Silent Watch

by Elle Kennedy

  Turning around, Sam stared at the closed blinds over the window of Elaine’s room, wishing she could peer through them to get a look at the woman inside. She wanted to be prepared when she walked in, wanted to see Elaine’s face before she stirred up painful wounds.

  “Do you think she’ll talk to me?” she asked quietly.

  Rick looked grim. “Let’s hope so.”

  Taking a steadying breath, she reached for the door and slowly pushed it open.

  Darkness engulfed her, and it took a moment for her eyes to adjust. Her gaze was drawn to the bed in the center of the room. Elaine Woodman lay there, a thin sheet pulled all the way up to her chin, her eyes closed. The way Elaine’s honey-brown hair fanned across the stark white pillow made her look like a sleeping angel. Like nothing more than a pretty young woman dozing in her bed.

  A voice suddenly ripped through the darkness. “Who are you?”

  Sam took a step closer and found a pair of sharp green eyes zeroing in on her. Wary. Fearful. The slice of moonlight filtering in through the filmy curtains made those eyes appear larger, brighter, a vivid emerald tint that gave them a catlike quality.

  “Did I wake you?” Sam asked, stepping toward the bed.

  Elaine reached out and grasped the top of the sheet tighter, pulling it higher, and that’s when Sam noticed the bandages on her slender wrists. Almost unconsciously, she glanced down at her own wrists, making out the jagged white scars even in the darkness.

  “Who are you?” Elaine repeated, sliding up into a sitting position. “What do you want?”

  The woman looked suspicious and terrified and reminded Sam so much of herself that she almost turned away. She’d been mistrustful of anyone who’d come into her hospital room, too, wondering if they wanted yet another statement, wishing they would let her lick her wounds in peace.

  Knowing she was walking on eggshells, she simply stood next to the bed and offered a gentle smile. “My name is Samantha Dawson. You can call me Sam, though.”

  A flicker of recognition. “Do I know you?” Elaine sounded uncertain.

  “No, we’ve never met. But if my name sounds familiar to you, it might be because you’ve heard it before. It probably came up when the detectives spoke to you.”

  Elaine went still, then broke the short silence with a sharp intake of breath. “You’re…dead.” Her pale face grew even paler. “Oh, Jesus, are you a ghost?”

  Sam had to chuckle at that. With a smile, she sank onto the small metal chair next to the bed. “No, I can assure you that I’m not a ghost. See?” She reached out and lightly touched Elaine’s upper arm, not surprised when the young woman recoiled. Pulling her hand back, she fought to keep the smile on her lips. “Flesh and blood, just like you.”

  “He attacked you, too,” Elaine said bleakly. She wrapped her arms around her chest. “But you survived? Like me?”

  “Yes. The police sent me into hiding after I left the hospital.”

  “So why are you here? Aren’t you scared that…”

  Elaine didn’t finish her sentence, but Sam knew what she’d been going to say. Aren’t you scared that he’ll come after you again?

  Her heart squeezed. Elaine’s voice sounded so forlorn, so tortured. The voice of a woman who’d been hurt badly, whose youthful vitality had been sucked out of her. Sam knew the girl was twenty-three, but her tiny body, barely taking up any space on that narrow bed, made her appear younger, more vulnerable. The last thing Sam wanted to do was hurt this girl any more than she’d already been hurt.

  Yet she didn’t have a choice.

  “Rick Scott and his partner asked me to come see you. You met them, right?”

  Elaine nodded.

  “Well, they thought I might be able to help you.”

  The girl’s mouth twisted in self-loathing. “Nobody can help me.”

  Sam swallowed hard and raked her fingers through her hair, finding its texture different and remembering that she was wearing a wig.

  “That’s what I thought,” she finally responded, “when I was lying here, in this same hospital, with those same bandages on my wrists. I thought my life was over. I didn’t want to talk to anyone about what happened.”

  When Elaine remained quiet, she went on. “It’s a terrible feeling, isn’t it? Helplessness. Hopelessness.”

  Those big green circles penetrated her face. “You forgot fear.”

  “Trust me, I didn’t forget.”

  “You’re still scared?” The sheet covering Elaine’s chest drooped as she leaned forward slightly, revealing another bandage, a bigger one, on her neck.

  Sam knew exactly what lay beneath that gauze, but she forced herself to stay focused. “Yes, I’m still scared. The FBI has been keeping me hidden, but—” she took a breath “—I don’t feel safe.”

  “Me, either,” Elaine murmured. Her eyes grew glassy, and Sam knew she was on the verge of tears. “I’m leaving the hospital soon. Or at least, Kira Lawford is. I don’t know where they’re taking me.”

  “They’re trying to protect you.”

  “By showing up here every day and trying to force me to talk to them?” Sarcasm laced her tone. “It doesn’t feel like protection. More like pressure.”

  “I know.”

  “Did you enjoy it? Sitting there and spilling your guts, while some unfeeling cop took notes?”

  “No, I didn’t.” She leaned forward and touched Elaine’s hand. This time, the girl didn’t pull away. “I hated it. I hated all of them. Except Annette Hanson. She was a cop, the only cop who was patient with me, who didn’t force me to talk, didn’t force me to do anything. She relocated to Indiana a few months ago, which is a shame. You would’ve liked her. It was Annette I finally confided in.”

  Elaine watched her knowingly. “And now I’m supposed to confide in you?”

  “If you want.” Sam squeezed her hand reassuringly. “You don’t have to. If you want, we can talk about something else, just visit a little.”

  “You won’t push me?”

  “Of course not.”

  At that instant Sam knew without a doubt that Blake was not going to like this. Funny how she wasn’t worried about Rick Scott’s reaction, just Blake’s.

  Blake would’ve wanted her to push Elaine. Not because he was one of those “unfeeling” cops Elaine had described, but because Sam knew he’d wanted this to be a onetime deal. The plan had called for her to see Elaine tonight, try to get her to open up, and go back to Wellstock. Whether she succeeded or failed in getting through to Elaine didn’t matter. She couldn’t risk being recognized, and that meant one visit and one visit only.

  But Sam wouldn’t—she couldn’t—leave it at that. The young girl sitting in front of her deserved better than that.

  “I can come back to visit you as many times as you’d like,” she said softly, trying not to think of Blake as she spoke. “I’m not here just because the police suggested I come, but because I think talking to me might help you. I understand what you’re going through. I went through it. And I just want to help, that’s all. No pressure.”

  Worry creased the girl’s features. “Won’t that be dangerous? For you, I mean? He—” Her voice cracked. “He thinks you’re dead. He thinks we’re dead.”

  “Are you worried that he’ll come after you?”

  A single tear slipped from one of those emerald eyes and slid down Elaine’s pale cheek. “I haven’t slept since it happened. I never stop thinking that he might come back to finish the job.”

  Sam’s throat tightened as she saw Elaine’s gaze drop to her wrists, and before she could analyze her motives, she shoved out her hands, displaying her own scars.

  “He won’t finish the job,” she said firmly. “See these? He did the same thing to me, and look, they’re healing, fading. Yours will, too. I promise you, that bastard will never hurt you again. Never.”

  It was nearly midnight when Blake returned home. He’d driven back in his SUV, following Rick’s dark sedan and wondering if Sam had manage
d to get any details from Elaine Woodman.

  Not only had spending the evening watching the hospital entrance been uneventful, but it had been nerve-wracking as well. The paparazzi, merciless as usual, had snapped shots of anyone and everyone going in and out, hoping to land a scoop in the celebrity pregnancy story. Normally, Blake despised the media, but tonight all he’d cared about was making sure Sam’s visit went unnoticed. Since Rick had called and informed him that everything had gone as planned, Blake wasn’t worried any longer.

  He was desperate as hell, though, to know what had transpired between Sam and Elaine. He prayed to God that she’d gotten through to her. Rick hadn’t said a word about the visit, so Blake, during the entire drive home, was left to wonder.

  He pulled into his driveway just in time to see Rick ushering Sam into the house. It had snowed again, and a light layer of powder covered the front lawn, which Blake trudged through on his way to the door. Inside, he found Sam sitting on the living room couch, gray eyes distant and face expressionless.

  “Well, what did she tell you?” he burst out, his boots bringing a pile of snow onto the thick carpet. He didn’t care about the wet stains beneath his feet. All he cared about was getting a break in this damn case.

  “Nothing.” Sam’s voice sounded hollow, devoid of any emotion. She’d removed the glasses and wig, and though her natural honey-brown hair fell down her shoulders in loose waves, the makeup altering her features made her look like a stranger.

  “She wouldn’t talk?” Disappointment erupted in his chest.

  “She wouldn’t be pressured,” Sam corrected.

  Their gazes collided, and for one brief second, he saw defiance in those gray circles. Almost as if she viewed him as the enemy now.

  “Gentle coaxing and pressure are two different things,” he pointed out, sitting on an armchair and removing his boots. He stood, then bit back a curse when his sock connected with the wet snow he’d brought in. Great.

  “She needs time,” Sam returned.

  “We don’t have time. This guy could be grabbing another woman as we speak. We have no clue what triggers him, why he decides to go out and commit murder.”

  Sam remained firm. “She’s not ready to talk about what happened. She needs to trust me first.”

  The implication settled in the pit of Blake’s stomach like a fifty-pound weight.

  “Forget it,” he said flatly. “You’re not going back.”

  Sam stood up and marched past him, stealing through the doorway and heading for the stairs. “I’m seeing her again tomorrow,” she called over her shoulder.

  A shot of anger rocketed through him. He stormed after her, intercepting her before she could climb the first step. With his arms crossed over his chest, he shot her a menacing look. “I won’t allow it.”

  “You don’t have any say in this, Blake.”

  It was the first time she’d said his name out loud, and the way it slipped from her lush mouth sent another shock wave through him. Desire this time, and it went straight to his groin.

  “The hell I don’t,” he shot back, ignoring his arousal.

  Her eyes, empty before, now flashed with unrestrained rebellion. “She needs me. I’m going back. End of story.”

  “For Christ’s sake, are you looking to get yourself killed? Wasn’t one near-death experience enough for you?”

  Her jaw hardened. Shoving him aside, she charged up the stairs and disappeared into the second-floor hallway. A few seconds later, a door slammed.

  “Real tactful.” Rick’s dry voice broke the silence.

  Blake turned to face his partner, who’d appeared in the doorway. “She can’t go back there.”

  “She shouldn’t,” Rick corrected. He shook his head. “But she can if she chooses to. And after your superb way of handling that, I’m guessing she will.”

  Frustration boiled inside him, swirling in his stomach like a cluster of hornets until he clenched his fists to control himself. Goddamn it. It had been enough of a risk bringing Sam back to Chicago, taking her to a public place where anyone—including the killer—might recognize her. But letting her stay? Even for another hour, another day? That was a much bigger risk.

  Blake shook his head. The damn file had never said how stubborn this woman was. Or fiery. Or shockingly sexy when she was angry. He’d always liked sassy women, the ones who never backed down from a challenge and didn’t mind throwing a few challenges of their own.

  Kate had been like that—stubborn, determined, so much so that she’d convinced him to take her to the warehouse that night. The night she’d been killed.

  A vise of pain swiftly tightened over his chest.

  Well, this time he would be the stubborn one. This situation didn’t allow room for challenges. Or mistakes. Or putting the life of a woman he was really starting to like in danger.

  “I’ll call Knight. Maybe he can talk some sense into her, try and stop her,” Blake muttered.

  Rick snorted. “I doubt even a bulldozer could stop her.”

  Sam paced the small bedroom, fighting a losing battle in her mind. She wanted to call Beau. Wanted to hear her brother’s voice and have him tell her that she was making the right decision by staying. Wanted to forget Blake’s harsh comment and assure herself that Elaine Woodman needed her.

  Calling Beau, however, wouldn’t help any. He’d only tell her the FBI agent was right and she should leave the city. And forgetting Blake’s remark wouldn’t work, either, considering that she was well aware of the danger she’d be putting herself in if she stayed.

  But could she really go? When she’d left Elaine’s room earlier, she’d known in her heart that she couldn’t possibly turn tail and run without getting through to the girl. Elaine was scarred. Physically. Emotionally. She’d told Sam she didn’t have any family, just a mother who’d passed away years before and a father who’d run out on them long before. The loneliness in the girl’s voice had struck a chord of sorrow in her. She couldn’t let Elaine lie there in that bed day in and day out, couldn’t let her drown in the pain, lose herself in anguished memories.

  To hell with Blake and the FBI. She needed to do this. For the first time in months, she actually felt useful. Needed. She was tired of hiding away in that empty farmhouse, carrying around a shotgun and bursting into tears at any unfamiliar sound. What kind of life was that? What did that say about her? That she was a coward instead of a fighter?

  She should’ve come back here a long time ago. Declined the new identity the FBI had given her, let the man who’d attacked her know she was alive and dared him to come find her. But she hadn’t been strong enough then. The wounds had been too fresh.

  She reached into her overnight bag for the T-shirt she’d brought to sleep in. She wasn’t hiding anymore.

  With the determined set of her jaw, she changed into her nightshirt and headed for the bathroom to wash the makeup from her face and brush her teeth. It wasn’t until she’d slid under the soft covers that she realized she hadn’t eaten a thing since leaving Wellstock this afternoon. Somehow, the hunger had gone unnoticed all night. Seeing Elaine had been too big a distraction, but her growling stomach refused to be ignored any longer.

  Sighing, she got out of bed and rolled a pair of heavy wool socks onto her bare feet. Then she left the room and headed downstairs, wondering if Blake was still awake.

  “Hungry?”

  Yep, he was awake. Sam nearly tripped over her own feet as she spotted him in the hall. He’d changed into a pair of black sweatpants and a snug black T-shirt, and in the dark clothing he blended into the shadows. Taking a step toward her, he offered a tentative smile.

  “Starved,” she finally admitted.

  He followed her into the kitchen and flicked on the light, bathing the large space in a yellow glow. Sam glanced at the black marble counter and shiny silver appliances, getting the impression that not much cooking went on in this room. The thin layer of dust on the stove confirmed her suspicions.

  “Have a seat
.” He gestured to one of the stools at the counter. “I’ll fix you something. Do you like roast beef?”

  “Yep.”

  Blake kept his back to her as he opened the fridge and pulled out various items. He walked over to the pantry and removed a loaf of bread, then, back still turned, began preparing her a sandwich.

  She was startled when he finally spoke. “I’m sorry about what I said.” Slowly, he turned to meet her gaze. Regret shone in his deep brown eyes.

  “It’s all right.”

  “No.” He took a breath. “I shouldn’t have made light of what you went through. So please accept my apology.”

  “Apology accepted.”

  With a nod, he returned his attention to preparing her food, and a few moments later dropped a plate holding a thick roast-beef sandwich in front of her. “Want a glass of milk?” he offered.

  “Sure.”

  He poured milk into a tall glass and handed it to her, then leaned against the sink as she ate. “Are you serious about visiting Elaine again?”

  She chewed slowly, seeing the worry on his face and wondering why she wanted so badly to reassure him. He was the one who was supposed to tell her that everything would be okay, not the other way around.

  “I have to,” she said after swallowing. “I…I connected with her, Blake. I only spoke to her for a half hour, but for some reason I feel as if I need to, I don’t know, help her.…” She searched for the right words. “Heal her.”

  She quickly polished off the rest of the sandwich and then gulped down her milk. Blake just watched as she rinsed off the plate and glass, and dried her hands with a flower-patterned dish towel. When she glanced over at him, his face had an unreadable expression that made her forehead wrinkle. Was he angry with her? He’d sure been pissed off earlier when she’d informed him that she wasn’t going anywhere, and yet you’d think he’d be happy about her decision. He’d been chasing this killer so long he had to be getting desperate, had to be anxious to catch him.