Page 15 of The Survivor
“They’re trying to protect you.”
“By showing up here every day and trying to force me to talk to them?” Sarcasm laced her tone. “It doesn’t feel like protection. More like pressure.”
“I know.”
“Did you enjoy it? Sitting there and spilling your guts, while some unfeeling cop took notes?”
“No, I didn’t.” She leaned forward and touched Elaine’s hand. This time, the girl didn’t pull away. “I hated it. I hated all of them. Except Annette Hanson. She was a cop, the only cop who was patient with me, who didn’t force me to talk, didn’t force me to do anything. She relocated to Indiana a few months ago, which is a shame. You would’ve liked her. It was Annette I finally confided in.”
Elaine watched her knowingly. “And now I’m supposed to confide in you?”
“If you want.” Sam squeezed her hand reassuringly. “You don’t have to. If you want, we can talk about something else, just visit a little.”
“You won’t push me?”
“Of course not.”
At that instant Sam knew without a doubt that Blake was not going to like this. Funny how she wasn’t worried about Rick Scott’s reaction, just Blake’s.
Blake would’ve wanted her to push Elaine. Not because he was one of those “unfeeling” cops Elaine had described, but because Sam knew he’d wanted this to be a onetime deal. The plan had called for her to see Elaine tonight, try to get her to open up, and go back to Wellstock. Whether she succeeded or failed in getting through to Elaine didn’t matter. She couldn’t risk being recognized, and that meant one visit and one visit only.
But Sam wouldn’t—shecouldn’t—leave it at that. The young girl sitting in front of her deserved better than that.
“I can come back to visit you as many times as you’d like,” she said softly, trying not to think of Blake as she spoke. “I’m not here just because the police suggested I come, but becauseI think talking to me might help you. I understand what you’re going through. I went through it. And I just want to help, that’s all. No pressure.”
Worry creased the girl’s features. “Won’t that be dangerous? For you, I mean? He—” Her voice cracked. “He thinks you’re dead. He thinkswe’redead.”
“Are you worried that he’ll come after you?”
A single tear slipped from one of those emerald eyes and slid down Elaine’s pale cheek. “I haven’t slept since it happened. I never stop thinking that he might come back to finish the job.”
Sam’s throat tightened as she saw Elaine’s gaze drop to her wrists, and before she could analyze her motives, she shoved out her hands, displaying her own scars.
“He won’t finish the job,” she said firmly. “See these? He did the same thing to me, and look, they’re healing, fading. Yours will, too. I promise you, that bastard will never hurt you again.Never.”
* * *
It was nearly midnight when Blake returned home. He’d driven back in his SUV, following Rick’s dark sedan and wondering if Sam had managed to get any details from Elaine Woodman.
Not only had spending the evening watching the hospital entrance been uneventful, but it had been nerve-wracking as well. The paparazzi, merciless as usual, had snapped shots of anyone and everyone going in and out, hoping to land a scoop in the celebrity pregnancy story. Normally, Blake despised the media, but tonight all he’d cared about was making sure Sam’s visit went unnoticed. Since Rick had called and informed him that everything had gone as planned, Blake wasn’t worried any longer.
He was desperate as hell, though, to know what had transpired between Sam and Elaine. He prayed to God that she’d gotten through to her. Rick hadn’t said a word about the visit, so Blake, during the entire drive home, was left to wonder.
He pulled into his driveway just in time to see Rick ushering Sam into the house. It had snowed again, and a light layer of powder covered the front lawn, which Blake trudged through on his way to the door. Inside, he found Sam sitting on the living room couch, gray eyes distant and face expressionless.
“Well, what did she tell you?” he burst out, his boots bringing a pile of snow onto the thick carpet. He didn’t care about the wet stains beneath his feet. All he cared about was getting a break in this damn case.
“Nothing.” Sam’s voice sounded hollow, devoid of any emotion. She’d removed the glasses and wig, and though her natural honey-brown hair fell down her shoulders in loose waves, the makeup altering her features made her look like a stranger.
“She wouldn’t talk?” Disappointment erupted in his chest.
“She wouldn’t be pressured,” Sam corrected.
Their gazes collided, and for one brief second, he saw defiance in those gray circles. Almost as if she viewed him as the enemy now.
“Gentle coaxing and pressure are two different things,” he pointed out, sitting on an armchair and removing his boots. He stood, then bit back a curse when his sock connected with the wet snow he’d brought in. Great.
“She needs time,” Sam returned.
