Page 16 of Little Ballerina
“Ali and I are doing everything we can to solve this as quickly as we can,” Jonathon assured him as Sam hustled everyone to the front door.
“If you need me, I can be here in fifteen minutes,” Nick reminded him.
“I know.”
“Have Naomi call if she needs anything.” Clara gave her sister a last glance. “Take her to the hospital if she gets worse. And, Sam,” she finally tore her green eyes away from Naomi to look up at him imploringly, “promise me you won't let anything happen to her.”
Sam didn’t make promises lightly, especially ones he wasn't sure he could keep, but this time he didn’t hesitate. “I promise.”
When the others had left, he stood there, watching as Naomi’s chest rose and fell with each breath, and hoped he hadn’t just lied to Clara. He would do whatever he had to in order to protect Naomi, but he knew all too well that some things were outside his control. But the thought of Naomi hurt, well …
He didn’t want to think about that.
He still remembered the first time he’d seen her.
They had been eight, it was a little after Christmas break when she had transferred to his school. The principal had brought her in and introduced her. Little Naomi had stood there, her blonde hair fixed in braids, and bounced from foot to foot. Sam didn’t think he’d seen her stop moving since.
The year he turned thirteen was the first time he’d started to see her as something other than just another kid in his class. That was the year Naomi stopped looking like a little girl and started looking like a teenager. That was the year he started noticing girls. Noticing Naomi Candella in particular. Unfortunately, being the stupid kid he’d been back then, he hadn’t handled things well. He had tortured Naomi relentlessly in his desire to get her to notice him.
Still, he hadn’t ruined things between them completely. When he graduated high school, Sam had joined the military. Upon completion of his four years, he had intended to continue until something changed the course of his life. Instead, he had decided to put his skills to use elsewhere. So he had started his own business, offering personal security and private investigation services. When he heard that Naomi was at loose ends after getting a degree in criminal justice, graduating the police academy, and then deciding not to join the force, he had offered her a job, which she had gladly accepted, and they had worked together ever since.
Although they’d known each other for so long, most of their lives in fact, they had never talked about the reason Naomi transferred schools halfway through the year. He knew the reason, had even considered bringing it up a few times, but had never done it. Now he was thinking that was a mistake. Someone wanted Naomi dead, and he needed to know every detail of her life to help her figure out who.
The answers were inside her head, they had to be. Subconsciously, she had to know something about a person who hated her enough to threaten her. Sam didn’t think she was intentionally lying to him when she said she had no idea, he believed she just wasn't aware of what pieces of information were important and which were unrelated.
Naomi was about eight in the picture the killer had left. It must have been shortly before she changed schools because she was missing her two front teeth in the photo, but she’d had them by the time they met. What happened to her family before they moved could be connected to what was happening to her now. They were going to have to discuss it, and he knew that wasn't going to go down well with Naomi. She valued her privacy even more than he did and that was saying something.
Sam watched her sleep. She was so pretty, her smooth, fair skin looked so soft. Every time he looked at her, he was tempted to reach out a hand and touch it. Her eyes were huge bright brown spheres glowing with passion. Her hair was a silky blonde, which right now was falling across her face.
He shouldn’t do it.
He knew that, yet his fingers were already moving toward her, gently brushing her locks back tucking them behind her ear. His hand lingered on her cheek. The backs of his knuckles brushed across skin that was every bit as soft as he had imagined.
Quickly he snatched his hand back.
It was dangerous to get involved with Naomi.
He had wanted her since he was thirteen years old, dreamed about what it would be like to be with her. Dreams of Naomi filled his sleep most nights, probably because he wouldn’t allow such thoughts into his mind while he was awake. They shared a lot of similarities, but they had a lot of differences too. Differences that he was afraid were insurmountable even if he could convince Naomi to give them a go. He had hinted more times than he could count about the possibility of the two of them going on a date. If she didn’t shut him down outright then she played dumb, pretending that she didn’t know what he was talking about.
As much as he wanted an opportunity to change her mind, this wasn't it. This was a job. That was the way he had to look at it. Just another job. It didn’t matter that he didn’t see Naomi as a client, he settled for having her as a friend right now because at least it kept her in his life, but he saw her as a lot more than that. However, right now shehadto be just another client. If he let his emotions get in the way, Naomi could wind up hurt or worse.
Naomi moved restlessly on the sofa, even in sleep she couldn’t stay still. She needed proper rest and she wasn't going to get it on the couch, he’d take her upstairs to her room. Trying not to wake her, he slipped an arm under her knees and his other around her shoulders and lifted her easily. Naomi was a gym junkie, but she’d lost muscle tone in the last year as she’d been forced to cut back on her workouts as she recovered from life-threatening injuries. Against his chest she felt small and frail. She didn’t stir, her head was nestled on his shoulder precariously close to his neck, and Sam knew he was in trouble. Keeping emotionally detached was going to be a whole lot harder than he’d thought, and he had already anticipated it would be near impossible.
January 28th
4:46 A.M.
Naomi awoke with the feeling that a memory was hovering just on the edge of her consciousness. She tried to reach for it, but it shimmied backward, then disappeared altogether.
Remembering all the times she had wished that she could forget the terrors that had plagued her for so many years, she now realized that there was something worse than remembering, and that was the complete inability to recall something important. It left her feeling so helpless. She wanted to force the memories to return, but she was powerless to make it happen. And what was worse was that she knew there was a chance that the memories would never return. Hitting her head could have permanently erased those memories as though they never even existed.
Frustrated, she needed to get up and move around, staying still made her antsy. Her head was feeling much better. It still pounded painfully but she no longer felt dizzy and spaced out. She threw back the blanket, and all of a sudden realized that she was no longer downstairs on the couch in her lounge room. She was upstairs in her bedroom, tucked into her bed. Sam must have brought her up here last night after he’d drugged her into falling asleep.
She wasn't sure how she felt about that.
About Sam carrying her, cradling her in his arms. She was surprised she hadn’t woken up—surprised and a little disappointed. She liked Sam, had since she was twelve years old. Liked him despite the way he had teased her endlessly when they were kids. When he’d offered her a job, she had jumped at it, unsure what direction her life had been moving the idea of being able to use a range of her skills was appealing as was the notion of being able to see Sam every day. She knew he wanted more than friendship. And it wasn't that she didn’t, it was just that she cared too much about Sam to risk it. She dated from time to time, but she always picked guys who she knew she had no future with because that way no one got hurt. But if she slept with Sam, she’d get even more attached than she already was, and then when things crashed and burned, she wouldn’t just lose a boyfriend but a friend too.
Sometimes, like right now, the urge to give in and let Sam take care of her was almost all-consuming. Taking care of people was what Sam did, and he was good at it. But as tempting as it was, she would never give in, never allow him to look after her. That just wasn't who she was. She took care of herself and everyone around her. She liked taking care of others, it gave her a sense of purpose, like she wasn't completely useless, but sometimes she just got so tired. Like her whole body, her brain, her emotions were so exhausted it was a wonder she could get out of bed in the morning.