Page 25 of The Survivor (Silhoutte Romantic Suspense)

T he world promptly crumbled beneath Sam’s feet. She staggered forward, right into Blake’s solid chest, right into a pair of warm arms that instantly wrapped around her and pulled her close. He was saying something to her, but the words were muffled by the dull roar of her pulse in her ears.

“Is this a joke?” She pressed her palms to his chest and pushed him away. Then she was stumbling backward, edging toward the doorway as if running would make it all go away. “Is this some kind of sick, insensitive joke?”

He shook his head.

She shook her head right back. “No. No . You’re lying.”

Pain filled his amber-colored eyes. “I’m sorry, Sam. Rick just heard from Mel. She was staying with Elaine at the safe house, and she—” His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “She found her about twenty minutes ago.”

“She’s lying.” The vehemence in her tone terrified her. Did that shrill, enraged voice belong to her? “Elaine would never do that. She wouldn’t kill herself. She’s twenty-three years old, for God’s sake! And she…she…”

It suddenly became increasingly difficult to breathe. Her heart was pounding so hard her ribs were beginning to hurt, her chest felt like it would cave in any second, and her eyes were stinging so badly she couldn’t even see Blake anymore.

She could hear him, though. And God, how she wished she could shut out that calm, almost mechanical voice he was using.

“Melanie found her in the bedroom. She used a telephone cord to…to hang herself.” Now he was cool and efficient. “She left a note.”

Sam stared at him, horrified. Wanting to slap that professional expression off his face, but her hands were shaking so wildly she couldn’t even lift them to wipe the tears that poured down her cheeks. So instead of hitting him, she exploded.

“What is the matter with you?” She gasped for air. “How can you just stand there like a robot and tell me Elaine hanged herself like you’re reciting a passage from a goddamn textbook? Do you even care that she’s dead? Do you?”

For a moment he looked stunned. Then a flash of fire erupted in his eyes. Every feature on his face tightened, his shoulders stiffened, his hands curled into fists.

“Of course I care,” he hissed out. “It tears me up inside knowing that innocent girl took her own life, that she was so goddamn traumatized by what that maniac did to her that she didn’t feel it was worth living. It tears me up.”

He finished with a ragged groan, and a wave of guilt slammed into her as she saw the pure anguish flashing on his face. Oh, God. Why had she said those hurtful things? She knew Blake wasn’t a robot, she knew how deeply he cared about the victims whose killer he was chasing.

“I’m sorry,” she managed to whisper. “I’m…sorry.”

He was by her side again in an instant. This time he didn’t draw her into his arms, but he did reach out and lace his fingers through hers. “I know how much this must hurt. I know you and Elaine connected and that you cared about her.”

She clamped her lips together to keep a sob from slipping out. Taking a long breath, she opened her mouth and said, “You said there was a note. What did it say?”

The hesitation on his face caused her to shrug her hand away. “It’s…not important,” he said roughly.

“Like hell it isn’t! What did it say, Blake?”

He was quiet for so long she thought he wasn’t going to answer. But then he opened his mouth and told her, and suddenly she wished he hadn’t.

Her throat squeezed. “Say it again,” she choked out.

“Sam—”

“Again.”

“The note said, ‘I’m not a survivor. I’m not strong like you.’” He hurried on. “It doesn’t mean she addressed it to you. It could have been written to anyone.”

Sick. She was going to be sick. Spinning on her heels, she tore out of the kitchen and stumbled into the small bathroom in the hall, where she dropped to her knees and emptied the guilt and horror from her stomach.

And when there was nothing left, she just sat there and cried.

Cried and cursed and cried some more until the guilt turned to anger and the anger to sheer rage.

She cleaned up, then left the bathroom. Blake was waiting for her in the hallway, his gaze concerned, but she didn’t see him. All she saw was the red haze of fury before her eyes.

“I’m going to kill him,” she whispered.

“Let’s go and sit down so we could talk about—”

“I don’t want to sit down! I’m going to kill that son of a bitch, Blake!” She released a shaky breath. “He did this to her. He did it, and I’m not going to rest until I watch him die.”

The concern on his face deepened, and she knew she must look and sound like a crazy person right now.

Her face was stained with tears, her hair had fallen out of the loose bun she’d twisted it in and was now sticking to her cheeks and eyes.

She’d never experienced wrath like this before—blinding, hot, all-consuming.

Although she tried not to, she couldn’t stop picturing Elaine, how she must have looked when Melanie Barnes had found her, how hopeless and scared she must have felt when she decided to take her own life.

Had she done it right after they’d gotten off the phone last night? Or had she woken up this morning and known, just known, that she couldn’t keep going?

The answer to either of those questions didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except that the man who’d almost killed Sam had claimed another victim.

“Sam, you need to calm down,” Blake said softly. “I know this hurts, but—”

“But you’d prefer I bury the hurt deep inside?” she shot back. “That is your standard operating procedure, isn’t it?”

Shock filled his features, yet he didn’t argue.

They both knew she was right, but being right didn’t make her feel one bit better.

From the moment she’d met him, she’d sensed that Blake was closed off, that his unwavering control and the cool mask he liked to wear were his way of dealing with the pain in his life.

She understood, because, hell, hadn’t she been doing the same thing these past six months?

Putting on an indifferent front and pretending she wasn’t hurting anymore?

Well, she was sick of doing it, and she was sick of watching Blake pretend. How could he make love to her as if she were the only woman in the world who mattered and then tell her in that irritatingly professional voice that their relationship wouldn’t go any further?

God help her, but she wanted to be with this man, no matter how infuriating he could be and no matter how many times he tried convincing her that he wasn’t right for her.

And maybe they were all wrong for each other, maybe this entire crazy situation was clouding her judgment, but at the moment she didn’t give a damn.

She was angry. At Blake. At Elaine. At the Rose Killer. And she wasn’t about to pretend to be anything but angry.

“You weren’t being fair last night,” she found herself bursting out.

Discomfort practically seeped from his pores. He raked one hand through his dark hair then rubbed his forehead. “Let’s not do this right now, Sam.”

“No, let’s. ” She frowned. “You can’t just decide you don’t want me anymore and then expect me to smile and laugh and act like it doesn’t matter.”

“You think I don’t want you?” He laughed harshly. “God, Sam, I want you so bad it’s driving me crazy! I’ve been walking around hot for you from the day we met—and you think I don’t know how wrong that is? You’re a witness, and a victim—”

“I’m a woman!” she roared. Her cheeks burned with insult. “Deal with it, Blake, and quit hiding behind excuses and convoluted notions about me deserving better.” She took a calming breath. “You can’t tell me you don’t see what’s happening between us.”

His jaw tensed. “Sex. That’s what happened between us.”

She stared at him in disbelief. “You honestly believe that’s all it is?” When he didn’t answer, she curled her hands into fists and stalked past him, heading for the stairs. “You’re a son of a bitch, Blake Corwin.”

She’d only taken two steps when his warm hand grasped her arm. She spun around. From her perch on the staircase she was a good foot taller than he was and she looked down at him with daggers in her eyes.

“I’m sorry. Goddammit, you’re right, I didn’t mean it,” he squeezed out.

The pain flickering in his whiskey eyes was so visceral that her gaze softened, along with her body. A shaky breath rolled out of her chest and before she could second-guess herself she touched his jaw and gently trailed her fingers across it. “It’s okay,” she said with a sigh.

“No, it’s not.” He made a strangled sound and then his arms were wrapping around her. Her higher position offered a strange sense of power, as Blake nestled his face against her breasts, his silky brown hair tickling the bottom of her chin.

She ran her fingers through that gorgeous hair and breathed in the scent of his woodsy shampoo. Something inside her began to stir and the warmth spreading across her skin shocked the hell out of her. God, this wasn’t the time to want this.

“It’s more than sex for me,” he said, his warm breath fanning over her collarbone and sizzling right through the ribbed fabric of her turtleneck. “If it were, I wouldn’t be so damn terrified right now.”

He lifted his head and the kaleidoscope of emotions swirling in his eyes sucked the breath right out of her lungs.

She saw his passion and desire, his admiration and respect, and God help her, she saw love.

He might never say the words aloud, but she saw the love in his eyes, so naked and strong that she nearly keeled over from the force of it.

She knew he probably wouldn’t change his mind—he honestly believed that she deserved a life that couldn’t be threatened by him or his job—but at the moment it didn’t matter.

Blake Corwin cared for her more than he was willing to admit, he loved her, and it was probably time to face the fact that she loved him, too.

“Sam?”