A
week ago, she would have sworn it would have taken longer for her to feel this
way. A month ago, she would have wondered if it would ever be possible.
Tonight, having watched him interact with his family, feeling welcome there,
his mother’s words, all of it made her realize what she had somehow missed
before. Nick had gotten under her skin.
Now,
in his living room, Nick wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close, the
sound of Miles Davis drifting around them. The distant hum of the old record
player sang along with the tune of Miles’ horn, and Sam could picture Nick
playing with the old band. She pictured his arms around his bass, wondering if
he could possibly offer the bass more passion than she felt right then.
In
his arms, feeling him pressed against her, she was dizzy in a wonderfully giddy
way. She hadn’t had a sip of alcohol to warp her thoughts. Instead, it was
another drug, wholly internal, that was affecting her brain. One she hadn’t
enjoyed since Brent. And even Brent had been entirely different. Less intense,
she thought. No, Nick was as close to perfect as she had ever known. Not that
she had much experience.
Dancing,
they moved to their own slow rhythm despite the quickening beat of the music
around them. He kissed her again, and she held on to him.
Her
tongue melded with his, her hands gripped his shoulders, her body pressed to
his. When she pulled away, it was as though the air had been sucked from the
room. Stepping back, she pushed one hand through her hair, keeping hold of him
with her other. She smiled at his wary expression. Feeling her own pulse leap,
she took a step backward. Then, slowly, she pulled him toward the bedroom.
He
exhaled, and she saw the thrill in his eyes, felt it in her own chest. Without
a word, she opened his bedroom door. She crossed the room and sat on the edge
of the bed, slipping her shoes off. Her hands shook, and she longed to be
through this initial awkwardness, to lie beside him, to feel him naked with
her. She ran her hand across the top of the bed, inviting him to join her,
playing the game of seductress and yet feeling like a young girl ready for her
first time. A young girl offering her virginity—something Sam had never had the
choice to give. But none of that mattered now.
Nick
sat down beside her. She kissed his lips softly and then stood straight, her
body between his legs. She watched him, feeling his excitement and her own,
heating the room, flushing her skin. Without looking down, her fingers found
her top button and she worked it out of its buttonhole. Followed by the next
and the next. Nick didn’t move. When she was done, she pushed her shoulders
back and let the shirt slide off her creamy, freckled flesh. She was shaking,
and she closed her eyes to fight off the fear.
Forcing
herself not to think, she reached behind her back and unfastened her bra. She
dropped her hands and it fell to the floor. Feeling naked and cold, she
shivered. Just then, she felt his strong arms draw her close.
“Sam,”
he whispered, the sound of his voice uttering her name as wonderful as any
sound she’d ever heard. “Look at me.”
She
opened her eyes and he smiled.
“Are
you okay?”
“Nervous.”
He
laughed. “Me, too. We can wait. I’ll wait for you.”
She
shook her head. “I don’t want to wait anymore.”
Nick
held her chin. “You’re sure?”
She
nodded. Then, reaching down, she worked at the buttons on his shirt as he
kissed her shoulder and then her neck. She spread her palms over the smooth
skin of his chest and ran them along his sides.
She
pushed his shirt off his shoulders and leaned forward to kiss his chest, then
made her way up to his neck. She kissed his shoulder and felt uneven skin
beneath her lips. She ran her hand over an old scar. “What’s it from?” she
whispered.
“Breaking
up a bar fight.”
She
smiled.
He
drew her close and kissed her neck. “What?”
She
thought of her own wounds. “I’ve got one, too.”
He
ran his hands over her shoulders and down her arms. “Where?”
Watching
him, she stood and slowly unfastened her belt buckle and the buttons of her
pants. She pushed them over her hips and let them drop to the floor. She felt
the cool air against her skin.
He
made a hoarse sound as his eyes explored the shape of her.
She
put her hand under his chin and lifted his gaze. “Here,” she whispered,
pointing to an inch-long scar halfway between her belly button and the rounded
bone of her hip.
“How?”
“Guy
pulled a knife before I could get out of his way,” she whispered, kissing his
ear and pressing herself against him.
Taking
her by the hips, he turned her around and sat her on the edge of the bed,
lowering himself to kiss the scar and then her belly button and then lower. Sam
fell back on the bed and pushed her panties over her hips and down her legs. As
she lay naked on his bed, he stood above her, studying every inch like a man
who had discovered a lost treasure. She smiled and tried to roll over, but he
held her down.
“You’re
beautiful, Sam Chase. The most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”
“Come
here,” she whispered, reaching out to him.
He
shed the rest of his own clothes and lay beside her.
She
awoke to the incessant beeping of a distant car alarm.
Nick
was sitting up in bed, rubbing his eyes.
Running
her fingers across his back, she yawned. “What is that?”
“I
think it’s a pager.”
She
sat up. “Damn, it sounds like mine.”
“I’ll
get it.”
“It’s
in my purse.”
Nick
came back, carrying her bag. He set it on the bed.
Trying
to wake herself up, she found the black machine and pushed the green button to
read the message. It was her home number. She looked at the time on the screen
and then at the digital clock on Nick’s bedside table. It was three-fifteen in
the morning. What the hell was going on? The idea that someone was hurt flashed
across her mind.
Nick
handed her the phone and she dialed.
“Hello,”
Derek answered, his voice strained. She heard noise in the background.
“It’s
Sam. What’s going on? Where’s Mrs. Dennis? Is everyone okay?”
“There
are a bunch of police here. They were asking for you. They want to look around.
They say they’ve got a warrant.”
“A
warrant?” Sam felt her throat catch. She glanced at Nick, but he was rubbing
his eyes. “Put one of them on the phone.”
There
was a pause and she heard voices in the background, easily five or six people.
She pictured them tearing apart her house and felt like spitting.
“Sergeant
Henry Harding.”
“This
is Sam Chase. What the hell’s going on over there?”
“We’ve
got a warrant to search the premises, Agent Chase.”
“A
warrant? What the fuck are you looking for?”
Nick
sat up and put his hand on her back, but she shook him off.
“I
want to know what the hell you think you’re doing there at three-fifteen in the
goddamn morning, warrant or not. Who’s in charge?”
“We’re
instructed to search for items relating to the murders of Sandi Walters and Eva
Larson. Orders come from Captain Cintrello of the sheriff’s department, ma’am.”
“Don’t
you touch a damn thing until I get there.” She slammed the phone down and
started grabbing for her clothes.
“Sam,
what’s going on?”
“They’re
at my house right now, looking for evidence. A warrant at three-fifteen in the
fucking morning.” She stopped and stared at him, her entire body shaking. “You
tell me what they’re doing there, Detective Thomas. The order’s from Cintrello.
You going to tell me that you didn’t know anything about it?”
“I
didn’t know,” he said quickly. “Not about the warrant. Not that they’d do it
like this. Cintrello told me to stay close to you tonight. I thought I could
protect you, create an alibi in case something happened.”
She
clenched her teeth and pulled her clothes to her chest. “You were providing me
with an alibi.” The words spat out of her mouth. “Won’t Cintrello be proud. You
certainly did a good job with that, Nick. Heck, getting me into bed was just
about the best alibi possible.”
“That’s
not what I meant. I didn’t plan that—”
“Right.
I made that part easy for you. That whole sob story outside about how the case
was so crazy, how you didn’t want me to push you away if something happened—you
knew about the whole damn thing.” She pulled her shirt on and fumbled with the
buttons, cursing herself for being so stupid.
“Sam,
listen. I had no idea they would do it like this. I’ll go over there with you.
We’ll figure it all out.”
Sam
wasn’t listening. His words spurred her anger. “Was this some sort of trap? Get
me out of the way so that they could search my house without me knowing—maybe
plant some evidence while they’re there?” She pulled her pants on and stuffed
her feet into her shoes. “You did a hell of a job, Nick. You ought to get that
promotion for sure now.”
“That’s
not fair.”
“Not
fair, my ass.” She picked up her purse and her jacket. “I’m being investigated
for murder and I’m not being fair. Fuck you, Nick Thomas. Fuck you.” She
started to walk away, then spun back. “Sorry—I guess I already did.”
Nick
closed Sam’s den door and dialed his captain at home. It was four-thirty
A
.
M
., but he couldn’t wait a
second longer. He’d spent the last hour trying to calm Sam down and comfort Rob
and Derek. None of it did any good. Sam’s house was swarming with cops on the
inside and reporters on the outside. The cops treated Sam like a common
criminal. Only when Nick intervened did they even bother to try to straighten as
they searched. And a cop’s idea of straightening was to avoid pulling the
stuffing out of everything.
The
media were even worse. At least there weren’t so many at this hour, but the few
who lingered were vicious. Nick had sent a cop out to get rid of them, but the
story was too sensational. The best he’d been able to do was to keep the front
door shut so they couldn’t get any more pictures.
“Cintrello,”
his captain answered, and Nick knew he was awake. It should have been a relief,
but instead it meant things were worse than Nick had imagined. “It’s Thomas.”
“I’m
going to venture a guess that the man I just saw walking with Chase outside her
house on Channel 5 was you. You’re lucky they didn’t catch your face. And from
what I saw, you looked like shit.”
“Thanks.”
Nick was angry, but he tried his damnedest not to let it take over. “You want
to tell me what the hell’s going on? You never said anything about a warrant,
Captain.”
“I
don’t owe you explanations, Thomas. If anything, you owe me some.”
“My
private life is not police business.”
“It
is when you were supposed to keep your girlfriend in line tonight.”
“Jesus
Christ, Captain. Doesn’t this seem far-fetched?”
“Maybe
to you, Thomas. But you’re wearing your dick for glasses.”
Nick
didn’t say a word—he didn’t trust himself. Instead, he paced and gripped the
phone so hard he thought he might crush it in his fist.
“When
you’re done sulking, they could use you at Haven Street in Martinez.”
“What
the hell’s there?”
“The
next victim.”
He
halted and let his breath out in a slow, steady stream. “When?”
“Last
night, about midnight, I guess. Wife came home from her sister’s and found him.
I made them preserve the scene—they’re waiting for you.”
“Sam
was with me at midnight.”
“I
know that, Thomas. Figure out if it’s the same killer first, and the exact time
of death, then we can talk about Chase’s alibi.”
“Why
serve a warrant on her in the middle of the night, then?”
“Because
we had to move fast, find out if she was involved. I’m trying to solve this
thing before any more evidence points her way. If you were smart, you’d do the
same thing. Now that there’s a third vic, you’d better keep your distance from
her for a while—especially if you want to work this case. As it is, I ought to
pull you.”
Nick
clenched his jaw. “You can’t pull me off this now—we’re in the middle of a
murder investigation.”
“I’ll
think about it. Just keep a low profile and stay off the damn TV, okay? And get
over to that scene as soon as you can. I want this thing solved.”
Nick
heard the click of the phone before he said good-bye. He hung up and went back
into the living room. Sam paced the room, trying to straighten up where the
police had made a mess. They hadn’t found anything. Just as he’d known they
wouldn’t. But that wouldn’t stop their idiotic theories. He needed to find the
real killer before Sam could be taken off the proverbial hook. “Can I talk to
you?”
She
didn’t even look at him. “There’s nothing to talk about.”
“We’ve
got another murder. I’ve got to go.”
She
stopped fussing, but she still refused to look at him. “What’s the M.O. ?”
“Multiple
gunshots to the head, but the victim’s got eucalyptus behind each ear.”
She
frowned but didn’t speak.
“Sound
familiar?”
“Sounds
like the Son of Sam,” she said, referring to the infamous serial killer in New
York who shot his victims. “Who’s the victim?”
“Martin
Herman.”
Sam
flinched. “It’s mine.”
“I
figured.” His beeper buzzed again, but he just shut it off. He knew what it
was. He’d be there soon enough.
“Abuser?”
She
nodded. “His wife and kids. Very physical. I got her to press charges once, but
it didn’t last. She pulled them two days later.”