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

“You okay?” he asked.

“I’m fine.”

“You don’t look so fine.”

In fact she looked pretty pitiful, her eyes red from crying, her cheeks a bloodless white. He had the sudden urge to take her face in his hands and warm it with his touch. Not a good idea. He was turning into a sucker for women in distress, and this woman was most certainly in distress.

Instead he turned and went into the spare bedroom. One glance at the mess and he nixed that idea. It was no place to put up a guest. Or an enemy, for that matter. There was only one solution. He’d sleep on the couch and let her have his room.

Sheets. Oh Lord, did he have any clean sheets?

Frantically he rummaged in the linen closet and found a fresh set. He was on top of things after all. Turning, he found himself face-to-face with Nina.

She held out her arms for the sheets. “I’ll make up the couch.”

“These are for the bed. I’m putting you in my room.”

“No, Sam. I feel guilty enough as it is. Let me take the couch.”

Something in the way she looked at him—that upward tilt of her chin—told him she’d had enough of playing the object of pity.

He gave her the sheets and added a blanket. “It’s a lumpy couch. You don’t mind?”

“I’ve taken a lot of lumps lately. I’ll hardly notice a few more.”

Almost a joke. That was good. She was pulling herself together—an act of will he found impressive.

While she made up the couch, he went to the kitchen and called Gillis at home.

“We got the info on that Massachusetts plate,” Gillis told him. “It was stolen two weeks ago. APB hasn’t netted the Cherokee yet. Man, this guy’s quick.”

“And dangerous.”

“You think he’s our bomber?”

“Our shooter, too. It’s all tangled together, Gillis. It has to be.”

“How does last week’s warehouse bombing fit in? We figured that was a mob hit.”

“Yeah. A nasty message to Billy Binford’s rivals.”

“Binford’s in jail. His future’s not looking so bright. Why would he order a church bombed?”

“The church wasn’t the target, Gillis. I’m almost certain the target was Bledsoe or Nina Cormier. Or both.”

“How does that tie in with Binford?”

“I don’t know. Nina’s never heard of Binford.” Sam rubbed his face and felt the stubble of beard. God, he was tired. Too tired to figure anything out tonight. He said, “There’s one other angle we haven’t ruled out. The old crime of passion. You interviewed Daniella Cormier.”

“Yeah. Right after the bombing. What a looker.”

“You pick up anything odd about her?”

“What do you mean?”

“Anything that didn’t sit right? Her reactions, her answers?”

“Not that I recall. She seemed appropriately stunned. What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking Homicide should get their boys over there to question her tonight.”

“I’ll pass that message along to Yeats. What’s your hunch?”

“She and Robert Bledsoe had a little thing going on the side.”

“And she blew up the church out of jealousy?” Gillis laughed. “She didn’t seem the type.”

“Remember what they say about the female of the species.”

“Yeah, but I can’t imagine that gorgeous blonde—”

“Watch the hormones, Gillis.”

His partner snorted. “If anyone better watch his hormones, it’s you.”

That’s what I keep telling myself, thought Sam as he hung up. He paused for a moment in the kitchen, giving himself the same old lecture he’d given himself a dozen times since meeting Nina. I’m a cop, I’m here to serve and protect. Not seduce.

Not fall in love.

He went into the living room. At his first sight of Nina, he felt his resolve crumble. She was standing at the window, peering out at the darkness. He’d hung no curtains; here in the woods, he’d never felt the need for them. But now he realized just how open and vulnerable she was. And that worried him—more than he cared to admit.

He said, “I’d feel better if you came away from those windows.”

She turned, a startled look in her eyes. “You don’t think someone could have followed us?”

“No. But I’d like you to stay away from the windows all the same.”

Shuddering, she moved to the couch and sat down. She’d already made the couch into a bed, and only now did he realize how tattered the blanket was. Tattered furniture, tattered linens. Those were details that had never bothered him before. So many things about his life as a bachelor had not bothered him, simply because he’d never stopped to think how much better, sweeter, his life could be. Only now, as he saw Nina sitting on his couch, did it occur to him how stark the room was. It was only the presence of this woman that gave it any life. Any warmth.

Too soon, she’d be gone again.

The sooner the better, he told himself. Before she grew on him. Before she slipped too deeply into his life.

He paced over to the fireplace, paced back toward the kitchen door, his feet restless, his instincts telling him to say something.

“You must be hungry,” he said.

She shook her head. “I can’t think about food. I can’t think about anything except…”

“Robert?”

She lowered her head and didn’t answer. Was she crying again? She had a right to. But she just sat very still and silent, as though struggling to hold her emotions in check.

He sat down in the chair across from her. “Tell me about Robert,” he prompted. “Tell me everything you know about him.”

She took a shaky breath, then said softly, “I don’t know what to say. We lived together a year. And now I feel as if I never knew him at all.”

“You met at work?”

She nodded. “The Emergency Room. Evening shift. I’d been working there for three years. Then Robert joined the ER staff. He was a good doctor. One of the best I’d ever worked with. And he was so fun to talk to. He’d traveled everywhere, done everything. I remember how surprised I was to learn he wasn’t married.”

“Never?”

“Never. He told me he was holding out for the best. That he just hadn’t found the woman he wanted to spend his life with.”

“At forty-one, he must’ve been more than a little picky.”

Her glance held a trace of amusement. “ You’re not married, Detective. Does that make you more than a little picky?”

“Guilty as charged. But then, I haven’t really been looking.”

“Not interested?”

“Not enough time for romance. It’s the nature of the job.”

She gave a sigh. “No, it’s the nature of the beast. Men don’t really want to be married.”

“Did I say that?”

“It’s something I’ve finally figured out after years of spinsterhood.”

“We’re all rats, that kind of thing? Let’s get back to one specific rat. Robert. You were telling me you two met in the ER. Was it love at first sight?”

She leaned back, and he could clearly see the remembered pain on her face. “No. No, it wasn’t. At least, not for me. I thought he was attractive, of course.”

Of course, thought Sam with an undeniable twinge of cynicism.

“But when he asked me out, that first time, I didn’t really think it would go anywhere. It wasn’t until I introduced him to my mother that I began to realize what a catch he was. Mom was thrilled with Robert. All these years, I’d been dating guys she considered losers. And here I show up with a doctor. It was more than she’d ever expected of me, and she was already hearing wedding bells.”

“What about your father?”

“I think he was just plain relieved I was dating someone who wouldn’t marry me for his money. That’s always been Dad’s preoccupation. His money. And his wives. Or rather, whichever wife he happens to be married to at the time.”