When the Dead Speak

Chapter 80

Chapter 80

Jake stretched and reached his arm across the bed. It touched sheet, not Sam. He swiveled his head toward the bathroom. The door was open. He called out Sam's name. Silence.

Maybe last night was just a figment of his imagination, like the night he was in the whirlpool. After all, he hadn't even buzzed Sam upstairs last night. She simply appeared at his door, just as she had appeared floating through the whirlpool.

He pulled a pillow over and pressed it to his face. The subtle scent of Sam's perfume still clung to the fibers. He shoved the pillow behind his head and glanced over at the wing-backed chair sitting in the corner. Last night he had sat on that chair wrapped only in a towel. He remembered Sam coming out of the bathroom in one of his shirts, unbuttoned, but she held it together with all of her refreshing innocence.

If it was all a dream, it was one of the most fantastic dreams he had ever experienced. Sam straddled him, his towel fell open. She pulled some yin-yang thing on him that she said she had read about in a magazine. Told him to stare into her left eye, to inhale when she exhaled and vice versa. And to not move. They stayed that way, inhaling, exhaling.

For the first time in his life he cried out. When they wrapped their arms around each other she had whispered in his ear, "Strong, silent type my ass."

Dream? He refused to believe it had all been his imagination. Propping himself up on one elbow, he felt something solid hit his chest. He looked down and saw Sam's medicine bundle.

The buzzer rang just as Jake stepped out of the shower. He pressed the buzzer to let Frank in, then quickly slipped into a blue dress shirt and navy blue pants, official clothes for arresting a state representative. He had told Carl he would meet him at his hotel and they would go together to the Jenkins Art Center.

"Jake." Frank was breathless from running up three flights of stairs. "Did you hear about Stu Richards?"

"Who?" Jake closed the door behind him. Frank followed him into the bedroom.

"He's only been on the force one month. He was killed last night while patrolling that industrial site on Cornell."

"Gang shooting?" Jake pulled a blue tweed sportcoat from his closet and tossed it on the bed.

"Have you talked to Sam this morning?" Frank trailed Jake from the bedroom to the kitchen.

Jake turned from the counter and studied Frank's face. "Why? What's going on?"

Frank looked at the phone and answering machine on the counter sitting next to the toaster. He lifted up the cord which had been unplugged from the wall.

Jake did not remember doing it. "I must have knocked it out when I cleaned off the counter last night." He took the cord from Frank and plugged it back in.

"Guess you've really been out of touch. You probably don't know about Cain Valenzio either."

Jake blinked, his eyes drawn back to the telephone as if trying to remember if he or Sam had unplugged it.

"Cain was shot and killed." Frank slapped Jake on the forearm. "Hey, stay with me here, buddy. Did you hear me?"

Jake leaned back against the kitchen sink. He had never asked Sam where she had been last night. They had gone from the living room to the shower, where the lingering smell of smoke in her hair was washed out before he had a chance to ask her about it.

"Preston's security guards shot and killed Cain last night."

Picking up the phone, Jake asked, "Have you tried calling Sam?"

Frank placed his hand on top of Jake's.

"The cops haven't been able to reach her at home. There's no answer and Abby hasn't seen her."

Jake wasn't sure what time Sam had left. When his alarm had gone off at six, she wasn't there. But she should have been home by now.

Frank moved his hand to Jake's shoulder, saying, "Word from Ballistics is the bullet that killed Stu Richards came from Sam's gun."