Page 22 of The Survivor
The man wore his press credentials around his neck, and he had that hungry look in his eyes that most members of the media around there sported. Cindy Wilcox, who was married to the latest Hollywood action hero, had apparently gone into labor, and the reporters lurking in the hospital were eager to outscoop each other. No doubt this man—Wayne Reynolds, his ID read—was trying to find a way to sneak onto the obstetrics ward.
Although she felt fairly concealed in the blond wig, thick glasses and well-applied makeup, Sam’s heart raced like a thoroughbred galloping to the finish line. She began clawing at the items that didn’t even belong to her. A small pack of tissues. A brown leather wallet. Breath mints.
The reporter wouldn’t leave. His gaze was now glued to her face. She could sense his eyes on her, and the intrusion made her feel like a wild animal trapped by greedy poachers. She needed to get out of here. Right. Now.
“Hey, do I know you from somewhere?” Wayne Reynolds suddenly asked.
Blake’s entire body went taut the second the question came out of the reporter’s mouth. He leaned closer to Sam, trying to appear casual, which was extremely difficult to do when Reynolds’ eyes were sweeping over Sam’s face.
A vulture circling its prey.
“I doubt it.” Blake spoke in a low, noncommittal voice. He swiped at the last item on the floor and shoved it into the purse, then hauled Sam to her feet. “Lorraine and I just moved here from California.”
Blake kept her in front of him as they moved toward the stairs, shielding her from the nosy reporter, but Reynolds trailed after them, taking the steps two at a time so that he was already there at the next landing when they came down.
Reynolds squinted at Sam. “You seemreallyfamiliar.”
“I guess I have that kind of face,” she managed.
Blake noticed she was trying to tone down her normally husky voice, and he wished she wouldn’t speak altogether. A protective lump lodged in his throat when he saw that her hands were shaking so hard she had to press them to her sides. He understood her fear; she’d been hiding away for six months precisely to avoid something like this from happening, and in less than six minutes that feeling of security had been ripped away from her.
Damn it. Why had he let her talk him into bringing her back to the hospital?
“Listen, buddy, my wife and I need to be somewhere,” Blake said coolly. With an equally cool smile, he planted a hand on the reporter’s shoulder and effectively moved Reynolds out of their path. He glanced at Sam. “Come on, sweetheart.”
She nodded meekly, then took a step forward. As she walked, she pushed a few strands of synthetic blond hair away from her visibly pale face.
And that’s when it happened.
The wig snagged on the wristband of Sam’s thin silver watch. It didn’t fall off, but it shifted, enough for the reporter watching her to get an eyeful of her natural brown hairline.
Blake’s heart stopped.
Quickly, Sam adjusted the wig, but it was too late. The reporter’s eyes had narrowed and he was stumbling across the landing.
Blake’s arm tightened around Sam’s shoulder. His body was so stiff he could barely will his legs to move. His pulse thudded loudly in his ears. He had to get her out of here. Now. As he urged her to continue down the stairs, Reynolds stayed hot on their heels. The other man caught up, grabbing Sam’s wrist, trying to stop her so he could get a better look.
She tried to shrug his hand away but Blake beat her to it. He planted both his palms on Reynolds’ meaty chest and gavethe other man a shove. Gaze glittering with menace, Blake said, “Touch her again and I’m calling security.”
Reynolds just stared. “It’s her, isn’t it?”
Blake resisted the urge to order Sam to run. As fast as she could. But he knew taking off in an Olympic sprint would only fuel Reynolds’s suspicions.
The reporter’s expression transformed into a strange glimmer, a mixture of doubtful and dumbfounded. “Samantha Dawson!” he exclaimed, almost out of breath.
“You’re mistaken,” Blake said in a voice that could freeze an ocean. “This is my wife, Lorraine.”
And then he tightly gripped Sam’s hand and practically dragged her down the stairs again, leaving the reporter stupefied.
Blake’s legs could barely carry him as they made their escape. They finally reached the basement, where the white walls and fluorescent hospital lighting made his temples ache.
By the time they got outside, his heart was still thudding, and he felt so on edge he couldn’t even formulate a sentence.
He didn’t say a word as he shoved her into the passenger seat, rounded the SUV and got in. He careened away from the hospital at full speed, tires screeching and the smell of burnt rubber filling the car. From the corner of his eye he noticed how stunned Sam looked, how shaky her hands still were, but he couldn’t bring himself to comfort her, or assure her that what just happened was no biggie.
Because itwasbig. It washuge.
And he was absolutely furious. At her, for stubbornly insisting she come back here. At himself, for letting her.
