“As if you don’t know. The article in the Post Dispatch?” Raven teased. “The one that predicts wedding bells for you and Sara?”
Raven pulled a tablet out of her oversize purse and quickly pulled up the article. “I can’t believe you haven’t seen it yet.”
I read it in the paper.
His heart clenched. “Does the article give my name and say that I’m a cop?”
“You know it does.” Raven stared at him curiously. “I hope you finally told Sara I was your sister and that you’d sworn me to secrecy. I wouldn’t want her to be mad.”
“Oh, she’s not mad.” She’s furious.
“Good.” Raven brushed a kiss across his cheek. “Cuz when you two get married, I’d like to be a bridesmaid.”
Before he could think of an appropriate response, she’d risen and was at the door. “I’ve got to run. Good luck on your research.”
He lifted a hand in a halfhearted goodbye. The door closed and he sank back on the couch, rubbing a hand across his forehead.
Ever since he’d left Sara’s house, he’d told himself that she was just upset, but that she’d get over it. Now he wasn’t so sure.
If he tried to go the apology route, he knew she’d want him to promise to drop the investigation. And he couldn’t do that. Not when her life might be at stake.
All he could do was believe that, no matter how hurt or angry she was, one day she’d understand there are some things you just have to do. And then she’d forgive him.
At least he hoped so. Because if she didn’t forgive him, chances were she wouldn’t marry him, either.
Sara pushed the rest of her entrée to the side of her plate. She loved salmon but she hadn’t had much of an appetite lately. For James’s sake she’d tried to put on a good show, eating at least a bite or two of everything on her plate.
James had chosen Hannegan’s for a celebratory dinner. Not only had her latest release been a great seller in the Christian market, it was doing surprisingly well on the pop charts, as well.
“Is something wrong with the salmon?” James frowned and looked around for the waiter. “I’ll have them get you something else.”
“Please don’t.” Sara placed a restraining hand on his arm. “It’s delicious. I’m just not that hungry.”
“Tell me this isn’t about some crazy diet.” James’s gaze turned sharp and assessing. “Because, if anything, you could stand to put on a few pounds.”
“No, really.” She laughed. Who but a man would encourage a woman to gain weight? “I’m just full.”
“If you’re sure…”
“I’m positive.” Sara glanced around the interior of the restaurant. Hannegan’s casual elegance and unique political décor set it apart from the other eateries in the Laclede’s Landing area. For years it had been one of her favorite places to eat. “Dinner was great. And you know how much I like jazz.”
“That’s why I picked this place.” James’s expression grew smug. “I wanted it to be special.”
“It has been,” Sara said, wishing in that instant that everything could be the way it used to be between her and James. But she couldn’t pretend. The feelings weren’t there. Oh, she cared about James. She admired him.
But love? No, she didn’t love him. She couldn’t love him. Her heart already belonged to someone else.
Dear God, with all the men in the world, just tell me one thing—why Crow?
Crow rubbed a weary hand across his forehead and leaned back in the chair, resisting the urge to toss the iPad on the floor.
All the articles on Sara and her career had started to run together. Though the spin on each might be different, the basic information was the same. After three days of reading, he was no closer to finding out who was stalking her.
A sick feeling filled the pit of his stomach every time he thought about Sara being unprotected. Without him around, she was a sitting duck.
Crow had never been a vengeful man. But he knew if someone hurt Sara, they would pay. He’d personally see to it. Though he still couldn’t understand why anyone would want to harm her. She was a good person who had worked hard for her success. He’d found no indication that she stepped on anyone along the way. Knowing Sara, if she had, it would have been accidental rather than intentional.
She didn’t have a mean bone in her body, though she had plenty of stubborn ones. Crow had run smack-dab into that irritating characteristic when he’d called to clear the air.
Annie had answered and told him Sara was unavailable but that she would give Sara his message. He’d followed up with an email, then waited a few days before texting her.
No response.
He hadn’t attempted to contact her since.
Salvadore Tucci didn’t grovel for any woman. No matter how much he loved her.
He shook his head, unable to believe the strange twist of fate. She’d changed his life and now she didn’t want him.
Thanks to his time with Sara, he’d finally realized something his family had been trying to tell him all along—that he wasn’t Crow, a guy who talked like a junkie or drug dealer and who was cynical and suspicious and cared only for himself. He was still Sal, the guy who went into law enforcement believing he could make a difference.
He had only a few weeks left of his leave. Then he’d have to tell the chief whether or not he was coming back to the force. It would be a difficult decision. But he’d decided to do what he should have been doing all along with major decisions; he was going straight to the top.
He’d started praying for guidance. Every night before he closed his eyes he’d ask the Almighty for direction. While he waited for an answer, there was work to do. With a resigned sigh, Crow refocused on the tablet in his lap, open to another “tell-all” story about Christian singer Sara Michaels.
As he flipped to the page, he prayed that this wouldn’t end up being another article geared to teens. One that gave the inside scoop on what kind of deodorant Sara loved, her favorite perfume for a night on the town and how she kept her hair so soft and shiny. He’d read enough of those to last a lifetime.
He scanned the article, written last year by a freelance journalist out of St. Louis. This woman had clearly done her research. The mention of Sara’s mother having a series of live-in boyfriends was a new revelation. It was the quotes attributed to one of Sara’s middle school classmates that caught his eye. Though the woman didn’t go into detail, what she did say showed she didn’t hold her old friend in very high regard. “I don’t think her fans would still love her if they knew the real Sara Michaels.”
What had that one note said? The one that had caught his eye because the paper and lettering had been different than the others? “Would your fans still love you if they knew you were a thief?”
The wording was too similar to be coincidental. Crow’s heart rate surged like it did when a big bust was going down. He reached for his phone and texted a friend at the police station. Joe would know the fastest way to reach this journalist and in turn the journalist would lead him to this—he glanced down at the article—Christine Jablonski.