“Th-three days—No, four days ago,” she whispered, her arms wrapping around her to control the shivering.
“Did this just start?
She shook her head. “No. I was feeling sick yesterday and the day before.”
“Terrific,” Jake muttered to himself. To her, he said, “You’re in for a bumpy ride, lady.”
She favored him with a cutting look and a smirk. “Thanks for the warning, officer.”
“Hang on to that sense of humor—you’re going to need it. You ever been on drugs before?”
“No.” Her eyes dared him to doubt her.
“The withdrawal will be worse than anything you felt while you were on the drugs. There will be this uncontrollable trembling,” he said, gesturing at her shaking hands. “Dizziness. Nausea. Blackouts, if you’re lucky. Maybe hallucinations. Probably some other stuff I’m forgetting.”
“Thanks for the pep talk,” she replied, struggling to sit up on the bed. “I’ve already had most of that. No blackouts until now.”
“Then you should know what you’re in for. You can’t quit cold turkey like that and expect no side effects.”
“I didn’t have a choice. Those damn pills made me crazy. I couldn’t think straight.” Sitting up, she cradled her head in her hands. “I still can’t think straight.”
“How did you stop taking the pills without anyone noticing?”
She shrugged. “They were too busy to watch me. I stuffed them in a hole in my mattress so the nurses wouldn’t find them.”
Jake shook his head in amazement She was one gutsy chick. “If you’re up to it, maybe you should take a shower. It might make you feel better.”
Sam stood with his help, swaying against him. From the stricken look on her face, he knew what was coming.
“I don’t feel so good,” she whispered, clutching her stomach.
Jake wasted no time in hustling her through the adjacent bathroom door. He flipped up the lid of the toilet and eased her to her knees. “Go ahead and get it over with.”
Her retching brought a sympathetic pang of nausea to Jake’s stomach. Pushing it back, he knelt beside her and pulled her hair away from her face. She clutched the edge of the commode, her knuckles white. When it was all over, she sat back on her heels and wiped the back of her hand across her mouth.
“Finished?”
She nodded, head bowed. “Thanks.” The whispered gratitude was more than he could take.
“Don’t thank me,” he said, standing and retreating to the bathroom door. “Just take a shower and get cleaned up. There’s probably something in Annie’s closet that will fit you. When you’re done, we’ll talk.” Cursing his softhearted foolishness, Jake fled the bedroom, the hounds of hell—or his past—hot on his heels.
Jake’s sister hadn’t left much behind in the closet. Most of what was there was two sizes too small Sam picked out an oversize denim shirt and a pair of faded jeans that looked like they might fit. The dresser had more to offer. Sam borrowed some athletic socks and a pair of panties, feeling a little weird about wearing someone else’s underwear. After everything she’d been through, it amazed her that something that insignificant would faze her.
The shower had been a blessing and she’d stood under the spray until the water turned cold. Her hair felt clean for the first time in weeks. She hoped her host didn’t intend to take a shower before morning. The thought of Jake brought a frown to her face as she buttoned the borrowed shirt. He was a contradiction, that one. He seemed interested in helping her one minute, then ready to throw her to the wolves the next. She wondered what his sister would say about him bringing home a fugitive. Judging by the decidedly feminine surroundings, Annie Cavanaugh wouldn’t like it one bit.
The jeans proved to be a tight fit and Sam groaned as she got them zipped. Maybe Annie had some sweats lying around. She didn’t think she’d be able to breathe in these painted-on pants. Before she could explore the possibility, she heard Jake calling her from somewhere in the house.
She pulled her hair into a ponytail and opened the bedroom door. The sounds of a television pointed her in the right direction. She found Jake standing in what looked like a combination family-room /office, his back to her as he watched the TV. Shelves lined the walls, haphazardly filled with books and knickknacks. Pictures jockeyed for space on an end table and Sam recognized Jake in several of them.
Sam glanced at the television, the centerpiece of a large entertainment center. She caught her breath. There, in full color and looking ten years younger, was a picture of Jake Cavanaugh.
“What—”
“Shh! Listen!”
From his tense stance, Sam knew it wasn’t going to be good. She moved forward to stand beside Jake and turned her attention to the TV The picture of Jake had been replaced by a perky blond newscaster wearing her best this-is-serious-news look.
“Once again, tonight at approximately 2:00 a.m., shots were heard at Big Louie’s Diner on Pebble Road in Hollywood,” the blonde said, glancing at her notes. “Officers arriving at the scene found three bodies, one of them identified as an on-duty detective from the Hollywood Police Department. The other two victims have not yet been identified, but it is assumed they were employees of Big Louie’s Diner. A vehicle leaving the scene has been identified as belonging to Jake Cavanaugh, a former Metro-Dade detective. Cavanaugh is considered armed and dangerous. If you have seen this man, the police are asking that you contact them immediately. We will have more details as they develop.”
Jake clicked the remote and the television went dark. Stormy eyes met Sam’s across the narrow room. “What the hell have you gotten me into?”
Sam shook her head. Somewhere in the house a clock chimed four times. “I don’t know. It’s all a misunderstanding. Just call the police and explain to them—”
“Explain what? Yes, officer, I was there. Yes, I called my good friend Greg, and yes, I saw him get killed. But no, I didn’t think I needed to call the police because at the time I was being chased by a couple of killers with guns. No, I don’t know who they are, but maybe you’d like to ask my companion, here.” He raked a hand through his dark hair, giving it an even more disheveled appearance.
Sam sat down on the edge of the brown tweed couch, feeling weak in the knees. “But you used to be a cop. Surely they’d believe you.”
“Don’t bet on it, sweetheart. I left the force with a less-than-stellar record. I’m the last person they’d believe.”
“Oh.”
“Why don’t you tell me what’s really going on here? This isn’t about some pictures you took. You must have really pissed somebody off good if they want you dead—bad enough to kill three people to get to you.”
“Three?” Sam suddenly recalled what the news reporter had said. Her stomach turned over sickly. “The waitress and cook?”
“That’s my guess. Innocent people are getting killed here, Sam. Because of you.”
His words battered her, making her feel raw inside. But he was right. This was her fault. A mghtmare that kept getting bigger and bigger. “I told you. Somebody wants the pictures I took in Miami.”
“Start from the top. Who are you? What were you doing in Miami?”
Sam answered him by rote: “I’m Samantha Martin. I live in Atlanta.” She paused for a moment. That wasn’t quite true. “I guess I should say I used to live in Atlanta before this nightmare started.”
“Go on.”
“I’m a photographer for the Atlanta travel magazine Hit the Road. I was doing a pictorial on Miami Beach—pictures of cafés, the beaches, hotels, that sort of thing.”
“So far, this all sounds pretty harmless,” Jake said, his voice laced with impatience. “Get to the part where the killers with guns start chasing you.”
“I was on my last day of the shoot. I was going to spend a few days in the Keys before heading home. I was taking some pictures downtown. Architectural stuff.” At his questioning look, she explained, “I do some freelance work on the side
.”
“And?”
“I was in the alley behind the courthouse. I’d just switched to my telephoto lens,” she said, recalling the play of shadows across the immense building. “Several men came out as I was snapping off the last of the roll.”
“Who?”
“Nobody I know,” Sam replied. She’d asked herself this a dozen times. She had a vague recollection of having seen one of the men before but didn’t think it was worth mentioning. “Anyway, I’d clicked off a few shots when a security guard came running across the street saying I couldn’t take pictures of the courthouse for security reasons.”
Jake paced the length of the room. “Who could have been there?” he asked, almost to himself. “Then what?”
Sam closed her eyes, recapturing the memory like a photo in her mind. “I took off. My car was parked at the corner. As I was pulling out, two men came up beside me. One reached into the driver’s side and tried to grab my keys and the other one tried to get in the passenger door. I thought it was a carjacking. But then the guy trying to take my keys said something about film.”
“The guys at the diner?” Jake had ceased his pacing and stood in front her.
“I didn’t see them,” she said.
“Whoever they are, they’re pros. Mob, maybe?” Jake fell silent for a moment. “Then what did you do?”
Sam looked up at him. “What else could I do? I hit the gas and got the hell out of there.”
“They must have gotten your license-plate number and run a check on it. Rental?”
Sam nodded. “I knew something was wrong. At that point, I was feeling pretty paranoid.”
Jake sat on the couch beside her. “I can imagine. Then what?”
“I stuck the film in an envelope and mailed it, figuring if they followed me or found out where I was staying. I wouldn’t have the film on me.”
“Good job.”
The compliment steadied her nerves. “Thanks. I sent it on to where I would be staying in the Keys, intending to pick it up when I got there.”
“But you never got a chance.”
She shook her head. The dizziness was starting again. Her stomach was empty but it roiled in protest. She leaned over, clasping her knees. Taking slow, deep breaths, she tried to get herself under control.
“You okay?”
“Could I have some water? I’m feeling a little light-headed.”
Jake went into the kitchen. She could see him at the sink through the pass-through counter that served as an eating area. When he returned, she took the glass gratefully. Sipping slowly, she willed her stomach to calm down. “Thanks.”
“So you mailed the film,” Jake prompted.
Sam sighed, nodding in resignation. He was going to get the whole story out of her whether she felt like reciting it or not. “I went to the police and filed a report. They called it an attempted carjacking. When I went back to my hotel that evening, the room was trashed and somebody was there. They hit me over the head and I blacked out. When I came to, there was a dead man in my room and a gun on the floor beside me.”
“It was probably the same guys as at the courthouse. And I’d bet a dozen doughnuts it was the same guys tonight.”
“What is that—police humor?”
“There’s nothing funny about this. People are dead.”
She winced at the onslaught of memories.
“And you called the cops and they found your prints on the gun,” Jake guessed.
“No. Before I could even call the police they were pounding on the door. Someone else must have called them.” She hesitated. Jake’s relaxed posture on the couch didn’t fool her. He was the interrogator here and she was definitely on trial. Would he believe the truth? “It gets pretty strange after that.”
Jake rolled his eyes at the understatement. “Tell me.”
“They locked me up, questioned me for hours about the federal agent. I kept telling them I didn’t have anything to do with it.”
“They didn’t believe you?”
She shook her head. “They threatened me, saying they could put me away for a long time. They wouldn’t let me make any phone calls. I know enough about police procedure to know something was terribly wrong.”
“Good guess.”
“I spent the night in a cell in Miami. Next thing I knew, some men claiming to be federal agents showed up. They were more interested in my film than in the other agent they thought I’d killed. When I wouldn’t tell them anything, they took me to Sunlight and Serenity.”
Jake shook his head. “No attorney, no hearing? Nothing?”
“Nothing,” Sam repeated.
“Weren’t there people expecting you? How did they just make you disappear without causing an uproar?”
Sam’s head was beginning to throb. She didn’t want to remember anything about what had happened to her, but it was still happening and she didn’t know how to make it stop. “I don’t know.”
“Come on. This is like something out of the Twilight Zone. One minute you have a life and the next you just disappear? How is that possible?”
“I told you, I don’t know” She trembled with anger, fear, helplessness. Then the dam broke and the tears started flowing. Her body began shaking violently and she wrapped her arms around herself to control it. “I don’t know.”
She could feel Jake watching her. Helpless to stop the torrent of emotion and pain, she sobbed into her chest. She felt his breath on her cheek for a moment before she felt the support of his arm around her shoulder. It was comforting, but her body shook harder.
“Shh. All right, you don’t know. It’s okay. We’ve got something to start with now,” Jake soothed her. “How did you get out of the nut farm?”
“They send the laundry out every week. The truck doesn’t come until late,” she said haltingly. “They didn’t lock my door because they thought I was sedated. I waited until after lights-out and hid in the laundry cart.”
Her teeth were chattering and she bit the inside of her mouth to control it. It felt as if she had razors underneath her skin. scraping away at her insides. Her joints ached, her head hurt and she felt nauseous again.
“Smart thinking,” he praised.
She let his comfort wash over her as she finished the story. “There’s a train crossing right outside the hospital. Luckily, a train came by as we came to the intersection and I jumped out then.”
“Why not wait until you got back to civilization?”
She relived the terror of that night. “I was scared they’d find me.”
“You’re safe now.” His arm tightened around her. “Were you—Did they do anything besides drug you?”
His voice sounded low, dangerous. But Sam wasn’t afraid of him. “N-no. They kept me isolated, but they didn’t hurt me. But the longer I was there, the more likely it seemed I’d never get out”
“Why did they go to all the trouble of keeping you drugged? There are easier ways to get information out of someone.”
“They tried sodium Pentothal. Apparently I’m allergic. I was sick for days. One of the men said it didn’t matter, it would all be over soon.”
“Meaning?”
Sam shrugged. “I took it to mean they were going to kill me. Now I’m not so sure.”
Jake’s hand made soothing motions over her arm. “Why not?”
“Well, at first they just kept me separated from the other patients. When I started demanding to see someone—the police, anyone—they started giving me the tranquillizers.”
“They wanted to keep you quiet.”
She nodded. “I lost track of time after a while. I knew where I was and I knew if I didn’t stop taking those pills I’d never get out of there.”
“Well, the worst of it’s behind you. You’ll get through the withdrawal in a few days.”
“But what do I do now?” she whispered against his shoulder. He smelled faintly of sweat and sunshine and she allowed herself to pretend that he cared; that somehow he could help her get her
life back.
“We are going to get some rest. Then we’re going to get the hell out of here before they track me down.”
Sam trembled weakly in his arms. We. He’d said “we.” She wasn’t alone anymore It was almost enough to make her feel better. Except her body ached so badly she wanted to go to sleep and never wake up again.
Jake shifted beside her, pulling away to look down at her. “I know this is rough for you. Hang tough. Don’t let it drag you down. It’ll take a couple of days, but you’ll get through this.”
She tilted her bead up to look at him and gave him a weak smile. “I guess your job taught you a lot about drugs and withdrawal.”
He brushed a tendril of damp hair from her cheek, his blue eyes as dark as a thundercloud. “That. And personal experience.”
“You?”
“Booze,” he answered. “Been there. Done that. Threw up on the T-shirt.”
Sam shook her head. “What a pair we make, huh?”
“Yeah. A regular Bonnie and Clyde.”
“Why are you helping me, Jake?” His name was as familiar on her lips as if she’d known him all her life.
His dark eyes lost the sympathetic softness of a moment ago. “They think I killed three people, remember? The only way to clear my butt is to get you out of your mess.”
“Oh.” Silly her, thinking he cared. With a tremendous amount of effort, she broke free of his arms and stood. Turning her back on him, she carefully put one foot in front of the other, hoping she could get back to the bedroom without falling down.
“Where are you going?”
“To get some sleep. Wake me when you’re ready to leave.” Fighting back tears and forcing herself to keep walking, Sam reminded herself that she had always been alone, and that nothing had changed.
Chapter 4
Jake jerked awake, disoriented, struggling out of the snare of a dream. His heart hammered in his chest as he tried to figure out what had woken him up. Then it came again. A scream
Sam.
He bolted out of bed, fumbling for his jeans and dragging them on as he stumbled to the door. The sun was starting to come up, which meant he hadn’t been asleep for more than a couple of hours. “Fletch?” he called softly. Fletcher always slept by Jake’s bed, if not in Jake’s bed. The dog wasn’t there.
Dangerous Curves Page 4
