Courting Death - Carol Stephenson [17]
Only thirty minutes? An eternity when trapped inside a dark box.
“Who are you?” Mom stood next to me. Uncertainty thinned the once rich resonance of her voice.
I reached over and touched her arm, absorbing the punch of pain when she shied away from me. Carling plastered on a bright smile. “Hey, Annette. Your daughter Nicole brought home a friend with her.”
“Nicole?” Clarity sharpened in Mom’s eyes. “What on earth happened to you?”
“I’m fine, but there was an accident.” This time when I touched her arm she didn’t shirk. “That’s why Detective Bowie is here.”
When she was with us, Mom could still summon up the mega-watt smile that used to flash across billboards. “Why, Detective.” She held out her hand. “What a pleasure to meet you.”
“Likewise, Mrs. Sterling.” Sam took her hand, lifted it to his lips and kissed the back. Both Carling’s and my jaws dropped. When she glanced at me with a stunned expression, I shrugged.
Who knew that the force’s most annoying bulldog had manners? Was this the same man who had once opened the door for me and promptly let it slap me on my butt because we’d been arguing about a case? We may have been on fire in bed, but we had never managed to separate our jobs from our relationship.
It’s hard to work with someone you’ve seen in the buff.
Sam…naked. Even the thought made my mouth water, beaten only by the memory of his kisses. Mind-blowing, tongue-touching-tonsils, pelvis-grinding kisses.
Sam looked at me then, the intensity of his expression almost scorching my skin. I flushed as I realized he too was thinking about what we once had shared.
Great, let’s just interject unrequited passion into your complicated life.
I straightened my shoulders. “Detective. Thank you for escorting me home. I will call you later to check on the progress of the investigation.”
The corner of Sam’s mouth quirked. “You do that, Red. Just be sure that cute butt of yours stays in a chair and Carling—” he turned his attention to my friend, “—the doctor says she has to be under observation for twenty-four hours. That was the condition of her release.”
Carling nodded. “I’ll stay with her.”
“Nicole.”
I looked at Mom and saw the confusion clouding her eyes. Inwardly I sighed. The moments of coherency were getting shorter. “Yes?”
“You are okay, dear?”
“I’m fine.”
She nodded and returned to her chair to resume staring out the window. Carling cleared her throat and we both stared at Sam. He threw up his hands. “I’m leaving.”
I followed him to the front where he opened the door and paused outside on the portico. Sympathy flashed across his expression. “I’m sorry, Nicole,” he said in a low voice. “How long has your mother had Alzheimer’s?”
I choked back a laugh. When had Mother begun to lose her identity? She’d always been careless in recalling names and losing things. Should I have known then? When she increasingly insisted on staying home?
Would it have made a difference if I had recognized something was off and taken her in for evaluation earlier?
The chains of guilt twisted tighter. Nineteen months ago, Mom hadn’t returned to the table from using the restaurant’s restroom. I had gone searching and found her standing outside in the parking lot with a befuddled look in her eyes that was to become the norm. A month later, after hearing the doctor’s diagnosis, I had blown a trial and then broken up with Sam. My life’s plate had overflowed and I’d gone into survivor mode.
My legal training kicked in. Answer the question asked. Nothing more.
“A year and a half.”
A tendon ticked along his jaw. “Did you think I couldn’t handle her illness? That I would leave you? Is that why you broke things off?”
I wrapped my arms around my middle. “Don’t you remember, Sam? We promised each other there would be no commitment. We would enjoy