“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 such 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 wa
s 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.
Shoving her away from him in disgust, he smiled when her head hit the concrete. She let out a little, mewling cry, like some kind of hurt kitten. His pleasure went up a notch.
So he kicked her, and smiled when she started to cry.
Then the little bitch spit at him, and he jumped back before she could infect him. “You’ll pay for that.” He took another drag off his cigarette. Then threw it at her and watched it sizzle her skin before she squealed and swatted it away.
From what he’d seen at the hospital, this
damn virus lasted for a couple days or so, so he’d have to wait to make good on that promise. Until then, the bathroom had a padlock to keep little Karen inside and running water so she wouldn’t dehydrate. He didn’t want her kicking off until he was ready.
And this warehouse was far enough away from civilization that no one would be able to hear her when she tried to scream. Nope, little Karen was his to play with. To do with whatever the hell he liked.
And he liked a hell of a lot.
Grinning, Joey rapped his knuckles against the door as he shut it. “I’ll be back later, Karen.” God, she was probably so happy that he was leaving, thinking that she could get away while he was gone. But then she’d realize how wrong she was, start to get cold – it was gonna be like forty-eight or some such shit tonight – and hungry and scared, and eventually she’d be so afraid that he’d just left her here to rot that she’d almost be happy to see him again.
Almost.
Laughing out loud, he patted his front pocket. He’d wasted most of his last cigarette on Karen, and decided he wanted another. From inside the bathroom, he heard the muffled sound of sobbing.
Karen must be broken up to see him go.
“Don’t cry now,” he called out, striking another match and lighting up. “I promise we’ll have fun when I get back. Or at least I will anyway.”
When she choked out an order for him to take a quick trip to Hell, he grinned as he took care of the padlock. “Don’t worry, baby. I plan to. Of course, I’m going to take you with me.”
JOSH hated the smell of the morgue and worked hard not to wrinkle his nose as he and Kathleen talked to the forensic anthropologist. At least it wasn’t a typical autopsy. And Phil Thomas, their anthro, was an endearing old goat, with white hair that stuck out in tufts behind his ears and a bow-tie printed with roosters. A night owl, he’d spent the last one working on the remains of the female victim they’d pulled from the drain pipe.
Although he needed to run a couple of tests to determine the length of time she’d been in that hole, they already knew it had been several months, given both the rate of decomposition and the timeframe involved in the construction situation. And Phil also had some ideas about what kind of background the woman had come from. Girl, really. Phil guessed she was barely out of her teens. And she’d come from money and was accident prone, as was evidenced by both her remaining teeth and her tibias.
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