Leslie Parrish - Pitch Black

She refreshed the screen, sighing when it came back unchanged. “It’s not like I’m going anywhere.”

As if having time to kill meant he should spill his guts about something he hadn’t even discussed with his parents, with his ex, with anybody except an FBI shrink and the big shots at his disciplinary hearing. Oh, and Wyatt. Who’d probably been the most understanding of all of them.

Offering her the bare bones, he said, “I got too close to a witness. Got involved, let down my guard. And paid a very serious price for it.” He fell silent, his entire body stiffening in discomfort, physically telling her to step back from her line of questioning.

“Okay, sure. You don’t know me; it was rude to ask. I apologize.”

“Don’t. I opened the door.” And promptly closed it.

“Tell me one thing.”

He tensed.

“The person who did it, was he caught? Prosecuted?”

Alec waited for a long moment before lifting his eyes to meet her inquisitive stare. Finally he answered, “She’s incarcerated, awaiting trial down in Georgia.”

Sam processed the sex of his assailant with a quick flare of the eyes and a brief clench of her mouth. Otherwise, she didn’t react in any way. But he could almost see the churning of those wheels in her brain and knew exactly where that imagination-and bruised-divorcée spirit-had taken her. Hearing a woman had tried to murder him, his admission that he’d gotten too close to a witness… well, she had undoubtedly painted quite a picture in her mind with that small palette of colors. She wouldn’t be the first.

He almost spat out the truth, not wanting those kinds of speculations influencing her opinion of him. The idea that she thought he was that kind of agent, that kind of man , ripped at his guts. But he kept his mouth shut. His lapse in judgment-not seeing the kindly looking mother of the killer he’d been after for the dangerous, murderous bitch she was-had been the greatest mistake of his life.

Jesus, I’m sorry, Ferguson. Sorrier than I can ever say.

His sympathy toward a frightened mom, who seemed to want her son captured so no one else would get hurt, had led him to believe her when she’d said she had no idea where their suspect was. Not to mention neglect to check her for weapons of her own.

She’d been lying. And when they’d moved to stop her son from escaping through a back window, she’d opened fire.

He had learned his lesson about letting his guard down around witnesses. Learned it the hard way. Judging by how Sam had devoured him with her eyes five minutes ago, it was on the verge of happening again.

So Alec remained silent.

Sam looked way from him and leaned forward in her chair. Dropping her elbows onto the table, she lowered her face onto her hands, cupping her forehead and rubbing at her temples with her thumbs, visibly exhausted and disheartened.

“Okay, this isn’t getting us anywhere,” he said, making a sudden decision. “It doesn’t mean we’re giving up. Our guy could just be cautious, suspicious about being directly engaged. He might have only the dead of night to ride around and do his thing, and nobody expects you to sit here until three a.m.”

She lifted her head, appearing hopeful. “You think he might still show up?”

“It’s possible. We’ve had a long day. Let’s go check in with Brandon, see if he’s finished with your hard drive, and work on getting you home sometime before tomorrow.”

“You’ll take me home?” she asked, her brow rising in surprise. “Really? I can go?”

In those moments when Sam had created scenarios in her mind about his shooting, probably deciding he was at the very least unprofessional, or worse, a womanizer, he suspected she’d built a mental wall of her own. One that reminded her she was a graduate of the School of All Men Suck, if he remembered her nightshirt correctly. Now, though, the wall was down and she sounded relieved and appreciative.

“Yeah. I’ll get you home.” He rose from the chair, touching the back of hers to pull it out so she could stand, too. “Swear to me you won’t do anything if he responds tonight. No more angry blog entries, no acknowledgment whatsoever without my go-ahead.”

“I won’t.”

“I’ve got to have your promise on this,” he said, knowing he sounded fierce, but needing to make sure she knew how serious he was. He stepped closer, blocking her exit, crowding her against the table. The subtle intimidation was intentional, meant to ensure her cooperation.

It also, he suddenly realized, probably revealed his frustration that she’d so quickly assumed the worst about him. And the second he acknowledged that about himself, he stepped back and thrust a hand through his hair. “Sorry.”

“You have my word,” she said, not moving, though he’d cleared the path to the door. “No matter what happens tonight, I won’t do a thing without talking to you first.”

Wendy Cramer did not own a car.

She didn’t like driving in the city and lived within a few blocks of the answering service office where she worked, so there had never been a need for her own vehicle. But tonight, as she rode toward the man of her dreams, she couldn’t help thinking it wasn’t much of a way to enter her new life. Stepping off a smelly city bus coated with dirt and road salt would almost ruin all the efforts she’d gone through to prepare for this eventual night.

“Not eventual anymore,” she whispered, still shocked her love had begged her to meet him tonight. “It’s finally here.”

He had to go away, he’d said, and wanted to make sure she’d be waiting for him. He must know there was no chance she wouldn’t; she had made her devotion clear. As had he.

She’d had to wonder if the impassioned invitation had been about something else. Perhaps a way to get her to come to him so he could make love to her before he went away?

She quivered at the thought. Her body, untouched by any man for so many years, ached, and she allowed images of the passionate kisses he would offer her to fill her mind. She felt like one of the heroines of the romance books she received in the mail every month.

Lost in the fantasy, Wendy almost missed her stop. She noticed the sign as the driver was about to pull away from her final destination. Leaping to her feet, she cried, “Wait!”

The others on the uncrowded bus watched her progress down the center aisle. With her newly colored and freshly cut hair, more makeup than she ever wore, and a new dress, she didn’t mind the stares. She needed to get used to them, didn’t she? If- when -Rafe was restored to his position, whatever that was, she would probably be in the public eye. Doing charitable works and whatnot, like Princess Di, who had been her favorite royal.

Getting off at the stop, she watched the bus chug away with a belch of inky black smoke that snaked into the cold air before dissipating. When alone, she quickly looked around. She had never come to this part of the city at night. On the south side of the harbor, this was an industrial zone, crowded with shipping companies and docks servicing the big freighters. Nothing at all like the trendy Harbor Place side, which she could see across the water. Lights from the stores and restaurants brightened the sky. A whole world of people likely bustled about inside.

Unlike here, where she was completely alone, not another soul in sight.

Trepidation crawled through her. Where was Rafe? Surely he wouldn’t leave her alone in such a deserted place, at the mercy of anyone who happened by? He was too gentlemanly.

She glanced at her watch. Eight fifty-five . You’re a few minutes early. Don’t panic. But something made her pull her cell phone out of her purse and keep it in her hand.