Page 60 of The Survivor
She knew Blake would come to the safe house the moment the Rose Killer was hauled away, but in case he came home first, she wanted him to know that he couldn’t avoid the talk they needed to have. Whether he liked it or not, she had no intention of letting him walk away from her that easily.
“Sorry, I was just getting ready,” she said as she opened the front door.
The officer on the porch responded with a patient smile. “No worries.” He quickly flashed her his badge. “I’m Officer Paul Benson. I’ll be escorting you to the location Agent Corwin specified.”
Benson seemed pleasant enough. His looks were on the plain side, brown hair, brown eyes, nondescript features. He was also on the thin side. The crisp, white shirt that was part of his uniform hung loosely over his chest, and his black pants seemed ill-fitting. She wondered if he’d lost some weight recently, but didn’t ask. Definitely not something you brought up during a first meeting.
“Ready to go?” Benson asked.
“Let me just set the alarm.” She didn’t know why she bothered, considering that the threat of the Rose Killer was obviously being taken care of elsewhere.
A flicker of panic hit her as she realized that Blake could very well be dealing with that threat right now. What if he got hurt? What if the Rose Killer shot Blake while trying to escape?
She quickly swallowed back the sticky fear in her throat, saying a silent prayer as she zipped up her coat and followed Benson down the porch steps.
Blake would be okay. He was a trained professional, and she had to trust that he could take care of himself.
Benson led her to the police cruiser parked in the driveway and opened the passenger door for her. With a brisk wave at the other car by the curb, he slid into the driver’s side and started the engine.
“It shouldn’t take us long to reach our destination,” Benson said conversationally as he backed out of the snow-covered driveway.
The snowplows had already cleared most of Blake’s street, but evidence of the blizzard still remained in the form of massive snowbanks and some slippery patches on the asphalt. Benson kept to the speed limit, leaving Blake’s neighborhood and heading toward Chicago’s Loop district.
Sam’s hands began to shake as her escort turned onto the highway ramp. She didn’t feel right leaving the city behind. Leaving Blake behind.
He’ll be okay.
She held on to that reassuring thought, but it was hard to relax, knowing that Blake could be in danger right at this moment.
Though she didn’t want to admit it, she suddenly understood where he’d been coming from when he’d explained why he didn’t want her in his life. He was a federal agent, and she knew thatif she chose to be with him, she’d constantly worry about his safety. If he was late, she’d panic. If he took on a particularly dangerous case, she’d be scared 24/7.
And yet the worry and panic and fear didn’t seem to matter in the grand scheme of things. She could deal with it, as long as it meant waking up every morning to one of Blake Corwin’s rare smiles and falling asleep encircled by those strong arms every night.
“So how long have you been with the department?” she asked her companion, suddenly needing the contact, the diversion. There was something very familiar about him, but Sam couldn’t quite put her finger on where she’d seen him before.
Benson shot her an enigmatic smile. “Not long. I’m fairly new, actually.”
He picked up speed, cutting off a bright yellow Volkswagen Bug as he sped along the highway. Up ahead he encountered another slow driver, and, making an aggravated sound, reached up and flicked on the sirens.
The shrieking of the siren startled her and for some reason her fingers slid down to rub the scar on one of her wrists. She hadn’t rubbed the scars since the first time she and Blake had made love, and the way she’d reverted back to the old habit left her unsettled. She touched the scars when she was nervous.
But why did she have to be nervous about? Officer Benson was taking her to a safe house; Blake had found the Rose Killer. There was no reason for the sudden sense of fear gnawing at her insides.
They drove for a while, sirens still blaring, and a good twenty minutes passed before Benson finally spoke again.
His tone jovial, he turned to her with a smile and said, “Want to know my take on cops?”
She furrowed her brow in puzzlement. “Um, sure, I guess.”
“They’re stupid.”
Her head snapped up. “Pardon me?”
“You heard me. They’re stupid.” Paul Benson grinned. “All that training, the silly exercises at the academy—useless, in my opinion.”
Her throat became tight, too tight to answer. And the hairs on the back of her neck tingled. Something wasn’t right here. Oh, God. Something was most definitelynotright.
She closed her eyes for a moment. No, nothing was wrong. Everything was fine. Benson was obviously just a little wacky.
