Читать книгу Keeper of the Bride / Whistleblower: Keeper of the Bride / Whistleblower - Тесс Герритсен, Tess Gerritsen - Страница 11

THEY SPENT THE NEXT FOUR hours in a hospital waiting room.

Though Nina wasn’t part of the medical team now battling to save Robert’s life, she could picture only too vividly what was going on at that moment in the trauma suite. The massive infusions of blood and saline. The scramble to control the patient’s bleeding, to keep his pressure up, his heart beating. She knew it all well because, at other times, on other patients, she had been part of the team. Now she was relegated to this useless task of waiting and worrying. Though her relationship with Robert was irrevocably broken, though she hadn’t forgiven him for the way he’d betrayed her, she certainly didn’t want him hurt.

Or dead.

It was only Sam’s presence that kept her calm and sane during that long evening. Other cops came and went. As the hours stretched on, only Sam stayed next to her on the couch, his hand clasping hers in a silent gesture of support. She could see that he was tired, but he didn’t leave her. He stayed right beside her as the night wore on toward ten o’clock.

And he was there when the neurosurgeon came out to inform them that Robert had died on the operating table.

Nina took the blow in numb silence. She was too stunned to shed any tears, to say much more than “Thank you for trying.” She scarcely realized Sam had his arm around her. Only when she sagged against him did she feel his support, steadying her.

“I’m going to take you home,” he said softly. “There’s nothing more you can do here.”

Mutely she nodded. He helped her to her feet and guided her toward the exit. They were halfway across the room when a voice called, “Miss Cormier? I need to ask you some more questions.”

Nina turned and looked at the rodent-faced man who’d just spoken to her. She couldn’t remember his name, but she knew he was a cop; he’d been in and out of the waiting room all evening. Now he was studying her closely, and she didn’t like the look in his eyes.

“Not now, Yeats,” said Sam, nudging her to the exit. “It’s a bad time.”

“It’s the best time to ask questions,” said the other cop. “Right after the event.”

“She’s already told me she knew nothing about it.”

“She hasn’t told me.” Yeats turned his gaze back to Nina. “Miss Cormier, I’m with Homicide. Your fiancé never regained consciousness, so we couldn’t question him. That’s why I need to talk to you. Where were you this afternoon?”

Bewildered, Nina shook her head. “I was at my father’s house. I didn’t know about it until…”

“Until I told her,” filled in Sam.

“You did, Navarro?”

“I went straight from the crime scene to her father’s house. Nina was there. You can ask Daniella Cormier to confirm it.”

“I will.” Yeats’s gaze was still fixed on Nina. “I understand you and Dr. Bledsoe just called off the engagement. And you were in the process of moving out of his house.”

Softly Nina said, “Yes.”

“I imagine you must have been pretty hurt. Did you ever consider, oh…+getting back at him?”

Horrified by his implication, she gave a violent shake of her head. “You don’t really think that—that I had something to do with this?”

“Did you?”

Sam stepped between them. “That’s enough, Yeats.”

“What are you, Navarro? Her lawyer?”

“She doesn’t have to answer these questions.”

“Yes, she does. Maybe not tonight. But she does have to answer questions.”

Sam took Nina’s arm and propelled her toward the exit.

“Watch it, Navarro!” Yeats yelled as they left the room. “You’re on thin ice!”

Though Sam didn’t answer, Nina could sense his fury just by the way he gripped her arm all the way to the parking lot.

When they were back in his car, she said, quietly, “Thank you, Sam.”

“For what?”

“For getting me away from that awful man.”

“Eventually, you will have to talk to him. Yeats may be a pain in the butt, but he has a job to do.”

And so do you, she thought with a twinge of sadness. She turned to look out the window. He was the cop again, always the cop, trying to solve the puzzle. She was merely one of the pieces.

“You’re going to have to talk to him tomorrow,” said Sam. “Just a warning—he can be a tough interrogator.”

“There’s nothing I have to tell him. I was at my father’s house. You know that. And Daniella will confirm it.”

“No one can knock your alibi. But murder doesn’t have to be done in person. Killers can be hired.”

She turned to him with a look of disbelief. “You don’t think I’d—”

“I’m just saying that’s the logic Yeats will use. When someone gets murdered, the number one suspect is always the spouse or lover. You and Bledsoe just broke up. And it happened in the most public and painful way possible. It doesn’t take a giant leap of logic to come up with murderous intent on your part.”

“I’m not a murderer. You know I’m not!”

He didn’t answer. He just went on driving as though he had not registered a word.

“Navarro, did you hear me? I’m not a murderer!”

“I heard you.”

“Then why aren’t you saying anything?”

“Because I think something else just came up.”

Only then did she notice that he was frowning at the rearview mirror. He picked up his car phone and dialed. “Gillis?” he said. “Do me a favor. Find out if Yeats has a tail on Nina Cormier. Yeah, right now. I’m in the car. Call me back.” He hung up.

Nina turned and looked out the rear window, at a pair of headlights behind them. “Is someone following us?”

“I’m not sure. I do know that car pulled out behind ours when we left the hospital. And it’s been there ever since.”

“Your buddy in Homicide must really think I’m dangerous if he’s having me followed.”

“He’s just keeping tabs on his suspect.”

Me, she thought, and sank back against the seat, grateful that the darkness hid her face. Am I your suspect as well?

He drove calmly, making no sudden moves to alarm whoever was in the car behind them. In that tense stillness, the ringing of the phone was startling.

He picked up the receiver. “Navarro.” There was a pause, then he said, “You’re sure?” Again he glanced in the mirror. “I’m at Congress and Braeburn, heading west. There’s a dark truck—looks like a Jeep Cherokee—right behind me. I’ll swing around, make a pass by Houlton. If you can be ready and waiting, we’ll sandwich this guy. Don’t scare him off. For now, just move in close enough to get a good look. Okay, I’m making my turn now. I’ll be there in five minutes.” He hung up and shot Nina a tense glance. “You pick up what’s happening?”

“What is happening?”

“That’s not a cop behind us.”

She looked back at the headlights. Not a cop. “Then who is it?”

“We’re going to find out. Now listen good. In a minute I’ll want you down near the floor. Not yet—I don’t want to make him suspicious. But when Gillis pulls in behind him, things could get exciting. Are you ready for this?”

“I don’t think I have much of a choice…”

He made his turn. Not too fast—a casual change of direction to make it seem as if he’d just decided on a different route.

The other car made the turn as well.

Sam turned again, back onto Congress Street. They were headed east now, going back the way they’d come. The pair of headlights was still behind them. At 10:30 on a Sunday, traffic was light and it was easy to spot their pursuer.

“There’s Gillis,” Sam stated. “Right on schedule.” He nodded at the blue Toyota idling near the curb. They drove past it.

A moment later, the Toyota pulled into traffic, right behind the Jeep.

“Perp sandwich,” said Sam with a note of triumph. They were coming on a traffic light, just turning yellow. Purposely he slowed down, to keep the other two cars on his tail.

Without warning, the Cherokee suddenly screeched around them and sped straight through the intersection just as the light turned red.

Sam uttered an oath and hit the accelerator. They, too, lurched through the intersection just as a pickup truck barreled in from a side street. Sam swerved around it and took off after the sedan.

A block ahead, the Cherokee screeched around a corner.

“This guy’s smart,” muttered Sam. “He knew we were moving in on him.”

“Watch out!” cried Nina as a car pulled out of a parking space, right in front of them.

Sam leaned on his horn and shot past.

This is crazy, she thought. I’m riding with a maniac cop at the wheel.

They spun around the corner into an alley. Nina, clutching the dashboard, caught a dizzying view of trash cans and Dumpsters as they raced through.

At the other end of the alley, Sam screeched to a halt.

There was no sign of the Cherokee. In either direction.

Gillis’s Toyota squealed to a stop just behind them. “Which way?” they heard Gillis call.

“I don’t know!” Sam yelled back. “I’ll head east.”

He turned right. Nina glanced back and saw Gillis turn left, in the other direction. A two-pronged search. Surely one of them would spot the quarry.

Four blocks later, there was still no sign of the Cherokee. Sam reached for the car phone and dialed Gillis.

“No luck here,” he said. “How about you?” At the answer, he gave a grunt of disappointment. “Okay. At least you got the license number. I’ll check back with you later.” He hung up.

“So he did catch the number?” Nina asked.

“Massachusetts plate. APB’s going out now. With any luck, they’ll pick him up.” He glanced at Nina. “I’m not so sure you should go back to your father’s house.”

Their gazes locked. What she saw, in his eyes, confirmed her fears.

“You think he was following me,” she said softly.

“What I want to know is, why? There’s something weird going on here, something that involves both you and Robert. You must have some idea what it is.”

She shook her head. “It’s a mistake,” she whispered. “It must be.”

“Someone’s gone to a lot of trouble to ensure your deaths. I don’t think he—or she—would mistake the target.”

“She? Do you really think…”

“As I said before, murder needn’t be done in person. It can be bought and paid for. And that could be what we’re dealing with. I’m more and more certain of it. A professional.”

Nina was shaking now, unable to answer him. Unable to argue. The man next to her was talking so matter-of-factly. His life didn’t hang in the balance.

“I know it’s hard to accept any of this yet,” he added. “But in your case, denial could be fatal. So let me lay it out for you. The brutal facts. Robert’s already dead. And you could be next.”

But I’m not worth killing! she thought. I’m no threat to anyone.

“We can’t pin the blame on Jimmy Brogan,” said Sam. “I think he’s the innocent in all this. He saw something he shouldn’t have, so he was disposed of. And then his death was set up to look like a suicide, to throw us off the track. Deflect our bomb investigation. Our killer’s very clever. And very specific about his targets.” He glanced at her, and she heard, in his voice, pure, passionless logic. “There’s something else I learned today,” he told her. “The morning of your wedding, a gift was delivered to the church. Jimmy Brogan may have seen the man who left it. We think Brogan put the parcel somewhere near the front pews. Right near the blast center. The gift was addressed specifically to you and Robert.” He paused, as though daring her to argue that away.

She couldn’t. The information was coming too fast, and she was having trouble dealing with the terrifying implications.

“Help me out, Nina,” he urged. “Give me a name. A motive.”

“I told you,” she said, her voice breaking to a sob. “I don’t know!”

“Robert admitted there was another woman. Do you know who that might be?”

She was hugging herself, huddling into a self-protective ball against the seat. “No.”

“Did it ever seem to you that Daniella and Robert were particularly close?”

Nina went still. Daniella? Her father’s wife? She thought back over the past six months. Remembered the evenings she and Robert had spent at her father’s house. All the invitations, the dinners. She’d been pleased that her fiancé had been so quickly accepted by her father and Daniella, pleased that, for once, harmony had been achieved in the Cormier family. Daniella, who’d never been particularly warm toward her stepdaughter, had suddenly started including Nina and Robert in every social function.

Daniella and Robert.

“That’s another reason,” he said, “why I don’t think you should go back to your father’s house tonight.”

She turned to him. “You think Daniella…”

“We’ll be questioning her again.”

“But why would she kill Robert? If she loved him?”

“Jealousy? If she couldn’t have him, no one could?”

“But he’d already broken off our engagement! It was over between us!”

“Was it really?”

Though the question was asked softly, she sensed at once an underlying tension in his voice.

She said, “You were there, Sam. You heard our argument. He didn’t love me. Sometimes I think he never did.” Her head dropped. “For him it was definitely over.”

“And for you?”

Tears pricked her eyes. All evening she’d managed not to cry, not to fall apart. During those endless hours in the hospital waiting room, she’d withdrawn so completely into numbness that when they’d told her Robert was dead, she’d registered that fact in some distant corner of her mind, but she hadn’t felt it. Not the shock, nor the grief. She knew she should be grieving. No matter how much Robert had hurt her, how bitterly their affair had ended, he was still the man with whom she’d spent the last year of her life.

Now it all seemed like a different life. Not hers. Not Robert’s. Just a dream, with no basis in reality.

She began to cry. Softly. Wearily. Not tears of grief, but tears of exhaustion.

Sam said nothing. He just kept driving while the woman beside him shed soundless tears. There was plenty he wanted to say. He wanted to point out that Robert Bledsoe had been a first-class rat, that he was scarcely worth grieving over. But women in love weren’t creatures you could deal with on a logical level. And he was sure she did love Bledsoe; it was the obvious explanation for those tears.

He tightened his grip on the steering wheel as frustration surged through him. Frustration at his own inability to comfort her, to assuage her grief. The Roberts of the world didn’t deserve any woman’s tears. Yet they were the men whom women always seemed to cry over. The golden boys. He glanced at Nina, huddled against the door, and he felt a rush of sympathy. And something more, something that surprised him. Longing.

At once he quelled the feeling. It was yet another sign that he should not be in this situation. It was fine for a cop to sympathize, but when the feelings crossed that invisible line into more dangerous emotions, it was time to pull back.

But I can’t pull back. Not tonight. Not until I make sure she’s safe.

Without looking at her, he said, “You can’t go to your father’s. Or your mother’s for that matter—her house isn’t secure. No alarm system, no gate. And it’s too easy for the killer to find you.”

“I—I signed a lease on a new apartment today. It doesn’t have any furniture yet, but—”

“I assume Daniella knows about it?”

She paused, then replied, “Yes. She does.”

“Then that’s out. What about friends?”

“They all have children. If they knew a killer was trying to find me…” She took a deep breath. “I’ll go to a hotel.”

He glanced at her and saw that her spine was suddenly stiff and straight. And he knew she was fighting to put on a brave front. That’s all it was, a front. God, what was he supposed to do now? She was scared and she had a right to be. They were both exhausted. He couldn’t just dump her at some hotel at this hour. Nor could he leave her alone. Whoever was stalking her had done an efficient job of dispatching both Jimmy Brogan and Robert Bledsoe. For such a killer, tracking down Nina would be no trouble at all.

The turnoff to Route 1 north was just ahead. He took it.

Twenty minutes later they were driving past thick stands of trees. Here the houses were few and far between, all the lots heavily forested. It was the trees that had first attracted Sam to this neighborhood. As a boy, first in Boston, then in Portland, he’d always lived in the heart of the city. He’d grown up around concrete and asphalt, but he’d always felt the lure of the woods. Every summer, he’d head north to fish at his lakeside camp.

The rest of the year, he had to be content with his home in this quiet neighborhood of birch and pine.

He turned onto his private dirt road, which wound a short way into the woods before widening into his gravel driveway. Only as he turned off the engine and looked at his house did the first doubts assail him. The place wasn’t much to brag about. It was just a two-bedroom cottage of precut cedar hammered together three summers ago. And as for the interior, he wasn’t exactly certain how presentable he’d left it.

Oh, well. There was no changing plans now.

He got out and circled around to open her door. She stepped out, her gaze fixed in bewilderment on the small house in the woods.

“Where are we?” she asked.

“A safe place. Safer than a hotel anyway.” He gestured toward the front porch. “It’s just for tonight. Until we can make other arrangements.”

“Who lives here?”

“I do.”

If that fact disturbed her, she didn’t show it. Maybe she was too tired and frightened to care. In silence she waited while he unlocked the door. He stepped inside after her and turned on the lights.

At his first glimpse of the living room, he gave a silent prayer of thanks. No clothes on the couch, no dirty dishes on the coffee table. Not that the place was pristine. With newspapers scattered about and dust bunnies in the corners, the room had that unmistakable look of a sloppy bachelor. But at least it wasn’t a major disaster area. A minor one, maybe.

He locked the door and turned the dead bolt.

She was just standing there, looking dazed. Maybe by the condition of his house? He touched her shoulder and she flinched.

“You okay?” he asked.

“I’m fine.”

“You don’t look so fine.”

In fact she looked pretty pitiful, her eyes red from crying, her cheeks a bloodless white. He had the sudden urge to take her face in his hands and warm it with his touch. Not a good idea. He was turning into a sucker for women in distress, and this woman was most certainly in distress.

Instead he turned and went into the spare bedroom. One glance at the mess and he nixed that idea. It was no place to put up a guest. Or an enemy, for that matter. There was only one solution. He’d sleep on the couch and let her have his room.

Sheets. Oh Lord, did he have any clean sheets?

Frantically he rummaged in the linen closet and found a fresh set. He was on top of things after all. Turning, he found himself face-to-face with Nina.

She held out her arms for the sheets. “I’ll make up the couch.”

“These are for the bed. I’m putting you in my room.”

“No, Sam. I feel guilty enough as it is. Let me take the couch.”

Something in the way she looked at him—that upward tilt of her chin—told him she’d had enough of playing the object of pity.

He gave her the sheets and added a blanket. “It’s a lumpy couch. You don’t mind?”

“I’ve taken a lot of lumps lately. I’ll hardly notice a few more.”

Almost a joke. That was good. She was pulling herself together—an act of will he found impressive.

While she made up the couch, he went to the kitchen and called Gillis at home.

“We got the info on that Massachusetts plate,” Gillis told him. “It was stolen two weeks ago. APB hasn’t netted the Cherokee yet. Man, this guy’s quick.”

“And dangerous.”

“You think he’s our bomber?”

“Our shooter, too. It’s all tangled together, Gillis. It has to be.”

“How does last week’s warehouse bombing fit in? We figured that was a mob hit.”

“Yeah. A nasty message to Billy Binford’s rivals.”

“Binford’s in jail. His future’s not looking so bright. Why would he order a church bombed?”

“The church wasn’t the target, Gillis. I’m almost certain the target was Bledsoe or Nina Cormier. Or both.”

“How does that tie in with Binford?”

“I don’t know. Nina’s never heard of Binford.” Sam rubbed his face and felt the stubble of beard. God, he was tired. Too tired to figure anything out tonight. He said, “There’s one other angle we haven’t ruled out. The old crime of passion. You interviewed Daniella Cormier.”

“Yeah. Right after the bombing. What a looker.”

“You pick up anything odd about her?”

“What do you mean?”

“Anything that didn’t sit right? Her reactions, her answers?”

“Not that I recall. She seemed appropriately stunned. What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking Homicide should get their boys over there to question her tonight.”

“I’ll pass that message along to Yeats. What’s your hunch?”

“She and Robert Bledsoe had a little thing going on the side.”

“And she blew up the church out of jealousy?” Gillis laughed. “She didn’t seem the type.”

“Remember what they say about the female of the species.”

“Yeah, but I can’t imagine that gorgeous blonde—”

“Watch the hormones, Gillis.”

His partner snorted. “If anyone better watch his hormones, it’s you.”

That’s what I keep telling myself, thought Sam as he hung up. He paused for a moment in the kitchen, giving himself the same old lecture he’d given himself a dozen times since meeting Nina. I’m a cop, I’m here to serve and protect. Not seduce.

Not fall in love.

He went into the living room. At his first sight of Nina, he felt his resolve crumble. She was standing at the window, peering out at the darkness. He’d hung no curtains; here in the woods, he’d never felt the need for them. But now he realized just how open and vulnerable she was. And that worried him—more than he cared to admit.

He said, “I’d feel better if you came away from those windows.”

She turned, a startled look in her eyes. “You don’t think someone could have followed us?”

“No. But I’d like you to stay away from the windows all the same.”

Shuddering, she moved to the couch and sat down. She’d already made the couch into a bed, and only now did he realize how tattered the blanket was. Tattered furniture, tattered linens. Those were details that had never bothered him before. So many things about his life as a bachelor had not bothered him, simply because he’d never stopped to think how much better, sweeter, his life could be. Only now, as he saw Nina sitting on his couch, did it occur to him how stark the room was. It was only the presence of this woman that gave it any life. Any warmth.

Too soon, she’d be gone again.

The sooner the better, he told himself. Before she grew on him. Before she slipped too deeply into his life.

He paced over to the fireplace, paced back toward the kitchen door, his feet restless, his instincts telling him to say something.

“You must be hungry,” he said.

She shook her head. “I can’t think about food. I can’t think about anything except…”

“Robert?”

She lowered her head and didn’t answer. Was she crying again? She had a right to. But she just sat very still and silent, as though struggling to hold her emotions in check.

He sat down in the chair across from her. “Tell me about Robert,” he prompted. “Tell me everything you know about him.”

She took a shaky breath, then said softly, “I don’t know what to say. We lived together a year. And now I feel as if I never knew him at all.”

“You met at work?”

She nodded. “The Emergency Room. Evening shift. I’d been working there for three years. Then Robert joined the ER staff. He was a good doctor. One of the best I’d ever worked with. And he was so fun to talk to. He’d traveled everywhere, done everything. I remember how surprised I was to learn he wasn’t married.”

“Never?”

“Never. He told me he was holding out for the best. That he just hadn’t found the woman he wanted to spend his life with.”

“At forty-one, he must’ve been more than a little picky.”

Her glance held a trace of amusement. “You’re not married, Detective. Does that make you more than a little picky?”

“Guilty as charged. But then, I haven’t really been looking.”

“Not interested?”

“Not enough time for romance. It’s the nature of the job.”

She gave a sigh. “No, it’s the nature of the beast. Men don’t really want to be married.”

“Did I say that?”

“It’s something I’ve finally figured out after years of spinsterhood.”

“We’re all rats, that kind of thing? Let’s get back to one specific rat. Robert. You were telling me you two met in the ER. Was it love at first sight?”

She leaned back, and he could clearly see the remembered pain on her face. “No. No, it wasn’t. At least, not for me. I thought he was attractive, of course.”

Of course, thought Sam with an undeniable twinge of cynicism.

“But when he asked me out, that first time, I didn’t really think it would go anywhere. It wasn’t until I introduced him to my mother that I began to realize what a catch he was. Mom was thrilled with Robert. All these years, I’d been dating guys she considered losers. And here I show up with a doctor. It was more than she’d ever expected of me, and she was already hearing wedding bells.”

“What about your father?”

“I think he was just plain relieved I was dating someone who wouldn’t marry me for his money. That’s always been Dad’s preoccupation. His money. And his wives. Or rather, whichever wife he happens to be married to at the time.”

Sam shook his head. “After what you’ve seen of your parents’ marriages, I’m surprised you wanted to take the plunge at all.”

“But that’s exactly why I did want to be married!” She looked at him. “To make it work. I never had that stability in my family. My parents were divorced when I was eight, and after that it was a steady parade of stepmothers and mother’s boyfriends. I didn’t want to live my own life that way.” Sighing, she looked down at her ringless left hand. “Now I wonder if it’s just another urban myth. A stable marriage.”

“My parents had one. A good one.”

“Had?”

“Before my dad died. He was a cop, in Boston. Didn’t make it to his twentieth year on the force.” Now Sam was the one who wasn’t looking at her. He was gazing, instead, at some distant point in the room, avoiding her look of sympathy. He didn’t feel he particularly needed her sympathy. One’s parents died, and one went on with life. There was no other choice.

“After my dad died, Mom and I moved to Portland,” he continued. “She wanted a safer town. A town where she wouldn’t have to worry about her kid being shot on the street.” He gave a rueful smile. “She wasn’t too happy when I became a cop.”

“Why did you become a cop?”

“I guess it was in the genes. Why did you become a nurse?”

“It was definitely not in the genes.” She sat back, thinking it over for a moment. “I guess I wanted that one-on-one sense of helping someone. I like the contact. The touching. That was important to me, that it be hands-on. Not some vague idea of service to humanity.” She gave a wry smile. “You said your mother didn’t want you to be a cop. Well, my mother wasn’t too happy about my career choice, either.”

“What does she have against nursing?”

“Nothing. Just that it’s not an appropriate profession for her daughter. She thinks of it as manual labor, something other women do. I was expected to marry well, entertain with flair, and help humanity by hosting benefits. That’s why she was so happy about my engagement. She thought I was finally on the right track. She was actually…proud of me for the first time.”

“That’s not why you wanted to marry Robert, was it? To please your mother?”

“I don’t know.” She looked at him with genuine puzzlement. “I don’t know anymore.”

“What about love? You must have loved him.”

“How can I be sure of anything? I’ve just found out he was seeing someone else. And now it seems as if I were caught up in some fantasy. In love with a man I made up.” She leaned back and closed her eyes. “I don’t want to talk about him anymore.”

“It’s important you tell me everything you know. That you consider all the possible reasons someone wanted him dead. A man doesn’t just walk up to a stranger and shoot him in the head. The killer had a reason.”

“Maybe he didn’t. Maybe he was crazy. Or high on drugs. Robert could have been in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“You don’t really believe that. Do you?”

She paused. Then, softly, she said, “No, I guess I don’t.”

He watched her for a moment, thinking how very vulnerable she looked. Had he been any other man, he would be taking her in his arms, offering her comfort and warmth.

Suddenly he felt disgusted with himself. This was the wrong time to be pressing for answers, the wrong time to be doing the cop act. Yet that act was the only thing that kept him comfortably at a distance. It protected him, insulated him. From her.

He rose from the chair. “I think we both need to get some sleep.”

Her response was a silent nod.

“If you need anything, my room’s at the end of the hall. Sure you wouldn’t rather take my bed? Give me the couch?”

“I’ll be fine here. Good night.”

That was his cue to retreat. He did.

In his bedroom, he paced between the closet and the dresser, unbuttoning his shirt. He felt more restless than tired, his brain moving a mile a minute. In the last two days, a church had been bombed, a man shot to death, and a woman run off the road in an apparent murder attempt. He felt certain it was all linked, perhaps even linked to that warehouse bombing a week ago, but he couldn’t see the connection. Maybe he was too dense. Maybe his brain was too drunk on hormones to think straight.

It was all her fault. He didn’t need or want this complication. But he couldn’t seem to think about this case without lingering on thoughts of her.

And now she was in his house.

He hadn’t had a woman sleeping under his roof since…well, it was longer than he cared to admit. His last fling had amounted to little more than a few weeks of lust with a woman he’d met at some party. Then, by mutual agreement, it was over. No complications, no broken hearts.

Not much satisfaction, either.

These days, what satisfaction he got came from the challenge of his work. That was one thing he could count on: the world would never run out of perps.

He turned off the lights and stretched out on the bed, but still he wasn’t ready to sleep. He thought of Nina, just down the hall. Thought of what a mismatch they’d be together. And how horrified her mother would be if a cop started squiring around her daughter. If a cop even had a chance.

What a mistake, bringing her here. Lately it seemed he was making a lot of mistakes. He wasn’t going to compound this one by falling in love or lust or whatever it was he felt himself teetering toward.

Tomorrow, he thought, she’s out of here.

And I’m back in control.