Marriage: Classified by Linda O. Johnston

Author:Linda O. Johnston
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2013-01-15T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Nine

“Wait!” Sara shouted. “Don’t you hang up on me, you SOB.” She stopped. She had used a masculine epithet, yet she still hadn’t been able to tell if the killer was a man or a woman.

And who was to say that the caller was actually the serial killer? It could have been a crank.

A crank with an awful lot of information.

“Did you see where it came from?” Jordan demanded. “Have you sent a patrol car?”

“Yes,” Sara said weakly. The officers reported in a minute later. No one was at the pay phone, which was in a secluded alcove in a bustling downtown Santa Gregoria office building.

“W-what do we do now?” Only when she spoke did Sara realize her teeth were chattering.

Jordan must have noticed, too, for she was suddenly enfolded in his arms. She pressed her cheek against his chest, wishing that, for now, his sympathy was not just for show here, at the police station where they both worked. That he really did care for her, as he would an honest-to-goodness, forever-after wife.

And then she recalled how caring he had been after she had been attacked and her father killed. They were alone part of the time. Jordan had been kind to her and compassionate. That must simply be part of who he was.

And it would do her no good—no good at all—if she allowed herself to fall in love with him because of his endearingly masculine and protective personality.

No more good than if she let herself fall in love with him for his sexiness.

Falling in love with Jordan Dawes could be fatal to Sara’s sense of well-being.

“You’re going to be fine, Sara,” he whispered into her ear. “I’ll make sure of it. Don’t worry.”

Her sense of well-being was just fine here, held close in his arms, despite the terrible things that despicable person had said to her over the phone. But she couldn’t stay here forever.

She pulled away. “Of course I’m fine,” she said. “But we have to catch whoever it was, Jordan.” She looked around. Cops from all over the station were hovering around them, looking angry, uneasy.

Strangers. Not one of the friendly faces she’d learned to recognize as belonging to special friends was among them.

But they were still her co-workers and cohorts. They would stick by her.

“Look, everyone,” she said, “I wish I could remember what happened when I was hit and my father was killed. But I don’t. If any of you has any suggestions how to catch this creep, let us know, will you?”

An affirmative murmur circulated through the crowd. A man in uniform with the name M. Herbert on his ID pin stepped forward. “You up for a twenty-four-hour guard, Sara? Even if the chief—acting chief—won’t authorize it, I’ll bet we can get up enough volunteers for a watch like that.”

Sara felt tears fill her eyes. “That’s a wonderful idea. And maybe I’ll take you up on it. Let me think about it.”

Of course, Sara still believed that the killer was in law enforcement.

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