Page 12 of The Survivor
Without any more objections, she hugged her chest with her arms and waited as he grabbed her bag from the trunk. Then she quietly followed him up the snowy path leading to the house.
He watched her from the corner of his eye, noting the protective way she held her arms, and his heart squeezed a little. Damn, he didn’t know what it was about this woman, but she brought out a nurturing side in him that he didn’t know he possessed. Every time he looked into those haunted eyes, he just wanted to pull her into his arms. He wanted to tell her that every goddamn thing was going to be all right, that the man who’d hurther would be caught and punished, and that nothing—nothing—would ever hurt her again.
And he really wanted to kiss her.
A soundless groan lodged in the back of his throat. Great. As if he weren’t stressed out enough. Now he had to deal with ridiculous urges more suited to a fifteen-year-old than a grown man who had a job to do.
He shouldn’t be thinking about kissing this woman. Nobody could deny how stunning she was, but as a federal agent he should know better than to be captivated by a witness.
“Wow…I didn’t expect…this,” she marveled when they stepped into the front hall. She glanced at the wood-paneled walls, then down at the rich, red carpet beneath their feet. “It’s so cozy in here.”
Before he could answer, she shook off her black leather boots and brushed past him, looking, for the first time all day, interested in her surroundings. He suppressed a grin as he unlaced his own boots, then set the security alarm on the wall. When he entered the living room to see Sam examining the large stone fireplace in front of the brown leather couch, he had to smile.
“What were you expecting?” he asked curiously.
She whirled around, a tentative smile reaching her lips. “A bachelor pad,” she admitted. “Bare necessities, couch, TV and table to put the beers on. But this place is amazing. Did you decorate it yourself?”
He chuckled, watching her stare at an oil painting—a landscape—hanging nearby. “I wish I could take credit, but my mother is the interior decorator in the family, not me. She came by and worked her magic. You should see my family home.”
“So you live here in Chicago? Don’t you work out of Quantico?” she asked.
He nodded. “I am in Virginia a lot, but I try to come back here whenever I can. That’s why I bought this house, more of an incentive to come home.”
“I’ve always loved this city,” she confessed, sounding wistful. She moved over to the tall bookshelf in the corner and absently ran her fingers over the spines of the novels stacked there.
“I’d assume in your line of work, you’d be traveling to New York and L.A. quite a lot,” he said. “What made you choose Chicago as your home base?”
He found himself oddly curious about this woman. What he knew about her came from her file, an array of facts compiled on paper. Sure, he was aware that she and her older brother had been orphaned when she was sixteen. Knew she’d gotten her first break when a talent agent discovered her in a shopping mall. Knew she looked damn good in swimsuits, and that her middle name was Corrine. Yet knowing and understanding were two different things.
For some inexplicable reason, he wondered about the woman behind the profile. How had she felt growing up with only her brother? Why had she chosen to become a model? Why hadn’t there been a man in her life to help her heal after the attack?
That those questions should even be important to him was more troubling than he’d have liked to admit.
“I grew up here.” She shrugged and met his eyes. “All the places I’ve traveled never seemed to compare. This is home. At least, it used to be.”
He cleared his throat, knowing that he couldn’t offer assurance that she’d be able to leave her farmhouse anytime soon. “Why don’t you go upstairs and get settled?” he suggested. “You can take the guest room at the end of the hall.”
She nodded. “All right. When are we going to the hospital?”
He glanced at his watch. Quarter to five. “Probably around nine,” he answered. “Visiting hours end at eight but we want to make sure the press isn’t lingering around when we get there. If it were up to me, we’d go much later, but Elaine’s doctor says she needs to rest. No late-night visits.”
“Have you met her before?” Sam’s voice was soft.
“Yes.”
Her knowing gaze told him she’d caught the hitch in his voice. “She’s not in very good shape, is she?”
Blake swallowed. “No. She’s not.”
* * *
“Your name is Lois Lawford,” Rick Scott said. He turned the key in the ignition and backed the unmarked sedan out of Blake’s driveway. “You’re Elaine’s sister.”
Sam managed a nod, her heartbeat accelerating and palms growing damp as she stared at Blake’s house in the rearview mirror, slowly disappearing from sight. She felt like a kid on her first day of school, nervous, panicked over leaving behind the familiar and delving into the unknown. Only what lay in store for her wasn’t a strange classroom and a bunch of kids she’d never met—she was about to meet a woman who’d suffered as much as she had. And the thought of looking into another survivor’s eyes and seeing everything she herself had felt mere months ago was unbelievably nerve-wracking.
At least nobody would recognize her in this getup. The frumpy sweater and baggy jeans Rick had asked her to change into were uncomfortable, the short blond wig on her head was making her scalp itch and the thick black eyeglasses pinched her nose. A young female cop from the Chicago PD had stopped by Blake’s house to apply Sam’s makeup, and the woman had done a good job. Sam’s complexion was now darker, hinting atMediterranean descent. The shadows under her eyes gave her face a sunken look, and there was even a small mole over her top lip now. She’d barely recognized herself when she’d glanced in the mirror. The whole disguise made her feel homely and out of sorts.
Her nerves began to skitter as Rick drove in the direction of Chicago General. The last time she’d been there was as a patient, not a visitor, and those memories were far too fresh, far too raw, to forget. For a second she was tempted to order Rick to turn the car around and drive her back to Blake’s where she’d felt safe, but she quickly tamped down the irrational urge.
