by Carol Caiton
"So I covered you okay," she asked, her tone still wispy.
"Yeah." A muscle twitched in his jaw. "You did good."
"They won't be back then?"
"Nope. Not for me."
She inhaled deeply, squared her shoulders, and said, "Looks like we're not even anymore."
He narrowed his eyes and shoved the fingers of both hands into the front pockets of his jeans. "You gonna hold that over me?"
The rest of her worry vanished with that cocky nonchalance.
"Yeah," she said, grinning through the pain in her cheek. "I think I am."
CHAPTER 22
"Nina," Libby said, "sweetie, you need to marry Simon and learn how to settle down . . . get one of those little puppies you want and lead a quiet life."
Nina stared across the breakfast bar. Marry Simon? And get a puppy? "What do you mean?"
Libby slid a mug of coffee, then her icepack, across the granite. "You've had two black eyes since I've known you, and I haven't known you that long. You go out shopping and get attacked. And you're involved in three separate police investigations—"
"That's not true."
Libby held up a finger. "Serena's murder." Another finger. "A near rape in the parking lot at the mall." A third finger. "Michael's stolen car."
"But—"
"Honey, you've got Michael Vassek—one of the owners of RUSH, no less—riding to your rescue like a white knight. And Simon—also an owner of RUSH—doing the caged-animal boogie while you stood there ignoring him."
"Libby, what are you talking about?"
Her friend gave an exasperated sigh and slipped up onto the barstool beside her. "It just makes me wonder what your life was like before you came here. RUSH is a methodical, controlled environment. We have schedules and routine. We know exactly what to expect from day to day." She drew a breath. "But you? You're always in a hurry to get somewhere, and you land right in the thick of things, no matter what it is."
Nina was too astonished to speak.
"Look, I'm not trying to tell you how to live your life. It's just that some women need a man to take care of them. I know because I'm one of those women. I make bad decisions. I'm completely unorganized and I can't use a screwdriver without breaking a fingernail. I know this about myself, and when the day comes that I leave RUSH, I'm going to be looking for a man who can take care of all those thing for me and I'll love him to death." She reached over and squeezed Nina's arm. "But I think you need those things, too. I think you need Simon to give you some babies to keep you centered and focused. Know what I mean?"
Nina felt her mouth fall open. Babies? To keep her centered and focused? "Libby, I don't know what to say."
Her friend patted her arm reassuringly. "It's okay. You don't have to say anything. Just think about it."
Nina picked up the icepack and applied it to her cheek. It was time to tell her friend the truth. "Libby, we need to talk."
* * *
Mason looked up when he caught the hint of movement in the doorway.
"Rachel." He rose from behind his desk. "Come in."
Rachel Oslund's delicate features and the pale blonde curls drifting down below her waist awoke an elemental male instinct to have and protect. She and Jill were so strikingly pretty and dainty that being in the same room with either of them was like watching beauty in motion.
"Your secretary said it was okay to stop in. If it's not a good time, I can come back."
Mason started around his desk. "You're timing's fine. Come sit down." He indicated a guest chair. "I take it you've seen Dr. Zeman?"
Watching her approach, he searched for any subtle difference that set her apart from her twin. But Luke said even he couldn't tell one from the other. The difference was in their individual personalities. Jill was like a vibrant rainbow, joyful, eager, open and friendly. Rachel on the other hand was a quiet, composed pond. What Mason saw now was self-contained assurance and he sensed a depth of maturity that, perhaps, Jill hadn’t yet achieved.
"Yes, I've just come from Dr. Zeman's office," she told him, smoothing her denim skirt as she sat down. "I can't say I'm looking forward to more therapy, but I'll do what everyone wants in order to make this happen."
Mason had taken Rachel to dinner the evening after she'd phoned him at work. Over coffee he'd listened while she explained what it was she wanted from him and from RUSH. He'd listened while she went back through the years and told him of the brutal rape and stabbing of a twelve-year-old girl, then the long, dark silence and years of therapy that followed. She told him about the struggle to come back, about the love and support that surrounded her everywhere, every day, and the years of fighting to try and live a normal life, of trying to figure out what normal was. There were issues, still unresolved. More specifically, one issue. It didn't matter who the person was—mother, father, sister—Rachel couldn't bear to be touched.
"I can manage a brief handshake when I meet someone, a quick hug from family or friends. But it took years to accomplish that without wanting to cry out or run off to an empty room. Then nothing. I haven't regressed, but I haven't made any forward progress either."
"What you're proposing is a radical undertaking."
"It is. I agree. But I've tried everything from traditional therapy to acupuncture, light therapy, EFT . . . ." Quietly, without inflection or emotional manipulation she said simply, "I'm starving, Mason."
He hadn't been able to say no.
So he'd agreed to put her request before the board. He'd expected them to refuse and told her so. She was a model example of the type of individual the application process would weed out and reject. RUSH, Inc. was an arena for the exploration of sexual fantasy, not a center for therapeutic recovery.
But he'd called an informal meeting, presenting the facts as she'd told them to him, and they'd listened. Had she been anyone other than who she was—his future sister-in-law's twin—they would probably have turned her away. But not a single objection was voiced. They'd openly discussed which facilities might be needed and which people would be best suited to work with her, if those people agreed.
For security purposes, and for her own safety, Ethan insisted on a microchip implant. It's accuracy surpassed that of the wristband and could be programmed to her personal needs. As well, it would allow access through the checkpoints without submitting to security procedures every time she came on property.
So the board approved her request, but with several restrictions. Only two venues would be programmed to accept her palmprint—Medical Services and the training center—and it would be up to Rachel to speak with RUSH's instructors in an effort to enlist their assistance.
Mason sat down in the guest chair beside hers. If she succeeded in getting that assistance, he'd make a point to find out when her sessions were scheduled. For all that RUSH's security chip was state-of-the-art, he intended to be present on every occasion. Her sister was about to marry his brother. There were strong family dynamics at play here and he wanted to be there so he could step in and convince her to call it off if necessary.
"You're sure this is what you want?"
She blinked her blue eyes and considered how to answer. Carefully, he thought, and he wondered if she weighed everything in that cautious manner.
"Imagine for a minute what life would be like if you perceived a threat whenever someone touched you. Your blood pressure rises, adrenaline begins racing through your system, and all your instincts tell you danger is imminent. You know your perception is wrong, just . . . wrong . . . and you try to fight it, then to hide it. But your entire focus narrows down to breaking that contact so you can feel safe again." Her eyes grew sad. "You'd be unable to show affection to Joshua, comfort him when he's hurt, hold him on your lap to read a story.
"I'm twenty-three years old. I'd like to get married someday. I'd like to have children and be able to hold them in my arms. Right now it feels as though I'm about to put myself through the most horrific nightmare I can imagine. But I know I'm in a con
trolled environment, and knowing that, I'll put myself through it over and over again until it's not a nightmare anymore."
It was difficult to accept that this quietly composed, apparently healthy young woman suffered such a crippling affliction. He didn't have the capacity to imagine her isolation or the heartache her parents must have lived with over the years.
"All right, Rachel." He said, resigned.
It surprised him when she stretched out a hand. He didn't think she did that very often. He placed his own in hers and gently squeezed. She returned the gesture, then released him.
"Thank you. That's what I stopped by to say. Thank you. I know I wouldn't have been given this chance if not for you."
She stood up and he rose as well.
"I also wanted to tell you about something Joshua said the afternoon of the barbeque," she added. "He thinks you work at a place called Hurry Up."
He stared.
"I didn't know if you were aware of that."
"No. I wasn't. Thank you for telling me."
* * *
Libby waited a full twenty-four hours. After that . . . well . . . if God had wanted her to keep quiet, He wouldn't have given her such a caring spirit.
With a last glance in the mirror, she patted her curls in place, left her apartment, and went in search of Simon Yetzer. He'd probably tell her to mind her own business, very politely, of course, but not before she had a chance to say what she meant to say. Oh, she'd work up to it carefully, but that man needed a wake-up call.
A warm breeze lifted her curls as she walked. She liked living in Florida. Even during the winter months most days were warm and sunny. But only until January. And sometimes February. But she didn't even need a jacket today.
She found him before she expected to, talking with Ethan at the turn-off to Checkpoint 2. Well, that made things easier. She hadn't wanted to have this conversation inside his office. All that formality would remind her of his position and she might balk a little. But outside . . . well, things were more relaxed and casual out here in the open.
God, he and Ethan were tall, muscular men. To her own personal list of qualifications for the man she'd eventually find and keep, she added height and muscle. It wasn't that she intended to get into the sort of trouble Nina couldn't seem to stay out of, but a tall, muscular man would make her feel protected. Secure. Maybe a cop. She'd feel safe married to a cop.
She made a show of clearing her throat, just in case Simon and Ethan happened to be discussing something private.
They stopped talking and turned.
Ethan . . . whew, what a good-looking hunk of man. He gave her a big friendly smile and oh, her little heart!
Simon . . . if he'd forget about all those numbers long enough to loosen up . . . well, he gave her a sort of smile, too. But hey, if Nina was planning to leave RUSH, what did the man have to smile about?
"Hello, Libby." Ethan's smile broadened to that sexy grin he had and she sighed. "What can we do for you?"
"Hello, Ethan."
Deliberately she pursed her lips. Then she raised her chin a notch. "I can't smile right now because I'm not happy."
Of course Simon's brow curled into a frown. Talk about methodical. He really needed to unwind . . . maybe watch more TV.
"What's the problem?" Ethan asked. "Anything we can help with?"
Lord, she liked Ethan. He was just so easy to like, not all stiff and bristly like Simon. But she guessed she could like Simon too—for Nina's sake—once she got to know him. Still, Nina should have been blue-linked with Ethan instead. She'd probably be happier. And maybe she'd stay at RUSH. But she hadn't been and she wasn't going to.
"That's just what I'm hoping, Ethan. Because I found out about Nina yesterday and—"
"What about Nina?" Simon cut in.
She paused, narrowed her eyes and stared up at him. All that intensity . . . maybe it carried over into the bedroom.
Chastising herself, she yanked her mind back to the reason she was here. She shouldn't be thinking about Simon that way. So she pursed her lips again just so he'd remember she wasn't happy.
"Look," she started, "I know you own this place, Simon, but Nina's my friend. So that makes me a concerned party, okay?"
"What about Nina, Libby?"
"Just so we're clear on this."
"We're clear."
"Okay then. The thing is, I don't want her to leave."
There went that scowl again. "What do you mean?"
"Look, I understand every relationship has its glitches. But I thought with a blue link—"
"She talked to you about that?"
"Well," Libby admitted, "that was a while ago. She said she was sort of linked. And I told her she either had to be linked or not linked."
Simon clenched his jaw and God, he looked annoyed.
She stiffened. "I like to know about things, Simon, but that doesn't mean I gossip. Nina told me in confidence and I haven't talked about it with anyone. At all."
His chest expanded with a deep breath, then he let it out. "I apologize. Go on."
Okay. Okay . . . .
"Well, I think you should try to work things out. I worry about her and I don't want her to leave. I don't think she's safe out there—"
"What do you mean, leave?" Ethan interrupted.
"Libby, get to the point," Simon growled at the same time.
She stared at him and pursed her lips again. But this time it was with consternation. Didn't he know Nina was planning to move out?
She looked from him to Ethan, then back again and whoa, boy, Simon was not a happy camper.
Tapping her fingers against her thigh, she was a little nervous now. But if his reaction when Nina ignored him the other day was any indication of his true feelings, then maybe he'd get their relationship back on track. Holding his gaze she said, "Nina told me things didn't work out with you. She said she hasn't heard from you for a while. Like . . . a long while. And now she's leaving."
Simon swore. And it sure wasn't nice. In fact, the sparks shooting out of his eyes made her a little edgy. But okay. Maybe that was a good sign. Maybe that meant he didn't want her to go either.
"What, exactly, did she say Libby?"
She licked her lips. "Well . . . we were talking. I said she should have some babies with you and . . . ."
"What?"
She jumped.
Ethan, contrarily, started laughing. But Simon . . . he looked like the god of thunder.
Okay. Maybe she'd gone a little too far. Nina was her friend. They could talk about things like that. Simon wasn't. Besides, he was a man. Men never understood the finer nuances of emotion.
Crossing her arms beneath her breasts, she gave both men her best expression of superior womanhood. "Now listen here—"
But Ethan wouldn't stop laughing so she gave him a little shove. She didn't expect him to budge and he didn't, but it served its purpose and he quieted down.
She started again. "Simon, Nina is one of those women with a lot of maternal instinct. I mean it's obvious why the system hooked her up in a blue link first thing."
He murmured something under his breath and she took that as a sign of encouragement.
Then again . . . .
She lifted her chin another notch. "You know, if you don't want Nina, maybe you should just put her file back in the system so she can get a different blue link."
Right before her eyes he morphed into someone else. Icy black eyes stared back at her, cementing her sandals right to the sidewalk.
Wow. Oh, wow. He sure didn't like that. She took a quick little breath. "—Or not," she offered.
"Where is she going, Libby?"
She took a step back. "I don't know. She got a job with a law firm and she's supposed to start the Monday after Thanksgiving."
Simon glared at her.
Okay. So maybe it was time to leave now. But hadn't she gotten a big surprise. Simon Yetzer was a volcano under all those numbers and statistics. Who knew? Once he got it together an
d made Nina realize they belonged with one another, he'd give her those babies. Lots of them. And she wouldn't keep falling into trouble. Yes indeed, Simon would keep her plenty busy.
* * *
Simon's phone was in his hand as soon as Libby whirled around and started back toward the R-link complex. His plan to step back and restructure his priorities had returned him to a stable, balanced frame of mind. Once again, however, he was forced to acknowledge his capacity for explosive emotion. He'd been biding his time, but if he'd waited another few days to contact her, Nina would have been gone.
He dialed her apartment and waited. The phone rang five times then went to voicemail. Scowling, he disconnected.
Shifting the sleeve of his suit jacket, he glanced at his watch and turned to Ethan. "Locate her for me, will you?"
Ethan reached for his own phone and dialed Security Central. "Get me a fix on Millering, first name Nina."
Simon waited.
"Thanks." Ethan disconnected and slipped the phone back into his pocket. "She's not on property."
* * *
At nine thirty Nina steered her Toyota through the gates at Checkpoint 2 and into the parking garage. She hadn't planned to be out this late. It was dark now. And cold. She was tired and hungry and her feet hurt.
She could have stopped at a fast-food restaurant for dinner, but take-out was an extravagance she couldn't afford. Clothing for work topped the list and she now had three skirts and five tops to mix and match with them. She'd been careful, browsing and choosing things off the clearance racks. She'd have to go out again, maybe on Black Friday. It took extra time to shop now because she wouldn’t park in a huge parking lot unless she could find an open space near the front of the stores. This close to the holidays though, that was a problem. So she'd sought out a variety of smaller strip malls and spent a good deal of time in traffic.
It was surprising to discover how much her vision was impaired by wearing sunglasses indoors. It took an extra few seconds to focus and read the various price tags because the lenses on hers were dark. But people stared when she took them off. The bruise on her face was healing, but it wasn't small and it still stood out.
