Against the Sky (23 page)

She telescoped out till she could see the surrounding area. The motel was north of Anchorage and east of Wasilla, not all that far from where they were now.

Her pulse spiked even higher as she considered the possibilities.

Trying not to get too excited, she went back to the website, started searching for another woman selling her wares in the same motel. Nick had said there were five women at The Snooze Inn in Fairbanks.

Samantha found a second woman in the same motel, a blonde with her legs spread and nothing on but a strip of black satin covering her crotch. Lacey offered her services as a massage therapist.

Hearing footsteps, she looked up to see Nick coming down the stairs, freshly shaven, black hair still damp from the shower, gorgeous blue eyes locked on her face. His lips curved into a slow, sexy smile. The bottom dropped out of her stomach the way it had when Derek's plane lifted off the ground.

“Hi . . .” was all Nick said, yet both of them knew exactly what the other was thinking.

Embarrassed by her train of thought, even more embarrassed by the graphic photos on the page, she minimized the naked pictures before Nick could see.

“I found something,” she said. “A couple of things, actually.”

She hated to show him, but she really had no choice.

Taking a deep breath, she moved over on the sofa so he could sit down in front of the screen.

 

 

On the sofa next to Samantha, Nick forced his mind away from her soft kisses, her sweet little body, and the great sex they'd just had.

“So what did you find?” he asked.

“A link from an erotic website to a motel owned by Northland.” She clicked up the photo. Even as a kid, he had never been into porn, and all he felt at seeing the erotic pictures was disgust.

“There's a map,” Samantha said. “The Sunset Motel is on the Glenn Highway northeast of here near Eureka. I found another woman who placed an ad for her services at the same location. There may be more.”

“Can you verify the date of the posting? I think they're moving the women from place to place, using different motels around the state. It keeps the police off track. No way to know where they might show up next.”

“Both of the photos were posted today.”

Cord walked in with an armload of wood, his forehead beaded with sweat though it was freezing cold outside. He dumped the logs next to the wood-burning stove and brushed himself off.

“We've got something,” Nick said, moving over so Cord could see what Samantha had found. “She's linked a couple of women to one of the motels Northland owns. Technically, the motels belong to Dragovich, but we have to figure Fedorko and Varga are running the women.”

Cord studied the photo. “That makes sense.”

“If we could talk to one of those girls,” Nick said, “get her to cooperate, we might be able to get the feds to pull their heads out of their asses and start working on trafficking charges against Fedorko and Bela Varga. That could ultimately give them Dragovich.”

“We could talk to the women,” Cord agreed, “but we'd need help to do it. Backup of some kind. I could arrest the girls for soliciting, but once I take them to the station, they'll probably clam up.”

“We have to do something,” Samantha said. “This could be the break we need.”

“Taggart won't like it,” Nick said. “He'll be worried about upsetting the feds and tarnishing his sterling reputation.”

“If I arrest them, I take them in. I'm still a cop, Nick, even if you aren't. And the guy is still my boss.”

Nick released a slow breath. “All right, but we need to give him something concrete. If we get lucky, maybe one of the women will be willing to roll on someone higher up in the food chain.”

“It'd be a gamble,” Cord said.

“A big one,” Nick agreed. “She'd have to be more afraid of jail than she is the Russians, and that isn't likely.”

Samantha spoke up. “One of the women might help you if she thought you'd be willing to help her in return. If she was forced into prostitution against her will, even if it was sometime back, she might want to get out, make a fresh start somewhere.”

Cord started nodding. “If she agreed to testify, she could go into witness protection, start a new life somewhere else. If protection isn't necessary, the Sister Mary Home for Women could take her in, set her up with a job and a place to stay. They've helped me with that kind of thing before.”

“That could work,” Nick said. “Which means our next move is to book an appointment with the massage therapists working at the Sunset Motel.” The odds for success weren't good, but they had to do something. They couldn't hide forever.

It could work, Nick thought again. It could also fail miserably and put all of them back in danger.

Which was the reason it was time for him to send Samantha home.

“We need to talk.”

The sound of Nick's voice drew Samantha's attention. Standing at the cutting board slicing tomatoes for the salad she was making to go with the pork chops, she paused. “What is it?”

He plucked the knife out of her hand and set it down on the cutting board. “It's time you went home, honey. I know you don't want to go. I know you want to stay here and help, but this thing we're planning . . . it could wind up leading the Russians right back to our doorstep.”

He reached toward her, rested his hand very gently on her stomach, the warmth seeping through her clothes.

“You're carrying our baby,” he said softly. “That's more important than revenge for your sister or seeing justice done or anything else.”

Her heart squeezed hard inside her. “I don't want to go, Nick.”

“I know you don't. I wish you could stay, but you can't. I called the airport. There's a flight out in the morning. I booked you a seat. By the time you're in the air, Cord and I'll have a plan in place. We'll go in and talk to those women, see if we can get one of them to cooperate.”

“If I stay, maybe I can help you convince them.”

“You've been a big help already. You've given us solid information, stuff we couldn't have come up with on our own. You deserve to be in on this, but you have to do what's best for the baby.”

Her bottom lip trembled.

“I promise I'll keep you posted every step of the way.”

She looked into his hard, handsome face, and emotion tightened her chest. How could she have ever thought she wouldn't love him? She stepped into his arms and they closed tightly around her. Nick buried his face in her hair.

“As soon as this is over, I'll fly down to San Francisco and we'll talk about the baby, okay?”

Her throat closed up. She nodded, unable to speak.

“I'd rather not go back to my house right now. There may be someone watching. I can pack up your things and send them down later. Unless there's something there you really need.”

“My essentials are all in my overnight bag. My laptop is here and I have stuff to wear once I get home. I'll be fine.”

He bent his head and very softly kissed her. “This isn't over, Samantha. You're going to have my baby. I don't take that lightly.”

“I know.”

He traced a finger along her jaw. “I'll let you finish dinner. Everyone's looking forward to it.”

She nodded and turned away, wiped a tear from her cheek she hoped he wouldn't see. Instead of leaving, Nick turned her back into his arms and kissed her long and deep.

“This isn't over,” he repeated gruffly, and walked out of the kitchen.

But Samantha knew that the moment the plane left the ground, it would be over for her. She swallowed against the painful ache throbbing in her heart and finished making supper.

 

 

The ride to the airport the following morning was silent and uncomfortable. As he drove the narrow road back toward the main highway, Nick kept glancing at Samantha, expecting her to say something, hoping she would, but she just kept her eyes on the road.

She was bundled into the cute little fur-trimmed parka he had bought her. It shouldn't have made her look the least bit sexy but somehow it did.

He wished he could think of something clever to say, something that would break the tension. He didn't dare speak for fear he would ask her to stay.

No way was he doing that. Last night, he and Cord had spent the evening making plans. He'd wound up calling Derek Hunter for backup. A former Marine pilot, Derek knew how to handle himself. Nick didn't need him to actually go in, just stay on the perimeter and keep an eye out, signal at any sign of trouble.

Last night, the three of them had driven to the motel and done surveillance. Nick counted four women in rooms along the corridor. No guards. These women weren't kids, they were pros.

This morning, he and Cord each made an online appointment for an hour-long “massage session” tonight. The fee was three-hundred dollars apiece. Instead of selling sex, the women were going to be arrested.

Or they could cut a deal. Nick prayed one of them would agree.

He glanced over at Samantha, sitting rigidly in her seat. He wished he could tell what she was thinking. She was going home and they still hadn't talked about the baby or the future, or any other damn thing. He still wasn't sure he'd passed the fatherhood test.

Biting back a curse, he forced his mind back to the present and fixed his eyes on the road. They were leaving Palmer, a small farming community on the Glenn Highway, when Nick heard Samantha's sudden gasp of breath. He turned to see her clutching her abdomen, bent over in the seat.

“What is it? What's the matter?”

She started panting. “I don't know.” Her features contorted as she gritted her teeth against a wave of pain.

“Dammit, what's wrong?”

“It's . . . it's the baby. I had a few twinges last night, but I didn't think—Oh, God, Nick.”

“Jesus! Hang on.” He floored it, felt the rush of speed, the wheels spinning on the pavement, and fought to bring himself under control. “Hang on, honey. The hospital's not that far away. We'll be there in just a few minutes.”

“I'm . . . I'm bleeding, Nick. Oh, God, I don't know what to do.”

He clenched his jaw, pressed the gas pedal down harder, but there was a thin, slick coating of snow on the road and he didn't dare go any faster. What had seemed nearby suddenly felt miles away. He was in four-wheel drive, but he could still slide out of control. He merged onto the Parks Highway and floored it again.

Hugging her arms around herself, Samantha made little whimpering sounds, each one a stab in his heart. If something happened to the baby, he would never forgive himself. He had known the risk, but he had selfishly allowed her to stay.

Mat-Su Regional Medical Center appeared up ahead, a sprawling pink stucco building complex against the backdrop of Lazy Mountain, the peak now covered with snow. Nick followed the signs pointing to emergency, roared into the parking lot, and slid to a stop in front of the emergency entrance. Shoving the car into Park, he threw open the door.

“Don't move! I'll be right back!”

As he raced toward the automatic glass doors, he slipped on a patch of ice and nearly went down, caught himself and kept running, raced inside the building.

“I need help! Someone get a stretcher!”

The place erupted in activity and yet there was a calm control that kept his heart from tearing its way out of his chest.

“We're on it!” one of the doctors said as they moved toward the entrance. “What's the situation?”

Nick swallowed. “She's bleeding,” he said, barely able to choke out the words. “She's pregnant.” Then he fell in behind the doctors and nurses rushing out of the hospital, stood in terror as one of the white-coated men unfastened Samantha's seat belt and helped her up on the stretcher.

“It's all right,” the doctor said in a soothing voice to Samantha. “We're going to take good care of you. Just lie back and relax.”

She was crying and the sound wrenched Nick's heart. He gripped her hand and hurried along beside her, feeling completely useless as he accompanied the gurney back inside the emergency room. One of the nurses shunted him out of the way and the gurney disappeared behind a curtain.

For moments that seemed like hours, he just stood there, his mind mostly blank, worry pressing like a boulder on his chest. Finally, a little blond nurse took pity on him and gently guided him over to a cluster of chairs where he could sit down.

“Your wife is going to be okay,” she said. “We're going to take very good care of her.”

He swallowed, managed to nod.

“We'll need you to fill out some paperwork. Can you do that for us?”

Another stiff nod.

“Do you have her insurance information?”

He tried to think, but his brain felt foggy. He'd been in combat situations and been steady as a rock. Here he was completely at a loss.

“It might be in her purse,” the nurse gently prodded. “Maybe it's in your vehicle.”

His brain started functioning again. “I'll get it. I'll be right back.” Heading out to the Explorer, he got in and started the engine, moved the car into a parking space. Her purse was on the floor of the passenger seat. He retrieved the bag and strode back toward the entrance.

The curtain was still drawn when he walked into the emergency room. There were people moving around, patients, doctors, and nurses. He could smell alcohol and the too-familiar coppery odor of blood. Before his mind could travel where those bad memories led, the little blonde reappeared.

“This way,” she said, guiding him through a maze of hallways. The hospital was impressive, with lots of stone and a big rock fireplace in the lobby. She led him to a row of cubicles, urged him to sit down in a chair at the counter in one of them. A heavyset, gray-haired woman appeared on the opposite side.

“I'll need name, address, and insurance cards,” the buxom woman said. Her name tag read Hilda and it fit.

Forcing himself to focus, he dug Samantha's insurance cards out of her wallet, along with her driver's license. He passed them over and started on the lengthy task of filling out the necessary forms.

It didn't seem right that the name he gave the woman was Samantha Hollis and not Samantha Brodie.

 

 

Samantha awakened slowly. Feeling groggy and out of sorts, she forced her eyelids to open. She must have fallen asleep. Now she was flat on her back in a hospital bed, a curtain drawn around her.

At least she was no longer hurting.

Then it all came flooding back. The sharp, biting pain, the fierce cramping, blood oozing between her legs. She remembered Nick's wild ride to the hospital, slamming to a halt in front of the emergency room, Nick racing for help. Fear sliced through her and an ache started throbbing in her chest.
Not the baby. Don't let it be the baby.

She glanced wildly around, saw Nick sitting in the chair next to the bed, elbows propped on his knees, his dark head hanging forward in his hands.

She managed to speak but her voice quivered. “Nick . . . ?”

The sound of his name brought his head up. She had never seen him look so shaken, his features pale, his expression nothing short of ravaged. He came up out of the chair and reached for her hand, just held onto it for several long moments.

“They gave you something to stop the pain,” he finally said, his voice dull and edged with emotion. “How are you feeling?”

“The baby. Nick . . . what happened to the baby?”

He swallowed. “I'm so sorry, honey. You lost the baby.”

Her throat closed up. She felt a fresh wave of pain, but the ache was in her heart. All the way to the hospital, she had prayed the baby would be all right, that whatever was happening would pass. But from the first knifing cramp, she had known her body was rejecting the child. Tears stung her eyes and she felt the wetness trickle onto her cheeks.

“It's all my fault,” Nick said hoarsely, drawing her attention back to him. “If I had sent you home the way I should have, it wouldn't have happened.” His beautiful blue eyes looked so bleak, her heart clenched again, this time for Nick.

Samantha shook her head. “That isn't true, Nick. What happened wasn't your fault. We didn't do anything that would cause me to have a miscarriage. Not at this early stage.”

A noise in the room drew her attention. “Samantha's probably right.” A slender woman in white stood in the doorway, short dark hair, half-glasses dangling from a chain around her neck, clipboard in hand. “I'm Dr. Wallace. What you said, Samantha, is correct. Miscarriages—especially in the earliest stages—are a very common occurrence. It happens in more than twenty-five percent of pregnancies during the first few weeks.”

Nick said nothing. She could see he still blamed himself.

“Having sex,” the doctor continued, apparently reading his thoughts, “exercising, a mild fall, taking simple medications don't cause it to happen. Most often it's chromosomal abnormalities in the fetus. I would guess that's the cause in this case.”

Some of the color washed back into Nick's face. “Are you sure?”

“I've given you the facts. It's hard to know for certain, but as I said, it's very common this early on.” She walked over to the bedside and smiled down at Samantha. “The good news is, we didn't find anything that would preclude your getting pregnant again. Nothing that would indicate anything but a normal birth the next time around.”

Samantha's throat tightened. A little sound escaped and Nick squeezed her hand. She realized he hadn't let go. “That's . . . that's really good to know,” she said.

“You're going to be fine, Samantha,” the doctor continued. “It's normal for a woman to have trouble dealing with a miscarriage, but if you stay positive and look toward the future, you'll be fine.”

Samantha closed her eyes and leaned back against the pillow.

“How long before she can go home?” Nick asked.

“There's no need for her to stay. But she'll need a few days' rest before she resumes her normal activities.”

“She was supposed to fly back to San Francisco today.”

The doctor shook her head. “No chance of that. I'd prefer she didn't fly for at least a week. As I said, a miscarriage can be traumatic. She needs time to get back on her feet.”