Читать книгу Keeper of the Bride / Whistleblower: Keeper of the Bride / Whistleblower - Тесс Герритсен, Tess Gerritsen - Страница 8

GORDON GILLIS looked up from his burger and fries. “Anything interesting?” he asked.

“Not a damn thing.” Sam hung his jacket up on the coatrack and sank into a chair behind his desk, where he sat wearily rubbing his face.

“How’s the minister doing?”

“Fine, so far. Doctors doubt it’s a heart attack. But they’ll keep him in for a day, just to be sure.”

“He didn’t have any ideas about the bombing?”

“Claims he has no enemies. And everyone I talked to seems to agree that Reverend Sullivan is a certifiable saint.” Groaning, Sam leaned back. “How ‘bout you?”

Gillis peeled off the hamburger wrapper and began to eat as he talked. “I interviewed the best man, the matron of honor and the florist. No one saw anything.”

“What about the church janitor?”

“We’re still trying to locate him. His wife says he usually gets home around six. I’ll send Cooley over to talk to him.”

“According to Reverend Sullivan, the janitor opens the front doors at 7:00 a.m. And the doors stay open all day. So anyone could’ve walked in and left a package.”

“What about the night before?” asked Gillis. “What time did he lock the doors?”

“The church secretary usually locks up. She’s a part-timer. Would’ve done it around 6:00 p.m. Unfortunately, she left for vacation this morning. Visiting family in Massachusetts. We’re still trying to get hold of…” He paused.

Gillis’s telephone was ringing. Gillis turned to answer it. “Yeah, what’s up?”

Sam watched as his partner scribbled something on a notepad, then passed it across the desk. Trundy Point Road was written on the paper.

A moment later, Gillis said, “We’ll be there,” and hung up. He was frowning.

“What is it?” asked Sam.

“Report just came in from one of the mobile units. It’s about the bride. The one at the church today.”

“Nina Cormier?”

“Her car just went off the road near Trundy Point.”

Sam sat up straight in alarm. “Is she all right?”

“She’s fine. They wouldn’t have called us at all, but she insisted they notify us.”

“For an accident? Why?” “She says it wasn’t an accident. She says someone tried to run her off the road.”

HER RIBS HURT, her shoulder was sore, and her face had a few cuts from flying glass. But at least her head was perfectly clear. Clear enough for her to recognize the man stepping out of that familiar blue Taurus that had just pulled up at the scene. It was that sullen detective, Sam Navarro. He didn’t even glance in her direction.

Through the gathering dusk, Nina watched as he spoke to a patrolman. They conversed for a few moments. Then, together, the two men tramped through the underbrush to view the remains of her car. As Sam paced a slow circle around the battered Honda, Nina was reminded of a stalking cat. He moved with an easy, feline grace, his gaze focused in complete concentration. At one point he stopped and crouched to look at something on the ground. Then he rose to his feet and peered more closely at the driver’s window. Or what was left of the window. He prodded the broken glass, then opened the door and climbed into the front seat. What on earth was he looking for? She could see his dark hair bobbing in and out of view. Now he seemed to be crawling all over the interior, and into the back seat. It was a good thing she had nothing to hide in there. She had no doubt that the sharp-eyed Detective Navarro could spot contraband a mile away.

At last he reemerged from her car, his hair tousled, his trousers wrinkled. He spoke again to the patrolman. Then he turned and looked in her direction.

And began to walk toward her.

At once she felt her pulse quickening. Something about this man both fascinated and frightened her. It was more than just his physical presence, which was impressive enough. It was also the way he looked at her, with a gaze that was completely neutral. That inscrutability unnerved her. Most men seemed to find Nina attractive, and they would at least make an attempt to be friendly.

This man seemed to regard her as just another homicide victim in the making. Worth his intellectual interest, but that was all.

She straightened her back and met his gaze without wavering as he approached.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“A few bruises. A few cuts. That’s all.”

“You’re sure you don’t want to go to the ER? I can drive you.”

“I’m fine. I’m a nurse, so I think I’d know.”

“They say doctors and nurses make the worst patients. I’ll drive you to the hospital. Just to be sure.”

She gave a disbelieving laugh. “That sounds like an order.”

“As a matter of fact, it is.”

“Detective, I really think I’d know if I was…”

She was talking to his back. The man had actually turned his back to her. He was already walking away, toward his car. “Detective!” she called.

He glanced over his shoulder. “Yes?”

“I don’t—This isn’t—” She sighed. “Oh, never mind,” she muttered, and followed him to his car. There was no point arguing with the man. He’d just turn his back on her again. As she slid into the passenger seat, she felt a sharp stab of pain in her chest. Maybe he was right after all. She knew it could take hours, or even days, for injuries to manifest themselves. She hated to admit it, but Mr. Personality was probably right about this trip to the ER.

She was too uncomfortable to say much as they drove to the hospital. It was Sam who finally broke the silence.

“So, can you tell me what happened?” he asked.

“I already gave a statement. It’s all in the police report. Someone ran me off the road.”

“Yes, a black Ford, male driver. Maine license plate.”

“Then you’ve been told the details.”

“The other witness said he thought it was a drunk driver trying to pass you on the hill. He didn’t think it was deliberate.”

She shook her head. “I don’t know what to think anymore.”

“When did you first see the Ford?”

“Somewhere around Smugglers Cove, I guess. I noticed that it seemed to be following me.”

“Was it weaving? Show any signs of driver impairment?”

“No. It was just…following me.”

“Could it have been behind you earlier?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Is it possible it was there when you left your mother’s house?”

She frowned at him. He wasn’t looking at her, but was staring straight ahead. The tenor of his questions had taken a subtle change of course. He had started out sounding noncommittal. Maybe even skeptical. But this last question told her he was considering a possibility other than a drunk driver. A possibility that left her suddenly chilled.

“Are you suggesting he was waiting for me?”

“I’m just exploring the possibilities.”

“The other policeman thought it was a drunk driver.”

“He has his opinion.”

“What’s your opinion?”

He didn’t answer. He just kept driving in that maddeningly calm way of his. Did the man ever show any emotion? Once, just once, she’d like to see something get under that thick skin of his.

“Detective Navarro,” she said. “I pay taxes. I pay your salary. I think I deserve more than just a brush-off.”

“Oh. The old civil servant line.”

“I’ll use whatever line it takes to get an answer out of you!”

“I’m not sure you want to hear my answer.”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“I made a brief inspection of your car. What I found there backs up quite a bit of what you just told me. There were black paint chips on the driver’s side, indicating that the vehicle that rammed yours was, indeed, black.”

“So I’m not color blind.”

“I also noticed that the driver’s window was shattered. And that the breakage was in a starburst pattern. Not what I’d expect for a rollover accident.”

“That’s because the window was already broken when I went off the road.”

“How do you know?”

“I remember I felt flying glass. That’s how I cut my face. When the glass hit me. That was before I rolled over.”

“Are you sure?” He glanced at her. “Absolutely sure?”

“Yes. Does it make a difference?”

He let out a breath. “It makes a lot of difference,” he said softly. “It also goes along with what I found in your car.”

“In my car?” Perplexed, she shook her head. “What, exactly, did you find?”

“It was in the right passenger door—the door that was jammed against the tree. The metal was pretty crumpled; that’s why the other cops didn’t notice it. But I knew it was there somewhere. And I found it.”

“Found what?”

“A bullet hole.”

Nina felt the blood drain from her face. She couldn’t speak; she could only sit in shocked silence, her world rocked by the impact of his words.

He continued talking, his tone matter-of-fact. Chillingly so. He’s not human, she thought. He’s a machine. A robot.

“The bullet must have hit your window,” he said, “just to the rear of your head. That’s why the glass shattered. Then the bullet passed at a slightly forward angle, missed you completely, and made a hole in the plastic molding of the opposite door, where it’s probably still lodged. It’ll be retrieved. By tonight, we’ll know the caliber. And possibly the make of the gun. What I still don’t know—what you’ll have to tell me—is why someone’s trying to kill you.”

She shook her head. “It’s a mistake.”

“This guy’s going to a lot of trouble. He’s bombed a church. Tailed you. Shot at you. There’s no mistake.”

“There has to be!”

“Think of every possible person who might want to hurt you. Think, Nina.”

“I told you, I don’t have any enemies!”

“You must have.”

“I don’t! I don’t…” She gave a sob and clutched her head in her hands. “I don’t,” she whispered.

After a long silence he said, gently, “I’m sorry. I know how hard it is to accept—”

“You don’t know.” She raised her head and looked at him. “You have no idea, Detective. I’ve always thought people liked me. Or—at least—they didn’t hate me. I try so hard to get along with everyone. And now you’re telling me there’s someone out there—someone who wants to…” She swallowed and stared ahead, at the darkening road.

Sam let the silence stretch on between them. He knew she was in too fragile a state right now to press her with more questions. And he suspected she was hurting more, both physically and emotionally, than she was letting on. Judging by the condition of her car, her body had taken a brutal beating this afternoon.

In the ER, he paced the waiting room while Nina was examined by the doctor on duty. A few X rays later, she emerged looking even more pale than when she’d entered. It was reality sinking in, he thought. The danger was genuine, and she couldn’t deny it any longer.

Back in his car, she sat in numb silence. He kept glancing sideways at her, waiting for her to burst into tears, into hysteria, but she remained unnervingly quiet. It concerned him. This wasn’t healthy.

He said, “You shouldn’t be alone tonight. Is there somewhere you can go?”

Her response was barely a shrug.

“Your mother’s?” he suggested. “I’ll take you home to pack a suitcase and—”

“No. Not my mother’s,” she murmured.

“Why not?”

“I…don’t want to make things…uncomfortable for her.”

“For her?” He frowned. “Pardon me for asking this, but isn’t that what mothers are for? To pick us up and dust us off?”

“My mother’s marriage isn’t…the most supportive one around.”

“She can’t welcome her own daughter home?”

“It’s not her home, Detective. It’s her husband’s. And he doesn’t approve of me. To be honest, the feeling’s mutual.” She gazed straight ahead, and in that moment, she struck him as so very brave. And so very alone.

“Since the day they got married, Edward Warren-ton has controlled every detail of my mother’s life. He bullies her, and she takes it without a whimper. Because his money makes it all worthwhile for her. I just couldn’t stand watching it any longer. So one day I told him off.”

“Sounds like that’s exactly what you should have done.”

“It didn’t do a thing for family harmony. I’m sure that’s why he went on that business trip to Chicago. So he could conveniently skip my wedding.” Sighing, she tilted her head back against the headrest. “I know I shouldn’t be annoyed with my mother, but I am. I’m annoyed that she’s never stood up to him.”

“Okay. So I don’t take you to your mother’s house. What about dear old dad? Do you two get along?”

She gave a nod. A small one. “I suppose I could stay with him.”

“Good. Because there’s no way I’m going to let you be alone tonight.” The sentence was scarcely out of his mouth when he realized he shouldn’t have said it. It sounded too much as if he cared, as if feeling were getting mixed up with duty. He was too good a cop, too cautious a cop, to let that happen.

He could feel her surprised gaze through the darkness of the car.

In a tone colder than he’d intended, he said, “You may be my only link to this bombing. I need you alive and well for the investigation.”

“Oh. Of course.” She looked straight ahead again. And she didn’t say another word until they’d reached her house on Ocean View Drive.

As soon as he’d parked, she started to get out of the car. He reached for her arm and pulled her back inside. “Wait.”

“What is it?”

“Just sit for a minute.” He glanced up and down the road, scanning for other cars, other people. Anything at all suspicious. The street was deserted.

“Okay,” he said. He got out and circled around to open her door. “Pack one suitcase. That’s all we have time for.”

“I wasn’t planning to bring along the furniture.”

“I’m just trying to keep this short and sweet. If someone’s really looking for you, this is where they’ll come. So let’s not hang around, all right?”

That remark, meant to emphasize the danger, had its intended effect. She scooted out of the car and up the front walk in hyperspeed. He had to convince her to wait on the porch while he made a quick search of the house.

A moment later he poked his head out the door. “All clear.”

While she packed a suitcase, Sam wandered about the living room. It was an old but spacious house, tastefully furnished, with a view of the sea. Just the sort of house one would expect a doctor to live in. He went over to the grand piano—a Steinway—and tapped out a few notes. “Who plays the piano?” he called out.

“Robert,” came the answer from the bedroom. “Afraid I have a tin ear.”

He focused on a framed photograph set on the piano. It was a shot of a couple, smiling. Nina and some blond, blue-eyed man. Undoubtedly Robert Bledsoe. The guy, it seemed, had everything: looks, money and a medical degree. And the woman. A woman he no longer wanted. Sam crossed the room to a display of diplomas, hanging on the wall. All of them Robert Bledsoe’s. Groton prep. B.A. Dartmouth. M.D. Harvard. Dr. Bledsoe was Ivy League all the way. He was every mother’s dream son-in-law. No wonder Lydia Warrenton had urged her daughter to patch things up.

The phone rang, the sound so abrupt and startling, Sam felt an instant rush of adrenaline.

“Should I get it?” Nina asked. She was standing in the doorway, her face drawn and tense.

He nodded. “Answer it.”

She crossed to the telephone. After a second’s hesitation, she picked up the receiver. He moved right beside her, listening, as she said, “Hello?”

No one answered.

“Hello?” Nina repeated. “Who is this? Hello?”

There was a click. Then, a moment later, the dial tone.

Nina looked up at Sam. She was standing so close to him, her hair, like black silk, brushed his face. He found himself staring straight into those wide eyes of hers, found himself reacting to her nearness with an unexpected surge of male longing.

This isn’t supposed to happen. I can’t let it happen.

He took a step back, just to put space between them. Even though they were now standing a good three feet apart, he could still feel the attraction. Not far enough apart, he thought. This woman was getting in the way of his thinking clearly, logically. And that was dangerous.

He looked down and suddenly noticed the telephone answering machine was blinking. He said, “You have messages.”

“Pardon?”

“Your answering machine. It’s recorded three messages.”

Dazedly she looked down at the machine. Automatically she pressed the Play button.

There were three beeps, followed by three silences, and then dial tones.

Seemingly paralyzed, she stared at the machine. “Why?” she whispered. “Why do they call and hang up?”

“To see if you’re home.”

The implication of his statement at once struck her full force. She flinched away from the phone as if it had burned her. “I have to get out of here,” she said, and hurried back into the bedroom.

He followed her. She was tossing clothes into a suitcase, not bothering to fold anything. Slacks and blouses and lingerie in one disorganized pile.

“Just the essentials,” he said. “Let’s leave.”

“Yes. Yes, you’re right.” She whirled around and ran into the bathroom. He heard her rattling in the cabinets, collecting toiletries. A moment later she reemerged with a bulging makeup bag, which she tossed in the suitcase.

He closed and latched it for her. “Let’s go.”

In the car, she sat silent and huddled against the seat as he drove. He kept checking the rearview mirror, to see if they were being followed, but he saw no other headlights. No signs of pursuit.

“Relax, we’re okay,” he said. “I’ll just get you to your dad’s house, and you’ll be fine.”

“And then what?” she said softly. “How long do I hide there? For weeks, months?”

“As long as it takes for us to crack this case.”

She shook her head, a sad gesture of bewilderment. “It doesn’t make sense. None of this makes sense.”

“Maybe it’ll become clear when we talk to your fiancé. Do you have any idea where he might be?”

“It seems that I’m the last person Robert wanted to confide in…” Hugging herself, she stared out the window. “His note said he was leaving town for a while. I guess he just needed to get away. From me…”

“From you? Or from someone else?”

She shook her head. “There’s so much I don’t know. So much he never bothered to tell me. God, I wish I understood. I could handle this. I could handle anything. If only I understood.”

What kind of man is Robert Bledsoe? Sam wondered. What kind of man would walk away from this woman? Leave her alone to face the danger left in his wake?

“Whoever made that hang-up call may pay a visit to your house,” he said. “I’d like to keep an eye on it. See who turns up.”

She nodded. “Yes. Of course.”

“May I have access?”

“You mean…get inside?”

“If our suspect shows up, he may try to break in. I’d like to be waiting for him.”

She stared at him. “You could get yourself killed.”

“Believe me, Miss Cormier, I’m not the heroic type. I don’t take chances.”

“But if he does show up—”

“I’ll be ready.” He flashed her a quick grin for reassurance. She didn’t look reassured. If anything, she looked more frightened than ever.

For me? he wondered. And that, inexplicably, lifted his spirits. Terrific. Next thing he knew, he’d be putting his neck in a noose, and all because of a pair of big brown eyes. This was just the kind of situation cops were warned to avoid: assuming the role of hero to some fetching female. It got men killed.

It could get him killed.

“You shouldn’t do this by yourself,” she said.

“I won’t be alone. I’ll have backup.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure.”

“You promise? You won’t take any chances?”

“What are you, my mother?” he snapped in exasperation.

She took her keys out of her purse and slapped them on the dashboard. “No, I’m not your mother,” she retorted. “But you’re the cop in charge. And I need you alive and well to crack this case.”

He deserved that. She’d been concerned about his safety, and he’d responded with sarcasm. He didn’t even know why. All he knew was, whenever he looked in her eyes, he had the overwhelming urge to turn tail and run. Before he was trapped.

Moments later, they drove past the wrought iron gates of her father’s driveway. Nina didn’t even wait for Sam to open her door. She got out of the car and started up the stone steps. Sam followed, carrying her suitcase. And ogling the house. It was huge—even more impressive than Lydia Warrenton’s home, and it had the Rolls-Royce of security systems. Tonight, at least, Nina should be safe.

The doorbell chimed like a church bell; he could hear it echoing through what must be dozens of rooms. The door was opened by a blonde—and what a blonde! Not much older than thirty, she was wearing a shiny spandex leotard that hugged every taut curve. A healthy sweat sheened her face, and from some other room came the thumpy music of an exercise video.

“Hello, Daniella,” Nina said quietly.

Daniella assumed a look of sympathy that struck Sam as too automatic to be genuine. “Oh Nina, I’m so sorry about what happened today! Wendy called and told us about the church. Was anyone hurt?”

“No. No, thank God.” Nina paused, as though afraid to ask the next question. “Do you think I could spend the night with you?”

The expression of sympathy faded. Daniella looked askance at the suitcase Sam was carrying. “I, uh…let me talk to your Dad. He’s in the hot tub right now and—”

“Nina has no choice. She has to stay the night,” said Sam. He stepped past Daniella, into the house. “It’s not safe for her to be alone.”

Daniella’s gaze shifted to Sam, and he saw the vague spark of interest in those flat blue eyes. “I’m afraid I didn’t catch your name,” she said.

“This is Detective Navarro,” said Nina. “He’s with the Portland Bomb Squad. And this,” she said to Sam, “is Daniella Cormier. My, uh…father’s wife.”

Stepmother was the appropriate term, but this stunning blonde didn’t look like anybody’s mother. And the look she was giving him was anything but maternal.

Daniella tilted her head, a gesture he recognized as both inquisitive and flirtatious. “So, you’re a cop?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Bomb Squad? Is that really what you think happened at the church? A bomb?”

“I’m not free to talk about it,” he said. “Not while the investigation’s underway.” Smoothly he turned to Nina. “If you’re okay for the night, I’ll be leaving. Be sure to close those driveway gates. And activate the burglar alarm. I’ll check back with you in the morning.”

As he gave a nod of goodbye, his gaze locked with Nina’s. It was only the briefest of looks, but once again he was taken by surprise at his instinctive response to this woman. It was an attraction so powerful he felt himself at once struggling to pull away.

He did. With a curt good-night, he walked out the front door.

Outside, in the darkness, he stood for a moment surveying the house. It seemed secure enough. With two other people inside, Nina should be safe. Still, he wondered whether those particular two people would be of much help in a crisis. A father soaking in a hot tub and a spandex-and-hormones stepmother didn’t exactly inspire feelings of confidence. Nina, at least, was an intelligent woman; he knew she would be alert for signs of danger.

He drove back to Robert Bledsoe’s house on Ocean View Drive and left the car on a side street around the corner.

With Nina’s keys, he let himself in the front door and called Gillis to arrange for a surveillance team to patrol the area. Then he closed all the curtains and settled down to wait. It was nine o’clock.

At nine-thirty, he was already restless. He paced the living room, then roamed the kitchen, the dining room, the hallway. Any stalker watching the house would expect lights to go on and off in different rooms, at different times. Maybe their man was just waiting for the residents to go to bed.

Sam turned off the living room lights and went into the bedroom.

Nina had left the top dresser drawer hanging open. Sam, pacing the carpet, kept walking back and forth past that open drawer with its tempting glimpse of lingerie. Something black and silky lay on top, and one corner trailed partway out of the drawer. He couldn’t resist the impulse. He halted by the dresser, picked up the item of lingerie, and held it up.

It was a short little spaghetti-strap thing, edged with lace, and designed to show a lot. An awful lot. He tossed it back in and slammed the drawer shut.

He was getting distracted again. This shouldn’t be happening. Something about Nina Cormier, and his reaction to her, had him behaving like a damn rookie.

Before, in the line of duty, he’d brushed up against other women, including the occasional stunner. Women like that spandex bimbo, Daniella Cormier, Nina’s stepmother. He’d managed to keep his trousers zipped up and his head firmly screwed on. It was both a matter of self-control as well as self-preservation. The women he met on the job were usually in some sort of trouble, and it was too easy for them to consider Sam their white knight, the masculine answer to all their problems.

It was a fantasy that never lasted. Sooner or later the knight gets stripped of his armor and they’d see him for what he really was: just a cop. Not rich, not brilliant. Not much of anything, in fact, to recommend him.

It had happened to him once. Just once. She’d been an aspiring actress trying to escape an abusive boyfriend; he’d been a rookie assigned to watch over her. The chemistry was right. The situation was right. But the girl was all wrong. For a few heady weeks, he’d been in love, had thought she was in love.

Then she’d dropped Sam like a hot potato.

He’d learned a hard but lasting lesson: romance and police work did not mix. He had never again crossed that line while on the job, and he wasn’t about to do it with Nina Cormier, either.

He turned away from the dresser and was crossing to the opposite end of the room when he heard a thump.

It came from somewhere near the front of the house.

Instantly he killed the bedroom lights and reached for his gun. He eased into the hallway. At the doorway to the living room he halted, his gaze quickly sweeping the darkness.

The streetlight shone in dimly through the windows. He saw no movement in the room, no suspicious shadows.

There was a scraping sound, a soft jingle. It came from the front porch.

Sam shifted his aim to the front door. He was crouched and ready to fire as the door swung open. The silhouette of a man loomed against the backlight of the streetlamp.

“Police!” Sam yelled. “Freeze!”