The Broken Lake (The Pace Series, Book 2)

by Shelena Shorts

  He walked over to me cautiously, never blinking his inviting eyes. “You look unbelievably good in that bathing suit.”

  The words sang in my ears as I thought the exact same thing about him. I cleared my throat. “Thanks.” And then my seductive façade was gone. I felt completely nervous and vulnerable to my immaturity.

  As if once again reading my mind, he relieved my racing pulse and our intense faceoff. He stepped sideways into the pool, feet first and soundless. I moved to the edge just as he resurfaced. For some reason, I was hesitant to jump in right then, probably because I didn’t want to make a clumsy splash. Instead, I sat down and slowly put my feet over the edge and into the room-temperature water.

  Wes was treading water in front of me. “Come on, get in.”

  “I will. In a minute.”

  “Suit yourself.”

  Ever so smoothly, he disappeared and swam the length of the pool under water. “Get in,” he ordered from the far end of the pool.

  I shook my head, playing hard to get. Without another word, he pushed off the wall and swam toward me with the most perfect freestyle I had ever seen. Watching him glide his way to me made my body temperature rise, and I was ready to get in. He stopped right in front of me, threatening to pull me in.

  “You wouldn’t,” I said.

  “Only if you want me to.”

  And I did want him to. I reached out my arms and he placed his hands on each side of my ribs and lifted me into the water. I instantly wrapped my arms around his neck, realizing I couldn’t touch the bottom. I flinched, trying to keep my cast out of the water.

  “I’ve got you,” he assured.

  Slowly, he turned himself around until my arms were wrapped around his neck from behind. Pressing myself against his back was complete bliss, and I was one hundred percent sure there was no place else on earth I’d rather be.

  “Feel better now?”

  “A little.” I answered truthfully, but still on edge about why I had come over. “I still don’t understand why you want to do a press conference.”

  “I don’t want to.”

  “Then why?”

  “Because if I don’t give them something, they will snoop around for things I may not want them to find.”

  “But why do you have to do it? Don’t you have people who can do that?”

  “Yes, but it’s the same thing. If I seem like I’m hiding something, then that will spark reporters to dig.”

  “I hate this. This is my fault.”

  “No.” Still holding my arms, he turned to face me again. “This is not your fault. It’s just part of life.”

  “But, if I hadn’t—”

  “Sophie, if you hadn’t done a lot of things, I wouldn’t even be here right now. This is nothing. Just a small speed bump.”

  I smiled softly enough to spark one from him in return, and with a calming energy that reached my toes, he leaned in and kissed my lips. The sweet taste of his mouth mixed with chlorine reminded me that I was in a pool, pressed against the bare chest of perfection.

  It didn’t matter that I almost died. It didn’t matter that I might die. It didn’t matter that we were two freaks of nature. All that mattered was that he was mine.

  I put my fingers through his wet hair and absorbed each kiss until I felt like I was floating, and then realized I was. I looked around and noticed we had drifted away from the edge.

  “What?” he asked, looking around too.

  I thought of a few pointless remarks and then decided to kiss him instead. Which I did until my head was completely void of worry. At least for the moment.

  We ended up swimming for a while after that, but the insistent ring of my cell phone brought me back to reality. I’d forgotten to call my mother. Lifting myself out of the pool, I wrapped my towel around me and found the phone. Apologizing for my whereabouts was getting old and my frustration was obvious by the time I hung up.

  “Is that what I’m like?”

  “Geeze.” I exhaled and turned around. I hadn’t even heard him come up behind me.

  “Sorry. You didn’t answer my question.”

  “Sort of but not really.”

  He raised his eyebrows, waiting for an explanation.

  “You’re not high-strung like she is, so you’re not that bad.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Sorry for what? I can handle my mother.”

  “No, I don’t want to make you feel like that. Like you’re being interrogated.” He put his hand to the side of my face and I leaned into it. “I’ll still worry about you all the time, but I’ll try not to make you feel like you’re in trouble.”

  I smiled. “If that’s what I was in when I got here, then please, by all means.” He let go. “What?” I asked innocently.

  He smiled and leaned down to give me a quick kiss. “I’m going to change.”

  “But—”

  Oh, well. I suppose dry clothes were good. I went upstairs to change as well, and by then, it was lunchtime. With two plates of sandwiches and chips, we sat on the couch. We rarely watched TV. Our conversation usually filled up the space around us and also seemed to make our time together more valuable.

  I took a bite of my sandwich and watched him pop some chips into his mouth. “So when is the press conference scheduled?”

  Unfazed, he answered, “Tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow?”

  Still eating and not looking my way, he nodded casually.

  “Where? When?”

  “At the California Blood Research Lab.” I waited for the rest. “Ten a.m.,” he continued.

  “That soon?” I put my plate to the side. “So let me get this straight. Tomorrow morning, you are going on television to talk about the very same stuff Dr. Thomas kept hidden, and you’re enjoying a sandwich right now?”

  Finally making eye contact, he put his plate aside and turned my way. “Yes, but I’ll starve if you want me to.”

  “Wes! I’m not playing around.”

  “Me either. I will.”

  “You’re impossible.”

  “Only to you.”

  I rolled my eyes.

  “Come on. Stop worrying.” He moved closer. “I’m not concerned. It’ll be fine.”

  That was easy for him to say. I was a wreck all that day and through the night, worrying and wondering what he was going to say. And the morning was worse. He wouldn’t let me go with him and I didn’t blame him. But that meant I was stuck in my house with my mom and Tom, who were both hovering around the only decent-size TV we had in the house. Not good for settling my nerves.

  “Sophie, sit down. Stop pacing, will you?”

  No, I couldn’t. An escape was needed. “Mom, I’m going upstairs. Call me when it’s over.”

  “Are you kidding? Sit down. Wes is going to be on TV. You can’t miss that. He’s going to have his fifteen minutes of fame. That only comes around once in a lifetime.”

  She was clueless. I looked at Tom, whose expression was much more intense.

  “Gayle, he’s just a kid. He’s not winning an award. He’s talking about important stuff here. Even I don’t know what goes on in those labs. It’s very interesting.”

  “Hmm. If you say so,” she said. “Sophie, sit down now. You’re making me dizzy.”

  I plopped onto the couch with my arms crossed, biting my lip, waiting for the inevitable.

  Just then, the Channel 7 live news flash graphic grew on the screen, spun around, and twisted one time before disappearing to reveal Topper Harris, a morning newscaster I’d seen many times throughout my mother’s morning coffee sessions. Now he was going to be talking about my Wes. I flinched at the thought.

  “Good morning, this is Topper Harris coming to you live from the lobby of the California Blood Research Lab, a facility rumored to be on the fast track to possible cures for cancer, HIV, and other diseases. As some of you may already know, last week, Andrew Walters, a security guard at the UC Berkeley campus, was found dead after allegedly kidnapping a
young woman and holding her in exchange for experimental serums believed to be from this lab.

  “Reports indicate that he had previously stolen rare samples belonging to the lab in a desperate attempt to cure his inoperable cancer. He later died from an apparent overdose of those stolen samples.

  “All reports indicate that his victim is now safe and has returned home, but one question still remains. What, exactly, is going on in this lab that would make someone desperate enough to kidnap an innocent girl and risk his life to obtain it?

  “In just a few moments, we are expected to hear from Weston Wilson III, the current owner and nephew of the legendary Dr. Oliver Thomas, a man remembered for his great contributions to blood research and new discoveries in that field.”

  Shortly afterward, Topper turned his head in acknowledgment and the camera shifted to a podium and microphone. It was a basic setup with nothing distracting. A plain gray backdrop read California Blood Research Lab in navy blue lettering, and nothing else. All eyes would certainly be on the speaker who, I cringed at the thought, would be Wes. After what seemed like the longest amount of time, a door to the right of the platform opened. Filing onto the raised landing were two older men wearing white lab coats with pocket protectors. Following were three younger men in lab coats, then finally Wes, also in a lab coat.

  Shockingly, he looked mature and professional—and nerdy. His hair was doing some crazy parted-on-one-side thing and was brushed forward a little, and his perfect face was hidden behind a pair of rectangular black-framed glasses. I almost laughed out loud, but I was too intrigued and mesmerized by the images on the screen. He was perfect. It was still clearly him to anyone who knew him, and not so shockingly different that his friends would question his motives. They might pick on him for turning into a medical nerd, but nothing here was too different to raise an alarm.

  “Ah, look at him. He looks so professional.” My mom beamed at him like she was admiring her child at an elementary school play.

  “He certainly does,” Tom added. “All the weight he’s carrying, he must be sweating bullets.”

  No, Wes doesn’t sweat, but I wasn’t about to fill him in on that.

  “No, Tom, I think Sophie is doing enough sweating for him. Look at her. She’s so nervous. Don’t worry, honey. He’ll do fine.”

  I took a deep breath, eyes fixated on the screen. The first five men walked to the far side of the platform, standing with their arms at their sides. As soon as their gazes shifted to Wes, I knew it was coming.

  Unlike them, he strode to the podium. Cameras started flashing like crazy. He cleared his throat, and softly, in a steady voice, he began, not quite making eye contact with the camera, but rather looking at people throughout the room.

  “Thank you all for coming. This has been an odd few days for me and quite an ordeal for other innocent people. I want to first apologize for any hurt that recent events have caused anyone. When my uncle began his research, he had only the best of intentions, to end suffering. It would sadden him to know that his work caused someone harm.

  “Unfortunately, there have been rumors that our lab is conducting experiments and hiding groundbreaking results from the public. This speculation led a desperate man to seek something he could not find.

  “I can assure you that this lab is working every day to find what Mr. Walters was looking for, but I can personally tell you it does not yet exist. We are close to finding cures for many ailments and will guarantee that as soon as we have anything substantially beneficial, the public will know. It is what my uncle lived for. Thank you.”

  As soon as he finished, questions began flying in from every direction. “Mr. Wilson, is it true Mr. Walters blackmailed you? Is it true he killed himself with alligator blood? Is there any merit to alligator blood in medicine? What does it heal? Did it kill him?”

  Wes waited patiently for the barrage of questions to end. “You all have very good questions. Unfortunately, I am not the person to answer them. I am proud to support and carry on something my father and uncle began, but I will have to defer to the professionals on the rest of your questions. I give you first Dr. Dwight Lyon. Thank you.”

  He nodded respectfully and took his place among the five men standing behind him. Dr. Lyon, the oldest doctor, stepped forward with an intimidating demeanor that caused the reporters to step down their tone and eagerness a notch.

  He immediately filled them in on several cancer studies they were working on, as well as HIV, and then addressed the important alligator blood question. He told the world that they had begun to extract antibodies from alligator blood for a topical cream study and had seen some benefits in using it on burn victims. He assured, very convincingly, that it was merely a topical application and injecting it in any way would be out of the question.

  “Wow,” Tom said, shaking his head in what appeared to be both admiration and disbelief. “They’re working on some very advanced treatments. Wes is an impressive young man. His father would be very proud.”

  “See, Sophie. Now you can stop gnawing on your lip. He did great, and he might get an offer to do a billboard ad for pain reliever or something.”

  “Not funny, Mom.”

  “I’m just saying.”

  “I’m going upstairs. I have to work today.”

  “Okay, honey. Love you.”

  “Love you too.”

  By the time I reached the top step, I had gone through the press conference twice over. There was nothing that stuck out as far as I could tell. It had been perfectly done and there weren’t any red flags I could see that would make people think something secretive was going on there. I still shuddered at the thought of the whole thing. Then I started to wonder how much those doctors really knew.

  Surely, in order for the lab to find the cures Dr. Thomas had hoped for, they had to know the blood could be injected. Maybe not. I decided I’d ask Wes another time. I really didn’t care right then. I just wanted to talk to him. I debated how long to wait before I called, but he called me first, only minutes after I got upstairs.

  “How was it?” he asked, sounding nervous.

  That took me by surprise because his tone was opposite from what I’d heard just moments before.

  “You did great.” I answered, still trying to decipher the worry in his voice.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah, I’m sure. It was perfect. Or at least as perfect as it could be, considering.”

  He sighed. “Good.”

  “What’s wrong? I thought you would be much more upbeat than me about it. What happened?”

  I could almost picture him shaking his head. “I don’t know. I thought it went well, but then everyone watched me the whole time. Even when the doctors were at the podium, they were all looking at me.”

  Now I was the one to calm the worry. “Wes, the reporters were probably watching you because you have such a camera friendly face. I’d look at you too.”

  He laughed. “Well, remind me not to do that again.”

  I snorted. “You’ll have no problem from me on that.”

  Chapter 6

  TEARS

  I was in a much better mood after the press conference, and my hand was feeling fine, but I still solicited a ride to work from Wes. After he went home to change out of his Clark Kent look, he was coming by to scoop me up. I was on the lookout, knowing if he came inside that my mom and Tom would want to talk about the press conference, and I just wanted the drama to be done and over with.

  And it seemed like it was. He was much more relaxed, and so was I the moment I got into his car. Leaning over to give him a kiss was a must, and although it was brief, it was enough to make me wish he wasn’t dropping me off at work. Focus, Sophie, focus. Oh, what the heck? I was elated. I leaned over to kiss him again.

  “To what do I owe all this?” he asked, laughing between kisses.

  “You don’t know?”

  “Apparently, I don’t.”

  “Mom says you’re famous now. Might get
calls from agents for commercials. I’ve always wanted a famous guy.”

  He laughed. “Yeah, right.”

  “Okay, you got me. I’m just so happy that it’s over. The investigation is closed, the press conference is over, my mom is relaxing, and I’m with you.” I was beaming.

  His lighthearted laugh turned into a more serious but content smile. He leaned over to kiss me again and told me he loved me, then smoothly headed the car toward a destination I really didn’t want to reach.

  On the way there, I asked a few questions about the doctors from the press conference. He told me about Dr. Dwight Lyon. Apparently, Dr. Lyon was a hemophiliac who was treated by Dr. Thomas before he died. Wes said Dr. Thomas’ research in the 1950s, using various animal plasmas and experimentations with variations of temperature and concentrations of saline and alcohol, led to the development of factors used to clot blood in home treatments. Dr. Thomas’ findings didn’t cure hemophilia, but led to a revolutionary way that people suffering from it could be treated.

  Since Dr. Lyon was a beneficiary of Dr. Thomas’ findings, he vowed to help continue with his research. I asked why there wasn’t a larger focus on curing hemophilia in the lab and Wes said that they were working on that too, but current medications already allowed for hemophiliacs to live a relatively normal life. What they want to focus on more is finding cures for terminal illnesses.

  “It’s what Dr. Thomas wanted,” Wes ended.

  “I wish there was a cure for everything.” I almost became melancholy again.

  “Maybe one day.” Wes smiled and lifted my chin with his finger.

  “Right. One day.”

  A few moments passed and we pulled into the parking lot. A police cruiser sat right in front of the bookstore.

  “What is going on here?” Wes asked.

  “That’s odd,” I said.

  Although Wes normally would’ve dropped me off, this time he parked and got out with me. Together, we walked to the door, curious and anxious. Inside were the same two police officers who had questioned me a few days ago. The sight of them made me tense as I tried to remember any possible slip I’d made in my story.