landed his fist solidly into the guy’s nose, and hustled Tessa out of the room before anybody else noticed the young woman with the front of her shirt ripped from collar to waist.
They’d spent the night in his dorm room. Talking.Him in the desk chair and Tessa sitting on the bed, dwarfed by one of his T-shirts. He’d fallen first in lust and then in love, but they’d come so quick on the heels of one another that he’d been hard-pressed at eighteen to separate the difference.
By Christmas, they’d been sleeping together. When they’d parted at break, and she’d gone home to her big house in Nebraska and he’d gone backto Minnesota, he’d wondered how he might survive.
He’d told Jake about her and his brother, home on leave from the service, had given him a case of condoms for Christmas. He’d understood the subtle message. Nobody needed to tell him not to screw up his plans, his dreams. How would he be a great journalist and earn a Pulitzer before he was thirty if he didn’t finish college?
When he’dreturned to school for the spring semester and she’d fallen into his arms, all had been right with the world. They’d been inseparable for sophomore and junior year and senior year, on her twenty-second birthday, he’d asked her to marry him. Three weeks later, she was dead.
It had been relatively quick, or so the medical examiner had said. That statement, no doubt meant to bring comfort, hadbrought none. He’d gone through the motions of life, attending her funeral, helping her roommates pack up her things, throwing away the toiletries she’d kept at his apartment.
And then there’d been the circus of accusations and questions and even threats. Just tell us the truth. That’s what the police had said to him.
The truth was the downward spiral that had started when he gatheredTessa’s cold body in his arms was gaining speed.
After the police had officially discounted him as a suspect, he’d quietly fallen apart. He’d stopped going to school, stopped eating, living mostly on alcohol and sleeping pills.
When he’d gone home for Thanksgiving his senior year, he’d seen the despair in his parents’ eyes. But it hadn’t mattered. He’d gone back to Chicago but didn’tattend a single class between Thanksgiving and Christmas.
He failed every one of his classes that term and when it came time to sign up for classes for the spring semester, he didn’t bother. He barely bothered to get out of bed.
Nothing mattered. Tessa was dead.
His parents had insisted he come home. His mother had coddled, his father had bullied, and he’d started fantasizing aboutways to kill himself. He blew off the appointments with the psychologist, refused to talk to the priest that his mother dragged home and spent most of the days sleeping.
He was a train wreck.
His parents, worn down by the strain of the looming possibility that they were losing their son, fought constantly. The weekend that Sam should have graduated from college, his father moved out.Sam hadn’t even come out of the basement to say goodbye.
If Jake hadn’t come home when he did from his thank-you-very-much-Uncle-Sam tour of duty, taken one look at him and literally dragged him up the basement stairs, he knew he’d be dead by now.
He’d dried out and in the process had realized he wasn’t dried up. He’d returned to school in the fall, changed his major to law enforcementand graduated three semesters later. His parents had found their way back, too, to each other, to him.
And he’d managed to get on with his life. Had forgotten about getting a Pulitzer and had focused on getting scum off the street. And told himself that if he wasn’t happy, he was at least content.
It had been enough.
And then, damn it, Claire Fontaine had waltzed into his life.
Beautiful. Sexy. Smart.
Vulnerable.
He looked back down at the file. He’d read every word many times. And he was going to do it all again. He couldn’t afford to miss anything.
Claire
They’d spent the night in his dorm room. Talking.Him in the desk chair and Tessa sitting on the bed, dwarfed by one of his T-shirts. He’d fallen first in lust and then in love, but they’d come so quick on the heels of one another that he’d been hard-pressed at eighteen to separate the difference.
By Christmas, they’d been sleeping together. When they’d parted at break, and she’d gone home to her big house in Nebraska and he’d gone backto Minnesota, he’d wondered how he might survive.
He’d told Jake about her and his brother, home on leave from the service, had given him a case of condoms for Christmas. He’d understood the subtle message. Nobody needed to tell him not to screw up his plans, his dreams. How would he be a great journalist and earn a Pulitzer before he was thirty if he didn’t finish college?
When he’dreturned to school for the spring semester and she’d fallen into his arms, all had been right with the world. They’d been inseparable for sophomore and junior year and senior year, on her twenty-second birthday, he’d asked her to marry him. Three weeks later, she was dead.
It had been relatively quick, or so the medical examiner had said. That statement, no doubt meant to bring comfort, hadbrought none. He’d gone through the motions of life, attending her funeral, helping her roommates pack up her things, throwing away the toiletries she’d kept at his apartment.
And then there’d been the circus of accusations and questions and even threats. Just tell us the truth. That’s what the police had said to him.
The truth was the downward spiral that had started when he gatheredTessa’s cold body in his arms was gaining speed.
After the police had officially discounted him as a suspect, he’d quietly fallen apart. He’d stopped going to school, stopped eating, living mostly on alcohol and sleeping pills.
When he’d gone home for Thanksgiving his senior year, he’d seen the despair in his parents’ eyes. But it hadn’t mattered. He’d gone back to Chicago but didn’tattend a single class between Thanksgiving and Christmas.
He failed every one of his classes that term and when it came time to sign up for classes for the spring semester, he didn’t bother. He barely bothered to get out of bed.
Nothing mattered. Tessa was dead.
His parents had insisted he come home. His mother had coddled, his father had bullied, and he’d started fantasizing aboutways to kill himself. He blew off the appointments with the psychologist, refused to talk to the priest that his mother dragged home and spent most of the days sleeping.
He was a train wreck.
His parents, worn down by the strain of the looming possibility that they were losing their son, fought constantly. The weekend that Sam should have graduated from college, his father moved out.Sam hadn’t even come out of the basement to say goodbye.
If Jake hadn’t come home when he did from his thank-you-very-much-Uncle-Sam tour of duty, taken one look at him and literally dragged him up the basement stairs, he knew he’d be dead by now.
He’d dried out and in the process had realized he wasn’t dried up. He’d returned to school in the fall, changed his major to law enforcementand graduated three semesters later. His parents had found their way back, too, to each other, to him.
And he’d managed to get on with his life. Had forgotten about getting a Pulitzer and had focused on getting scum off the street. And told himself that if he wasn’t happy, he was at least content.
It had been enough.
And then, damn it, Claire Fontaine had waltzed into his life.
Beautiful. Sexy. Smart.
Vulnerable.
He looked back down at the file. He’d read every word many times. And he was going to do it all again. He couldn’t afford to miss anything.
Claire
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