waited.
Chapter 6
Those three little words tore at Sam as he raced to Angie’s apartment. Why the hell hadn’t he just gone over there when he’d gotten her earlier message?
That she hadn’t answered her phone shouldn’t have stopped him.
That she scared him shouldn’t have stopped him.
He drove faster. He was a professional, and as a professional he willingly headed into situations similar to this all the time. It was his job.
But the cool, calm, professional cop he was inside had vanished and been replaced by a man-a terrified, protective, angry man he hardly recognized.
Why had this happened to Angie, a woman who deserved hearts and flowers and a white picket fence, not this sheer terror?
Damn it, she’d already been hurt. Josephine had told him that much. Hurt by a man who’d tried to mold her into his idea of the perfect woman.
How could someone do that to the vibrant, sweet, open Angie?
Shame furled in his belly as he remembered his first impression of her. Scattered. Flighty. Naive.
She wasn’t any of those things.
That he’d lost all perspective when it came to her didn’t escape him. He was a man darkly driven and in tensely private. He was a man who had no right to be thinking about hearts and flowers and a white picket fence.
He was a cop, through and through, and he’d learned the hard way through his mother, then his ex-wife, that no one could get close to him.
No one ever would.
How many times had he heard that cops didn’t make good relation ship material?
Yes, there was more to life than work, he knew this, but he also knew it wasn’t worth the headache. God,
Getting to her place was the longest four minutes in history, but finally he came around the last corner to her building.
Her entire apartment was ablaze with lights. And no squad car out front, which meant, despite his call to dispatch, she was still alone inside.
Her front door was ajar. Pulling his gun, he pushed the door all the way open.
Her book shelf had been dumped, her television and portable CD player broken on the floor. And despite the fact he could hear water running somewhere, there was no sign of life. “Angie?”
From the small living room he could see into the even smaller kitchen. The cup boards had been opened, emptied. The plants in hand-painted ceramic bins had been purposely slammed to the floor and lay broken among her dishes and glasses.
He’d seen enough to know that someone had tried to scare her, and undoubtedly it had worked.
Silent now, with terror chasing chills along his spine, he headed down the hall. Bedroom trashed. And empty.
The bathroom door was shut, beyond which he could hear running water. With a palm to the door, he shoved it open, gun ready.
The small room was the only one in the house not messed with. The tub curtain was drawn closed, which was odd, given that he could hear the spout running behind it.
Battle ready, he yanked the curtain open and steadied his gun.
Only to drop it to his side a split second later with a soft, harsh oath. “Angie.”
She was down in the far corner of the tub, eyes wide as saucers. “I’ve been waiting for you.”
His heart all but cracked as he reached in and turned off the water. Ice-cold. Gently he pulled her out of the tub and ran his hands down her frozen arms. He could hardly breathe. “Are you hurt?”
She shook her head.
“Talk to me.” Cupping her face, he tilted it up.
“N-no.”
Thank God. He struggled for his professionalism, barely found it. “You’re cold.” He went and grabbed the comforter off her bed, then pulled it around her.
“I got prank calls.”
“What did they say?”
“Mostly that I’m to stop calling the cops.”
He went still. “Which you didn’t do.”
“Nope.”
“So this was to scare you. What else did he say?”
“Back off.” She managed a wry half smile. “I get the distinct impression I’ve hurt your suspect’s feelings.” She rubbed her forehead as if her head hurt.
He resisted, barely, the urge to haul her close. “Tell me what happened tonight.”
She sighed and looked around as if she was still surprised to see the mess. “I came home from class, let myself in and…” She lifted a shoulder and turned away.
“You what?”
“This and that…you know, ever since the holdup, I’ve…had a little trouble sleeping.”
His gut clenched, thinking of her here. All alone. Frightened.
“I’ve been flipping on all the lights at night. That’s the first thing I did tonight.”
“There’s no shame in that,” he said to her back.
“Yeah.” Then she let out a little laugh at herself that tore at him, and she pulled the comforter tighter around her. “Then I came into my bedroom and…”
He waited but she didn’t say anything else. “Angie? You what?”
She opened her mouth, then closed it. A tinge of embarrassment crept over her face. “I…stripped off my clothes and got into the shower.” She studied her toes. “Do you think they saw me?”
Damn it. “Angie-”
“No. Never mind.” She wrapped her arms around herself. “It doesn’t matter. It’s over, right?”
“That’s right,” he said gently, stepping closer. “It’s over.” And he would do everything in his power to make sure it stayed over. “What happened next?”
“I stayed in the shower for a really long time.” She lifted her shoulder again. “I sang. Probably scared whoever it was to death, as I’m pretty much tone-deaf.”
Sam couldn’t imagine anything about her scaring anyone.
Except him, of course. He was scared to death of her.
“When I got out,” she continued, “the place had been all messed up.”
“But you never saw anyone? Heard anything?”
“No.” She bit her lower lip, which started to tremble.
Oh, God, the tremble.
Tears would be next. “Angie-”
Without another word, she dropped the comforter and went straight into the arms he hadn’t realized he’d held out. She burrowed close, pressing her icy nose into the crook of his neck, slipping her arms around his waist, fitting against him as if she’d been made for him.
His heart, the one he’d thought impenetrable as stone, squeezed hard. Her hair was wet. Dripping all over him,
