Trust No One Read online

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  Trust No One

  Barbara Phinney

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  Published by Silhouette Books

  America's Publisher of Contemporary Romance

  To my family, and to Lucie, a friend now gone.

  "You're still looking for someone to protect you."

  Hadn't he been listening to her? "I can protect myself. I've learned that much."

  He made a disbelieving noise. "Listen, sweetheart, don't mistake a bit of spunk for the ability to keep yourself safe."

  Anger roiled inside of her. Helen stalked across the few feet that separated them and grabbed his arm.

  "I'm not mistaken about anything. Besides, Nick Thorndike, you can't protect me, because you're too busy pushing away those who give a damn, just so they won't hurt you. You're too busy being an island and not getting involved with anyone."

  "Too late for that," he muttered. "I'm already involved."

  Dear Reader,

  Welcome to another fabulous month of the most exciting romance reading around. And what better way to begin than with a new TALL, DARK & DANGEROUS novel from New York Times bestselling author Suzanne Brockmann? Night Watch has it all: an irresistible U.S. Navy SEAL hero, intrigue and danger, and—of course—passionate romance. Grab this one fast, because it's going to fly off the shelves.

  Don't stop at just one, however. Not when you've got choices like Fathers and Other Strangers, reader favorite Karen Templeton's newest of THE MEN OF MAYES COUNTY. Or how about Dead Calm, the long-awaited new novel from multiple-award-winner Lindsay Longford? Not enough good news for you? Then check out new star Brenda Harlen's Some Kind of Hero, or Night Talk, from the always-popular Rebecca Daniels. Finally, try Trust No One, the debut novel from our newest find, Barbara Phinney.

  And, of course, we'll be back next month with more pulse-pounding romances, so be sure to join us then. Meanwhile…enjoy!

  Leslie J. Wainger

  Executive Editor

  BARBARA PHINNEY

  was born in England and raised in Canada. She has traveled throughout her life, exploring the various countries and cultures of the world. After she retired from the Canadian Armed Forces, where she had been a mechanic for seventeen years, Barbara wanted to do something different and decided to try her hand at romance writing. During a camping trip to New River Beach in New Brunswick, she fell in love with life on the beautiful Bay of Fundy, and she knew that was where Trust No One had to be set. She found it extremely satisfying to create a small town, down to its scenery and friendly local culture—and it scratched the travel itch.

  Barbara spends her weekdays writing, gardening and building her dream home with her husband. The rest of the time is spent with their fast-growing children, numerous relatives and a dozen silly but lovable chickens.

  Special thanks to Carol, Dorothy, Joy, Kate, Lina and Norah for all their help and encouragement. You gals are the best.

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Prologue

  The attraction struck Helen Eastman square in the chest with such force that she nearly reached out to grip Jamie for support.

  She caught herself in time. Heaven only knew how he would interpret such an action. Instead, she chose to smooth down the soft material of her evening dress, hoping the furtive touch would allay the impact of…

  …of her single glimpse of that man.

  Smoke blurred the crowded cigar bar a few feet ahead, its blue haze intensified by several well-dressed men enjoying long, ugly stogies. Abruptly, they closed ranks, obliterating her view of the man, and for once she was grateful that Jamie had so many acquaintances.

  "This way." Jamie took her arm. Their relationship wasn't serious, but he'd adopted the irritating habit of squeezing her elbow. She gritted her teeth and suppressed a shudder. She should say something, but now, heading into the party that was so important to him, wasn't the time to dislodge her arm and demand he not touch her.

  Helen flicked back her long hair and allowed Jamie to guide her over the threshold into the private salon of his most exclusive restaurant. He paused to speak with another couple lingering nearby.

  Her gaze drifted and she caught a glimpse of the man again. He stood across the room, not even looking her way, for Heaven's sake.

  And yet…

  Oh, mercy. The attraction walloped her again and she froze, uncertain of whether she should laugh or cry or give into the insane desire coursing through her.

  No. No way. She swallowed, unable to thrust off the sudden, ridiculous image of the man pressing his long frame down on her, all too easily coaxing out a heady response….

  With a hard clamp of her jaw, she forced herself to look at the couple facing her, a tight smile superglued to her face.

  Jamie still gripped her elbow, his fingers digging into the bone. Oh, how she'd love to tell him to let go. But the request would imply he'd made a mistake and from the few times they'd dated, she knew he didn't like mistakes.

  Blinking away the acrid smoke, she scanned the room. She'd seen some of Jamie's guests before, here or there, but not the man who'd sent her senses reeling out of control, while still several yards away.

  She tried to clear her throat, but the effort was futile with it so tight and dry. When the small clique of cigar-puffing men broke toward the bar for refills of their whiskeys, she stole another glance across the room. At the man who still nursed a bottle of imported beer. Jamie's favorite kind, she noticed. The one with the green label.

  He began to turn toward her and she snapped her attention back to Jamie so quickly that her long hair swung out and slapped her face.

  She hadn't given a total stranger a second look in a long time. Unlike the other women here, she wagered. Indeed, the cigar-smoking woman in front of her had stolen her own share of lustful looks at the man.

  With his image seared into Helen's mind, she replayed it again. Taller and more muscular than Jamie, he possessed an edge of danger that made Jamie's own dark looks seem insipid.

  Good heavens, this attraction was insane. And risky, to say the least. If Jamie found out, he'd…

  What would he do? Even as she asked herself the question, something inside warned her not to test that water. Jamie had begun to show his jealous streak. Another reason to end whatever they had.

  Just as well. She didn't have relationships. She…she couldn't.

  And she didn't want one with Jamie, either. They didn't seem to have much in common, but the girls at work had encouraged her.

  Anyway, time to end it. She'd begun to see behind the charming mask to his unpleasant and controlling personality.

  How good it would feel to walk out on him tonight, but it wouldn't suit Jamie, she realized with a wash of apprehension.

  This time she managed to clear the smoke from her dry throat.

  "What's wrong?" Jamie asked.

  "Nothing." She lifted her eyebrows to convey some sense of nonchalance. "It's smoky in here."

  Jamie scanned the crowd, raising his hand once to wave hello to someone in the far left corner. Then his gaze settled on the man she couldn't look at anymore and a smile spread across his plain features. "Come, Helen, I want you to meet someone."

  Panic flared in her chest. "W-who?"

  "Nick Thorndike." Jamie's smile turned sly. Over the course of the past few dates, she'
d noticed the look several times and disliked it. But tonight it offered comfort compared to the thought of extending her hand to that dark-haired devil across the room. If a mere look at him could plunge her into uncharacteristic longing, how would she handle his handshake? Would the heat of her attraction spill into his open palm?

  Would he see the desire in her eyes?

  "Nick's a cop." Jamie's thick growl scraped into her ear and she fought the urge to lean away. "But he got tired of drawing mediocre pay. Look at him, sweetheart. A real-life bad-boy cop searching for a piece of the action." He chuckled and Helen caught a disagreeable whiff of the single malt whiskey he'd just finished. "And you want to know something? He's not the only one."

  The air grew thick and choking. She wanted to gasp out loud for a decent, clean breath. Instead, she ground the slim point of her sandal heel into the burgundy carpet and faced Jamie. "I'm sorry, but this smoke is murder. I've had a headache all day. Would you mind taking me home?"

  Jamie's brows knitted together for a moment and a cold panic crested inside of her. He'd just as likely refuse her, as he would relent.

  She held her breath. Then he smiled that condescending smile of his. The one that grated on her nerves. For a brief second, she weighed the risks of telling him she no longer wanted to date him. But again, this wasn't the place.

  Finally, he shrugged. "All right. I'll introduce you to him another time."

  She practically fled through the door to the main salon of the restaurant, ignoring the curious stares of the other guests. In that relieved minute, she didn't care what Jamie Cooms or anyone else thought of her.

  Outside, fog from the harbor slid in, chilling her enough for her to draw up the wrap that matched her only long gown. After Jamie unlocked his car, she sank into the seat, lowered her eyelids and drew in a deep, pacifying breath of damp air to compose herself.

  So that was Nick, the bad-boy cop. For weeks, Jamie had hinted about his newest pal, disclosing only the man's first name.

  Until tonight.

  When she'd taken one look at him and nearly melted.

  Oh, yes, she'd been wise to leave. She didn't need to meet Nick Thorndike, the handsome, dangerous police officer who wanted "a piece of the action."

  It was almost as if Jamie was into something shady, the way he talked about Nick Thorndike.

  Why hadn't she realized this before?

  Because Jamie rarely took her to meet his friends, that's why. And since she hadn't considered their relationship serious, she hadn't bothered to look for anything beyond the norm. Anything shady.

  She watched Jamie settle behind the steering wheel, wondering again why he had asked her out in the first place. Had he been using her for something other than a casual escort? If so, what could it be?

  She shivered, her suspicions settling over her like a wet, woolen coat. Was Jamie Cooms not doing things by the book? And what kind of action would a dirty cop want a piece of? She didn't really know Jamie, or any of his many businesses, be they warehouses or restaurants, though the girls at work had said such details weren't important.

  Evenings with Jamie were just dates. And hadn't her past gut instincts about men been wrong?

  The ache in her head intensified, and she blinked watery eyes to dispel that former humiliation.

  The wipers slashed across the windshield, removing the night's mist. Forget him. And forget this whole evening. His activities were no concern of hers, and she'd soon be clear of him.

  Without a backward glance to the restaurant, she buckled the seat belt inside Jamie's expensive import. All things considered, she should forget Jamie and his suspicious activities.

  And stay away from Nick Thorndike.

  Far, far away.

  Chapter 1

  Suspended.

  The word had threatened to surface between him and his chief throughout Nick's not-quite-regulation role in the undercover investigation, but now that Chief Dennis Hunt had said it—and enforced it—the word damn well hurt.

  Suspended. Nick slapped the steering wheel of his sport utility vehicle and gunned it out of the police parking lot. Within minutes, he was halfway home.

  Everything in Lower Cove, New Brunswick, was only minutes away, including the city of Saint John, where he'd been part of a drug investigation. The investigation had been running as expected until a body washed onto the shore of the Bay of Fundy, just inside Lower Cove's jurisdiction.

  Bile collected in his stomach. He hit the power window button to let the cool, autumn air fill his lungs, hoping to prevent the memory of the unzipped body bag from resurfacing.

  It didn't work.

  The deceased had been identified as Tony DiPetri. His murder had all the earmarks of Nick's chief suspect, Jamie Cooms. The victim had also been Cooms's best friend for years, or so the fool must have believed.

  DiPetri had been last seen alive in Cooms's office, with Nick standing next to the unlucky man less than an hour before his death. Just him, the victim and Cooms.

  Nick automatically flexed his fingers, trying to work a cramp out of the swollen knuckles. He'd done more than just stand beside the man.

  Now he waited for the autopsy report to exonerate him….

  No. He wouldn't worry about clearing his name, not when Tony DiPetri's murderer roamed free.

  When the chief had called him in for an update, he'd had to explain all the nauseating, illegal crap he'd done. Lower Cove's police policy dictated that if a member was participating in a Joint Task Force with another police department, the member must obtain express permission from his police chief before jeopardizing any civilian's life.

  He sighed. All right, he'd roughed up DiPetri only an hour before the murder, simply to show Cooms how tough he could be. After all, his cover was that of a disillusioned police officer looking to pad his pension. As far as Cooms was concerned, he'd do anything for money, even "straighten out" a guy who suddenly had cold feet.

  He muttered another curse. He'd assaulted a civilian, a guy who might have been ready to spill his guts to the police.

  Hell, he couldn't water down his explanation to a simple assault. It was aggravated assault, plain and simple.

  As a result, the chief had no choice but to suspend him.

  Nick had argued back, anyway. "Come on, Chief. I hardly had time to call for permission."

  The chief shook his head. "You know the rules. And you can't keep breaking them."

  "But I'm close. Cooms is responsible. Not just for DiPetri's death, but for every gram of narcotics in Saint John."

  He wanted to add a word about the corruption he suspected, but Chief Hunt curled his lip. "Yeah, well, I'm responsible for this police force, Thorndike. I don't want to even think what the mayor would say if he found out I'd covered your ass when you broke one of his pet regulations. Hand 'em over." He'd held out his hand.

  Stone-faced, Nick had relinquished his weapon and badge. Then, without a backward glance, he'd stormed out of the office.

  Now, fifteen minutes later, Nick turned down a secondary highway, a chip-sealed road worn down to the gravel in spots. What was he supposed to do while the rest of Lower Cove's police officers investigated him? They were already short-handed and hardly inclined to investigate one of their own.

  Besides, the Saint John Police Department had accepted the risks involved with the undercover operation. Why couldn't this police force? Every law enforcement agency in New Brunswick wanted suspected drug dealer and money launderer Jamie Cooms behind bars. They knew the price that had to be paid.

  He rotated his tight shoulders. And how were Lower Cove's finest going to investigate him, anyway? Ask Cooms what happened?

  He should be on duty, working the investigation, not twiddling his thumbs at home. He'd been close to securing the overwhelming evidence against Cooms, despite the misgivings of his chief and some of the officers with the Major Crimes Unit of the Saint John Police Department. Not just for the illegal drug trade, but for corruption somewhere high in th
e ranks of the city's officials—maybe even a cop or two. Nick had insinuated himself in close to Cooms. He knew the mealy-mouthed bastard better than anyone in either police department. And he could have had the guy for DiPetri's murder and for trafficking. For everything. It would have been a piece of cake.

  Until his suspension, that is.

  He turned his SUV at the next right. The black spruce trees, stunted by poor soil and a constant Bay of Fundy wind, clung to the rocky ground, obscuring his narrow driveway. He bumped over the potholes left by the spring rains. Finally, home.

  A simple two-story log house, built years ago by his uncle and willed to him by his childless, widowed aunt, his home stood stark and cold along the tiny cove. A short stretch of sand smoothed the landscape between two high, wooded cliffs, but there wasn't enough beach to lure other potential homeowners, a fact for which he was grateful.

  For a moment, he remained in his vehicle and watched the nearly full tide batter the cove. A nasty fall storm loomed to the west, something left over from the last hurricane that had skirted the eastern seaboard of the United States. Until now, he'd been too busy pandering to Jamie Cooms to catch the latest news and weather reports.

  After the storm, he'd have to fix those rickety stairs leading down to the beach. Being suspended, he now had the time.

  Yep, nothing to do really meant nothing to do in Lower Cove. But the town was good to live in, even boasting its own police force when other towns around the province had bowed to fiscal pressure and hired the Royal Canadian Mounted Police. Lower Cove had its own six officers.

  Make that five.

  He climbed out of his SUV, wondering with a bone-weary sigh if his partner, Mark Rowlands, would be willing and able to salvage Nick's part in the investigation. Mark hadn't met Cooms, though some of the undercover officers had. How would they explain his sudden disappearance?

  Should have thought about that before. Nick hadn't kept Mark up to date. If his partner was smart, he'd let Saint John handle the investigation and slip back into an easy routine of cruising the quiet streets of Lower Cove.