An Eye for Danger (21 page)

Finally, silence prevailed.

I rolled over, facing away from him to pretend distance. Through the curtains, I watched city lights punch holes in the fog, and I wondered if Sam had thought about me as much as I'd worried about him.

Max circled his bed, and plopped down. The room stilled, and I listened to Sam's short inhales and longer exhales, his ruffling sheets, his turning over the pillows. He grunted and knocked the nightstand.

I sat up. Sam's shadow shifted side to side, and he strained for breath.

"What's wrong?" I asked, ready to jump to his aid.

"Just this... damn thing." He flung the comforter back. "Getting attacked by pillows."

Giggles escaped me. Max jumped out of bed to investigate the excitement and shook so his tags jingled.

"That sounds nice," Sam said as he settled down.

"What, Max's tags?"

"You, laughing. Oughta be more laughter in the world, Jules."

My eyes slid back to the cityscape, the soft lights, the rolling mist. Having Sam back was going to be much, much harder. "Goodnight, Sam. I'm so glad you're well."

"Jules?"

"Yes, Sam." I waited so long for him to continue, I figured he'd drifted to sleep.

"I missed you."

CHAPTER 15

The phone shrieked. Sam gave a one-eyed glance at the clock. "Christ."

I stood in the bathroom doorway, my robe snug around me, brushing my teeth in quick strokes. I'd been up since dawn, unable to sleep.

Three more rings, then the machine picked up and a man cleared his throat. "Just making sure you're okay. Call me for coffee, so I don't have to break the door down this time." Stone laughed and the machine clicked off.

Sam shot me a look. I froze, toothpaste drooling down my chin. Then I rushed to the bathroom sink and spat.

"Don't like him calling here," Sam hollered.

Oh, really
, I mouthed to the mirror, as I pulled my hair into a ponytail.

"Or inviting himself over."

I grumbled to myself, mocking him.

"Jules?"

"For God's sake, I'm coming already." Robe off, white shirt and jeans on, I entered to find Sam flailing for the wheelchair, which kept rolling away from him.

His face went slack. "You're wearing your uniform again."

Ignoring his comment, I got behind the chair and locked the brakes.

"No chair," he said. "Gotta take a leak." He waved me to his side, and I helped him hobble as far as the bathroom sink. "You got a bee in your bonnet or something?" he asked as I slipped free of his musky skin, his warm grip. "Look, just yell at me when I'm being an ass. At least that will keep you talking to me."

"Holler when you're done." I pulled the door closed on his sculpted body. I couldn't reconcile that the man who'd shoved a gun into my chest was the same man my body craved.

When I returned from setting the coffee to brew and making a phone call, the bathroom door stood open. No Sam. The bed was empty. The sofa empty. The wheelchair parked in the middle of the room. Alone.

"Sam," I called.

"Over here." Tucked into the curtain folds, he watched the street below. "So Stone's in the neighborhood already. Charming."

"For your information, I called him back. We're meeting for coffee."

Sam tucked his chin and dropped the curtain. Thinking or jealous, I mused. When he waved me over, I held my ground, my arms crossed. Clearly, Sam could walk without my shoulder to bruise.

He turned to Max. "What, if you were a guy, you'd do it too."

The he shuffled to the bed and resumed his game pose, propped his knee up, and stared at the ceiling with a scowl on his face that made him look years older. I waited for an argument that never came or an apology I didn't want to accept. Sam was a contest of wills, and I could feel mine stumbling far from the finish line.

Finally, he spoke. "Time for me to go. Can't stay here anymore."

"You're not fit to be on your own." I crossed to the bed. "Doctor's orders."

"You see I can walk, and I've got meds. That's good enough to find a new safe house."

"But you just got here. I just got you..." I bit my lower lip.

Sam laughed. "I'm not a puppy, Jules."

"Stop ridiculing me, damn it."

"I'm not—Christ." He pushed himself to a sitting position. "You don't want me here. You don't want me gone. What do you want, Jules, what's in this for you?"

I glared at him.
What the hell kind of question was that?
I swallowed hard, regained my footing. "They'll be gunning for you. You won't be safe."

"It's never going to be safe for me. You know that."

Silence bled through the room. He reclined again and rubbed at his forehead. With a heavy heart, I sat next to him like his loyal, obedient, masochistic nurse.

"Sometimes it's safer to hide in plain sight, Jules. Sometimes not. There's too much attention here, too much friction. Especially between us." He squeezed his eyes shut.

"I can give you another pill if you're in pain." My hand cuffed his arm, felt the flinch of his muscle to my touch.

"No, these drugs are great." He slipped his arm out from under my hand and rested it over his eyes. "Just trying to figure out a plan. And staring at you is really, really distracting."

My fingers clenched the duvet. I wanted to pull his arm away, make him look into me, embrace me, smother me with his mouth. God, he was like an addiction.

"Wish we'd met on the street, Jules. Just two normal folks. That would've been a day."

Max started whining. We'd both pine for Sam, which completely infuriated me.

"Max will miss you," I said.

"Thank God for dogs." Sam scoffed, looking at me with disdain. "You gonna be straight with me or not?"

"Of course I don't want you to go. It's too dangerous."

"More dangerous for you and Max with me here. And The Prick tailing you. What's he telling you anyway?"

"You mean, 'what am I telling him.'"

"Christ, I trust you already." He shook his head at the ceiling.

"He thinks..." I wasn't sure how to explain Stone's expectations without sounding arrogant or manipulative, but if a confession let me off the hook with Sam, then I figured a half-truth was good enough. "He thinks I'm available."

"Gee, I wonder who gave him that idea."

Standing made me feel less like socking Sam in his ribs. I wasn't the "advertising" type of girl, and he damn well knew it.

"Okay, I get it," he said and swung his feet onto the floor. "Stone wants to solve the accident. Play big hero. What a ham." Sam faked a shudder. "Wait, you can't be falling for that crap." He paused for an answer I couldn't give him. "Ah, shit."

"This is none of your business. You're just passing through, remember."

"What, you like this guy now?" When again I gave no answer, Sam's face flushed. I thought the man would snap another rib. "Shit, Jules, tell me you didn't let him in here while I was gone."

I shrugged, and looked down.

"Ah, shit."

"I'm a big girl. I can take care of myself."

"If you say so, lady." He got to his feet, grabbed his shirt.

"Go to hell." I barreled out of the room. Stopping at the doorway, I turned and held out my trembling fingers. "And for your information, when you're not here, I don't do this."

Sam's brows wrenched, his proud shoulders dropped. I'd won. And felt lousy for it.

"I'll get your things," I said, barely above a whisper.

From the kitchen I gathered energy bars, mixed nuts, pretzels—snack foods I'd collected from airplane trips—and stuffed them into the white bag from the clinic along with the Kevlar vest I'd hidden in the crawl space, my college sweats, and my old toothbrush he'd claimed. Despite Sam's instructions, I'd burned his tattered clothes in the building's old furnace in the basement, not wanting to dare a second search warrant from Stone.

"Believe me," said Sam, hovering at the kitchen doorway, "there's no new information on your accident Stone can magically obtain. Nothing he can do but shine you on. And he can't date a victim in a case, so it's not like he's really interested in you."

I slapped the bag into Sam's gut and enjoyed his sudden silence.

From the back of the kitchen chair, I retrieved my grandfather's overcoat. The smell of old wool and aftershave whisked me back twenty years to Grandfather's reassuring arms, his enduring compassion. My temper melted so fast I slumped onto the padded banquette, picking lint off the coat, desperate to assemble my thoughts into anything coherently resembling a graceful exit to this mess.

"He's not trying to help you, Jules. He's trying to get to you." Sam pulled the vest and sweats over his pajamas. The sound of Velcro being readjusted and the sweatshirt being zipped made me anxious. "And he might be trying to get to me. He might suspect. Understand?"

"I'm the rabbit, I get it." Predators understood other predators. Unfortunately, I kept finding myself on the prey side of the hunt. I stood to open the door for him. "I'll be more careful."

"That's not the point, damn it." Sam blocked me, and I waited for his closeness to warm my mood, or his scolding to ice me over. "He'll take advantage of your trust, Jules. He'll take advantage of you."

Max barked and dropped his leash at Sam's feet. "Sorry, buddy, not this time." Sam huddled with Max, scratching his coat roughly, then turned to me. "I'll need my gun."

From Max's kibble bucket in the cupboard, I pulled a sealed freezer bag. "Hide in plain sight."

"I'll remember that one." Sam grinned and removed the Glock from the bag. With a jerk he racked the slide, dropped out the clip to check his bullet count, then shoved the clip back in place.

"A little cowboy," I said, staring at his gun placement in his back waistband.

He pulled the sweatshirt over his weapon. "Street habit. You get that way undercover. Harnesses are for uniforms. Or court." He waited a beat. "And the recording."

Reluctantly, I retrieved the recording device from my safe and stared at it a few seconds before handing it over.

"Can't be any copies lying around," he said. "No threads back to you."

I spread my palms. "I have no copies." True enough, since Howard had removed the memory files from my apartment.

"You have no idea what they'd do to you if they thought you possessed a copy." Sam dropped his head. We both knew exactly what they'd do to me. But I was more concerned what Sam would do when he realized I'd wiped the memory on his recording device. "Do me a favor when you're at coffee with Stone: waste as much of his time as possible so I can get clear of the neighborhood. Can't risk crossing his path now."

I nodded and helped Sam into my grandfather's overcoat. I loved how the cut fit snugly around Sam's broad shoulders, which I brushed smooth, recalling golden days. Grandfather had swept me up in his arms and spun me around the kitchen wearing this coat and a thick scarf, a wool fedora, and leather gloves. A classy man in his day. An honorable man, who cared about family, friends, loyalty. A man who spoke the truth, when he spoke at all.

Sam snapped the lapels. "Family heirloom, I take it."

"Lotta love in this coat." I hooked each button, sending static between my fingers and Sam's chest. He was breathing as hard as I was. I wanted to hug him but knew that would cause more pain for us both. We were strangers, more parted than bonded, I reasoned. "Do it justice." I patted the lapels down and stepped off.

"I'm all about justice, lady." And there was his distance again. "I'll return the coat. Someday."

"Try not to get any bullet holes in this one."

He laughed and tilted his head, studying me. "You look sad."

I crossed my arms. "I'm not going to get all clingy on you, if that's what you're thinking."

"Christ. Wouldn't wanna be missed."

He hooked the bag from the floor, grunting, and stared at the door, his stiff posture looking ready to ram through it. Again, hesitation. Sam would descend via the freight elevator to the laundry room, loop out the back, through the gated entrance, and disappear. A decent plan that only awaited his execution.

"Good luck out there." I shoved my hands in my back pockets. "Sorry, that came out stupid. So I didn't exactly prepare my 'go get 'em, tiger' speech, but you know what I mean. Be safe. I can't keep rescuing you."

He looked back at me, a full grin for a goodbye, like I'd given him the discharge he'd been waiting for, and he unlocked the door.

"Wait." I ran to the back room, reappeared with my Cal hat. Sam made a face like he'd swallowed sour milk as I set the hat low on his head to cover those sweet emerald eyes of his. "So ditch it when you find a Wazzu hat. And don't hate me if we make a bowl game and you don't."

"Not likely when your Cal quarterback crumbles under pressure." We both offered nervous laughs. "Hey, don't get me started. Laughing still hurts. Sure looks good on you though."

He removed the hat and smoothed back his hair, raining down smiles that flooded me with goosebumps and dread. We stood inches apart. I couldn't move. Not away from him, not closer. My mind was on lockdown, my body on high alert.

Sam reached, skimming my cheek, hesitating to make contact. I stepped forward, willed him to take up my skin freely. His fingers trickled down my neck. I held to his arm as I consumed details about him I didn't want to forget: how the gold flecks in his eyes matched his sun-kissed strands, how his cheeks flushed when I stared at him, how his brows sank when he hurt. How they were sinking now.

His thumb brushed my lower lip with that lulling stroke. "For everything you've sacrificed. For him. And for me."

Lowering his head, Sam enveloped my bottom lip at length with a soft kiss, and then my top lip with the same care. A slow, tender kiss. A goodbye kiss.

My eyes closed. Luke had never said goodbye. One day he was just gone. I could recall his scent, his laugh, the tenor of his voice when he called my name, but I couldn't remember how his mouth felt or tasted. That Luke never had impressed itself. And now Sam was saying goodbye for him. But my body knew the difference.

My eyes blinked open. The kiss had ended, but I'd been lost in the moment, engorged with memories. I gasped for air, not realizing I'd held my breath.