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

Sam shook his head. “After what you’ve seen of your parents’ marriages, I’m surprised you wanted to take the plunge at all.”

“But that’s exactly why I did want to be married!” She looked at him. “To make it work. I never had that stability in my family. My parents were divorced when I was eight, and after that it was a steady parade of stepmothers and mother’s boyfriends. I didn’t want to live my own life that way.” Sighing, she looked down at her ringless left hand. “Now I wonder if it’s just another urban myth. A stable marriage.”

“My parents had one. A good one.”

“Had?”

“Before my dad died. He was a cop, in Boston. Didn’t make it to his twentieth year on the force.” Now Sam was the one who wasn’t looking at her. He was gazing, instead, at some distant point in the room, avoiding her look of sympathy. He didn’t feel he particularly needed her sympathy. One’s parents died, and one went on with life. There was no other choice.

“After my dad died, Mom and I moved to Portland,” he continued. “She wanted a safer town. A town where she wouldn’t have to worry about her kid being shot on the street.” He gave a rueful smile. “She wasn’t too happy when I became a cop.”

“Why did you become a cop?”

“I guess it was in the genes. Why did you become a nurse?”

“It was definitely not in the genes.” She sat back, thinking it over for a moment. “I guess I wanted that one-on-one sense of helping someone. I like the contact. The touching. That was important to me, that it be hands-on. Not some vague idea of service to humanity.” She gave a wry smile. “You said your mother didn’t want you to be a cop. Well, my mother wasn’t too happy about my career choice, either.”

“What does she have against nursing?”

“Nothing. Just that it’s not an appropriate profession for her daughter. She thinks of it as manual labor, something other women do. I was expected to marry well, entertain with flair, and help humanity by hosting benefits. That’s why she was so happy about my engagement. She thought I was finally on the right track. She was actually… proud of me for the first time.”

“That’s not why you wanted to marry Robert, was it? To please your mother?”

“I don’t know.” She looked at him with genuine puzzlement. “I don’t know anymore.”

“What about love? You must have loved him.”

“How can I be sure of anything? I’ve just found out he was seeing someone else. And now it seems as if I were caught up in some fantasy. In love with a man I made up.” She leaned back and closed her eyes. “I don’t want to talk about him anymore.”

“It’s important you tell me everything you know. That you consider all the possible reasons someone wanted him dead. A man doesn’t just walk up to a stranger and shoot him in the head. The killer had a reason.”

“Maybe he didn’t. Maybe he was crazy. Or high on drugs. Robert could have been in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“You don’t really believe that. Do you?”

She paused. Then, softly, she said, “No, I guess I don’t.”

He watched her for a moment, thinking how very vulnerable she looked. Had he been any other man, he would be taking her in his arms, offering her comfort and warmth.

Suddenly he felt disgusted with himself. This was the wrong time to be pressing for answers, the wrong time to be doing the cop act. Yet that act was the only thing that kept him comfortably at a distance. It protected him, insulated him. From her.

He rose from the chair. “I think we both need to get some sleep.”

Her response was a silent nod.

“If you need anything, my room’s at the end of the hall. Sure you wouldn’t rather take my bed? Give me the couch?”

“I’ll be fine here. Good night.”

That was his cue to retreat. He did.

In his bedroom, he paced between the closet and the dresser, unbuttoning his shirt. He felt more restless than tired, his brain moving a mile a minute. In the last two days, a church had been bombed, a man shot to death, and a woman run off the road in an apparent murder attempt. He felt certain it was all linked, perhaps even linked to that warehouse bombing a week ago, but he couldn’t see the connection. Maybe he was too dense. Maybe his brain was too drunk on hormones to think straight.

It was all her fault. He didn’t need or want this complication. But he couldn’t seem to think about this case without lingering on thoughts of her.

And now she was in his house.

He hadn’t had a woman sleeping under his roof since…well, it was longer than he cared to admit. His last fling had amounted to little more than a few weeks of lust with a woman he’d met at some party. Then, by mutual agreement, it was over. No complications, no broken hearts.

Not much satisfaction, either.

These days, what satisfaction he got came from the challenge of his work. That was one thing he could count on: the world would never run out of perps.

He turned off the lights and stretched out on the bed, but still he wasn’t ready to sleep. He thought of Nina, just down the hall. Thought of what a mismatch they’d be together. And how horrified her mother would be if a cop started squiring around her daughter. If a cop even had a chance.

What a mistake, bringing her here. Lately it seemed he was making a lot of mistakes. He wasn’t going to compound this one by falling in love or lust or whatever it was he felt himself teetering toward.

Tomorrow, he thought, she’s out of here.

And I’m back in control.

NINA KNEW she ought to be crying, but she couldn’t. In darkness she lay on the couch and thought about those months she’d lived with Robert. The months she’d thought of as stepping stones to their marriage. When had it fallen apart? When had he stopped telling her the truth? She should have noticed the signs. The avoided looks, the silences.

She remembered that two weeks ago, he’d suggested the wedding be postponed. She’d assumed it was merely bridegroom jitters. By then, the arrangements were all made, the date set in stone.

How trapped he must have felt.

Oh Robert. If only you’d come out and told me.

She could have dealt with the truth. The pain, the rejection. She was strong enough and adult enough. What she couldn’t deal with was the fact that, all these months, she’d been living with a man she scarcely knew.

Now she’d never know what he really felt about her. His death had cut off any chance she had to make peace with him.

At last she did fall asleep, but the couch was lumpy and the dreams kept waking her up.

Dreams not of Robert, but of Sam Navarro.

He was standing before her, silent and unsmiling. She saw no emotion in his eyes, just that flat, unreadable gaze of a stranger. He reached out to her, as though to take her hand. But when she looked down, there were handcuffs circling her wrists.

“You’re guilty,” he said. And he kept repeating the word. Guilty. Guilty.

She awakened with tears in her eyes. Never had she felt so alone. And she was alone, reduced to the pitiful state of seeking refuge in the home of a cop who cared nothing at all about her. Who considered her little more than an added responsibility. An added bother.

It was a flicker of shadow across the window that drew her attention. She would not have noticed it at all, save for the fact it had passed just to the right of her, a patch of darkness moving across her line of vision. Suddenly her heart was thudding. She stared at the curtainless squares of moonlight, watching for signs of movement.