Keeper of the Bride

It was later, much later, when she awakened in the deepest chill of night.

The fire had died out. Although she was cocooned in the afghan, she found herself shivering.

And alone.

Hugging the afghan to her shoulders, she went into the kitchen and peered out the window. By the light of the moon, she could see that Sam’s car was gone. He had returned to the city.

Already I miss him, she thought. Already his absence was like a deep, dark gulf in her life.

She went into the bedroom, climbed under the blankets, and tried to stop shivering, but she could not. When Sam had left, he had taken with him all the warmth. All the joy.

It scared her, how much she felt his absence. She was not going to fall in love with him; she could not afford to. What they’d experienced tonight was pleasure. The enjoyment of each other’s bodies. As a lover, he was superb.

But as a man to love, he was clearly wrong for her.

No wonder he’d stolen away like a thief in the night. He’d known it was a mistake, just as she did. At this moment, he was probably regretting what they’d done.

She burrowed deeper under the blankets and waited for sleep, for dawn — whichever came first. Anything to ease the ache of Sam’s departure.

But the night, cold and lonely, stretched on.

IT WAS A MISTAKE. A stupid, crazy mistake.

All the way back to Portland, on the drive down that long, dark highway, Sam kept asking himself how he could have let it happen.

No, he knew how it happened. The attraction between them was just too strong. It had been pulling them together from the first day they’d met. He’d fought it, had never stopped reminding himself that he was a cop, and she was an important element in his investigation. Good cops did not fall into this trap.

He used to think he was a good cop. Now he knew he was far too human, that Nina was a temptation he couldn’t resist, and that the whole investigation would probably suffer because he’d lost his sense of objectivity.

All because she’d come to mean too much to him.

Not only would the investigation suffer, he would as well, and he had only himself to blame. Nina was scared and vulnerable; naturally she’d turn to her protector for comfort. He should have kept her at arm’s length, should have kept his own urges in check. Instead he’d succumbed, and now she was all he could think about.

He gripped the steering wheel and forced himself to focus on the road. On the case.

By 1:00 a.m., he was back in the city. By 1:30, he was at his desk, catching up on the preliminary reports from Ernie Takeda. As he’d expected, the bomb in Nina’s apartment was similar to the devices that blew up the church and the warehouse. The difference between the three was in the method of detonation. The warehouse device had had a simple timer. The church device was a package bomb, designed to explode on opening. Nina’s apartment had been wired to blow after the door opened. This bomber was a versatile fellow. He could trigger a blast in any number of ways. He varied his device according to the situation, and that made him both clever and extremely dangerous.

He went home at 5:00 a.m., caught a few hours of sleep, and was back at headquarters for an eight o’clock meeting.

With three bombings in two weeks, the pressure was on, and the tension showed in the faces around the conference table. Gillis looked beat, Chief Coopersmith was testy, and even the normally unemotional Ernie Takeda was showing flashes of irritation. Part of that irritation was due to the presence of two federal agents from Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms. Both the men from ATF wore expressions of big-time experts visiting Hicksville.

But the most annoying source of irritation was the presence of their esteemed D.A. and perpetual pain in the neck, Norm Liddell.

Liddell was waving the morning edition of the New York Times. “Look at the headline,” he said. “‘Portland, Maine, the new bombing capital?’ New York’s saying that about us? Us?” He threw the newspaper down on the table. “What the hell is going on in this town? Who is this bomber?”

“We can give you a likely psychological profile,” said one of the ATF agents. “He’s a white male, intelligent —”

“I already know he’s intelligent!” snapped Liddell. “A hell of a lot more intelligent than we are. I don’t want some psychological profile. I want to know who he is. Does anyone have any idea about his identity?”

There was a silence at the table. Then Sam said, “We know who he’s trying to kill.”

“You mean the Cormier woman?” Liddell snorted. “So far, no one’s come up with a single good reason why she’s the target.”

“But we know she is. She’s our one link to the bomber.”

“What about the warehouse bomb?” said Coopersmith. “How’s that connect to Nina Cormier?”

Sam paused. “That I don’t know,” he admitted.

“I’d lay ten-to-one odds that Billy Binford’s people ordered that warehouse bombing,” said Liddell. “It was a logical move on his part. Scare off a prosecution witness. Does the Cormier woman have any connection to Binford?”

“All she knows about him is what she’s read in the newspapers,” said Sam. “There’s no link.”

“What about her family? Are they linked at all to Binford?”

“No link there, either,” spoke up Gillis. “We’ve checked into the finances of the whole family. Nina Cormier’s father, mother, stepfather, stepmother. No connection to Binford. Her ex-fiance was just as clean.”

Liddell sat back. “Something’s coming. I can feel it. Binford’s got something big planned.”

“How do you know?” asked Coopersmith.

“I have sources.” Liddell shook his head in disgust.

“Here I finally get The Snowman behind bars, and he’s still pulling strings, still making mincemeat of the court system. I’m convinced that warehouse bomb was an intimidation tactic. He’s trying to scare all my witnesses. If I don’t get a conviction, he’ll be a free man in a few months. And he’ll be scaring them in person.”

“But chances are good you’ll get that conviction,” Coopersmith reassured him. “You’ve got credible witnesses, financial records. And you’ve drawn a law-and-order judge.”

“Even so,” countered Liddell, “Binford’s not finished maneuvering. He’s got something up his sleeve. I just wish I knew what it was.” He looked at Sam. “Where are you hiding Nina Cormier?”

“A safe place,” said Sam.

“You keeping it top secret or something?”

“Under the circumstances, I’d prefer to keep it known only to myself and Gillis. If you have questions to ask her, I can ask them for you.”

“I just want to know what her connection is to these bombings. Why The Snowman wants her dead.”

“Maybe this has nothing to do with Binford,” suggested Sam. “He’s in jail, and there’s another party involved here. The bomber.”

“Right. So find him for me,” snapped Liddell. “Before Portland gets known as the American Beirut.” He rose from his chair, his signal that the meeting was over.

“Binford goes to trial in a month. I don’t want my witnesses scared off by any more bombs. So get this guy, before he destroys my case.” With that, Liddell stalked out.

“Man, election year is hell,” muttered Gillis.

As the others filed out of the room, Coopersmith said, “Navarro, a word with you.”

Sam waited, knowing full well what was coming. Coopersmith shut the door and turned to look at him.

“You and Nina Cormier. What’s going on?”

“She needs protection. So I’m looking out for her.”