“Josh?”
Sam’s voice brought him to the present. He looked up to find her watching him, having already carried their plates to the table. “Sorry.” It might sound condescending to say he was proud of her. She really didn’t need his approval. “Guess I sort of zoned.” He opened the fridge and called over his shoulder. “Bottled water?” he asked and she nodded. He poured it into glasses and sat down.
“Lack of sleep tends to have that effect,” Sam observed, clearly trying to make the conversation lighter.
Josh took the hint, and a bite of chicken. The first mouthful made him want to weep. “Oh man. I may never let you leave here again.” Which was the perfectly wrong thing to say. He could have bitten off his own tongue and fried it.
Obviously noticing his mortification, Sam offered a smile. “It’s okay.” She took a small bite. “I’m glad you like it.”
Rooting around for a safe topic of conversation that didn’t involve awkward propositions or requests to bear his children, Josh struggled for something to say. He could ask about Donnie, but was certain she wouldn’t be here if there’d been any change in his condition. He’d also quietly begun digging into her brother’s recent past to see if he could find a reason the man had been shot.
Not exactly pleasant dinnertime conversation.
He could bring up his conversation with Clay today, or the fact that he’d contacted some people in California to see if he could pinpoint good old Collin’s whereabouts for the timeframe in question, but somehow the last thing he wanted to talk about right now was the depressing fact that she was once again a victim. Instead, he thought of the way she’d survived so much already, and how she had found a way to give something back.
“So have you been volunteering very long? At the Family Violence Center?”
Sam speared a glazed carrot before looking up. “Here in Charleston, I just started about a month ago. But back in Columbia I’d been doing so for a couple years.”
Columbia, where she’d been attending college. Before she’d gotten the call to come here. “Are you shooting for a degree in social work?” The mashed potatoes were hot and burned the roof of his mouth. “Ouch,” he complained. “Damn it.”
“Sorry. I should have warned you they were hot.”
“And I should have used my highly-touted detective skills and noticed that they were steaming.”
“Well,” Sam smiled, and his heart warmed. “There is that.” When he grinned at her she ducked her head. “I’m a semester away from graduating,” she admitted. “And yes, my degree will be in social work.”
She took a drink of water and as he watched her lick her lips Josh thought he just might have to break down and cry. He wanted to kiss her. God, he wanted to kiss her so badly…
“I’ve considered becoming a victim’s advocate. A lot of police departments have started to create the position on their staff so there’s a pretty good market for it right now.”
Josh blinked and realized he’d been drifting. And she was saying something important, damn it. “That’s… great.” Now how about saying something intelligent? The last thing Sam needed was another man who couldn’t overcome his libido long enough to see her for who she was. “Victim’s advocates really help the system. It helps the victim or witness to have someone in the department who’s totally dedicated to them, and it helps the detectives to have someone to answer the victim’s questions about the whole criminal and judicial process so that they can focus on the investigation.” And suddenly the reality hit him. They could essentially be in the same line of work.
Maybe she could apply with his station house. He could see her nearly every day…
Drifting, drifting, not helping.
“Um, I think it’s part of a really beneficial trend in law enforcement,” he continued. “Actually, my position is fairly current, also. I’m one of the first full-time forensic artists the CPD has employed, although I function as a detective as well. Kind of a two-for-the-price-of-one sort of deal.”
SAM was really interested to hear about his work. “So what exactly is it that you do?” she asked, scooping up potatoes and trying not to drop them. She probably looked like a country bumpkin next to Josh’s more sophisticated companions. “I mean aside from the obvious sketch artist thing?”
“Well, the composite sketching is a big part of it. A lot of times I act as a first responder at a scene, interviewing witnesses and leading them through their descriptions. Sometimes we’re able to match them up with an already existing mug shot – and I get the privilege of putting the appropriate groups of photos together; not my favorite aspect of the job – but a lot of times we end up sketching the suspect from scratch. It’s amazing what people can remember when they’re provided with the right direction. I also do what we call facial reconstruction.”
Sam sat back and wiped her napkin across her mouth. “I’ve seen that,” she said with interest. “On old episodes of CSI.”
“The bane of real-life law enforcement.” Josh laughed when Sam looked up in surprise. “The CSI effect,” he explained. “Modern juries don’t understand why we aren’t able to produce irrefutable, ironclad evidence of guilt, essentially getting them off the deliberation hook. And if a crime goes unsolved for months, or God forbid, years, the investigators are skewered for being incompetent. But rarely is our equipment so sophisticated, our minds so brilliant, or the evidence so clear-cut that we’re able to pinpoint the perpetrator within an hour of being handed the case.”
“So I guess there’s really no Grissom.” She shook her head in mock disappointment.
“Not outside the TV. But I remember the episode you’re referring to, anyway – the one where the famous forensic artist comes in and reconstructs a victim’s face from her skull. And essentially, that’s what I’m talking about. It’s used as a means of identifying skeletal remains, or a body in the advanced stages of decomposition, when there are no other readily available means of identification. Although three-dimensional reconstruction is more time-consuming and less common. Most often, I’ll do a two-dimensional reconstruction, which means I draw an image of the victim based on photographs of the skull.”
“That’s really cool.” Albeit in a completely morbid way. “Although all that time you spent sketching me and my naked hiney didn’t really help considering you only work with the face.”
Josh choked, and it was Sam’s turn at mortification. Did she have to have such a big mouth? Learning to sensor her thoughts before they spewed forth and got her into trouble was something she really needed to work on. “Sorry. You want some water?”
HOW about a cold shower? Now Sam’s naked hiney was front and center in his mind. “No thanks.” Josh made a hasty grab for his wine.
Too hasty, because he knocked it over and spilled it on his lap. His napkin was soaked, his pants were soaked, and it was going to be embarrassing if he had to stand up. Then Sam would realize how vividly he remembered what a fine hiney she truly had.
“Here, let me help you.” Sam made a move to bring him her napkin.
“No, no.” Josh held both hands up before she could advance. “It’s uh… it’s really not that bad.”
But too late he realized he was sitting at a glass-topped table. Sam’s gaze drifted down to spy the huge wet spot, but luckily the napkin was situated in such a way that it spared him from further embarrassment.
So she might think he was an idiot, but that was slightly better than a horny bastard.
“You’re sure?” she asked, tone clearly disbelieving.
“Positive,” he replied. And tucked into his carrots so that she would believe him.
SAM resettled herself at the table and looked at Josh out of the corner of her eye. He’d looked horrified there for a moment, like he wanted no part of her or her napkin. Was he afraid that she was going to come over there and…
Oh. No wonder he was uncomfortable. He probably wanted to make sure she understood he didn’t want her to touch him that way. He was s
uch a good-looking man that it probably happened often. Sometimes life was a cosmic joke.
And in this case the joke was on her.
So they continued with dinner, chatting without really talking, all the heavy topics that no doubt hovered at the edge of both their minds being pushed aside in the interest of lightening the mood. Sam was thankful that Josh hadn’t immediately gone into cop mode and started hounding her about possible stalkers, because this was the first truly enjoyable dinner she’d had in quite a while.
SAM started yawning by the time their plates were cleaned, and Josh realized she had to be exhausted. Like him, she’d gotten almost no sleep in the past two days.
“Why don’t you let me clean up?” he suggested, rising from the table now that the coast was clear. “No,” he commanded, when she started to protest. “You cooked, I clean. Distribution of labor is only fair.”
“I just… don’t want to be a burden.”
Josh had been reaching for her plate but stilled the action and looked her in the eye. “Sam,” he said softly. “I offered my home to you because I want you here. It would be a burden on me if you forced me to worry about your safety. And besides, I enjoy your company.”
“I appreciate it, Josh. I really do. But friendship only goes so far. If I’m going to be here any length of time I’d feel much better if I contributed rent.”
Josh opened his mouth to protest, but realized that this might be really important to Sam. Collin had manipulated her into a position where she was financially dependent on him, and then had made her feel inadequate. He in no way wanted her to associate this with that horrible situation.
“Okay,” he agreed, although it nearly killed him to do so. One way he was very southern was in his attitude toward hospitality. Particularly toward the woman he loved. “Why don’t you give me a few days to, uh, check out some of the going rates, and in the meantime you can just consider yourself my guest. Spend whatever you normally would on rent to replace some of the things you lost.” It had been almost impossible this morning not to offer to do that himself.
CHEWING her lip, Sam glanced at Josh to look for any signs of pity. Friendship and generosity she could accept – she knew that was who he was – but if he wanted her here out of some sense of charity she’d have to pack up her things right now. She couldn’t stand hand-outs, and as difficult as that had sometimes made things for her it was also that same pride which had carried her through.
“Okay,” she agreed, sensing only genuine concern. And she was also practical, not the type of woman who put independence above safety. She could hardly put herself in a safer position than living with a Charleston police detective. “I appreciate it, Josh. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Now why don’t you go to bed? You’re going to need toothpicks if your eyelids get any heavier.”
She was exhausted, but knew if she lay down right now she wouldn’t sleep. Her mind was simply too active. “Would you mind terribly if I sat up in the living room and read a little instead? It helps me wind down before bedtime.”
“Sure.” Josh carried the plates to the kitchen sink. “Do you have any books with you or would you like to borrow one of mine?”
“Um, thank you but I have one.” She disappeared into the guest bedroom briefly and then returned with a book from the library. “I’ve been reading to Donnie every day so I always have something on hand.”
When he glanced over, blinked at the cover, Sam felt the flush creep up her cheeks. Which was just ridiculous. There was no way he could know how often she envisioned him while she read.
But because she felt at a disadvantage, she went on the attack.
“It’s a romance novel. Despite popular male opinion, most of them are actually quite well written.”
Dish soap dripped from the hand he held up in peace. “You’re talking to a man who draws criminals and dead people for a living. I’m not about to knock anyone else’s art. I’m just… well, honestly, I’m a little amused that you’re reading that to your brother.”
Feeling foolish, Sam walked over to curl into a corner of the couch. “That’s sort of the point. I figure if I annoy him enough, he might eventually shake out of it. Besides, I was getting tired of reading the classics.”
“Ugh.” Josh made a face. “Like Beowulf? I had to read that in high school. I’m pretty sure it was written as a sleep aid.”
“Tell me about it. Donnie, he’s a natural born lover of literature, but it comes a little harder for me. When we were kids, he’d tell me about the books he’d read since I couldn’t read them myself. And he has a gift for making a story come alive. I think that alone saved me from taking the attitude that books were stupid.”
HAVING filled the sink with soapy water, Josh slipped the skillet into the basin to soak. “I don’t mean to… probe at any old wounds, Sam, but were you actually diagnosed with dyslexia?”
“I was,” she agreed easily enough, looking up at him from the corner of the sofa. “You were right on the money when you suggested it. I went to one of those learning centers after I moved away, and hearing them confirm it explained a hell of a lot. They helped me create a program that would allow me to get my GED. And it took a couple years of hard work but I was eventually able to get accepted into college – barely, but I got there. Never thought that would happen.”
She opened the book on her lap and Josh’s heart squeezed with love and pride. And though he hated to spoil any of the easy camaraderie they’d regained tonight, her mention of leaving Savannah was an open doorway he couldn’t ignore.
He wanted to know why she’d disappeared.
Why she hadn’t bothered to say goodbye.
But before he could say anything his cell phone went off.
“Work?” Sam inquired, glancing up.
“Yeah.” He swallowed his disappointment. “Excuse me a minute while I see what they need.”
SAM returned her attention to her book, trying not to eavesdrop on Josh’s conversation, but from the overall tone of his murmuring she got the impression that he was unhappy. But then a note of pleasure crept into his voice and she hoped that was a good sign. After a few more minutes of unhappy, he ended the call with an audible sigh.
“Trouble?” she asked when he wandered over and stood near her.
“You could definitely say that.” He surprised her by perching on the edge of the couch. “I have to go back down to the station. There’s a case I’ve been helping with for the past week or so, and it looks like there’s been a break of sorts, although certainly not the kind we wanted. A girl came in tonight, with her parents, and it looks like she was raped.”
Sam’s gut clenched with familiar horror. “Unfortunately,” Josh continued, “she’s the second girl to come to us with the same basic story, so it looks like they might be connected. I need to go down and work out a composite, get as much as I can while her memory is relatively fresh.”
“I… didn’t realize you worked with rape survivors.”
“If it’s a stranger rape case I usually do. And it’s a lot harder than working with homicide.” He turned to look at her full on. “This girl who came in tonight… she was ashamed, but she told the detective handling the case that a volunteer from the rape crisis hotline convinced her to report it.”
Sam couldn’t help it; her eyes filled with tears.
Josh reached over and brushed the one that spilled over. “You’re doing good work, Sam. You’ll make a hell of a victim’s advocate.
CHAPTER TWELVE
“STUPID bitch,” Joey muttered under his breath as he listened to the disgusting sound of retching. He struck a match on the cinder block wall, lit the cigarette dangling from his swollen lip. Bitch had popped him one when he was hauling her out of her truck. Stupid thing to do, considering he had a knife poking against her ribs, but little Karen had a lot more spunk than he’d given her credit for.
Not a bad thing, all in all.
He grinned around the cigarette.
; It was always more fun when they fought. The ones that just laid there were enough to make him sick. Like he was gonna be so happy they cooperated that he’d just decide he really didn’t want to hurt them?
Yeah, right. Stupid bitches, every damn one.
He sucked in a lungful of smoke, blew a steady stream out through his nose, then pushed open the door to the bathroom. Good old Karen was curled up in a corner, brown hair hanging limp in front of her eyes, arms tucked around her bare legs.
She had a better body than he’d thought.
And he’d been looking forward to getting himself acquainted with it. But the bitch had started in hurling up a storm pretty much the minute he’d cut her uniform off her.
At first he’d thought that maybe she was just scared, which was okay even if it was gross. He liked the fact that he was a scary bastard.
But it was pretty clear now that she was sick.
“Stupid bitch.”
She moaned and curled up tighter, giving him a nice little view of her cheeks. She had a tight ass, alright, and he’d be damned if he’d gone to all this trouble and then wasn’t able to enjoy it. Bitch had to go and get sick on him and ruin all his plans.
He probably should just cut her, dump the body and be done with it, but Karen-pie had been such a royal pain in his ass for so long that he was lookin’ forward to being a pain in hers.
But he didn’t want to catch no damn virus.
He walked over, yanked her by the hair, and studied her face to make sure she wasn’t faking. Her eyes were Bambi-wide and piss-your-pants scared, but they were also glazed with fever. He’d been working in that damn hospital long enough to recognize the signs.
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