by Beverly Long
Claire looked over her shoulder. “Don’t wait, Sam. I promise I’ll take a cab home after this.”
He shook his head. “I’ll wait.”
After they left the room, the doctor turned toward him. “The aide can pitch that?” he said, motioning to the bag.
Sam shook his head. “I need it.”
“Evidence?” the doctor asked.
Sam folded the bag under one arm. “She wants this dress. I’m going to make sure she gets it. I’m going shopping.”
The doctor laughed and ran a hand through his gray hair. “Good luck, Detective. You know, they don’t teach humility in med school. That said, I have to say, you’re a better man than I.”
* * *
SAM MADE HIS TELEPHONE calls first and got a start on getting a copy of the police report. Then he drove to the dress store. He carried the bag in and carefully pulled the dress out.
The salesclerk, a woman on the downhill side of fifty, reached out and touched the ruined material. “What happened?”
“Long story,” Sam said. “I need one just like it.”
She looked at the tag. “I’m afraid I just sold our last one a couple hours ago to an absolutely lovely young woman. She had the prettiest brown eyes.”
“This is her dress.”
“Oh, I am sorry. She was so pretty in it.” She paused. “And she didn’t need any alterations, which was a blessing because she said she needed it for tomorrow night.”
“That’s right.”
“Well, it is possible that we might have it in another store, but there’s no way to get it before then.”
“Can you check and see if another store has it?”
There was one in New York. “They’re an hour ahead of us,” the woman said. “But it’s Sunday. There’s no way to get it shipped here for delivery tomorrow.”
He leaned forward. “Look, I really need the dress. If I can arrange for somebody to be at the store tomorrow morning when they open up, can you arrange for that dress to be waiting for him?”
She cocked her head. “I’m sure I can.” She held a hand up to her chest. “You must care a great deal for the young woman.”
“I do,” he said. As he walked out of the store, he dialed Tom Ames. When he answered, Sam didn’t waste any time. He gave him an update on Claire’s condition and then said, “I need a favor and I’ll make it worth your while.”
* * *
ONCE THE MRI was finally over, Claire walked out into the exam room, where Sam was waiting. He was the only person in the rather crowded room who wasn’t reading a magazine or a book or playing with their phone. He was standing, his back against the wall, his arms folded across his chest, staring at the floor.
He looked up, their eyes met and Claire’s heart did a little flutter in her chest. He cared. She could see it, feel it.
“Hi,” she said. “They’re springing me finally.”
He didn’t answer, just wrapped an arm gently around her and led her out of the room. He helped her into the car.
When she got settled, she turned to him. “I have a prescription for some pain pills,” she said. “Could we stop at a pharmacy on the way home?”
“Of course.”
That was the only thing he said to her for forty minutes. When they finally parked in the alley behind his house, she turned to him. “Sam, is something wrong?”
He turned to her and his eyes were filled with pain. “I can’t stand to see you hurt,” he said, his voice rough.
She scooted across the seat and leaned into him. “I’m going to be fine. A couple of days, good as new.”
He buried his face in her hair. “It could have ended so much differently,” he said, his voice muffled.
“I know,” she said. “I know.”
They sat in the car, simply holding each other, for another twenty minutes. Finally, Sam lifted his head. “You need to get inside, get some rest.”
“I want a shower,” she said.
“Okay. Shower first, pain pill second, bed third.”
She stood under the hot water for a long time, easing the soreness out of her muscles. When she finally turned off the water, Sam was waiting for her, a big, fluffy towel in hand. He wrapped her in it and gently dried her. Then he led her over to the bed, where he’d already pulled back the covers. There was a glass of water and one of her pain pills on the nightstand.
“I could get used to this,” she teased.
“You have my undivided attention,” he said as he motioned for her to climb in.
“You’re not going back to work?”
“No.”
“But—”
He waved a hand. “I’m staying here with you. There’s nothing to discuss.”
She chewed on her lip, considering. “Okay, but I do have one request.”
“Name it,” he said.
“Lie down with me,” she said. “Please. Just for a little while.”
He looked undecided for a moment but then nodded. He sat down and then carefully settled back. He folded his arms underneath his head.
She stared at him. “Not with your clothes on,” she said.
He shook his head. “No way, nohow. You’re naked. I need to stay fully clothed. Because that’s the last thing you need.”
“What’s the last thing I need?”
He rolled his eyes. “Sex.”
She smiled. “You’re wrong. But for now, I’ll let you off the hook. But I want you to hold me. I want to feel your skin, your warmth. Please.”
He shook his head in resignation. “I am putty in your hands.” He started taking off his clothes. When he got down to his boxers, he stopped. “Far enough,” he proclaimed.
They lay down and she turned onto her uninjured side. He moved in behind her and gently splayed a hand over her hip. “Sleep tight, honey,” he said, his voice soft.
She did. When she woke up, the room was dark. Her shoulder ached and she was hungry, but none of that mattered. Sam was still with her.
“How are you feeling?” he whispered.
“Did you sleep?” she asked.
“Oh, yeah.”
She was pretty sure he was lying. “What time is it?”
“Almost seven. You’ve been asleep for a couple hours. I’ll go fix you something to eat.”
He made her a grilled-cheese sandwich and tomato soup, which she ate in bed. When he insisted she take a couple of pain pills, she shook her head. “After,” she said.
“After what?” he responded.
“After you make love to me.” To seal the deal, she used her one good arm to throw back the covers.
His eyes met hers and then very slowly, inch by inch, they traveled down her naked body. She could feel the heat from his body, the intensity of his need.
She spread her legs and he surrendered.
He made love to her, very slowly and very tenderly. There wasn’t a place on her that he didn’t touch. And then he held her again until morning.
It had made getting shoved in front of a moving vehicle almost worth it.
When the alarm rang, she used her good arm to turn it off. She swung her legs over the side of the bed.
“You could stay home,” Sam said.
She shook her head. “I’ve missed so much time already this week. I have a to-do list that’s turning into a 300-pound paperweight.”
“Your boss isn’t going to give you a hard time about missing work, is he?” Sam asked, sounding very concerned. He sat up in bed.
She cocked her head. “Why? Will you go beat him up if he does?”
Sam nodded. “I’ll beat him up and then shoot him. Then I’ll start looking for Mission on general principles.”
She laughed. “You’re too hard on Pete. Although there might not be a whole lot of people standing in your way trying to stop you.”
“Why?”
“He’s been so irritable. The only good thing is that he’s mostly staying in his office. Maybe he’s just nervous about the awards ceremony. At least that will be ov
er tonight.” She stood up and gently stretched, completely comfortable being naked in front of Sam.
“Are you nervous?” Sam asked, his eyes on her breasts.
“No. There’s no way I’ll win. I’m just going to enjoy the experience.”
Chapter Sixteen
By the end of the day, Claire’s shoulder ached and she was tired of being positive. With her arm in a sling, she had to make some sort of explanation.
She’d soft-pedaled the truth. No sense in blurting out Someone tried to kill me! That was a buzz kill. Plus, she didn’t have the same trust that she’d had a week ago. All she said was Wrong place at the wrong time and That will teach me to shop.
She’d just finished clearing her desk when her desk phone rang. She picked it up. “Claire Fontaine.”
“I’m downstairs in the lobby,” Sam said.
She didn’t waste any time. When she reached the lobby, he was standing close to the elevator doors. He looked really irritated.
“What’s wrong?” she said.
“I got here a little early and saw the mail guy. I followed him around for a while. I didn’t realize that he pushed around a big cart. I figured he carried a bag, sort of like a postal carrier.”
Claire shook her head. “We get a lot of sample products coming to us in big boxes. I guess the cart helps.”
“He leaves the cart in the hallway when he goes into an office. Anybody could go by and add an envelope to the pile. They wouldn’t even have to work in this building.”
She got it and understood his frustration. “Well, maybe that makes me feel better. Someone I work with didn’t send that note.”
“We don’t know. Damn it, we just don’t know.”
She leaned forward and brushed his cheek with a kiss. “Can we forget about it for a little while?”
He looked at her. “I’m sorry. This is your big night. How’s the shoulder, by the way?”
“Still there,” she said. She started walking fast. “Let’s go. We’ve got only ninety minutes to get ready and get back to the awards ceremony. Victor will have a stroke if I’m late. He’s already on edge about Pete. I don’t want to be the heavy rock that pulls him over the edge.”
“Now what’s up with Mission?”
“He left mid-morning. Said he wasn’t feeling well. I heard Victor tell him to go home and get some sleep because he expected him to be at tonight’s event.”
Sam gave her a quick glance. “I spoke to Mission this morning.”
“You did? Why?”
“I wanted to know where he was yesterday.”
“Was that really necessary?”
He nodded. “Oh, yeah. But he had an alibi that checks out. His dentist has Sunday hours for emergencies. He was there, getting a bad tooth fixed.”
“Maybe that’s been his problem. Anyway, I knew he wasn’t behind this. He’s a friend.”
Sam held up a hand. “Please. I don’t really want to hear how wonderful he is.”
She smiled at him. “Or how nice his teeth look?”
“Either.”
The afternoon traffic ate up twenty minutes. Claire walked inside Sam’s house, dropped her things on the chair in the hallway and said, “I’m going to go take a shower.”
She took a fast one and walked into the bedroom wearing just a towel. On the bed was a big white box with a bright blue bow on it.
Sam was standing in the doorway.
“What’s that?” she asked.
“It’s for you.”
She frowned at him. “It’s not my birthday.”
“That would be so predictable.” He took a step into the room.
She felt nervous. Couldn’t explain why, but this was the first gift that Sam had given her.
“Allow me,” he said with a glance at her arm. He pulled off the lid and set it aside. Then opened the tissue paper.
She felt a ping in the middle of her chest. Her dress. Her beautiful dress. “What?” she asked. She licked her lips. “How?”
He laughed like a little kid at Christmas. “I never thought I’d see you speechless. It makes me feel as if I’ve finally gotten the upper hand.”
“But I took the last dress in my size. I was going to wear one of my work dresses. I figured it would have to do.”
“Tom Ames took the red eye to New York LaGuardia. He was waiting at the store when they opened. He had time for a late breakfast in Manhattan before he caught a noon flight back to Chicago.”
She could feel her throat closing up. Sam had made all this happen. It was absolutely the nicest thing anyone had ever done for her. She could feel tears gather behind her eyes.
“Oh, no,” he said, waving his hands. “No crying. Even happy tears make me fumble around as if I had four thumbs.”
She swiped her free hand across her face and smiled the best she could. “I’m living a life of extremes,” she said. “Some really bad stuff. And then there’s this. And what we had last night. The most wonderful things. Thank you, Sam. Thank you for everything.”
He leaned close and brushed his lips across her cheek. “Put your dress on, pretty girl. We don’t want to be late.”
* * *
THE AWARDS DINNER was at the Minotta Hotel, one of the newest, hippest hotels on Michigan Avenue. The event was on the fortieth floor, in a room that had a wall of windows, allowing attendees to see for miles. It was a dark, clear night and the vastness of Chicago and the surrounding suburbs was a collection of sparkling light.
“Oh, my God,” Hannah squealed when she saw Claire. “You’re so hot, even with your arm in a sling.” The woman turned toward Sam. “And you’re not so bad yourself, Detective. Nice tux.”
He managed to mumble a thank-you. He’d been pretty much tongue-tied ever since Claire had put on the dress. She was stunning. There was no other word for it.
She truly took his breath away.
“Our table is over here,” Hannah said. She led them over to a round table for eight that had a white linen tablecloth, fresh flowers and more forks than he had in his entire house.
Claire’s boss, Victor, was there along with his wife on one side and his sister on the other. Marcy wore a skintight blue dress that left nothing to the imagination. Her eyes had so much makeup on them that he was surprised she could keep the lids open. Next to her was her date, Terry. He barely looked up from his phone when Victor made introductions.
Hannah sat next to Terry, Claire slid in next to her and then Sam. That left one open seat between him and Victor’s wife.
Great. He’d be rubbing elbows with Mission all night.
Better that than letting Mission anywhere near Claire’s bare, silky skin. He’d reach for the salt, brush his arm up against Claire and Sam would have to kill him.
“I can’t imagine Pete would miss this,” Hannah said as she helped herself to some fancy stuffed cherry tomatoes offered by a passing waiter. She signaled to a young man twenty feet away who had a tray of chilled shrimp.
“I just talked to him,” Victor said, squirming in his chair. “He’s on his way.”
Good. As distasteful as it would be to sit next to the man, Sam wanted him close. Where he could watch him.
Cruz and two other detectives were already in the room, spread out at three different tables.
Salads had already been delivered and half eaten before Mission arrived. He was pale and he had dark circles under his eyes, making the story that he wasn’t feeling well pretty believable. Sam hoped it was his tooth and that the fool wasn’t contagious.
Mission nodded in Sam’s direction but didn’t speak. During dinner, he talked with Victor’s wife and answered the occasional question or comment that Hannah volleyed over the table. Dessert had been served and coffee poured when a young woman, wearing a headset, approached the table. She squatted next to Claire but spoke loudly enough to include Mission.
“We need the award finalists up on stage,” she said. “You’ll be introduced fifth, Mr. Mission, and you’ll be the sixth and final i
ntroduction, Ms. Fontaine.” She motioned for them to stand.
Claire looked longingly at her chocolate mousse.
Sam leaned toward her. “Do you want me to put it in my pocket?” he teased.
She rolled her eyes and pushed back her chair. Mission got up and stood next to her. Sam expected headset girl to lead them up onto the stage, but instead, she wound her way through the tables until she reached the rear of the room. There were four other people already standing there and Sam assumed they were the other finalists.
He relaxed a little when he saw that Cruz was within twenty feet of the group. But then his heart kicked into high gear when the woman opened a door and ushered the group into the hallway.
He motioned to Cruz to follow them and waited impatiently for Cruz’s voice to come through his earpiece.
“Okay here,” said Cruz. “The group is backstage. I’ll wait outside this door.”
Sam tried to calm down. He did not like having Claire out of his sight. The lights on the stage went on and a man wearing a bad-fitting tuxedo walked to the microphone. He introduced himself as the president of the advertising association. He rambled on about the history of the association, the ways the organization supported and educated its membership and finally, the importance of recognizing extraordinary talent.
When he announced that one of the six finalists would take home a $15,000 check, a titter ran through the crowd.
He knew the money would help Claire. She probably didn’t make a whole lot and rent was expensive in Chicago. And given that Gregory Fontaine had let it slip that he and Lucille weren’t in Claire’s financial corner, he’d understood the comments about money that she’d let slip.
He had some money. Had been a good saver for the past ten years. He’d give her whatever she needed.
The screen behind the emcee lit up, flashing a picture of one of the finalists. They read a brief bio and then the screen changed. It was the design entry, a full-page ad, and it was hawking soap.
The same thing happened again and again. Three more finalists, three more products—toothpaste, stainless-steel pans and life insurance. Finally, it was Mission’s turn. When his face flashed on the screen, Sam took quiet delight in noting that the man’s ears weren’t quite level on his head. However, when Mission’s design flashed on the screen, Sam did have to admit that it had some appeal. The product was designer shoes. An angel, with flowing gold hair, dressed in a long white gown was sitting on a white cloud in a soft blue sky. The only bright color was her three-inch red heels. Slightly above her, St. Peter was sitting at the entrance of the Pearly Gates looking impatient. The caption above the angel was “I’m not coming without my Binockis.”
