Presumed Guilty & Keeper of the Bride (30 page)

He tightened his grip on the steering wheel as frustration surged through him. Frustration at his own inability to comfort her, to assuage her grief. The Roberts of the world didn’t deserve any woman’s tears. Yet they were the men whom women always seemed to cry over. The golden boys. He glanced at Nina, huddled against the door, and he felt a rush of sympathy. And something more, something that surprised him. Longing.

At once he quelled the feeling. It was yet another sign that he should not be in this situation. It was fine for a cop to sympathize, but when the feelings crossed that invisible line into more dangerous emotions, it was time to pull back.

But I can’t pull back. Not tonight. Not until I make sure she’s safe.

Without looking at her, he said, “You can’t go to your father’s. Or your mother’s for that matter—her house isn’t secure. No alarm system, no gate. And it’s too easy for the killer to find you.”

“I—I signed a lease on a new apartment today. It doesn’t have any furniture yet, but—”

“I assume Daniella knows about it?”

She paused, then replied, “Yes. She does.”

“Then that’s out. What about friends?”

“They all have children. If they knew a killer was trying to find me…” She took a deep breath. “I’ll go to a hotel.”

He glanced at her and saw that her spine was suddenly stiff and straight. And he knew she was fighting to put on a brave front. That’s all it was, a front. God, what was he supposed to do now? She was scared and she had a right to be. They were both exhausted. He couldn’t just dump her at some hotel at this hour. Nor could he leave her alone. Whoever was stalking her had done an efficient job of dispatching both Jimmy Brogan and Robert Bledsoe. For such a killer, tracking down Nina would be no trouble at all.

The turnoff to Route 1 north was just ahead. He took it.

Twenty minutes later they were driving past thick stands of trees. Here the houses were few and far between, all the lots heavily forested. It was the trees that had first attracted Sam to this neighborhood. As a boy, first in Boston, then in Portland, he’d always lived in the heart of the city. He’d grown up around concrete and asphalt, but he’d always felt the lure of the woods. Every summer, he’d head north to fish at his lakeside camp.

The rest of the year, he had to be content with his home in this quiet neighborhood of birch and pine.

He turned onto his private dirt road, which wound a short way into the woods before widening into his gravel driveway. Only as he turned off the engine and looked at his house did the first doubts assail him. The place wasn’t much to brag about. It was just a two-bedroom cottage of precut cedar hammered together three summers ago. And as for the interior, he wasn’t exactly certain how presentable he’d left it.

Oh, well. There was no changing plans now.

He got out and circled around to open her door. She stepped out, her gaze fixed in bewilderment on the small house in the woods.

“Where are we?” she asked.

“A safe place. Safer than a hotel anyway.” He gestured toward the front porch. “It’s just for tonight. Until we can make other arrangements.”

“Who lives here?”

“I do.”

If that fact disturbed her, she didn’t show it. Maybe she was too tired and frightened to care. In silence she waited while he unlocked the door. He stepped inside after her and turned on the lights.

At his first glimpse of the living room, he gave a silent prayer of thanks. No clothes on the couch, no dirty dishes on the coffee table. Not that the place was pristine. With newspapers scattered about and dust bunnies in the corners, the room had that unmistakable look of a sloppy bachelor. But at least it wasn’t a major disaster area. A minor one, maybe.

He locked the door and turned the dead bolt.

She was just standing there, looking dazed. Maybe by the condition of his house? He touched her shoulder and she flinched.

“You okay?” he asked.

“I’m fine.”

“You don’t look so fine.”

In fact she looked pretty pitiful, her eyes red from crying, her cheeks a bloodless white. He had the sudden urge to take her face in his hands and warm it with his touch. Not a good idea. He was turning into a sucker for women in distress, and this woman was most certainly in distress.

Instead he turned and went into the spare bedroom. One glance at the mess and he nixed that idea. It was no place to put up a guest. Or an enemy, for that matter. There was only one solution. He’d sleep on the couch and let her have his room.

Sheets. Oh Lord, did he have any clean sheets?

Frantically he rummaged in the linen closet and found a fresh set. He was on top of things after all. Turning, he found himself face-to-face with Nina.

She held out her arms for the sheets. “I’ll make up the couch.”

“These are for the bed. I’m putting you in my room.”

“No, Sam. I feel guilty enough as it is. Let me take the couch.”

Something in the way she looked at him—that upward tilt of her chin—told him she’d had enough of playing the object of pity.

He gave her the sheets and added a blanket. “It’s a lumpy couch. You don’t mind?”

“I’ve taken a lot of lumps lately. I’ll hardly notice a few more.”

Almost a joke. That was good. She was pulling herself together—an act of will he found impressive.

While she made up the couch, he went to the kitchen and called Gillis at home.

“We got the info on that Massachusetts plate,” Gillis told him. “It was stolen two weeks ago. APB hasn’t netted the Cherokee yet. Man, this guy’s quick.”

“And dangerous.”

“You think he’s our bomber?”

“Our shooter, too. It’s all tangled together, Gillis. It has to be.”

“How does last week’s warehouse bombing fit in? We figured that was a mob hit.”

“Yeah. A nasty message to Billy Binford’s rivals.”

“Binford’s in jail. His future’s not looking so bright. Why would he order a church bombed?”

“The church wasn’t the target, Gillis. I’m almost certain the target was Bledsoe or Nina Cormier. Or both.”

“How does that tie in with Binford?”

“I don’t know. Nina’s never heard of Binford.” Sam rubbed his face and felt the stubble of beard. God, he was tired. Too tired to figure anything out tonight. He said, “There’s one other angle we haven’t ruled out. The old crime of passion. You interviewed Daniella Cormier.”

“Yeah. Right after the bombing. What a looker.”

“You pick up anything odd about her?”

“What do you mean?”

“Anything that didn’t sit right? Her reactions, her answers?”

“Not that I recall. She seemed appropriately stunned. What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking Homicide should get their boys over there to question her tonight.”

“I’ll pass that message along to Yeats. What’s your hunch?”

“She and Robert Bledsoe had a little thing going on the side.”

“And she blew up the church out of jealousy?” Gillis laughed. “She didn’t seem the type.”

“Remember what they say about the female of the species.”

“Yeah, but I can’t imagine that gorgeous blonde—”

“Watch the hormones, Gillis.”

His partner snorted. “If anyone better watch his hormones, it’s you.”

That’s what I keep telling myself,
thought Sam as he hung up. He paused for a moment in the kitchen, giving himself the same old lecture he’d given himself a dozen times since meeting Nina.
I’m a cop, I’m here to serve and protect. Not seduce.

Not fall in love.

He went into the living room. At his first sight of Nina, he felt his resolve crumble. She was standing at the window, peering out at the darkness. He’d hung no curtains; here in the woods, he’d never felt the need for them. But now he realized just how open and vulnerable she was. And that worried him—more than he cared to admit.

He said, “I’d feel better if you came away from those windows.”

She turned, a startled look in her eyes. “You don’t think someone could have followed us?”

“No. But I’d like you to stay away from the windows all the same.”

Shuddering, she moved to the couch and sat down. She’d already made the couch into a bed, and only now did he realize how tattered the blanket was. Tattered furniture, tattered linens. Those were details that had never bothered him before. So many things about his life as a bachelor had not bothered him, simply because he’d never stopped to think how much better, sweeter, his life could be. Only now, as he saw Nina sitting on his couch, did it occur to him how stark the room was. It was only the presence of this woman that gave it any life. Any warmth.

Too soon, she’d be gone again.

The sooner the better,
he told himself. Before she grew on him. Before she slipped too deeply into his life.

He paced over to the fireplace, paced back toward the kitchen door, his feet restless, his instincts telling him to say something.

“You must be hungry,” he said.

She shook her head. “I can’t think about food. I can’t think about anything except…”

“Robert?”

She lowered her head and didn’t answer. Was she crying again? She had a right to. But she just sat very still and silent, as though struggling to hold her emotions in check.

He sat down in the chair across from her. “Tell me about Robert,” he prompted. “Tell me everything you know about him.”

She took a shaky breath, then said softly, “I don’t know what to say. We lived together a year. And now I feel as if I never knew him at all.”

“You met at work?”

She nodded. “The Emergency Room. Evening shift. I’d been working there for three years. Then Robert joined the ER staff. He was a good doctor. One of the best I’d ever worked with. And he was so fun to talk to. He’d traveled everywhere, done everything. I remember how surprised I was to learn he wasn’t married.”

“Never?”

“Never. He told me he was holding out for the best. That he just hadn’t found the woman he wanted to spend his life with.”

“At forty-one, he must’ve been more than a little picky.”

Her glance held a trace of amusement. “
You’re
not married, Detective. Does that make you more than a little picky?”

“Guilty as charged. But then, I haven’t really been looking.”

“Not interested?”

“Not enough time for romance. It’s the nature of the job.”

She gave a sigh. “No, it’s the nature of the beast. Men don’t really want to be married.”

“Did I say that?”

“It’s something I’ve finally figured out after years of spinsterhood.”

“We’re all rats, that kind of thing? Let’s get back to one specific rat. Robert. You were telling me you two met in the ER. Was it love at first sight?”

She leaned back, and he could clearly see the remembered pain on her face. “No. No, it wasn’t. At least, not for me. I thought he was attractive, of course.”

Of course,
thought Sam with an undeniable twinge of cynicism.

“But when he asked me out, that first time, I didn’t really think it would go anywhere. It wasn’t until I introduced him to my mother that I began to realize what a catch he was. Mom was thrilled with Robert. All these years, I’d been dating guys she considered losers. And here I show up with a doctor. It was more than she’d ever expected of me, and she was already hearing wedding bells.”

“What about your father?”

“I think he was just plain relieved I was dating someone who wouldn’t marry me for
his
money. That’s always been Dad’s preoccupation. His money. And his wives. Or rather, whichever wife he happens to be married to at the time.”

Sam shook his head. “After what you’ve seen of your parents’ marriages, I’m surprised you wanted to take the plunge at all.”

“But that’s exactly why I
did
want to be married!” She looked at him. “To make it
work.
I never had that stability in my family. My parents were divorced when I was eight, and after that it was a steady parade of stepmothers and mother’s boyfriends. I didn’t want to live my own life that way.” Sighing, she looked down at her ringless left hand. “Now I wonder if it’s just another urban myth. A stable marriage.”

“My parents had one. A good one.”

“Had?”

“Before my dad died. He was a cop, in Boston. Didn’t make it to his twentieth year on the force.” Now Sam was the one who wasn’t looking at
her.
He was gazing, instead, at some distant point in the room, avoiding her look of sympathy. He didn’t feel he particularly needed her sympathy. One’s parents died, and one went on with life. There was no other choice.

“After my dad died, Mom and I moved to Portland,” he continued. “She wanted a safer town. A town where she wouldn’t have to worry about her kid being shot on the street.” He gave a rueful smile. “She wasn’t too happy when I became a cop.”

“Why did you become a cop?”

“I guess it was in the genes. Why did you become a nurse?”

“It was definitely
not
in the genes.” She sat back, thinking it over for a moment. “I guess I wanted that one-on-one sense of helping someone. I like the contact. The touching. That was important to me, that it be hands-on. Not some vague idea of service to humanity.” She gave a wry smile.

“You said your mother didn’t want you to be a cop. Well, my mother wasn’t too happy about
my
career choice, either.”

“What does she have against nursing?”

“Nothing. Just that it’s not an appropriate profession for her daughter. She thinks of it as manual labor, something other women do. I was expected to marry well, entertain with flair, and help humanity by hosting benefits. That’s why she was so happy about my engagement. She thought I was finally on the right track. She was actually…
proud
of me for the first time.”

“That’s not why you wanted to marry Robert, was it? To please your mother?”

“I don’t know.” She looked at him with genuine puzzlement. “I don’t know anymore.”

“What about love? You must have loved him.”

“How can I be sure of anything? I’ve just found out he was seeing someone else. And now it seems as if I were caught up in some fantasy. In love with a man I made up.” She leaned back and closed her eyes. “I don’t want to talk about him anymore.”