The Promise He Made Her (9 page)

CHAPTER TEN

T
HE
MEAT
LOAF
tasted exactly as she remembered it. While, considering that she'd just shared her deepest secrets with a man who wasn't even a friend, she'd expect to have little appetite, she helped herself to two slices. And ate the rice and spinach salad with equal gusto.

She had another glass of wine, too. A regular glutton. When normally she monitored and contained every single choice, every movement, she made. Every nuance of her behavior.

Lucy sat beside Sam. She didn't beg. She just stared. Bloom would have liked to have called her over to sit in the chair next to her—as she'd done with Madge—to give the dog her own plate at the table. But she knew better. Far better.

Table food wasn't good for dogs. She knew the science of it now. But still had a hard time really believing that it was wrong to feed a dog table scraps.

Eventually the dog wandered away—heading slowly down the hall as though exploring the rest of the house. Sam had had her out to do her business just before they'd filled their plates. Sam told Bloom that Kenneth's release had been confirmed and that he'd checked into a hotel down the coast. He assured her that her ex-husband was being watched and they'd be notified the second he was on the move.

She believed him. But was prepared either way. The whole point of the exercise was for her to interact with Ken and get him to threaten her life in some way. Or to give new proof of his abuse of her, something that would allow prosecutors to place new charges on him.

Double jeopardy wouldn't allow him to be charged for the same crime twice, but there were things he'd done for which he hadn't been formally charged. Instead, there had been charges that had been made and then dropped so that they'd be guaranteed a clean and solid conviction.

She knew how it all worked. Was prepared.

The sooner they got going on it the better...

Lucy returned, a half-chewed rawhide bone, with a dust bunny the size of a grapefruit on one end, between her jaws.

And the earlier part of the hour came flooding back to her. The part where Sam had walked up to a wall of videos and had known just which one to pull out.

He was observant—and had clearly checked over the place before he'd brought her there—but even he wasn't good enough to have memorized more than two hundred discs from a cursory look.

Nor would he have had cause to learn the video's content to ensure that the place was sufficient for her needs...

He was staring at the bone—his mouth open like he'd just heard bad news.

Or was about to get caught in a lie?

Lucy hadn't just found that bone for the first time. Bloom supposed she could have. If dog senses had led her to it. But she knew she hadn't.

Because Lucy hadn't been gone long enough to have discovered it. It had been someplace the dog knew about since she'd known right where to go get it when begging for food at the table had yielded her nothing.

Getting up, Bloom picked up the big plastic bowl Sam had filled with water and put down for the dog while she'd been getting dinner out of the oven. Lucy hadn't touched it.

“Where is her water usually kept?” she asked. She could have asked specifically where
he
usually kept Lucy's water, but that could have been taken as accusation.

She wasn't ready to accuse him of anything.

Or rather, wasn't going to let her emotions get the better of her. There was no logical reason for her to feel betrayed. Or to care if he hadn't been completely honest with her.

She already knew that Detective Larson said things he couldn't possibly mean. Made promises he couldn't possibly keep.

Her current situation was proof of that.

“In the laundry room.”

He got a point for choosing not to further insult her with an attempt at keeping up the pretense.

Bloom called to Lucy, carried the bowl into the laundry room, put it down in the only free wall space that looked like a dog's bowl could live there without being in the way and watched as Lucy took a drink. She left her to it.

“Where is she staying now?” she asked, getting her plate from the table and taking it to the sink.

“You've seen it.”

The seedy motel. She spun around.

“You're living in
that
place?”

“Compared to your house, you could take the same tone about this one.” He folded his arms against his chest.

A defensive move that softened her heart more than it should have.

“I'm assuming you gave up your place because it's so obviously perfect as a safe house—or as perfect as we're probably going to find close enough to my office—but why not use money allotted for my safe house to get yourself someplace nicer to stay?”

He opened his mouth, as though starting to speak. Closed it again. He met her gaze. And then looked down at his plate. Picking it up, he started toward her. Then stood there holding it.

“Sam?”

His chin jutted as he looked at her.

“The department is paying for this, aren't they?”

“Define ‘this.'”

She wished she hadn't eaten as much. Or at all.

“My being here, this isn't official business? No one thinks I'm in danger?”

His head shot up. He brought his plate to the sink, placed it on top of hers and stood so close she could see the creases in his lips as he said, “Everyone, from the commissioner on down knows that you are in danger. If you need me to, I will get a signed affidavit from the commissioner himself to that effect.”

She was somewhat appeased. “But they don't think I need to be out of my home?”

“Everyone knows you are not safe in that home. Everyone knows that you are here. Because Freelander's early release is in no way the fault of the police department, we have no reason to allot funds needed due to that release. Unfortunately, due to the unethical behavior of our former commissioner, we find ourselves in a gray area here. And gray is not allowed in the Santa Raquel Police Department right now. Not for any reason. No matter how legitimate it is.”

He made sense. Real sense.

“So you offered your house.”

“I offered my house because, as you said, it was right for the job.”

“What about the round-the-clock detail?” she asked, using a word she'd heard on a television police show at some time or other and hadn't known she'd retained. “Are you paying for that?”

“I had confirmation this morning that money is forthcoming...”

“From you?”

“No. I put in a formal request.”

“You're sure?” She stood toe-to-toe with him. Staring him down. “Because I am not staying here if this isn't officially sanctioned. I'm not going to let my stupidity in husband choosing cost you or anyone else. I can't take my own comfort over yours. I wouldn't feel good about that. Nor am I going to put everyone through this drama if it isn't absolutely necessary.”

“I can tell you for absolute certain that it is necessary.”

His tone alone would have convinced her, but the look in his eye gave her such certainty it sent a shot of fear through her body.

“I don't know yet exactly how the money is going to work to pay for the detail, but I can tell you with the same assurance that I have been given it will be there. That's how important everyone knows this is.”

“Who paid for the groceries? The new sheets and towels? And toiletries?”

“I did.”

“I'll write you a check.”

“Fine.”

Good. He was learning. Accepting the fact that she was in charge. Understanding that she was in control of her life now. And would take orders from no one unless she specifically and rationally chose to do so.

“Call Chantel. Tell her there's no need for her to come back tonight. She's newly engaged and should be at home with her fiancé. And Julie, too. They're family now. They need each other.”

As she talked, her tone softened. She and Chantel hadn't talked late the night before. Maybe only for an hour or so. But it had been enlightening.

She'd told her to bring Julie in to see her. Would have liked to tell her that she was already counseling Julie's friend, Leslie Harrison. A woman who, like Julie, had been raped by a son of the previous commissioner's best friend—and had received no justice. Until recently.

Sam stepped back. She assumed to call his partner in crime and tell her they'd been found out. Turning on the water, she started to rinse their plates, readying them for the dishwasher. It wasn't as fancy as hers, had fewer functions, but it was newer.

“I can't leave you here alone.” His hand appeared in her line of vision as he took a plate from her, opened the dishwasher and placed it inside at an awkward angle.

He was supposed to be making a phone call.

“I'm not going to be alone,” she said, sounding as though the situation were completely obvious.

When, in truth, her insides were shaking just thinking about the right choice here. She knew what it was. With such certainty that she would act with authority. But that didn't mean she wouldn't experience normal human emotions.

Because she was human. And normal.

And finding herself, with two glasses of wine in her, incredibly attracted to...the man who treated his dog like a person.

It wasn't real. She knew that. It was more of the transference issue—her underlying vulnerability to one who represents safety and security. A little girl craving the protection of those who are meant to love her unconditionally.

She was not at all attracted to the detective who made promises he couldn't keep and who was, in his own words in the past, married to his job.

She still remembered his words on the subject. They'd come in response to her query as to whether or not he'd ever been married. She'd been trying to explain how she could still have feelings left for the man who'd abused her so cruelly. She'd been trying to explain about love and commitment through sickness and health.

Ken had been sick.

It had taken her a while to realize that he also had never loved her. He'd only loved how having her beneath him, physically and every other way, made him feel.

Detective Larson had apologized for his lack of compassion in the matter, explaining that he'd only been married once, for a very short time, and that his wife had helped him realize that he was a man only ever meant to be married to his job. The way he'd taken his ex-wife's words to heart, and felt bad for what he'd put her through, the way he'd hurt her with his inability to make her a priority, was what had first brought Bloom out of the cloud Ken's drugs had put her in. She'd heard a man taking accountability, rather than blaming his wife and it had hit her hard. Her first moment of complete clarity had come to her in an interrogation room alone with Sam Larson.

That was the moment she'd agreed to testify against the man she'd promised to love and cherish until death did them part.

* * *

“I
DON
'
T
UNDERSTAND
.” The rock was back in Sam's gut. She wanted him to cancel Chantel. But she wasn't going to be there alone? He rubbed the back of his neck. Longing for a battle with the waves down below. Didn't even care that the Pacific ocean, even in July, was still cold at night in Santa Raquel.

Dealing with Bloom Freelander was worse than he'd feared. She'd become an impressive opponent. Did his heart good to see it.

But if she thought she was going to call some friend to come stay with her and rely only on the off-duty cop watching the property to keep her safe at night, she was wrong.

Still, if he could get her where she had to be and let her think she was calling the shots...

If only he had the ability to finesse like his old man had...

She handed him the other plate and dropped the silverware in the dispenser, letting her statement that she wouldn't be there alone—and his response that he didn't understand—just...hang in the air.

Did she think it was going to float away and be forgotten?

Was she playing him?

He had to get one step ahead of her—and stay there—if he was going to pull this off.

Only problem was...how did a regular guy, who wasn't great with women in the first place, ever get ahead of a woman like her? Sam closed the dishwasher with his foot, purposely blocking her exit from the kitchen.

She stepped around him, heading to the living area where she sat in the middle of the couch. Where he always sat. Which she could probably tell from the indentation in the cushion.

Lucy, the traitor, settled her butt on the cushion beside her and put her paws in Bloom's lap. Manners told him to call the dog away.

Perverseness kept him silent.

Those slim, feminine, psychiatrist fingers stroked his dog's coat. Lucy laid her head on Bloom's thigh.

Jealousy shot through him.

WTF.

 

CHAPTER ELEVEN

H
E
WAS
GOING
to argue with her. Bloom knew Sam Larson well enough to know that much. Just as she knew that her way was the right one. She just needed a little time to figure out his objections and find responses to them before she embarked on the battle that was to come.

Funny, she wasn't the least bit nervous about going head-to-head with him.

The result—the obvious solution—that made her nervous. And she was just going to have to get over that part. She was the one who'd chosen to marry the wrong man. So she would do all she could to help those who were sacrificing so much to help her.

But to buy herself a little time, she petted the dog. She loved having Lucy so close.

Madge had been both a sibling and best friend to her youngest self. She saw that now.

“She'll be glad to be back home,” she said aloud what she was thinking. Making it about the dog. Not about him.

Or her.

“And she's fine at the motel until that happens,” Sam said, standing there by his wall of movies, his hands in his pockets and his expression as stern as she'd seen it this time around.

In the past, he'd looked like that a lot. Like everybody just better get out of his way. Like he thought the concept of saving the world rested on his shoulders.

She thought about resting her head on one of those shoulders. Like she used to lie with Ken. Back when she'd thought they'd been lovers. In love. She'd been lying in a dream world by herself. But Sam...if he took a woman to his bed, offered his chest as her pillow...she was sure he'd be 100 percent present with her.

But how could she possibly know that? She'd thought the same thing about Ken. So long ago she could hardly remember.

She had no business picturing her head and the detective's naked shoulder in the same frame. Or picturing his shoulders naked at all.

Unless she wanted to fail the task at hand. Which could mean failing, period, if Ken really did plan to come after her. And after seeing the number on her caller ID the morning before, she was pretty certain that was the case.

“How badly do you want me to stay here?” Just like that, the way to get to him presented itself to her.

“I won't consider any other option,” he said. “I will not have your death on my conscience.”

He was playing hardball. Trying to scare her.

He'd succeeded. The word death was too real. They weren't playing a game here. Ken had threatened her life. And he was mentally unstable beneath a guise of academic and monetary stability.

Laying heads on shoulders wasn't even in the ballpark.

Sam had also just given her the impetus she needed to get her way.

“I'll agree to stay, for as long as you deem necessary, doing as you direct on any matter concerning my safety where Ken is concerned, on one condition.”

She drew confidence from the way the muscles in his cheeks relaxed as his head tilted slightly.

“I'm listening.”

“You and Lucy leave that hellhole and come home.” She looked straight at him. Didn't even blink.

The butterflies in her stomach where his maleness was concerned, her sexual reaction to him, didn't matter here. It was a minor irritation that she'd deal with. Easily. She was a psychiatrist. Knew those wayward feelings were not based in reality. And that was the first step in obliterating them.

It might take a little time. But they'd fade away.

“I become a helpless female if you pay, personally, for the plight I'm in through no fault of your own,” she told him. Laying bare the honest truth. “I can't be that person again, Sam. Not ever. I'd rather be dead.”

She'd go home and let Ken do his worst before she'd ever give up control of her choices again. She believed, with all of her being, that Sam paying for her protection was wrong.

“Professionally, I need your help,” she told him. “I'm good with that. My patients need my help and it doesn't make them any less capable or powerful or strong when they seek me out. To the contrary, it makes them more so, as they are taking action to tend to their needs.”

His lips were pursed. His chin stiff.

“But this...you giving up your home...making Lucy stay in that room, listening to the traffic and everyone come and go all day... It's not right. Look at her.” She motioned to the dog who was now sound asleep with her head on Bloom's lap. “She's exhausted. And glad to be home.”

He did as she suggested. Looked at his dog.

“You told me before...in the past...during one of those conversations where you were trying to impress upon me the importance of my testifying against Ken in order for me to take back control of my life...that you used to do off-duty work in LA guarding witnesses who were going to testify in important cases.”

“Before I made detective.” He'd spoken. She took that as a good sign.

“You told me about one woman who was testifying against her father...the head of a drug cartel...”

“That's correct.”

“She was in a hotel in San Diego.”

“Right.”

“You spent a weekend in the suite with her.”

His mouth tightened. He didn't respond.

“You can be alone with a woman, professionally. Stay with her overnight. And not compromise your job.”

He blinked. Except that his eyes stayed closed about three blinks worth.

“You also told me that you're married to your job.”

He leaned a shoulder against the wall. Staring at her now.

“Your job is all that matters to you. My being here...it's because of your job. That's the only reason we know each other or have ever had contact. And your job is to offer needed protection, so...”

“Fine.” His interruption was no less powerful for the one word he bit out. “But you're staying in the bedroom you're in. I will not have you walking from bedroom to bathroom and risk me finding you in the hall in any inappropriate state of dress. Anytime you are outside that bedroom door—” he shot a finger toward the hall “—you are fully dressed.”

“Including shoes,” she agreed.

“Get your purse,” he demanded.

She did.

“Lucy, stay,” he said as he grabbed his keys and the dog moved toward the door. His jaw was so tight it was a wonder he didn't break a tooth.

Bloom didn't ask where they were going until she was belted into the front seat of his SUV.

“Freelander's occupied tonight. Tomorrow, who knows? I cannot afford to be distracted with relocating once he's on the move.”

Made sense.

She didn't bother him with any further conversation. He was tense. She was nervous. And a bit scared, too, knowing that Ken really was out of jail. And could be around any corner. Gunning for her.

Scared enough that when they reached his rent-by-the-week motel, she asked, “May I come in with you while you pack?”

“Come in with me? Lady, you're going to help,” he told her. But once they were inside, all he let her do was get Lucy's bed and perpetual waterer. He took care of the rest in about five minutes.

But in those few minutes she'd learned something else about Detective Larson.

He didn't fold his underwear.

* * *

A
FTER
ALL
THE
HOOPLA
, the next couple of days were so uneventful Sam was ready to leap tall buildings in a single bound.

He'd given Bloom her way. He'd moved back into the cottage. But he wasn't spending any real time with her. Chantel still took the after-work shift while Sam caught up on paperwork. And made use of his membership at the local gym. Bloom turned in early, at which point Chantel would text and Sam would go home.

He was missing Lucy like hell. But otherwise the plan was working out just fine.

Bloom hadn't said a word to him about the way he'd turned the tables on her.

But then, she was a smart woman. He'd always known that.

Freelander, on the other hand, was smarter than he'd given him credit for. The man had rented a condo in an upscale high-rise close to the university. He was trying to use the fact that he once again had no record—since the case had been thrown out as though it didn't exist—to get his job back.

And had probable grounds to sue if the university didn't give fair consideration to his request.

To the school's detriment was the fact that they had a professorship available in the psychology department. They'd posted the position, open for application for another week, four weeks before it was known that Ken Freelander would be out of jail, record expunged.

Freelander had made no attempt to contact his ex-wife. Nor had he headed any farther north than the hotel where he'd spent his first night of freedom.

He'd visited the office of a divorce attorney, though. And a request had been made to access the decree that had been filed to officially end the marriage of Bloom Morgan Freelander and Kenneth Charles Freelander.

Sam had to assume that Freelander intended to contest the divorce Bloom had been granted while he'd been incarcerated.

Freelander couldn't force Bloom to stay married to him, but he could possibly be granted new divorce proceedings since he had been imprisoned erroneously.

So much for Sam's promise that she'd never have to deal with the fiend again.

He didn't know which was worse—Freelander showing up in town and Bloom having to hide until he did something they could arrest him for—putting Bloom in physical danger—or his going after her in the courts and messing with her emotions.

If he had his way, he'd choose the former. Clearly, when it came to Bloom, his getting his way wasn't high on fate's list of priorities.

He'd won the major battle, though. She was in a safe house. And during the hours he was spending at his desk, when he wasn't helping his colleagues with research on cases, he was poring through unending files of code and messages, phone records and dates, trying to find solid proof that linked Freelander to the gang he'd supplied drugs to in exchange for protection just before going to jail.

Because, whether she thought so or not, he was most definitely not using Bloom as bait.

The word from his contacts regarding Kenneth Freelander's drug and gang ties was good enough for Sam. But it wouldn't even get him to court—let alone get them a win once they got there.

It really pissed him off, though, that Freelander could very well be the one calling Bloom to court for a win of his own.

Sam could wait for Bloom to be served with formal notice, if Freelander's motion actually hit the courts. Or he could give her a heads-up.

He deliberated on the matter all day Thursday. Stood outside his bedroom door Thursday night, thinking about her in his bed, sleeping soundly, and wondered which would be kinder. To let the false sense of security that seemed to be falling over her continue as long as it could, or to prepare her for the battle that was coming.

There was no question. He knew that. The former could lead her to carelessness, a letting down of her guard.

To allow a court representative to arrive at her office to serve her with notice of a hearing—without warning—would be cruel.

To wake her up in the middle of the night to give her the news was inhuman.

And to put himself in a position to see her in...however she slept...was just plain dumb.

Instead, he took Lucy to the twin bed they were sharing—when she wasn't on the floor outside Bloom's room—and sent a text to Chantel.

She could spend Friday evening with her fiancé. He'd pick Bloom up from work and handle the evening shift as well as the night. The captain, fully aware of Sam's off-duty work, was keeping him on light duty in the office during the day for now.

Before he could put his phone on the nightstand, Colin Fairbanks had texted him saying he owed him one.

A pretty generous thing for a guy to say after having just written a check to cover the cost of off-duty detail to protect a woman he'd never met. A check for an amount that was more than Sam had amassed over a lifetime of saving. Colin had designated any funds that might be remaining after the case ended to be put in a fund for future High Risk Team police use.

The world still had some good people in it. People worth protecting.

Lying on top of the still-made bed in the sweatpants and T-shirt he was sleeping in while on duty, his boat shoes ready for him at the side of the bed, the bedroom door wide open and the earpiece that connected him to the officer outside in his ear and on, Sam pulled an old quilt on top of him and closed his eyes.