Sidney reached out to take it tentatively, afraid of what she might encounter, but just as when Samantha had been unconscious on her living room floor, she felt nothing. This time it wasn’t due to a lack of extrasensory perception. The drugs and alcohol had completely obliterated her sister’s psyche.
Her face must have revealed dismay, because Samantha jerked her hand back with a muted sob. Sidney hugged her fiercely. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Besides get so wasted I don’t remember who I screwed.”
“Whoever it was, he took advantage of you,” she said, smoothing her hand down her sister’s back, feeling more bones than flesh.
“Samantha, I love you. You need help, and you need protection. If you go out partying by yourself again, I’m afraid you’ll never come back.”
Samantha pulled away, her face showing an obstinate determination to do just as she pleased, the world, and herself, be damned. Then she rummaged through her leather purse, coming up with a few crumpled dollars instead of a vial of pills. “Will you go in and get me a Diet Coke, Siddie? I’ve got such a migraine.”
Unable to resist the pet name, or Samantha’s dulcet tones, Sidney unlatched her seat belt and went into the convenience store. She was standing in the parking lot, soda in hand, when she realized that Samantha had driven away without her.
“Damn it,” she whispered, feeling the hot sting of frustration. Around its edges, panic was creeping in. Slam- dunking the soda in a nearby trash can, she dug some coins out of her pocket and picked up the grimy receiver at the pay phone.
She dialed Marc’s cell phone number from memory, having stared at his business card for so long it was stamped on her brain.
“Cruz,” he answered tersely.
“It’s Sidney.”
“Where are you?”
“At the 7-Eleven on Oceanside Boulevard.”
“I’ll be right there.”
After he hung up, she stared at the receiver in annoyance. Couldn’t men ever say goodbye? When he pulled in the parking lot less than five minutes later, she forgave the impertinence.
“What happened?” he asked.
“Samantha ditched me.”
“Why didn’t you call me before you left the hospital? And what the hell were you doing here with her anyway? Scoring some smack?”
Anger flared inside her, and she grabbed onto it, desperate to feel something other than deep, all-consuming fear. “You didn’t check in with me before you left, either,
Without another word, he turned onto Oceanside Boulevard and headed west, toward the beach. It was another glorious day, sunny and hot, absent of the stifling mugginess that had been pervasive during the week. Perfect weather for swimming or sunbathing, what she’d planned to do this afternoon rather than chase down runaway sisters.
The tears she’d been fighting since she found Samantha this morning, or to be more accurate, since Marc’s scathing rejection of her, threatened to resurface, clogging the back of her throat. She forced herself to take a deep, steadying breath.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“What could possibly be wrong?” she said, the hysterical quality of her voice betraying her emotions. “You’re acting like a stranger. My sister’s sleeping with strangers. My mother blames me for Samantha’s drug problems and failed marriage…”
“Your sister is a grown woman,” he said. “Older than you. Her problems are her own.” He tightened his hands around the steering wheel. “I can’t believe you took off with her.”
She studied his tense mouth. “Were you worried?”
Across the console, his eyes met hers. “I would never forgive myself if something happened to you.”
Sidney fell silent, reading the hidden message in his words. She was a burden, a responsibility, a weight on his shoulders, nothing more.
When the case was over, he’d be gone.
At home, Sidney changed into the bikini Samantha had given her and padded downstairs in her bare feet. Marc was treating her like an invalid again, placating her by offering to spend the last few hours of the afternoon on the beach.
She found him in the kitchen, putting some snacks into a basket.
“You’re going to make some lucky woman an excellent wife,” she said, more annoyed than charmed by his domesticity.
“I certainly wouldn’t make a good husband,” he admitted.
She couldn’t argue with that. Instead she dug her beach bag out of the linen closet and found a clean white sheet to spread beneath them on the sand. When she turned around, she caught him staring at her backside.
He averted his eyes, taking bottled water out of the refrigerator and giving her the chance to ogle him. Husband material or not, his bare chest was a beautiful sight. The tan shorts he wore rode low on his hips, exposing his flat abdomen almost to the point of indecency.
Or maybe it was just her dirty mind, stripping him naked.
“What happened to your other swimsuit?” he asked.
Her eyes jerked up to his face. “Hmm? Oh, that,” she said, remembering he’d seen her demure black Speedo, and everything underneath it, only a week before. “I thought you would make fun of it.”
After he checked the lock on her new kitchen window, they left, walking across a wide expanse of sand before staking claim to a free spot close to the water. “Why do you dress the way you do?” he asked as she unfurled the bed sheet on the sand. “Are you trying to hide your-” his eyes dropped to her breasts, pushed together by the triangle top of the bikini “-body?”
“Not really,” she said with a frown, looking down at herself. “I wash dogs and clean kennels for a living. There’s no need to be sexy.”
“Why didn’t you go on to vet school?”
She stretched out on her tummy, hating the way his seemingly unrelated questions painted an accurate, and not very flattering, picture of her. “Too much touching,” she replied honestly.
“Do you ever think about going back?”
“Yes,” she said, although she didn’t feel as though she was wasting her talents at the kennel. She took pride in caring for animals and running her own business. In her heart of hearts, what she truly longed for wasn’t more money or a better education, but the intangible rewards of a happy home and a loving family. “Do you ever think about having a long-term relationship?”
“Yes,” he said, surprising her. “But women tend to give up on me well before we get to that stage.”
Her lips twisted wryly. “And whose fault is that?”
“Theirs,” he said, meaning his. “Has Samantha met Greg’s girlfriend?”
Sighing, she rested her head on her arms and closed her eyes, too weary to analyze his insinuation. “I imagine so. She’s his secretary.”
“Are you ever going to tell me what happened between you two?”
She squinted up at him. “Why?”
“Because like it or not, you’re part of this investigation.”
“What does that have to do with Greg? He’s no prize as a husband, but he’s not a murderer.”
“Yes, well, as accurate as your perceptions are at times, they don’t work as well with people close to you.”
Incensed, she rolled over and sat up. “Just because I can’t always read you-”
“Or Samantha.”
“She was blacked out!”
“Greg has been in love with you for years. Did you know that?”
She drew her knees up, hugging them to her chest. “He only thinks he’s in love with me because he’s a
