Silent Watch

Rick shrugged. “You left the door unlocked.”

“And the concept of privacy never entered your tiny pea of a brain before you waltzed in here?”

“Nope.” Rick grinned. “My pea brain and I wanted to talk to you about Samantha Dawson.”

Blake sighed. “Let me put on some clothes first.”

After he’d changed into a pair of gray sweatpants and a faded black T-shirt, he stepped back into the small room.

Rick was still lounging on the bed, so Blake headed for the stained table in the corner and sat in one of the plastic chairs. The room was far too cramped for his liking, but what else could he expect from the only motel in Wellstock?

“So I figured we’d pass her off as Elaine Woodman’s sister,” Rick started, getting right to the point. He crossed one leg over the other, looking as uncomfortable on the hard mattress as Blake knew he’d feel sleeping on it. “As much as I like the doctor treating Elaine, I don’t want him knowing who Samantha is.”

“He’s been really good about keeping Elaine’s presence a secret,” Blake said, then paused. “Mel’s still posing as a nurse there, right?”

“Knight plans to keep her there until Elaine is ready to be discharged. From what Mel says, Elaine is safe.”

He didn’t miss the way Rick briefly averted his eyes at the mention of Melanie Barnes. A subtle hint, but it wasn’t the first time Blake suspected that Rick and their fellow agent might be romantically involved. He just hoped his partner knew what he was doing. Rick’s divorce wasn’t even final yet, and from what Blake knew about Patty Scott, he had a feeling the woman wouldn’t hesitate to squeeze more cash out of her ex if she knew he was seeing another woman.

“Well, at least the media camped outside have no idea Elaine is alive.”

“Then why don’t they get the hell out of there?” Rick grumbled.

“We both know why. They’re hoping to find someone in the hospital willing to give them details. Maybe even autopsy photos.”

Rick shook his head in disgust. “That’s sick, man.”

“Don’t tell me.” Blake rubbed his eyes. “If even one picture of Samantha is taken, however unintentionally…All we need is one nosy reporter taking a good look and thinking, ‘Hey, she looks familiar.’”

“I know.” Rick’s expression grew serious. “We’ll have to take her in from the back, maybe through a service elevator. Give her some dark glasses, a wig, alter her appearance with makeup.” He shrugged. “Elaine’s doctor won’t object to sneaking her in. We’ll also try to bring her after visiting hours, when fewer reporters will be around, and we’ll make sure Mel is on duty, just in case.”

Blake’s headache reappeared as swiftly as it had disappeared. Temples pounding like a tribal drum, he went over the plan in his head. Chances were, nobody in the hospital would even be aware of Samantha’s presence, and if they were, her cover as the sister of a patient wouldn’t raise any suspicions. Yet it still worried him, plucking Samantha from her safe, isolated farmhouse and shoving her right back into the path of a killer.

“She’ll be okay.” As usual, Rick seemed to read his mind.

“One visit,” Blake muttered. “That’s all we can allow. One visit to try to get Elaine to open up. After that, Samantha returns to this invisible town and goes back to being Lori Kendall until this guy is caught.”

Rick nodded in agreement. “That’s the plan.”

They both grew quiet, somber, and Blake used the silence to go over all the possible risks they might face in bringing Samantha into Chicago. He figured his partner was doing the same, so he was surprised when Rick, in a low voice, uttered, “She’s gorgeous, isn’t she?”

Well, at least he wasn’t the only one who’d noticed.

“Yeah.” His voice came out rough.

“I subscribed to Sports Illustrated just to see her spreads in the swimsuit edition,” Rick admitted, looking sheepish. “That is, until Patty canceled my subscription. But those photos…man. Always classy, sensual as hell, but classy.”

It struck Blake as odd, even wrong, that they were discussing her in this way. She may have been a sexy model in her past life, but in this life she was a victim and a witness. Hardly deserving of their scrutiny, even if it was appreciative.

“You think she’ll go back to modeling when this is all over?” Rick asked.

The question brought a cheerless smile to his lips. “I doubt it.”

“Because of the scars? There are surgeries available these days that can remove them.”

“After what that bastard did to her, I don’t think she’ll ever want to put herself on display again.”

A lump of sadness lodged in the back of his throat, not so much for Samantha Dawson as for all the other victims. The Rose Killer didn’t try to hide his handiwork—hell, he seemed damn proud of what he did. When Blake saw the first victim’s body, he’d been sickeningly amazed by the sheer intricacy of the carvings. Though they were still unsure of what it all meant, for some inexplicable reason, the bastard had a fascination with roses.

Why else would he carve them into his victims’ skin?

At least Samantha had been spared the full effect of the killer’s madness. Blake had been surprised when he’d studied her photos and seen only one rose. The profilers at Quantico suspected that the lack of mutilation had something to do with the fact that Samantha’s body was “well known.” Maybe the guy wanted to keep her as untainted as possible; maybe he thought a body like hers deserved to remain uncluttered. Who the hell knew? Blake didn’t need to be a profiler to figure out that this killer was a monster. Analyzing his motives didn’t tell them anything they didn’t already know.

Yet the guy was human. He had to be. Because humans made mistakes, and this guy had already made two big ones. He’d inadvertently left Samantha Dawson and Elaine Woodman alive, and in the end, that’s what would finally put him behind bars.

Chapter 3

“Where’s your partner?” Sam asked the next afternoon. She peered past Blake’s impressively broad shoulders in search of Rick Scott. All she saw was a heap of fresh powdery snow and her barren yard. A black SUV idled in front of her garage, and when she glanced through the tinted windows, she realized that Blake had come here alone.

“We came up in separate cars in case one of us needed to leave,” he answered. “Rick drove back to Chicago last night to get a few things in order before we bring you to the hospital.”

He shoved his hands into the pockets of his faded blue jeans, and her gaze instantly took in how snugly the denim fit against his powerful legs. He looked good in jeans. And the thick cable-knit sweater that stretched over his lean chest looked darn good, too.

She was a little startled to notice how tall he was. He’d been sitting down during most of yesterday’s visit, and now, standing right next to him, she was able to appreciate the sheer size of him. He was at least six-three, but there was nothing bulky about him, just a broad chest that tapered into a lean waist, and a whole slew of sculpted muscles. God, this man had the whole package, didn’t he? Classically handsome features, drool-worthy body.

“Are you ready to go?”

Their eyes locked, and his slightly wry expression told her that he’d caught her studying him. An unexplained rush of heat scorched her cheeks, which only reddened further when she remembered the dream she’d had last night.

Blake. Kissing her. Just a soft, slow kiss, a far cry from those sweeping cinematic kisses that left the audience in breathless awe, but it had enough of an effect on her that she hadn’t been able to get the dream out of her mind all morning.

She hadn’t felt anything close to desire for a man since the attack, and it shocked her that her body was capable of producing such a reaction. Hell, it had surprised her so much she’d actually jarred herself awake from the disturbing dream, heart pounding and brain demanding to know how she could envision such a thing.

Six months ago, the thought of kissing a man wouldn’t have scared her. Though she was far from promiscuous, she’d had her share of lovers, and she’d certainly enjoyed making love. Until her entire life had shattered before her eyes. Now, the thought of being with a man came with fear that gnawed at her like a raccoon in a trash can. Aside from her brother, any man who came into her presence brought on terrifying suspicion, bone-deep worry that he might hurt her.

So why wasn’t she scared of this man?

“Samantha?”

“What? Oh, sure, I’m ready. Let me just lock up.”

She could feel Blake’s intense gaze on her as she stuck her key in a lock and latched the front door. She slung the strap of her overnight bag over her shoulder before following Blake down the porch steps toward his SUV.

She’d already called Virginia and informed her that she’d be out of town for a couple of days. Her excuse had been that she was going to Chicago to do some research for her novel, and her neighbor had wished her luck and demanded a copy of the book when it was released. Although she hadn’t gone out of her way to be friendly with anyone in town, Sam knew the older woman cared about her, and it reassured her knowing that someone would keep an eye out for any strangers who might approach the house in her absence.

“Here, let me put this in the back,” Blake said, reaching for her bag.

Their fingers brushed as he took it, and for one brief second, Sam faltered. It wasn’t as if she’d expected a spark of electricity or anything, but the feel of his warm hand grazing hers was just as alarming.