Page 47 of The Survivor
A wave of nausea shook her equilibrium and sent her falling forward. One hand landed in snow. The other connected with the thorny stem of one very dead rose.
* * *
“Daniels!” Blake shouted, keeping both hands on his gun as he stood in the middle of the front yard and searched the street ahead.
Officer Daniels was nowhere in sight, and as much as he wanted to, Blake couldn’t go charging through the neighborhood looking for him. He couldn’t leave Sam, not when the maniac who’d tried to kill her could still be in the vicinity.
Fury swarmed his gut like an army of wasps. The son of a bitch had been here. He’d waltzed right up to Blake’s goddamndoorto deliver his goddamngift. Where the hell was Daniels?
Blake turned, nearly keeling over when he spotted Sam on the porch. She was on her knees, staring at the dead flowers with a paralyzed expression. The chilled afternoon breeze lifted her dark hair and made it swirl around her face, a beautiful face devoid of any color.
Blake was by her side in an instant. He hauled her to her feet and pushed her toward the front door. He immediately regretted manhandling her, but his rough actions hadn’t even sparked a reaction from her. She looked like a deer frozen in the middle of the road while a car careened toward it.
He stood in the open doorway, his gaze shifting from the blackened stems strewn on the doorstep to the disoriented expression on Sam’s face. He wanted to destroy the box and its contents, but it was evidence now. Besides, he was afraid if he turned away from Sam she’d collapse. He’d never seen her this agitated, and he knew that when he found him, he was going to strangle the son of a bitch who’d instilled such overwhelming horror in the strongest woman Blake had ever met.
“Sam,” he began, but whatever he’d been about to say—he wasn’t even sure what—was interrupted by a shout from behind.
Gun in hand, Blake spun around in time to see Officer Daniels dragging a kid in a yellow parka up the front walk.
“Our culprit,” Daniels explained angrily, jerking a thumb at the kid.
The boy couldn’t have been older than eleven or twelve, and he looked downright terrified by the man with the kungfu grip on his arm. Blake didn’t blame the kid. Officer Glen Daniels was a pretty terrifying man. At least six-five, the cop boasted a shaved head, piercing brown eyes and a scowl that could scare the pants off a Navy SEAL. That’s why Blake had found it so hard to believe that someone had gotten past Daniels to deliver those flowers. But apparently he hadn’t.
“He tried to take off after leaving the box on the porch,” Daniels said, shooting a glare at the young boy, who looked like he was about to wet his pants.
“I didn’t do nothin’ wrong!” the kid blurted out. He stared at Blake with desperate eyes, begging him to believe him.
Blake sighed, then told Daniels to stay with the kid for a moment. He moved to the front door and laid a gentle hand on Sam’s arm. “You need to go inside.”
Wordlessly, she simply nodded and disappeared through the doorway, closing the door softly behind her.
Blake turned around and zeroed in on the kid. “What’s your name?”
“Jacob. Jacob Thomson. I live over there.” The boy pointed at a white-and-green Victorian across the street.
“Who asked you to deliver these flowers?”
“What flowers?” The boy suddenly noticed the stems strewn across the porch and his freckled face went pale. “I swear, I didn’t know what was in the box! The old dude asked me to drop it on the front step and he said he’d give me ten bucks if I did, so I said, Yeah, sure, I’ll do it, ’ cuz it’s, like, easy money, you know? So I did and…” He ran out of steam, coming to an abrupt halt.
Blake was already pulling out his cell phone. He punched in a few numbers and dialed Rick. “Send some patrols to canvasmy neighborhood,” he said in lieu of greeting. “The bastard’s probably miles away by now, but there’s always a chance he’s still lurking in some bushes.”
“What the hell is going on?” Rick demanded.
Blake ignored the question. “I’ll call you back.”
He shoved the phone into his pocket and returned his attention to the dark-haired boy who’d just delivered a boxful of dead flowers to Blake’s doorstep.
“This old dude,” Blake said calmly. “Can you describe him? And how old was he exactly?”
Jacob tilted his dark head and rubbed the arm Officer Daniels had finally let go of. “I dunno. He was ancient, like my dad’s age or something.”
“How old is your father?”
“I dunno. Forty-five?”
Despite himself, Blake fought a smile. To a twelve-year-old, anyone over thirty was apparentlyancient.
“What did he look like?”
