by Elle Kennedy
Another silence dragged between them, until Elaine finally made a desperate, strangled sound and whispered, “I’m not a survivor, Sam. I’m a victim. I’ll never be anything else.”
“Don’t say that! Elaine, please, you need to know that you’ll get through this. You’ll—”
The assurances fell on deaf ears. Elaine had already hung up.
Sam clutched the phone between trembling fingers. She wanted to run downstairs and force Blake to take her to that safe house. She wanted to pull that sad, suffering girl into her arms and make the pain go away. But she couldn’t. Blake wasn’t about to drive her to Indiana, and she knew Elaine wouldn’t accept the offer of comfort anyway. For Elaine, comfort would come later. Comfort would come the morning she opened her eyes and didn’t remember what happened to her, the day she looked into the mirror and didn’t see a multitude of scars branded into her body.
The tears finally started to fall, streaming down her cheeks until her eyes felt swollen and her skin was raw. She yearned to go downstairs and find warmth and solace in Blake’s arms, but tonight it had become clear that he wasn’t emotionally available to her. A part of her would forever be grateful to him, for helping her reclaim her womanhood, for showing her that a man’s touch could evoke something other than fear inside her. But a physical connection wasn’t enough for her.
She wanted all the things she’d almost lost because of the attack. Love. Passion. Companionship. Family.
Blake couldn’t give her that.
No, Blake wouldn’t give her that.
And as devastating as it was, better he’d told her sooner than later. Better he’d told her before she did something foolish.
Like fall in love with him.
“I made some coffee,” Blake said when Sam walked into the kitchen the next morning. Even to his own ears his voice sounded overly cheerful, as if a friendly tone and a pleasant smile could erase what had happened between them last night.
“Thanks.” She didn’t return the smile. Just rounded the counter and poured herself some coffee.
She wore a black turtleneck that hugged her full breasts and a pair of tight black jeans that made her long legs seem endless. The all-black getup made her appear incredibly sophisticated. With it she looked like she belonged on a sidewalk in Manhattan, with a steaming Starbucks cup in a gloved hand as she swayed those sexy hips over to a modeling session. Hands down she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever laid eyes on, and the sight of her, distant gray eyes and all, sent doubt spiraling through him.
The words he’d said to her yesterday circled his brain like a hungry turkey vulture and made him crazy with uncertainty. It was for the best, wasn’t it? Telling Sam their affair would have to end was something that needed to be done. And he’d meant what he said. She deserved far more than he could give her.
However, that didn’t stop his chest from feeling like it had been scraped raw, or his throat from clogging when he looked at her achingly gorgeous face and stared at those lush lips he wanted more than anything to kiss.
She’d slept in the guest room last night. He knew it shouldn’t bother him, but it did. He wished they’d shared the same bed, wished he could’ve made love to her again and held her as she’d slept.
What he wished the most was that he could give her the life she deserved, the life she’d earned.
But he couldn’t. He had no plans to quit his job, and even if he were willing to allow Sam to live with the risks his career posed, he hadn’t been lying when he told her he didn’t feel whole. He’d taken the Rose Killer case to make him forget about Kate’s death, but he hadn’t forgotten. It wasn’t fair to force Sam to share that burden with him. Letting go of the guilt was something he needed to do alone.
“So what’s on the agenda for today?” Sam asked, her tone both cool and controlled. “Do you have that task force meeting to go to?”
He nodded. “Fantana’s team has been working overtime to follow up on the possible florist link. I haven’t heard from Rick, but I’m hoping they made some headway.”
On cue, his cell phone began to chirp.
Sam raised a brow. “Maybe they have.”
He flipped open the phone, saw Rick’s number on the screen, and answered. “Please tell me we’ve got a lead.”
Rick’s pause was so brief nobody else would’ve read anything into it, but Blake knew his partner well and that tiny pause immediately caused his features to strain. “What’s going on?”
Rick spoke.
Blake listened.
He felt the blood slowly drain out of his face, knew his complexion must have gone pale, and he quickly turned away so Sam wouldn’t see it.
He didn’t turn fast enough. The second he hung up the phone Sam was in front of him, coffee abandoned, expression creased with worry. “What happened?” she demanded.
He fought the nausea. Swallowed against it. Inhaled deeply.
He didn’t have to tell her. Looking at her concerned face, he knew he could spare her from this. Shrug it off, assure her all was well in the world, and allow her to continue healing without the added burden. How many more burdens would she able to carry? He’d seen how the flower delivery had shaken her up, and this…Christ, this would send her tumbling right over the edge.
She didn’t need to hear it. It didn’t affect her. It didn’t have to affect her.
It affects her, you insensitive ass!
He almost keeled over at the sound of Kate’s voice in his head.
He tried to shut out the unwelcome intrusion. He couldn’t think about Kate right now. He couldn’t listen to her reprimand him from the goddamn grave.
And yet his conscience refused to let him ignore—both Kate and the truth he was considering withholding from Sam. Because Kate was right. What Rick had just told him affected Sam and he would be buying a one-way ticket to hell if he kept it from her.
“Blake…you’re scaring me,” she murmured.
He raked his fingers through his hair and took another breath. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to scare you. Sam…” Another breath. The oxygen burned right down to his lungs. “Elaine Woodman killed herself.”
Chapter 12
The world promptly crumbled beneath Sam’s feet. She staggered forward, right into Blake’s solid chest, right into a pair of warm arms that instantly wrapped around her and pulled her close. He was saying something to her, but the words were muffled by the dull roar of her pulse in her ears.
“Is this a joke?” She pressed her palms to his chest and pushed him away. Then she was stumbling backward, edging toward the doorway as if running would make it all go away. “Is this some kind of sick, insensitive joke?”
He shook his head.
She shook her head right back. “No. No. You’re lying.”
Pain filled his amber-colored eyes. “I’m sorry, Sam. Rick just heard from Mel. She was staying with Elaine at the safe house, and she—” His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “She found her about twenty minutes ago.”
“She’s lying.” The vehemence in her tone terrified her. Did that shrill, enraged voice belong to her? “Elaine would never do that. She wouldn’t kill herself. She’s twenty-three years old, for God’s sake! And she…she…”
It suddenly became increasingly difficult to breathe. Her heart was pounding so hard her ribs were beginning to hurt, her chest felt like it would cave in any second, and her eyes were stinging so badly she couldn’t even see Blake anymore.
She could hear him, though. And God, how she wished she could shut out that calm, almost mechanical voice he was using.
“Melanie found her in the bedroom. She used a telephone cord to…to hang herself.” Now he was cool and efficient. “She left a note.”
Sam stared at him, horrified. Wanting to slap that professional expression off his face, but her hands were shaking so wildly she couldn’t even lift them to wipe the tears that poured down her cheeks. So instead of hitting him, she exploded.
“What is the
matter with you?” She gasped for air. “How can you just stand there like a robot and tell me Elaine hanged herself like you’re reciting a passage from a goddamn textbook? Do you even care that she’s dead? Do you?”
For a moment he looked stunned. Then a flash of fire erupted in his eyes. Every feature on his face tightened, his shoulders stiffened, his hands curled into fists.
“Of course I care,” he hissed out. “It tears me up inside knowing that innocent girl took her own life, that she was so goddamn traumatized by what that maniac did to her that she didn’t feel it was worth living. It tears me up.”
He finished with a ragged groan, and a wave of guilt slammed into her as she saw the pure anguish flashing on his face. Oh, God. Why had she said those hurtful things? She knew Blake wasn’t a robot, she knew how deeply he cared about the victims whose killer he was chasing.
“I’m sorry,” she managed to whisper. “I’m…sorry.”
He was by her side again in an instant. This time he didn’t draw her into his arms, but he did reach out and lace his fingers through hers. “I know how much this must hurt. I know you and Elaine connected and that you cared about her.”
She clamped her lips together to keep a sob from slipping out. Taking a long breath, she opened her mouth and said, “You said there was a note. What did it say?”
The hesitation on his face caused her to shrug her hand away. “It’s…not important,” he said roughly.
“Like hell it isn’t! What did it say, Blake?”
He was quiet for so long she thought he wasn’t going to answer. But then he opened his mouth and told her, and suddenly she wished he hadn’t.
Her throat squeezed. “Say it again,” she choked out.
“Sam—”
“Again.”
“The note said, ‘I’m not a survivor. I’m not strong like you.’” He hurried on. “It doesn’t mean she addressed it to you. It could have been written to anyone.”
Sick. She was going to be sick. Spinning on her heels, she tore out of the kitchen and stumbled into the small bathroom in the hall, where she dropped to her knees and emptied the guilt and horror from her stomach. And when there was nothing left, she just sat there and cried. Cried and cursed and cried some more until the guilt turned to anger and the anger to sheer rage.
She cleaned up, then left the bathroom. Blake was waiting for her in the hallway, his gaze concerned, but she didn’t see him. All she saw was the red haze of fury before her eyes.
“I’m going to kill him,” she whispered.
“Let’s go and sit down so we could talk about—”
“I don’t want to sit down! I’m going to kill that son of a bitch, Blake!” She released a shaky breath. “He did this to her. He did it, and I’m not going to rest until I watch him die.”
The concern on his face deepened, and she knew she must look and sound like a crazy person right now. Her face was stained with tears, her hair had fallen out of the loose bun she’d twisted it in and was now sticking to her cheeks and eyes. She’d never experienced wrath like this before—blinding, hot, all-consuming. Although she tried not to, she couldn’t stop picturing Elaine, how she must have looked when Melanie Barnes had found her, how hopeless and scared she must have felt when she decided to take her own life.
Had she done it right after they’d gotten off the phone last night? Or had she woken up this morning and known, just known, that she couldn’t keep going?
The answer to either of those questions didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except that the man who’d almost killed Sam had claimed another victim.
“Sam, you need to calm down,” Blake said softly. “I know this hurts, but—”
“But you’d prefer I bury the hurt deep inside?” she shot back. “That is your standard operating procedure, isn’t it?”
Shock filled his features, yet he didn’t argue. They both knew she was right, but being right didn’t make her feel one bit better. From the moment she’d met him, she’d sensed that Blake was closed off, that his unwavering control and the cool mask he liked to wear were his way of dealing with the pain in his life. She understood, because, hell, hadn’t she been doing the same thing these past six months? Putting on an indifferent front and pretending she wasn’t hurting anymore?
Well, she was sick of doing it, and she was sick of watching Blake pretend. How could he make love to her as if she were the only woman in the world who mattered and then tell her in that irritatingly professional voice that their relationship wouldn’t go any further?
God help her, but she wanted to be with this man, no matter how infuriating he could be and no matter how many times he tried convincing her that he wasn’t right for her. And maybe they were all wrong for each other, maybe this entire crazy situation was clouding her judgment, but at the moment she didn’t give a damn.
She was angry. At Blake. At Elaine. At the Rose Killer. And she wasn’t about to pretend to be anything but angry.
“You weren’t being fair last night,” she found herself bursting out.
Discomfort practically seeped from his pores. He raked one hand through his dark hair then rubbed his forehead. “Let’s not do this right now, Sam.”
“No, let’s.” She frowned. “You can’t just decide you don’t want me anymore and then expect me to smile and laugh and act like it doesn’t matter.”
“You think I don’t want you?” He laughed harshly. “God, Sam, I want you so bad it’s driving me crazy! I’ve been walking around hot for you from the day we met—and you think I don’t know how wrong that is? You’re a witness, and a victim—”
“I’m a woman!” she roared. Her cheeks burned with insult. “Deal with it, Blake, and quit hiding behind excuses and convoluted notions about me deserving better.” She took a calming breath. “You can’t tell me you don’t see what’s happening between us.”
His jaw tensed. “Sex. That’s what happened between us.”
She stared at him in disbelief. “You honestly believe that’s all it is?” When he didn’t answer, she curled her hands into fists and stalked past him, heading for the stairs. “You’re a son of a bitch, Blake Corwin.”
She’d only taken two steps when his warm hand grasped her arm. She spun around. From her perch on the staircase she was a good foot taller than he was and she looked down at him with daggers in her eyes.
“I’m sorry. Goddammit, you’re right, I didn’t mean it,” he squeezed out.
The pain flickering in his whiskey eyes was so visceral that her gaze softened, along with her body. A shaky breath rolled out of her chest and before she could second-guess herself she touched his jaw and gently trailed her fingers across it. “It’s okay,” she said with a sigh.
“No, it’s not.” He made a strangled sound and then his arms were wrapping around her. Her higher position offered a strange sense of power, as Blake nestled his face against her breasts, his silky brown hair tickling the bottom of her chin.
She ran her fingers through that gorgeous hair and breathed in the scent of his woodsy shampoo. Something inside her began to stir and the warmth spreading across her skin shocked the hell out of her. God, this wasn’t the time to want this.
“It’s more than sex for me,” he said, his warm breath fanning over her collarbone and sizzling right through the ribbed fabric of her turtleneck. “If it were, I wouldn’t be so damn terrified right now.”
He lifted his head and the kaleidoscope of emotions swirling in his eyes sucked the breath right out of her lungs. She saw his passion and desire, his admiration and respect, and God help her, she saw love. He might never say the words aloud, but she saw the love in his eyes, so naked and strong that she nearly keeled over from the force of it.
She knew he probably wouldn’t change his mind—he honestly believed that she deserved a life that couldn’t be threatened by him or his job—but at the moment it didn’t matter. Blake Corwin cared for her more than he was willing to admit, he loved her, and it was probably time to face the fac
t that she loved him, too.
“Sam?”
She blinked, found him looking up at her with those serious brown eyes. Wondered if he sensed—and understood—the current of emotions crackling between them.
“I care about you, you know,” he said thickly. He swallowed before continuing. “I care a lot. But everything I said last night still—”
She silenced him by placing her finger on his lips. “Please. Don’t say it again. Not now.”
His pained expression told her he wasn’t going to drop it, so this time she shut him up with a kiss.
She thought he would resist, but he surprised her. The urgency of his response fueled her own passion, and when he slipped his tongue into her mouth she let out a low moan and tangled her fingers in his hair.
Their mouths fused, tongues dueled. Heat speared her body, arousal thudded in her veins, and she was breathless when she finally broke the kiss and reached for the hem of her turtleneck.
“This probably isn’t a good idea,” he murmured huskily, but his eyes were devouring every inch of flesh she revealed.
“I don’t care,” she murmured back.
She pulled the shirt over her head and tossed it over the railing before fumbling with the button on her jeans. Then she was standing over him, wearing nothing but a silk baby-blue bra and white bikini panties.
Blake’s hot gaze swept over her skin and set it on fire. But he didn’t touch her.
“Please.” A pleading note to her voice. God, was he going to make her beg?
She didn’t have to because his hands were suddenly on her body and his tongue was sliding through her lips again. He moved one hand between her legs and she gasped, the provocative touch making her shake with need. With a soft groan, he pulled her down. Lying across the cool wooden stairs wasn’t the most comfortable position she would’ve chosen, but soon her surroundings faded away and all she could focus on was Blake.
His mouth and tongue were everywhere. On her lips. Her neck. Her breasts. He kissed a pebbled nipple through her bra but didn’t linger, just dragged his warm mouth down to her navel, circled her belly button with his tongue and then licked along her inner thigh. When he pressed his mouth to her panties she gave a wild cry that filled the brightly lit entrance.
