“I design structures of all sorts, complete with parking lots and landscaping. I coordinate the interior decorating, if the client chooses. I oversee the construction and handle details and difficult clients. I work hard at the last two, especially in-house mediating.”
The last remark made him chuckle.
“I’m serious, Lucas, it’s what I do best. Hold up.” She skidded to a halt near a small alcove where a vendor sold books and magazines. She slipped off a shoe, pretending to shake out some irritating piece of grit. It was as good a time as any to give her feet a much-needed break. Why had she ever decided to wear a new pair of shoes on a trip across country? Italian leather be damned. Her feet were cramped and swollen, and were turning red and blue. She’d choke on her tongue, she decided, rather than admit her shoe dilemma to him, or to any living male. “You don’t believe me, do you?”
“Sure I believe you. You should be an expert by now.” He nodded and watched her, his hand shoved into the back pocket of his jeans. Elise wondered whether he was thinking back to when she used to twirl her brothers around her little finger throughout high school. For that matter, middle and elementary school, too. “So what happens when you get unyielding ones?” he asked.
“I poison the coffee of those dudes.”
For the first time, Elise heard him laugh. Really laugh. It was rich, deep and smooth, all sensually male.
“I suppose that’s just as humane as running them down with four thousand pounds of metal and rubber, which would have been my first instinct.”
They entered the luggage area, and she was relieved to find her two suitcases already waiting and spinning slowly around the carousel.
Easing the case from his grip, she pointed out her luggage. “We’d better get a cart or porter,” she suggested.
He swung the luggage off the belt, shoulder muscles bunching beneath his tee-shirt screen printed with a blurb about enjoying speed behind a 350-cubic-inch V8 engine. He set both down and pulled the handles out. “Got them. Through there.” He jerked his head toward an exit.
In the parking lot, Lucas hustled her quickly between rows of cars bearing colorful license plates from around the country, and stopped beside a glistening, black Pontiac.
“A ’77 Trans Am? This is yours?” Elise moved past him to get a better view while she slipped a foot out of the worse-offending shoe, balancing a toe on the warm concrete. She had been trained to have an eye for detail, and the Trans Am was sleek, its lines highlighted by the flawless finish. It was polished to a brilliant shine and sparkled like glass in sunlight. She remembered he had always loved to tinker with mechanical things. Growing up, he and Fritz had spent endless hours under the hood of Fritz’s jeep. They had watched Smokey and the Bandit so many times, they had worn out the VCR tape and had to buy another one.
“For the next thirty days.” He tossed the bags into the trunk. “Then she’s headed to a buyer in Atlanta.”
“You restored this?”
“Yeah, it’s sort of a hobby and business all rolled into one.” The shoe trick didn’t get by him. Gray eyes peered at her naked foot. “Hurt yourself?”
She hurriedly stepped into the shoe. “No, my shoes hurt. They pinch my toes.”
“Why don’t you buy ones that fit?”
“I thought I did.”
He shook his head, as if he had heard the same line a dozen times and probably from a dozen females. A tattered blanket lay inside the trunk and he tossed it aside. Two children’s books tumbled out.
He’s married, or has been, Elise thought, and there’s a child involved.
Following her gaze, Lucas straightened. “Long story, Liz.”
She glanced at him long enough to see his eyes cloud over. Was it sadness? Or despair? The curtain fell quickly, blocking any emotion as his scowl returned.
“So what’s the deal?” he asked.
“Deal? What deal?”
He gestured to her arms where she was unconsciously cradling the computer in a protective embrace. “Are you intimately attached to that heap of leather?”
She blushed. “I get a little overprotective with my gear.”
“Smuggling data, huh?”
“No, nothing that exciting.” Elise handed it to him and waited until he stashed it in the corner of the trunk, wedging it in with the blanket. Rounding the car, she reached for the door handle only to feel the warmth of his hand as it covered hers. Startled, she peered up, pulling her hand away.
“Don’t be too astonished, Lizzie. I did manage to pick up a few finer points over the last few years, though I don’t make them a habit. I can’t afford to ruin my bad boy image.”
Determined not to start another war, Elise slid into the soft leather seat that wrapped around her like a second skin as she buckled her seat belt. She ditched the shoes again. It felt glorious to free her cramped toes. “I always wondered why men referred to these machines as female.”
Lucas settled himself in the driver’s seat. “Because they’re soft, sleek, fickle, and my, oh my, can they purr under the right touch.” His hands lovingly caressed the steering wheel. Grinning, he turned the key in the ignition and artfully maneuvered the car through the mazelike parking garage.
She had no doubt the remark and gesture were meant to get a rise from her, but before she could make a retort, the alarm on her watch triggered. Irritating bleeps swamped the Pontiac’s interior. The car screeched to a halt, brakes grabbing and propelling her against the shoulder harness.
Lucas turned to face her. “What the hell is that?”
“My watch.” She pushed her sleeve up and fumbled with the buttons on her wrist. “It’s my daily four o’clock reminder to check my client list before I leave the office.”
“You have a wristwatch with an alarm and a cell phone?”
She worked frantically, toying with the button to no avail. “Just my dumb luck, it doesn’t want to turn off.” She felt her face grow hot and tore the watch from her wrist, all but slamming it against the door frame. Inside the closed car, the steady beeping grew increasingly annoying.
“Oh, for the love of Pete!” Lucas reached over and snatched it out of her shaking hands. Cutting the engine, he opened the door and slid out.
In the rear view mirror, Elise watched the trunk fly up and then slam shut. Seconds later, he settled himself behind the wheel again. He raised an eyebrow. “Any other distractions we need to dispense with?”
She tried to sound contrite. “I only have the phone left.”
She withdrew the phone from her purse, fiddled with a setting, and slipped it back inside. She stole a peek at his face, which was hard to read. It was less than an hour and already they were at each other’s throats, just like when they were kids.
A pair of low-heeled shoes appeared under her nose.
“Put these on while you’re at it.”
Shoes. Her shoes. Her old, black leather flats. From her luggage. “Where did you get these?”
“I ran out to a 7-Eleven and scarfed them up. Where do you think I got them?”
“You went through my suitcases?” Her voice rose an octave. The thought of him rummaging through her personal belongings without permission made her blood boil. “How dare you?”
He took a deep breath as if he was summoning his last ounce of patience. “You needed shoes, Liz.” He gestured to the shoes on the floor. “Those three-inch stilts weren’t cutting it. The other alternative was a drag rope.”
“I can’t believe you rifled through my clothing!”
He popped the clutch, leaving rubber on the smooth concrete. “If you’re fired up I might divulge any of your sizes, rest assured, it’ll never happen. I only talk”—he paused to concentrate on maneuvering the car through the exit and onto the highway, darting easily between slower moving vehicles to access the fast lane—“under torture.”
Tired from the flight, she leaned back in the seat and let silence settle around them. She was too tired to quibble over the watch or shoes and was c
ontent to let the landscape fly by in a whirling multitude of colors. Through the half-open window, she could smell the light, earthy scent of spring. She had been in the city so long she had almost forgotten how glorious clean air smelled. Pennsylvania was lush green now, bearing up to the soft spring rains. Soon cows with swollen, round bellies would be grazing in brilliant emerald pastures, awaiting calving and motherhood. Late-blooming tulips would be bursting into colorful mounds of yellows and reds, and the farm’s lilacs into shades of rose, lavender, and white.
Several minutes later, Lucas looked over at her as he reached to turn on the radio. “Tell me, have you ever forgotten one of those fancy gadgets and had withdrawal symptoms?”
She glared at him as the clear, clipped voice of Taylor Swift wailed from the stereo speakers. “No. Have you ever learned to drive below seventy miles per hour?”
He laughed, and Elise felt the car surge forward even faster as he applied gentle pressure on the accelerator. She settled back in the seat again, allowing the speed and music to carry her away, toward center city Scranton and the hospital. At least if they were going to wreck, she decided, they were headed in the right direction.
Chapter Three
Community Medical was quiet and antiseptic-smelling, like most hospitals in every city of every state. Elise tried not to dwell on the cold, sterile feelings it invoked as she and Lucas made their way to the small, third-floor waiting room, sprinkled with padded vinyl seats a shade darker than the blue, nondescript wallpaper.
“Wake up, Fritz, she’s here.” Thomas’ voice, perfectly timed with his elbow, awakened the sleeping man beside him. He rose and grabbed Elise in a warm brotherly embrace.
Yawning, Fritz squinted up at Lucas. “Easy deal or tricky maneuver? Elise, I mean.” He stood and waited patiently for his older brother to release his sister.
“It was touch and go,” Lucas admitted in a weary drawl. “I considered commando tactics at one point. A drag rope was mentioned in our conversation.”
Fritz winced. “You made good time.”
“You’re kidding, right?” Elise turned and enveloped her younger brother in a hug. He lifted her off her feet like so many times before and jiggled her as if she was little more than a rag doll. “With Bandit at the wheel, we could have outrun a cop. Put me down, you big goon.”
She landed on her feet and took time to fill her eyes with both of them. They were so opposite in temperament and looks it was hard to believe they were related. Thomas was tall, methodical, reserved, and without a particle of lint on his finely tailored suit; and Fritz, dressed in khaki slacks and a comfortable plaid shirt, was the comic, sporting a wicked grin that made women’s hearts melt. He could sell life insurance to a corpse.
“How’s Dad?” she asked.
“He’s out of recovery. We should get to see him in a few minutes, as soon as the nursing staff gets him settled for the evening.” Fritz jammed his hand into his pocket to fiddle with loose change. “Breezed through it. Got a plate in the ankle, a pin in the fibula, and should recover nicely if he stays away from large magnets.”
“Hold on, Fritz, it’s a little more complicated,” Thomas countered.
Now she was going to get something closer to the truth. Thomas was the one who lived his life on a more cautious, serious note, so typical for someone who practiced law. “Yes, he came through with flying colors, but it could mean a week’s stay or more in the hospital, physical therapy, and a long recovery. Then we’ll have to make arrangements for him to adjust and recover comfortably at home.”
A stocky nurse appeared in the doorway. “You can go in now, but it might be best if you keep your visit short.”
Anton Springer looked old and tired and fragile against the white sheets and bleak surroundings. Elise felt a sting of remorse. It had been over a year and a half since she had last paid a visit home to see him. Since her mother had passed away, she had found it harder and harder to sandwich in even a yearly trip to Pennsylvania.
“Dad.” She kissed him gently on his weathered, wrinkled cheek.
“Elise?” He opened his eyes, still sharp and luminous, but clearly pain-filled, and automatically reached for her hand. A weak smile spread across his face. “When did you get here?”
“Two minutes ago.”
He tried to push himself upright while he searched the room. “So it takes an old man with a busted leg to get you all together again?” Fitfully, he toyed with the buttons on the bed rail until the mattress rose. “Gosh darn mechanical beds. You need a PhD to be able to run them.” Anton waved his hand toward the door. “Don’t try to hide, Lucas. You’re as much a part of this family as these other rascals. Get in here before the nurses get cranky and toss you all out on your backsides.”
The next half hour was like a family reunion as they talked, clowned around, and teased each other, rehashing the accident, and recalling old times and tales until excitement finally took its toll.
It was Elise who noticed her father’s weariness first. She rose. “I don’t know about these dudes, but I need some rest. It’s been an exhausting flight and a long day.” As if on cue, her brothers and Lucas stood and headed for the door.
“Don’t leave yet,” Anton said to her as the men silently filed out. “How long can you stay?”
“However long you need me.” She decided this was no time to tell the truth. Paul Winston had begrudgingly allowed her two weeks of vacation days with an underlying inference to get back earlier if possible.
“It’s not just me.” Wincing, Anton struggled with a pillow behind his back. “It’s Lucas.”
“Lucas?” She moved to help him, meticulously fluffing and positioning his pillow until he was comfortable.
“He came back over two weeks ago, claiming he’s going to settle here for good. His brother died a few months ago in a car accident and left some loose ends behind. Now rumor has it that it might not have been an accident, maybe a drug bust gone bad or maybe someone had a vendetta. He was a state trooper.”
“I didn’t know Lucas had a brother.”
“Not many people did. Mike Fisher was raised in a foster home in upstate New York. It’s too complicated to sort out now, and it’s not my place to say, but Lucas is chasing lots of ghosts. Work with him, will you, Lizzie? I promised him I would, but I can’t now, not with this dad-burned busted leg.”
Elise watched her father’s grizzled face become agitated, more upset because he could not fulfill a promise than because he was worried about his health.
“I’ll see what I can do.” She hoped her voice sounded more reassuring than she felt. Lucas Fisher had never been the type of person who wanted anyone to meddle in his affairs. She pecked her father on the cheek again and stifled a yawn. “I’ll stop by tomorrow. We’ll talk. You can fill me in. You need to rest, Dad.”
“Look who’s talking,” the old man muttered. His voice held more amusement than chastisement.
Outside in the hall, the three men, their heads bent, were huddled near a wall, speaking in hushed whispers. As soon as she approached, they fell silent and looked up at her with guilty expressions.
“We can transfer my things to Fritz’s car,” she suggested, at a loss for something to say. “Thomas, you’re coming back to the house for a few minutes, right?”
He nodded, looking anything but pleased. “Elise, we need to talk.”
She glanced at Fritz, who looked like he was about to squirm out of his clothes. Through a careful breath, she said, “So what’s up? Somebody fill me in.”
“She hasn’t eaten,” Lucas interrupted in a voice so calm it unnerved her. He pushed himself upright from where he had been leaning against the wall and uncrossed his arms. His expression was brooding but controlled, his eyes a cloudy gray. He glanced at her, then looked over at Fritz. “Why don’t you pick up some pizzas? Lizzie and I will meet you at home. Thomas can take his car, too.”
“Good idea,” Fritz agreed, visibly relieved.
“I can go with Thomas,
” she offered. “It’s been a long day, for you, too, Lucas. You have to be exhausted.”
Three pair of eyes darted cautiously back and forth among each other.
“We need to talk,” Lucas said in a low voice, coming to stand beside her. “Just you and me.” She could feel the heat of his body so close to hers. “I’ll drive you home.”
“Okay.” She nodded, wondering what could be so important it couldn’t wait a while longer.
Minutes later, seated inside the car in a half empty parking lot, she waited for him to start the engine. The scent of warm tar from freshly laid blacktop filtered in through the open windows. After what seemed like an eternity of silence, she leveled a glance his way. He sat still, his hands gripping the steering wheel.
“All right, Lucas, spit it out. You guys were acting like baboons back there. In triplicate.” She felt her mental energy waning. The disagreements with Levinson, Winston, and Sanders, and the flight out were beginning to wear on her.
“We have a problem.” He returned her stare. “I’ve been staying at the farm with your father for the last few weeks.”
She studied him a moment. His jaw, now rigid, gave him an almost defiant appearance in a handsome sort of way. “That’s the problem?” Actually, it was, she thought, as she saw all hopes of an uninterrupted, peaceful evening fly out the window.
“It’s not a big deal with me, but your brothers seem to think it might be with you.”
“Hey, I don’t own the place.”
“So you’re not concerned?”
“About what?”
Lucas scowled. “Your reputation, I imagine.”
This time she laughed a musical laugh. It rippled outward into the car and night air. “Lucas, the only reputation I’m concerned about is becoming a noted architect before my hair turns gray, or God forbid, falls out.”
“Don’t you want to ask why?”
“Why what?”
“Why I decided to come back to the area?” he asked.
“No, it would be prying.”
His face split into a grin. “It’s never stopped you before, Miss Curiosity.”
Key to Love Page 2
