(2002) Chasing Darkness

by Danielle Girard

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  They had driven back to Nick’s apartment in near silence. Both of them knew where they were headed, but Sam knew he’d had to be sure. He’d started to ask. She’d simply touched his leg and nodded.

  He stopped the car and gripped the steering wheel with whitened knuckles.

  “It’s okay, Nick,” she whispered. “It’s what I want.”

  “What about the boys?” he asked.

  “Derek’s feeling better. The neighbor is staying the night,” she said.

  He turned to her and ran his knuckles across her cheek.

  She closed her eyes, concentrating on the feel of his touch and the smell of his soap.

  “Sam,” he whispered, drawing her back. “Maybe we should wait—”

  Her eyes open again, she saw the worry in his. “I want to go in, Nick,” she said, hearing her own voice crack as she spoke. She did want this. The unevenness in her tone was not insecurity—it was raw excitement and nervousness. Nothing more. “I want to be with you.”

  He took her hand. “I want you to be sure, Sam.”

  She nodded.

  “I want this—” He motioned between them. “I want us to last.”

  She smiled. “I do, too.”

  He rubbed his thumb across her cheekbone. “But the case and everything—it’s so crazy right now.” He paused. “The accusations about you . . .”

  “You believe them?”

  He gripped her hand. “God, no. No, Sam. I don’t believe a word of it. But if something happens, if they think you were involved—” He stopped.

  She pulled her hand loose. What was he talking about? “Is it your career? Are you worried that being with me will ruin your chances for promotion?”

  Nick laughed out loud and pulled her to him, kissing her cheek. “Would you let me finish? I’m just worried that you’ll push me away if things get complicated. I don’t want that to happen. I don’t want to move too fast.” His lips were almost touching hers. “I don’t want to scare you.”

  She put her hands on his face. His chin was rough against her fingertips, like worn sandpaper. She ran her fingers down his neck. She could taste his breath, feel it on her lips, on her skin. “Kiss me, Nick. Please don’t talk. Just kiss me.”

  Nick let out a soft sigh, his fingers shaking ever so slightly as he placed them on her cheeks and pulled her to him. Then his lips touched hers, soft and warm against her. His touch was exhilarating and sexy but strangely comfortable.

  “Inside,” she whispered. Pulling away, she stepped out of the car and walked to his front door, feeling him behind her.

  A week ago, she would have sworn it would have taken longer for her to feel this way. A month ago, she would have wondered if it would ever be possible. Tonight, having watched him interact with his family, feeling welcome there, his mother’s words, all of it made her realize what she had somehow missed before. Nick had gotten under her skin.

  Now, in his living room, Nick wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close, the sound of Miles Davis drifting around them. The distant hum of the old record player sang along with the tune of Miles’ horn, and Sam could picture Nick playing with the old band. She pictured his arms around his bass, wondering if he could possibly offer the bass more passion than she felt right then.

  In his arms, feeling him pressed against her, she was dizzy in a wonderfully giddy way. She hadn’t had a sip of alcohol to warp her thoughts. Instead, it was another drug, wholly internal, that was affecting her brain. One she hadn’t enjoyed since Brent. And even Brent had been entirely different. Less intense, she thought. No, Nick was as close to perfect as she had ever known. Not that she had much experience.

  Dancing, they moved to their own slow rhythm despite the quickening beat of the music around them. He kissed her again, and she held on to him.

  Her tongue melded with his, her hands gripped his shoulders, her body pressed to his. When she pulled away, it was as though the air had been sucked from the room. Stepping back, she pushed one hand through her hair, keeping hold of him with her other. She smiled at his wary expression. Feeling her own pulse leap, she took a step backward. Then, slowly, she pulled him toward the bedroom.

  He exhaled, and she saw the thrill in his eyes, felt it in her own chest. Without a word, she opened his bedroom door. She crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed, slipping her shoes off. Her hands shook, and she longed to be through this initial awkwardness, to lie beside him, to feel him naked with her. She ran her hand across the top of the bed, inviting him to join her, playing the game of seductress and yet feeling like a young girl ready for her first time. A young girl offering her virginity—something Sam had never had the choice to give. But none of that mattered now.

  Nick sat down beside her. She kissed his lips softly and then stood straight, her body between his legs. She watched him, feeling his excitement and her own, heating the room, flushing her skin. Without looking down, her fingers found her top button and she worked it out of its buttonhole. Followed by the next and the next. Nick didn’t move. When she was done, she pushed her shoulders back and let the shirt slide off her creamy, freckled flesh. She was shaking, and she closed her eyes to fight off the fear.

  Forcing herself not to think, she reached behind her back and unfastened her bra. She dropped her hands and it fell to the floor. Feeling naked and cold, she shivered. Just then, she felt his strong arms draw her close.

  “Sam,” he whispered, the sound of his voice uttering her name as wonderful as any sound she’d ever heard. “Look at me.”

  She opened her eyes and he smiled.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Nervous.”

  He laughed. “Me, too. We can wait. I’ll wait for you.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t want to wait anymore.”

  Nick held her chin. “You’re sure?”

  She nodded. Then, reaching down, she worked at the buttons on his shirt as he kissed her shoulder and then her neck. She spread her palms over the smooth skin of his chest and ran them along his sides.

  She pushed his shirt off his shoulders and leaned forward to kiss his chest, then made her way up to his neck. She kissed his shoulder and felt uneven skin beneath her lips. She ran her hand over an old scar. “What’s it from?” she whispered.

  “Breaking up a bar fight.”

  She smiled.

  He drew her close and kissed her neck. “What?”

  She thought of her own wounds. “I’ve got one, too.”

  He ran his hands over her shoulders and down her arms. “Where?”

  Watching him, she stood and slowly unfastened her belt buckle and the buttons of her pants. She pushed them over her hips and let them drop to the floor. She felt the cool air against her skin.

  He made a hoarse sound as his eyes explored the shape of her.

  She put her hand under his chin and lifted his gaze. “Here,” she whispered, pointing to an inch-long scar halfway between her belly button and the rounded bone of her hip.

  “How?”

  “Guy pulled a knife before I could get out of his way,” she whispered, kissing his ear and pressing herself against him.

  Taking her by the hips, he turned her around and sat her on the edge of the bed, lowering himself to kiss the scar and then her belly button and then lower. Sam fell back on the bed and pushed her panties over her hips and down her legs. As she lay naked on his bed, he stood above her, studying every inch like a man who had discovered a lost treasure. She smiled and tried to roll over, but he held her down.

  “You’re beautiful, Sam Chase. The most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

  “Come here,” she whispered, reaching out to him.

  He shed the rest of his own clothes and lay beside her.

  She awoke to the incessant beeping of a distant car alarm.

  Nick was sitting up in bed, rubbing his eyes.

  Running her fingers across his back, she yawned. “What is that?”

&nbs
p; “I think it’s a pager.”

  She sat up. “Damn, it sounds like mine.”

  “I’ll get it.”

  “It’s in my purse.”

  Nick came back, carrying her bag. He set it on the bed.

  Trying to wake herself up, she found the black machine and pushed the green button to read the message. It was her home number. She looked at the time on the screen and then at the digital clock on Nick’s bedside table. It was three-fifteen in the morning. What the hell was going on? The idea that someone was hurt flashed across her mind.

  Nick handed her the phone and she dialed.

  “Hello,” Derek answered, his voice strained. She heard noise in the background.

  “It’s Sam. What’s going on? Where’s Mrs. Dennis? Is everyone okay?”

  “There are a bunch of police here. They were asking for you. They want to look around. They say they’ve got a warrant.”

  “A warrant?” Sam felt her throat catch. She glanced at Nick, but he was rubbing his eyes. “Put one of them on the phone.”

  There was a pause and she heard voices in the background, easily five or six people. She pictured them tearing apart her house and felt like spitting.

  “Sergeant Henry Harding.”

  “This is Sam Chase. What the hell’s going on over there?”

  “We’ve got a warrant to search the premises, Agent Chase.”

  “A warrant? What the fuck are you looking for?”

  Nick sat up and put his hand on her back, but she shook him off.

  “I want to know what the hell you think you’re doing there at three-fifteen in the goddamn morning, warrant or not. Who’s in charge?”

  “We’re instructed to search for items relating to the murders of Sandi Walters and Eva Larson. Orders come from Captain Cintrello of the sheriff’s department, ma’am.”

  “Don’t you touch a damn thing until I get there.” She slammed the phone down and started grabbing for her clothes.

  “Sam, what’s going on?”

  “They’re at my house right now, looking for evidence. A warrant at three-fifteen in the fucking morning.” She stopped and stared at him, her entire body shaking. “You tell me what they’re doing there, Detective Thomas. The order’s from Cintrello. You going to tell me that you didn’t know anything about it?”

  “I didn’t know,” he said quickly. “Not about the warrant. Not that they’d do it like this. Cintrello told me to stay close to you tonight. I thought I could protect you, create an alibi in case something happened.”

  She clenched her teeth and pulled her clothes to her chest. “You were providing me with an alibi.” The words spat out of her mouth. “Won’t Cintrello be proud. You certainly did a good job with that, Nick. Heck, getting me into bed was just about the best alibi possible.”

  “That’s not what I meant. I didn’t plan that—”

  “Right. I made that part easy for you. That whole sob story outside about how the case was so crazy, how you didn’t want me to push you away if something happened—you knew about the whole damn thing.” She pulled her shirt on and fumbled with the buttons, cursing herself for being so stupid.

  “Sam, listen. I had no idea they would do it like this. I’ll go over there with you. We’ll figure it all out.”

  Sam wasn’t listening. His words spurred her anger. “Was this some sort of trap? Get me out of the way so that they could search my house without me knowing—maybe plant some evidence while they’re there?” She pulled her pants on and stuffed her feet into her shoes. “You did a hell of a job, Nick. You ought to get that promotion for sure now.”

  “That’s not fair.”

  “Not fair, my ass.” She picked up her purse and her jacket. “I’m being investigated for murder and I’m not being fair. Fuck you, Nick Thomas. Fuck you.” She started to walk away, then spun back. “Sorry—I guess I already did.”

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Nick closed Sam’s den door and dialed his captain at home. It was four-thirtyA .M., but he couldn’t wait a second longer. He’d spent the last hour trying to calm Sam down and comfort Rob and Derek. None of it did any good. Sam’s house was swarming with cops on the inside and reporters on the outside. The cops treated Sam like a common criminal. Only when Nick intervened did they even bother to try to straighten as they searched. And a cop’s idea of straightening was to avoid pulling the stuffing out of everything.

  The media were even worse. At least there weren’t so many at this hour, but the few who lingered were vicious. Nick had sent a cop out to get rid of them, but the story was too sensational. The best he’d been able to do was to keep the front door shut so they couldn’t get any more pictures.

  “Cintrello,” his captain answered, and Nick knew he was awake. It should have been a relief, but instead it meant things were worse than Nick had imagined. “It’s Thomas.”

  “I’m going to venture a guess that the man I just saw walking with Chase outside her house on Channel 5 was you. You’re lucky they didn’t catch your face. And from what I saw, you looked like shit.”

  “Thanks.” Nick was angry, but he tried his damnedest not to let it take over. “You want to tell me what the hell’s going on? You never said anything about a warrant, Captain.”

  “I don’t owe you explanations, Thomas. If anything, you owe me some.”

  “My private life is not police business.”

  “It is when you were supposed to keep your girlfriend in line tonight.”

  “Jesus Christ, Captain. Doesn’t this seem far-fetched?”

  “Maybe to you, Thomas. But you’re wearing your dick for glasses.”

  Nick didn’t say a word—he didn’t trust himself. Instead, he paced and gripped the phone so hard he thought he might crush it in his fist.

  “When you’re done sulking, they could use you at Haven Street in Martinez.”

  “What the hell’s there?”

  “The next victim.”

  He halted and let his breath out in a slow, steady stream. “When?”

  “Last night, about midnight, I guess. Wife came home from her sister’s and found him. I made them preserve the scene—they’re waiting for you.”

  “Sam was with me at midnight.”

  “I know that, Thomas. Figure out if it’s the same killer first, and the exact time of death, then we can talk about Chase’s alibi.”

  “Why serve a warrant on her in the middle of the night, then?”

  “Because we had to move fast, find out if she was involved. I’m trying to solve this thing before any more evidence points her way. If you were smart, you’d do the same thing. Now that there’s a third vic, you’d better keep your distance from her for a while—especially if you want to work this case. As it is, I ought to pull you.”

  Nick clenched his jaw. “You can’t pull me off this now—we’re in the middle of a murder investigation.”

  “I’ll think about it. Just keep a low profile and stay off the damn TV, okay? And get over to that scene as soon as you can. I want this thing solved.”

  Nick heard the click of the phone before he said good-bye. He hung up and went back into the living room. Sam paced the room, trying to straighten up where the police had made a mess. They hadn’t found anything. Just as he’d known they wouldn’t. But that wouldn’t stop their idiotic theories. He needed to find the real killer before Sam could be taken off the proverbial hook. “Can I talk to you?”

  She didn’t even look at him. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

  “We’ve got another murder. I’ve got to go.”

  She stopped fussing, but she still refused to look at him. “What’s the M.O. ?”

  “Multiple gunshots to the head, but the victim’s got eucalyptus behind each ear.”

  She frowned but didn’t speak.

  “Sound familiar?”

  “Sounds like the Son of Sam,” she said, referring to the infamous serial killer in New York who shot his victims. “Who’s the victim?”

 
“Martin Herman.”

  Sam flinched. “It’s mine.”

  “I figured.” His beeper buzzed again, but he just shut it off. He knew what it was. He’d be there soon enough.

  “Abuser?”

  She nodded. “His wife and kids. Very physical. I got her to press charges once, but it didn’t last. She pulled them two days later.”

  He watched Sam move, wishing he could get inside her head. He’d brought her back to the house, stayed beside her while they searched. All the while, she wouldn’t look at him, wouldn’t talk to him. She deserved to be angry, but what could he do? She’d have made it a mess if he’d told her about the flashlight. How did he know that they were going to serve a goddamn warrant. He’d have lost his job. Plus, they wouldn’t have had tonight. Maybe he was just a selfish son of a bitch.

  “It doesn’t fit,” she said after a period of silence.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, Martin Herman doesn’t fit. It’s not right.”

  “Why not?”

  She shook her head and pulled her legs into her lap, effectively tucking herself up into a closed ball.

  He tried to keep from reading anything into the gesture, but he still found himself thinking that she hated his guts.

  “He’s male, more than one child. Has a boy and a girl.”

  Nick thought about it a moment and shrugged. “So, maybe the killer ran out of single moms.”

  Sam looked up at him. “Maybe, but I don’t think it fits.” With that, she stood up and left the room.

  Derek had locked himself in his room and refused to answer any requests to talk to him. There was nothing Nick could say to Sam to alleviate the pain. The whole thing was a nightmare.

  Nick found Rob in his room, lying on his back, tossing his ball up into the air and catching it in his glove. Obviously, his arm was feeling better. “You going to be okay?”

  He continued to throw the ball. “Are they going to arrest Aunt Sam?”

  Nick snatched the ball out of the air and ran his thumb across the red stitching. “No. It’s just a big mess up right now, bud. They’ll figure it out. I’ve got to run.” He tossed the ball back and then pulled a card from his wallet and wrote his cell phone number on it. “Call me if you need me, okay? And tell Derek, too.”