Full Circle

by Carol Caiton

  "Four months."

  He laughed. Then he laughed some more. When she gave him one of those looks that said he was being callous and she was bored, he pulled himself under control.

  "Okay, okay," he said. "Four months is closer to twenty than it is to nineteen."

  He saw now that her eyes were gray. Then he noticed the amount of attention they were drawing. Dressed as she was, standing outside the gate to Threshold, she drew too many stares.

  "Do you want me to walk you to your car?" Maybe she'd take the hint.

  "No, thank you. I'm fine now." She gestured toward Checkpoint 1. "I parked over here today." But when she glanced in that direction, she stilled for a moment. Then she looked back at him and said, "Unless you wouldn't mind."

  He looked over his shoulder. Nothing unusual. But something had spooked her. One second she was fine, the next she wanted his company.

  "I don't mind," he told her. At least he'd know for sure that she was leaving. "Let's go."

  He scanned everyone in sight as they walked. Saturdays were always more crowded than weekdays, but he still didn't pick up on anything out of the ordinary. Nothing threatening. But he stayed close to the little blonde all the same.

  "Do you want my arm around you?" he asked.

  "Oh, no, I'm all right now. I'm just a little uneasy." She gave a small laugh that wasn't altogether natural and said, "All the stares . . . . It didn't occur to me that . . . ." But she let the words trail off. "There are a lot of men here," she said simply.

  He looked around. She was right. No question. Men were the indisputable majority, though the women who had joined RUSH were more visible on weekends. Still, if the male population here made her nervous, to say nothing of what she'd walked into at Threshold, she wasn't going to last a week on the job. Which suited him fine. Not that he cared, but this was no place for a nineteen-year-old girl. Maybe she was starting to figure that out now.

  "What's your name?" he asked, curious again.

  "Jessica." And the poise he'd noticed rose to the fore when she held out her hand. "Jessica Breckenridge."

  He folded his fingers around hers, a little awkwardly since they were walking side by side.

  "Kyle Falkner," he responded.

  Her nicely shaped fingernails were painted a delicate shade of pink instead of black. Another contradiction. The leather, the chains . . . and pale pink fingernail polish. He might not be wearing a badge these days, but she was a conundrum that stirred his need for answers.

  "So, Jessica, are you going to tell me why you think working at RUSH is a wise thing to do?"

  She looked away again, but not before he saw another flush of color chase up her cheeks.

  "My sister works here," she said, staring into the crowd. "That's one of the reasons I decided to apply for a job. I haven't seen my sister for . . . a while, and I hope working at RUSH will give us the opportunity to become acquainted."

  "And that embarrass you?"

  "No, it doesn't embarrass me."

  "Then why is your face flushed with color?" —And, he wondered, how long had 'a while' been so that she felt she didn't know her own sister?

  She picked up the pace, which might have been effective if his legs weren't longer than hers. But they were. He hadn't even reached normal stride yet.

  Her face was pretty damned red now. Maybe he'd pissed her off. Staring straight ahead she promptly told him, "It's ungracious of you to point that out."

  Ungracious?

  He slid his arm across her shoulders and once again guided her to the edge of the path so they were out of the flow of traffic. He drew her to a stop and removed his arm, but he positioned himself directly in front of her.

  "How can coming to work at RUSH be a good decision? Why not get acquainted with your sister someplace else? You can have dinner at a nice restaurant a couple evenings a week, or get together on weekends."

  She looked up at him. "You ask a lot of questions."

  "Yeah, well I'm a curious man."

  "My reasons are personal."

  "I can do personal."

  The look she gave him was both skeptical and haughty. "All right then, tell me something personal about yourself."

  She was shrewd. And smart. He thought quickly. "I ask a lot of questions because I used to be a cop. It goes with the territory."

  "A policeman?"

  "Yes."

  "You used to be?"

  "Yes."

  "How long ago?"

  He shrugged a shoulder. "A few months. Last autumn."

  She held his gaze, hers steady and searching. "Did you quit your job, or were you fired?"

  Clenching his jaw, he felt a muscle there start to tic. He watched her eyes drop to it and saw it register when she realized he was uncomfortable with the direction of her questions.

  "I quit," he told her, but it didn't end with that.

  "Why?" she persisted.

  He didn't answer. He'd opened himself up to this, so it was his own fault, but this was as far as he went.

  Oddly, she nodded as though understanding. "Don't concern yourself," she said. I understand personal." Then she stepped to the side and turned toward the path again.

  He reached out and caught her elbow. "I shot and killed a thirteen-year-old boy during an armed robbery," he told her crisply. "He was a friend—someone I'd watched grow up."

  She stared into his eyes with a softness that wasn't there a minute ago, and nodded. "I'm sorry for your loss."

  He stared right back. Who was this proper little teenager with the skill to probe for answers he didn't want to give? He wanted to strike back at her for making him remember, for causing the knot that curled in his stomach every time that night pushed its way into his thoughts.

  "He was too young to die. He was just a kid. Like you."

  Her pupils dilated. It was the only indication that told him his words had struck their mark. But she didn't pull away. She merely answered him, her voice still soft and sympathetic.

  "I haven't been a child since I was eight years old."

  Another damned riddle?

  "Your turn," he bit out. "What are you doing here at RUSH? Why don't you know your own sister? And what do you mean when you say you haven't been a child since you were eight years old?"

  The smile she gave him held both sadness and humor. "That's more than one question."

  "Yeah, well call it payback." But his anger was starting to fade. He gestured toward the path. "You can talk while we walk."

  He rested a hand at the small of her back and turned her up the path toward the checkpoint. She didn't start talking though until they entered the parking garage.

  "I have an aptitude for languages," she told him. "I learned Spanish while watching television." She smiled with the memory. "Children's television shows at first. But when I answered in that language and tried to have a conversation with the characters, my mother took notice. My father, as an international businessman, did as well. —I was three years old at the time."

  Kyle dropped his hand from her back so she wouldn't suddenly realize it was there and become distracted.

  "By the time I was seven, I spoke four languages fluently."

  She pointed a finger in the direction of the next aisle and he walked beside her toward a silver-beige Mercedes. Definitely money.

  "My parents divorced the following year, and when it was finished, my sister remained here in the United States with our mother, and my father took me with him to Japan."

  "You were eight."

  "Yes."

  "And that's why you haven't been a child since?"

  Slipping two fingers into the pocket of her jeans, she produced a set of keys. "It wasn't my intention to have you believe I was unhappy. On the contrary. Because of my aptitude for languages I had a wonderful relationship with my father. A different unmarried father would have placed me with a nanny I think. But mine took me with him everywhere. I had tutors, I learned about the world, and I learned about international fina
nce, at his side." She flashed him a quirky little grin. "I'm really quite good with financial matters."

  Privately he smirked. How good could a nineteen-year-old girl be with financial matters?

  "You said you had a wonderful relationship with your father. He passed away?"

  She hesitated, then nodded. "Yes."

  "How often did you get to see your mother and your sister?"

  "Not often," she told him. "It's been nine years since I last saw my sister and seven since I saw my mother."

  "And my other question? —The personal one?" He couldn't resist the little dig. "You said you had more than one reason for joining RUSH."

  "All of your questions have been personal. I haven't even known you an hour."

  "Yeah, well, yours were personal too. But I answered them, didn't I?"

  She wrinkled her nose. "It's . . . embarrassing."

  "Everything seems to be embarrassing to you," he commented. "And you're the one who brought it up."

  "Only because I was unnerved at the time."

  Yet another unusual word to come out of a young girl's mouth.

  Finally she said, "I became attracted to someone a few months ago. In France. It happened shortly after my father died and I hoped it could become a meaningful relationship."

  "But you found out it couldn't?" Was this what she meant when she said she didn't always exercise good judgment?

  "I found out by a chance coincidence. I heard a friend of his speaking about the little linguist whose father had died. It startled me because I realized I must be that person."

  "So, what did you hear?"

  She scanned the garage as though a few hundred parked cars were suddenly of particular interest. "He said Henri was working a . . . hustle . . . to get Max's money. Max was my father." She looked up and met his eyes. "I didn't stay to hear any more. I finished my business in Paris, then I rang Henri and told him I was too young to become serious."

  "He didn't try to change your mind?"

  "Yes, he did. But I waited until I was at the airport before placing the call."

  "Good for you. And RUSH?"

  She jingled her keys . . . trying to give him a hint?

  He crossed his arms and cocked a questioning brow, silently reminding her that he'd answered all of her questions.

  She made a face and exhaled with a perturbed little sigh. "I need a husband," she stated matter-of-factly, as though she'd forgotten to pick one up at the store.

  "You need a husband," he repeated.

  She couldn't have surprised him more. Then again, maybe she could. She'd been doing a damned good job of it from the moment he set eyes on her.

  "I mean I want a husband. I want a husband. —And children. I'm alone. My sister and I are trying, but we don't know one another and I have an ache inside." Raising a small fist, she lightly thumped it to her chest. "The loneliness is . . . unbearable sometimes."

  "Jessica," he said, "the men at RUSH are here for one reason only and that's sex. They want all the sex they can get without marriage. Without even a casual relationship. Believe me when I tell you this isn't the place to look for a husband."

  "No, you're wrong. It's exactly the place to look. The perfect place to look, if I apply for a blue link and wait. But I'm hoping it won't take very long."

  He stared at her. "Is this a joke?"

  "No. Not at all. I understand the link system, and RUSH is the perfect place to look for a husband because of the reason you just stated. If the system matches me with someone and that man accepts a blue link with me, it will be because he understands the value of a highly compatible relationship. And if he accepts it, that will tell me he's chosen to be finished with playing."

  "Jessica." Jesus, she was serious.

  She stood up a little straighter. "I may be nineteen, but I've been a career woman half my life. I've traveled the world. I'm able to support myself. And I have a deep appreciation for the value of trust and loyalty."

  "That's all good and fine, but—" It occurred to him that she hadn't mentioned her other parent. "Where's your mother?"

  And just like that, the warmth in her eyes cooled over. He hadn't even realized the warmth was there until it vanished. She held out her hand to shake his and he took it automatically.

  "Thank you for your help, Mr. Falkner—"

  He snatched his hand back. "It's Kyle," he told her, irritated now. "My name is Kyle. You should talk with your sister about this." He hoped her sister was older and had more common sense than she did. "How long has she been working here?"

  "Two years."

  "There you go then. Ask her about the link system. She'll tell you how senseless it is to apply for a blue link." If her sister had been working at RUSH for two years, she had to be at least a year older.

  But Jessica didn't answer.

  And what the hell did that mean? Was she so estranged from her sister that a simple conversation about wanting a husband and children was too personal? They were both members of RUSH. That not only gave them something in common, but it meant they could freely discuss the linking system with one another. Maybe the sister could talk some sense into her. This girl did not belong here. RUSH would steal her innocence in a heartbeat. But watching her, waiting for her to answer, something else occurred to him.

  "Christ. Has your sister applied for a blue link too?"

  Her chin shot up a notch.

  Incredulous, he had his answer. The sister was just as lacking when it came to sound judgment as this girl. They had more in common than she thought.

  "Look," he said, "if your sister's been waiting two years for a blue link, doesn't that tell you something?"

  "That's not exactly true."

  "What isn't true?"

  "My sister discovered she enjoyed her job, so she didn't apply for a blue link until . . . actually, yesterday as it happens."

  "Your sister applied for a blue link yesterday."

  "Yes."

  "Why? Why now after all this time? Did she decide she doesn't like her job anymore?"

  Jessica opened her mouth to answer, then closed it. And that only stirred his curiosity more. Had the sister finished having fun and decided she was ready to settle down? Or maybe she realized it would be a good idea to apply for that blue in case she had a hell of a long wait.

  Jessica pressed the remote and unlocked her car. "I believe I've been personal enough now."

  She opened the door and he stepped back.

  "One more thing."

  She slid in behind the steering wheel and looked up. Her eyes were cool again. Impersonal.

  "Don't come here wearing leather and chains again."

  Something flickered in her eyes. She pressed her lips together, as though he'd pointed out something unnecessarily. But she gave him the courtesy of a nod.

  "And Jessica?" he said as she reached for the door to close it.

  Again she looked up.

  He held her gaze for an extra couple of seconds then reciprocated the condolence she'd given him. "I'm sorry for your loss," he said quietly. She'd recently lost her father and, if he guessed correctly, the US of A was a foreign country to her, regardless of the fact that she'd probably been born here.

  The chill in her eyes melted. "Thank you . . . Kyle."

  She pulled the door closed, stuck her key in the ignition, and started the engine.

  He stared after the shiny Mercedes as she drove away. Then he took his time walking back through RUSH to his own car at the other checkpoint. His stomach growled, so he stopped at the food court on the way and bought a sub to take with him.

  Continuing on, he wondered about Jessica Breckenridge's sister and what sort of job she'd held at RUSH for the past two years. He wondered about their mother and would have liked to have known why the warmth in Jessica's eyes had run cool when he asked. And he wondered about her father. What had he died from?

  More questions. It didn't matter that he'd probably never see the girl again. He'd been left with too many interest
ing questions—the kind that could keep him staring up at the ceiling at night while he tried to get to sleep. So he'd check her out. He might not have the genius for computers that Michael had, but he had resources he could rely on for what he wanted to know.

  And that brought him back to thinking about Michael, back to the reason he'd come to RUSH today in the first place. He was going to have to look Michael up and make things right. Apologize. Not today, but soon.

  Surprisingly, the thought of that didn't put his nose out of joint. Surprisingly as well, was little Jessica Breckenridge's mention of loyalty that made the task even more pressing. More unfinished business between him and Michael. But Michael wasn't the person in the wrong this time. Kyle owed him an apology and he was going to have to figure out the words to express it.

  Passing through Checkpoint 2, he made his way up to the second level of the parking garage. His piece of shit car sat waiting for him three aisles over. It hadn't bothered him to drive around in it all these months but he was glad it hadn't been parked anywhere near little Miss Sunshine's glossy new Mercedes. Maybe it was time he bought something else. Something he'd enjoy. Hell, it wasn't as though he couldn't afford it. And hadn't he just been thinking he was tired of punishing himself?

  CHAPTER 3

  Simon stared at the visible proof on his computer monitor that told him God, in fact, did not exist. If all the talk of a loving, merciful being was truth instead of fiction, then the icon blinking on the bottom right corner of the screen—the one that was going to put him in a trance if he didn't look away sometime soon—wouldn't be taunting him with another promise of future bliss.

  He'd been down that path before and he wasn't going to walk it a second time. Never again would he purposely place himself in a vulnerable position with a woman. He'd gambled once and lost, lost more than he could have imagined the day he'd accepted that challenge, and he'd be damned if he was going to go there again. At least, not by the same route.

  Narrowing his eyes, he pulled his gaze away from the monitor and reached for his phone. As annoyed as he was, as much as he wanted to decline that folder without a second thought, he wasn't going to. Not yet at any rate. First, before he did, he wanted the name of the woman he planned to throw back to the wolves. He wanted to know who this newest paragon of female perfection was—this second woman who would supposedly bring him endless, lifelong happiness—and he was willing to play dirty to find out.