Page 12 of The Survivor (Silhoutte Romantic Suspense)

“J esus, Corwin, you need to get her out of there.” Michael Knight, the man known for his calm, unruffled manner, sounded absolutely livid. His deep baritone voice shot through the airwaves, piercing Blake’s eardrums with its sheer volume.

Not that he blamed his boss for being furious.

Blake was pretty damn enraged himself. He hadn’t said a single word to Samantha since reprimanding her in the car, and yet again she’d retreated upstairs.

But he wasn’t about to apologize for what he’d said.

He didn’t blame her for being recognized by the meddlesome reporter, but he sure as hell blamed her for putting herself in the position to be recognized.

“At least he didn’t get a photo,” he said in a stab at sounding optimistic.

“He doesn’t need one.” Knight cursed loudly. “One of the men here did some checking on Reynolds. Guess who he works for? FOX News. That’s right, home of Geraldo Rivera.”

Blake closed his eyes.

“The CPD and the Chicago field office have been dealing with calls from reporters for the last hour. Reporters demanding to know if Samantha Dawson’s death had been staged and if she’s officially come out of hiding to stop the Rose Killer.”

Pain vibrated in his temples. Dammit. This wasn’t good. Not good at all.

“How could you let this happen?” Knight roared. “That woman is a walking target. You were supposed to have her back in the safe house by now.”

“She wouldn’t leave.”

“It was your job to make sure she did.”

So much for being Knight’s best agent. Recrimination coupled with a streak of protectiveness collided in his chest. He’d known that letting Sam stay in Chicago was a bad idea. Hell, he’d warned her that something like this could happen. Too bad the stubborn woman hadn’t listened.

But he should have known better than to let himself get soft.

He could have tried harder to make her leave, worked harder to talk some sense into her, but had he done that?

Oh, no. One look at those gorgeous gray eyes and he’d been sucked in, ready to let Samantha Dawson do anything her sexy little heart desired.

“Where’s Scott?” Knight demanded.

“On his way here.”

“Good. Neither of you is to leave that woman’s side until we can arrange for a new safe house out of state.”

“Out of state? Why not take her back to Wellstock?”

“We’re getting her out of Illinois, Corwin. It’s too risky to keep her here with the media sniffing around.”

His headache threatened to become a full-blown migraine. “She won’t go.”

“You’ll make her go. I don’t care if you have to cuff her to do it.”

Knight had hung up. Biting back a string of four-letter words, Blake sank onto one of the wooden dining room chairs and buried his face in his hands.

Trouble. The woman was nothing but trouble.

Did she not value her own life? Hadn’t she realized that by putting her foot down and going to see Elaine Woodman again she’d be taking a tremendous risk?

The sick bastard who’d almost murdered her was too smart to leave loose ends.

If he learned that Sam was still alive, who was to say he wouldn’t track her down and slit her throat this time?

Not her wrists, but her goddamn throat .

His chest ached at the thought. He’d only spent a few days with Sam, yet he knew that if anything happened to her, something inside him would be destroyed. He’d already lost the woman he was going to marry thanks to a man as twisted as the Rose Killer.

He’d never recover if he lost Sam, too.

He gulped. Hard. Frantically searched his mind, trying to figure out exactly when he’d become this attached to Samantha Dawson.

Was it before or after you kissed her? came the taunting voice in his head.

Christ. Not now. He didn’t want to think about that kiss. He’d been pushing it out of his mind all day, and yet the memory continued sneaking right back in, like a dog eager to play fetch with its owner.

His groin tightened as swiftly as it had last night when he’d captured Sam’s mouth with his. When the feel of her lush, moist lips had sent him into a state of arousal he’d never experienced before.

What the hell had he been thinking, kissing her?

He’d known, the second he lowered his mouth to hers, that it was a bad idea.

That it was wrong . And yet he couldn’t seem to stop himself.

It was like an out-of-body experience, as if his mouth and tongue and hands belonged to another man, a man who didn’t seem to understand how inappropriate it was to kiss a goddamn witness .

He’d wanted to kick himself afterward. Actually, no. When he’d pulled back and caught sight of the arousal swimming in Sam’s luminous gray eyes, he’d wanted to kiss her again. Then he’d wanted to kick himself.

If he hadn’t managed to impose that sliver of control, he would’ve made love to her right then and there, peeled every layer of clothing from her body and laved his tongue over every inch of her perfect skin.

That’s why he’d walked away. To stop himself from adding another item to his how-I-screwed-up-today list. That, and because he wasn’t sure he could control himself if he kissed her again.

Sam was too vulnerable. He would never take advantage of her, but he got the feeling that she wouldn’t mind if he did. Which meant one of them needed to remain in control, and it obviously had to be him.

“Knight’s not happy,” Rick said grimly as he strode into the dining room.

Blake swallowed back myriad emotions clinging to his throat. Business. That’s what he needed to focus on now. “I’m not too happy, either,” he replied. “That reporter knew who she was.”

Rick joined him at the table. “Do you think he noticed what floor you’d come from? Think he’s smart enough to sneak into the ICU to do some investigating?”

“Let’s hope not.”

Rick swore. “We need to get Elaine out of there. Her doctor was going to discharge her in a few days, but we’ve got to speed up the process. She can’t stay there a second longer.”

“I know.”

“I’ll call Mel and tell her to start making arrangements.”

The sound of timid footsteps caused Blake to turn his head.

Gray eyes lined with remorse, Sam stood in the doorway.

She’d scrubbed off her makeup, and gone were the wig and glasses.

Her long caramel-colored hair fell over her shoulders in careless waves, resting just above the scooped neckline of the long-sleeved green sweater she’d changed into.

A pair of faded jeans encased her long legs, emphasizing her shapely thighs and were rolled up at the bottom to reveal her pale, slender ankles.

She was so damn pretty. Just looking at her made his body ache.

“I’m sorry.” Her quiet voice broke through his troubled thoughts.

He watched as she entered the room and settled in the chair next to Rick’s. She wrung her hands together, looking unhappy, and for a moment he almost regretted snapping at her earlier.

Almost.

Pushing away the tender sympathy threatening to seep into his chest, Blake shot her a firm look. “It’s too late for apologies. Your time’s up, Samantha. We’re getting you out of here tonight.”

Desperation flickered in her gaze. “Will you let me say goodbye to Elaine?”

“No.”

“But…Dammit, Blake! She’ll think I abandoned her.”

“She’ll understand.”

Rick broke the exchange by turning to Sam and asking, “Did she tell you anything useful today?”

Sam appeared reluctant as she tore her gaze from Blake’s. “Actually, she did.”

She quickly related the details she’d learned about the abduction and the scent Elaine had described, then excused herself.

Blake heard her moving around in the kitchen, glad she hadn’t argued any further about leaving the city.

This time, they would do things his way, and his way required getting Sam out of Dodge before anything worse happened.

“It’ll be hard to find the vehicle,” Rick said, rubbing his chin. “There are probably a million vans in the city. Going through DMV records would be pointless, considering we don’t have a license plate number, not to mention the guy’s name.”

Blake chewed on the inside of his cheek, trying to bring into focus the idea nagging at the back of his mind.

He knew the chances of finding the van weren’t good, so instead he mulled over the other details Sam had provided.

The scent Elaine had mentioned. Something fruity…

Was their guy a fruit wholesaler? A grocer?

Naah, that didn’t sit right with him. Fruity and flowery. Flowery. Flowers.

Flowers.

Christ, how had he overlooked it? Flowers. No. Roses .

The puzzle pieces in Blake’s head slid into place.

He wanted to slap himself for missing the connection, but up until now, they hadn’t had much to go on.

The first three victims were dead. Sam was attacked in her home.

But Elaine had been different from the start, the only woman who’d been transported to another location.

Thank God she’d remembered such a vital scent.

Flowers. The guy carved roses into his victims’ skin, for God’s sake.

It wouldn’t be a stretch believing his line of work had something to do with the damn things.

He sat up straight and slammed his hand down. The sound of his palm slapping on the smooth dining room table echoed through the room. “He’s a goddamn florist,” he said with a groan.

At that moment Sam reappeared in the doorway with a steaming cup of coffee in her hands. Her eyes widened at his declaration. “Roses,” she exclaimed. “Elaine smelled roses in that van!”

Looking excited, she returned to her seat and set down her mug.

Blake wanted to ask her to leave, let him and Rick deal with this investigation without civilian involvement, but the enthusiasm sparkling in her eyes made him reconsider.

She looked energized, hopeful, and he couldn’t bring himself to send her away as if she were some disobedient child who shouldn’t be talking to the grown-ups.

“That’s what you’re thinking, isn’t it?” she demanded.