Weep In The Night (7 page)

Oscar didn't seem to hear her question. He cleared his throat and focused on the floor. “Um, Debra, I've been wondering. Can you, I mean, would you care to go out for coffee or something?”

Sadie had been expecting this for a while. She'd often caught him watching her with interest or found him included in the group when April invited her places. Like the recent request.

At the end of the isle, she stopped and turned, hoping her smile conveyed sincerity. “Oh, Oscar, I'm sorry. I don't think so.” She stuck her hands in her pockets and focused on the collar of his shirt. “You see, there's someone else.”

Who would have thought she'd be thankful for Sam's pretend date? She liked Oscar, but her pulse didn't race at his invitation.

“It's the new guy, isn't it? It's Sam.” Oscar hit his palm to his forehead. “I knew it. I'm too late.”

Agreeing wouldn't be a lie. She and Sam had one date, and he'd hinted he wanted to ask her out again. “I'm sorry, Oscar.”

His sad puppy-dog eyes snagged a piece of her heart.

“He's a lucky guy.” Oscar loped off around the corner.

Sadie continued to the break room, deep in thought. As she turned down the last aisle, Sam popped up in front of her.

“Hello.”

“Hi.”

“I hear you were asked out on a date.”

Try as she might, she couldn't take her eyes off his dimple-creased cheek. Or the dark curl that fell across his forehead, or the tiny razor nick marking his firm chin.

Her face tingled, and she self-consciously adjusted her glasses. “How do you know?”

With his hand on her arm, Sam accompanied her to the break room. “I overheard Oscar.”

She swatted his hand but said nothing.

“So, Miss Debra, am I the
someone else
?”

Freeing her arm, she ignored his chuckles and entered the room.

 

****

 

The evening chill sent a shiver slinking through Sadie.

Sam slipped his arm around her shoulders and escorted her into El Capitán, a Mexican restaurant several blocks from Rhodes. His shift had ended two hours before hers, and he'd gone home to change into brown slacks and a blue shirt.

However, she still wore jeans and a rose pink T-shirt.

At lunch he'd invited her, and she agreed to meet him at the restaurant. They were directed to a table along the mural-covered wall. Once seated, they perused the menus, surrounded by hints of chili and cinnamon.

During the meal, Sadie took the opportunity to pump Sam for information. Although he shared few personal stories, Sadie did learn a little more about him. He loved football, kept in shape by kickboxing and pummeling a punching bag, and knew how to make a girl feel special. She appreciated his attentiveness. This pretend date wasn't so bad after all.

Sam set his knife and fork across his empty plate. “Those enchiladas were real good, but I prefer Calif…”

Sadie wiped her mouth and waited for him to complete his sentences, but he took a gulp of tea and examined the mural. “Prefer what?”

He cleared his throat. “You know, Mexican food differs from state to state.”

“I agree, but when were you in California?”

Sam's shoulder muscles looked tense. Why would her question about California affect him so?

“Remember I told you I was raised in foster care. One family I lived with took us on vacation there.” He gulped the last of his tea. “So, when do you think the puppet group will want the stage?”

Well done, Sam. He'd answered and changed the subject without blinking. Sadie understood his reluctance to discuss his time in foster care. He must be telling the truth.

“You can ask them on Saturday night. Kyle wants to meet again, and everyone is coming over to my place.”

Sylvia had called Sadie as she left Rhodes and she'd reluctantly agreed to host the meeting.

“Sounds like a plan.”

When they finished their decaf coffee and chocolate cake, he followed her to her car.

“I had a good time. Thanks, Sam.”

He took her hand. Nothing as dramatic as electric sparks traveled up her arm, but the heat from his touch radiated through her. He gazed at her face and slowly lowered his head. A kiss? She wasn't ready.

But he drew her hand to his lips and kissed her fingers. She relaxed and sighed, the soft touch of his lips sending a shiver of pleasure down her spine.

He released her hand and raised his eyebrows, as if he knew the effect his action had caused. “See you tomorrow?”

“I'm working a half day. I'll be in about three.” She slid behind the wheel.

Sam gave her a nod and disappeared across the parking lot.

Sadie slumped against the seat and rubbed the hand he'd kissed. Whew. She'd have to lasso her heart and keep a tight rein on it.

On the way home, she fantasized about another date, but by the time she parked, she'd shaken the scenarios away and reminded herself she knew little about Sam.

Although still early, Sadie prepared for bed and snuggled under the covers with her laptop balanced on her knees. In the morning, she'd visit the children's shelter. For each trip, she took along a story she'd written, featuring characters named after children at the center. The kids loved to hear their names. She had a few more pages to compose for tomorrow's visit.

The hours slid by and at midnight, she turned off the light.

Dreams featuring Rhodes' co-workers and long ago foster families peppered her night. She awoke and dressed, disappointed Sam hadn't made his way into her subconscious.

Eager young faces greeted her at the shelter.

Carmen Rios, the director, gave her a list of newcomers so she could include their names in the story.

On the way to the indoor play area, Sadie asked, “Has a Sam Boudine ever called you? He may want to volunteer.”

Carmen frowned and shook her head. “Sorry. Name's not familiar.”

Interesting. Maybe he changed his mind. Sadie would have to quiz him at their next meeting. Once seated, she wrote the names in gaps she'd purposely left blank and then gathered the kids around her.

They squealed and clapped as she read, and then they wanted the story repeated. After the third rendition, Sadie gave the pages to Carmen and joined the kids in outdoor games.

Close to noon, she hugged each child and then returned home for a salad lunch and a quick visit with Louise.

At Rhodes, time hung heavy on her hands. Dreary, gray skies must have kept shoppers at home since few people visited the garden center. Sadie took the opportunity to pick up a promotion application packet from Julian and tucked it in her locker.

Sam entered the break room, his mood as gloomy as the weather. The nod he gave her served as his greeting. He pounded the bank of lockers with his fist. The metal fixtures rattled like a dragon's loose teeth. “Blast.” His back to her, he hung his head.

“Sam?” She took a hesitant step his direction. “What's wrong?”

A mammoth sigh escaped, and he turned. The muscles along his jaw clenched. “I almost got fired because I'm late, but you'll never believe what happened.” He paced liked a trapped lion.

Sadie sat at a table and patted the chair next to her. “Come sit. Tell me about it.”

He hauled the chair out and sank into it, his posture rigid. “I should have been here hours ago, but I had two flat tires.” He thumped the table. “Two.”

Sadie flinched at his action but concentrated on his face. “What was wrong with the tires?”

At first, Sam glared at her as if he'd forgotten he had an audience. Then his mouth softened and his eyes focused. “I'm sorry for ranting, but it's so strange. One tire had a nail in it. OK, I can buy that, but the other had been slashed.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course.” He rested his elbows on the table and twisted his silver watch band. “Seems someone didn't want me to drive my truck today. I had to wait for the tow truck and buy two tires. Nearly cost me my job.”

She touched his forearm where dark hair curled over taut skin. “Did you tell Julian why you were late?”

“Yeah, but since I'm still on probation, he said he would be justified in firing me.” He thumped the table again, sending the salt and pepper shakers trembling. “Two tires. I can't believe it.”

“But he didn't fire you?”

“No. He gave me a warning and said I should have phoned him, but to tell the truth, I was so mad I didn't think of calling.” His shoulders slumped as he rested his forehead in one hand.

Sadie's desire to offer him comfort by wrapping her arms around him almost overtook her common sense. To distance herself from the temptation, she pushed back.

Sam straightened, his lips curled enough to reveal the dimple for a second, and then it disappeared. “I better clock in. Have to make up the hours. I'll be here until closing.” After he punched his time card and tied his apron, they left the room together. “I wanted to ask you out again tonight but can't now.”

“There's always tomorrow.” She couldn't believe she made the suggestion.

“Suits me.” Sam flashed his knee-bending smile her way. “I'm off tomorrow. What time should I pick you up?”

At the end of the aisle, she froze. Would it be OK for Sam to know where she lived? After all, he'd be coming with the puppet group on Saturday. “Six thirty. I live at 7523 Monterey Oaks Boulevard. Apartment 117.”

“Can't wait.”

She shoved her hands in her jeans pockets and took a meandering route to the garden department, hoping the heat in her cheeks would dissipate by the time she had to face Glenna.

Few customers braved the cool evening, and Sadie spent the rest of her shift in the covered storeroom doing inventory. On the way to her car, her cell phone rang. “Hey, Griff, what's up?”

“Where are you?” His familiar twang sounded stressed.

“Leaving Rhodes, heading home. Why?”

“I've got a bit of troubling news.”

He's found out something sinister about Sam.

“What is it?” She popped the remote and slid into the car.

“I heard through agency channels that someone has been attempting to access your old financial records.”

She locked the door and whispered, “You mean Sadie's records?” Paranoia nibbled at her gut. She glanced around to make sure no one eavesdropped.

“Yes.”

“What does that mean? There's nothing there, right?” When she'd entered WITSEC, Cal, Aaron's brother, liquidated their assets, paid debts from the proceeds, and the rest—not much to show for an upper-middle class lifestyle—was funneled to her.

“Right. There's no money, but we left a paper trail to prove to anyone who checked that Sadie Malone was dead.”

The damp chill seeped into her bones, and she shivered. Griff's words about Sadie pierced her heart. She wanted to scream, “I'm not dead. I'm here. I'm alive.”

Griff's anxious voice penetrated her pain. “Debra?”

“I'm trying to process what you said.”

“No need to panic. Your new identity has not been compromised, but we thought you should know.”

Oscar passed by her car and waved. Acknowledging his greeting with a nod, Sadie so hoped she wouldn't have to move again, adjust to another new name, new job, new friends. “Is there anything I need to do?”

“Be alert and careful. And if anything or anyone acts suspicious, give me a call.”

She decided to tell him about Pete and Janelle Williams' eagerness to move into her apartment complex.

“I'll check them out. Go straight home, and call me when you get there.”

“OK.” She ended the call and drove out of the parking lot. Her stomach ached as she turned onto the road. Bile pulsated up and down her throat and a tight band constricted her chest.

Breathe.

The drive home wouldn't take long. She relaxed her grip on the steering wheel.

Then headlights on high beam glared in her rearview mirror. They stayed behind her for miles. She turned left. The vehicle turned left. She slowed. It slowed. Panic ate through her like acid.

Debra knew better than driving home and flew past her apartment complex. What to do? Then she remembered a police station a few blocks away.

With a safe destination ahead, she sped up. So did the other car. She screeched to a stop in front of a row of police cars and watched the vehicle glide past—a cream-colored pickup truck.

And the man behind the wheel looked a lot like Sam.

 

 

 

 

8

 

Bowen helped a customer calculate how many two-by-fours he needed for a patio roof and then directed him to where he could locate the other supplies on his list.

With fifteen minutes left in his shift, he cleaned up his workstation. The tire incident still rankled. Who would have destroyed two of his tires? Neighborhood kids, or someone who didn't want him to work at Rhodes?

Oscar's face flashed into his mind, but he shook his head. Surely not. He seemed like a decent guy, and when they'd spoken yesterday, his congratulations on dating Debra sounded sincere. Must have been kids.

Bowen clocked out and then trudged to the store exit.

“Wait up, Sam.” Greg caught up with him. “Want to join me at Aces for a beer or two?”

Slowing at the use of his cover name, Bowen jingled his keys and tried to ignore the tightness in his throat as he recalled the bitter, but familiar taste of a cool beer sliding down. “No, thanks. Something I got to do at home.”

“Maybe another time.” Greg thumped Bowen's shoulder.

Bowen unlocked his truck and climbed in. He fastened the seat belt and muttered, “Sorry, Greg, but there won't be another time.”

He gritted his teeth as the truck's speed increased. No, there'd be no beers at Aces or anywhere else. He'd been sober for eleven years and although the urge to indulge hadn't left completely, he wasn't about to break now. His drinking had cost him plenty—several jobs and a family. Liz divorced him after four years of marriage. A high price to pay. He wouldn't let booze destroy anything else in his life.