by Beverly Long
Claire dropped her purse on the table. Then she hugged her friend. “I missed you,” she said.
“Same here, roomie,” Nadine said. She was eating an apple. “I stopped to get us some fresh food. Thanks for cleaning out the fridge.”
Claire spied a bag of chips on the counter and a jar of salsa. There was an open bottle of red wine and Nadine had already poured a glass. Claire opened the cupboard and got another glass. She poured her own wine and took a sip.
It felt good to get away from the office. Getting that note had changed everything. Every time she interacted with someone, she walked away thinking, Is it you? Do you not like me?
And on top of that, the incessant chatter about the awards dinner was getting on her nerves. She wondered if it was affecting Pete Mission the same way. He’d been short-tempered and didn’t look as if he’d been sleeping well. She’d worked up the nerve to ask him what was wrong and he’d practically bitten her head off. Nothing was wrong. He was just busy.
Well, okay. She’d gotten the message and gotten the heck out of his space. She thought it was truly possible that he might win the design contest—he was very talented. She hoped so because maybe that would be enough to change his mood.
“Rough day?” Nadine asked.
“Does it show?”
“Maybe a little.”
Claire wasn’t surprised. Nadine had been her best friend forever. They’d seen each other happy and sad and every emotion in between. That’s what made it so difficult to lie to her. But she was going to. Sam had been insistent. Nobody gets the truth.
“There’s something you need to know,” Claire said. She drummed her nails on the counter. “Sam asked me to marry him.”
Nadine dropped her apple. It rolled across the floor until it hit the wall. “And you said yes?”
“I did.”
Nadine opened her mouth, closed it, then opened it again. “You don’t think it’s just a little creepy that he was engaged to your sister, too?”
“That was eleven years ago, Nadine.”
“Yeah, but are you ever really going to know when he’s with you if he wouldn’t rather be with her?”
“She’s dead, Nadine.” She could hear the flatness in her own voice. “He can’t be with her.”
Nadine chewed on her thumbnail. “I’m sorry, Claire. You just surprised me. Congratulations. When’s the big day?”
“Sometime in January. We haven’t picked a date yet.”
“Do your parents know?”
“We told them this morning. They took it about as well as could be expected.”
“So...” Nadine looked around the apartment. “I guess that means I need to find a new roommate?”
“Not right away,” Claire assured her. If she wasn’t careful she wasn’t going to have any place to live. A month from now she could wind up with nothing. No Sam, no apartment, nothing but a big cardboard box to keep her warm at night. “I’m going back to Sam’s tonight. I have to do some shopping tomorrow for this event I have Monday night, but I’ll move back in Tuesday. I promise. The wedding isn’t for months. You and I’ll have lots more time together.”
“What event?” Nadine asked, ignoring the rest of Claire’s comments.
“The Chicago Advertising Association’s Design-of-the-Year contest. I’m a finalist. I guess I forgot to tell you.”
Nadine shook her head. “Wow. You’ve really got the magic touch, don’t you? Everything always works out for you.”
Claire shrugged, unsure of what to say. Nadine’s tone was odd but then again, she’d probably surprised the heck out of her with the marriage announcement, so no wonder things seemed a little off. “It’s a nice honor,” she said.
“Is there a prize?”
“The winner gets fifteen thousand dollars.”
Nadine raised her wineglass. “Here’s hoping you win.”
* * *
SHE TOOK A CAB from the apartment to Sam’s house. She would normally have walked it, but Sam had called her this afternoon and said he’d pick her up. She’d argued that was unnecessary. He’d relented and asked if she would at least take a cab. She’d agreed.
If he asked her to stand on her head in the corner, she’d probably give it the old college try.
“Hi,” she said. She smiled at Sam, who was standing in the hallway. His hair looked as if he’d been running his fingers through it. She bent down and patted Nightmare. “Hi, sweetheart.”
“I get a regular hi and he gets a hi, sweetheart. This is so unfair.”
She kissed him. Soundly. When she pulled back, she tilted her head. “Still think you’re behind?”
He shrugged. “I’m okay with how the game is going.” He paused. “So you told Nadine about us?”
“I did. She was a little surprised. She’ll probably be less surprised in a month when I tell her we’ve called it off.”
He took a step back, almost stumbling over the dog.
“Sam, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” he said.
She didn’t believe that. He looked upset. “Did something happen at work today? Do you know something that you aren’t telling me?”
He shook his head. “I’ve been thinking,” he said. “You and I like a lot of the same things. Sports. Spaghetti. Dogs.”
He was acting so odd. “What are you saying, Sam?”
He yanked at his tie, loosening it. “What I’m saying is that maybe we really should get married. After all, we’re pretty compatible.”
Compatible?
People who were compatible carpooled. They didn’t get married. Her parents were compatible. Yuck. “Sam,” she said, her heart feeling heavy, “that’s not enough.”
He took a step forward, she took one back until his big body crowded her up against the door. “We’re good in bed,” he said, his tone challenging.
She couldn’t argue that. And when he put his hands under her sweater, she didn’t want to. And when he bent his head and kissed her, she thought he might be determined to convince her just how good compatible could be.
She’d be an easy mark. Like the car buyer who convinced herself that she couldn’t live without a particular make or model all before the salesman ever stuck his head out the showroom door. “I’m hungry,” she said.
He frowned at her. “Really?” he asked.
She nodded.
He grabbed his keys and billfold off the hall table. “Come on, then. I know just where to take you.”
He took her to a place called Patrick Murphy’s and introduced her to Mr. Murphy. The man ruffled Sam’s hair, kissed her on the cheek and said something that sounded like the bigger they are, the harder they fall.
Sam cheeks got pink but he didn’t say anything. Mr. Murphy brought them a bottle of wine and suggested the special, chicken parmesan with a side of spaghetti. He smiled broadly when they both promptly closed their menus.
“Anything interesting happen at work today?” Sam asked. He buttered a piece of bread and handed it to her.
“No. Everyone is pretty excited about the awards banquet.”
“Monday, right?”
“Yes.” She chewed, savoring the mix of sourdough and sweet butter.
He rubbed the cloth napkin between his index finger and thumb. “I don’t want to worry you, but I do want you to be really aware of what’s going on at the event. Cruz and I haven’t been able to put all the pieces together, but there is the possibility that you’ve been the target all along. If that’s true, an event where you’re going to be publicly recognized has the potential for danger.”
She put down her bread. There would be over two hundred people in attendance. She could not, would not put others in harm’s way. “I won’t go.”
He held up a hand. “No, that’s not a good idea. It probably wouldn’t make a difference at this point anyway. If the bad guy is tracking you, then he expects you to be there. If you’re not, then he might just be pissed enough that he’ll do something anyway.”
The waiter delivered their plates. It looked delicious, but now she wasn’t sure she could eat. “So, there’s no good solution?”
“Go. Enjoy. Cruz and I’ll both be there as well as other undercover officers. No one is going to be harmed. And maybe we can end this thing.” He picked up his fork. “Now, eat. Patrick will be over in a few minutes and you’re going to hurt his feelings if you’re not a hundred percent vested in enjoying his culinary talents.”
She picked up her fork. “I don’t want anybody getting hurt because of me. I especially don’t want you getting hurt, Sam. I couldn’t bear it.”
He reached over and snagged her free hand. “Nobody is going to get hurt. I promise.”
* * *
ON SUNDAY, CLAIRE and Sam slept late. Then they cooked breakfast together. They were just finishing the dishes when Sam’s cell phone rang. He listened, said he’d be there in ten minutes and hung up.
“Armed robbery,” he said apologetically. “I have to go in. I’m sorry, I wanted to spend the day with you.”
“Don’t worry. I have to buy a dress for tomorrow night. The only other dress I have is the one I wore when Cruz and I went out.”
“You look amazing in that dress, but there’s no way, nohow, that you’re wearing that dress.”
She smiled at him. “Then I have to go shopping.”
“I’m not comfortable with you going alone,” Sam said.
“I’ll see if Hannah is busy.” She picked up her cell phone and in minutes had arranged to meet Hannah at the corner of Michigan and Ontario.
“Take a cab,” Sam said. “Please.”
She nodded and kissed him goodbye.
She found a dress in the third store. It was a dark plum satin. The color flattered her skin tone and there was some simple beading on the full skirt that caught the light, making the dress sparkle when she turned.
“You have to get it,” Hannah said.
It was sleeveless, so she bought a smoky-gray wrap for her shoulders. She went to the shoe store next and found strappy sandals that had a heel high enough that she’d be looking most people in the eye.
She was feeling pretty good about herself as she and Hannah hurried down the sidewalk. Five blocks away from Sam’s house, Hannah broke off and headed to her apartment. Claire kept walking. It was a gorgeous fall day. She got another block and was waiting for the light to change when she was shoved from behind, right into the path of an oncoming car.
* * *
SAM WAS ELBOW-DEEP in paperwork when his desk phone rang. He wanted to ignore it. In addition to the newest case, he and Cruz already had over two dozen open investigations. They didn’t need anything else.
He picked it up. “Vernelli,” he said.
“Sam, it’s Tom Ames. Something’s happened.”
He was talking fast and Sam’s heart started to race. “What’s wrong? Is Claire okay?”
“I don’t know. I was riding my bike home. I saw a bunch of emergency lights up ahead and when I got there, I realized it was Claire. She was hit by a car.”
His head started to whirl, to conjure up every bad accident scene he’d ever pulled up to. “How badly is she hurt?”
“I don’t know. I only got to talk to her for a minute. She said she was okay, but she was already in the ambulance and they seemed to be in a big hurry to get her to United Methodist.”
“I’m on my way,” Sam said, his heart in his throat.
Chapter Fifteen
Sam hung up, gave Cruz a ten-second explanation and was out of the building in less than a minute. He jumped in his car, put a Mars light on the roof and sped toward the hospital. He’d been a beat cop before he’d made detective. He’d worked hundreds of accident scenes, many involving pedestrians. They were never pretty. Claire could be in bad shape.
Maybe even dying.
He started to shake. He left the car in a no-parking zone and ran into the emergency room. He flashed his badge at the clerk behind the bulletproof glass and motioned for her to buzz him past the locked doors.
Once inside the main emergency area, he ran up to the circular nurses’ station and held his badge up again. “Claire Fontaine. Brought in by ambulance. Where is she?”
The nurse checked her computer screen and pointed toward the left. “Room 103. Third down that hallway.”
The door was shut.
He paused, his hand raised to knock.
The truth hit him. It didn’t matter the extent of her injuries or how scarred she might be. The only thing that mattered was that she was alive.
He wanted her. No matter what. Together they would bear the burden of this day.
He knocked and when the door opened, all he saw was the back of two caregivers bending over Claire, who was lying in a bed. Her clothes were on the floor and they were splattered with blood.
“Claire,” he croaked, his throat tight with worry.
Both care providers turned, moving just enough that he could see Claire’s face. Her eyes were open.
“How did you get back here?” the doctor said, his tone suggesting that somebody would pay. Wayne Francis, M.D., was stitched across the pocket of his lab coat.
Sam opened his clenched fist and showed his badge for the third time in less than a minute.
“Your questions are going to have to wait, Detective,” the doctor said.
Sam ignored the man. He moved into the room, around the doctor and reached for Claire’s hand. He held it gently. “Oh, honey, I’m so sorry you’re hurt.”
“I’m okay,” Claire said. “Really.”
Sam looked first at the doctor, who had stopped frowning, then at the young nurse in pink scrubs who was smiling. He took that as a good sign and the pressure in his chest started to ease. “How is she?”
The doctor folded his arms across his chest. “I’m getting the impression that this isn’t an official visit.”
Sam shook his head. It was personal. Real personal. “Claire is my fiancée.”
The doctor looked at Claire. “Ms. Fontaine, do I have your permission to discuss your medical condition with this man?”
She nodded.
“Claire is a lucky young woman. She was struck by a midsized sedan and the extent of her injuries appear to be a bloody nose, a sore shoulder and assorted bumps and bruises. Quite frankly, I’m amazed. But as I understand it from the first responder on the scene, she had the common sense to jump before impact, which gave her the momentum she needed to roll up and over the hood of the car.”
Claire shrugged and then winced when it apparently bothered her injured shoulder. “I wasn’t just the starting pitcher for the Minooka Timberwolves. I ran track, too. Broad jump and pole vaulting. I think both came in handy today.”
Sam started to laugh. If anyone had told him fifteen minutes ago that he’d find anything remotely funny about the situation, he’d have set them straight quick. But the look on Claire’s face was priceless.
He hated to take it away but he needed facts. “Honey, what happened?”
“I was pushed into traffic.”
She said it rather matter-of-fact. Sam’s vision started to blur.
“By accident?” he asked, knowing the location was a busy street corner.
She shook her head. “I don’t think so. I didn’t lose my footing because someone brushed up against me. I tumbled into oncoming traffic because someone pushed me—hard.”
Her eyes were bleak. Sam understood. Some of the other things that had happened, she had been able to dismiss as just bad luck or happenstance. This had been a deliberate attempt to hurt her. That knowledge would chill anyone’s soul.
“Where was Hannah?” he asked.
“We’d just separated. I know that was stupid. I’m sorry. It was just such a nice day that I didn’t think anything bad could happen.”
She looked miserable. “It’s okay,” he reassured her. “You didn’t see the person?”
She shook her head. “Street cameras?” she asked.
He nodded. It w
as just what he’d been thinking. Not only might the camera that covered that intersection have caught something, but she had also been just on the edge of the commercial area. There were still a few businesses and if they were lucky, a couple of them would have had cameras aimed at their entrances. They might be able to piece together where Claire’s attacker had come from or escaped to. Maybe even get a vehicle tag.
“Can she go?” Sam asked.
The doctor shook his head. “I’m pretty sure all we’re dealing with is a sprained shoulder, but I want her to have an MRI just in case. After that, she’s free to go.”
“I’m going to make some calls while you do that and then I’ll take you home,” Sam said.
“Okay.” She looked really defeated.
“What’s wrong?”
Claire pointed at her things across the room, sitting in a chair. He saw her purse, a shoe box and a cream-colored shopping bag that had tire tracks across it. There were tears in the bag and he could see pieces of material sticking out.
“I must have let go of the bag,” Claire said. “The car ran over it. I guess I should be grateful. My face could look like that.”
Sam swallowed hard. “But it doesn’t. And I don’t want you thinking about it.”
“The paramedic thought I was a crazy person. I wouldn’t get in the ambulance until he gave me the bag. I thought maybe it might just be dirty, but there are rips that can’t be fixed.” She waved a hand. “It’s stupid to be upset about a dress. I’m not going to even think about it.”
The doctor stepped forward. “Tammy will take you down for your MRI. Your ride,” he said, motioning to a wheelchair in the corner of the room.
She sat up, pulled her thin hospital gown tighter and gracefully transferred over to the wheelchair. Tammy pulled a large plastic bag out of a drawer and gathered up Claire’s dirty clothes and shoes. Then she added Claire’s purse and the new shoes. She held up the bag with the ruined dress and Claire shook her head. The nurse smiled in return and placed it on the chair.
