Keeper of the Bride / Whistleblower: Keeper of the Bride / Whistleblower. Tess Gerritsen
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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.
Chapter Seven
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.
There it was again. A shadow, flitting past.
In an instant she was off the couch and running blindly up the hallway to Sam’s room. She didn’t stop to knock, but pushed right inside.
“Sam?” she whispered. He didn’t answer. Frantic to wake him, she reached down to give him a shake, and her hands met warm, bare flesh. “Sam?”
At her touch, he awoke with such a violent start she jerked away in fright. “What?” he said. “What is it?”
“I think there’s someone outside!”
At once he seemed to snap fully awake. He rolled off the bed and grabbed his trousers from a chair. “Stay here,” he whispered. “Don’t leave the room.”
“What are you going to do?”
She was answered by a metallic click. A gun. Of course he had a gun. He was a cop.
“Just stay here,” he ordered, and slipped out of the room.
She wasn’t crazy; she wasn’t going to go wandering around a dark house when there was a cop with a loaded gun nearby. Chilled and shivering, she stood by the door and listened. She heard Sam’s footsteps creak down the hall toward the living room. Then there was silence, a silence so deep it made every breath she took seem like a roar. Surely he hadn’t left the house? He wouldn’t go outside, would he?
The creak of returning footsteps made her back away from the door. She scurried to the far side of the bed. At the first glimpse of a figure entering the room, she ducked behind the mattress. Only when she heard Sam say, “Nina?” did she dare raise her head.
“Here,” she whispered, suddenly feeling ridiculous as she emerged from her hiding place.
“There’s no one out there.”
“But I saw someone. Something.”
“It could have been a deer. An owl flying past.” He set his gun down on the nightstand. The solid clunk of metal on wood made her flinch. She hated guns. She wasn’t sure she wanted to be anywhere near a man who owned one. Tonight, though, she didn’t have a choice.
“Nina, I know you’re scared. You have a right to be. But I’ve checked, and there’s no one out there.” He reached toward her. At the first touch of his hand on her arm, he gave a murmur of alarm. “You’re freezing.”
“I’m scared. Oh God, Sam. I’m so scared…”
He took her by the shoulders. By now she was shaking so hard she could barely form any words. Awkwardly, he drew her against him, and she settled, trembling, against his chest. If only he’d hold her. If only he’d put his arms around her. When at last he did, it was like being welcomed home. Enclosed in warmth and safety. This was not the man she’d dreamed about, not the cold, unsmiling cop. This was a man who held her and murmured comforting sounds. A man whose face nuzzled her hair, whose lips, even now, were lowering toward hers.
The kiss was gentle. Sweet. Not the sort of kiss she ever imagined Sam Navarro capable of. Certainly she never imagined being hugged by him, comforted by him. But here she was, in his arms, and she had never felt so protected.
He coaxed her, still shivering, to the bed. He pulled the covers over them both. Again, he kissed her. Again the kiss was gently undemanding. The heat of the bed, of their bodies, banished her chill. And she became aware of so many other things: the scent of his bare skin, the bristly plane of his chest. And most