Chapter 79
Sam checked her watch. Five-thirty. Sunlight was struggling to break through the room darkening shades. It had succeeded with the vertical blinds in the living room.
She glanced down at Jake, lying on his side, the sheet pulled up to his waist. She was afraid to kiss him for fear of waking him. If she woke him, she’d have to do all the talking she had avoided last night, like how she had met Cain on her own, how she lost her gun. And she didn’t want to listen to lectures.
Last night at the warehouse was a blur. There had been an officer down and she hadn’t called it in. The feeling of doom and death were gone. She dismissed it as the shots that had been fired at her. Nothing more.
Right now, she needed to get home before Abby woke up, and then get to the precinct as soon as possible. If anyone questioned her whereabouts last night, she was sure Abby would cover for her.
Slowly she bent down until she was within eye level of Jake’s broad, strong shoulders. She resisted the urge to climb back into bed. Her eyes traced the map of scars on his back. Softly, she kissed one of the scars.
The moment Sam climbed into her Jeep and turned the key, that feeling of impending doom reared its ugly head. With each block she drove, the feeling intensified, gripping her with a fear she had never experienced before. She told herself to fight it, concentrate. If she could figure out the source of the fear, she could eliminate it. Abby would help.
She chose whichever streets were the least crowded, not exactly sure how to get to a main street, but needing to get home as quickly as possible. She avoided a city street cleaner on Superior Avenue only to be delayed at a railroad crossing while an Amtrak train rumbled by.
Her thoughts turned to Cain, Preston, the warehouse, the dead cop. Doom hung over her like a black umbrella. The realization that Cain was nearby struck her full force. He was going to try something in broad daylight.
She found herself searching the faces in the vehicles around her
… the pickup truck driver with the black Stetson; the yuppie with the starched white shirt and wide floral tie driving a red Beemer; the elderly man in tattered clothing bending over a wire trash can looking for aluminum cans. Cain was around somewhere. She could feel his presence.
Someone familiar ran over to her Jeep. It was Chief Connelley.
“Uncle Don, what are you doing here?”
“Slide over, Sam.” He gave her no choice but to climb over the console to the passenger seat. “I tried reaching you all night. I’ve tried your portable phone, your house. I pulled my car over as soon as I saw you.” Chief Connelley’s tie was loosened, his hair disheveled. Beads of perspiration formed on his forehead.
The train passed and traffic started moving again, people heading to the train station, others toward the expressway. He stole a quick glance in the rear view mirror as he turned the corner.
“I lost my portable. I left early for a jog and was just headed home to shower.”
“I want you and Abby to go out of town for a while, maybe the reservation.”
“We already went over that.”
“Your life is in danger.” He stole a quick glance toward her. “You have to trust me on this.” Connelley’s fingers and knuckles were white from gripping the steering wheel. His breathing came in short, asthmatic bursts.
Sam stared at his hands. Her eyes were drawn to his cuffs which protruded from his suit coat. A scene played over in her mind — Hap lifting her up on his lap to trace the lightning bolt pin. But something never seemed right. Now she knew it couldn’t have been Hap. The skin wasn’t dark. The skin was light. And the person holding her had cuff links shaped like bullets.
“Oh, my god,” Sam whispered. “It was you!”
“Listen to me,” Connelley yelled. He had to apply the brakes quickly as a traffic light turned red. “He is going to kill you if you don’t get out of town.”
Sam wasn’t listening. She was too busy remembering. “YOU were the one who lifted me on your lap to draw the pictures of the lightning bolt pins. My father told you about Hap Wilson. You KNEW! YOU were the friend who he entrusted with his copy of Hap’s affidavit.
“Honey…” Connelley reached for her, grabbed her hand. “Let me explain.”
Sam pulled away and reached for the door handle. Every instinct in her body told her to get out of the Jeep — NOW!
Chapter 80
Jake stretched and reached his arm across the bed. It touched sheet, not Sam. He swiveled his head toward the bathroom. The door was opened. He called out Sam’s name. Silence.
Maybe last night was just a figment of his imagination, like the night he was in the whirlpool. After all, he hadn’t even buzzed Sam upstairs last night. She simply appeared at his door, just as she had appeared floating through the whirlpool.
He pulled a pillow over and pressed it to his face. The subtle scent of Sam’s perfume still clung to the fibers. He shoved the pillow behind his head and glanced over at the wing-backed chair sitting in the corner. Last night he had sat on that chair wrapped only in a towel. He remembered Sam coming out of the bathroom in one of his shirts, unbuttoned, but she held it together with all of her refreshing naivetE9.
If it was all a dream, it was one of the most fantastic dreams he had ever experienced. Sam straddled him, his towel fell open. She pulled some yin-yang thing on him that she said she had read about in a magazine. Told him to stare into her left eye, to inhale when she exhaled and vice versa. And to not move. They stayed that way, inhaling, exhaling.
For the first time in his life he cried out. When they wrapped their arms around each other she had whispered in his ear, “Strong, silent type my ass.”
Dream? He refused to believe it had all been his imagination. Propping himself up on one elbow, he felt something solid hit his chest. He looked down and saw Sam’s medicine bundle.
The buzzer rang just as Jake stepped out of the shower. Jake pressed the buzzer to let Frank in, then quickly slipped into a blue dress shirt and navy blue pants, official clothes for arresting a state representative. He had told Carl he would meet him at his hotel and they would go together to the Jenkins Art Center.
“Jake.” Frank was breathless from running up three flights of stairs. “Did you hear about Stu Richards?”
“Who?” Jake closed the door behind him. Frank followed him into the bedroom.
“He’s only been on the force one month. He was killed last night while patrolling that industrial site on Cornell.”
“Gang shooting?” Jake pulled a blue tweed sportscoat from his closet and tossed it on the bed.
“Have you talked to Sam this morning?” Frank trailed Jake from the bedroom to the kitchen.
Jake turned from the counter and studied Frank’s face. “Why? What’s going on?”
Frank looked at the phone and answering machine on the counter sitting next to the toaster. He lifted up the cord which had been unplugged from the wall.
Jake did not remember doing it. “I must have knocked it out when I cleaned off the counter last night.” He took the cord from Frank and plugged it back in.
“Guess you’ve really been out of touch. You probably don’t know about Cain Valenzio either.”
Jake blinked, his eyes drawn back to the telephone as if trying to remember if he or Sam had unplugged it.
“Cain was shot and killed.” Frank slapped Jake on the forearm. “Hey, stay with me here, buddy. Did you hear me?”
Jake leaned back against the kitchen sink. He had never asked Sam where she had been last night. They had gone from the living room to the shower, where the lingering smell of smoke in her hair was washed out before he had a chance to ask her about it.
