Page 5 of The Survivor (Silhoutte Romantic Suspense)

“W here’s your partner?” Sam asked the next afternoon.

She peered past Blake’s impressively broad shoulders in search of Rick Scott.

All she saw was a heap of fresh powdery snow and her barren yard.

A black SUV idled in front of her garage, and when she glanced through the tinted windows, she realized that Blake had come here alone.

“We came up in separate cars in case one of us needed to leave,” he answered. “Rick drove back to Chicago last night to get a few things in order before we bring you to the hospital.”

He shoved his hands into the pockets of his faded blue jeans, and her gaze instantly took in how snugly the denim fit against his powerful legs. He looked good in jeans. And the thick cable-knit sweater that stretched over his lean chest looked darn good, too.

She was a little startled to notice how tall he was.

He’d been sitting down during most of yesterday’s visit, and now, standing right next to him, she was able to appreciate the sheer size of him.

He was at least six-three, but there was nothing bulky about him, just a broad chest that tapered into a lean waist, and a whole slew of sculpted muscles.

God, this man had the whole package, didn’t he?

Classically handsome features, drool-worthy body.

“Are you ready to go?”

Their eyes locked, and his slightly wry expression told her that he’d caught her studying him. An unexplained rush of heat scorched her cheeks, which only reddened further when she remembered the dream she’d had last night.

Blake. Kissing her. Just a soft, slow kiss, a far cry from those sweeping cinematic kisses that left the audience in breathless awe, but it had enough of an effect on her that she hadn’t been able to get the dream out of her mind all morning.

She hadn’t felt anything close to desire for a man since the attack, and it shocked her that her body was capable of producing such a reaction.

Hell, it had surprised her so much she’d actually jarred herself awake from the disturbing dream, heart pounding and brain demanding to know how she could envision such a thing.

Six months ago, the thought of kissing a man wouldn’t have scared her.

Though she was far from promiscuous, she’d had her share of lovers, and she’d certainly enjoyed making love.

Until her entire life had shattered before her eyes.

Now, the thought of being with a man came with fear that gnawed at her like a raccoon in a trash can.

Aside from her brother, any man who came into her presence brought on terrifying suspicion, bone-deep worry that he might hurt her.

So why wasn’t she scared of this man?

“Samantha?”

“What? Oh, sure, I’m ready. Let me just lock up.”

She could feel Blake’s intense gaze on her as she stuck her key in a lock and latched the front door. She slung the strap of her overnight bag over her shoulder before following Blake down the porch steps toward his SUV.

She’d already called Virginia and informed her that she’d be out of town for a couple of days.

Her excuse had been that she was going to Chicago to do some research for her novel, and her neighbor had wished her luck and demanded a copy of the book when it was released.

Although she hadn’t gone out of her way to be friendly with anyone in town, Sam knew the older woman cared about her, and it reassured her knowing that someone would keep an eye out for any strangers who might approach the house in her absence.

“Here, let me put this in the back,” Blake said, reaching for her bag.

Their fingers brushed as he took it, and for one brief second, Sam faltered. It wasn’t as if she’d expected a spark of electricity or anything, but the feel of his warm hand grazing hers was just as alarming.

Trying not to focus on anything other than the reason she was going with him, she sank into the passenger seat of the car and settled into the cushy leather interior. Blake closed the trunk and rounded the vehicle. From the corner of her eye, she saw him slide into the seat next to her.

“How’s your butt?”

Indignation colored her cheeks. “Excuse me?”

For the first time since they’d met, he shot her a grin. “I mean, is it cold or anything? This car has top-of-the-line seat warmers. I could turn yours on if you’d like.”

“Oh. No, that’s okay,” she stammered, still feeling winded by the unexpected smile tugging on the corners of his mouth. Lord, this man looked gorgeous when he smiled.

“Suit yourself.” He shrugged and turned on the ignition, then pressed a button under the dashboard and gave a contented sigh. “God bless seat warmers.”

Oh to be the seat under that man’s ass.

The sly little thought popped into her head before she could stop it.

It was exactly the type of thing she would’ve thought once upon a time, when she’d had a successful modeling career and a parade of men at her door.

Her best friend, Susan, had always teased her about the mischievous little comments she’d used to make.

God, she missed the days when she’d been…carefree. Happy. She missed Susan, too, but she knew that temporarily severing ties with the people in her life was for the best.

She leaned against the soft headrest behind her, shooting Blake a sideways glance as he backed out of the driveway and turned the SUV around.

They didn’t speak as he drove down the icy road.

She listened to the sound of snow crunching underneath the tires and the soft strains of country music floating out of the stereo speakers.

Her pulse quickened the moment they turned onto the main street leading toward the highway. She inhaled slowly, willing her pulse to slow. She didn’t want Blake to know that the thought of returning to civilization scared the crap out of her.

“It’ll be okay, Samantha.”

His quiet voice and words of reassurance made surprise jolt through her.

Had he read her mind, or was her fear written on her face?

She hadn’t thought it was, but since the idea of her features giving her away wasn’t as unsettling as the idea of Blake finding a way into her head, she preferred to consider herself transparent.

“Sam,” she finally said, not responding to his astute remark. “You can call me Sam.”

“All right. It’ll be okay, Sam,” he repeated.

“I know.” She blew out a shaky breath. “Of course it’ll be okay.”

He shot her a quick glance, the expression in his deep brown eyes telling her that he didn’t quite believe her. “By this time tomorrow, you’ll be back in your farmhouse, doing—what is it you do all the way out there? Puzzles, crosswords? Do you like to read?”

He was trying to distract her and they both knew it. But she welcomed the distraction nevertheless. “I read a lot, actually,” she admitted, playing with the sleeve of her warm wool sweater.

“What do you read?” His voice remained relaxed, even as he turned onto the on ramp of the highway and easily merged with traffic.

Her gaze darted to the window, fixing on the cars and trucks and vans whizzing by.

Her pulse accelerated, just a little, at the sounds of tires squealing and horns blaring, at the sight of faceless, nameless people driving alongside them.

Overhead, the late-afternoon sun disappeared behind a patch of thick gray clouds the moment they picked up speed. An omen of things to come?

Pushing aside the disturbing notion, she focused on Blake’s question. “I like mysteries. Some romance.”

“Bodice-rippers, huh?”

“Why do men always call them that?”

He chuckled. “Because the covers always depict a half-naked Fabio ripping the bodice off a fair maiden.”

“Well, what do you like to read? Or are you too busy for that?”

“You hit the nail on the head with that one. With my caseload, I’m lucky if I get past the first page of a novel. I used to read a lot of thrillers though.”

“Is that why you do this job, for the thrills?”

The question slipped out before she could stop it, but she regretted it the second his voice turned harsh. “There’s nothing thrilling about chasing monsters.”

She drew in a breath. “I…you’re right. I shouldn’t have said that. I’m sorry.”

She heard him take a breath of his own. “No, I’m the one who should be sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped at you.”

Out of newfound habit, her fingers slid down to her wrist and rubbed that irritating scar. For a long while they drove in silence before she said, “You’ve been after him a long time, haven’t you?”

He didn’t need to ask her who he was. “Almost eight months now.”

Since she knew the murders had been going on for at least two months longer, she wrinkled her forehead. “Not from the beginning?”

Blake kept his eyes on the road. “The Chicago PD didn’t call us in until the third victim was discovered. Once they realized they had a serial killer on their hands, they needed all the help they could get.”

The third victim. It bothered her to hear him say that. First victim. Second. Third. As if they were nothing more than numbers. Not women who had once breathed, lived. Just numbers.

Was she a number? The fourth victim? Was that how Blake and his fellow agents referred to her?

“What was her name, the third victim?” she asked softly.

“Diana Barrett.”

A tiny pang of guilt tugged at her insides when she realized that it was the first time she’d heard that name.

She’d been so caught up in her own pain, her own ordeal, that she’d never really thought to ask about the others.

Diana Barrett. Elaine Woodman. Hearing the names, knowing the identities of the other women, made her feel… less alone.

Another blare of a car horn caught her attention. This time the sound didn’t make her flinch. This time the vehicles driving alongside them didn’t evoke fear, but determination.