Sam presses her face to my chest and bawls her eyes out, her sobs shaking through me. I hold her head as she cries waiting for her to get it all out before wiping the last tear from her cheek.
“I love you, Sam. I don’t want to be without you either. So, how do we fix this? We need to get that bitch out of our lives.”
She shrugs. “I don’t know. She doesn’t use names. I communicate with her in person every month and via e-mail.”
“Okay, give me her e-mail. We can start with that. Maybe Jamie can figure out who she is. He’s been looking for months without any leads. It’s been driving him crazy.”
Sam lifts her cell phone from the desk, flips through her e-mails, and then scribbles the address onto a piece of paper for me. I shove it in my pocket, hoping her e-mail address holds the key to finding her.
“When are you meeting her again?”
She pushes her hands to her hips and sighs. “I’m not. She said, and I quote, ‘my services are no longer needed.’”
“Maybe she knows.”
Sam bites her bottom lip, thinking it over. “Maybe. I wouldn’t be surprised. Most of the information she shared on her blog didn’t come from me. I had no idea you were with Jemma or that Trent got her pregnant. She found that out on her own.”
“The pot brownies were all you, though.” I wink at her. “Thanks for that.”
She frowns. “Were they really pot brownies? I was just guessing.”
I nod. “Yeah. I was so hammered I didn’t even remember eating them.”
“You think Jamie can find her with just an e-mail address?”
“I hope so.”
“Is Jamie like a hacker or something?”
I smirk. “Or something.”
She chuckles, running her fingers down my arm. “I hope he takes her down. Someone has to stop her.”
“You might go down with her,” I admit.
Sam presses her lips together tightly. “I know. But it’s a risk I’m willing to take to get you and your friends some justice.”
I bend down to kiss her, but she places both of her hands on my chest to push me away. “Not in the office. With the door open.”
I glance over at the door that’s open a crack and see her point. “Meet me at my house after you’re done work. I’m taking you to dinner.”
“Dolce?”
I nod. “Yep, I owe you a makeup date.”
She smiles and then steers me toward the door. “I’ll see you later. Now, go before my next appointment shows up.”
I return her smile, disappearing as fast as I came, feeling better about my future with Sam.
Chapter Thirty
Tucker
The hostess shows us to our table in the far corner at Dolce, leaving us with a menu and a smile. Sam slides into the circular booth next to me. She’s wearing a short skirt, her toned thigh brushing against my hand. Of course, I need to touch her. I glide my hand up her thigh, and her skin pricks with tiny bumps.
“Tucker, there are people over there.” She tips her head in the direction of the couple across the balcony from us.
From this vantage point, no one can see my hand beneath her skirt. After being apart for a week, I missed every part of her. But she’s right, I need to behave.
Removing my hand from her leg, I slide it across the back of her neck. “Better?”
“Yes.” She smiles. “You can play with me later.”
The balcony overlooks the expanse of the Italian restaurant. Reserved for high-end customers and large parties, this part of the restaurant is less crowded by design. Sam leans forward, placing her hands on the table to take a peek at the wine bar below us where couples drink as they wait to be seated.
The restaurant is dimly lit. All of the tables are decorated with the same candles, the overhead lighting turned down to set the mood.
“My parents love this place,” I say. “They come here all the time.”
“What’s good?”
“Everything. My personal favorite is the chicken cacciatore. Do you like spicy food? I feel like I should know that.”
Sam smiles. “Yeah, I love spicy foods. My mom used to make tacos with tons of jalapeños when I was younger. I remember my tongue burning for an hour after the first time I ate them.”
“You never talk about your mom,” I say.
She tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear and turns her head away for a second before meeting my gaze. “I don’t like to dwell on the past.”
“But it’s your mom. I couldn’t imagine not having my mom around. You must miss her.”
“I was so young when she died. It’s hard to explain, but the longer she’s gone, the more I forget the little things. But every once in a while a specific memory comes to me, or I’ll smell her perfume and remember what it felt like when she would tuck me in for bed. It doesn’t happen that often, though. All the bad memories of my dad have somehow replaced all of her good.”