“What does it say?” Sam repeated, over-enunciating each word.
“It’s addressed to Naomi. It says that he wants her. Threatens that if she doesn’t give herself up to him, he will keep killing people.”
* * * * *
5:34 P.M.
Sam glared at Naomi as he pulled into her driveway. She was lying slumped against the passenger window. Her skin was pasty, her blonde hair, which she usually kept pulled back in a ponytail, hung loosely around her shoulders, and the bandage on her head sent spears of anger shooting through him whenever he looked at it.
She should be in the hospital, but she had signed herself out AMA while he had been with Jonathon and Allina. The sneaky little thing had tricked him into going and getting her coffee so she could organize her escape. If he hadn’t turned up when he had, she would have taken a cab home.
And Naomi was not going to be alone while someone wanted her dead.
He hadn’t told her about the waitress yet or the threats on her life. She was stressed enough over her missing memories, he didn’t want to add to it. She was so fragile right now, and fragile was a word that didn’t go with Naomi at all. She was like a non-stop whirlwind. Everything she did she did perfectly. She was perfect.
Now someone was threatening her. That was unacceptable. No one was going to get to her. If they tried, they would have to go through him first.
Lifting her head, Naomi groaned. “Are we home?”
“Yes. You should go lie down. Leaving the hospital was one of the stupidest things I've seen you do,” he muttered, and he’d seen her do some pretty stupid things in the two decades they'd known each other.
“Yeah. Lie down. Maybe you're right.” Naomi opened the door and staggered out.
Sam was at her side before she could topple over. He didn’t like her ready acquiescence to lying down. Naomi hated to be still. It was like she thought the earth would stop spinning if she personally stopped moving.
With an arm wrapped around her waist, he went to help her move toward the house when she suddenly lolled forward, retching. Immediately, he lowered her to the driveway and held her hair back from her face as she threw up again. When she was done, she sagged limply against him. For a moment he couldn’t think, could barely breathe. He had wanted to hold Naomi in his arms for so long now that it overwhelmed his senses. Then reality sank back in, he didn’t want to be holding her like this. When she was barely conscious because someone had tried to kill her.
Without a word, he stood with her in his arms, and began to walk with her. Ignoring the way she rested her head on his shoulder, her breath warm against his neck, he kept himself alert. The man who had shot Naomi, who had murdered that waitress, could be out there somewhere.
Once inside, he set Naomi on the couch in her living room, threw a fleece blanket that was folded neatly across the arm of the sofa over her to keep her warm, then handed her his backup weapon.
“What?” Naomi’s pain-dulled brown eyes stared up at him.
“Just take it. Shoot anything that isn’t me.”
Leaving her on the couch, Sam quickly checked the rest of the house, thoroughly clearing each room before moving on to the next. He was taking no chances with Naomi’s safety.
Back in the living room, he stood and just looked at her.
Her eyes were closed, her head rested on the back of the couch, but she held his gun in her hand. That was his Naomi. Even suffering a concussion, she followed his instructions and was ready to defend herself should the need arise.
Sam didn’t think he would ever get the image of her lying unconscious and bleeding on the ground by her car out of his head.
He’d thought she was dead.
She wasn't moving, and she hadn’t responded when he’d called her name.
He had never been so scared in his life.
After ascertaining that there was no one else in the parking lot, he had gone to her. Her blood had coated his fingers when he had pressed them to her neck to check if she had a pulse.
The wait for the ambulance had felt like an eternity. She hadn’t reacted to any of his attempts to rouse her. Each time he had tried to get a response from her and failed, his fear and anxiety had grown. He’d felt so impotent, forced to kneel beside her and watch, unable to do anything meaningful to help her. The best he had been able to do was cover her with the thermal blanket he kept in his car for emergencies, so she didn’t become hypothermic.
That same impotence flowed through him now. How could he keep Naomi safe when he didn’t even know who was after her? He needed to tell her what had happened. Find out if she had any idea who would want her dead. His every instinct clambered at him to keep quiet. His protective instincts were strong enough as it was, but throw Naomi into the mix, and they went into hyperactive overdrive.
May as well get it over with. He entered the room, and Naomi’s eyes snapped open and she raised the gun. When she saw it was only him, she let her arm fall back to rest in her lap.
“Here. Take these.” He held out the glass of water and painkillers he’d collected from her bathroom.