Tess Gerritsen - Keeper of the Bride / Whistleblower - Keeper of the Bride / Whistleblower

She scarcely noticed that Sam had sat down beside her. “He’s not worth it, Nina,” he soothed quietly. “He’s not worth grieving over.”

Only when his hand closed warmly over hers did she look up. She found his gaze focused steadily on her face. “I’m not grieving,” she said.

Gently he brushed his fingers across her cheek, which was wet with tears. “I think you are.”

“I’m not. I’m not.” She gave a sob and sagged against him, burying her face in his shirt. “I’m not,” she whispered against his chest.

Only vaguely did she sense his arms folding around her back, gathering her against him. Suddenly those arms were holding her close, wrapping tightly around her. He didn’t say a thing. As always, the laconic cop. But she felt his breath warming her hair, felt his lips brush the top of her head, and she heard the quickening of his heartbeat.

Just as she felt the quickening of her own.

It means nothing, she thought. He was being kind to her. Comforting her the way he would any hurt citizen. It was what she did every day in the ER. It was her job. It was his job.

Oh, but this felt so good.

It took a ruthless act of pure will to pull out of his arms. When she looked up, she found his expression calm, his green eyes unreadable. No passion, no desire. Just the public servant, in full control of his emotions.

Quickly she wiped away her tears. She felt stupid now, embarrassed by what he’d just witnessed between her and Robert. He knew it all, every humiliating detail, and she could scarcely bear to look him in the eye.

She stood up and began to gather the fallen clothes from the floor.

“You want to talk about it?” he asked.

“No.”

“I think you need to. The man you loved leaves you for another woman. That must hurt pretty bad.”

“Okay, I do need to talk about it!” She threw a handful of clothes on the bed and looked at him. “But not with some stone-faced cop who couldn’t care less!”

There was a long silence. Though he looked at her without a flicker of emotion, she sensed that she’d just delivered a body blow. And he was too proud to show it.

She shook her head. “I’m sorry. Oh God, Navarro, I’m so sorry. You didn’t deserve that.”

“Actually,” he said, “I think I did.”

“You’re just doing your job. And then I go and lash out at you.” Thoroughly disgusted with herself, she sat down beside him on the bed. “I was just taking it out on you. I’m so—so angry at myself for letting him make me feel guilty.”

“Why guilty?”

“That’s the crazy part about it! I don’t know why I should feel guilty! He makes it sound as if I neglected him. But I could never quit my job, even for him. I love my job.”

“He’s a doctor. He must’ve had long hours as well. Nights, weekends.”

“He worked a lot of weekends.”

“Did you complain?”

“Of course not. That’s his job.”

“Well?” He regarded her with a raised eyebrow.

“Oh.” She sighed. “The old double standard.”

“Exactly. I wouldn’t expect my wife to quit a job she loved, just to make dinner and wait on me every night.”

She stared down at her hands, clasped in her lap. “You wouldn’t?”

“That’s not love. That’s possession.”

“I think your wife’s a very lucky woman,” she said softly.

“I was only speaking theoretically.”

She frowned at him. “You mean…it was just a theoretical wife?”

He nodded.

So he wasn’t married. That piece of information made her flush with a strange and unexpected gladness. What on earth was the matter with her?

She looked away, afraid that he might see the confusion in her eyes. “You, uh, said you needed to talk to me.”

“It’s about the case.”

“It must be pretty important if you went to all the trouble of tracking me down.”

“I’m afraid we have a new development. Not a pleasant one.”

She went very still. “Something’s happened?”

“Tell me what you know about the church janitor.”

She shook her head in bewilderment. “I don’t know him at all. I don’t even know his name.”

“His name was Jimmy Brogan. We spent all yesterday evening trying to track Brogan down. We know he unlocked the church door yesterday. That he was in and out of the building all morning. But no one seems to know where he went after the explosion. We know he didn’t turn up at the neighborhood bar where he usually goes every afternoon.”

“You said was. That his name was Jimmy Brogan. Does that mean…”

Sam nodded. “We found his body this morning. He was in his car, parked in a field in Scarborough. He died from a gunshot wound to the head. The gun was in the car with him. It had his fingerprints on it.”

“A suicide?” she asked softly.

“That’s the way it looks.”

She was silent, too shocked to say a thing.

“We’re still waiting for the crime lab report. There are a number of details that bother me. It feels too neat, too packaged. It ties up every single loose end we’ve got.”

“Including the bombing?”

“Including the bombing. There were several items in the car trunk that would seem to link Brogan to the bomb. Detonating cord. Green electrical tape. It’s all pretty convincing evidence.”

“You don’t sound convinced.”

“The problem is, Brogan had no explosives experience that we know of. Also, we can’t come up with a motive for any bombing. Or for the attack on you. Can you help us out?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know anything about the man.”

“Are you familiar with the name Brogan?”

“No.”

“He was familiar with you. There was a slip of paper with your address in his car.”

She stared at him. His gaze was impenetrable. It frightened her, how little she could read in his eyes. How deeply the man was buried inside the cop. “Why would he have my address?” she asked.

“You must have some link to him.”

“I don’t know anyone named Brogan.”

“Why would he try to kill you? Run you off the road?”

“How do you know he did it?”

“Because of his car. The one we found his body in.”

She swallowed hard. “It was black?”

He nodded. “A black Ford.”

SAM DROVE HER TO THE MORGUE. Neither one of them said much. He was being guarded about what information he told her, and she was too chilled to ask for the details. All the way there, she kept thinking, Who was Jimmy Brogan and why did he want to kill me?

In the morgue, Sam maintained a firm grip on her arm as they walked the corridor to the cold room. He was right beside her when the attendant led them to the bank of body drawers. As the drawer was pulled out she involuntarily flinched. Sam’s arm came around her waist, a steady support against the terrible sight she was about to face.

“It ain’t pretty,” said the attendant. “Are you ready?”

Nina nodded.

He pulled aside the shroud and stepped back.

As an ER nurse, Nina had seen more than her share of grisly sights. This was by far the worst. She took one look at the man’s face—what was left of it—and quickly turned away. “I don’t know him,” she whispered.

“Are you sure?” Sam asked.

She nodded and suddenly felt herself swaying. At once he was supporting her, his arm guiding her away from the drawers. Away from the cold room.

In the coroner’s office she sat nursing a cup of hot tea while Sam talked on the phone to his partner. Only vaguely did she register his conversation. His tone was as matter-of-fact as always, betraying no hint of the horror he’d just witnessed.