The Promise He Made Her (8 page)

Turning her back on the man who had a penchant for asking her questions no one else asked, she concentrated on listening to her father. His always slow speech was slower now, but he was still very much in charge of his portion of the world. A world he'd decided didn't fit her. Or that she didn't fit it.

He asked how she was. She wanted to tell him the truth. That she was afraid.

But she wasn't going to let fear defeat her.

She wanted to tell him about Ken. To think that if her father knew a man was after her, he'd load his gun and come save her.

But she knew better than that, too.

She almost told him that Ken was getting out of prison just so they'd know. But thought about how worried they would be, while feeling powerless and unable to help.

She wanted his sage advice, but wasn't even sure anymore if he had any. He'd certainly never shared any of it with her, that she could remember.

She definitely did not want them coming to town.

So she told him she was fine. He hemmed and hawed for a moment. Probably looking for something smart to say.

It was always that way with them. Awkward at best. But then, other than vacations, they hadn't lived in the same home together since she was six years old. In many ways, her parents were strangers to her.

When he finally gave up and simply told her he loved her, she teared up. Her relationship with her parents was what it was.

Her abusive husband being on the loose wasn't going to change that.

 

CHAPTER NINE

T
HE
ENTIRE
TIME
Bloom was on the phone, Sam told himself he wasn't going to pry. He sipped scotch. Slowly. He was driving later that evening, which meant he'd only drink one.

He texted a contact at the prison to see if Kenneth Freelander was out as planned and got confirmation that he was. Because his case had been thrown out, he wasn't on probation. Wasn't being watched. He was just...free.

Exactly as Sam had known would happen. He texted the investigator he'd hired to keep tabs on Freelander. And heard back that the ex-con had checked himself into a five-star hotel on the beach fifty miles south of Santa Barbara, almost two hours away. Freelander was at the open air bar buying drinks for a couple of women. And getting drunk.

Kind of what Sam had expected there, too. The bastard was going to take care of his physical needs first. And take his time with his big picture goal. Bloom.

“Tell Betty I'll mail the brochure tomorrow.” Sam moved to the kitchen, looking for something with which to occupy himself as Bloom continued to talk. Not as softly as she'd started out. “And you guys can email me, you know. Just to let me know how you're doing. You got the computer set up that I sent you, right? And the satellite is working okay?”

What in the hell was going on? Who were Betty and Carl? Why had she purchased them a computer? And why had she called them about seeing the commercial that had inspired her mother's name for her childhood pet?

“I know,” Bloom said after a moment. “I don't care about your spelling.”

There was another pause. Sam finished his drink. Looked down as Lucy came into the kitchen and sniffed at the cupboard from which he'd recently moved out her bag of food. He'd fed her that morning, but she was out of her routine. He wondered what to give her to tide her over until they got back to their room.

“Then have Betty write it.”

Another pause. And then, “I know, but it's not hard to learn. Please, Carl? I sent you guys that computer so we could stay in touch. I know if you'd just give it a try, you guys would love it. Betty could do most of her shopping online. And save a bunch, too, considering how high prices are in town. It would save her trips to the city. Which would save gas...”

Begging. Her tone had a definite “beg” to it. Something he'd never heard from Dr. Freelander. Even when her face had been smashed in.

Lucy's tail thumped against the cupboard as she continued to look up at him. The kitchen had been stocked for Bloom, but by his “department,” so surely he could take a piece of cheese.

Sam reached into the bottom drawer of the refrigerator. Opened the new package of American cheese, peeled off a slice and handed it to the dog.

Bloom was in the living area, standing by the window. Freelander was drunk off his ass but Sam still didn't like Bloom by the window.

“What was that all about?” he asked, wishing he had some scotch left in the glass he'd just refilled with straight water.

She turned. Shrugged. He thought she blinked away tears, but then wasn't sure. She left the window and he was glad he didn't have to ask her to do so. He'd need to instruct her about windows and protection safety—you didn't stand in front of them when you were being protected—but the lesson could wait. Maybe even for Chantel.

Bloom returned to the kitchen, patting Lucy's head as she walked past the dog who was still hanging around in the galley—as though her presence there would award her another snack. Too bad for her, Bloom didn't speak Lucy's language.

The psychiatrist withdrew two plates from the shelf above the dishwasher. The middle shelf of three without a door in front of them. Because he wasn't sure if he was going to keep the same cupboards or build new.

“Who are Carl and Betty?” he asked her. He could get the silverware. Help set the table. But he wasn't sure if he should know where the silverware was kept. Just how thorough had he been of his inspection of the place when he'd arranged for her use of it?

Who, for that matter, had stocked it? She hadn't asked. He hadn't come up with an answer in case she did. Maybe Chantel had said something.

She carried plates to the table. “I'd like something from my house,” she said, moving to the silverware drawer without having to look for it. Or pulling out the wrong drawer first. She'd certainly learned her way around quickly enough.

But then, he was dealing with a genius. A woman who'd graduated from college at an age when he'd been figuring out ways to climb out his bedroom window without his dad knowing so he could hang out at the beach with his friends.

“I can run by your place on my way home tonight,” he told her. Get in and get out while Freelander was safely two hours away. “Why don't you make a list for me?”

She nodded. “I want placemats,” she said. “But I'll make a list. There might be another thing or two.”

She'd set the table. Was standing by one of the places, her hands on the back of the chair.

“Who are Betty and Carl?” If they were close...someone Freelander might try to get to in order to get to Bloom...he had to know about them.

And it was bugging him that she was upset and he didn't know why.

“My parents.” She moved as gracefully as always back to the galley. Pulled open the oven, bent down to peek inside.

Hiding from him?

“Your parents.”

“Mmm-hmm.”

Made sense regarding Madge and the commercial. But...

“You didn't sound like you were talking to your parents.” To put it mildly. At least not like he'd ever talked to his dad. What adult needed to beg their parents to stay in touch? Usually it was the other way around at that age...

The refrigerator door received her attention next. “There's a bottle of Chardonnay in here,” she said, pulling it out. “I'm not sure how good it is, but...you want to join me in a glass?”

He'd made the scotch weak. And only had to wait an hour per drink before being able to drive without the effects of alcohol. Two hours tops. He was still good.

“Yeah,” he said, wishing he could be sure it was any good. They had a couple of well-known wineries right there in Santa Raquel. One that had only recently begun producing and was already starting to make a name for itself. A lot of Californians were wine drinkers. He wasn't one of them.

He'd purchased based on price—low—not on name. Or any pretense of knowing what made quality wine. She unscrewed the top. Poured two juice glasses full of wine and set one down for him on the counter. Leaning back against the sink, she took a sip from her glass and didn't cringe.

He sipped, too. Also didn't cringe. But he didn't like the acidic drink any more than he usually did. He was grateful for it just the same. Could use a bit of the edge taken off. Even if only for the hour it would take for its effects to be gone from his system.

“My parents are older. I was...unexpected...and when they found out I was of above average intelligence, they thought I needed more than they could give me, so they shipped me off to an institution, which is where I grew up.” Her words were so nonchalant, for a second there he thought she was kidding—like,
I drive my parents crazy so they were happy to be rid of me
. But she wasn't smiling.

“Come again?”

“They figured it out when I was two. Had me tested when I was four. And sent me away when I was six. They were afraid they were going to ‘ruin' me. That my extraordinary ‘talents and abilities' would be wasted.”

Not much surprised him.

Sam yanked out the chair behind him and sat, taking another sip of the wine. She was telling him that she'd been rejected by those whose love and acceptance she'd needed most.

“Are they your biological parents?”

He had to hand it to her. She didn't flinch at his lack of tact. But...

“Yes.”

Of course. She'd said she was unexpected...

“Don't get me wrong,” she quickly added. “They loved me. Betty cried buckets every time a vacation came to an end and I had to leave again. They just didn't think they could give me what I needed.”

He couldn't wrap his mind around any of it. How did... Well, it just went to show that... Wow.

“What about unconditional love and constant support? Security?” were the words that finally came out of his mouth.

Bloom sat across the table from him, her elbows where he suspected her placemats would soon be, both hands resting on the sides of the juice glass. “My folks showed their love by sacrificing their own happiness to give me the best opportunities.”

None of this was his business. At all.

But whose curiosity wouldn't be on overdrive?

Yet, his need to know didn't feel like mere curiosity. He needed to know Bloom.

For the case. Right?

The doubt scared the shit out of him and he almost left the table.

And might have if not for the things she wasn't saying.

She sipped wine. He held his glass. Lucy lay down by the front door. He was good at asking tough questions, but also knew when to sit silent and listen.

Even if he just heard silence.

“My folks live simple lives. Not because they couldn't excel in college or a busy career—they just never wanted anything more than their life on the farm. My father was born on that farm. As was his brother, who now shares the business with him. My mother and aunt were born and raised in the small town that is closest to the farm. They've got two thousand acres, which in the world of big business farming isn't a lot, but it supports both families and that's enough for them. But it was pretty clear to all four of them that I didn't fit in.”

She told him about making a long-distance phone call at age two—to a friend of her mother's who'd moved away. She'd memorized the number from watching her mother make the call.

“Did you know someone would be on the other end?” he asked. Fascinated.

For the case. Cataloguing things in the event he might need them. Profiling. To protect her.

She nodded. “I said, ‘Hi, Jac.' That was my mom's friend's name. And then I hung up. She called back, upset with my mom for just hanging up. That's how they found out I'd called.”

She wasn't smiling. And yet the memory should have been a good one.

For her, it marked the beginning of a diagnosis that was going to strip her of her home, her family, and send her off to face the world alone.

“When I started school I kept asking the teacher for more work. More to do. She was frustrated and felt like she wasn't doing me justice. There were meetings. And in the end, my father and my uncle took her suggestion and went farther afield to see what the world had to offer me. They found a university that had a program for genius children—run by the psychology department. And before I even knew what was going on, I was enrolled.”

A psychology department had become her parent figures? Ken Freelander had headed up the psychology department where he'd met Bloom.

The thought of the man made him more sick than ever. As intelligent as Bloom was, she'd clearly had some challenges and would have been prone to a father figure type of worship. The noted psychology professor should have known that.

Sam gritted his teeth as things became so much more clear to him. Freelander
had
known. And had taken advantage of a much younger Bloom...

* * *

“I
LIVED
IN
a home with other kids during the week and then went home with various staff members on weekends when the other kids went home to their families.”

“For how long?”

“Until I'd completed a course of study that equaled high school graduation.”

“How old were you then?”

“Nine. I probably would have finished sooner, but I was a little...behind...when I got there.

“I knew how to read. But I'd spent so much time playing alone my peer interaction skills were nonexistent. I was so much younger than my uncle's kids so I'd had no other kids around...”

He wanted her to say more. To tell him how she felt. How she'd coped.

Her wine was almost gone. He took another sip of his. And topped it with one more while she retrieved the bottle from the kitchen, stopping to peek in the oven at the same time.

“Why do you call them Betty and Carl?” Not a case question. It would be his only one.

“No one taught me any differently,” she said. “That's what they called each other around me. They referred to each other that way. My aunt and uncle called them that. No one ever said, ‘This is your mom.' Maybe when I was a baby, but not once they knew I was different. They thought I knew best.”

He shook his head. “But...”

Bloom's smile stopped him. It was warm. And sweet. And just that tiny bit crooked. “They all did the best they could, Sam.” The kindness in her voice was like a knee in the groin.

But this was only a case, and that was all it could be. No matter how much thoughts of Bloom Freelander had lingered over the past two years. And the past few days.

He'd never met anyone like her. The dichotomy of supreme understanding, of core strength, determination and incredible vulnerability. It drew him.

And she was just a case.

“They were in foreign waters with no rule book to guide them. And they did what they thought best. Thinking of me, not themselves. And I have to say, when I look at my life now, at the work I do, work that I love, and the people I help—their choices produced a decent result.”

She was a successful psychiatrist who probably made more in a month than he made in a year. But she'd never had a mama or a daddy.

The significance of that—the loneliness it would have caused her—hit him hard.