Page 27 of The Survivor (Silhoutte Romantic Suspense)

“D o you want another cup of coffee?” Sam asked the officer sitting at Blake’s kitchen table.

John Perkins glanced up with a smile. He had very nice eyes, she realized. They were almost as dark as his skin, and exuded warmth and sincerity that made her feel at ease. “No thank you, Miss Dawson.”

“Are you hungry? I could fix something for you.”

He chuckled. “Why don’t you sit down, instead? You’re making me dizzy, pacing back and forth like that.”

Was she pacing? She hadn’t noticed. But she wasn’t surprised, and she knew exactly who to blame for her incessant restlessness. Blake Corwin and his too-honorable-for-his-own-good attitude.

It riled her that he just assumed he knew what was best for her. Her parents had done the same thing. They’d told her from birth that she was destined to be a lawyer, without ever asking her if she was even interested in the law or giving her any choice in the matter.

Blake wasn’t giving her a choice, either. He’d decided that she’d be better off without him and to hell with what she felt about the subject.

And dammit, but she knew precisely how she felt about it.

She didn’t want to say goodbye to Blake Corwin.

Not by a long shot. She was definitely planning to talk to him about it when he got home from that meeting.

He would not push her away this time. She’d fought for her life, thanks to the Rose Killer, but when that psychopath was finally caught she would be fighting for something else.

The man she loved.

She didn’t care how many excuses Blake gave her.

She didn’t care that he was irritatingly serious, or that he turned into stone whenever something threatened his precious control.

Kate’s death had hit him hard, but Sam was going to be there for him.

She was going to help him heal, the way he’d helped her.

To hell with his honorable intentions.

“All right, you’re evidently not going to stop pacing,” Officer Perkins said with a cheerful smile. “So how about we distract ourselves? Does Agent Corwin have any games in the house? Monopoly? Maybe a deck of cards?”

“We could look,” she said, the idea of distracting herself with a game becoming more and more appealing. “Cards would be nice.”

“You sure about that? I play a mean game of Texas Hold ’Em.”

She grinned. “So do I, buddy, so do I.”

Smiling, Perkins stood up. “I’ll check the living room.” He took two steps to the doorway but halted when the cell phone clipped to his belt began to ring. He quickly lifted it to his ear.

“Perkins,” he said into the phone. A frown reached his lips. “Now? Does Agent Corwin know about this?”

Her pulse sped up as his frown deepened. She wished she could hear what was being said at the other end. From Perkins’s grim expression, it didn’t sound good.

“I understand…yes, sir…I’m on my way.” Perkins switched off the phone and turned to her with a look that held both worry and promise. “That was Burt Hodges, one of the senior detectives working your case,” he began. “You’re being moved to a safe house.”

Surprise jolted into her. “Now?”

“I’m afraid so.” Perkins was already walking toward the front hallway to grab his coat from the hook by the door. “An officer named Paul Benson is on his way to pick you up.”

“What? Why aren’t you taking me?”

He slipped into his jacket, his expression now hard. “There’s been a break in the case. I’m needed at the station.”

Hope spurted in her chest like lava from a long-dormant volcano. “They caught him?”

Perkins reached out and touched her arm. “As far as I know, not yet. But we’re close. For your own protection, you can’t be in the city right now. Agent Corwin gave the order himself.”

She was annoyed. Of course Blake gave the order.

She knew he genuinely wanted to keep her safe, but there was definitely more behind the request to ship her off.

Earlier she’d made it clear that she wanted to discuss their relationship, even if he wouldn’t admit they had one.

This was his way of sidestepping the discussion, forcing her into hiding so he didn’t have to face everything he was feeling for her.

“Officer Daniels is right outside,” Perkins said gently, obviously mistaking her expression for worry rather than the irritation it was. “You’re not to go anywhere until Officer Benson arrives to escort you.”

“Yes, sir.”

His eyes crinkled affectionately. “I’m sorry we couldn’t find a deck of cards. I would have enjoyed beating you in Hold ’Em.”

“Yeah, in your dreams.”

He was laughing as he left the house. Before she closed the door, she gave a little wave to Daniels, who was sitting in his unmarked patrol car, looking scary as usual. He waved back but didn’t smile.

She drifted back into the kitchen to make a quick cup of coffee before she had to leave.

It took ten minutes for the fresh pot to brew, and just as she was pouring herself a cup, the doorbell rang.

Damn. Abandoning the coffee, she headed for the hall, wondering if she should pack a bag.

Perkins hadn’t told her to, so she assumed that wherever she went, she’d be provided for.

The idea that Blake could be handcuffing the Rose Killer at this exact moment sent a thrill of relief sliding into her. Was the nightmare finally over?

The doorbell rang again, and she quickened her pace, then paused when she reached the front hall.

There was a small notepad sitting on the credenza next to the hall closet, and she moved toward it.

After a second of hesitation, she scrawled a quick note on the pad, placed the paper where Blake would be sure to see it, then grabbed her coat and slipped it on.

She knew Blake would come to the safe house the moment the Rose Killer was hauled away, but in case he came home first, she wanted him to know that he couldn’t avoid the talk they needed to have. Whether he liked it or not, she had no intention of letting him walk away from her that easily.

“Sorry, I was just getting ready,” she said as she opened the front door.

The officer on the porch responded with a patient smile. “No worries.” He quickly flashed her his badge. “I’m Officer Paul Benson. I’ll be escorting you to the location Agent Corwin specified.”

Benson seemed pleasant enough. His looks were on the plain side, brown hair, brown eyes, nondescript features.

He was also on the thin side. The crisp, white shirt that was part of his uniform hung loosely over his chest, and his black pants seemed ill-fitting.

She wondered if he’d lost some weight recently, but didn’t ask.

Definitely not something you brought up during a first meeting.

“Ready to go?” Benson asked.

“Let me just set the alarm.” She didn’t know why she bothered, considering that the threat of the Rose Killer was obviously being taken care of elsewhere.

A flicker of panic hit her as she realized that Blake could very well be dealing with that threat right now. What if he got hurt? What if the Rose Killer shot Blake while trying to escape?

She quickly swallowed back the sticky fear in her throat, saying a silent prayer as she zipped up her coat and followed Benson down the porch steps.

Blake would be okay. He was a trained professional, and she had to trust that he could take care of himself.

Benson led her to the police cruiser parked in the driveway and opened the passenger door for her. With a brisk wave at the other car by the curb, he slid into the driver’s side and started the engine.

“It shouldn’t take us long to reach our destination,” Benson said conversationally as he backed out of the snow-covered driveway.

The snowplows had already cleared most of Blake’s street, but evidence of the blizzard still remained in the form of massive snowbanks and some slippery patches on the asphalt. Benson kept to the speed limit, leaving Blake’s neighborhood and heading toward Chicago’s Loop district.

Sam’s hands began to shake as her escort turned onto the highway ramp. She didn’t feel right leaving the city behind. Leaving Blake behind.

He’ll be okay.

She held on to that reassuring thought, but it was hard to relax, knowing that Blake could be in danger right at this moment.

Though she didn’t want to admit it, she suddenly understood where he’d been coming from when he’d explained why he didn’t want her in his life.

He was a federal agent, and she knew that if she chose to be with him, she’d constantly worry about his safety.

If he was late, she’d panic. If he took on a particularly dangerous case, she’d be scared 24/7.

And yet the worry and panic and fear didn’t seem to matter in the grand scheme of things. She could deal with it, as long as it meant waking up every morning to one of Blake Corwin’s rare smiles and falling asleep encircled by those strong arms every night.

“So how long have you been with the department?” she asked her companion, suddenly needing the contact, the diversion. There was something very familiar about him, but Sam couldn’t quite put her finger on where she’d seen him before.

Benson shot her an enigmatic smile. “Not long. I’m fairly new, actually.”

He picked up speed, cutting off a bright yellow Volkswagen Bug as he sped along the highway. Up ahead he encountered another slow driver, and, making an aggravated sound, reached up and flicked on the sirens.

The shrieking of the siren startled her and for some reason her fingers slid down to rub the scar on one of her wrists.

She hadn’t rubbed the scars since the first time she and Blake had made love, and the way she’d reverted back to the old habit left her unsettled.

She touched the scars when she was nervous.

But why did she have to be nervous about? Officer Benson was taking her to a safe house; Blake had found the Rose Killer. There was no reason for the sudden sense of fear gnawing at her insides.

They drove for a while, sirens still blaring, and a good twenty minutes passed before Benson finally spoke again.