Ladies' Man

by Suzanne Brockmann

  Sam took Lydia’s hand and pulled her with him at a run toward the elevators. But there was no one over there either.

  “Sir,” the woman behind a reception desk said disapprovingly. “I must ask you please not to run.”

  “Did you see a little boy”—Sam nearly vaulted over the reception counter—“about ten, brown hair, blue eyes, glasses? Red T-shirt?”

  The woman backed away from him in alarm. “The boy who came in with you? No. He hasn’t been back this way.”

  He pulled out his badge, nearly throwing it at her. “NYPD.” He moved back down the hall, calling over his shoulder, “Call 911, tell ’em Detective Sam Schaefer needs backup at this address.”

  The woman stared at him.

  “Do it!” he shouted, and she reached for the phone.

  “Oh my God,” Lydia said again, tears in her eyes. “Do you think Jamie’s been kidnapped?”

  “Stay close to me,” Sam ordered, unable to answer her question. “I don’t want to lose you too.”

  A group of African-American men were waiting outside one of the doors, all dressed similarly in athletic clothes, all tall enough to be college basketball players.

  “I’m looking for a missing kid,” Sam told them, talking fast. “Ten years old, red T-shirt, glasses, brown hair. I’m a detective with the New York police, and I have reason to believe he’s just been kidnapped, but he’s still somewhere in this building. Will you help me look for him? Brown hair, glasses, red T-shirt,” he repeated as the men nodded, then moved off in different directions.

  One of the women holding a clipboard had overheard him, and he turned to her now. “Where are the stairs heading down?”

  The woman’s eyes were wide. “Over by the elevators.”

  Sam shook his head. Jamie hadn’t been back that way. “Any others? Back staircases, fire escapes?”

  She pointed. “Down the hallway, to the left. There’s a window with a fire escape.”

  Lydia was crying in earnest now, and Sam took her hand again and started to run. She was slowing him down, but he didn’t dare leave her. No way was he going to lose both of Ellen’s kids. Losing Jamie was bad enough.

  He pushed his way through the hallway, taking a left at the end, and there it was. The window. It was open wide despite the building’s air-conditioning, and he felt sick.

  The psycho who’d made those awful phone calls, who’d drawn those terrible pictures, who’d tried to kill him last night, had taken Ellen’s precious child.

  He let go of Lydia’s hand and leaned out the window, praying that he wasn’t too late, praying that he’d see the man still carrying the boy down the fire escape or running in the alley below. But there was no one out there. They were long gone.

  He’d failed.

  Again.

  “Hey!” A cry came from the other side of the room. “Hey, over here! We found him! The little boy! He’s in the men’s room!”

  The men’s room?

  Sam stared at Lydia.

  “I’m going to kill him,” she said through clenched teeth, wiping her tear-streaked face on her sleeve.

  “Not until after I kill him,” Sam told her, starting back through the crowded hallway.

  “Hey! Detective! You better come quick!” There was urgency in the voice that was calling, and Sam grabbed hold of Lydia’s arm one more time and broke into a run.

  Curious people had gathered outside of the men’s room, and one of the tall black men frowned at them. “Yo. Here comes the man. Let him through.”

  The crowd parted obediently.

  “Is he all right?” Sam asked, a new blade of fear stabbing into his gut at the grim look on the man’s face.

  “As far as I can see. But he’s tied up with tape across his mouth.”

  “What?”

  “Come see.”

  Sam pulled Lydia with him, right into the men’s bathroom. And there was Jamie, sitting on the floor against the far wall. His hands and his feet were tied, his glasses dangled from one ear, and he was crying like a child half his age.

  One of the basketball-tall actors was carefully worrying free the tape over the boy’s mouth, and another was working to untie the rope that bound his ankles and wrists.

  Both the rope and the tape came off as Sam knelt down next to Jamie, and he pulled the little boy into his arms. Jamie clung to him, sobbing.

  Lydia was crying again, too, as she joined them on the floor, and Sam had to work hard to fight back his own tears of relief.

  “He’s got some kind of note taped to his shirt,” one of the men told Sam. “Check it out. Whoever put this kid here was a real freak. Count your blessings that he didn’t do more than tie the boy up.”

  Sam looked, and sure enough, there was a note taped to Jamie’s chest. He pulled it free.

  The aleens want death, it said. They are watching me. More blood will flo soon. I am watching you.

  Aleens? Aleens? Aliens.

  Holy God. Ellen was working on a commercial that had aliens. Had he been wrong after all? Was the stalker really still after Ellen?

  A uniformed policeman came into the bathroom. “Sam? You in here?”

  “Tommy.” Sam’s backup had arrived, and it was an officer he knew well. “Get on the phone and call Tran Minh Hyunh at 555–8734. Tran Minh Hyunh, okay? Tell her to get over to Soundfire Studios on Fifty-seventh Street. Tell her to find Ellen Layne and not let her out of her sight. Then get on the phone to the precinct and get a squad car over there, too, right away.”

  “You got it, Detective.” Tommy vanished.

  Jamie’s tears had begun to slow, and now he lifted his head, looking up at Sam.

  “I saw him,” the little boy said. “The guy who brought me in here and tied me up. I looked him straight in the eye.” He wiped his nose with the back of his hand and took a deep, shuddering breath. “I could ID him, Sam. I know I could.”

  TWELVE

  Ellen sat with her children until they fell asleep, side by side in the twin beds in Jamie’s room. It was only ten o’clock, but they had clearly both been exhausted by the trauma of Jamie’s run-in with the stalker.

  Lydia had come into her brother’s room, only intending to sit with them as Ellen stroked Jamie’s hair and held him close, but she had curled up on the other bed and fallen asleep too.

  It was all Ellen could do to keep from lying down on the carpeting between the two beds and falling into a deep, dreamless, fatigue-filled slumber herself.

  It had been nearly six P.M. when Hyunh had arrived at the studio with the frightening news that although Jamie was safe, he’d been grabbed by the stalker. At the time, Ellen had already been working for nearly twelve hours, but the shoot was far from over.

  The director had grudgingly allowed her to leave to go to her son, who was at the police station looking through books of mug shots hoping to recognize the face of his abductor. But the director had also made her promise that she would return to the studio at eleven the next morning for the remainder of her shots.

  Ellen didn’t want to go back. The entire shoot had been drastically different from the laundry detergent commercial she’d done with Lydia. Perhaps it was the absence of children on the set, or perhaps it was the style and personality of the director, who was a hard, rude, unforgiving man who used bad language and a raised voice to communicate his needs, of which there were many. Compared to the lightheartedness and laughter that were prevalent among the crew on the first commercial’s set, this shoot was manned by a crew of grim, anxious, beaten-down people.

  And without Lydia there to keep her company, the waiting was interminable. In between each shot the lights and camera had to be moved, and that took forever.

  All in all, it had been an overwhelming day—including the phone call she’d received from her agent while on the set. She’d been offered a three-month contract with that new soap opera. Accepting the role would mean she’d have to give up her teaching position at Yale. But then what would happen if, in three months, he
r contract wasn’t renewed?

  She hadn’t intended to tell the kids, but somehow Bob had found out and her secret was not so secret anymore. Added into the equation was the fact that Sam, damn him, had had the gall to say something to Jamie and Lydia that had led them to believe he and Ellen had a future together.

  Ellen dragged herself down to the kitchen, in need of a hot cup of tea before she tucked herself into bed and turned out the light.

  But Sam was in there.

  She didn’t notice him until she was halfway into the room, and by then it was too late to turn around and walk away.

  She hadn’t had to talk to him privately at the police station, and she had hoped to continue to avoid him. It was hard enough just being in the same room with him, but talking to him—looking into his eyes—that was torture. He thought he was in love with her. He’d been prepared to get a college degree because he’d thought that was what was keeping her from wanting to be with him.

  It was hard not to be swayed by that. Clearly, if he was intending to spend four years getting a degree, he had something a little longer term than a summer affair in mind.

  But how stupid would she be to get involved—deeply, emotionally involved—with a man like Sam? While they were at the police station, she’d had an opportunity to see firsthand the kind of reaction he received from the female population.

  Women watched him. Some covertly, some openly, obviously. With his charisma and his incredible good looks, he was, as Lydia might say, a babe magnet. In that way, he was so much like Richard, it was scary. And one heart-ripping betrayal per lifetime was all Ellen could stand.

  “Bob tells me you have to go back to the studio tomorrow morning,” he said, pouring himself a mug of coffee. He lifted the pot in her direction. “Want some? It’s decaf.”

  He looked impossibly good in his rumpled white dress shirt and jeans. The scrapes and bruises on his face didn’t look too bad, and his blond hair seemed to glisten in the dim light.

  “I’m having tea, thanks,” she told him.

  “I think the water in the kettle’s still hot. Let me get you a mug.”

  He winced as he reached up into the cabinet for another mug, and she knew that his shoulder still hurt him badly. She clenched her teeth to keep herself from asking how he was feeling. The less she said to him, the better.

  “Is Jamie asleep?” he asked, handing her the mug.

  She was careful not to let their fingers touch. “Yeah.”

  “He get a chance to tell you what happened?”

  She nodded as she took a tea bag from the canister. “Yes. He went to get a drink of water and the man came up right behind him. The man showed his gun and said that if Jamie made any noise at all or tried to run away, he’d kill him. And then he’d kill you and Lydia. So Jamie went with him, into the bathroom, where the man tied him up.”

  Sam nodded too. “It was my fault,” he said quietly. “Totally. Ellen, I can’t tell you how sorry I am this happened.”

  Ellen found herself defending him. “Lydia told me her entire audition didn’t take more than two minutes. It all happened so quickly.”

  But Sam was shaking his head. “I shouldn’t have let him walk away from me. I should have made him wait to get the drink of water until Lydia was back. I should have stayed with him.”

  “There was no way you could have known—”

  “You’re wrong,” he said flatly. “I should have known. If I had been doing my job right, I would have known.”

  She leaned against the counter, as far away from him as she could possibly be while still standing in the same room. “You don’t really believe that, do you?”

  He pointedly changed the subject. “Congratulations, by the way, on being offered that soap opera role.”

  Ellen felt a flare of frustration. “Who told you about that?”

  “Bob.”

  She exhaled in disgust. “Lord, that man can’t keep a secret.”

  “Was it supposed to be a secret?” Sam asked.

  “Yes, because I don’t know if I’m going to accept the part. I wanted time to think about it without anyone pressuring me.”

  He was clearly surprised. “You’re not going to take it? I thought this was what you wanted—a new career. Ellen, it’s fallen right in your lap. How could you not accept the part?”

  “That’s exactly what I didn’t want. Other people’s opinions,” she said hotly. “And speaking of not keeping secrets—what were you thinking? I can’t believe you said something to Jamie and Lydia about our relationship. God, we don’t even have a relationship!”

  She saw a sudden flare of hurt in his eyes that he quickly tried to hide with a smile. “Look, I only told them the truth. That I’m crazy about you. I didn’t see any harm in that.”

  “No? Lydia brought condoms to my room tonight,” Ellen told him. “She gave them to me, along with a speech about safe sex.”

  He cringed. “Oh, damn, really?”

  “Really. She told me she called the drugstore that delivers and pretended to be me. She ordered an entire box of them along with some shampoo and aspirin, and they just sent them on over.”

  Sam couldn’t hide his smile.

  “This isn’t funny, Sam. Exactly how crazy about me did you tell Jamie and Lydia that you were?”

  He took a sip of his coffee, gazing at her over the top of his mug, his expression suddenly unreadable. “Jamie saw me leaving your room last night.”

  Ellen swore softly.

  “It could be worse,” he pointed out. “At least they like me.”

  “Of course they like you. You’re nearly as young as they are!”

  “You know, I’ve been thinking about this a lot, Ellen, and frankly, that argument about our age difference doesn’t cut it with me.” He set down his coffee mug. “It’s cowardly. It’s an excuse not to confront the real issue here.”

  “I have to go.” She tried to push past him, but his words stopped her cold.

  “Go on. Run away. Again. The same way you’re running away from this acting job. You say you want a change, but you don’t really, do you? You won’t take this job, you won’t let yourself have a real relationship with me. You’ll only allow yourself occasional physical gratification by having sex with me every now and then because you’re scared that if you let this thing between us grow, I’ll hurt you the way Richard did.”

  Ellen was silent. She couldn’t deny it.

  “This summer was supposed to be your time,” Sam continued softly. “You were supposed to take chances, do things for yourself. But, babe, I’ve got to tell you, you’re doing it all half-assed.”

  She turned to face him. “I’m doing the best I can.” Her voice shook.

  He shook his head. “No, you’re not. You’re quitting. Ellen, come on. Don’t quit on me.”

  She couldn’t say anything. She could only look into his eyes, trapped by the steady intensity of his gaze.

  “You know, I was going to quit tonight,” he said quietly. “I spent the entire evening at the precinct, staring at the suspect profile, hoping for some clue as to who this son of a bitch is, trying to make up for all of the mistakes I’ve made so far. I mean, we don’t even know who he’s after. Is it Bob? Or you? The reference to aliens in the note today made me think it’s you, but I can’t figure out how he found out you’re shooting this commercial. Is he connected to someone in the crew? Does he work with your agent?”

  Sam took a deep breath. “Really, what do we know about this guy? He has some artistic talent, his paranoid words imply some sort of delusional schizophrenia, and he has access to a fireman’s mask and gear,” he said, ticking them off on his fingers. “We know that despite his inability to spell, he was smart enough to plan ahead and disable the Cafe Allessandra’s sprinkler system before his attack at the restaurant. We know he wasn’t easily identifiable from the mug shot books that Jamie looked through, so it’s possible he has no priors. We know from Jamie’s description that he’s a medium-height, medium
-weight Caucasian man with medium brown hair, about thirty years old. And—oh yeah—we know he has a gun.”

  He tiredly rubbed his face. “A police artist is going to come by tomorrow afternoon to work with Jamie to make a composite sketch—that’s the earliest they could schedule it,” he continued. “After that, I’ll circulate the picture at your agent’s office and with the crew at Starfire Studios. Maybe that’ll help, maybe someone will recognize him, but probably not.

  “So I’m sitting there, thinking about this, thinking it’s pretty hopeless, thinking that I suck, thinking I should take myself off the case. Hell, you don’t want me around, and I’m obviously not doing anyone else a whole lot of good either.”

  “But—” Ellen stopped herself. But what? This was what she wanted, wasn’t it? For Sam to walk out the door and not come back? If he really wanted to be taken off the case, she shouldn’t try to talk him out of it.

  He took a step toward her, but then stopped himself as if he were afraid she would back away. “But if I just walk away, that would be quitting, and you know what I found out tonight as I was sitting there? I found out that I’m not a quitter. This job is tough, and sometimes, despite all of my best intentions, I make mistakes. You know, I almost didn’t agree to take this case in the first place because three months ago I was assigned to protect a witness and—you know, I used to be unable to say this—but due to circumstances beyond my control, that witness nearly died.”

  He paused and she stood there silently, wanting to hear more.

  “It was awful, Ellen. Four people were shot, and I watched it all happen, as if in slow motion. It was only sheer luck they didn’t die—and it was touch and go for a while there.” He took a deep breath. “After it was all over, I figured this is it. I can’t do this anymore. I’m not good enough. I’m telling you, Ellen, my confidence was trashed. I actually thought I should’ve been able to foresee everything that could possibly go wrong. I thought I should have been able to second-guess the fact that a man I trusted—a police officer who had been with the force for thirty years—had been blackmailed into revealing the location of our safe house.”