LITMIR.BIZ

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tonight. Not until I make sure she’s safe.

      Without looking at her, he said, “You can’t go to your father’s. Or your mother’s for that matter—her house isn’t secure. No alarm system, no gate. And it’s too easy for the killer to find you.”

      “I—I signed a lease on a new apartment today. It doesn’t have any furniture yet, but—”

      “I assume Daniella knows about it?”

      She paused, then replied, “Yes. She does.”

      “Then that’s out. What about friends?”

      “They all have children. If they knew a killer was trying to find me…” She took a deep breath. “I’ll go to a hotel.”

      He glanced at her and saw that her spine was suddenly stiff and straight. And he knew she was fighting to put on a brave front. That’s all it was, a front. God, what was he supposed to do now? She was scared and she had a right to be. They were both exhausted. He couldn’t just dump her at some hotel at this hour. Nor could he leave her alone. Whoever was stalking her had done an efficient job of dispatching both Jimmy Brogan and Robert Bledsoe. For such a killer, tracking down Nina would be no trouble at all.

      The turnoff to Route 1 north was just ahead. He took it.

      Twenty minutes later they were driving past thick stands of trees. Here the houses were few and far between, all the lots heavily forested. It was the trees that had first attracted Sam to this neighborhood. As a boy, first in Boston, then in Portland, he’d always lived in the heart of the city. He’d grown up around concrete and asphalt, but he’d always felt the lure of the woods. Every summer, he’d head north to fish at his lakeside camp.

      The rest of the year, he had to be content with his home in this quiet neighborhood of birch and pine.

      He turned onto his private dirt road, which wound a short way into the woods before widening into his gravel driveway. Only as he turned off the engine and looked at his house did the first doubts assail him. The place wasn’t much to brag about. It was just a two-bedroom cottage of precut cedar hammered together three summers ago. And as for the interior, he wasn’t exactly certain how presentable he’d left it.

      Oh, well. There was no changing plans now.

      He got out and circled around to open her door. She stepped out, her gaze fixed in bewilderment on the small house in the woods.

      “Where are we?” she asked.

      “A safe place. Safer than a hotel anyway.” He gestured toward the front porch. “It’s just for tonight. Until we can make other arrangements.”

      “Who lives here?”

      “I do.”

      If that fact disturbed her, she didn’t show it. Maybe she was too tired and frightened to care. In silence she waited while he unlocked the door. He stepped inside after her and turned on the lights.

      At his first glimpse of the living room, he gave a silent prayer of thanks. No clothes on the couch, no dirty dishes on the coffee table. Not that the place was pristine. With newspapers scattered about and dust bunnies in the corners, the room had that unmistakable look of a sloppy bachelor. But at least it wasn’t a major disaster area. A minor one, maybe.

      He locked the door and turned the dead bolt.

      She was just standing there, looking dazed. Maybe by the condition of his house? He touched her shoulder and she flinched.

      “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.

      

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