Just what I need this week—a sleepless night . She went across the hall to her closet and found a pair of sweats and pulled them on along with warm socks.
In the far back corner of the closet, she took the top off a shoebox and withdrew one of the six cans of diet cola she’d stashed there for emergencies. A sleepless night the week of her wedding certainly counted as a caffeine emergency.
She went downstairs, got a glass of ice and took Gardner’s file into the study to fire up Nick’s computer. While she waited for it to boot up, she took pleasure in rearranging the perfectly placed items on his desk. It made her smile to imagine him finding her calling card the next time he sat there.
Sam reached for a framed photo she hadn’t seen there before—the picture of them that had run with their interview in the Washington Star . When had he gotten that? Nick sat behind her, with his arms around her. Sam traced a finger over the photo, wishing for one for her own desk. She’d have to ask Nick how he’d come to have it.
She cracked open the diet cola and poured it over the ice, practically drooling in anticipation. Since Dr. Harry identified it as the cause of her crippling stomach pain, she hadn’t had so much as a sip of soda. One can wouldn’t hurt anything, she decided as she took the first sip. The carbonation zipped through her system, giving her a much-needed boost.
“Ah, hello, old friend,” she said, taking a second drink. “Oh, how I’ve missed you.”
Resisting the urge to guzzle, she put the glass aside and reached for the file folder. Inside she found the photos that haunted Faith. “Sadistic son of a bitch,” Sam muttered as she sifted through them. The woman Gardner attacked hadn’t been more than a teenager at the time. Her bruised and battered face told the story of a vicious assault.
She withdrew the victim’s statement and tried to read it, blinking when the words jumbled into an unreadable mess. “Goddamn it,” she muttered, frustrated by the dyslexia that plagued her at times of stress or exhaustion. Closing her eyes, she took a deep, calming breath and tried again. No good.
Then she remembered Nick had showed her how the computer could read for her. She scanned the document and sat back to listen to the techno-sounding narration.
Sam forced herself to focus on the report given by Gardner’s traumatized victim and was chilled by the monotone recitation of what had been an emotionally devastating event. Once again her thoughts drifted to her detective and friend, Jeannie McBride, who’d recently survived an equally horrific attack.
As an officer charged with keeping people safe in the District of Columbia, Sam was infuriated on behalf of Gardner’s victim and Jeannie. At least they’d gotten the bastard who attacked Jeannie.
Remembering the elbow that had connected with her abdomen during his arrest had Sam resting a hand on her belly. Because of him, she’d lost the baby she and Nick had wanted so badly. She’d never forgive that son of a bitch for what he’d taken from them—and from Jeannie and his other victims. But he was locked up where he belonged, and after hearing the report from Gardner’s victim, she was determined to lock him up too.
Nick’s hands landed on her shoulders, startling her. “What’re you doing up?” he asked. “And why must you mess with my desk every time?”
“So you’ll know I was here.” Smiling, she looked up at him, noting the fatigue that clung to him during particularly intense bouts of insomnia.
“As if I could ever forget you’re here.” He scowled when he saw the glass on the desk. “I thought you gave that up.”
“Just one. I needed a boost. What’re you doing up?”
“Couldn’t sleep without you.”
“I’m sorry.” Sam gathered up the papers on the desk. “Come on, let’s go back to bed.” The pile slipped from her fingers and scattered on the floor.
Nick bent to retrieve the photos, wincing at the
In the far back corner of the closet, she took the top off a shoebox and withdrew one of the six cans of diet cola she’d stashed there for emergencies. A sleepless night the week of her wedding certainly counted as a caffeine emergency.
She went downstairs, got a glass of ice and took Gardner’s file into the study to fire up Nick’s computer. While she waited for it to boot up, she took pleasure in rearranging the perfectly placed items on his desk. It made her smile to imagine him finding her calling card the next time he sat there.
Sam reached for a framed photo she hadn’t seen there before—the picture of them that had run with their interview in the Washington Star . When had he gotten that? Nick sat behind her, with his arms around her. Sam traced a finger over the photo, wishing for one for her own desk. She’d have to ask Nick how he’d come to have it.
She cracked open the diet cola and poured it over the ice, practically drooling in anticipation. Since Dr. Harry identified it as the cause of her crippling stomach pain, she hadn’t had so much as a sip of soda. One can wouldn’t hurt anything, she decided as she took the first sip. The carbonation zipped through her system, giving her a much-needed boost.
“Ah, hello, old friend,” she said, taking a second drink. “Oh, how I’ve missed you.”
Resisting the urge to guzzle, she put the glass aside and reached for the file folder. Inside she found the photos that haunted Faith. “Sadistic son of a bitch,” Sam muttered as she sifted through them. The woman Gardner attacked hadn’t been more than a teenager at the time. Her bruised and battered face told the story of a vicious assault.
She withdrew the victim’s statement and tried to read it, blinking when the words jumbled into an unreadable mess. “Goddamn it,” she muttered, frustrated by the dyslexia that plagued her at times of stress or exhaustion. Closing her eyes, she took a deep, calming breath and tried again. No good.
Then she remembered Nick had showed her how the computer could read for her. She scanned the document and sat back to listen to the techno-sounding narration.
Sam forced herself to focus on the report given by Gardner’s traumatized victim and was chilled by the monotone recitation of what had been an emotionally devastating event. Once again her thoughts drifted to her detective and friend, Jeannie McBride, who’d recently survived an equally horrific attack.
As an officer charged with keeping people safe in the District of Columbia, Sam was infuriated on behalf of Gardner’s victim and Jeannie. At least they’d gotten the bastard who attacked Jeannie.
Remembering the elbow that had connected with her abdomen during his arrest had Sam resting a hand on her belly. Because of him, she’d lost the baby she and Nick had wanted so badly. She’d never forgive that son of a bitch for what he’d taken from them—and from Jeannie and his other victims. But he was locked up where he belonged, and after hearing the report from Gardner’s victim, she was determined to lock him up too.
Nick’s hands landed on her shoulders, startling her. “What’re you doing up?” he asked. “And why must you mess with my desk every time?”
“So you’ll know I was here.” Smiling, she looked up at him, noting the fatigue that clung to him during particularly intense bouts of insomnia.
“As if I could ever forget you’re here.” He scowled when he saw the glass on the desk. “I thought you gave that up.”
“Just one. I needed a boost. What’re you doing up?”
“Couldn’t sleep without you.”
“I’m sorry.” Sam gathered up the papers on the desk. “Come on, let’s go back to bed.” The pile slipped from her fingers and scattered on the floor.
Nick bent to retrieve the photos, wincing at the
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