Chapter 8

The next morning Sam made another grocery run and returned with a copy of the Miami Herald. Puzzled, I didn't think he bought it so I could see where my column was missing. I glanced at the front page and flipped it to see the bottom, and I almost dropped it to the floor when I saw the headline.

"'Herald Features Reporter Missing.' Oh dear." I scanned the columns beneath the headline. "Sam, did you read this? The police think I've been kidnapped by some Russian group, and the Russian embassy is getting involved, denying everything. Oh, brother. This has gotten way out of hand!"

"Just be glad they don't know the truth," Sam said as he pulled out a bag containing two fresh bagels and a small container of cream cheese and laid them on the desk. "I bought some extra stuff, because I think we're gonna have to be careful about going out for awhile."

"You know, if I went to a phone and called my boss, I could clear this up in a heartbeat." I dropped the paper on the desk and sat across from him.

"Too risky if the Russians see you."

"Then the paper will be right if they grab me." My eyes met his.

"No! I can't let you become a sitting duck like that!"

The ferociousness in his voice took me off guard, and I was flattered that he cared so much. Maybe he was falling for me. That thought boosted my ego, even if a relationship between us could never be more than what it currently was. "Then come with me. I'm sure there has to be a phone near this market you keep going to."

"Yeah, around the side." He admitted it and looked away as he added, "We'll go after breakfast. Just make it quick."

"I will. I promise."

Sam walked close beside me, with my hand in his like a couple of lovers out for a morning stroll. I could sense the tension in his body, and coupled with mine, we were quite the pair. The market was a couple blocks away, which surprised me. I didn't think Sam would take that kind of risk. It was no wonder he was so concerned about me going alone. I squeezed his hand, prompting him to glance down, and I gave him a reassuring smile and an impetuous peck on the cheek. He smiled and returned it with a swift kiss on my lips before turning his attention back to where we were going.

He dropped some change into my palm and shielded me as I approached the phone. I dialed the number that would take me directly to Murphy's desk. Over my shoulder, I watched Sam standing with his hands clasped in front of his body, his head moving in a slow casual scan of the area with his eagle eyes hidden behind sunglasses.

"Joe Murphy, editor's desk," he answered. Murphy always answered his own calls. He loved to micromanage that way.

"Murphy, it's me, Nina."

"Nina! Where the hell are you? Are you okay?" I was taken aback by the concern in his voice. In all the time I knew my boss, I always thought that the only thing he cared about was the story. He continued in a worried tone. "Barbara said she heard from a friend of yours a couple days ago, and since then, nothing. You know what the cops think?"

"Yes, I saw the article. That's why I'm calling, because I need to set the record straight. I haven't been kidnapped by Russians, Sir. My friend, the one who called Barb, is in trouble and he needs my help." Behind me, I heard squealing tires, doors slamming, and voices. I turned and saw three police units blocking the street, and every cop using them as cover and aiming their guns at Sam. "Murphy! The cops are here! What's going on?"

"I don't know, kiddo. Get the story and call me back, and maybe you'll keep your job." The line went dead. He smelled a story again and all his concern went out the window. I should have known he didn't really have a heart.

I dropped the receiver onto the cradle and turned as the cops yelled at Sam to put his hands behind his head. He glanced at me, looking for help. I blurted, "No! Don't arrest him! He's my friend! He's trying to help me!"

But they wouldn't listen. Two officers came forward and pushed Sam away from me. He stumbled off the curb and threw his hands out to stop his fall as he hit the hood of the cruiser.

"What part of hands on your head don't you get, Comrade? Hands on your head, now!"

"Sam!"

Hands grasped my arms and led me to a squad car. I fought against them, screaming at the officers to leave Sam alone. It was as if I was invisible, they were so hell-bent on taking in their suspect. The back seat was hard fiberglass and very uncomfortable. I think the officer apologized to me, but I didn't hear him. Through my tears I watched Sam getting searched and cuffed, and they shoved him into the back seat of another unit. The door slammed on him like a cell door. He turned his head toward me, regret and an apology in his eyes. If anyone was sorry, it was me. It was because of my stupidity that he was now being hauled off to the police station like a criminal.

I felt like I was under arrest myself when they put me into a plain room with a table and two chairs, and a camera high in the corner replaced the stereotypical one-way mirror. The temperature was pleasantly cool, which I didn't expect. Interrogation rooms were supposed to be hot and sweltering. Maybe that's the way it was in Sam's, if the authorities were questioning him. I'd been there an hour and a half and was getting impatient when a detective came in after knocking. He was about my age, blonde and kind of cute when he arrived with a smile, a file folder, and a bottle of water.

"If you'd rather have something else, let me know." He said as he set the bottle on the table and held out his hand. "Detective James Kowalski."

I took his hand and shook it. "Nina Kirk. Thanks for the water, Detective. I could use it."

He sat and placed a slim folder near his right elbow. "You're welcome. So, Ms. Kirk, please tell me about where you've been the past few days. Where did your kidnapper take you? Did he harm you in any way? Did he… force himself on you?"

"First of all, Sam didn't kidnap me. I went willingly. It was either that, or the Russians would have killed us."

Detective Kowalski's eyes narrowed in disbelief as he watched me drink from the bottle. I knew he was measuring my movements, trying to decipher the clues of my body language to see if I was lying, and to his disappointment he was coming up with nothing. "I don't understand. Your neighbor," he consulted the file and closed it before continuing. "Your neighbor Gary Robinson said that a group of Russians invaded your apartment and that you were taken by one of them."

"No, that's not what happened!" I screwed the cap onto the nearly empty bottle and leaned back into my chair. "Let me tell you what really went on." I left out the part about how Sam was there through unexplained means, but just about everything else I related as it happened. The detective sat staring at me, nodding now and then, but he let me get everything out in the open. I was glad for that, because as I analyzed the events of the past few days, as a whole it reminded me that it was too crazy to be true. Yet it flowed out in a logical pattern and Detective Kowalski appeared to believe me.

"So this Sam Axe was protecting you? He wasn't a kidnapper?"

I nodded. "That's correct." My brow furrowed as a wave of sadness overcame me, thinking of Sam being held in a cell somewhere. "So can you let him go, please? He's done nothing wrong."

"Well, we would, except we have a little problem." Detective Kowalski folded his hands on the table and looked deep into my eyes. "Mr. Axe doesn't exist. We've checked every government database and he's not in any of them. We even checked his fingerprints against military records, and he doesn't come up." He sighed. "If there's anything you can tell us to prove he is who he says he is, it would help get him out faster. As long as he's innocent."

"He is!" My mind raced, trying to come up with a way to free Sam. I leaned forward and said, "Maybe he's not in your system because he's in covert ops? Did you ever stop to consider that?"

"Covert ops, like CIA? The CIA doesn't spy on Americans." Kowalski's cheeks flushed a slight pink. "Well, not officially."

I smirked, crossed my legs, and threw an arm over the chair back. He knew I was a reporter, and no doubt he assumed that I knew the truth regarding all the spying going on within our borders. "Yeah, whatever. The point is, if he's CIA, NSA, whatever, he's probably working under an alias and his prints will be locked away in some impenetrable government database. It's no wonder you found nothing on him."

Kowalski leaned back in his chair and tapped the file folder on the table. "If that's the case, my Lieutenant isn't gonna wanna keep him on ice and risk getting spanked by the Feds." He let out a breath and chuckled. "He's gonna love this."

"I'm sorry. Sam and I didn't really get a lot of time to talk about who he was," I lied for Sam's sake, and thankfully Detective Kowalski didn't pick up on it. "I'm guessing. I don't have anything on which to base my theory."

"Don't worry about it. I'm sure if he is an agent, by now the big guys have either been called in, or my partner is telling the Lieutenant that this guy needs to be set free."

I smiled. "That would be great if he can go. He's a really nice guy. And no, it's not the Stockholm syndrome setting in. Detective, he saved my life more than once and was trying to keep me away from the Russians."

"Thank you for your time and your testimony, Ms. Kirk." Detective Kowalski stood and beckoned me to rise. "We'll get you a ride home and everything will be taken care of with Mr. Axe, or whoever he really is."

"I'd like to wait for him, if I may." In the reception area I turned to the Detective and gave him my sweetest beseeching look.

"It'll be awhile. You're better off going home. Trust me."

Before I knew it, a black and white was escorting me to my apartment complex. The officers gave me my purse that I left at the motel, but the clothes they were keeping as evidence. Fortunately Sam packed my casual outfits, nothing that was my favorite, because most likely I'd never see them again.

The only thing that mattered was being able to see Sam, but the officers made it quite clear that wasn't going to happen until Sam was released and he was free to go wherever he pleased. Even then, he might take his arrest as a sign that he should find a way back to his world and he would leave without say goodbye. If I believed that, I was idiot.

The officers dropped me off at the apartment entrance. It was dusk and the air was typical Miami sticky. If I didn't have a busted living room window, I'd be looking forward to getting into my air conditioned apartment. I don't know how I managed the heat and humidity when Sam and I were holed up in the warehouse. Maybe being with him was a distraction from my discomfort. A bead of perspiration ran down the side of my face, and it came back to me full-force. No, I would never forget a single detail, not as long as I lived. We were hot and miserable, but we had each other, and he was good company. Very good company. A smile played on my lips as I recalled the night filled with passion, and I shook off a tingle of desire and resigned myself to the possibility that he and I would never be able to repeat it.

"Excuse me." I heard a familiar male voice and turned to see a figure emerge from the shadows. Two of them, to be exact.

I gasped and jumped back, flipping my key ring on my index finger so that the pepper spray was up and ready. The figures came into the light and I gaped. "Michael. Jesse. Thank God you're here!"