The Stranger In Room 205 (Hot Off The Press Book 1)

by Gina Wilkins

  She’d been right to run. He’d like to think he’d have had the sense to stop with that one kiss if she hadn’t, but he couldn’t offer any guarantees in that respect. After all, he’d wanted to kiss her all evening. And she had thought about kissing him, too. He’d seen it in her eyes.

  Now what was he going to do?

  Sam was surprised to answer a knock on his door Sunday afternoon and find the police chief on the other side. “What have I done?”

  Dan smiled wryly. “Automatic assumption or guilty conscience?”

  “Assumption. As far as I know, I haven’t broken any laws.”

  “Then there’s no need for me to haul you in, I guess. How about if we go fishing, instead?”

  “Fishing?” Sam felt both his eyebrows rise. “You’re kidding, right?”

  “Nope. I’ve got the afternoon off and I’m in the mood to catch some fish. I thought you might like to go with me.”

  “Why me?”

  Dan’s grin deepened. “Everyone else I asked was busy.”

  Chuckling, Sam nodded. “Now I understand.”

  “So…you want to go?”

  “Sure. But I don’t have any fishing gear.”

  “Already covered. Got a cap?”

  “Not even that.”

  “I’ve got an extra in the truck. Let’s go.”

  Half an hour later, Sam found himself in a flat-bottomed fishing boat with the chief of police, a borrowed cap on his head, a fishing license purchased from a bait shop tucked into his shirt pocket. He’d done this before, he decided as he cast toward a promising-looking hole—sat in a boat with another guy, listening to the water lapping against the sides, inhaling the slightly fishy smell of lake water and the faint, gassy fumes from the outboard motor. He could almost picture the man who usually sat in the other end of the boat—brown hair, deeply tanned skin, someone he knew well. Like a brother.

  Was he a brother? A longtime friend? Or just a figment of his erratic imagination?

  “Nice cast,” Dan observed. “You do a lot of fishing?”

  “Some. You?”

  “Every chance I get.”

  “I guess you stay pretty busy with your job. You’re on call around the clock, aren’t you?”

  “Pretty much.” Dan glanced ruefully at the pager clipped to his belt. “And, yeah, the job keeps me running. We don’t have a lot of crimes around here—haven’t had a murder in four years, and that was a domestic abuse case out on the edge of town—but we have our share of Saturday night brawls and break-ins. Unfortunately, the days of leaving doors unlocked are over, even in small towns like this one.”

  “Did you ever arrest anyone for the break-ins last week?”

  “No,” Dan grumbled. “I’m pretty sure I’ve got three, maybe four burglaries committed by the same people, but I haven’t found anything to lead me to them. Yet. I will, though. They get cocky when they think they’ve gotten away with a few, and then they get sloppy. That’s when I catch them.”

  “What about the kid I met the other day? The one with the bruise on his face?”

  “Zach Hinson.” Dan’s brows dipped into a frown. “Yeah, I checked on him later that day. His mother swore he fell off a skateboard. Her live-in boyfriend told the same story.”

  “And the boy?”

  Dan shrugged and reeled in his lure. “He didn’t dispute their story.”

  “Did you believe them?”

  From beneath the brim of his cap, Dan’s eyes met Sam’s. “No.”

  Sam sighed. “But there’s nothing you can do without proof.”

  “Not a damned thing.”

  Sam remembered the flashes of disturbing memories he’d experienced while he’d talked to young Zach. The feeling that he’d identified a bit too well with the frightened, probably mistreated boy. It bugged him that the few memories that had come back to him were so sketchy and hazy. Being slapped as a kid. Dining in an elegant restaurant. Drinking beer in a smoky club. Fishing with a buddy. The vague images were no more real or substantial to him than scenes recalled from TV or movies. Was that all they were? How could he tell the difference between imagination and reality when he had no frame of reference with which to distinguish them?

  Dan seemed to think Sam’s silence carried an implied criticism. “I’m not turning my back on the kid, Sam. I’ll be keeping a close eye on them. First evidence I have that either the mother or her jerk boyfriend is mistreating that kid, I’ll move in so fast their heads will spin.”

  “I’m sure you will. It just makes me sick to think of anyone hitting a little kid.”

  “I hear you. But there’s very little I can do without proof. Maybe it’ll help some that I went by to talk to them. I think I made it clear that I’m keeping an eye on them.”

  “Sometimes that’s enough,” Sam agreed. “At least, it should be—”

  His words broke off when he felt a sudden tug on his line. He moved to set the hook, then swore softly beneath his breath. “Missed it.”

  Looking away from his own line for a minute, Dan opened the small ice chest he’d brought along. “Are you thirsty?”

  The thought of drinking beer still made Sam’s stomach tighten in protest. “What do you have?”

  “Cola or grape soda.”

  Relieved, Sam accepted a grape soda. The sweet taste lingered in his mouth, reminding him of the snow cone he’d eaten during his outing with Serena. Dan caught a nice-size bass then, which kept him busy and Sam entertained for a few minutes, and then they fell back into companionable silence again while they waited for the fish to bite.

  Sam broke the silence. “I heard you had some excitement late yesterday. A fire on Locust Street?”

  “Yeah. An old dairy barn burned. The fire almost got out of control and threatened a couple of homes nearby, but the fire department managed to contain it in time. How did you hear about it?”

  “Serena and I ran into Lindsey last night. She told us about the fire and said she was going there when she left us.”

  As Sam had noticed before, Dan reacted visibly at the mention of the reporter’s name. He scowled. “Yeah, she showed up. Got under everybody’s feet asking questions and wanting to know what we were doing and why. The fire chief was about ready to tie her up with a fire hose before his job was finished.”

  Amused, Sam commented, “I thought the other reporter was covering the fire.”

  “Yeah, Riley was there—standing quietly out of the way observing the action, as Lindsey should have been doing.”

  “She seems very…dedicated.”

  “She’s a pain in the butt,” Dan answered bluntly. “Her brother was my best friend in school, and Lindsey’s always been a decent kid, but when she gets in her reporter mode, she’s like a pit bull with a juicy bone.”

  “You think of her as a kid?” Sam pictured the attractive redhead, remembering sleek curves and intelligent eyes. She was young, maybe, but hardly a kid.

  “Habit,” Dan admitted. “Like I said, she was my best friend’s little sister. Quite a bit younger than us. I guess that’s still the way I think of her at times.”

  Sam had a feeling Lindsey wouldn’t be flattered. She seemed so determined to be taken seriously.

  “The fire chief thinks the fire was deliberately set,” Dan commented, his gaze on the water where he worked his lure.

  “Arson?”

  “Yeah. The signs are definitely there.”

  “Insurance scam?”

  “No. The barn’s been vacant for years. The owner let the insurance lapse some time ago.”

  “Maybe an accident? A trespasser who let a fire get out of hand?”

  “Maybe. But it looks like someone meant to burn the place down.”

  “I hope it doesn’t—hey.” Responding to another tug on his line, Sam swiftly lifted the tip of his rod to set the hook. The line zinged as the fish sped away from the boat.

  “Looks like you’ve got a big one.”

  “He’s a fighter, that’s for sure.”
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  Dan seemed prepared to watch the battle, but was quickly distracted by a strike on his own lure. That ended any serious conversation for a while. The rest of the afternoon passed quickly and pleasantly, making Sam glad everyone else had been busy when the police chief had been in the mood to fish. It sure beat sitting around the tiny guest house mooning over Serena, he told himself with a grimace.

  Sam was working in the yard when Serena arrived home from work on the following Friday. The grass was freshly mowed, and he was running a weed trimmer around the fence. It was still quite hot, even though the sun was dipping close to the horizon. Sam’s T-shirt, wet with sweat, clung to his skin. He’d ditched the wrist brace a few days earlier, and his arms looked strong and muscular. From beneath the cap that shaded his face from the late afternoon sun, his hair hung damply around his face, and there was a streak of dirt on one cheek.

  Serena felt her mouth go dry.

  Seeing her watching him, he turned off the noisy machine. She felt a need to fill the sudden silence. “Hi.”

  He wiped the back of one wrist across his forehead. “Hi. How was your day?”

  “Long. The yard looks great. You worked hard.”

  He shrugged. “Marjorie said she wasn’t happy with the lawn service she hired last time, so I told her I’d take care of it until she found someone else.”

  “You don’t have to do this, you know.”

  “We’ve had this conversation before.” He hefted the weed trimmer over his shoulder. “I’ll put this back in the garage.”

  Since it was obvious there was no need to try again to convince him that he didn’t have to repay every debt immediately—and obvious that he had recovered amazingly well from the injuries he’d sustained only two weeks earlier—she changed the subject as she followed him into the garage. They hadn’t had much chance to talk during the past few days. She’d been extremely busy with her law practice and the newspaper business—or at least that’s what she’d told herself while she avoided him long enough to recover from a brief kiss that had nearly knocked her for a loop. “That’s the cap Dan gave you when you went fishing Sunday, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah. He insisted I keep it.”

  “To be honest, I was rather surprised to hear that he invited you.”

  “So was I.” Sam set the weed trimmer in its rack. “He said everyone else was busy.”

  “I think he’s starting to like you.”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t go that far.”

  “Don’t you think there’s a chance you and Dan could become friends?”

  “I certainly wouldn’t want the chief of police for an enemy.”

  He was being even more exasperatingly uncommunicative than usual. Maybe he was tired, or maybe he was making sure there was no repeat of that kiss last Saturday night. Very wise of him, of course. It had to be as obvious to him as it was to her that it would be a mistake for them to get involved, even on a temporary basis. They could be friends, of course—but nothing more. And that was exactly the way it should be.

  “I guess I’d better go in,” she said, taking a step backward. “I have some things to—”

  Her words ended in a gasp when the heel of her pump slid on a nail that had been lying unnoticed on the concrete floor, causing her ankle to twist sharply. She could have righted herself more quickly had she not been wearing a form-fitting straight skirt. She was convinced she was going to fall—but Sam caught her just in time.

  “Are you all right?” he demanded, his hands on her forearms.

  “Yes, I…” She grimaced, feeling incredibly stupid. “Just clumsy.”

  “I must have dropped that nail earlier,” he said in chagrin. “It was damned careless of me. You could have been hurt.”

  “Don’t worry about it. I should have watched where I stepped.”

  “Can you put your weight on your ankle?”

  They both looked down as she tested it. Her ankle twinged, but she had no trouble standing on it. “It’s fine, really. I just sort of fell off my shoe.”

  He relaxed enough to smile. “You women and your high heels.”

  “These aren’t so high,” she protested, glancing down again. “Only a couple of inches.”

  When she looked up, his mouth seemed suddenly closer to hers. “A couple of inches makes you just the right height,” he murmured.

  “For what?” she asked inanely.

  His wicked smile, so close to her mouth, was answer in itself.

  “Oh. Well.” She swallowed, trying futilely to come up with a clever response. “I think we should…”

  “Yes?” His bright blue eyes gleamed. She’d always thought of blue as a cool color—until now, when she saw just how warm blue could be.

  “Um…” What was it she’d intended to say? “We shouldn’t…”

  “No,” he murmured. “We shouldn’t. But I’m having a real hard time remembering that right now.”

  “So am I,” she admitted, needing no clarification of his obscure statement.

  His hands still rested on her forearms, though she had fully regained her balance. She laid her hands against his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin through the damp T-shirt. Either one of them had only to move a couple of inches to bring their mouths together. They stood frozen there for several long moments, neither quite confident enough to make that move.

  Serena knew she should step away and knew Sam would release her immediately if she did. But she found herself as reluctant to take that step away from him as she was afraid to make the move toward him.

  Kara was the risk taker in the family, she reminded herself as she had the last time she and Sam had been this close to a kiss. Kara was the one who had boldly pursued the man who’d attracted her interest. Kara was the one who…

  “Oh, the hell with it,” she muttered, and reached up to press her mouth to Sam’s.

  It seemed that Kara wasn’t the only Schaffer with an occasional desire to take a risk.

  Chapter Nine

  Kissing Serena was everything Sam had remembered it to be—and more. As he savored her warm, soft, moist mouth, he vaguely remembered other kisses. No names or faces, just fuzzy impressions. But he didn’t know if any other kisses had made his pulse race like this, his head spin, his hands tremble. It had been this way the first time he’d kissed her, even though it had lasted barely longer than a heartbeat. Either he still hadn’t fully recovered from his illness—or there was a powerful attraction between them.

  He’d have bet on the latter.

  Serena had taken him by surprise when she initiated this kiss, and she continued to overwhelm him with her responsiveness. Her lips parted, giving him better access to the taste of her. Intoxicating. Dangerously so. A little more and he would be tempted to ignore all the very good reasons they shouldn’t be kissing in the first place.

  Apparently, Serena’s better judgment was similarly undermined by the embrace. Her hands crept upward, sliding around his neck, bringing her body more fully against his. The shock of contact brought him abruptly back to his senses.

  He was sweaty, disheveled and dirty after a full day of work. Serena looked very much the successful young attorney in a trim suit and neat black pumps, her hair twisted at the back of her head, diamond studs in her ears. Anyone observing them would know at a glance that they were a mismatched pair. Sam was too vividly aware of all the complications that were not visible.

  Like the not-so-insignificant fact that neither of them knew who the hell he was.

  He lifted his head. Serena’s eyelids were heavy, her cheeks flushed, her lips damp and reddened. She looked like a woman who’d just been thoroughly kissed—and wouldn’t mind being kissed again. Releasing her and backing away took every bit of willpower Sam could muster.

  “We should definitely not do that,” he said as if their conversation had not been interrupted.

  He watched her regain her equilibrium. She blinked a couple of times, drew a shaky breath, squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. “You’r
e right,” she said, and her voice was admirably steady. “Definitely.”

  “Definitely.” He was glad she’d agreed—or at least he should be. He had enough problems without this added complication. Once he got his memory back—well, who knew. Maybe things would be different then. And maybe she would hate him for lying to her from the first time he’d spoken to her.

  “I need a shower,” he said, turning away. A cold one, he added silently.

  “I’ll see you later, I guess.”

  “Sure. Later.” He walked toward the exit with long, determined strides. He couldn’t resist glancing back as he stepped outside. Unaware that he could see her, Serena sagged against the wall, fanning her face with one hand. For some crazy reason, he was cheered by that confirmation that she was just as shaken by their kiss as he was.

  The Rainbow Café was closed on Wednesday, July fourth. Most downtown offices were closed for the Independence Day holiday, so business at the diner would have been light, anyway. Marjorie asserted that it was more important to her to allow her employees to spend the day with their families than to try to make money from the few customers they’d have served.

  Marjorie told Sam that a big celebration was held every July fourth at the high school football field. “It’s a big deal around here. We have barbecue and watermelon and entertainment. After dark, there’s a fireworks display.”

  She invited him to attend the celebration with Serena and her. Lacking a reasonable excuse to decline, he accepted.

  Carrying lawn chairs, they walked through the gates of the football stadium at seven, shoulder to shoulder with what seemed to Sam to be a mob of other revelers. Either Edstown was more populated than he’d realized or people came from all over the area to attend the Independence Day celebration.

  His nose twitched as the scent of barbecue wafted toward them from the big grills set up in the end zone. Lines were already forming for the burgers, hot dogs, potato salad and cold pork and beans provided by local merchants. At another table, stacks of plump watermelons were being sliced for dessert, and huge tubs of ice held canned soft drinks.