Keeper of the Bride

“Think of every possible person who might want to hurt you. Think, Nina.”

“I told you, I don’t have any enemies!”

“You must have.”

“I don’t! I don’t…” She gave a sob and clutched her head in her hands. “I don’t,” she whispered.

After a long silence he said, gently, “I’m sorry. I know how hard it is to accept—”

“You don’t know.” She raised her head and looked at him. “You have no idea, Detective. I’ve always thought people liked me. Or—at least—they didn’t hate me. I try so hard to get along with everyone. And now you’re telling me there’s someone out there—someone who wants to…” She swallowed and stared ahead, at the darkening road.

Sam let the silence stretch on between them. He knew she was in too fragile a state right now to press her with more questions. And he suspected she was hurting more, both physically and emotionally, than she was letting on. Judging by the condition of her car, her body had taken a brutal beating this afternoon.

In the ER, he paced the waiting room while Nina was examined by the doctor on duty. A few X rays later, she emerged looking even more pale than when she’d entered. It was reality sinking in, he thought. The danger was genuine, and she couldn’t deny it any longer.

Back in his car, she sat in numb silence. He kept glancing sideways at her, waiting for her to burst into tears, into hysteria, but she remained unnervingly quiet. It concerned him. This wasn’t healthy.

He said, “You shouldn’t be alone tonight. Is there somewhere you can go?”

Her response was barely a shrug.

“Your mother’s?” he suggested. “I’ll take you home to pack a suitcase and—”

“No. Not my mother’s,” she murmured.

“Why not?”

“I…don’t want to make things…uncomfortable for her.”

“For her?” He frowned. “Pardon me for asking this, but isn’t that what mothers are for? To pick us up and dust us off?”

“My mother’s marriage isn’t…the most supportive one around.”

“She can’t welcome her own daughter home?”

“It’s not her home, Detective. It’s her husband’s. And he doesn’t approve of me. To be honest, the feeling’s mutual.” She gazed straight ahead, and in that moment, she struck him as so very brave. And so very alone.

“Since the day they got married, Edward Warren-ton has controlled every detail of my mother’s life. He bullies her, and she takes it without a whimper. Because his money makes it all worthwhile for her. I just couldn’t stand watching it any longer. So one day I told him off.”

“Sounds like that’s exactly what you should have done.”

“It didn’t do a thing for family harmony. I’m sure that’s why he went on that business trip to Chicago. So he could conveniently skip my wedding.” Sighing, she tilted her head back against the headrest. “I know I shouldn’t be annoyed with my mother, but I am. I’m annoyed that she’s never stood up to him.”

“Okay. So I don’t take you to your mother’s house. What about dear old dad? Do you two get along?”

She gave a nod. A small one. “I suppose I could stay with him.”

“Good. Because there’s no way I’m going to let you be alone tonight.” The sentence was scarcely out of his mouth when he realized he shouldn’t have said it. It sounded too much as if he cared, as if feeling were getting mixed up with duty. He was too good a cop, too cautious a cop, to let that happen.

He could feel her surprised gaze through the darkness of the car.

In a tone colder than he’d intended, he said, “You may be my only link to this bombing. I need you alive and well for the investigation.”

“Oh. Of course.” She looked straight ahead again. And she didn’t say another word until they’d reached her house on Ocean View Drive.

As soon as he’d parked, she started to get out of the car. He reached for her arm and pulled her back inside. “Wait.”

“What is it?”

“Just sit for a minute.” He glanced up and down the road, scanning for other cars, other people. Anything at all suspicious. The street was deserted.

“Okay,” he said. He got out and circled around to open her door. “Pack one suitcase. That’s all we have time for.”

“I wasn’t planning to bring along the furniture.”

“I’m just trying to keep this short and sweet. If someone’s really looking for you, this is where they’ll come. So let’s not hang around, all right?”

That remark, meant to emphasize the danger, had its intended effect. She scooted out of the car and up the front walk in hyperspeed. He had to convince her to wait on the porch while he made a quick search of the house.

A moment later he poked his head out the door. “All clear.”

While she packed a suitcase, Sam wandered about the living room. It was an old but spacious house, tastefully furnished, with a view of the sea. Just the sort of house one would expect a doctor to live in. He went over to the grand piano—a Steinway—and tapped out a few notes. “Who plays the piano?” he called out.

“Robert,” came the answer from the bedroom. “Afraid I have a tin ear.”

He focused on a framed photograph set on the piano. It was a shot of a couple, smiling. Nina and some blond, blue-eyed man. Undoubtedly Robert Bledsoe. The guy, it seemed, had everything: looks, money and a medical degree. And the woman. A woman he no longer wanted. Sam crossed the room to a display of diplomas, hanging on the wall. All of them Robert Bledsoe’s. Groton prep. B.A. Dartmouth. M.D. Harvard. Dr. Bledsoe was Ivy League all the way. He was every mother’s dream son-in-law. No wonder Lydia Warrenton had urged her daughter to patch things up.

The phone rang, the sound so abrupt and startling, Sam felt an instant rush of adrenaline.

“Should I get it?” Nina asked. She was standing in the doorway, her face drawn and tense.

He nodded. “Answer it.”

She crossed to the telephone. After a second’s hesitation, she picked up the receiver. He moved right beside her, listening, as she said, “Hello?”

No one answered.

“Hello?” Nina repeated. “Who is this? Hello?”

There was a click. Then, a moment later, the dial tone.

Nina looked up at Sam. She was standing so close to him, her hair, like black silk, brushed his face. He found himself staring straight into those wide eyes of hers, found himself reacting to her nearness with an unexpected surge of male longing.

This isn’t supposed to happen. I can’t let it happen.

He took a step back, just to put space between them. Even though they were now standing a good three feet apart, he could still feel the attraction. Not far enough apart, he thought. This woman was getting in the way of his thinking clearly, logically. And that was dangerous.

He looked down and suddenly noticed the telephone answering machine was blinking. He said, “You have messages.”