Deception (Southern Comfort) (17 page)

“What?  Oh, no.”  Sam shook her head and offered a smile.  “I work in a bar, remember?  I’m around the stuff every day.  I just… decided that it was better to face my problems rather than trying to drown them in a bottle.”  The smile faded and Josh’s heart tore.  “I know…” she took a deep breath, “it seemed like I had a problem back when you and I met, and honestly, I was probably on the verge of addiction.  But the day I woke up, reached for a drink instead of coffee, I realized it had become more than a crutch. I have that tendency, personality-wise, so I have to really watch myself.  Alcohol, cigarettes… lately it’s been chocolate, though at least that one won’t kill me.  The nicotine habit was a bitch to kick.  That was an addiction.  I think I spent entire paychecks on that stupid gum, but I eventually stopped craving it and now I can’t even stand the smell of smoke.  Which sucks for me, because hey, I work in a bar.”

Josh couldn’t move, because he was so stunned by the easy flow of conversation.  Sam had been… secretive before, closed off and not easy to approach. Ashamed of her various failings.  She was usually drunk when she leaked little pieces of information, because it was the only time she lost her emotional inhibition.  It was how he’d learned the extent of Collin’s cruelty and the fact that she couldn’t really read – that she’d dropped out of school at age seventeen because she thought she was stupid.  Among other reasons, Josh suspected, but that was the only one she gave. She’d gotten involved with Collin soon after that, and he no doubt contributed to that assessment.  And he also managed to keep her away from her brother – Donnie’d landed himself in jail when he’d beaten Collin to a pulp – so Samantha had suffered alone.

But now… Josh simply couldn’t believe the self-possession of the woman before him.  She made it sound like no big deal, but putting herself in a situation where she was facing the temptation from two former addictions – or quasi-addictions – every day, couldn’t be all that easy.  And she’d managed to overcome what he was sure was dyslexia.  It still shocked him that the public school system had failed her so badly that she’d reached high school without anyone catching it.

“Josh?”

Sam’s voice brought him to the present.  He looked up to find her watching him, having already carried their plates to the table.  “Sorry.”  It might sound condescending to say he was proud of her.  She really didn’t need his approval.  “Guess I sort of zoned.”  He opened the fridge and called over his shoulder.  “Bottled water?” he asked and she nodded.  He
poured it into glasses and sat down.

“Lack of sleep tends to have that effect,” Sam observed, clearly trying to make the conversation lighter. 

Josh took the hint, and a bite of chicken. The first mouthful made him want to weep.  “Oh man. I may never let you leave here again.” Which was the perfectly wrong thing to say.  He could have bitten off his own tongue and fried it.

Obviously noticing his mortification, Sam offered a smile. “It’s okay.”  She took a small bite.  “I’m glad you like it.”

Rooting around for a safe topic of conversation that didn’t involve awkward propositions or requests to bear his children, Josh struggled for something to say.  He could ask about Donnie, but was certain she wouldn’t be here if there’d been any change in his condition.  He’d also quietly begun digging into her brother’s recent past to see if he could find a reason the man had been shot. 

Not exactly pleasant dinnertime conversation. 

He could bring up his conversation with Clay today, or the fact that he’d contacted some people in California to see if he could pinpoint good old Collin’s whereabouts for the timeframe in question, but somehow the last thing he wanted to talk about right now was the depressing fact that she was once again a victim.  Instead, he thought of the way she’d survived so much already, and how she had found a way to give something back.

“So have you been volunteering very long?  At the Family Violence Center?”

Sam speared a glazed carrot before looking up.  “Here in Charleston, I just started about a month ago.  But back in Columbia I’d been doing so for a couple years.”

Columbia, where she’d been attending college.  Before she’d gotten the call to come here.  “Are you shooting for a degree in social work?”  The mashed potatoes were hot and burned the roof of his mouth.  “Ouch,” he complained.  “Damn it.”

“Sorry.  I should have warned you they were hot.”

“And I should have used my highly-touted detective skills and noticed that they were steaming.”

“Well,” Sam smiled, and his heart warmed.  “There is that.”  When he grinned at her she ducked her head.  “I’m a semester away from graduating,” she admitted.  “And yes, my degree will be in social work.”

She took a drink of water and as he watched her lick her lips Josh thought he just might have to break down and cry.  He wanted to kiss her.  God, he wanted to kiss her so badly…

“I’ve considered becoming a victim’s advocate.  A lot of police departments have started to create the position on their staff so there’s a pretty good market for it right now.”

Josh blinked and realized he’d been drifting.  And she was saying something important, damn it.  “That’s… great.”  Now how about saying something intelligent?  The last thing Sam needed was another man who couldn’t overcome his libido long enough to see her for who she was.  “Victim’s advocates really help the system.  It helps the victim or witness to have someone in the department who’s totally dedicated to them, and it helps the detectives to have someone to answer the victim’s questions about the whole criminal and judicial process so that they can focus on the investigation.”  And suddenly the reality hit him.  They could essentially be in the same line of work.

Maybe she could apply with his station house.  He could see her nearly every day…

Drifting, drifting, not helping.

“Um, I think it’s part of a really beneficial trend in law enforcement,” he continued.  “Actually, my position is fairly current, also.  I’m one of the first full-time forensic artists the CPD has employed, although I function as a detective as well.  Kind of a two-for-the-price-of-one sort of deal.”

SAM
was really interested to hear about his work.  “So what exactly is it that you do?” she asked, scooping up potatoes and trying not to drop them.  She probably looked like a country bumpkin next to Josh’s more sophisticated companions.  “I mean aside from the obvious sketch artist thing?”

“Well, the composite sketching is a big part of it.  A lot of times I act as a first responder at a scene, interviewing witnesses and leading them through their descriptions.  Sometimes we’re able to match them up with an already existing mug shot – and I get the privilege of putting the appropriate groups of photos together; not my favorite aspect of the job – but a lot of times we end up sketching the suspect from scratch.  It’s amazing what people can remember when they’re provided with the right direction. I also do what we call facial reconstruction.” 

Sam sat back and wiped her napkin across her mouth.  “I’ve seen that,” she said with interest.  “On old episodes of CSI.”

“The bane of real-life law enforcement.”  Josh laughed when Sam looked
up in surprise.  “The CSI effect,” he explained. “Modern juries don’t understand why we aren’t able to produce irrefutable, ironclad evidence of guilt, essentially getting them off the deliberation hook. And if a crime goes unsolved for months, or God forbid, years, the investigators are skewered for being incompetent.  But rarely is our equipment so sophisticated, our minds so brilliant, or the evidence so clear-cut that we’re able to pinpoint the perpetrator within an hour of being handed the case.”

“So I guess there’s really no Grissom.” She shook her head in mock disappointment.

“Not outside the TV.  But I remember the episode you’re referring to, anyway – the one where the famous forensic artist comes in and reconstructs a victim’s face from her skull.  And essentially, that’s what I’m talking about.  It’s used as a means of identifying skeletal remains, or a body in the advanced stages of decomposition, when there are no other readily available means of identification.  Although three-dimensional reconstruction is more time-consuming and less common.  Most often, I’ll do a two-dimensional reconstruction, which means I draw an image of the victim based on photographs of the skull.”

“That’s really cool.”  Albeit in a completely morbid way.  “Although all that time you spent sketching me and my naked hiney didn’t really help considering you only work with the face.”

Josh choked, and it was Sam’s turn at mortification.  Did she have to have such a big mouth?  Learning to sensor her thoughts before they spewed forth and got her into trouble was something she really needed to work on. “Sorry. You want some water?”

HOW
about a cold shower?  Now Sam’s naked hiney was front and center in his mind.  “No thanks.”  Josh made a hasty grab for his wine.

Too hasty, because he knocked it over and spilled it on his lap.  His napkin was soaked, his pants were soaked, and it was going to be embarrassing if he had to stand up.  Then Sam would realize how vividly he remembered what a fine hiney she truly had.

“Here, let me help you.”  Sam made a move to bring him her napkin.

“No, no.” Josh held both hands up before she could advance.  “It’s uh… it’s really not that bad.”

But too late he realized he was sitting at a glass-topped table.  Sam’s gaze drifted down to spy the huge wet spot, but luckily the napkin was situated in such a way that it spared him from further embarrassment. 

So she might think he was an idiot, but that was slightly better than a horny bastard.

“You’re sure?” she asked, tone clearly disbelieving.

“Positive,” he replied.  And tucked into his carrots so that she would believe him. 

SAM
resettled herself at the table and looked at Josh out of the corner of her eye.  He’d looked horrified there for a moment, like he wanted no part of her or her napkin.  Was he afraid that she was going to come over there and…

Oh.  No wonder he was uncomfortable.  He probably wanted to make sure she understood he didn’t want her to touch him that way.  He was such a good-looking man that it probably happened often. Sometimes life was a cosmic joke.

And in this case the joke was on her.

So they continued with dinner, chatting without really talking, all the heavy topics that no doubt hovered at the edge of both their minds being pushed aside in the interest of lightening the mood.  Sam was thankful that Josh hadn’t immediately gone into cop mode and started hounding her about possible stalkers, because this was the first truly enjoyable dinner she’d had in quite a
while. 

SAM
started yawning by the time their plates were cleaned, and Josh realized she had to be exhausted.  Like him, she’d gotten almost no sleep in the past two days. 

“Why don’t you let me clean up?” he suggested, rising from the table now that the coast was clear.  “No,” he commanded, when she started to protest.  “You cooked, I clean.  Distribution of labor is only fair.”

“I just… don’t want to be a burden.”

Josh had been reaching for her plate but stilled the action and looked her in the eye.  “Sam,” he said softly.  “I offered my home to you because I want you here.  It would be a burden on me if you forced me to worry about your safety.  And besides, I enjoy your company.”

“I appreciate it, Josh.  I really do.  But friendship only goes so far.  If I’m going to be here any length of time I’d feel much better if I contributed rent.”

Josh opened his mouth to protest, but realized that this might be really important to Sam.  Collin had manipulated her into a position where she was financially dependent on him, and then had made her feel inadequate.  He in no way wanted her to associate this with that horrible situation. 

“Okay,” he agreed, although it nearly killed him to do so.  One way he was very southern was in his attitude toward hospitality.  Particularly toward the woman he loved.  “Why don’t you give me a few days to, uh, check out some of the going rates, and in the meantime you can just consider yourself my guest.  Spend whatever you normally would on rent to replace some of the things you lost.”  It had been almost impossible this morning not to offer to do that himself.

CHEWING
her lip, Sam glanced at Josh to look for any signs of pity.  Friendship and generosity she could accept – she knew that was who he was – but if he wanted her here out of some sense of charity she’d have to pack up her things right now.  She couldn’t stand hand-outs, and as difficult as that had sometimes made things for her it was also that same pride which had carried her through. 

“Okay,” she agreed, sensing only genuine concern.  And she was also practical, not the type of woman who put independence above safety.  She could hardly put herself in a safer position than living with a Charleston police detective.  “I appreciate it, Josh.  Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.  Now why don’t you go to bed? You’re going to need toothpicks if your eyelids get any heavier.”

She was exhausted, but knew if she lay down right now she wouldn’t sleep.  Her mind was simply too active.  “Would you mind terribly if I sat up in the living room and read a little instead?  It helps me wind down before bedtime.”

“Sure.”  Josh carried the plates to the kitchen sink.  “Do you have any books with you or would you like to borrow one of mine?”