We Will Always Have the Closet (10 page)

“You are not Prince Charming,” she protested in a hoarse voice that belied the twinkle in her eye. “I am so disappointed.”

Sam laughed. He loved her sense of humor and quick sarcastic snappiness. She could dish it out as well as take it and that made her even more attractive. “Sorry to disappoint you,” he said with a chuckle, sitting back down on the chair. “They were looking for your husband, but all they could find was me.”

“They thought you were Jonas?” she exclaimed in surprise, wincing as the movement sent a sharp pain through her forehead. “Ouch! What the hell happened to me?”

“I was hoping you could tell me,” he confessed, his eyebrows arching up in a question. “They found you at the bottom of a staircase in the Linden Galleria.” His sharp eyes looked for a sign that would maybe clear some foggy details, but she was not biting. “What were you doing there?”

“Enjoying a little art,” she replied, not an inkling of deceit in her voice as she smiled sweetly at him.

“Right. And I’m Doctor Who,” he exclaimed, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Come on, Petra, stop messing around. This could be dangerous.” An unsettling thought came to his mind. “Did you get pushed down those stairs?”

Her laugh echoed in the small hospital room like crystal being stroked gently. “Yes, I was pushed by my twin sister, the klutz,” she said. Then she slapped him in the arm. “I am telling you, Jonas is no criminal. I don’t know what you think you have on him, but he’s clean.”

Sam rubbed the spot with a mournful expression, pretending to be hurt. “How can you be so sure? You didn’t even know that yacht was his.”

“It’s true,” she said, “I never got to know my ex-husband very well. The man I thought I knew was a complete fictional character I created with my own overactive imagination. But he is no criminal, I’m sure.”

“We know for sure that stolen art is being spirited out of the country in his yacht,” Sam added.

Petra gasped. “No way, there is absolutely no way Jonas would stoop that low even for the love of art. I don’t believe it,” she protested vehemently. “No way in hell.”

It annoyed him to no end that Petra was so enthusiastically defending her ex. It was a feeling that started at the center of his chest and spread like wild fire throughout his whole body and mind in a very unpleasant wave. Sam could feel the anger rising in him and he realized with a jolt that he was jealous. He couldn’t remember the last time he had been jealous about anybody or anything. Yes, he had been in love in his youth and he had definitely had “feelings” for several women throughout the years, but he had never felt the flames of jealousy the way he felt them at that moment, gnawing at him around the edges like a wild creature with rabies. “Strange how you defend your lover so forcefully.” His voice had taken on a dangerously low tone as he tried to control the wrath he felt. “Are you sure you’re not still in love with this crook?”

Petra tried to sit up, but the cut on her scalp prevented her. Instead, she waved her hands wildly in the air with a grimace. “Are you freaking out of your mind?” she yelled. “I was in love with who I thought he was, never with the real man, never. And I am definitely not in love with him now.” Breathing hard, she let out a loud growl.

“Are you growling at me?” Sam yelled back, anger erasing any rational thought from his head.

“Since I can’t beat you up right now, this is the best I can do,” she spat, her hand shooting up to cradle her forehead and her eyes. “Son of a bitch, this really hurts.” Petra glared at Sam. “How can you believe I could ever be in love with my two-timing ex-husband? If it wasn’t for this blinding headache I would slap the living daylights out of you.”

She looked so pathetic, angry, in pain and obviously frustrated, that jealousy subsided in his heart and he reached out to her. “All right, all right, I believe you,” he said, pushing her gently down on the bed and fluffing the pillow behind her head. “But I still think he is a crook. What makes you think he isn’t?”

Taking a few moments to catch her breath and calm herself, Petra licked her dry lips and touched the face that leaned over her, a worried expression in his eyes. “I went through his documents in his office,” she explained. “Everything is kosher, really. If there is something I know about, it’s art legalese, and these papers are the real thing. Jonas is an asshole, but he’s not a felon. He likes his luxuries way too much to put everything at risk that way. Besides, he has enough money to buy the Louvre if he wanted. Why bother with crime? Like he would say, it’s too pedestrian.”

The expression on her face as she uttered those words made him burst into laughter. She stared at him, unbelieving and confused. “You are a riot, girl,” he told her between laughs.

“I don’t see what’s so funny,” she protested, her arms crossing in a sulk. But the corner of her lips betrayed a sign of amusement. “So what are you going to do about it, Mr. Private Eye?”

The laughter subsiding, Sam hovered over her again and stared her straight in the eyes. “Well, Mrs. Linden,” he began. “As your lawful husband, I will have to take you home and make hot crazy love to you until you beg me for mercy.”

“Good luck with that,” she said, chuckling under her breath. “With this concussion, you’ll be lucky if I can keep awake through it all. And don’t you ever call me that. My name is Galatas.”

With a wicked smile on his lips and a suggestive twinkle in the eye, Sam lowered his face to hers. “Oh, Ms. Galatas, you don’t know me at all,” he said right before covering her lips with his in a long sensual kiss.

***

Petra

Somehow, Sam managed to convince all the nurses and doctors that he was indeed her husband and soon they were on their way home. Petra was very queasy and had to keep her eyes closed through the whole drive, but inside her heart was singing a joyful song. It had been a long time since she had someone by her side willing to care for her. She had forgotten what it was like to be mothered a bit. Her parents had died when she was still young and ever since then every relationship in her life had not ended well and showed no signs of true caring. Linden had been no different. At first, he had seemed so tender, so charming she had allowed herself to believe that this was the man who would cuddle her and love her into old age; that he would be the one who would stay up late waiting by the phone when she was traveling for her job or run her to the ER in the middle of the night because her ulcer was acting up. All those romantic ideas had been crushed to dust shortly after the wedding night, for he had refused to stay up or take her to the hospital when she found herself extremely sick from an allergic reaction to a medicine. Not only had he neglected her through that very long, heart-wrenching night, but he had moved to another room so he didn’t have to listen to her moans of pain. The next morning, obviously refreshed, he had finally graciously offered to take her to the doctor before making his way to work. Yes, it was nice to have someone take care of her for a change.

Sam took her to her house, which he claimed was so much nicer than his, since a loft in the center of Seattle was too noisy for a convalescent. She suspected he just liked her house better. Like a good mystery, a romance should take its time to develop, one delicious layer at a time—she didn’t want to mess it up. So it was a little nerve-racking having him stay with her so soon after they first met, but the idea of being alone at a time like this dispelled whatever concerns she had. Her house was tidy, as usual. She had never been a messy person, and living alone afforded her the opportunity to live in the type of environment she had always enjoyed. Sam carried her in his strong arms to lay her gently on the couch in the living room. He had gone into her bedroom and she heard him opening and closing doors as if looking for something. Finally he came out with a couple pillows and a blanket in his hands. Like a true mother hen, he fussed over her, making her comfortable. Petra started clucking like a chicken.

“Are you clucking at me?” he exclaimed, surprised. “First you growl at me, now you cluck? I don’t know whether to laugh or be offended.” She patted a spot on the couch by her feet and he sat down. “I am glad you’re okay,” he said seriously. “I was worried.”

Petra smiled at him. “I’m glad you are here,” she confessed. “Can you sit closer?”

Sam stood up and came to squeeze himself between her head and the end of the couch. Her ailing head was now on his lap and the warmth of his legs against her sore neck was heavenly. She realized how tired she was as her eyes began to slowly close in spite of her efforts to keep them open. “I am so tired,” she whispered, feeling herself fading away into slumber.

“Then sleep,” he said simply, placing a hand around her shoulders, cradling her like a child. “Sweet dreams, Sleeping Beauty.” A smile lit up her lips and then her mind and body welcomed the oblivion of sleep.

***

Sam

Sleep was fraught with dreams—not quite nightmares, but anxiety causing, nevertheless. It was hard to grasp the true essence of the dream or any of the details, but from the corner of his consciousness, he could guess fear all wrapped up around the prone figure of Petra. Blood tinted his vision and the muffled sound of her cries mixed with the sound of his own galloping heart. Their sensual dance ended in a mist of terror, Sam reaching out hands to hold a slowly falling Petra. Eyes closed, heart stopped, she kept falling and his hands seemed immaterial, slipping through her cold body on her way down. His mouth silently voiced the pain that seared his heart, and her still body kept dropping, lower and lower…before she reached the floor, he woke up drenched in cold sweat and gasping for air.

These dreams had plagued his sleep for the past few days, camped out in Petra’s living room as she recuperated from her injuries. She was doing well; cranky, for sure, especially when he prevented her from doing anything or going anywhere, but healing quickly and regaining her strength back. It had been an accident, nothing more. It could have happened to anyone anytime. Yet he carried this weight in his heart. Had he unwittingly involved her in something that would prove too dangerous? She was so certain her ex-husband was innocent, but Sam was not so sure. All evidence pointed in another direction, and whether he liked it or not, Petra was along for the ride. Taking no for an answer was not in her genetic makeup, and only a crazy man would dare forbid her to get involved in something she believed to have every right to be part of. Crazy, he was not. In love—well, that was another thing altogether. Out loud he probably would violently deny it, but in private, in the corners of his mind and his heart, he knew there was no denying it; he was falling irreversibly in love with that little spitfire of a woman.

Still soaked in sweat, Sam sat up slowly from his perch on the sofa, a foot or so too short for his full height, and stretched. Another day of feeling like a zombie. Was that what love did to everyone? Steal their peace of mind and sleep? Not sure he liked that feeling too much, he stood up and tip-toed to the bathroom. Minimally refreshed, he peeked in Petra’s room to check on her and was shocked into paralysis. Where was she? Her bed was empty, blankets crumpled on top. The glass door that opened up onto the patio was wide open and the curtains floated freely in the cool breeze. Running rather than walking, Sam followed the track outside with panic rising in his chest. Down the hill, still as a statue, Petra sat on the frigid grass staring out at the glittering waters of the Puget Sound as if she had not a care in the world. He let out a loud sigh of relief and she turned her head to him. “Sam,” she exclaimed. “You’re awake.”

“That’s a matter of opinion,” he mumbled under his breath as he walked down toward her. Sporting her pink striped pajamas and a mop of messy hair, Petra looked lovely under the light of the wintry morning sun. “Aren’t you cold?”

“I am high on life, Mr. P.I.,” she said, laughing. “How can you not feel refreshed and warm all over faced with this?” She accompanied her words with a grand gesture in front of her. The scenery was indeed breathtaking and life affirming with the sparkling waters snaking into the horizon, the snow crested mountain tops in the distance, and the azure sky sprinkled with a few lonely cotton ball clouds. Sam inhaled the chill of the crisp air and smiled. His heart was singing inside his chest now that he knew her to be safe. He had never been an anxious person until this little brunette insinuated her way into his life.

“Hungry?” he asked, feeling a hunger of another kind invade his body.

Petra got up and raced him to the house, where she prepared a massive amount of scrambled eggs and cheese. “For such a tiny person, you sure eat like a giant,” he commented, watching her shoveling forkfuls into her mouth.

“I am convalescing and my body needs food to heal properly,” she said between chews. “What’s your excuse?”

“I am a six foot four adult male who works out for at least an hour every day and has to put up with a five foot three Tasmanian devil,” he replied, taking a big bite of the cheesy eggs. She was making a poor attempt at hiding her laughter behind her toast. He laughed too. “I have to leave you for a little while today,” he told her suddenly. “Work.” That was partly true. He did have to go back to his investigation sooner rather than later, but what was really driving him away from her was his need to put some physical distance between them. Around her it was hard to think straight, his body constantly ravaged by irrational desire and his mind assailed by an equally irrational fear. He needed a break from the turmoil that raged inside of him, and work might very well be just what the doctor ordered.