Page 46 of The Survivor
Reluctant acceptance filled his gaze. Sighing, he lowered his long, lean body onto the snow, propped his hands behind his head and eyed her expectantly.
A rush of warmth swelled inside her. Had this intense, I-don’t-know-how-to-lighten-up FBI agent flopped down on the snowy lawn just because she’d asked or was she imagining it?
Amazed, she quickly lay down on her back beside him before he changed his mind and realized he was indeed anti-fun. “Okay, let’s get started.”
A carefree sensation slid around in her chest as she and Blake moved their arms and legs in the snow like a couple of silly children. They were both laughing by the time they stood up and examined their respective angels.
“Yours is superior to mine,” he complained, brushing snowflakes off his delectable butt. “More graceful.”
“Yeah, but yours is really…manly.” She tried not to snicker at the result of his effort. While her stretch of snow indeed resembled an angel, Blake’s was nothing more than a six-foot area of packed white slush.
“You’re a wonderful liar,” he replied with a grin. “Just admit it—my angel is pathetic.”
“You’re right. It’s pathetic.”
The pale winter sun disappeared behind a patch of clouds, darkening the already overcast sky. A few birds chirped in the distance and she followed the sound, noticing for the first time that the tall brown fence at the far end of the property separated the yard from a wooded area. The gate was open, providing a glimpse of a narrow path covered with snow and shadowed by pine trees.
“What’s down there?” she asked curiously.
“A small ravine. Not too spectacular, either. Half a mile and you come out at a neighboring residential street.” He frowned.“In fact, the gate should be shut. The blizzard must have blown it open last night.”
He marched across the yard to close and lock the gate. “Why do you look so glum?” he teased when he came back.
“I was hoping we could take a walk in the woods. Hey, maybe we can go ice skating in Millennium Park instead?” Her spirits lifted as she remembered the times Beau had taken her there when they were kids.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
His low voice sent her spirits plummeting. What was the matter with her? For a few minutes she’d actuallyforgottenthat the Rose Killer was still on the loose and that she was under the protection of the FBI. For God’s sake. How could something like that slip her mind?
It was unnerving. How one relaxing morning in the company of this man could make her forget about the murderer still at large.
“Sorry. I wasn’t thinking,” she said quietly. Brushing snow off the sleeves of her jacket, she trudged toward the back door. “Come on, I’ll make us some lunch.”
They walked inside, but before they could remove their coats and boots, the doorbell rang. Blake gestured for her to stay in the kitchen, but she followed him out into the hall anyway, both of them leaving a trail of wet snow behind them. “Are you expecting someone?” she asked.
“Rick said he might come by to fill me in on what the team is working on, but he would’ve called first.” His brow furrowed as they neared the door. “Go into the living room, Sam.”
This time she didn’t argue. She drifted into the other room, seeing from the corner of her eye that Blake had removed his gun from its holster. Keeping the weapon at his side, he opened the door.
She waited for the sound of voices, but all she heard was Blake’s faint, “What the…”
Her peripheral vision caught him bending down, reaching for something out of her eyeshot. There was a rustling sound and then Blake cursed and shot to his feet, weapon drawn.
“What’s going on?” she blurted out.
“Stay where you are, Samantha.” His voice was soft, but when he turned to shoot her an I-mean-it look there was nothing soft about him. His features were all hard angles and sharp planes, lined with…fury, she realized.
It was the rage flashing in his normally shuttered gaze that caused her to ignore his order.
Adrenaline coursing through her blood, she charged to the doorway. Blake was already descending the front steps. He tore across the snow-covered lawn toward the unmarked police car parked at the curb. Theemptypolice car.
Oh God, where was Officer Daniels?
Sam’s gaze ping-ponged around the front yard but there was no sign of the guard who’d been keeping watch in the car all night.
Her pulse roared in her ears. She slumped against the doorway, unable to process exactly what the hell was going on, and that’s when she saw it. The box at her feet. A long, rectangular, gold box.
She bent down, her knees sinking into the wet snow on the doorstep. Her hands were shaking so badly she could barely grasp the edge of the box. She fumbled with it, clawed at it. Opened it.
