Jake had pulled the van into the right lane, signaling as they approached an off-ramp to downtown Miami. Sam felt her pulse quicken, fear rising in her like mercury. All traces of sleep faded as she sat up. “What are you doing?”
The look he gave her was inscrutable. “Don’t worry.” He merged with the heavy line of traffic flowing onto Flagler Street. “I just need to make a couple of stops.”
Sam caught a glimpse out her window of the formidable courthouse where her ordeal had started. She wondered what Jake needed to do and if it involved having her arrested.
Half of Jake’s instincts told him to hurry it up and get the film. The other half, the cop half, told him he needed all the ammunition he could get He listened to the cop half. He had a bad feeling about this whole thing. He didn’t doubt for a moment that whoever they were up against would rather kill them than negotiate anything. He couldn’t tell Sam that, of course. The woman was barely holding on by her fingernails—what was left of them.
“So, what do you have to do?”
He could hear the tremor in her voice, knew she didn’t trust him. Hell, he couldn’t blame her after that fiasco at Annie’s. They’d just have to get past it somehow. “Go to the library.”
“The library?” she repeated.
“Right.” He pulled the van into the sprawling parking lot of the downtown library. He stopped under a clump of olive trees and turned off the engine.
“Do you mind telling me why?”
He hid his grin. Her indignation wiped away her fear. Good for her. He had a feeling she’d need that iron will before this was over. “You were arrested in Miami. You were accused of killing a federal agent. There has to be some record of it in the papers. If I can get an arresting officer’s name, maybe some idea of the behind-the-scenes details, it could help us.”
She nodded and he relaxed. He was sure it was going to be a battle all the way to Key West. He’d sensed her unpatience back at the airport. He didn’t give a damn what she thought, but he needed her cooperation.
Hell. Brian and Mac could be in danger. Jake hadn’t considered that, but after what had happened to Greg, anything was possible. It made their mission all the more crucial. And Sam was going to help him if he had to tie her up and sling her over his shoulder all the way to Key West and back.
“It makes sense.”
“I’m glad you agree. Let’s go. I don’t want to leave Fletcher out here for long.” He looked around them. “And I don’t like being this close to the enemy.”
“You and me both,” she muttered.
He rolled the windows down for Fletcher and they left the van, blasted by the unyielding heat even though it was only the first of April. Jake watched the beads of sweat pop out on Sam’s forehead in the short trek across the parking lot. He knew she wasn’t well yet but she was holding up better than he had expected.
The cool interior of the library was a welcome respite. Sam shivered and Jake laid an arm across her shoulders, thinking only to warm her up. But her startled look made him think twice.
“Over there,” she whispered. Funny how people years out of grade school still whispered in a library, he thought.
No one was at the reference desk and Jake rang the silver bell on the counter. A portly woman with white hair and bad dentures came out of a rear office and smiled at them. “Yes?”
“We’d like to see the Herald from—” He turned to Sam for the date.
“February,” she supplied.
The woman nodded and retreated into her office. She returned with a box of microfilm. “The machines are over there in the corner. Copies are twenty-five cents.”
Jake took the film and they found an empty booth. “What was the date you were arrested?” he asked, threading the film through the reel.
“February twenty-sixth.”
“All right, let’s see what we can find.” He scrolled quickly past the beginning of the month until he found the twenty-sixth. He slowly slapped through the frames until he came to the local news. Nothing.
“Try the twenty-seventh. It wouldn’t have made it in the paper the same day.”
Sam’s fingers were wrapped around his arm as she leaned in beside him to view the screen. He liked the way her hand felt, warm and soft. Distracting. He could smell a faint floral scent of shampoo on her hair and it did funny things to his pulse. In the close proximity of the booth, his senses surged and he nearly missed what they were looking for
“Wait” Sam’s voice pulled him back from his wayward thoughts. “I think I saw my picture.”
She reached past him and scrolled the film back. Her hair was nearly in his face, and he inhaled her fragrance. Damn, he had to get a grip on himself.
She sat back in her chair. “Look.”
He returned his attention to the screen. Sure enough, it was her. Her hair was styled, her face a little less rounded, but Samantha Martin had made the Herald. He glanced at her and noticed that all the color had drained from her features. Her hand clutched his arm reflexively.
“What, Sam?”
“Read the headline.”
Her eyes never left the screen and he had to drag his gaze away from the haunted look on her face. But he did as she said and felt a shiver of foreboding coil down his spine. The headline was as grim as any he had ever read.
Chapter 6
Award-winning Photographer Found Dead.
Jake’s eyes tripped over the words. He shook his head in amazement. This couldn’t be happening. Something this sinister belonged in a John Grisham novel.
“Oh, my God.”
Jake looked at Sam, hearing the agony in her words. He didn’t know what to say. In all his police experience he’d never seen anything like this.
“How, Jake?” she asked, her voice rising shrilly. A white-haired man stared at them from a chair by the window.
Jake gently took Sam’s hands in his, looking into her frightened eyes. He couldn’t let her fall apart now. Not here. “Calm down, Sam. Don’t make a scene.”
“‘Don’t make a scene’? Did you read that?” She jerked her hands away and gestured at the shocking headline spread out in black and white on the screen. “They’re saying I’m dead.”
Jake captured her hands again. She was flying to pieces in front of him and he didn’t know how to stop it. “It’s a lie, Sam It’s how they kept anyone from looking for you. It’s just a he.”
“Maybe it’s a prediction,” she whispered, her tormented eyes daring him to deny it.
“No way. We’re going to get out of this. I promise you that.” He shouldn’t be making promises he couldn’t keep. But the woman had a way of making him feel protective. So did Margo, he reminded himself.
She was shaking her head, mesmerized by the words on the screen. “They won’t let me, Jake. Don’t you see?” Tears glistened on her eyelashes like raindrops. “I’m as good as dead already.”
“They’re playing mind games with you, Sam. Don’t let them win.” He had to get her out of here. “Let me make copies of this and we’ll go.”
She stared at the screen, not seeming to hear him.
“Sam?”
The look in her eyes tore at his heart She gave him a weary smile that did nothing to alleviate his concern. “Sure.” She ran her hands over her face and wiped at her eyes. “I’m going to go wash up.”
He didn’t want to let her out of his sight in her condition, but he knew she needed to get herself together. “All right. I’ll meet you by the door in a couple of minutes.”
Jake watched her leave and then quickly scanned the rest of the paper. His search turned up another article—this one about the dead agent in Sam’s room. He read through it and felt his blood run cold.
Looking up, he saw Sam crossing from the rest room to the front of the library. She moved zombie-like, not looking in his direction. He quickly made copies and returned the microfilm to the reference librarian. Not more than ten minutes had passed by the time he finished and walked out of the lib
rary. Sam wasn’t there. He glanced across the parking lot and saw the van, with Fletcher’s head hanging out the window.
“Dammit! Where did she go?” Jake jogged across the parking lot and opened the van door. She wasn’t there, either. He snapped Fletcher’s leash on him and locked the van. “Come on, Fletch. We’ve got to find her.” Surveying the parking lot, he added, “Before they do.”
Sam walked, swiping at the tears that streaked her cheeks. It was over. They were going to catch her. She didn’t know where she was going, but what did it matter? She was as good as dead. The headline echoed through her mind. Dead. Not even Jake could protect her now.
“Hey, lady, watch where you’re going!” The angry cabdriver’s voice broke through the numbness. She quickly stepped back on the curb. She bit back a bitter laugh. How ironic. It would serve them right if she got run over by a car.
She walked past the awning-draped stores that lined the busy road. Huge crucifixes shared space in shop windows with various voodoo paraphernalia. Signs peppered with Spanish phrases dotted the street. Sam kept walking. She didn’t know where she was going, but she couldn’t stop.
Her skin felt cold and clammy despite the humid warmth. She knew it was the withdrawal. She could feel the drugs working their way out of her system. She ached inside, wanting and needing something that they’d forced on her. Why couldn’t they leave her alone? Why her?
She turned at the sound of pounding footsteps behind her. Fletcher leaped toward her. His front paws rested on her shoulders as he licked her face, his tail wagging furiously. Sam threw her arms up to protect herself from the excited mutt but she didn’t miss the look on Jake’s face.
“What the hell are you doing?” he growled. He pulled Fletcher back by his leash and took Sam by the elbow, guiding her into an alley between a Cuban restaurant and a floral shop.
“Let me go, Jake.” She pulled away from him and stepped back against the warm stucco wall. “This isn’t your problem anymore.” Shadows played across his features, making his blue eyes as dark as storm clouds. The firm set of his jaw told her he wasn’t going to give up so easily.
“What do you mean, it’s not my problem?”
He moved until he was standing directly in front of her. He braced his hand against the wall beside her head and leaned closer. Fletcher danced nervously around their feet, dog tags jingling. The sounds of traffic filtered into the alley and the smell of fresh flowers and spicy food wafted on the air.
She avoided the dangerous look in his eyes. “Just let me go,” she whispered.
“Go where, Sam?”
“I don’t know! Just leave me alone.”
He smacked the palm of his hand against the wall. She flinched. “Is that it, then? You’re giving up?”
She met his gaze then. “What’s my choice, Jake? Face it, I’m not going to make it out of this. They’re going to catch me.”
“Maybe. Maybe not Why give them the chance?”
“Don’t you see? If I get away from you, they’ll leave you alone.”
His eyes searched her face and she felt that connection with him again—what she’d felt back at Annie’s house. It went deeper than physical attraction. Soul deep. It was basic, elemental, and it shook her to the core.
“That’s it? You’re doing this for me?”
Sam tucked her hands into the small of her back and leaned her head against the wall. Sunlight trickled down the side of the building and she closed her eyes, feeling the warmth of it on her face. “I can’t do it anymore, Jake. I can’t keep running. They’ve got everything covered. Even if I get to the film, who will believe me?”
“I will.”
“No offense, but that doesn’t mean much.” She felt him shift closer but kept her eyes closed.
“Doesn’t it?” he whispered in her ear, so close she could feel his breath against her cheek.
“Just let me go, Jake.” The tears started again, squeezing out from under her eyelids.
“No way, Sam. No way.”
She heard the slap of the leash hitting the ground and his quiet command for Fletcher to stay. She opened her eyes as he braced his other hand against the wall, bracketing her head. She swallowed hard and stared at the unyielding planes of his face. She could feel the heat radiating from him, the masculine strength coiled tautly inside him. She was trapped.
“Why?” she whispered.
In answer, his lips came down hard on hers, taking her breath away with their fierce passion. It was a hot, demanding kiss and after the initial shock of it, Sam found herself making demands of her own. She was open to him, vulnerable. Only their mouths touched, but the sensation coursed through her veins, setting her on fire.
She wanted to pull him closer, needing to feel his warmth, his strength. As if reading her mind, he obliged, stepping into the space between her legs as she sagged against the rough wall, his hands still framing her head. He pressed against her and she moaned deep in her throat, voicing their mutual need.
As abruptly as he’d kissed her, Jake stopped. He pulled back far enough to look at her. Her breath caught at the desire she saw in his eyes. She placed her hand on her mouth, still feeling the lingering touch of his lips.
“Why?” she asked again, though the question meant something altogether different.
Jake’s lazy smile sent her pulse into overdrive. “It seemed like more fun than shaking some sense into you.” He stepped away from her and bent to retrieve the leash. “Come on, before they catch both of us.”
Sam followed him out of the alley, blinking at the brightness. “What are we going to do?”
He took her arm as they started walking back in the direction of the library. “Same plan as before. Except now we know what we’re up against.”
“And what’s that?”
“Somebody who is damned afraid of you.”
She would have laughed if she hadn’t felt so scared. “Afraid of me?”
“Exactly. They’re afraid of what you might know. You’re their worst nightmare.” Jake pulled her off the sidewalk and down another shadow-filled alleyway.
“Where are we going?”
“I need a drink,” he said as he led her out of the alley and on to a small open-air café at the corner. “And I want you to read these articles and tell me what you think.”
“A drink?” She remembered his confession from last night. “Is that a good idea?”
He gave her arm a reassuring squeeze. “Nothing alcoholic. I’m not ready to give in yet, even if you are.”
His words stung. She’d never been a quitter. Maybe he was right. Maybe they still had a chance. Sam was silent as they walked past several empty tables and continued inside to the back of the café. The few patrons were dark-skinned older men, smoking cigars and engrossed in quiet conversation. Finally they entered an enclosed terrace draped in bougainvillea and shaded by palms.
“It’s private back here. No one will bother us,” Jake explained, guiding her to a small wrought-iron bistro table. Two elderly men played dominoes in the shade of a huge areca palm.
“What do you want to drink?” Jake asked after she sat down. Fletcher stretched out on the cool brick, his eyes on Jake.
“I don’t care. Anything,” Sam replied, realizing how parched her mouth had become.
Jake left and returned moments later with two large, frosty glasses. “Lemonade,” he said, placing one of the glasses in front of her.
“Thanks.”
“I found something else at the library.” Jake fished some crumpled papers out of his back pocket and smoothed them out on the tile-covered table. “The federal agent you supposedly killed was listed as an accidental shooting in the paper.”
Sam leaned across the small table to look at the photocopies. A picture of the man accompanied the article. “What does it say?”
‘“Anthony Moreno was found dead in his home, the apparent victim of a self-inflicted gunshot wound,”’ Jake read. ‘“It appeared Moreno had been cleaning his gun w
hen the gun discharged. Foul play is not suspected.’” He looked up from the paper. “What do you think?”
Sam took a long drink of her lemonade, her hand shaking so badly she nearly sloshed the contents of the glass over herself. “I think this whole thing is crazy.”
“That’s the understatement of the year.” Jake smoothed out the other sheet of paper “The one about you is even more bizarre.”
“Read it.”
“‘Samantha Martin, twenty-eight, a Pulitzer Prize-winning photographer, was found dead, the victim of an apparent suicide, in her hotel room in Miami Beach.’” Jake looked up at her. “You won a Pulitzer?”
Sam ducked her head. “Yeah. It’s a long story.” One she did not intend to discuss with him. She’d worked hard to put that all behind her and she had enough to deal with right now, without dredging up the past.
“Oh.” Jake’s eyes skimmed the page. “‘Martin had been working for the magazine Hit the Road for the past few months and was on assignment. Co-workers described her as friendly, but Martin had been suffering from episodes of acute depression, according to one source.”’
“That’s not true!” Sam slammed her glass down on the table, receiving startled looks from the domino-playing men.
“Since when have they been telling the truth? It works. Here’s some loner photographer, off on her own. She ODs on drugs in Miami. Who’s going to question it?”
“They knew just what to say.”
“Do you have anyone who might have questioned you committing suicide? Friends?” Jake hesitated. “A boyfriend?”
Sam shook her head slowly. “I’d only been working for the magazine for a few months. I was friends with a few people, but I hadn’t known them long.” She met his eyes across the table. “And I wasn’t involved with anyone.”
“And before that?”
“I was living in New York. You don’t make lasting relationships in New York. The friends I had there drifted out of my life when I moved to Atlanta.”
“Family?”
Sam hesitated. “Nobody who’d miss me.”
Dangerous Curves Page 7
