Tess Gerritsen - Keeper of the Bride

Gillis looked at Nina. “Get him home, will ya? Before he keels over and I have to drag him.”

Nina rose from her chair. “Come on, Sam,” she said softly. “I’ll drive you home.”

Heading out to the car, he kept insisting he could drive, that he was in perfectly good shape to take the wheel. She, just as insistently, pointed out that he was a menace on the road.

He let her drive.

Scarcely after she’d pulled out of the hospital parking lot, he was sound asleep.

At his house, she roused him just long enough to climb out of the car and walk in the front door. In his bedroom, he shrugged off his gun holster, pulled off his shoes, and collapsed on the bed. His last words were some sort of apology. Then he was fast asleep.

Smiling, she pulled the covers over him and went out to check the windows and doors. Everything was locked tight; the house was secure — as secure as it could be.

Back in Sam’s room, she undressed in the dark and climbed into bed beside him. He didn’t stir. Gently she stroked her fingers through his hair and thought, My poor, exhausted Sam. Tonight, I’ll watch over you.

Sighing, he turned toward her, his arm reaching out to hug her against him. Even in his sleep, he was trying to protect her.

Like no other man I’ve ever known.

Nothing could hurt her. Not tonight, not in his arms.

She’d stake her life on it.

THEY WERE SHOWING his picture on the morning news.

Vincent Spectre took one look at the police sketch on the TV screen and he laughed softly. What a joke. The picture looked nothing like him. The ears were too big, the jaw was too wide, and the eyes looked beady. He did not have beady eyes. How had they gotten it so wrong? What had happened to the quality of law enforcement?

“Can’t catch me, I’m the gingerbread man,” he murmured.

Sam Navarro was slipping, if that drawing was the best he could come up with. A pity. Navarro had seemed such a clever man, a truly worthy opponent. Now it appeared he was as dumb a cop as all the others. Though he had managed to draw one correct conclusion.

Vincent Spectre was alive and back in the game.

“Just wait till you see how alive I am,” he said.

That Cormier woman must have described his face to the police artist. Although the sketch wasn’t anything for him to worry about, Nina Cormier did concern him. Chances were, she’d recognize him in a room of anonymous strangers. She was the only one who could link his face to his identity, the only one who could ruin his plan. She would have to be disposed of.

Eventually.

He turned off the TV and went into the apartment bedroom, where the woman was still asleep. He’d met Marilyn Dukoff three weeks ago at the Stop Light Club, where he’d gone to watch the topless dance revue. Marilyn had been the blonde in the purple-sequined G-string. Her face was coarse, her IQ a joke, but her figure was a marvel of nature and silicone. Like so many other women on the exotic dance circuit, she was in desperate need of money and affection.

He’d offered her both, in abundance.

She’d accepted his gifts with true gratitude. She was like a puppy who’d been neglected too long, loyal and hungry for approval. Best of all, she asked no questions. She knew enough not to.

He sat down beside her on the bed and nudged her awake. “Marilyn?”

She opened one sleepy eye and smiled at him. “Good morning.”

He returned her smile. And followed it with a kiss. As usual, she responded eagerly. Gratefully. He removed his clothes and climbed under the sheets, next to that architecturally astonishing body. It took no coaxing at all to get her into the mood.

When they had finished, and she lay smiling and satisfied beside him, he knew it was the right time to ask.

And he said, “I need another favor from you.”

TWO HOURS LATER, a blond woman in a gray suit presented her ID to the prison official. “I’m an attorney with Frick and Darien,” she said. “Here to see our client, Billy Binford.”

Moments later she was escorted to the visiting room. Billy “The Snowman” took a seat on the other side of the Plexiglas. He regarded her for a moment, then said, “I been watching the news on TV. What the hell’s all this other stuff going on?”

“He says it’s all necessary,” said the blonde.

“Look, I just wanted the job done like he promised.”

“It’s being taken care of. Everything’s on schedule. All you have to do is sit back and wait.”

Billy glanced at the prison guard, who was standing off to the side and obviously bored. “I got everything riding on this,” he muttered.

“It will happen. But he wants to make sure you keep up your end of the bargain. Payment, by the end of the week.”

“Not yet. Not till I’m sure it’s done. I got a court date coming up fast — too fast. I’m counting on this.”

The blonde merely smiled. “It’ll happen,” she said. “He guarantees it.”

Sam woke up to the smell of coffee and the aroma of something cooking, something delicious. It was Saturday. He was alone in the bed, but there was no question that someone else was in the house. He could hear the bustle in the kitchen, the soft clink of dishes. For the first time in months, he found himself smiling as he rose from bed and headed to the shower. There was a woman in the kitchen, a woman who was actually cooking breakfast. Amazing how different that made the whole house feel. Warm. Welcoming.

He came out of the shower and stood in front of the mirror to shave. That’s when his smile faded. He suddenly wondered how long he’d been asleep. He’d slept so heavily he hadn’t heard Nina get out of bed this morning, hadn’t even heard her take a shower. But she’d been in here; the shower curtain had already been damp when he stepped in.

Last night someone could have broken into the house, and he would have slept right through it.

I’m useless to her, he thought. He couldn’t track down Spectre and keep Nina safe at the same time. He didn’t have the stamina or the objectivity. He was worse than useless; he was endangering her life.

This was exactly what he’d been afraid would happen.

He finished shaving, got dressed, and went into the kitchen.

Just the sight of her standing at the stove was enough to shake his determination. She turned and smiled at him.

“Good morning,” she murmured, and wrapped her arms around him in a sweetly scented hug. Lord, this was every man’s fantasy. Or, at least, it was his fantasy: a gorgeous woman in his kitchen. The good morning smile. Pancakes cooking in the skillet.

A woman in the house.

Not just any woman. Nina. Already he felt his resistance weakening, felt the masculine urges taking over again. This was what always happened when he got too close to her.

He took her by the shoulders and stepped away. “Nina, we have to talk.”

“You mean…about the case?”

“No. I mean about you. And me.”

All at once that radiant smile was gone from her face. She’d sensed that a blow was about to fall, a blow that would be delivered by him. Mutely she turned, lifted the pancake from the skillet, and slid it onto a plate. Then she just stood there, looking at it lying on the countertop.

He hated himself at that moment. At the same time he knew there was no other way to handle this — not if he really cared about her.

“Last night shouldn’t have happened,” he said.

“But nothing did happen between us. I just brought you home and put you to bed.”

“That’s exactly what I’m talking about. Nina, I was so exhausted last night, someone could’ve driven a damn train through my bedroom and I wouldn’t have moved a muscle. How am I supposed to keep you safe when I can’t even keep my eyes open?”