He knocked on the door, and she opened it immediately, looking radiant with part of her hair pulled back into a barrette and the rest hanging around her shoulders. She wore a silky-looking blouse with a red and gold paisley print and a long black skirt. He immediately wanted to pull it up and expose her legs. He hated seeing a lush, curvy body like hers covered up. Around her neck was the rose choker she’d been wearing the night of her get-together.
“What smells so good?” he asked as she ushered him inside. Indian food, he guessed.
“Curry,” she answered, grinning.
“Yum!” He followed her into her kitchen, and all he could do was picture them at her party several weeks before. This is where their romp had started. “I don’t mean to be nosy, but did you grow up in India?”
“I did,” she said, her dark eyes full of glitter. “I came to the U.S. for my undergraduate degree when I was eighteen, and I never left. Well, except for a trip back home here and there.”
“Wow, that’s awesome. You don’t have much of an accent,” he noted. He was so worried about offending her, he tried to choose his words carefully. “Shit, I probably shouldn’t have said that.”
She laughed as she checked a pot on her stove. “It comes out sometimes,” she answered. “Just ask my daughter what I sound like when I’m mad.”
“How old is your daughter?” Despite the need to step over potential cultural landmines, Garrett rather preferred interrogating her over the reverse situation.
“Are you trying to figure out how old I am, Garrett?” she questioned with a sly smile on her face.
He nearly blushed, which was something he never did. As if anticipating the heat rising to his face, she handed him a glass of ice water. “Thanks,” he murmured before swallowing half of it down.
“I’m forty-two,” she shared, extinguishing his curiosity. “And my daughter Mishti is nineteen. She’s a sophomore at Penn State.”
“Oh, nice,” he managed, still feeling the burn in his cheeks. There was something about her that seemed older and wiser, but also something youthful and almost innocent about her too. He remembered her hesitance to go along with anal the night before, only agreeing after delivering a serious speech about how much she trusted him. For her age, she didn’t seem very experienced in the bedroom. He wondered if she was recently divorced? Maybe her ex had been boring and vanilla?
“And how old are you, Mr. Stone?” Those eyes flashed at him as if they held diamonds buried just beneath the surface.
“I’m thirty-two. So, see? Not that much difference between us.”
She nearly choked on the sip of water she had just taken. “Okay, if you say so.”
“Age is but a number,” he reminded her.
She gave him an uneasy smile as she turned off the stove and took two plates from her cabinet along with several small, shallow bowls. She took the pots from the stove one at a time and filled the small bowls two by two. He was mesmerized by her movements, and the food smelled delicious.
She lit the candles just before they sat at her table, surrounded by the small bowls full of Indian delights. She refilled their water glasses and invited him to dig in.
“No wine?” He looked up at her, wondering if she’d just forgotten it with all the other things she’d prepared.
She let out a nervous breath. “No wine,” she answered. “Sorry.” The look on her face warned him not to push her.
He shrugged and picked up a piece of naan from the middle of the table. “So is this how I do it?” He tore off a piece and dipped it in one of the little bowls on his plate.
“That works. What do you think?”
He took a bite and chewed it thoughtfully as his cheeks pushed up with a smile. “Dammmnnnnn! That is pretty fucking amazing!”
“Oh, good. I love it when my cooking elicits expletives!” She giggled and patted him on the hand affectionately.
“There’s more where those came from,” he joked and shoved in another mouthful. It was definitely the best thing he had eaten in a long time, except perhaps Anjuli’s succulent pussy the night before. He still wished he had some wine to wash it down with. It was going to be a long night without something to calm the nervous jitters creeping into his hands.
He reminded himself why he had come. Not just for the company, but to learn more about what she could do to help track down Jackson Stone. He waited to broach the subject until their meal was almost done and she had finished telling a story about her daughter when she was growing up.
“I’ve been thinking about your offer...about helping me find my brother.” He looked into those eyes as he spoke and saw a bit of surprise and delight fire off in their sepia depths.
She reached across the table and took his hand into hers. “I’m so glad to hear you say that. I need whatever information you have on him—full name, date of birth, parents’ names, last known address. Where he was stationed. Where he was deployed. I have a few people in mind who can help.”
His brows furrowed as his eyes trailed down to their joined hands. He’d never noticed before, but she wore an emerald and diamond ring on her right hand. Nothing on her left. She had beautiful hands with long fingers and natural but well-shaped fingernails that were neither too long or short. There was an elegance to her hands, just like everything else about her. She exuded grace and class. It reminded him that he had no business being involved with a woman like her.
How can I ask her to find my brother when I can offer her literally nothing in return?
“Garrett?” Those eyes bade him look up at her, and like magic, his gaze lifted to her face. Concern swept over her features, tightening her jaw. “Okay, just tell me what you do know, then.”
He shook his head. “Not much. I think he’s about seven or eight years younger than me. We have the same father but different mothers. I guess I could call Lilly...uh, my sister...and ask her for the information. But I don’t want to get her hopes up.”
“If they’ve been searching for him for a year already, she probably already knows everything there is to know about managing expectations.” She offered him a kind smile, then turned around to retrieve a small yellow notepad and a pen from the counter behind the table.
“Jackson Stone,” he told her, then she wrote it down. Just having that name on his lips made his head begin to pound. He felt a clamminess creep up his neck as the pain radiated throughout his skull and down his neck, arms and back. He wasn’t sure if it was the Indian spices he wasn’t used to—or maybe the lack of alcohol. He hadn’t had anything to drink since Thursday afternoon, and it was now Saturday evening.
“I—“ He raised himself from the table and was suddenly overcome with dizziness. He clutched the edge of the glass as he tried to stabilize himself. “I’m sorry, I—where’s the restroom?”
Anjuli stood too, her face darkening with worry. “Do you need help?” She lunged for him, taking his arm in hers as she guided him down the hallway toward the restroom.
I was just here a couple weeks ago; I should know where it is, he thought as he tried to get his feet to work. It felt like he was dragging fifty pound weights on each ankle. She pushed the door open for him, and he stumbled inside till he was on his knees in front of the toilet. He heard the door shut as all the food he’d just eaten came rioting up his throat like lava exploding out of a volcano. Clutching his stomach, he choked as he vomited every last bit of its contents into the bowl, trying not to make a mess, but also just hoping he didn’t die in the process. It felt a little like he might.
Then, there was silence. His head was still pounding, but at least his stomach didn’t feel like it was revolting against him. He leaned back against the wall and weakly lifted his arm just far enough to reach the handle so he could flush. The smell was so bad, it nearly made him wretch again. If my head will just stop pounding...fuck!
“Garrett?” came her voice from outside the door. “You okay? Can I get you anything?”
She sounds worried, he thought, running his hands through his hai
r. He tried to keep his eyes closed, but it only made the room spin more violently. She called his name again, but he couldn’t seem to get his throat to vocalize any of the words in his head.
Finally, she slowly pushed the door open. “Oh my god, are you okay?” She rushed over to him and laid the back of her hand against his forehead just like his mother used to do when he was little. “You’re burning up! Come on, let me help you into bed.”
She bent, reaching her arms down toward him, but he was so disoriented, it took him a few tries to actually connect with her hands. Once he did, she gritted her teeth and jerked backward, trying to lift him up. He wanted to help, but he still felt weighed down, like he was anchored to the floor.
“I don’t think I can drag you, Garrett.” She let go and crouched beside him. “Should I call 9-1-1?”
That got his attention and seemed to clear the blockage from his throat. “Fuck, no. Please.” He groaned, using every bit of his strength to leverage himself against the bathtub and rise to his feet. She leaned down and offered him her shoulder, but he waved her off. She frowned before leading him out of the bathroom and to her bedroom across the hall. She pulled down the comforter and gestured for him to get in bed.
“I’m going to get you some ibuprofen,” she announced once he was settled.
He took the handful of pills and the glass of water she offered gratefully. After he swallowed them down, he strained to give her as much of a smile as he could muster. “I am so sorry, Anjuli. And trust me, my getting sick is in no way a reflection on your cooking abilities because I enjoyed our dinner so very much. I’m not sure what’s wrong with me.”
“What’s wrong with you is your system probably rejected the food because it had gotten so used to only having alcohol in it,” she suggested with her lips pursed. If she was attempting to keep the mother-knows-best tone out of her voice, she had failed miserably.
He exhaled, leaning his head back against the pillow. With his eyes still closed he said, “I was hoping to get back in your bed someday, but not like this.”
“You’re telling me,” she retorted, not even trying to hide her smile. She took ahold of his hand and squeezed it. “I want to help you. But you have to be willing to help yourself too, you know.”
“I know.” He didn’t want to look into those eyes. He was too afraid of seeing her disappointment that he couldn’t be who she wanted him to be. Maybe the best thing to do is to sleep it off, then get up in the morning and move on with my life.
“So, I gathered from all this discussion that you didn’t grow up with your father?” She took a seat on the bed, her legs crossed underneath her.
Great, now the interrogation is starting back up again. “Look, Anjuli, you’ve been so kind to me. I don’t even know why—maybe it’s because you like fucking me, I don’t know. But you deal with this kind of shit for a living, and I don’t want to be your patient. And I definitely don’t want to take advantage of you.”
She suppressed a scoff as she dropped his hand back to the mattress. “I appreciate how you’re looking out for me, but as a forty-two-year-old woman and mother of an adult, I think I can take care of myself.”
He didn’t say a word.
“Furthermore, has it ever occurred to you that one does not need a motive or an advanced degree to be kind to one’s fellow human beings?” His eyes flew open as he prepared to challenge her, but then her face softened as she added, “And, for the record, yes, I do like fucking you.”
“The truth comes out.” He shook his head as a smug little smirk appeared on his lips. Fortunately, the pain medicine she’d given him was already starting to kick in. He’d thought it was ibuprofen, but now he wondered if it was something stronger.
“Do you have a problem with that or something?”
“I certainly do not. I just don’t—”
She cut him off. “So we were talking about your family. I’m just trying to understand what happened so I can help you find your brother, okay? I assume your parents were divorced, and your dad got remarried?”
He nodded. “Something like that. It’s more like my dad walked out on us when I was three, and I never saw him again.”
Her eyes scanned his face, maybe looking for a tear to appear or some sign of pain. But he said it matter-of-factly, like he was reading something out of a textbook. “I’m sorry to hear that, Garrett.” She took his hand again and pressed it into both of hers. Her touch was soft, warm, electric. If he hadn’t still felt weak and disheveled from his earlier double dose of nausea and dizziness, he might have even been turned on.
“Do you want to stay the night?” she suddenly changed the subject. She scooted off the bed and to her feet, looking at him while she awaited an answer.
“Uh...why?” He didn’t mean to sound skeptical, but her abrupt change in demeanor almost gave him whiplash. First she was a nurse, then mother, and now she had the playful smile of a schoolgirl reaching all the way to those eyes.
“I just thought maybe we could relax and watch a movie. Get your mind off everything, and hopefully you can get a good night’s sleep?” She lifted the red and gold blouse she’d been wearing all evening over her head, revealing a lacy red bra.
He tried to keep his tongue in his mouth. Why does she have to be so fucking gorgeous? he wondered. “Yeah, that sounds fine by me.”
“It’s settled then.” She turned around and unhooked her bra, took it off, slipped a silky black nightgown on and tossed her skirt aside in what seemed like a millisecond.
She must be used to quick changes in the theatre, he reasoned with a chuckle.
“What, why are you laughing?” She moved the comforter and sheet so she could slide into bed next to him. “You aren’t supposed to laugh at a woman who just put on lingerie and climbed into bed with you. It’s beyond rude!”
Now he laughed again, even harder. “You changed so fast! You’re like Superman or something.”
“Hey, I’m no stranger to quick backstage costume changes. And, besides, you, Mr. Stone, are going to keep that sexy cock of yours to yourself tonight. You need a night off. No booze. No sex. Just some good old-fashioned cuddling and sleep.”
He sighed, not bothering to hide his disappointment. “Is that an order?”
“Doctor’s orders,” she corrected and leaned over to press a chaste kiss to his forehead.
Fifteen
“Are you sure you’re up for this?” she questioned, searching his face for signs of reticence.
He shrugged. “I don’t know if it’s going to help, but it’s worth a shot. Besides, I just sent off a half- dozen job applications. The only thing I can do now is wait.”
Anjuli smiled as she clicked her seatbelt into place. She felt strange being with Garrett in her car. So far, she had seen him at the liquor store, her place, his place, and the theatre. It felt like they were branching out into new territory by going somewhere together in a car.
But it’s not like it’s a date, she reminded herself. They were on their way to talk to the man at the Department of Defense who was deployed with Jackson, Garrett’s brother. They’d asked if he could meet for coffee, and he agreed, so they were on their way to a little café he’d recommended in Arlington, not far from his office at the Pentagon.
“So, I have an email from Lilly with all the details on Jackson,” he said, lifting his phone up. “You were right—she’s pretty thrilled that I’ve enlisted your help.”
“Good, I’m glad you reached out to her,” Anjuli answered. “I don’t know if anything will come of this, but if not, my colleague Scott has some other things we can try. Having Jackson’s date of birth and all the other info will help. There are databases we can search, stuff the PI wouldn’t have access to. He probably looked at birth, death, marriage records, voter records, stuff like that. These are all internal government things.”
“Makes sense. I guess it’s fortuitous that I made your acquaintance then, isn’t it?” He flashed sparkling green eyes at her as she glimpsed
his way, then quickly reverted her eyes to the road.
“I think I’m the lucky one,” she claimed and didn’t miss it when he huffed quietly as though he disagreed.
They parked and went inside the café. It was immediately obvious which patron was Cole Woodson from the closely-clipped crew cut and DoD lanyard around his neck. Anjuli waved at him, and he stood up to greet them both with a firm handshake.
“Mr. Woodson, thank you so much for meeting with us, and thank you for your service,” Anjuli said before taking her seat. Garrett simply nodded, then sat down beside her.
“Please, call me Cole, and it’s no problem.” He steepled his hands together and a let’s get down to brass tacks look appeared on his face. He didn’t seem interested in any small talk. “I understand you’re looking for information on Jax Stone.”
Garrett nodded. “I just recently learned he’s my half-brother, and I’ve been told he left his parents’ house without a trace about a year ago. No one has been able to track him down. He had extensive injuries sustained while deployed, from what I understand.”
“Jax and I weren’t super tight, and I wish I could give you some better clues to his whereabouts. But what I can tell you is that his best buddy was blown up in that IED—and he didn’t make it.” Cole’s eyes were icy blue and calm, but Anjuli could see a storm begin to swirl in them as soon as he mentioned the IED. It was the look of a soldier who had seen too much and didn’t know how to minimize his memories. Some of her clients had described them as the annoying pop-up ads you get on an internet browser. You’re minding your own business, going about your life and then “pop,” here’s a mental image you never wanted to see again, refusing to let you ignore it. Only there’s no way to “x” out of it.
Anjuli had taken her small yellow notepad out of her purse. “Do you have his name? Maybe we could contact his parents and see if they know anything?”
Cole nodded. “Martin Foster. He was from Alabama, and I’m pretty sure his parents are still there.”
“Did you talk to Jax at all after he came back home?” Garrett asked.
The Navigator (Mountains Series Book 5) Page 14
