her cup on the table, she jumped out of her chair and took two steps toward Blake Corwin. “You actually blame her for that?” she demanded, her body simmering with rage. “For wanting to forget what happened? Well, she has every right to forget. She has every right not to want to talk to a bunch of egomaniacal shrinks and overeager cops who don’t give a damn about her. You think she wants to spill her guts to a complete stranger and relive every sickening thing that man did to her? Of course she doesn’t.”
Sam snapped her mouth shut and strode toward the window on stiff legs, gluing her gaze to the barren front yard. She couldn’t believe the nerve of these men, looking like a couple of wounded children over the “annoying” notion that a woman who’d nearly died refused to talk to them. Jerks. Insensitive jerks.
Anger continued to swirl inside her, but it was surprisingly welcome. For the first time in months she was experiencing something that wasn’t fear or pain or self-pity. She wondered if it might have helped to be angry all those months ago, if maybe letting out her fury over what happened to her could’ve helped her heal faster.
As it was now, she didn’t feel healed or cured or even convinced in the slightest that she could ever get over this.
But the anger helped. Just a little.
“That’s why we came to see you.”
Blake’s voice remained steady, entirely unaffected by her incensed words. She turned around slowly and let their gazes connect again. Searched his magnetic eyes and found nothing more than that cool, calm and collected glint.
Never breaking eye contact, he clasped his hands on his lap and added, “We want you to see Elaine Woodman. We want you to break her silence.”
Chapter 2
The guard she’d briefly let down snapped back up. With methodical steps, Sam walked back to the armchair and sank into it. “You want me to see her?” The words squeaked out slowly, laced with disbelief rushing through her veins.
Blake simply nodded.
“Why?” was all she asked.
“Because you know better than anyone what Elaine is going through,” Blake said matter-of-factly. He leaned forward, causing the material of his jacket to stretch over his broad shoulders.
This time she couldn’t deny the spark of attraction she felt at the sight of his powerful muscles constricting against his shirt. He was a sexy man. A very sexy man. Yet even admitting the obvious seemed inappropriate under these circumstances, after the bomb he’d just dropped in her lap.
She forced her gaze away from his chest, set her jaw and waited for him to continue.
“Elaine needs to feel safe when she finally decides to talk about her experience.”
A low, bitter laugh slipped out before she could stop it. “Safe? You think she’ll ever really feel safe?”
For the first time since he’d shown up at her door, Blake’s features softened. The sympathy in his gaze reached out and touched her like the caress of a warm hand on her cheek. Ordinarily, she would have grown defensive, sickened by the sympathy, the pity. But strangely enough, the soft understanding in his dark eyes only eased her nerves.
“No,” he said quietly. “I don’t think she’ll ever feel safe, not for a long time at least. But while this guy is still out on the streets, none of the women in Chicago will be safe, either.”
“Why are you so sure Elaine Woodman can give you some information you don’t already have?” She didn’t mean to pose a challenge, yet somehow it came out that way.
“Because she’s different,” Blake replied without hesitation. “He took her in broad daylight and dumped her on the other side of the city, which means he had to have means of transporting her there. He didn’t do that with any of the other victims.”
“Elaine can provide us with details that might help us stop him once and for all,” Rick added. “The kind of car he drives, any places he might have stopped at before dumping her.”
“But she won’t talk,” Sam said grimly.
“Not to us.” Blake paused, watching her. “But she might talk to you.”
She took a breath, suddenly feeling torn. If this were just about her, about her own pain and suffering, she might’ve been able to say no, tell them to leave her alone and to hell with their investigation. But it wasn’t just about her. There was another woman involved. Another survivor.
Her mind flashed back to the first day after the attack. She’d been lying in that hospital bed, staring at the dull white walls, unwilling to let anyone catch a glimpse of what she’d gone through. Even her brother, Beau, her only living relative, hadn’t been able to penetrate the iron shield she’d erected around herself.
For days she’d lain motionless in bed, trying to forget, trying to trick herself into believing that such an unthinkably heinous act hadn’t happened to her, not to her. And if it weren’t for a kindhearted cop named Annette Hanson, she might have drowned in her own pain. Annette had helped her, drawn her out of the shell of self-preservation she’d hidden within, and though it was months before she’d been ready to live her life again, she knew she’d never be able to repay Annette for what she’d done.
Could she really let another woman drown the way she almost had?
Helping Elaine Woodman would no doubt bring back a rush of terrifying memories that Sam desperately wanted to forget, but would it be worth it, knowing she’d contributed to Elaine’s healing process?
Drawing in a long breath, she eyed the men in front of her. “I…I’m going to need some time to think about it.”
“There isn’t any time.” Blake knew his voice sounded harsh, but it needed to be said. The longer Elaine Woodman kept quiet, the greater the danger and the longer this killer had to find himself another victim.
He didn’t blame Samantha for being uncertain. Hell, he’d read her file, seen photos of what that bastard had done to her. The woman had been hovering between life and death before the paramedics had shown up. How she’d managed to call the police, especially in her condition, still amazed him. All he knew was that Samantha Dawson possessed a strength that most people only wished they had.
His heart squeezed as he remembered another woman who’d exuded that same strength. Kate Manning, the woman whose death had caused him to dive headfirst into this case and push himself to the point of exhaustion simply to keep the memories at bay.
Not that it was helping. The memories continued to assault his mind anyway. It seemed as if everything and everyone reminded him of Kate, and, not for the first time, he wondered if maybe the Bureau shrink was right. Maybe there was no distraction great enough to make him forget.
He clenched his fists at the ominous notion. Lord, he couldn’t do this now, couldn’t think of Kate or that damn shrink. Not now. So he forcibly shoved the unwelcome thoughts from his head and tried to focus on the woman in front of him.
She seemed so cool, so controlled. He saw it in the way she sat, with her hands loosely draped over her lap. The way she spoke in that calm, even voice. The way she looked at him with those unwavering gray eyes. It seriously impressed him, but it didn’t totally convince him, either. The little ragged breaths and the way her shoulders trembled almost imperceptibly at every sound told him that she was still terrified.
“If you’re worried about your own safety,” Rick said, “I can assure you we’ll take every precaution to keep you protected.”
With a chuckle, she muttered, “Right, because I’m supposed to be dead. Wonder how I overlooked that little tidbit?” She focused those haunting eyes on Blake. “How do you plan on taking me into the city without being recognized?”
If Rick was insulted by her intense focus on his partner, he didn’t show it. Instead, he leaned back and let Blake field