Presumed Guilty & Keeper of the Bride (39 page)

You weren’t thinking at all,
Nina felt like saying. She touched her father’s arm. “Seems like neither one of us is any good at picking spouses. Are we, Dad?”

He regarded his daughter with a look of shared misery. “I sincerely hope you haven’t inherited my bad luck with love, sweetheart.”

They sat for a moment without speaking. Their supper lay, almost untouched, on the table. In another room, music had started up, the fast and thumping rhythm of an aerobics tape. Daniella was at it again, working off her anger by sculpting a new and better body. Smart girl; she was going to come out of a divorce looking like a million bucks.

Nina sighed and leaned back. “Whether it’s bad luck or character flaws, Dad, maybe some people are just meant to be single.”

“Not you, Nina. You
need
to love someone. You always have. And that’s what makes you so easy to love.”

She gave a sad laugh but said nothing.
Easy to love, easy to leave,
she thought.

Once again, she found herself wondering what Sam was doing. What he was thinking. Not about her, surely; he was too much the cop to be bothered by minor distractions.

Yet when the phone rang, she couldn’t suppress the sudden hope that he was calling. She sat at the table, heart thumping hard as she listened to Daniella’s voice in the next room talking on the phone.

A moment later, Daniella appeared in the doorway and said, “It’s for you, Nina. The hospital. They said they’ve been trying to reach you.”

Disappointed, Nina rose to take the call. “Hello?”

“Hi, this is Gladys Power, the night nursing supervisor. Sorry to bother you—we got your phone number from your mother. We have a number of staff out sick tonight, and we were wondering if you could come in to cover for the ER.”

“Night shift?”

“Yes. We could really use you.”

Nina glanced toward Daniella’s exercise room, where the music was playing louder than ever. She had to get out of this house. Away from this emotional battleground.

She said, “Okay, I’ll take the shift.”

“See you at eleven o’clock.”

“Eleven?” Nina frowned. The night shift usually started at midnight. “You want me there an hour early?”

“If you could manage it. We’re shorthanded on the evening shift as well.”

“Right. I’ll be there, eleven o’clock.” She hung up and breathed a soft sigh of relief. Work was exactly what she needed. Maybe eight hours of crises, major and minor, would get her mind back on track.

And off the subject of Sam Navarro.

M
ARILYN HUNG UP THE PHONE
. “She said she’d be there.”

Spectre gave a nod of approval. “You handled it well.”

“Of course.” Marilyn favored him with that satisfied smile of hers. A smile that said,
I’m worth every penny you pay me.

“Did she seem at all suspicious?” he asked.

“Not a bit. I’m telling you, she’ll be there. Eleven o’clock, just like you wanted.” Marilyn tilted back her head and gave her lips a predatory lick. “Now, do I get what I want?”

He smiled. “What
do
you want?”

“You know.” She sidled toward him and unbuckled his belt. His breath caught in an involuntary gasp as that hot little hand slid inside his trousers. Her touch was delicious, expert, her technique designed to reduce a man to begging. Oh yes, he knew exactly what she was asking for.

And it wasn’t sex.

Why not enjoy the moment?
he thought. She was willing, and he still had the time to spare. Three hours until Nina Cormier showed up for her shift at the hospital. Some quick amusement with Marilyn, and then on to more serious business.

She dropped to her knees before him. “You said you’d pay me what I was worth,” she whispered.

He groaned. “I promised…”

“I’m worth a lot. Don’t you think?”

“Absolutely.”

“I can be worth even more to you.”

He gave a jerk of pleasure and grasped her face. Breathing heavily, he stroked down her cheek, her jaw, to her neck. Such a long, slender neck. How easy it should be to finish it. First, though, he’d let
her
finish…

“Oh, yes,” she murmured. “You’re ready for me.”

He pulled her, hard, against him. And he thought,
A pity you won’t be ready for me.

I
T WAS TEN-THIRTY
by the time a weary Sam stepped through his front door. The first thing he noticed was the silence. The emptiness. It was a house that had somehow lost its soul.

He turned on the lights, but even the glow of all those lamps couldn’t seem to dispel the shadows. For the past three years, this was the house he’d called home, the house he’d returned to every evening after work. Now the place felt cold to him, like the house of a stranger. Not a home at all.

He poured himself a glass of milk and drank it in a few thirsty gulps. So much for supper; he didn’t have the energy to cook. He poured a second glass and carried it over to the telephone. All evening, he’d been itching to make this call, but something had always interrupted him. Now that he had a few blessed moments of peace, he was going to call Nina. He was going to tell her what he’d been afraid to tell her, what he could no longer deny to her, or to himself.

It had come to him this afternoon, a realization that had struck him, oddly enough, in the midst of searching Marilyn Dukoff’s apartment. He’d stood in the woman’s bedroom and gazed at the empty bureau drawers, the stripped mattress. And without warning, he’d been struck by a sense of loneliness so intense it made his chest ache. Because that abandoned room had suddenly come to represent his life. It had a purpose, a function, but it was nevertheless empty.

I’ve been a cop too long,
he’d thought.
I’ve let it take over my life.
Only at that moment, standing in that empty bedroom, did it occur to him how little of his own life he really had. No wife, no kids, no family.

Nina had opened his eyes to the possibilities. Yes, he was scared. Yes, he knew just how much, how deeply, he would be hurt if she ever left him. But the alternative was just as bleak; that he would never even give it a chance.

He’d been a coward. But no longer.

He picked up the phone and dialed Nina’s father’s house.

A few rings later, the call was answered by a bland “Hello?” Not Nina but Daniella, the fitness freak.

“This is Sam Navarro,” he said. “Sorry to call so late. May I speak to Nina?”

“She’s not here.”

His immediate pang of disappointment was quickly followed by a cop’s sense of dismay. How could she not be there? She was supposed to stay in a safe place tonight, not run around unprotected.

“Mind telling me where she went?” he asked.

“The hospital. They called her in to work the night shift.”

“The Emergency Room?”

“I guess so.”

“Thanks.” He hung up, his disappointment so heavy it felt like a physical weight on his shoulders. What the hell. He was not going to hold off any longer. He was going to tell her now. Tonight.

He dialed Maine Medical ER.

“Emergency Room.”

“This is Detective Sam Navarro, Portland Police. May I speak with Nina Cormier?”

“Nina’s not here tonight.”

“Well, when she gets there, could you ask her to call me at home?”

“She’s not scheduled to come in.”

“Excuse me?”

“I have the time sheet right in front of me. Her name’s not down here for tonight.”

“I was told someone called her in to work the night shift.”

“I don’t know anything about that.”

“Well, can you find out? This is urgent.”

“Let me check with the supervisor. Can you hold?”

In the silence that followed, Sam could hear his own blood rushing through his ears. Something was wrong. That old instinct of his was tingling.

The woman came back on the line. “Detective? I’ve checked with the supervisor. She says she doesn’t know anything about it, either. According to her schedule, Nina isn’t listed for any shifts until next week.”

“Thank you,” said Sam softly.

For a moment he sat thinking about that phone call from the hospital. Someone had known enough to locate Nina at her father’s house. Someone had talked her into leaving those protective gates at an hour of night when there’d be few witnesses to see what was about to happen.

Not just someone. Spectre.

It was 10:45.

In a heartbeat, he was out the door and running to his car. Even as he roared out of his driveway, he knew he might already be too late. Racing for the freeway, he steered with one hand and dialed his car phone with the other.

“Gillis here,” answered a weary voice.

“I’m on my way to Maine Med,” Sam said. “Spectre’s there.”

“What?”

“Nina got a bogus call asking her to come in to work. I’m sure it was him. She’s already left the house—”

Gillis replied, “I’ll meet you there,” and hung up.

Sam turned his full attention to the road. The speedometer hit seventy. Eighty.

Don’t let me be too late,
he prayed.

He floored the accelerator.

T
HE HOSPITAL PARKING
garage was deserted, a fact that scarcely concerned Nina as she drove through the automatic gate. She had often been in this garage late at night, either coming to, or leaving from, her shifts in the ER, and she’d never encountered any problems. Portland, after all, was one of the safest towns in America.

Provided you’re not on someone’s hit list,
she reminded herself.

She pulled into a parking stall and sat there for a moment, trying to calm her nerves. She wanted to start her shift with her mind focused clearly on the job. Not on death threats. Not on Sam Navarro. Once she walked in those doors, she was first and foremost a professional. People’s lives depended on it.

She opened the door and stepped out of the car.

It was still an hour before the usual shift change. Come midnight, this garage would be busy with hospital staff coming or going. But at this moment, no one else was around. She quickened her pace. The hospital elevator was just ahead; the way was clear. Only a dozen yards to go.

She never saw the man step out from behind the parked car.

But she felt a hand grasp her arm, felt the bite of a gun barrel pressed against her temple. Her scream was cut off by the first words he uttered.

“Not a sound or you’re dead.” The gun at her head was all the emphasis needed to keep her silent.

He yanked her away from the elevator, shoved her toward a row of parked cars. She caught a fleeting glimpse of his face as she was spun around.
Spectre.
They were moving now, Nina sobbing as she stumbled forward, the man gripping her arm with terrifying strength.

He’s going to kill me now, here, where no one will see it….

The pounding of her own pulse was so loud at first, she didn’t hear the faint squeal of tires across pavement.

But her captor did. Spectre froze, his grip still around her arm.

Now Nina heard it, too: car tires, screeching up the garage ramp.

With savage force, Spectre wrenched her sideways, toward the cover of a parked car.
This is my only chance to escape,
she thought.

In an instant she was fighting back, struggling against his grip. He was going to shoot her anyway. Whether it happened in some dark corner or out here, in the open, she would not go down without a fight. She kicked, flailed, clawed at his face.

He swung at her, a swift, ugly blow that slammed against her chin. The pain was blinding. She staggered, felt herself falling. He grasped her arm and began dragging her across the pavement. She was too stunned to fight now, to save herself.

Light suddenly glared in her eyes, a light so bright it seemed to stab straight through her aching head. She heard tires screech and realized she was staring at a pair of headlights.

A voice yelled,
“Freeze!”

Sam. It was Sam.

“Let her go, Spectre!” Sam shouted.

The gun barrel was back at Nina’s head, pressing harder than ever. “What superb timing, Navarro,” Spectre drawled without a trace of panic in his voice.

“I said,
let her go.
”

“Is that a command, Detective? I certainly hope not. Because, considering the young woman’s situation—” Spectre grabbed her by the chin and turned her face toward Sam “—offending me could prove hazardous to her health.”

“I know your face. So do the ushers at the Brant Theater. You have no reason to kill her now!”

“No reason? Think again.” Spectre, still holding the gun to Nina’s head, nudged her forward. Toward Sam. “Move out of the way, Navarro.”

“She’s worthless to you—”

“But not to you.”

Nina caught a glimpse of Sam’s face, saw his look of helpless panic. He was gripping his gun in both hands, the barrel aimed, but he didn’t dare shoot. Not with her in the line of fire.

She tried to go limp, tried to slump to the ground. No good; Spectre was too strong and he had too firm a grip around her neck. He simply dragged her beside him, his arm like a vise around her throat.

“Back off!” Spectre yelled.

“You don’t want her!”

“Back off or it ends here, with her brains all over the ground!”

Sam took a step back, then another. Though his gun was still raised, it was useless to him. In that instant, Nina’s gaze locked with his, and she saw more than fear, more than panic in his eyes. She saw despair.

“Nina,” he said. “Nina—”

It was her last glimpse of Sam before Spectre pulled her into Sam’s car. He slammed the door shut and threw the car in Reverse. Suddenly they were screeching backward down the ramp. She caught a fast-moving view of parked cars and concrete pillars, and then they crashed through the arm of the security gate.

Spectre spun the car around to face forward and hit the accelerator. They roared out of the driveway and onto the road.

Before she could recover her wits, the gun was back at her head. She looked at him, and saw a face that was frighteningly calm. The face of a man who knows he’s in complete control.