And then maybe he’d think about moving. He’d never lived anywhere but Santa Raquel. Maybe he should head down the coast a bit. See what kind of crimes they had to solve down there.
He wasn’t even halfway to his exit when his phone rang.
Chantel. Not Bloom.
“Sam? She’s not home.”
“She’s at the office. She never answers when she’s with a client.”
“We tried there, too. We’ve also been calling her. She’s not picking up.”
He started to panic. Something he hadn’t done on the job since his father was killed. “She’s shopping,” he blurted out. “You know where she goes, you’ve been with her. Go there.”
“I’ve already got someone headed that way,” Chantel told him. And the tone in her voice finally registered with him.
She knew more.
And it wasn’t good.
“What’s going on?”
“We’ve got Jean Cordoba, Sam.”
So why did she sound like she had something bad to tell him?
Unless...
No, she’d said she was sending someone to the store where Bloom shopped.
That meant they didn’t know for sure...
“She’s out of her head, Sam. On something. She just keeps saying that she had to do it. For Ken. So he’d love her again. Said she wasn’t worried about the bimbo. That was just a fling. Her real problem was Bloom. Freelander just couldn’t stop talking about Bloom. About making her pay. Jean figured if she did it for him he’d love her again.”
“Where’d you find her?”
“A couple of blocks from Bloom’s. There was blood on her hands.”
“And Bloom’s place?”
“The painting over the fireplace was slashed. There was some blood on the mantle.”
Everything inside of him went blank.
“Bloom’s car was in the garage, Sam. We have no idea what Jean was driving or how she got to Santa Raquel. She was walking when we found her. It looks like she might have done something with Bloom, Sam. But we can’t get her to tell us where she is.”
His whole life sat in that moment. In the balance. Without Bloom it meant nothing.
* * *
“GO HOME, SAM.”
Hearing Salyers’s words as he left the interrogation room, Sam had to clamp down on his jaw to keep from letting his captain know, in very clear terms, what he could do with that command.
“I mean it.” Salyers, who knew him well, followed him down the hall to the break room where he was going to get a cup of coffee for himself and a glass of ice water to dump over Jean Cordoba’s head.
He didn’t care what she had in her system. She was not passing out until he found out where Bloom was.
Salyers stood over him as he poured stale coffee into a foam cup. Chantel, with a cup of her own, watched from the table. “You are not going back in there right now.”
After more than six hours of interrogating the girl, Sam still had no idea where Bloom was.
He knew that Jean had talked some of her brother’s guys into helping her get Gomez out of the way. And that she’d been planning to use the gun they’d also given her to scare Bloom that night she’d come out of her office. She hadn’t been going to hurt her. She’d just hoped that by scaring her, like Kenneth had been saying he wanted to do, she’d get the professor’s attention again. If he could see what a great partner she’d be, seeing to his needs, he’d marry her. He was out of prison. Divorced. She just had to remind him how good she was for him.
The news had come in disjointed spurts. But it had all been there.
She’d been responsible for the guard down at The Lemonade Stand, too. But Freelander had ordered the hit on Lila’s car, separate and apart from Jean. The guys had told her about it and Jean had just gone along as insurance that the job got done right. To show him what a good team they made.
The young men who’d helped her had thought they’d be earning points with her brother. Instead, they’d ended up hurt worse than either guard had been. Juan hadn’t been pleased that they’d acted without his say-so.
Freelander hadn’t been angry with Jean, though. He’d had sex with her to show his gratitude. She’d worn the uniform she’d ordered to surprise him—the same one she’d worn on the jobs. She’d thought she’d won him back. But then he was gone again.
He’d been the one to slash the paintings. That had happened just as she’d said.
After Sam came looking for her, she’d told her brother about being in love with Freelander. He’d been really pissed, but he’d told her he’d take care of her. He’d told her what to say—and what not to say—when she’d talked to Sam the first time.
But he didn’t understand how much she loved Kenneth. Or believe how much Kenneth loved her. But she knew. He’d used his one phone call from jail to call her...
It all rattled around in Sam’s brain. All of it. He was missing something. Hadn’t gotten far enough in someone’s brain.
“I have to get back in there,” he said. And ran into Salyers. The man had stepped right in front of him.
“Captain...” He sidestepped, trying to get past him. So did Salyers, his arms crossed.
“He’s right, Sam. You need to go home. At least take a shower. Change your clothes. I’ll keep at her. We’ll find Bloom.” Chantel’s voice reached him. It didn’t change his mind.
“And the blood? While I’m driving home and taking a shower, Bloom Freelander could be bleeding to death.”
“Maybe Jean’s telling the truth. Maybe all that blood really did come from that cut on her hand. Maybe it really was from the knife she’d had in her hand when she’d slipped climbing up on the mantle...”
Blood samples had been sent to the lab for testing. It could be twenty-four hours or more before they’d hear back.
He looked at her. “Do you believe that?”
She looked down at her coffee.
“And you?” he asked Salyers. “Do you?”
“What I believe is that you aren’t effective here right now. If you want to find Dr. Freelander, you need to go home and shower and let someone else have a chance with Jean Cordoba.”
He’d never been spoken to in such a tone.
“Just grab a shower, Sam,” Chantel said. “Come right back. I’ll call you if she gives us any clue...”
* * *
ONE THING GOT through to Sam. He was ineffective. He’d managed to get a hell of a lot out of the girl. She’d turned on her lover. On her brother. He had enough testimony to prove that Freelander had purchased illegal drugs with the intent to harm. That he’d sold them. And that he’d continued to write illegal scripts because when he’d been released from prison and had tried to wipe the East Side gang out of his life—even going so far as to end his relationship with Cordoba’s sister—he’d found that the gang owned him.
He had everything but Bloom.
Yeah, he was ineffective. How had he managed to turn the girl on everyone she loved, and still not get her to give him the only thing he wanted at the moment—Bloom?
The woman he loved.
He drove home with his bubble going, wiping tears from his eyes as he pulled through his gate. He had to find her.
Life was nothing without Bloom in it. Even from afar.
He’d settle for from afar.
He just had to find her.
Lucy must have sensed that all was not well. She didn’t jump up on him exuberantly the minute he opened the door, though she’d been alone for more than twelve hours.
There were no messes on the floor, either.
“Good girl,” he told her, letting her out and then heading straight back to the shower. By the time he was done, she’d be done, and he’d be out of there.
He’d stripped his tie off in the car. Threw his coat and shirt at the bedroom wall as hard as he could, stepping out of his shoes as he did so.
“Sam?”
He froze. Salyers and Chantel were right. He was losing it. He’d just heard...
“Sam? What’s going on?”
Afraid of seeing an empty space, Sam spun around.
Bloom stood there, in bare feet, and with tousled hair, but otherwise looking as though she’d come from work.
But her car was at home.
“Are you okay?” He stared. And then moved closer, studying every inch of her. Without touching.
He saw no blood. Not on her skin. Or her clothes.
“I’m fine,” she said. And then gave a nervous chuckle. “Other than the fact that I think I’m losing my mind. Half the time that is. The other half I think I’m finally seeing clearly...”
He didn’t get anything she’d just said.
“Sam? Are you angry with me for being here? I took a chance...”
She turned. “Maybe I should go.”
“No!” He lunged and grabbed her arm.
When he noticed her looking at his grip on her, he loosened it but didn’t let go.
“How long have you been here?”
“I have no idea what time it is,” she said, glancing around. “I fell asleep in your bed. Well, the bed that was yours when I was here...”
She glanced behind her toward the spare room.
He stared at her, trying to make sense out of a nonsensical situation.
“I only had a couple of appointments this morning and came here straight from work. I...I’ve been doing a lot of thinking, Sam, and when I was in my office, counseling others...I knew what I had to do. We teach what we most need to learn, did you know that?”
He shook his head. Held her arm. And continued to watch her.
“I knew if I didn’t come straight here I’d talk myself out of it. I find that I’m a little too good at the cerebral thing and that I need to get better at being willing to take on the pain so that I can feel the joy.”
He caught the cerebral part of it. Wished she’d hurry up and get on past it.
“I still had your gate remote and the house key,” she said. “I haven’t seen you since I picked up my stuff earlier in the week and...”
She’d made that sound like an accusation. Like he was supposed to be in touch with her. Had she been waiting for him to ask for his key back?
“You came to return my key?”
“No. I came to talk to you.”
Oh. “You could have called.”
“I know. And I thought about it, of course, because I think about everything, but I needed to talk to you without you having a chance to try to figure me out or think about what I might say and what you might say and...”
“You didn’t want to be manipulated.”
“Maybe. I don’t know. I just wanted to...surprise you.”
“To see if I was happy to see you.” Understanding was like a warm river cradling a freezing man.
“Yes.”
She had no idea how happy he was to see her.
“Your car is in your garage.”
“My battery was dead this morning. I didn’t have time to wait for a new one to be delivered so I called a cab. And then had one drop me here. Outside the gate, of course. I didn’t open the gate until he was gone.”
She’d been in a cab. One she’d called. And then in his house.
“So what did you come to tell me?”
“Are you okay?” she asked again. “You look awful.”
Her honesty beguiled him. Or maybe just the fact that she was alive did that.
“I’ve been working on a tough case...”
“All day?”
His throat clogged, preventing speech, so he nodded.
“I figured it was something like that, which was why, when I started to get tired of waiting, I took a nap. I knew I might not have the guts to try this a second time.”
“Try what?”
“To tell you that I love you.” The words came in such a rush they made him dizzy. “Now, don’t get all uptight or anything.” She held up a hand, still spewing words almost faster than her mouth could pronounce them. “I’m not putting anything on you or expecting anything. I’m not going back on our agreement. I just had to tell you. As part of my therapy. I’m accepting the pain so I can...”
She paused. Tears filled her eyes, and Sam thought he might die from the sight.
“I just... I’ve been... Madge...and then Lucy and...you...”
She was making less sense than Jean had all day. Only this time, it made perfect sense.
He didn’t say anything. There was no way to make her past easier. No way to help the little girl she’d been. But he could help her now.
He took her in his arms, still surprised when she fell willingly against him. She was crying so hard her entire body shook—his Bloom, who was always so calm and controlled. He made it to the side of the bed with her. Lay down with her. Cradled her against his chest for as long as it took.
And when the sobs calmed, and the tears dried, he spoke.
“I love you, too, Bloom. I was going to tell you, just as soon as...”
Lucy barked. He sprang up.
“What?” She looked alarmed.
“I left Lucy outside.” He quickly remedied that and met Bloom in the hallway. Lucy wasn’t all of it. “And I forgot all about work,” he said. “Chantel, the captain, everyone, they’re interrogating Jean Cordoba.”
He had to call them. Immediately. He couldn’t find his cell. Remembered throwing his jacket against the wall.
“Jean Cordoba?” Bloom was over by the wall, getting his phone out of his jacket pocket and handing it to him.
She waited while he made his call. And then stood there interrogating him until she knew everything that had happened.
At that point, when he was thinking he should grab a shower and they probably ought to think about something to eat, she grabbed him by the belt buckle and pulled him toward her, walking backward to the bed.
“You’re in love with me.” The smile on her face wasn’t arrogant. It was just...calmly knowing.
“Yes.”
“You forgot all about the job the second you saw me here tonight.”
He’d just said so.
“And I love you, too.”
They were at the edge of the bed.
“I still want to hear more about that,” he told her, his throat dry. She loved him. He hadn’t counted on that part.
“Oh, you will,” she told him. “I have a feeling I’m going to be spending the rest of my life analyzing the whole love thing.”
Sounded like a worthy lifetime goal to him.
“But first, we have some business to take care of.” She pulled him down to the bed.
She wanted to have sex?
He did, too, of course, but after the day he’d had, he...
“I need you to let me out of that agreement we made, Sam.” She teared up again, but kept going. “I need you to know that I need you. I want you. And I have a feeling I’m going to become very interdependent with you.”
With one finger, he wiped her tears. “My sweet, smart, beautiful Bloom,” he said, feeling reborn as he opened himself to her. “I love you. I need you. And I’m going to spend the rest of my life protecting that heart of yours. You have my word on it. My life is all about you, Bloom.”
“And mine is about you, Sam.”
“Forever.”
“Forever.”
He leaned forward to kiss her, a kiss completely filled with love, and felt a paw on his thigh just before a big wet nose touched his chin. And Bloom’s.
&n
bsp; Lucy.
Obviously, she approved.
* * * * *
Read on for an extract from RETURN TO MARKER RANCH by Claire McEwen.
CHAPTER ONE
LORI ALLEN TUGGED at the brim of her hat in a futile attempt to shade her eyes from the relentless blue sky. It was way too hot for this late in the fall. She scanned the granite ridges that towered behind her ranch. Heat waves shimmered between her and the peaks. No clouds. Again.
But heat or no heat, Lori couldn’t put it off any longer. She needed to get this pasture ready. The cattle she’d summered up in the high Sierra meadows had to come down. The Bureau of Land Management didn’t care that summer never seemed to end anymore. They’d fine her if she let the herd stay beyond the terms of the lease.
Leaning forward in the saddle, Lori nudged her mare up the rutted dirt road that bordered her upper pasture. She glanced at the neat rows of barbed wire with pride. There’d been plenty of time to mend fences last winter when the snow never came. Though she’d happily trade this perfect fence line for a few snowstorms.
Thanks to the drought, the only forage up here was brush and brown stubble. Maybe if she turned on the irrigation for a few days she could get some new grass started before she brought the cattle down. She glanced at the sky again. It was her only choice. Irrigate or pray for rain. And she’d been praying to deaf ears for a while now.
Dakota’s short, choppy gait took them quickly up the hill toward the well and the irrigation valves. The flaking gray metal of the storage tank came into view. Lori veered the mare alongside it and peeked at the gauge. And felt her heart stutter. “No...” she breathed, staring at the gauge. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Dakota’s ears flicked back instantly, as if the little quarter horse was trying to comprehend the sudden change in her rider’s mood.
Lori blinked, looked and blinked again. But nothing changed. The tank was empty.
No. No, no, no. The words hammered along with her heart. She’d heard of wells running dry a little south of here, but this one was supplied by mountain runoff, and there had been some snow up on the highest peaks last winter. It would make sense for the well to be low...but empty? Impossible.
The Promise He Made Her Page 25
