Page 17 of The Survivor
Sighing, she got out of bed and rolled a pair of heavy wool socks onto her bare feet. Then she left the room and headed downstairs, wondering if Blake was still awake.
“Hungry?”
Yep, he was awake. Sam nearly tripped over her own feet as she spotted him in the hall. He’d changed into a pair of black sweatpants and a snug black T-shirt, and in the dark clothing heblended into the shadows. Taking a step toward her, he offered a tentative smile.
“Starved,” she finally admitted.
He followed her into the kitchen and flicked on the light, bathing the large space in a yellow glow. Sam glanced at the black marble counter and shiny silver appliances, getting the impression that not much cooking went on in this room. The thin layer of dust on the stove confirmed her suspicions.
“Have a seat.” He gestured to one of the stools at the counter. “I’ll fix you something. Do you like roast beef?”
“Yep.”
Blake kept his back to her as he opened the fridge and pulled out various items. He walked over to the pantry and removed a loaf of bread, then, back still turned, began preparing her a sandwich.
She was startled when he finally spoke. “I’m sorry about what I said.” Slowly, he turned to meet her gaze. Regret shone in his deep brown eyes.
“It’s all right.”
“No.” He took a breath. “I shouldn’t have made light of what you went through. So please accept my apology.”
“Apology accepted.”
With a nod, he returned his attention to preparing her food, and a few moments later dropped a plate holding a thick roast-beef sandwich in front of her. “Want a glass of milk?” he offered.
“Sure.”
He poured milk into a tall glass and handed it to her, then leaned against the sink as she ate. “Are you serious about visiting Elaine again?”
She chewed slowly, seeing the worry on his face and wondering why she wanted so badly to reassure him. He was the one who was supposed to tell her that everything would be okay, not the other way around.
“I have to,” she said after swallowing. “I…I connected with her, Blake. I only spoke to her for a half hour, but for some reason I feel as if I need to, I don’t know, help her.…” She searched for the right words. “Heal her.”
She quickly polished off the rest of the sandwich and then gulped down her milk. Blake just watched as she rinsed off the plate and glass, and dried her hands with a flower-patterned dish towel. When she glanced over at him, his face had an unreadable expression that made her forehead wrinkle. Was he angry with her? He’d sure been pissed off earlier when she’d informed him that she wasn’t going anywhere, and yet you’d think he’d be happy about her decision. He’d been chasing this killer so long he had to be getting desperate, had to be anxious to catch him.
That her decision to stay upset him only told Sam that Blake Corwin was a good man. He wouldn’t risk her life, even if it meant letting the Rose Killer get away.
And sure, she didn’t want to risk her life, either, but what other option did she have? To place women like Elaine Woodman in jeopardy? She knew the burden didn’t need to fall solely on her shoulders, but she still felt she needed to contribute to the investigation. If only to gain her own sense of closure.
“What did you talk to Elaine about?” Blake’s quiet, husky voice broke through the brief silence. He moved over to the stool she’d just occupied and sat down, resting his powerful arms on the counter. Watching her.
Her gaze flitted to his strong biceps. A part of her, a long-buried part, wondered how it would feel to be encircled by those big arms. How did he hold a woman? Gently, like she was a fragile piece of china? Or would his embrace be passionate, solid and unyielding, a man claiming the woman in his arms as his own?
She bit her lower lip, disturbed by her thoughts. Absently she leaned against the counter and murmured, “Fear. We talked a lot about fear.”
“Hers or yours?”
“Both.” She exhaled shakily. “I showed her my scars.” Though Blake’s gaze remained on her face, she was still compelled to press her wrists to her sides, shielding the scars from him. “And then she…” Her voice finally broke.
“Then she what?” Blake stood up and closed the distance between them. She thought he might reach out and touch her but he didn’t. Just stood in front of her, somber as always.
“She took off her hospital gown and showed me her bandages.” She lifted her head, searched his face imploringly. “There were so many bandages, Blake. Why would he do that to her? Why didn’t he do that to me?”
A wave of dizziness swept over her as she remembered all that white gauze on Elaine’s body. On her chest. Her breasts.
Her legs. The horror Sam hadn’t let herself reveal then slammed into her now, making her knees wobble and her hands tremble violently. She didn’t even realize that she was crying until Blake drew her into his arms and she noticed her tears staining his shirt.
He held her tightly, and her earlier unspoken question was answered. His grip was gentle. But solid.
