by Camy Tang
And now this sabotage of her basil plants, causing a setback for her latest product launch.
She’d considered skipping her daily bike ride this morning, but aside from a low-level headache and some tenderness around her eye, she felt fine. She needed to be alone with her thoughts.
As she neared the base of an upcoming hill, the hum of a car engine came from behind. Her heartbeat sped up for a second as the gleam of chrome seemed to appear directly next to her, blinding her—the vehicle was too close!
Then the auto blazed past her, whipping her in the wind of its wake, making her wobble a bit. She caught a glimpse of the bright sticker of a car-rental company on the bumper before it disappeared over the hill.
Another tourist, viewing the sights of Sonoma County or maybe getting a very early start on a wine-tasting tour. She couldn’t complain, since the tourists contributed to the spa’s popularity, but their recklessness on the roads sometimes made her hug the sides more than normal.
She struggled up the winding hill, the breeze dropping with her dwindling speed. The sun warmed her head inside her bike helmet. Her lungs heaved, and she welcomed the exertion, trying to somehow purge her body of all the confusing, frightening feelings of last night.
The greenhouse destruction made it obvious that someone else knew about her research and wanted to stop the product launch. While anyone could have followed her to the greenhouse at any time, they couldn’t know how central those plants were to her current project unless they’d somehow gotten her research notes, which were only on her computer at work.
She couldn’t take the chance someone had hacked into her work computer, or could do so in the future. This morning she had called her cousin Jane, a computer expert, to ask her if she could come to the spa to upgrade the security on Rachel’s work computer and see if someone had breached her system.
Jane was the main reason she had developed the scar-reduction cream, and she could barely repress her desire to present it to her, to feel that she had somehow atoned for what she had done to Jane all those years ago.
When Rachel and her cousin were eight years old, Rachel had inadvertently started a fire in Jane’s playhouse, causing scarring along Jane’s cheek and jawbone. Jane said she forgave Rachel, but Rachel couldn’t forgive herself. When she’d realized how incredible the results of the cream were, she had doubled her efforts to perfect the formula, thinking of Jane’s scars the entire time.
She reached the crest of the hill, her heart pounding. Her entire body was tired today, probably from the stress of last night, getting home so late only to face her father’s heavy disapproval, and then rising early to go for a bike ride. Maybe she’d cut her ride short today so she could get into work early. She coasted down the hill, the breeze cooling her, the wind filling her lungs.
Another car engine sounded behind her, ruining the feeling of freedom and being alone out here in the crisp air. She damped down her irritation and, mindful of the last car, moved closer to the side of the road.
The engine seemed abnormally loud—and close. She glanced over her shoulder.
Her movement caused her bike to slip off the asphalt and skid a little in the gravel bordering the road.
Suddenly she felt as if the car behind her had bumped into her back tire. The bike bucked her off and flung her upward.
She screamed.
For a stricken heartbeat she hung poised in midair, staring at the ground sloping from the road to a field of grapevines. And then she plummeted down, rocks and juniper bushes rising up to meet her.
She curled as she landed, striking her right shoulder with a crack! that trembled through her entire frame. She rolled and pitched, head over heels, sideways and underways and every which way. She finally landed with a jarring thud! to her spine that snapped her head back into the ground.
For long, excruciating seconds, she couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t make her diaphragm move. She stared at the pale blue sky, misted with incoming clouds, and struggled to make her body obey her frantic mind.
Then she gasped long and hard. She coughed, hacking up dust from her lungs, burning her throat. And pain exploded in her bones.
She curled onto her side, thorns pricking her cheek. She could suddenly hear the whistle of the wind, and the receding sound of a car engine.
Someone had hit her—and was driving away.
He’d come. The one man she wouldn’t have expected but wanted.
As soon as Edward’s truck pulled alongside her and she met his fierce gaze through the windshield, she relaxed muscles that she hadn’t realized were tight.
She had never been more thankful for her rugged waterproof phone—it had been unscathed from her accident. After calling Aunt Becca, she’d made her way back to the road and moved away from the sloping hill so that she’d be out of range of any cars speeding down. Also, a stubby tree that she could lean against grew a few feet in from the road. She still felt as if her bones were creaking, but at least she could walk.
She vaguely registered Naomi, Monica and Aunt Becca also getting out of the four-door truck, but Edward filled her vision. He reached her first, folding her in his tanned arms, strong and warm, smelling of earth and pine.
He had never embraced her before.
She never wanted to move again.
“Are you all right?”
“Where’s your bike?”
“You look awful. Let me look at you.”
This last was from Monica, who wedged between them so she could stare critically at Rachel’s face and her limbs. “Any pain when you walk?”
“No.” She glanced around Monica’s head, but Edward had already walked away, his back to her.
Her sister touched her at various places on her body. “How about your arms? Ribs?”
“My shoulder hurts.” It throbbed, actually, as if the blood would pulse right out through her aching muscles.
“Hmm, doesn’t look dislocated.” Monica gave a few experimental touches.
“Ow!” Pain lanced through Rachel’s shoulder.
“Hold still,” Monica said grimly.
“Did you call the police for me?” Rachel asked Aunt Becca through gritted teeth.
“I spoke to Horatio personally. He’s on his way.”
“What happened?” Naomi demanded.
Rachel relayed what she could remember, trying to block out the memory of her terrifying flight and painful tumble.
Monica shook her head in disbelief. “Not to be mean, but you’re not hurt very much considering you were rammed by a car. You should be grateful it’s not worse.”
“Well…” She remembered the jumbling of the bike frame as her tires skidded. “I turned back to look at the car, and my bike ran off the road because I was hugging it too closely. Maybe that made the car only sideswipe me rather than hitting me full on.”
“Praise Jesus!” Becca said. “He took care of you.” She wrapped her in a hug against Monica’s protests.
Had God been taking care of her? Did He really care so much about her that He’d do something small like making her bike skid? Was He really orchestrating her life like that? Rachel wondered.
Her mind shied away from the thought. She had never really thought of God as that intimately concerned about her. She had always thought of God as a distant, powerful figure who didn’t bother Himself much about her, which was a view of Him that was easier for Rachel to understand and fit into her life. Did God really care about her like that? The idea seemed foreign to her. A God who cared about her might require more of her than she’d been used to giving Him—more than going to church with her family, reading her Bible once in a while, praying once in a while. And she wasn’t sure she was ready to do that.
“Did you see anything about the car?” Edward approached her again. “Make, model?”
She could barely remember that Naomi drove a Lexus and Aunt Becca drove a pink Cadillac. “No. I didn’t get a good look at it.”
“That’s too bad.”
The disappointment on his face made her spirits sink a fraction. She racked her mind, but couldn’t remember more than a flash of chrome. Or was that from the first car that had passed her?
“Why are you here?” she blurted out. She wanted him here, but felt shy about telling him so, and it came out awkwardly. She’d never be as smooth with her words as Naomi or Monica.
“I went to your house this morning with a report for you about the greenhouse,” Edward said. “Don’t worry, I also spoke to your father about it. To reassure him.”
Had he thought she couldn’t relay the information herself accurately? Or had he wanted to spare her and instead put himself in the line of fire—her father’s detailed grilling? Edward’s closed expression couldn’t tell her anything.
She opened her mouth, but the words didn’t form. I’m glad you’re here but you didn’t have to tag along sounded ungracious, and her mixed emotions seemed perversely paradoxical today.
He was obviously reading her mind, because he said, “Don’t worry, Rachel, I’m glad I was there when you called and could see for myself that you’re okay.”
His words made a smile rise to her face. “Thanks.”
“There’s Horatio,” Aunt Becca said. She and Rachel’s two sisters walked toward a car in the distance, waving their arms.
Edward glanced at their backs and leaned closer to Rachel. “I do want to ask a favor, however.”
“What?”
“I want you to come with me to talk privately with your father.”
Privately? “About what?” she asked, bewildered.
He glanced at her mangled bike. “About protection. For you.”
“For me?”
“You’re not safe. Someone may be out to kill you.”
Edward followed Rachel into her father’s study. Augustus Grant looked up quickly from his desk, and his body seemed to relax at the sight of her striding into the room with only a barely noticeable limp.
He navigated his wheelchair from behind the desk toward them.
“You don’t have to move, Dad—”
Augustus grasped her arm and pulled her down to embrace her tightly. It seemed to surprise her, from the start she gave and the pink in her cheeks. “I’m fine, Dad.”
“Well, what did you expect me to think when you call home talking about ‘riding your bike’ and ‘car’ and ‘accident’?”
The man had a point. If Edward had received that kind of phone call, he’d have expected Rachel to come home looking more battered than she did.
“Edward.” Augustus extended his hand to him. “Thank you for going out there for me.”
Augustus’s grip was still weak, but much firmer than it had been a few months ago. He seemed to be progressing steadily since the stroke.
“It was no trouble.”
Rachel rolled her father to the fireplace, and she and Edward settled into chairs. Augustus settled back and rested his hands at his stomach, his gray-blond hair catching the light from the open windows.
“Augustus, I wanted to run an idea by you to get your opinion.” And his permission, although Edward would find a way to go through with his plans even if Augustus protested.
“Dad, for the record, I don’t think Edward’s idea is necessary,” Rachel said.
The older man cocked his head in question.
“There are two things about the greenhouse break-in that bother me,” Edward said. “First, the man—or men, because I think there were at least two of them responsible, were professional enough to dismantle a very sophisticated security system. Second, they not only trashed the plants, I think they stole a handful of them. We’re a few short.”
Augustus frowned thoughtfully.
“And there’s no way the thief knew the computer belonged to Naomi and not Rachel. Rachel had been carrying it and it had been stolen from her.”
A deeper frown.
“Then the accident today—”
“You can’t assume it was deliberate,” Rachel interrupted. “This is Sonoma, with a winery on every corner. It’s entirely possible it was a car full of tourists who were imbibing a little too much.”
“This early in the morning? Most wineries don’t open until 10:00 a.m.”
Rachel opened her mouth, then closed it again. With her usual candor, she relented, “You’re right. I don’t think it was drunk tourists, either. But I also don’t think I need the kind of protection you’re suggesting.”
“Protection?” Augustus asked.
“All these things happening makes me think someone is after Rachel’s research…and maybe her life,” Edward said.
Augustus nodded. “Although I’m not sure why they tried to hurt her. All they have is a basil plant, not the scar-reduction cream itself or the formulation for it.”
A shadow crossed Rachel’s face, and Edward thought he could read her mind—Except that they might have the formulation, in which case they don’t need me.
“If they were only trying to injure me, not kill me, it would set back development enough for a rival company to release their own scar-reduction cream,” Rachel said.
“Regardless of whether they were trying to kill you or injure you, you need protection so they can’t do it again,” Edward said. He turned to Augustus. “I want to stick close to her for the next few days.”
“I think it’s unnecessary,” Rachel said. “I’m perfectly safe inside the spa. There are card-key locks on the doors, security cameras surrounding the perimeter of the building so no one can approach without being filmed and two security guards on duty at all times.”
“Which was why you were mugged right outside the back door?” Edward pointed out.
“I think the guards will be more aware and that won’t happen again.” But Rachel’s cheeks flushed and she looked away from him.
He wondered if the real reason she was putting up resistance was because she didn’t want to spend time with him. They’d been cool and polite to each other, but closer quarters might be too awkward. Nevertheless he had to do something to protect her, no matter if she didn’t want him to.
“What about driving to and from the spa?” Edward asked. “Half the time you drive separately from Naomi and your aunt Becca because you need to stay late to work.” He couldn’t help himself—his voice had an edge to it when he mentioned her work.
Augustus cleared his throat. “Rachel, would you leave the two of us alone?”
She looked stung as she stared at her father, but silently obeyed, closing the library door with a crisp snap.
The man pinned Edward with steely blue eyes. “You seem rather concerned for a man who only works with my daughter.”
So Rachel hadn’t told her family about how they’d been slowly growing closer—at least until he’d deliberately withdrawn from her. He didn’t blame her, but he also wasn’t going to apologize. He had never crossed the line between them.
Until today. He’d embraced her today because he hadn’t been able to help himself. “When Rachel and I were in high school, we didn’t hang out together, but we knew each other. And then a year ago, she hired me to grow her basil plants, and we’ve gotten closer as friends.” He couldn’t control the tic at his cheek as he spoke the word. “I simply can’t stand by and do nothing when I know a friend’s life could be in danger. Would you?”
Augustus eyed him steadily, then sighed. “I have to admit that having you drive Rachel, Naomi and Becca to and from the spa would ease my mind. You won’t need to stay with them all day because the spa has security, but if you could be with Rachel outside the building, I would be in your debt.”
“I’d also like to ride out with her every morning so she’s never alone again while biking.”
Augustus’s eyebrows rose. “She’s not going to like that.”
“True, but she’s a scientist. She’ll eventually see the logic behind it.”
But Edward wondered if it was really logic that made him want to spend this extra time with Rachel. Why did the prospect of starti
ng his day with a bike ride with her suddenly make his days seem brighter?
THREE
“I think that car is following us.”
Rachel didn’t know if it was her paranoia, but it did seem that the blue car was tailing them. Every turn on the winding Sonoma roads would hide the car briefly, but then it would appear around the next bend.
Granted, these roads saw lots of traffic because there were dozens of wineries along it, almost all of them open for wine tasting to tourists. The Joy Luck Life spa itself sat in the middle of rolling hills covered with grapevines, neighbored by wineries with sometimes hundreds of visitors a day, especially in summer.
But somehow this car seemed almost sinister. Or maybe she was just being fanciful—her sisters always told her that she was too imaginative.
Edward, who was driving her to work, kept glancing in the rearview mirror for another mile. Then he said, “I think you’re right.”
Her stomach lurched as if they’d hit a pothole. Except they hadn’t. “What? Are you sure?” She hadn’t really wanted to be right.
“I think so.”
She twisted around to glance through the back window. “The blue one?”
“Yes.”
“I can’t make out who’s driving it. Too much shadow on the road from the trees.”
“We’re coming up to a bright patch,” Edward said.
She peered intently at the windshield of the blue car, but the sunlight glinted off the glass. “Too much glare, but I think it’s a man.” What was happening? First the laptop was stolen, then she was run off the road, now someone was following her.
She spared a fleeting thought that she was glad she’d over-slept this morning—if she had gotten up on time, Edward would also be driving Naomi and Aunt Becca to work with her. As it was, they were both already at the spa, having driven there earlier this morning because Naomi had paperwork to do.
They were safe.
But she and Edward weren’t. Initially, she’d been peeved at her father’s insistence that Edward be her temporary bodyguard, but then logic reasserted itself and she was glad for his protection.
