Chapter 15

Sam eyed the kitchen. It wasn't in good shape. It barely qualified as clean.

Vin set the bags with the carryout containers on the wobbly table.

"I'll make sure I get better food when I stop after work," he said. "Something healthier for you and the…"

He stopped when Morgan gave him a sharp look. Sam didn't understand the unspoken message that passed between them. She turned quickly to the sink, turning on the faucet to find a pathetic stream of water with no pressure. She grabbed the mismatched cups Vin had pulled from a cabinet and filled them, ignoring the hard knot in her chest.

Morgan had found some guy and apparently had secrets with him now. Secrets that she would have shared with Sam. But everything had changed since Morgan's attack.

For the millionth time, Sam second-guessed if she had done the right thing by not telling Buck or Chris about what had happened to Morgan. If trying to appease Morgan when she was panicked and broken had been the wrong move.

"I need to go so I'm not late," Vin said reluctantly. "You might want to take that up to my—our—room. My roommates will be waking up soon."

Sam tried to keep the scowl from her face. She didn't want to know what Vin's housemates were into that had them sleeping until three in the afternoon.

"You need anything?" Vin asked Morgan.

Morgan shook her head. He looked at Sam. Sam frowned at him. She still didn't love what Morgan had gotten herself into. Vin didn't look offended by her silent judgment.

"I'll be back late," Vin said.

He headed toward the door and Morgan walked outside with him. Sam saw Morgan through the screen door, leaning up against Vin. She lifted her face to him, trailing her fingers over his face. She whispered something to him and reached up to find his lips with hers.

When Morgan deepened the kiss, pressing every inch of her body against Vin's, Sam turned back to the sink. She stared at the peeling paint of the house next door she could see through the small window over the sink.

Whatever anyone said about Morgan, no one could accuse her of doing things halfway. No matter how bad a decision was, she would throw everything into it.

The screen door slapped shut and Morgan was back in the kitchen. Sam swallowed hard, trying to keep her thoughts about Vin and Morgan's choices from her face.

"Let's take this upstairs," Morgan said.

Sam didn't trust her voice yet, so she just gave a nod and helped Morgan with the few bags.

Morgan led the way up to the third floor. What Sam assumed was supposed to be an attic. Instead it was a small bedroom with a sloped ceiling and attached bathroom that barely looked big enough to turn around in. The walls were covered with pictures and posters, but not enough to distract Sam from the dismal neighborhood out the window.

Morgan sat on the unmade bed that was nothing more than a thin mattress on the floor. There wasn't any other furniture in the room besides a dresser, so Sam sat down with her. She didn't want to think about Morgan and that guy in this bed together. She didn't want to think about Morgan living in this house. Most of all, she didn't want to think about the way Morgan seemed almost at ease for the first time since she had been attacked. Because that meant Sam hadn't been able to help her. Sam had let her down and Morgan had found someone who could be a better friend to her.

The hot knot of jealousy threatened to choke her. "You want extra crispy?" she asked, opening one of the containers of fried chicken, trying to pretend they were just sitting in Morgan's room at Buck's.

Morgan shook her head. "I'm not that hungry," she said.

That pulled Sam out of her own thoughts. "Are you ok?"

Morgan pushed the container toward Sam. "Fine," she said.

Sam looked more closely at her.

"I'm just tired, Sam." She lowered herself backwards so she was lying on the bed. She closed her eyes and draped her arm over her face.

Sam didn't know what to do. If she should push Morgan to talk. But she seemed to be talking to Vin. It wasn't like she didn't have anyone. And Sam should be happy Morgan had someone she trusted to talk to. Even if that wasn't Sam anymore.

"I'll put the food in the fridge and head out," she said.

Morgan dropped her arm and looked at Sam. "You should stay." Sam could see the sincerity in the words, but also the exhaustion.

Sam shook her head. Being in the room Morgan shared with this husband that Sam didn't even know was too much. Seeing Morgan's clothes, her makeup, things Sam recognized from Morgan's room at Buck's, scattered around the room that belonged to this guy was too much. Morgan had a whole new life. One Sam wasn't ingrained into every corner of.

"I'll text you later. Do you have your phone?"

Morgan nodded, closing her eyes again. Sam gathered the food to haul it back downstairs.

She started for the door, but paused before she went to the stairs. "Morgan," she said.

Morgan dropped her arm again and opened her eyes.

"If things…if this ends up not being what you wanted…" Sam didn't know how to say what she was feeling. Wanting to promise Morgan she was there no matter what, but not make Morgan feel like she didn't trust her judgment.

Morgan pushed off the bed and crossed to Sam, squeezing her in a tight hug. Sam's arms automatically came up around Morgan, feeling the desperation in Morgan's embrace.

"I know, Sam," Morgan said. Then she let Sam go and stepped back. "But this is the right thing to do. The only good option."

Sam had no idea what that meant, but she nodded.

"Don't worry about school tomorrow. It'll be there whenever you want to go back," Sam said. She shouldn't have pushed Morgan to go. Not when she had seen the panic and how something there had sent her into a tailspin. She had known Morgan had been skipping classes over the past few months, but hadn't realized how hard being there really was for Morgan.

"Thanks," Morgan said softly. "For everything."

Sam managed a half-hearted smile. She took the bags and headed down the stairs.

The sickly shade of yellow of the fridge told of how old it was. Sam stowed the food, seeing nothing more than a ketchup bottle and a carton of juice, some grease stained pizza boxes in there.

She couldn't believe this was what Morgan would choose.

Sam made it outside. She wasn't familiar with the neighborhood Vin lived in. She pulled her phone from her lightweight jacket pocket, then stopped. She didn't know who to call. Definitely not Chris.

She scrolled through the few contacts and stopped. A smile pulled at her lips.

Ezra Standish.

He had never told her his number, and she hadn't asked. But she had left her phone on the table in the motel room. He must have added his number for her. She read the extra note he had put in the contact information.

Available for car jacking, felony kidknapping, and general debauchery.

A small laugh burst from Sam.

She pressed the icon to call him.

#

Ezra tossed aside the jacket. The pockets were too visible. Too many. It would arouse anyone's suspicion when he started winning at poker and he didn't appreciate being subjected to a physical search for extra cards. Never mind the insult that if he were to cheat, he would be stupid enough to hide cards in such a blatantly obvious place.

Ezra reached for a more streamlined jacket and pulled it on over his button up shirt. He was about to get his wallet from his dresser when his phone beeped to life.

Ezra looked at the caller ID and felt his eyebrows raise. He slid the icon across the screen to answer.

"I didn't expect to hear from you again," he said without preamble.

"Yeah, well, I ain't thrilled to be callin' you," Buck Wilmington's voice came through the line.

Ezra pocketed his wallet, but didn't reach for his keys yet. "I'm assuming this is a professional call?"

Buck's snort said what he thought of Ezra's chosen profession of gambler and CI. "Call it whatever you want, Standish."

"What do you need?" Ezra asked.

"Chris and I got a lead on some guy fixing bets. Then breaking some kneecaps when people can't pay."

"I've heard about that," Ezra said.

"You have a name?" Buck asked.

"Do you have money?" Ezra countered.

Buck sighed. "Have you ever thought of doin' something just cuz it's the right thing to do?"

"No."

Another sigh. "Fifty dollars for the information, a hundred if we can arrest him."

"One hundred for the information, three hundred for the arrest. My landlord is raising rent, trying to gentrify the neighborhood."

"You're a piece of work, you know that Standish?" Buck asked.

"That doesn't mean I don't have to pay rent." Ezra waited, knowing his terms were fair and Buck would agree.

"Fine," Buck said. "Me and Larabee'll be over later to get whatever you can tell us."

"Officer Wilmington," Ezra said, before he could hang up. "Is Sargent Larabee feeling any more forgiving since I last saw him?"

"Nope," Buck answered, then ended the call.

"Wonderful," Ezra muttered. Not that he could hold it against Chris. He imagined if he had a sister, he wouldn't be feeling very friendly toward the man he found in a motel room with her. Especially if the sister had been wearing nothing but a too short towel, ready to shower.

The memory of Sam Larabee, all legs, standing there with that scrap of fabric wrapped around her was too enticing. Which was a problem, since he was certain she wasn't giving him a second thought.

His phone sounded again. Ezra looked at the unfamiliar number, and answered. "Hello?"

There was a pause. Ezra didn't appreciate telemarketers wasting his time. He pulled the phone from his ear, ready to end the annoying call when a woman's voice sounded.

"Ezra?"

He recognized the voice. "Miss Larabee." He tried to hide his surprise.

She didn't say anything else.

"Sam?" he said, his artificial formality dropping. She still didn't say anything. "Is something wrong?" He was good at reading people. He had pegged the guy Sam's friend hitched herself to as a misguided boy scout. He couldn't imagine the guy was causing problems for Sam or Morgan. But he also knew Sam's brother. And there was no way things could be going well for her at home after her weekend road trip.

"I need a ride," Sam finally said.

Ezra didn't have to ask why she wasn't calling her brother. "Where are you?" he asked.

She gave him an address that Ezra recognized as a rough neighborhood. He wouldn't ask for details. If she wanted to tell him why she was there, then he would listen.

"I'll be there shortly," he said.

It wasn't close to dark. At least she would be reasonably secure in her current location until he got there. Still, it wasn't an area Ezra would like to see her lingering. He got his keys and headed down the narrow stairwell to the small lot behind the building his studio apartment was located in.

He saw Sam sitting on the curb from a block away. His curiosity grew. She wasn't waiting inside the house.

As soon as he pulled his car to a stop, Sam opened the door. She got into the seat.

"Thanks," she said.

When she didn't say anything more, Ezra figured that was the extent of what she was going to offer him.

"Where to?" he asked.

He expected her to give him directions to the home he knew she shared with her brother. Instead she pressed her lips together.

Ezra didn't push. When it became clear she didn't have an answer, he spoke again. "If it's alright with you, I need to head back to my place. I was just about to make supper," he lied smoothly.

The look of relief that crossed Sam's face told Ezra he had said the right thing.

"Yeah," she said. "That's good."

He flipped on his blinker and took the turn that would lead them from one of the more crime ridden neighborhoods in Denver and towards his slightly better neighborhood.

Sam rode in silence and Ezra didn't push.

"Hey," she said suddenly, sitting up a bit in her seat.

Ezra lifted an eyebrow to let her know he was listening.

"If you have a car, why were we stealing one?"

Ezra's mouth relaxed into a smile. "Because I wasn't about to be charged with kidknapping by driving you and your friend across state lines in my car. Much better to be an innocent victim along for the ride."

Sam eyed him. She looked like she doubted his innocence. "Pretty fast thinking with all that was going on."

"It's a skill that's more or less kept me out of jail," he answered.

Sam didn't say anything more. When he pulled up behind the three story brownstone that had been converted to apartments decades ago, he watched her study it, but she still didn't say anything.

She didn't say anything as they went up the stairs to his third floor apartment, and she didn't comment on the small size of his studio apartment.

She looked around her with interest.

"Have a seat," Ezra said, motioning toward the couch. It was that, one of the chairs around the small table, or his bed. Not many options.

Sam ignored his invitation and went to one of the paintings hanging on his wall. She leaned in closer to look at it.

Ezra left her to judge his taste in art and went to the fridge. He pulled out the ingredients for porkchops and salad. He tried not to watch the way her hair fell over her shoulder when she leaned forward. Or her fingers deftly tucked it back behind her ear.

Sam made her way back over toward him. She watched him silently. Her presence was like a wave of heat next to Ezra. He could feel every time she looked at him.

He opened a cabinet and pulled down a bottle of brandy. Something to slow his heart rate and get his thoughts off the young woman with him in the small kitchenette area.

"Can I pour you a drink?" he asked, aware she was well under the legal drinking age. But so was he, so he may as well be a generous host.

Sam's shoulders relaxed down and she nodded. She lifted herself up to perch on the edge of the counter and took the glass he handed her.

Ezra watched her sniff the small splash of liquor he had poured into a cup and blink at the scent. Then she lifted it to her lips and tossed it back. He held back a smile as she coughed and held a hand to her chest.

"It may be an acquired taste," Ezra said.

Sam shook her head, her light brown sunstreaked hair falling over her shoulders again with the movement. She held out her glass.

Ezra raised his eyebrows, but poured her another glass. He got out his frying pan and oil and went to work at the stove.

Behind him, he heard just a small cough and wheeze when Sam took her next drink.

He glanced at her, but she was fine. A slight flush spreading across her cheeks as the alcohol hit her system.

Ezra lit the burner on his stove. He put a skillet with two pork chops in place to cook.

He thought he liked his space. He had always told himself that he was fortunate to not be saddled with roommates or many acquaintances he needed to spend time with. But the very real presence of Sam near him, even if she wasn't much for small talk, made him think maybe he had been missing something. It wasn't unpleasant at all to have her near.

#

Sam swung her legs lazily from her spot on the counter. She leaned back on her hands and watched Ezra. His movements were easy. She wondered if anything ever rattled him, or if he took everything in stride. He was like Chris in that way. Unflappable. Taking things and dealing with them as they came.

She couldn't hold back a smile at the thought of Ezra and Chris finding out she thought they were similar.

She picked up the glass, her third one, and took another sip.

Ezra glanced back at her over his shoulder. "You may want to slow down. Especially if you haven't eaten yet."

Sam responded by draining the glass, the burn of the brandy warming her from the inside. It felt better than worrying about Morgan. Letting the drink relax her and dull her thoughts.

Ezra moved the brandy bottle to set out a hot pad and put the skillet on it. Sam noticed he moved the bottle all the way to the other side of the small kitchenette. He pulled a pan of garlic toast from the oven.

Ezra got out a bottle of salad dressing and carried it to the small table that was only steps away from the kitchen and set it out with a large bowl of tossed salad. He dished the porkchops and toast onto two plates and carried those over next.

"Dinner is served," he said.

Sam started to hop down from her perch, but landed on feet that weren't quite cooperating. Ezra put his hands on her arms to steady her. Sam gripped his forearms reflexively.

The room wasn't quite spinning. But it definitely wasn't staying still. She studied Ezra's eyes as he watched her cautiously.

This was so much better than watching Morgan settle into her new life. Being with Ezra instead of sitting home alone like Chris wanted her to.

"So much better," she said.

"What?" Ezra asked.

Sam liked the feeling of his hands on her arms. She hadn't expected that. She could feel corded muscles under her fingers. Definitely different than the boys at school.

She moved a step closer to Ezra. Saw his green eyes darken in response. She hadn't had a lot of experience with guys, Morgan usually flirted while Sam watched in amusement. But it wasn't hard to figure out what Ezra was thinking when his eyes looked at her like that.

But then Ezra was stepping back.

"You need food," he said. "And coffee."

He pulled out one of the chairs at the table.

Sam settled in. She waited for Ezra before she picked up the silverware and dug into the meal.

"Mmmm," she sighed happily. "This is good. My compliments to the chef," she said with a grin.

"I'll let the kitchen staff know," Ezra said.

"What's with the paintings?" she said. She lifted the tall glass of water Ezra had placed at her spot. "They're not signed. Who painted them?"

Ezra took a drink of water. He hesitated long enough that Sam thought he might not answer. "They were a college project," he said. "Back when I thought the straight and narrow might not be too suffocating."

"You painted them?" she asked. She looked back over at the framed art. "They're not half bad," she blurted out.

Ezra's mouth twitched. "High praise," he said. "Thank you.

Sam tried to hold back her snort of laughter. Before she could say anything more, a hard knock sounded on the door.

The way Ezra looked at the door in alarm told her he knew exactly who was there.

"Who—?" she started to ask but a familiar voice cut her off.

"Ezra!" Buck called. "Open up."

The pleasant buzz of the brandy dulled and she leaned over the table to hiss at Ezra. "What's Buck doing here?"

Ezra had regained his composure, but the tight lines around his mouth made it clear he wasn't in control of the situation. "I forgot they were coming."

"They?" she asked.

"Standish!" Chris yelled. "Don't waste our time!"

Sam looked to Ezra in alarm, panic taking over any last bit of alcohol induced comfort.

Ezra looked around his apartment quickly.

There was one more hard knock, then the knob started to turn.

Sam flew out of her chair so quickly she knocked it back a couple feet from the table. On instinct, she went to the bed and dove on the other side of it, stretching out on the floor between the bed and the wall.

"You doin' something we should know about in here?" Buck asked. Sam could hear the door opening.

Sam squeezed her eyes closed. She heard Chris and Buck's footsteps come farther into the apartment and could picture them looking around for anything amiss.

"Nothing more than usual," Ezra said easily. Sam couldn't believe he sounded so relaxed.

She opened her eyes and peaked under the bed. On the other side, she could see Chris and Buck's Denver PD issued shoes and pants. She saw one of them move toward the table where Ezra still sat.

"Someone here with you?" Chris asked.

Sam's heart had been thudding against the wood floor under her chest. Now it stopped abruptly.

"Someone was," Ezra said, like that someone wasn't hiding ten feet away. He stretched his legs out comfortably in front of him. "She doesn't like the cops and left when she heard I was expecting company from Denver's finest."

There was silence and Sam could picture her brother glaring at Ezra's words.

"Great choice in a companion as always," Buck said.

"Do you want my information or not?" Ezra said. Sam held her breath. She thought she could hear the offense Ezra took in Buck's words. Did Buck or Chris?

"What do you know?" Buck asked.

Ezra started talking about someone Sam had never heard of. Her brother asked a few questions. She lowered her forehead to the floor and tried not to move.

How had this happened? She was hiding from her brother practically under some guy's bed, Morgan was halfway across town where she lived with some guy who knew more about her now than Sam did, and Chris was never going to look at Sam the same way again.

Sam grit her teeth together and held back any sound that wanted to escape. She squeezed her eyes shut harder, wanting to find Morgan and make her understand that she didn't have to make everything worse by following through with this crazy plan she had. She wanted to come out from behind the bed and confront Chris, make him look at her with respect.

But neither one of those moves would end well. So Sam cowered. Something Chris would never do.

A light hand on her shoulder startled Sam, she jumped.

Ezra was crouched in front of her. Sam blinked away the thoughts.

"My company left," he said dryly.

Sam nodded and pushed herself up from the floor. The sudden rush of adrenaline leaving her system, the lack of food, the three glasses of brandy all pushed her backwards.

Ezra caught her. "Careful," he said without judgment.

Sam weaved on her feet.

Ezra lowered her to sit on the side of his bed. When he pulled his hands from her, the loneliness for Morgan and Chris returned.

"I…" she didn't know what to say. How to put her thoughts into words. She looked at Ezra, wondered if she should try. If he would understand. Her stomach flipped at the thought of opening up to someone. "I'm…" she tried again. She never had to tell Morgan what she was feeling. Morgan always just seemed to understand. Her stomach rolled again. "I'm going to be sick," she said suddenly, launching herself from the bed, clapping a hand over her mouth and rushing toward the open bathroom door.

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