling again. It was tangible. Real. And Tricia was breathing beside him.

He had to stop this. Had to care less. He just wasn't sure how to go about doing that.

Turning, he faced the closet several feet from the bed. The closet where her meager collection of clothes hung side by side with his uniform pants and dress shirts.

She was hiding something from him. He'd always known that. So why was it beginning to matter so much? Why
now?

Returning to his back, Scott's mind wandered over the past decade and a half. He'd experienced a lot of hell in those years. And was still standing. He was a survivor. He was—

“What's wrong?”

Her soft voice was both a blast of cold air and a warm soothing breeze. He needed her comfort—and she was intruding where he couldn't let her be.

“Nothing.”

“You're not sleeping.”

“Just hot.”

“Scott McCall, I've been in this bed with you when it was a hundred degrees outside and the air conditioner was broken and you were still asleep the minute your head hit the pillow.”

He turned his head, studying the shadows of her face in the moonlit night.

“When you moved in here, we promised no questions.”

She didn't look away. “I know. I'm sorry. I've just felt a distance in you all day and figured I'd make it easy on you.”

He frowned. “Make what easy on me?”

“You're getting ready to tell me it's time to end things. And I understand. You're probably right. I'll start looking for a place for Taylor and me in the morning.”

She could walk out on him just like that? If so, he'd made more of a mistake than he'd realized. He'd thought their enjoyment of each other, at least, was mutual. He'd thought that when they eventually parted it would be with regret on both sides.

“I'm really sorry about today,” she continued, licking her lips as though they were too dry. “I never should've run off and left you with Taylor, forcing you to be responsible for him.”

“You didn't force anything. As long as he's in my home, I
am
responsible for him. If nothing else, the law would hold me accountable. And that responsibility,” he added, staring back at the ceiling, “is of my own choosing.”

“Well…” Her voice was thick and she sounded as if she had something in her throat. “Thank you.”

Silence fell. A million things ran through his mind. Words to say. Warnings to himself. They were jumbled with emotions he didn't completely understand. She'd
fall asleep soon, and then he'd be free to work it all out. He didn't have to report until eight in the morning. He had hours yet.

When Tricia pulled the covers up to her shoulders and moments later, scratched her neck, Scott knew she wasn't any closer to falling asleep than he was.

“I wasn't planning to ask you to move out. I don't want you to.”

A reply might have made him feel better.

“Unless you need to, of course. In which case you have my full support and the use of my truck and any muscle you need to move Taylor's things.”

“I'm a free spirit, Scott.”

“I know.”

“If you have expectations I'm only going to disappoint you.”

“I don't.”

“I can't live my life always being a disappointment.”

“You aren't a disappointment.” Life was, maybe—the circumstances that had brought them together at this place and time, when neither of them was in a position to get involved.

“I can't stay if my being here hurts you.” Though their bodies were close, they weren't touching, separated by the covers. She hadn't moved. Neither had he.

“It's not your being here that hurts me.” He wasn't supposed to hurt at all anymore. His whole life was organized around that principle. It was a decision he'd made years ago. And upheld without fail.

“What does?”

The air return flipped on, blowing thinly across the bed, across his skin. Scott started to get hard. All he wanted was to pull the covers off Tricia's delicious body, roll over on top of her and just live.

He pulled the corner of the sheet over his thighs.

“I wouldn't call it hurt.”

She continued to stare in his direction. Did she see him more clearly in the dark, without the distraction of light and color?
Really
see him? Or did the darkness allow her to pretend?

“What, then?” she asked.

He might as well tell her. It wasn't like he had anything to lose. She was going to leave eventually anyway.

“I'm just curious,” he murmured.

“About what?”

“You.”

She rolled onto her back, her head facing up. “What about me?” Her voice had grown more friendly and that in itself rang as a warning to him.

“Your inconsistencies.”

“Such as?” He might have been responsible for some of the distance between them that evening. Right now, it all came from her.

“You speak as though this modest lifestyle is all you've ever known, but when you need to use the restroom, you go to the Hotel Del.”

“It was the closest—”

“No.” He turned his head, pinning her with his stare
although he knew she couldn't see that. “It wasn't. There was a motel five minutes down the road with a public restroom sign in the window. It's like you didn't even see it. Which would often be the case with someone who's grown up with only the best. Without even realizing it, you learn to disregard anything less as if it doesn't exist. Because in your reality, it doesn't.”

“Well, I—”

“It wasn't just that.” Scott cut her off as soon as he heard the prevarication in her voice. “It was the way you moved at the Del. You demanded your share of space, as though you belonged there.”

She rolled over to look at him. “I walked out the door!”

“If I hadn't lived an affluent life myself, I probably wouldn't have noticed, Trish, but today wasn't the only time. You get this…air about you. An air of privilege.”

She sat up until her head and shoulders were resting against the headboard. “So I'm a snob.”

“It's not a snobbish air. More, it's a sense of self. A natural awareness of worth. I think it's something bred into wealthy children. Something they take with them wherever they go. Sometimes it's as simple as the way you stand or the way you move about a room.”

“I had a persnickety aunt. She made me spend one summer at a camp where they taught tomboys to be ladies.”

He believed her. He also believed she'd been born wealthy.

“I told you about my past,” he said.

“I didn't ask you to.”

She had him there. Still, it bothered him that she didn't reciprocate. Was it pride?

He'd like to think so.

And feared not.

“You don't trust me.” Trust could be freely given—at least the kind of trust where you could tell someone your secret and know it would be safe.

“I don't trust anyone.”

He sat up, too, leaning against the headboard, taking the sheet with him. “It's pretty obvious someone's hurt you. Badly.” He was trespassing and knew it. The terror he'd felt that morning on the beach, when he'd known she was gone and had no idea where to begin searching, no idea if she was in danger or if she'd ever done anything like that before, drove him on.

“I'm guessing it had something to do with Taylor's biological father.”

Her silence gave him nothing. It could indicate agreement. Or a refusal to be drawn into a conversation she'd asked not to have.

“But that doesn't have anything to do with
me.
You've been here almost two years, Trish. I responded to your overtures of friendship in a bar, in spite of the fact that you were obviously pregnant and every other guy there was ignoring you. I brought you home and offered you a place to stay, no strings attached, no sex required. And when you let me know you wanted sex, that
you needed a new experience to replace the memory of the baby's conception, I was very careful. Hell, we birthed that baby together! I would think you'd know by now that you can trust me.”

When she turned her head, Scott could see the sheen of moisture in her eyes, reflected by a ray from the moon shining in the opposite window.

“It's not you I don't trust,” she whispered. “It's me. And because I can't trust myself, I can't trust anyone else.”

He didn't understand.

“I…made…choices. Bad ones. Really bad ones.”

Skin growing hot, Scott remained still. This was what he'd wanted, wasn't it? To know?

“They affected not only my life, but others as well, and I never saw it coming. I had so much confidence, so much blind trust in my ability to make good decisions, that I almost died. Worse, I could have caused someone else's death.”