Page 11 of The Survivor (Silhoutte Romantic Suspense)

Sam nodded. “I got back from a party, still in my slinky red dress, a little tipsy, too. I had no clue that anyone was in the house. No clue. But when I went up to my room—” she sucked in much-needed oxygen “—he was there. Waiting. He even said hello.”

Her throat suddenly burned with vicious-tasting acid and she feared she might throw up.

Hello . She could still hear that raspy male whisper, eerily calm in the darkness of her bedroom as he slid up behind her and reached a hand around to press a knife to her throat.

Her first thought was that she was being robbed, and she remembered saying, “Take whatever you want. Just don’t hurt me. ”

And he’d laughed.

“He. Laughed.” She gritted her teeth so hard she feared she’d break her jaw. “He told me he didn’t want my belongings, but that I’d pay. And the funny thing—” she chuckled callously “—I never thought to ask what I was paying for.”

She heard Elaine sniffle again, and when she glanced over, she saw that the tears had returned. “He said that to me,” the girl murmured, her face growing pale. “He told me I’d pay.”

It took a second to realize that, for the first time, Elaine was talking about what had happened to her. That small detail made Sam forget all about her own pain, made her own tragedy take a back seat and reminded her why she was here.

“What else did he say?” she asked, trying not to push.

Elaine wiped the tears from her eyes. “He told me if I made a sound, he’d slit my throat.

He had a knife, so I believed him.” She paused.

“I was in the underground parking lot of my office, about to go on my lunch break. A coworker had wanted to walk down with me, but I laughed and said Bob the security guard would kick anyone’s butt if they tried to mess with me.

Bob sits in the lot all day, making sure everything’s okay.

” She shook her head, looking betrayed. “He wasn’t there that day. ”

From the bare details Blake and Rick had provided, Sam knew that the security guard had been knocked unconscious and was out cold in his booth when Elaine had been taken.

“He came up behind me and told me to be a good girl, and then there was something over my mouth. A rag, and it smelled sweet.” Elaine took a long breath.

“That’s all I remember in the garage. When I came to, I was blindfolded and gagged and my hands and feet were bound.

I think he put me in the back of a van, but I don’t remember seeing one in the parking garage. ”

“Did he talk to you at all?”

Elaine shook her head. “I heard the radio playing, but it was kind of muffled, like there was a partition or something. And I kept smelling…” She drifted off.

“What did you smell?”

“I’m not sure.” Elaine bit her lower lip, confusion marring her face. “Something fruity and flowery. I couldn’t place it. I still can’t. But sometimes when I wake up I think I smell it. It makes me sick.” Her blue eyes flashed. “ He makes me sick.”

Without a word, Sam drew her into her arms, touching her soft brown hair and fighting back tears of her own. It broke her heart hearing the girl’s anguished sobs, and when Elaine finally pulled back and rubbed her puffy red eyes, Sam knew it was time to go.

She couldn’t ask Elaine to put herself through any more pain. There would be time to hear the rest of her story. She’d make time. Right now, she simply couldn’t let another sliver of horror reach the surface. Not just for Elaine’s sake. But for her own.

* * *

“Let’s go,” Blake said roughly when she stepped out of Elaine’s room.

He took hold of her arm, and Sam allowed him to drag her away.

No point resisting, not when he still looked displeased by her insistence on coming here this morning.

He’d thank her later, though. The sparse details she’d gotten from Elaine in less than an hour were more than Blake, the FBI and the Chicago PD had managed to obtain in weeks.

“Would you ease up?” she muttered, staring at the white knuckles gripping her arm.

He slowly loosened his grasp but didn’t slow down.

She matched his strides, following him down the brightly lit corridor toward the stairwell.

When she’d come here with Rick, they’d taken the service elevator but apparently Blake wasn’t taking any chances.

His route required them to walk down to the basement, which housed none other than the morgue.

God, she didn’t look forward to going down there again like she did the previous night, walking the creepy morgue hallways and listening to the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead.

It scared her to realize that six months ago she’d come pretty close to being another one of those bodies in the morgue.

Blake didn’t say a word as he held open the door for her, but she didn’t need to be a mind reader to know that he was angry.

She wondered if he realized how sexy he looked when his eyes flashed like that, when his strong jaw jutted out impatiently.

Not that she would ever let him know. If there was one thing she’d learned about men in her twenty-six years, it was that unnecessary strokes to their ego only inflated it.

He descended the steps so quickly she nearly stumbled forward trying to keep up with him.

He quickly caught her arm to steady her, and heat sizzled right through the sleeve of her sweater where he’d touched her.

She had to pause on the landing to catch her breath—Blake’s spicy aftershave and intoxicating nearness were too much to handle.

She suddenly thought of Elaine’s despair over her boyfriend’s engagement, the look in her eyes when she’d wondered if anyone would fall in love with her again, and Sam couldn’t help wondering if the same thing applied to her. Could someone fall in love with her? Could Blake?

He’d admitted to being attracted to her, but attraction was a far cry from love.

Men knew how to separate the two, and none of the relationships she’d had in the past had ever transitioned from sex to love.

The men she’d dated hadn’t loved her. They’d loved the idea of her, the model who wore little bikinis and posed on some of the world’s most beautiful beaches.

They liked the glitz of her life, the glamour, and yes, the sex.

She couldn’t remember the last time a man had shown interest in getting to know her and not the model.

“You okay?” Blake asked gruffly, jerking her from her unsettling thoughts.

She slowly nodded. “Yeah. I’m fine. Let’s get out of here.”

She took a step forward just as the door to the landing swung open and nearly knocked her over.

Startled, she promptly dropped the purse that had been dangling loosely from her fingers.

The contents spilled out onto the floor and both she and Blake dropped to their knees to collect the fallen items.

“Shoot, I’m sorry about that,” came a male voice, and a moment later a third person was on his knees, a third set of hands grabbing at a tube of lipstick that was perilously close to rolling down the steps.

Sam glanced up to look at the man who’d startled her.

A nanosecond later she forced her head back down.

Beside her, Blake shifted over and leaned forward, trying to shield her from the reporter who was currently sharing the small space with them.

The man wore his press credentials around his neck, and he had that hungry look in his eyes that most members of the media around there sported.

Cindy Wilcox, who was married to the latest Hollywood action hero, had apparently gone into labor, and the reporters lurking in the hospital were eager to outscoop each other.

No doubt this man—Wayne Reynolds, his ID read—was trying to find a way to sneak onto the obstetrics ward.

Although she felt fairly concealed in the blond wig, thick glasses and well-applied makeup, Sam’s heart raced like a thoroughbred galloping to the finish line. She began clawing at the items that didn’t even belong to her. A small pack of tissues. A brown leather wallet. Breath mints.

The reporter wouldn’t leave. His gaze was now glued to her face. She could sense his eyes on her, and the intrusion made her feel like a wild animal trapped by greedy poachers. She needed to get out of here. Right. Now.

“Hey, do I know you from somewhere?” Wayne Reynolds suddenly asked.

Blake’s entire body went taut the second the question came out of the reporter’s mouth. He leaned closer to Sam, trying to appear casual, which was extremely difficult to do when Reynolds’ eyes were sweeping over Sam’s face.

A vulture circling its prey.

“I doubt it.” Blake spoke in a low, noncommittal voice. He swiped at the last item on the floor and shoved it into the purse, then hauled Sam to her feet. “Lorraine and I just moved here from California.”

Blake kept her in front of him as they moved toward the stairs, shielding her from the nosy reporter, but Reynolds trailed after them, taking the steps two at a time so that he was already there at the next landing when they came down.

Reynolds squinted at Sam. “You seem really familiar.”

“I guess I have that kind of face,” she managed.

Blake noticed she was trying to tone down her normally husky voice, and he wished she wouldn’t speak altogether.

A protective lump lodged in his throat when he saw that her hands were shaking so hard she had to press them to her sides.

He understood her fear; she’d been hiding away for six months precisely to avoid something like this from happening, and in less than six minutes that feeling of security had been ripped away from her.

Damn it. Why had he let her talk him into bringing her back to the hospital?

“Listen, buddy, my wife and I need to be somewhere,” Blake said coolly. With an equally cool smile, he planted a hand on the reporter’s shoulder and effectively moved Reynolds out of their path. He glanced at Sam. “Come on, sweetheart.”

She nodded meekly, then took a step forward. As she walked, she pushed a few strands of synthetic blond hair away from her visibly pale face.

And that’s when it happened.

The wig snagged on the wristband of Sam’s thin silver watch. It didn’t fall off, but it shifted, enough for the reporter watching her to get an eyeful of her natural brown hairline.

Blake’s heart stopped.

Quickly, Sam adjusted the wig, but it was too late. The reporter’s eyes had narrowed and he was stumbling across the landing.

Blake’s arm tightened around Sam’s shoulder.

His body was so stiff he could barely will his legs to move.

His pulse thudded loudly in his ears. He had to get her out of here.

Now. As he urged her to continue down the stairs, Reynolds stayed hot on their heels.

The other man caught up, grabbing Sam’s wrist, trying to stop her so he could get a better look.

She tried to shrug his hand away but Blake beat her to it. He planted both his palms on Reynolds’ meaty chest and gave the other man a shove. Gaze glittering with menace, Blake said, “Touch her again and I’m calling security.”

Reynolds just stared. “It’s her, isn’t it?”

Blake resisted the urge to order Sam to run. As fast as she could. But he knew taking off in an Olympic sprint would only fuel Reynolds’s suspicions.

The reporter’s expression transformed into a strange glimmer, a mixture of doubtful and dumbfounded. “Samantha Dawson!” he exclaimed, almost out of breath.

“You’re mistaken,” Blake said in a voice that could freeze an ocean. “This is my wife, Lorraine.”

And then he tightly gripped Sam’s hand and practically dragged her down the stairs again, leaving the reporter stupefied.

Blake’s legs could barely carry him as they made their escape. They finally reached the basement, where the white walls and fluorescent hospital lighting made his temples ache.

By the time they got outside, his heart was still thudding, and he felt so on edge he couldn’t even formulate a sentence.

He didn’t say a word as he shoved her into the passenger seat, rounded the SUV and got in.

He careened away from the hospital at full speed, tires screeching and the smell of burnt rubber filling the car.

From the corner of his eye he noticed how stunned Sam looked, how shaky her hands still were, but he couldn’t bring himself to comfort her, or assure her that what just happened was no biggie.

Because it was big. It was huge .

And he was absolutely furious. At her, for stubbornly insisting she come back here. At himself, for letting her.

It was only when he came to a screeching halt in the driveway of his house that he turned to her, eyes flashing, unable to control the anger and fear bubbling in the pit of his stomach.

“So much for your brilliant idea to stay in town,” he snapped.