TRACE (The TRACE Series, #1)

by Deborah Bladon

  I scan the room looking for a familiar face. I want someone who isn't going to engage me in a lengthy discussion about a patient's prognosis. I get enough of that when I'm rushing between exam rooms during the twelve-hour shifts I pull. Tonight, I'm just Vanessa. I'm not Nurse Meyer and I want to keep it that way.

  "Nurse Meyer," Rosalie slurs the words just as she embraces me from behind. "Let's toast to me."

  I turn towards her and raise my glass in celebration of her special day. I would have brought a gift if she hadn't insisted that we don’t mention the fact that it's her birthday. She actually called it a non-birthday party because she's not ready to age another year. She's beautiful and brilliant and by my best estimate, can't be more than fifty-years-old. Judging by the killer set of legs that she's sporting under the short black cocktail dress she's wearing, the woman is not only young in spirit, she's in great shape.

  "You're so pretty, Vanessa." She pulls on the bottom of my hair. "You look so different when your hair is down like this."

  I smile at the compliment. I doubt that she's ever seen me with anything other than a high bun on the top of my head or a ponytail. It's not only hospital protocol to have your hair pulled back, but it's my preference. I don't waste a lot of time fussing with how I look but tonight I took the time to straighten my hair and put on make-up. I needed a night out.

  "You have the next two days off, don't you?" She races her hand up my exposed arm until it reaches my shoulder. She adjusts the strap of my white bra so it's hidden beneath the grey, textured lace tank top I chose to wear with black jeans. "What are you going to do?"

  I'm going to get on an airplane and go to Maine, all alone. I haven't told Zoe because I know that she'd insist on going with me. Her presence would definitely add a comfort I'm likely going to need, but at the same time, the solitude will give me a chance to absorb the names of my parents.

  The server walks by and Rosalie clings to her arm as she orders us both another drink, even though I've barely touched mine. I don't want to be rude, but hanging out for more than a couple of hours isn't in my plan. I want to get home and crawl into bed so I can try and chase a few hours of sleep before I jump on the bus that will take me to La Guardia airport.

  "You invited him?" Her hand flies into the air. "I thought you said he wasn't your boyfriend."

  I turn towards the entrance of the pub just in time to see Garrett Ryan embracing a beautiful brunette.

  Chapter 6

  "Did you follow me here?"

  I should be asking him that question, but he's beaten me to the punch. I lost sight of him soon after he arrived at the pub. I turned completely around hopeful that he wouldn't spot me in the growing crowd. I thought I could finish my drink, visit with a few co-workers and be out the door before he even spotted me. Now, he's whispering in my ear.

  "Why would I do that?" I take in a quick, short breath as I pivot on my heels to face him.

  "What are the chances that you'd show up at my neighborhood pub?" He motions towards the bar with his chin. "Manhattan's a big place. You could have gone drinking anywhere."

  He wears arrogance with the same confidence that he wears the clothes on his back. He has to know that virtually every single woman in this pub, and likely most of the not-so-single ones, are checking him out. A quick glance to my left confirms my suspicion when I catch Rosalie giving him the once over.

  "I'm here to celebrate a co-worker's birthday." I shoot back, wanting to justify my presence, even though there's absolutely no need for it.

  "A birthday?" He taps his hand on the bar. "This calls for a drink. What are you having?"

  I hold up my empty glass. "I was drinking a Tom Collins, but I'm afraid two is my limit."

  "A woman with limits?" He rakes his eyes over my body. "That's a shame."

  The hidden innuendo within the words isn't lost on me. "Your loss."

  "I wouldn't say that." He raises his hand, motioning towards the bartender. "I owe you for what happened at the hospital. Let me buy you a drink and we'll call it even."

  I look around the room before speaking. "You're not going to drop this grateful act, are you?"

  "It's not an act." He gracefully lowers himself onto the bar stool next to me. "I make it a point to repay my debts. I owe you so I want to show my appreciation."

  "You don't owe me anything, "I counter. "I told you I was doing my job."

  "That's not the debt I'm referring to." He grabs the edge of a cocktail napkin sitting on the bar. "I think I offended you. I want to make that up to you, Vanessa."

  I could give him a free pass and tell him that there are no hard feelings. It would be the truth. I don't know the man and how he acts when his blood sugar is plummeting is no concern of mine. If anything, I got to be witness to one of the most exciting emergency room visits I'll probably ever see. He's not the first man to comment on my body, and he won't be the last. I'm hardly the only nurse who has heard her fair share of sexually charged comments. It's par for the course.

  "I forgive you." I pull my hands to my chest. "We're even now, okay?"

  His eyes settle on where my hands are clasped together. "No. It's not okay."

  "It really is." I reach to scoop my silver clutch up from where I rested it on the bar earlier. "You said some things you regret, and I forgive you."

  He turns towards the bartender and orders a whiskey sour. I breathe a sigh of relief when he doesn't assume that I'm joining him.

  "Can I ask you a question, Vanessa?" He looks at me carefully. "Just one question and then I'll leave you alone for the night."

  I lean against the bar, dangling my clutch in my hand. "What's the question?"

  "Tell me exactly what I said to you. Give it to me straight from the hip." His eyes settle on my right hip, which is jutting out.

  He has to be shitting me. This must be part of some twisted game he plays to assuage his own guilt over being an arrogant, chauvinistic asshole. I doubt like hell that he doesn't remember every single word he said to me last week in the ER.

  I take in a deep breath before I blow it out slowly. I like a challenge. I never back down from one and right now, I want desperately to have the upper hand in this even though I know he still has the power to get me fired. "You know what you said, Garrett."

  "I don't." His voice is deep and low. "I remember bits and pieces of that morning but everything is hazy."

  "Do you remember anything I said to you?" I grab the side of the bar for added balance.

  "I vaguely remember the word 'asshole' coming out of those lips."

  I feel my back bristle. He's a lawyer. He's schooled in how to lead people down a path towards their own demise. If I confirm what he just said, I'm essentially guaranteeing myself a spot in the unemployment line.

  "Vanessa." His index finger brushes fleetingly against my chin. "If you called me an asshole, I'd like to know why."

  I glance briefly to where Rosalie is now pressed up against a man who just started working in the hospital pharmacy. If Garrett tells her what I said, there may be a flash of compassion within her, but she's as straight laced as they come. Rosalie is a by-the-book employee and she'd see to it that I was reprimanded.

  "Ben told me you're the best nurse in the ER." His posture softens. "I agree with him. I would never do anything to jeopardize that."

  I blink before I look directly into his eyes. "You wouldn't?"

  "If you called me an asshole, Vanessa, there was a reason. Tell me why."

  I shouldn't answer, but instead I lean forward so my face is hovering close to his. "You said something about my body."

  He moves forward on the barstool. "What did I say?"

  My eyes dart from his lips to his eyes. "You said I have the best looking ass you've ever seen."

  I don't flinch when I feel both his hands jump to my hips. "I said that to you?"

  I nod slowly knowing I should pull back and break free.

  "You do," he whispers into the heated air between us. "I haven't st
opped thinking about it or you since that day."

  Chapter 7

  I wanted to kiss him and I don't know why. Wait. That's not entirely true. I wanted to kiss him because his lips were so close to mine and his hands were resting on my hips. His breath was sweet and intoxicating and the firmness of his thighs pressing against the outside of my own legs made me feel weak.

  I'd pulled free the moment Carla came over to the bar. When I'd left our apartment to come to the party, she'd had her head buried in a book. I'd tried to coax her into dressing up so we could have a fun night together, but she wanted no part of it. I'm not sure if I was more shocked to see her standing next to Garrett wearing one of my little black dresses, or if the way she was pressing her tits into his shoulder was more jarring. Either way, the moment his eyes left me for her, I'd excused myself and made a break for the ladies' room.

  I scrub my hands over my face when I hear the door to the bathroom opening. I slide my fingers apart to glance in the mirror at Carla's reflection staring back at me.

  "You look better in that dress than I do," I offer with a smile. "You should keep it."

  "I might." She rests her hands on my shoulders. "I couldn't find anything to wear. You don't mind, do you?"

  I don't. I like the fact that she feels comfortable enough to go through my closet. I've taken care of my mother for so many years, that most of the friendships I did have when I was younger have drifted into the ether. I'm not as close to Carla as I am to Zoe, but we're comfortable and building a bond every day.

  "He's looking for you." She gestures towards the door with her chin. "What's that about?"

  If I had a reply to that question I might be tempted to answer it, but I'm not about to. Garrett Ryan is everything I don't need in my life right now. The man exudes intensity and if I'm going to jump into anything with any man it needs to be uncomplicated.

  "We were talking about when he was in the ER."

  "No you weren't." She pulls playfully on a few strands of my hair. "I know what I saw."

  I know what I felt and I don't want to give it any merit. "You saw the two of us talking about what happened in the ER."

  "No." She twists me around quickly by the shoulders. "I saw two people who were about to go at it on the bar."

  "That's not going to happen. He's not my type."

  "Not your type?" Her hands fall to her sides. "That man is every woman's type. Seriously, Vanessa? Who wouldn't want to be fucked by that?"

  "Me," I try to say convincingly. "He's an arrogant lawyer, Carla. He uses women. I'm not into that."

  "What he does for a living isn't relevant." She waves her hands in the air. "Who the hell cares if he uses you for sex?"

  "I care," I point out.

  "You're looking at this all wrong." Her voice softens. "You could be using him right now. You fuck him, you thank him and you walk away."

  "It's never that easy. I guarantee you that Garrett Ryan is more complicated than that."

  "You'll never know unless you try." She brushes past me to look at herself in the mirror. "I just know what I saw when I walked in the pub. The man wants you and you want him whether you want to admit it or not."

  ***

  "You want me to, don't you?" He eyes me. "I'm a lawyer. You can trust me."

  I shove my hand against his strong shoulder. "I told you that I can take a taxi from here. I know my way around the city."

  His chest heaves with a sigh. "Vanessa, it's late. I'd feel better knowing that you got to your apartment safe and sound."

  This gallant act is endearing, if not over-the-top. I'd tried to slide past his gaze when I left the ladies' room. I was hopeful that he would have set his sights on someone new by then, but he spotted me in an instant and before I had one foot out of the door of the pub, he was right behind him.

  "I will get there safe and sound." I inch towards the street. "I've been taking taxis in this city for years. I'll be fine."

  "Indulge me." His voice is thick and heavy. "I'll get in the taxi with you. I'll watch you walk to your building and I'll be on my way."

  "There's no need." I wave my hand in the air at two approaching cabs. They both fly by without slowing at all. "I can handle it. You should stay here. The night is young."

  "I'm on my way home too." He glances at his smartphone screen. "I have a full day in court tomorrow."

  "What kind of lawyer are you?" I ask out of curiosity. I don't know the intricacies of the legal system but I do know that it takes a certain type of man to take on that role. "I'm just wondering."

  "I'm a probate attorney." He dips his hands into the front pockets of his grey pants. "I handle estate law."

  I arch a brow. "That's not what I thought."

  "What did you think?" He leans slightly forward.

  "I'm not sure," I answer honestly. "I hadn't given it that much thought."

  "You can come by the courthouse tomorrow and see me in action." He licks his bottom lip. "I'll be on my best behavior for you."

  "I can't." I glance at the street again, wishing a taxi would magically appear. "I'm going to Maine tomorrow."

  "Maine?" His mouth curves into a smile. "What's in Maine?"

  I heave a sigh of relief as a taxi rounds the corner and stops in front of the pub. I dart to the street just as a man and a woman slide out of the back seat. "Answers," I call back to Garrett as I duck inside the car. "Maine has all the answers I need."

  Chapter 8

  "Can you repeat that?" I lean forward so my elbows are resting on the desk. The motion isn't just so I can get closer to her; it's also for stability. I can't believe what she just said to me.

  "I'm sorry, Ms. Meyer." She pulls her glasses to the tip of her nose as she looks at the screen of her laptop. "We don't have a record of your birth in our system."

  I scratch the back of my head. "Can you check again? Just this one last time, please?"

  Turning her head quickly, she types something into the keyboard of her laptop before she lowers her glasses and sets them on the desk in front of her. "There wasn't a child adopted who was born the same day as you. In fact, there wasn't a baby girl born within a week of you who was placed up for adoption. Just two boys."

  "My mother told me that she was at the hospital when I was born." I drum my fingers on her desk. "She talked about the nurses and how they handed me to her right after I was born."

  "Perhaps she was mistaken about the state?"

  It's a ludicrous question meant to placate me. "I was born and raised in Maine. There's no question about that."

  "The only thing I can suggest is that you speak to your mother and tell her what I've told you." She opens the top drawer of her desk to pull out a small, white rectangular card. "This is my number. I handle all the records. Ask your mother to call me if she has any questions."

  I want to tell her that the card will never reach my mother's hands. The woman is stuck in a prison of her own mind. If she were lucid, I'd be on the phone to her right now, asking what's going on. "My mother isn't available," I say to avoid the pity that is expected after I tell a person that my mother is ill. "Do you have any suggestions for my next step?"

  "Does your mother have family?"

  "I have an aunt," I tell her. "She lives here in Augusta."

  "Talk to her." She closes her desk drawer with a thud. "Sometimes people are holding onto details they don't even realize are relevant."

  ***

  "Your aunt stuck to the same story your mother gave you?" Zoe holds a paint sample card up to the wall. We're in the nursery that has yet to be transformed. Right now it's a blank canvas.

  "Are you going with that shade of blue?" I nod towards the light blue card in her hand.

  "I don't want to." She lets it drop from her fingers down to the hardwood floor. "I want Beck to paint this room. I want every inch of the walls to be colored with watercolors."

  It's a beautiful idea. "I think that's amazing. It's really special, Zoe."

  "It would be if I coul
d tear him away from his studio to do it." I can hear the exasperation in her voice. "I'm worried that we'll run out of time to decorate and the baby will have to sleep in this plain room."

  I'm not a baby, but I'd welcome the chance to sleep in this room. It's larger than any bedroom I've ever had and it has floor-to-ceiling windows with a view of Central Park. "The baby will love the room regardless of what it looks like."

  "You're right." She bends down to pick up the sample card, cradling her hand under her belly. "Let's talk about your aunt."

  "Technically she's not my aunt," I correct her cautiously. "She lived in the apartment next to ours when I was growing up and I called her Aunt Nora."

  "She knew your mom before you were born though, right?" She twirls her finger around a red ribbon hanging from the front of her maternity top. "She would have been around during the adoption?"

  "I can't remember a time when she wasn't a part of our family," I hesitate because since my mother has digressed into the Alzheimer's, Nora has stopped coming to Brooklyn to visit her. "She was always around when I was growing up."

  "What did she say when you asked about the adoption?"

  It should be a cut and dry answer, but it's not. When I'd stopped by Aunt Nora's apartment yesterday to ask about my adoption, she'd become uncomfortable quickly. She went from welcoming me with open arms into her kitchen to telling me that she had an appointment with her hair stylist.

  "Did she know why there's no record of it?"

  I half-shrug my shoulder. "She said that she can't remember all the small details but she remembers what a beautiful baby I was."

  Zoe sighs softly as she leans back in the rocking chair she's sitting in. I take in the sight of her, so peaceful and content with what life is about to offer her. She's going to be a mother soon. I'm going to watch her holding her beautiful, newborn son in her arms. I already know that it's going to be a bittersweet moment for me.