Page 7 of The Survivor (Silhoutte Romantic Suspense)

G etting to Elaine Woodman’s room was surprisingly easy and went without a hitch.

The orderly who’d met them hadn’t seemed the least bit suspicious by her backdoor arrival.

As it turned out, a few reporters were still hanging around the lobby, but on an unrelated case.

Apparently, a popular movie star’s wife had been admitted earlier in the evening, experiencing complications from a much-publicized pregnancy.

Whether the orderly who let them in thought Sam was connected to that particular story, she didn’t know.

She didn’t care, either, as long as she entered and left this hospital undetected.

She and Rick rode a service elevator up to the brightly lit ICU, where they were met by Henry Darwitz, Elaine’s doctor. Sam introduced herself as Elaine’s sister, and with a brisk nod, the doctor left her and Rick in front of Elaine’s private room.

“Kira Lawford,” she muttered, reading the chart hanging by the door. She turned to the agent beside her. “Huh. Her alias is almost like mine, but with the initials flipped.”

Rick shrugged. “I don’t pick the names.”

The sound of footsteps echoed in the deserted corridor and Sam instinctively glanced up.

A petite blonde in a nurse’s uniform walked past them, heading toward the nurses’ station nearby.

Sam’s nerves eased as she saw the woman rummage around on the desk, her gaze never once drifting in their direction.

Turning around, Sam stared at the closed blinds over the window of Elaine’s room, wishing she could peer through them to get a look at the woman inside. She wanted to be prepared when she walked in, wanted to see Elaine’s face before she stirred up painful wounds.

“Do you think she’ll talk to me?” she asked quietly.

Rick looked grim. “Let’s hope so.”

Taking a steadying breath, she reached for the door and slowly pushed it open.

Darkness engulfed her, and it took a moment for her eyes to adjust. Her gaze was drawn to the bed in the center of the room.

Elaine Woodman lay there, a thin sheet pulled all the way up to her chin, her eyes closed.

The way Elaine’s honey-brown hair fanned across the stark white pillow made her look like a sleeping angel.

Like nothing more than a pretty young woman dozing in her bed.

A voice suddenly ripped through the darkness. “Who are you?”

Sam took a step closer and found a pair of sharp green eyes zeroing in on her. Wary. Fearful. The slice of moonlight filtering in through the filmy curtains made those eyes appear larger, brighter, a vivid emerald tint that gave them a catlike quality.

“Did I wake you?” Sam asked, stepping toward the bed.

Elaine reached out and grasped the top of the sheet tighter, pulling it higher, and that’s when Sam noticed the bandages on her slender wrists. Almost unconsciously, she glanced down at her own wrists, making out the jagged white scars even in the darkness.

“Who are you?” Elaine repeated, sliding up into a sitting position. “What do you want?”

The woman looked suspicious and terrified and reminded Sam so much of herself that she almost turned away. She’d been mistrustful of anyone who’d come into her hospital room, too, wondering if they wanted yet another statement, wishing they would let her lick her wounds in peace.

Knowing she was walking on eggshells, she simply stood next to the bed and offered a gentle smile. “My name is Samantha Dawson. You can call me Sam, though.”

A flicker of recognition. “Do I know you?” Elaine sounded uncertain.

“No, we’ve never met. But if my name sounds familiar to you, it might be because you’ve heard it before. It probably came up when the detectives spoke to you.”

Elaine went still, then broke the short silence with a sharp intake of breath. “You’re…dead.” Her pale face grew even paler. “Oh, Jesus, are you a ghost?”

Sam had to chuckle at that. With a smile, she sank onto the small metal chair next to the bed.

“No, I can assure you that I’m not a ghost. See?

” She reached out and lightly touched Elaine’s upper arm, not surprised when the young woman recoiled.

Pulling her hand back, she fought to keep the smile on her lips. “Flesh and blood, just like you.”

“He attacked you, too,” Elaine said bleakly. She wrapped her arms around her chest. “But you survived? Like me?”

“Yes. The police sent me into hiding after I left the hospital.”

“So why are you here? Aren’t you scared that…”

Elaine didn’t finish her sentence, but Sam knew what she’d been going to say. Aren’t you scared that he’ll come after you again?

Her heart squeezed. Elaine’s voice sounded so forlorn, so tortured.

The voice of a woman who’d been hurt badly, whose youthful vitality had been sucked out of her.

Sam knew the girl was twenty-three, but her tiny body, barely taking up any space on that narrow bed, made her appear younger, more vulnerable.

The last thing Sam wanted to do was hurt this girl any more than she’d already been hurt.

Yet she didn’t have a choice.

“Rick Scott and his partner asked me to come see you. You met them, right?”

Elaine nodded.

“Well, they thought I might be able to help you.”

The girl’s mouth twisted in self-loathing. “Nobody can help me.”

Sam swallowed hard and raked her fingers through her hair, finding its texture different and remembering that she was wearing a wig.

“That’s what I thought,” she finally responded, “when I was lying here, in this same hospital, with those same bandages on my wrists. I thought my life was over. I didn’t want to talk to anyone about what happened.”

When Elaine remained quiet, she went on. “It’s a terrible feeling, isn’t it? Helplessness. Hopelessness.”

Those big green circles penetrated her face. “You forgot fear.”

“Trust me, I didn’t forget.”

“You’re still scared?” The sheet covering Elaine’s chest drooped as she leaned forward slightly, revealing another bandage, a bigger one, on her neck.

Sam knew exactly what lay beneath that gauze, but she forced herself to stay focused. “Yes, I’m still scared. The FBI has been keeping me hidden, but—” she took a breath “—I don’t feel safe.”

“Me, either,” Elaine murmured. Her eyes grew glassy, and Sam knew she was on the verge of tears. “I’m leaving the hospital soon. Or at least, Kira Lawford is. I don’t know where they’re taking me.”

“They’re trying to protect you.”

“By showing up here every day and trying to force me to talk to them?” Sarcasm laced her tone. “It doesn’t feel like protection. More like pressure.”

“I know.”

“Did you enjoy it? Sitting there and spilling your guts, while some unfeeling cop took notes?”

“No, I didn’t.” She leaned forward and touched Elaine’s hand.

This time, the girl didn’t pull away. “I hated it. I hated all of them. Except Annette Hanson. She was a cop, the only cop who was patient with me, who didn’t force me to talk, didn’t force me to do anything.

She relocated to Indiana a few months ago, which is a shame.

You would’ve liked her. It was Annette I finally confided in. ”

Elaine watched her knowingly. “And now I’m supposed to confide in you?”

“If you want.” Sam squeezed her hand reassuringly. “You don’t have to. If you want, we can talk about something else, just visit a little.”

“You won’t push me?”

“Of course not.”

At that instant Sam knew without a doubt that Blake was not going to like this. Funny how she wasn’t worried about Rick Scott’s reaction, just Blake’s.

Blake would’ve wanted her to push Elaine.

Not because he was one of those “unfeeling” cops Elaine had described, but because Sam knew he’d wanted this to be a onetime deal.

The plan had called for her to see Elaine tonight, try to get her to open up, and go back to Wellstock.

Whether she succeeded or failed in getting through to Elaine didn’t matter.

She couldn’t risk being recognized, and that meant one visit and one visit only.

But Sam wouldn’t—she couldn’t —leave it at that. The young girl sitting in front of her deserved better than that.

“I can come back to visit you as many times as you’d like,” she said softly, trying not to think of Blake as she spoke.

“I’m not here just because the police suggested I come, but because I think talking to me might help you.

I understand what you’re going through. I went through it.

And I just want to help, that’s all. No pressure. ”

Worry creased the girl’s features. “Won’t that be dangerous? For you, I mean? He—” Her voice cracked. “He thinks you’re dead. He thinks we’re dead.”

“Are you worried that he’ll come after you?”

A single tear slipped from one of those emerald eyes and slid down Elaine’s pale cheek. “I haven’t slept since it happened. I never stop thinking that he might come back to finish the job.”

Sam’s throat tightened as she saw Elaine’s gaze drop to her wrists, and before she could analyze her motives, she shoved out her hands, displaying her own scars.

“He won’t finish the job,” she said firmly. “See these? He did the same thing to me, and look, they’re healing, fading. Yours will, too. I promise you, that bastard will never hurt you again. Never .”

* * *

It was nearly midnight when Blake returned home. He’d driven back in his SUV, following Rick’s dark sedan and wondering if Sam had managed to get any details from Elaine Woodman.

Not only had spending the evening watching the hospital entrance been uneventful, but it had been nerve-wracking as well.

The paparazzi, merciless as usual, had snapped shots of anyone and everyone going in and out, hoping to land a scoop in the celebrity pregnancy story.

Normally, Blake despised the media, but tonight all he’d cared about was making sure Sam’s visit went unnoticed.

Since Rick had called and informed him that everything had gone as planned, Blake wasn’t worried any longer.