The Promise He Made Her (10 page)

CHAPTER TWELVE

B
LOOM
HAD
NO
idea why she'd worried about living with Sam Larson. Or been concerned that she might develop the hots for him. Intense hots, that was. Any woman with blood in her veins would find him attractive.

In a detective movie kind of way. Only he wasn't an actor. He was the real thing.

But she needn't have worried.

She'd had zero opportunity to have any untoward feelings where the man was concerned. She hardly saw him. He closed his door in the morning when he heard her open hers. Which she did only after she smelled the coffee he put on when he made his early morning check of the premises.

Tuesday morning, the first morning she woke up with him in residence, she'd assumed he'd made the coffee for the two of them to share as they'd shared the meat loaf dinner she'd made the night before. She'd been wrong. The detective had come out of his room when he'd heard her pick up her keys. He'd been fully dressed, in the previous day's clothes, had said he'd follow her to work and locked the door behind them as they left.

She hadn't seen him again until the next morning. He'd had on a different pair of pants, different dress shirt, different coat, but all looked equally worn. She could only assume that after following her to the office and nodding at Gomez, he'd driven himself back home to shower before going to the station.

She'd considered asking him about that. But then thought better of it. She had a much bigger issue to discuss with him.

Ken had been free four days. Other than that prison number showing up on her phone, he hadn't tried to contact her. And she wasn't going to play his waiting game. It was time for her to go fishing for a change. To be the one who set the trap.

She was ready to take him on.

Cleaning up her desk after her final evening appointment on Friday, she didn't feel as tired as she might have done. Odd as it was, she'd been sleeping like a baby all week. A clear sign that she was on the right track. Making decisions that were conducive to her well-being. In sync with her higher self.

Her inner voice was at peace.

And maybe she had a little extra spring in her step because Chantel had called to let her know that Sam would be meeting her after work. Bloom assumed that, as before, the female detective had a function to attend with her fiancé. She'd made a point of letting the other woman know she'd be ordering dinner in between appointments, just to make certain there was no awkwardness over whether she and Sam were going to share the kitchen table again.

But they were going to talk. She had to let him know her plan to contact Ken. To force his hand—if indeed he had one to play. Sam and his people would want to be prepared when Ken did what they all expected him to do—commit another felony against her. One that would, hopefully, land him in jail for good.

Or...maybe he'd surprise all of them and just let her go. Maybe he'd learned his lesson. Maybe the trauma of getting caught, of losing two years of his life to a jail cell, had brought him to his senses.

Maybe that was why he'd attempted to call her the day before his release. To let her know that she had nothing to fear from him.

Maybe this could all just end peacefully and she could continue living the good life she'd made for herself.

Maybe Sam would find solid evidence to prove that Ken had disposed of the drugs he'd been slowly collecting to use on her. Maybe even a tie in to the gang he'd supposedly given them to in exchange for protection in prison.

But probably not.

Ken was diabolically smart. He wouldn't get himself dirty in a way that anyone could trace to him.

Which was why they'd had to have her testimony to put him away. Why Sam hadn't been able to close his case without her. Why he'd ridden her so hard in the past.

Slinging the strap of her purse over her shoulder, she turned out the lights and locked her office door behind her.

Times had changed.

The men in her life were soon going to find out that she was the rider now.

* * *

G
OMEZ
WASN
'
T
AT
his post. She'd gotten used to having the young man around after a week of greeting him every time she came and went from her office—even when she was just helping herself to a soda from the vending machine.

Another guard, a woman, stood at attention just inside the entrance to the building. She smiled as Bloom approached and called, “Good night, ma'am,” as she held the door open for Bloom to exit. Gomez clearly had the night off. As one could expect he might after a week of work. And she had no business becoming attached to her security detail like they were all part of a working family.

It was definitely time to put any plan Ken might have into motion. Whether he was ready or not.

* * *

B
LOOM
LIKED
TO
play cards, Chantel had told him. She played a lethal hand of poker. She also liked to watch police procedurals. His peer had been giving him suggestions for ways he and their female charge could pass the evening spent exclusively in each other's company.

He hadn't yet told Chantel about Freelander's divorce activity, about the possibility that their suspect was planning to contest the divorce granted to him while in prison. He'd felt it decent to tell Bloom first.

He also had no plans to sit around with Bloom all evening. Hard enough having the woman in his home. But to actually spend time with her there...

The one night they'd done that—Monday night—he'd practically tripped over his dick a time or two. The cold shower he'd needed before bed had been denied him by his necessity to be available to protect her at all times. And he wasn't even going to think about the dreams he'd been having.

Suffice it to say he'd had to get it out of his system in the shower the other morning.

He'd put in for weekend day relief. He'd have to find somewhere for him and Lucy to hang out, but his house would be covered. A second off-duty cop would be accompanying Bloom anywhere she needed or wanted to be. From what he'd heard, she would be working at least part of the day.

Maybe he could sand the porch, ready it for sealing. Or power wash the outside of the cottage. He'd been thinking about painting it himself. Didn't much matter if it took him all summer.

None of which helped him that evening. Lucy took care of the first five minutes, greeting them both as though she'd been cooped up for months instead of hours. She did her business in the yard, skidded across the linoleum as she raced for her bowl, wolfed down the food Bloom had put out for her and then headed straight back to the door. He'd barely hung his keys on the hook by the door.

Bloom was back in his bedroom. He didn't know what for, but he hoped she'd be out soon. He had to talk to her. Get it over with.

And maybe spend the rest of the evening with his laptop looking for that one connection he'd missed between Freelander and the known LA gang who'd had his back in prison. She hadn't come out yet. Lucy hadn't come back to the door, either.

“Bloom?” Sam wanted to tackle the first problem.

“Yeah?” She came out of his room in purple leggings and a top with a purple, pink and lime swirl pattern, carrying a pair of running shoes with laces that looked like they'd glow in the dark. “Sorry, I was just getting ready to put on my shoes,” she said.

He didn't know why she was apologizing to him. And then remembered that she'd promised not to leave the bedroom without being fully dressed. Including shoes.

“I was hoping maybe you'd go with me down to the beach,” she told him. “I walked the beach at home whenever I could. The fresh air clears my head. And the waves...”

She was babbling. His instincts told him this was not good. Bloom wasn't a babbler.

“Sure, we can walk down.” What else could he say? They might be in his home, but technically he was working for her.

And needed her cooperation so he could do his job and keep her safe.

He changed into jeans, a long-sleeved T-shirt and boat shoes, tucking his gun into the waist of his pants. His normal at-home attire. Even with the gun he felt grossly underdressed.

Lucy wasn't in the yard when he led the way out.

“Wait.” The word was abrupt and harsh. He reached for his gun with one hand, and with the other, held Bloom back, shutting the door between them as he whistled for the dog. His gaze shot around the yard. He listened for the merest hint of unfamiliar sound.

Two seconds later, Lucy came bounding out of the trees, tail wagging.

Panting, she stopped just short of his toes.

“Water.” He gave Lucy the one-word command and relaxed when she ran for the path that led down to the beach. If there'd been something in the woods, something that was bothering her, had alarmed her or was just plain interesting to her, she'd have run back to it regardless of his command. If she'd even come to his whistle at all.

Sam let go of the door.

He was off his mark. Too jumpy. Maybe a walk on the beach would do him some good, too.

* * *

I
T
WASN
'
T
THAT
it was a hard walk down. Mostly a steep path that would be easy enough even for an elderly person to traverse if there was a handrail along the edge. One of the many plans he had for the future—that handrail.

Sam followed Lucy down, leading Bloom's way. And all the way down fought a strong urge to turn around and offer her a hand. Not that he doubted her ability to make it down by herself. Which made his penchant for being her helping hand that much more suspect.

“Wow,” she said, getting her first glimpse of his beach in the setting sun. “This is magnificent.”

He nodded. His embarrassment about the house fading a bit as he saw her take in the stretch of private, completely natural, sandy beach. This was the reason he'd bought the cottage.

The ocean was behaving herself, bringing in waves more as a gentle hello then in the form of attack. Lucy barked, and Bloom chuckled as the dog slapped first one and then another paw at something in the sand. Probably a sand crab.

He recognized his perfect opportunity to talk to Bloom about her ex-husband's recent movements. But as she began to walk, he followed along, saying little. To do more seemed disrespectful to the moment.

To the sand and the sea.

Keeping her beneath the several-yard overhang from the brush and tree-covered cliff more than an acre above them, Sam started to relax. Enough to forget, for a moment, that he had no right to enjoy a Friday night stroll on the beach with a beautiful woman.

With this beautiful woman. Her hand brushed his. Sliding his fingers through hers seemed like such a natural thing to do, he almost let it happen. She didn't step aside. Neither did he. But he had to live with himself when they got back up to the cottage.

He had to keep her safe. And if he gave her reason not to trust him, or to feel overtly uncomfortable around him, he'd fail at his task.

The thought cleared most of the untoward feelings from his body. The job came first. Always. It was a given
he
could trust.

* * *

S
HE
'
D
ASKED
HIM
to take a walk because she'd determined that she'd rather talk to him about her plan, and deal with the immediate negative response she knew she was going to inspire, while
not
cooped up in his quaint but rather small living room. She was quite comfortable there alone. Or with Chantel.

But Sam...he was a big guy...and not just in physical size. Anytime he was around he seemed to fill the space between them. Her senses absorbed him until he almost became a part of her. He made her uncomfortable. In a purely womanly way. She wasn't ready to deal with that part of her life.

Might not ever be ready.

But she most certainly wasn't going to fall prey to the feelings when she knew full well that they were a product of transference.

Besides, being with a man meant giving up herself. She'd already decided she wasn't going to take that risk again.

You didn't count on meeting a man who makes you sexually hot by just walking in a room.

She stumbled in the sand and moved away from Sam before he could reach out to steady her.

“I'm ready to move forward with this whole Ken thing,” she blurted out in reaction to his nearness, sounding more like a high school teenager than a thirty-four-year-old psychiatrist.

She hated it when she did that.

And had to acknowledge that her inner voice was right. As always. Sam turned her on. Made her crazy with wanting to get naked with him. She'd lain awake for a full half hour in his bed that morning, imagining what it would be like if he came through the door, climbed under the covers with her and ran his big strong hands down her body.

Then spent the next hour reminding herself that the feelings, while real in the moment, would fade into nothingness when their proximity and her need of his protection were gone.

“I'm here tonight, instead of Chantel, because I need to talk to you about Ken.” The seriousness of his tone jarred her from the imaginary road she'd gone down once again.

That path had become far too familiar over the past week.

Over the past two years.

Yeah, yeah, she'd thought of the detective a few times before he'd been back in touch with her. Had had to fight the feelings of wanting him by confronting herself with what they really were. She had this down.

“You have news?” she asked, her heart still beating heavily, but now for an entirely different reason. She moved a little closer to the cliff face to her left, letting the overhang hide her from view of anything but the ocean. Lucy had made her way back toward them and was walking slowly at Sam's side.