The Promise He Made Her

by Tara Taylor Quinn

  And the commercials started. Plop plop fizz fizz. She didn’t remember that one. I can’t believe I ate the whole thing. Not that one, either, but she did identify with the message. Her stomach was feeling rather sick.

  And a bit like it was full of butterflies, too. Sam was there. Not too far away while being too far away.

  She wasn’t so scared when he was close. And she was petrified. What in the hell was she going to do? Was she to pay for her poor choice in husband for the rest of her life? His abuse had been so subtle that she didn’t believe Sam would ever be able to pin anything on him.

  He was going to play with her. Taunt her. Show her who was boss for the rest of her life.

  No. He’d had enough of her years. She refused to let him have more.

  Her phone bleeped, indicating a text. Her girlfriends in the city sometimes texted when they wanted to get tickets or arrange a night out. She grabbed her cell, opening the text before she realized...

  Before fear struck her stomach with a sharp jab. And then her temples.

  I hope you feel safe tonight, my dear. You know you have nothing to fear from me. I love you.

  She was shaking so hard she couldn’t hold the phone.

  When it dropped into her lap, Sam grabbed it and tapped the screen.

  “Freelander.” The word was almost a spit.

  She couldn’t speak calmly so she said nothing. A commercial played. She had no idea what anyone was saying.

  “With the case gone there’s no restraining order out against him. And nothing in this message to hang him with. Not in court.” Sam spoke out loud.

  Bloom felt the words like a lid on her coffin, but she wasn’t going to lie down and die.

  She wasn’t lying down for that man again. Ever.

  The thought brought a curious calm.

  “It can’t be just a coincidence that he sends that text on the same night that my guard is hurt.”

  “It could be. Stupid of him to implicate himself that way. But we’re not going to take any chances.”

  Ken was playing with her head. She’d known he would. She had to stay strong. Smart. Focused.

  “I know how to drive him to enough anger to commit a crime,” she said while an old woman asked, “Where’s the Beef?” on the flat screen in front of them.

  “How?”

  “I invite him to the house. That alone will get him started since, until he gets things overturned in court, he’s not allowed in the place without my invitation. Even though his money paid for it.”

  She loved living on the beach in Santa Raquel. Close to work. She didn’t care if she never saw Ken’s house again.

  “No.”

  “Once he’s there, I get him sexually aroused. It shouldn’t be hard after he’s spent two years in prison. And then I mock him.”

  It was a no-brainer. She’d only done it once before, laughing at him that night in the car. She’d ended up in the hospital, but she’d also been freed of him.

  “No way in hell.” The words were succinct. Each one with such distinct enunciation she stared at him.

  Another commercial played. She missed it.

  Okay, so it wasn’t something a psychiatrist would normally do. Wasn’t something she’d ever want to do. But they had to look at this logically. Kenneth wasn’t going to go away until he was taken away.

  And he wasn’t going to make another mistake like putting illegally obtained prescription medication in her food and drinks.

  “We’re going to find out who attacked Gomez,” Sam said. His gaze was soft as it met hers, and she started to feel warmth inside. Not a lot; she couldn’t get carried away. And yet...it felt good...looking at him.

  Safe.

  She’d been alone a long time.

  “When we do, we’ll tie him to Freelander. I’m also going to find his drug connection. That I can promise you.”

  Another one of his meaningless promises. Another one he had no control over his ability to keep.

  “And while he can’t be charged again with drugging you, we can charge him with purchase, possession and sale of illegal substances with the intent to harm.”

  “You just said he couldn’t be charged with drugging me.”

  “No, but he can be charged with purchasing the means to do so with the intent to do so and then we can use your case as proof of intent. We could never find proof that he had the drugs, only that he’d written the prescriptions. With his hard drive crashing...” He made quote signs with his fingers in the air. They all knew that the crash had been deliberate. “And his disposing of the system in such a way that no one would ever be able to steal confidential information—”

  He’d had it smashed in a compactor and then put in an incinerator.

  “—there was no hard proof of him receiving, or dispersing the drugs. The prescriptions we know he wrote could have gone to clients for all a jury would know. Unless we find proof of him dispersing those drugs. Which I will do. I just need more time. I only heard about the prison gang affiliation the week that I told you about it.”

  She shook her head. “That’s another thing that doesn’t ring true to me. Where would Kenneth ever have found someone associated with a gang? Let alone had a conversation about an illegal drug trade? You don’t understand my ex-husband,” she said. But he was going to have to if he was going to be able to help her.

  “Kenneth is a blue blood through and through. At least, for his persona to be able to exist, he has to believe he is one. His mother’s fifth husband was a scumbag into some really bad stuff, I think, but who had a lot of money. At fourteen, Kenneth was a problem for him so he sent him away to a prep boarding school in Boston. From his performance there he gained a full ride scholarship to Harvard and never looked back.”

  She drank from the bottle of water, which had had its seal intact when he’d handed it to her.

  She wondered if he knew that ever since Kenneth she didn’t drink anything anyone gave her unless she was the one who unsealed it.

  “There’s no way he had a gang association before he went to prison. And I’m fairly certain he didn’t have one inside, either.”

  “You ever been inside a prison?”

  Bloom shook her head. He nodded. And they both watched a chubby little boy sing about the name of his bologna without so much as cracking a smile.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  BLOOM HAD ERRANDS to run after work on Saturday, and Chantel went with her. Which left Sam the entire day to begin running down the client list Bloom had faxed over. And to track down the surveillance video of Bloom’s office building.

  He received it in time to spend his evening going over it. And then to watch faces speed across his screen as he tried to find a match for the woman seen escorting Bloom out of the building the night before.

  He didn’t get a hit in any database, including missing persons, military or criminal records.

  She’d never been on a police force that he could find and her photo was not registered on any security personnel database.

  He called Bloom just after eight. She was at his place. He wasn’t planning to head that way until he knew she was in his room.

  No repeats of the night before. At one point, when he could have sworn she’d had tears in her eyes over an old card commercial, he’d almost asked if he could hold her.

  WTF.

  “Hello?” Her voice came on and he blinked. Then remembered that he’d just dialed her.

  “Did she have a gun?”

  “The guard?”

  “Yes.”

  “Yes. Just like Gomez does.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Yes. I saw it on her waist under her jacket when she lifted her arm to open the door. I’m telling you, Sam, she seemed just like Gomez. Down to
the way she spoke to me, wishing me a good-night in the same respectful tone, when I left. I wasn’t the least bit concerned.”

  He wanted her to have been. Wanted her to have noticed something.

  “You don’t happen to know what kind of gun it was, do you?”

  He’d already checked the tape to see if he could see even the handle or holster.

  “It looked like the one Gomez carries.”

  His off-duty weapon was not police issued. That was something, at least.

  “Like yours,” Bloom added.

  His duty weapon and Gomez’s gun were not even close.

  “Okay, thanks.” He pulled the phone from his ear to end the call.

  “Sam?” Her voice came from afar.

  “Yeah?”

  “Come home. You need the rest.”

  “Soon.”

  “I’m heading to bed now. You can have the place to yourself. You need a break.”

  The compassion in her tone made him hard. “Okay,” he heard himself agree without even giving himself time to think about whether or not he wanted to do as she asked. Just because she’d asked in the way she had?

  He’d go. But he was taking a cold shower the second that he got there.

  * * *

  SAM SPENT SUNDAY at work doing what a detective did...investigating. With Bloom’s list of clients’ names in front of him, he spent the majority of the day online, looking up addresses and former addresses, police records, domestic violence reports, employment records and license plate numbers. The surveillance camera in the parking lot of Bloom’s building had given him some. He cross-referenced those with known clients and their abusers. When that turned up nothing he looked up known abusers’ plates and compared car makes and models to those he could see in the surveillance tape.

  Unfortunately, there’d been no footage of the Dumpster out back. And none in the hallway where Gomez had been taken down. He didn’t think that was a coincidence. Whoever wanted Bloom’s guard gone had done enough homework to know where in the building to strike. And where to take him afterward.

  Sam also continued to run searches on Freelander’s records from two years ago. He had all of the man’s credit card records and was running searches for every establishment he’d spent money in, trying to find out who he’d been with. Who’d worked there at the time.

  There were phone records to go through, as well.

  Lists. Long unending lists.

  From the dealership Freelander went to for service on his Lincoln SUV to the Italian restaurant he’d eaten at the night before trial, Sam was going to search every employee on file at every establishment.

  There was a connection someplace to those drugs. And the gang that had protected him in prison. That was a given. And it was Sam’s job to find it.

  And the woman who’d let Bloom out of the building on Friday night had come from somewhere—at the behest of someone.

  He had his desktop doing one search. A laptop doing another. And was running a search on the computer on the unused desk next to his, as well.

  When his butt was sore from sitting, when his nerves were screaming for action and his head ached from staring at the screen, he printed a still photo of the female guard impersonator and visited places in the immediate vicinity of Bloom’s building. The photo was grainy at best, and the angle wasn’t good enough to get a full look at the woman’s face, but if someone had seen her, there might be something about her they recognized.

  And if he didn’t get a hit nearby, he’d likely be spending the week doing the same at places where clients’ abusers worked and places Freelander had been known to frequent in LA.

  Unless he got lucky first.

  What he got was a text from Bloom.

  I’m making cabbage rolls for dinner if you want some.

  Reminiscent of texts he’d received from Stella when they’d been married.

  Can’t. Too much work to do.

  Same kind of response he’d sent to his ex-wife. Every single time.

  He wanted to go, though. He couldn’t believe how badly. And that didn’t remind him of Stella at all.

  * * *

  GOMEZ WAS BACK at work on Monday. He apologized to Bloom for his lapse and swore to her it wouldn’t happen again.

  Bloom figured she owed him for taking one on the head because of her. She told him she was just glad that he was okay and assured him that she had no lack of confidence in his abilities.

  She spoke the truth.

  And she also knew that no matter how many guards they had on her, or how safe her housing situation was, there was always the chance that the “other” side would win.

  No fingerprints or other identifying markers had been found on Gomez’s clothes. The kidnappers hadn’t taken his gun, which suggested that they were pros. They had guns of their own and didn’t need a search for the gun to lead anywhere near them.

  Chantel gave Bloom the report that night after work. The new detective never seemed to run out of energy.

  “Isn’t your family getting tired of having you constantly gone?” she asked as she placed two plates of shrimp linguine on the table. Chantel had already poured, from a bottle Bloom had just opened, the two half glasses of wine they’d agreed was a safe nightly allotment considering the circumstances. It was enough to relax but not impair them in the event of danger.

  “Colin’s busy with a big case right now,” Chantel said, sitting down at the plate that was heaped twice as full. “And Julie’s hardly ever home now that she’s slowly getting her life back. Frankly, I’m glad for a chance to not be in that big house all alone. If I wasn’t here, I’d probably be at my place.”

  Chantel didn’t mention Julie’s visit with Bloom on Saturday. And neither did Bloom. But she thought about the young woman. About her determination to beat the demons that still attacked her from the inside out. Not just because of the rape, but because for so long no one had believed her about it having taken place.

  That’s where Bloom had been lucky. She’d had the authorities on her side when her abuse had become known.

  Julie had some work to do, but Bloom had no doubt the woman would come out on top. Julie was a fighter. And, she had a strong feeling, a bone-deep good person.

  “Still, you’ve got to be getting tired of living with me every evening rather than having your own life.”

  Chantel’s chuckle brought a smile to Bloom’s lips, too, even before the woman responded. “Right now, you are my life,” she said. “Just like the next case I’m on will be.”

  “But I’m not technically your case. I thought you and Sam were doing this on the side because, without a crime, helping me wasn’t officially sanctioned.”

  “That was last week. The attack on Gomez made it a current crime.”

  At least something good had come of the incident.

  “So, for the time being, you’re stuck with us.” Chantel ate with the gusto of a guy, though her body never showed a sign of it as far as Bloom could tell.

  Bloom didn’t have that much of an appetite. “I could think of worse things,” she said, emptying her wineglass.

  “Have more.” Chantel pushed the bottle over toward her. “You’re allowed.”

  Bloom hesitated. And without a word Chantel put down her fork. “The bottle’s been sitting there between us,” she said softly.

  Of course it had been.

  “And you watched me carry it from your hand to the table to fill our glasses.”

  So she still had some work of her own to do. Things took time. And...she picked up the bottle and served herself.

  “It’s okay, you know.” Chantel’s voice had softened, losing all trace of the streetwise cop. “Your instinct to not drink when someone who isn’t having any more encourages you to do so...that’s a
good one.”

  “I was going to have some more.” Maybe. From what she’d been told, there’d been times Kenneth had slipped her daily dose into her glass while they were sitting at the table together. He’d bragged about it.

  To her. When he’d been trying to intimidate her against testifying against him. When she’d agreed to see him against all advice to the contrary. He’d been trying to prove to her that her testimony would do no good because she’d never be able to take him on in court...

  “And if you weren’t going to have more, that’s okay, too.” Chantel rescued her from a road she’d thought she’d left behind. “I’m just saying...you don’t have to be all perfect around me. I know you’re strong and capable. Hell, I just referred my future sister-in-law to you. And I risked my life for her, so that tells you how together I think you are.”

  Bloom blinked. Tearing up would be embarrassing. She nodded instead and made herself meet the other woman’s gaze, taking a sip of wine.

  “If you ever do want to talk about it, you know, to just a person...” Chantel let the sentence drop.

  Bloom nodded again.

  “Soooo...” Chantel glanced at Bloom half an hour later as she handed her a rinsed plate to put in the dishwasher. “What’s going on between you and Sam?”

  The plate slipped from Bloom’s fingers, but she’d been on the way to placing it in the rack, and it fell smoothly into its slot. “Nothing,” she said.

  Because there was nothing. She hardly saw him.

  Chantel studied her for a moment. Looked at the plate that had landed safely, and went back to rinsing dishes.

  * * *

  TUESDAY NIGHT BLOOM handed Chantel a pair of panties and a bra as she emptied them from the dryer. Her own underthings were going in a separate pile for her to fold. When they’d been caught in a sudden downpour during a walk on the beach, it had just made sense, them throwing their things in together. And because she was doing a load, Bloom had put her other whites in. No sense in running up Sam’s water and electric bill for separate small loads of laundry.