They sat staring at each other. Bright sunlight cast trails of light across the floor of the small restaurant as dust motes danced in the yellow glow. Someone put a song on the ancient jukebox. Kenny Chesney’s raspy voice started crooning about one more shot of tequila, one more night. Ella’s slender fingers played with the straw in her almost empty glass.
Her iris eyes finally focused in on Levi. He leaned forward. Now he was the one to touch her hand in encouragement.
“Well, it’s not a particularly unique story, Doc. I had a case in Manhattan Criminal Court. A smug young preppie charged with date rape. He was defended by the scion of an old Boston family, lawyers since the time of John Adams, Harvard undergrad and law school. Cooper Anderson III, Esquire. Tall, blonde, blue-eyed—the kind of body you get from rowing daily on the Charles River. Confident to the point of arrogance.”
“Tell me he didn’t win.” Levi hated this guy already.
“I made mincemeat of his defense. Put his boy away for five years, no parole. After he turned up his patrician nose at my very reasonable plea offer of three years, possibility of parole after two. He filed an appeal. Rejected out of hand. I saw him a few months later at a Bar Association meeting. After I ignored him all through the criminal procedure update, he came up to my table at the reception—Scotch on the rocks in his hand—apologies on his pretty boy lips. We started dating within three days.”
“Did you marry him?”
“Yes. Exactly one year later. We had one of those conservative, tasteful weddings. A Supreme Court judge officiated. Reception at the Harvard Club. Honeymoon in Tuscany. We were the golden couple for a little over a year.”
“What happened?”
“We wanted children. My biological clock was ticking. But I didn’t get pregnant. And not for lack of trying.” She smiled then, a lop-sided imitation of a cocky grin, turned down at the corners of her luscious lips.
“We had some tests. He was fine. I, apparently, was not. Some problems with the female parts, you know. Nothing could be done about it. We were crushed. But I finally wrapped my head around the situation and suggested we adopt. He was appalled. Andersons did not adopt. That was the beginning of the end. We were divorced shortly before our third anniversary.”
“That was it? That was a long time ago, counselor.”
“Well, it was a hit, I’ll admit it. By the time I got my head back on straight, a few years had passed. He had remarried and already had a son and another child on the way. And I had a busy, satisfying career. Family. Friends. The occasional lover.”
“And now?” He had to know if she was involved with anyone back in New York.
“And now,” she answered, gathering her purse and rising, “I have a blank computer screen waiting for me and lots of words to fill it.” Ella leaned down to place a light kiss on Levi’s cheek. “Thanks for lunch, Doc. Next time it’s on me.” And she was out the door before the feel of her lips and her sweet scent had faded.
Chapter Eight
Happy ever after eluded her in her dreams and in her waking hours. Two weeks and three days of sitting in front of her lap top computer, staring at a screen full of words, Ella was more frustrated with each passing hour.
Especially with Penny’s daily calls checking on the progress of Barb and Joe’s romance and Ella’s recovery.
“How’s it going?” Penny’s voice was cheerful, concerned, and vaguely worried.
“It’s going. I’ve got poor Barb beaten up in the ICU, drifting in and out of consciousness. Joe and the team are frantically searching for clues, worried that this was not a random attack on Barb. Joe spends nights by Barb’s bed, holding her hand and singing Sinatra ballads to her. They’ve even kissed a few times. Well, he’s kissed her while she was asleep or out of it.”
“God, I love steamy romances like that!” Penny mocked. “What are you waiting for? You’re the one who decided they deserved to consummate their long-smoldering passion for each other…isn’t that how you described it?”
“Yeah, it is. I know they deserve each other, I’m sure they want each other. I’m just having a hard time convincing them of it.” Both women laughed, familiar with the quirkiness of characters that sometimes seemed to write their own dialogue and frequently veered off in unplanned directions. “It’s almost like they don’t trust me to write their first time making love so they keep dancing around. The crime part of this book is writing itself and its damn good. But the sex part is killing me!” Ella rose and paced away from her computer and out onto the patio. She groaned into the phone as she flopped down on a chaise next to the pool. “Do you think I’m crazy to pursue this love story? Maybe I can’t write romance. I was so sure that this was the way their story should end and I was certain I could do it justice. Maybe I should just kill them both off and be done with it.”
“Yeah, Gotham City Press would just love that. And millions of fans would track you down and murder you in cold blood!” Penny had years of experience convincing Ella she could solve the crime at hand, finish the book, write another, and another. She knew when to push, when to cajole, and when to bolster a flagging confidence. And when to change the subject.
“Hey! How’s Dr. Hottie Rock Star? Maybe he could give you some plot pointers, you know, on the logistics of making love in a hospital bed.”
Ella snickered loudly at the suggestion. “Ha! Not likely. I haven’t seen him in over two weeks. I’m almost through with physical therapy and I have a discharge appointment with him next week, but who knows how that will go? Apparently, he’s somewhere in the hinterlands of Haiti performing surgery.”
“Really? Why is he in Haiti? Did a patient take a fall there or something?”
Ella laughed at Penny’s absurd assumption. “No, silly. He doesn’t make international house calls. He’s sort of on-call with Doctors Without Borders. There were some tricky shoulder injuries among the workers who are trying to rebuild after the last hurricane. A former classmate of Levi’s asked him to come down for a few days to help out, but once he got down there, he decided to stay for two weeks to keep an eye on his patients and to do more orthopedic surgeries that were needed.”
“How do you know so much about all this? Are you stalking him?” Penny’s voice had turned suspicious.
“He’s been the favorite topic of conversation among the physical therapists. I’m there three days a week, so I get an earful. Plus, everyone around here loves to talk about him. The lady who runs the mini-mart, Charity, seems to know what he’s going to do before he does it. Seems his housekeeper Missy was in the other day to pick up cat food to feed some stray kitten he found just before he left town. Charity was going on and on about it when I stopped in yesterday to get some munchies.” Ella related the details with the easy familiarity of a local.
“Why are you buying M&M’s? I sent you like five pounds just a few days ago!”
“I know you did! But they don’t work unless I’m writing about police work. I switched to red licorice twists. They seem to work better for me when I’m writing romance.”
“Why? Because it’s red like luscious lips and Valentines?” Penny’s voice was half groan and half chuckle. “You’re killing me here, El. Max really liked your revised outline and was hot for the idea of you just jumping in and writing a rough draft. But he’s bugging me for a manuscript and he wants it like yesterday.”
Ella’s editor was famous for his total lack of patience. He was unused to waiting for a book from E. L. Levin; she usually turned in her work a week before deadline. Penny was equally unfamiliar with nudging Ella to complete a manuscript.
“Well, you all are going to have to wait until Barb and Joe let me know how this story is going to end. But, I’m getting them in bed by the end of this week if I have to get Joe assaulted and put in the same hospital room as Barb.” The two women laughed at the strange antics of their favorite cop and detective and hung up with Penny’s promise to start shipping licorice to save Ella from Charity’s scrutiny and sarcastic remarks about her cand
y intake.
****
Levi was sweating like he really was Dr. Hottie Rock Star. As he pulled off perspiration-soaked scrubs, he swore with enough force to peel the remaining strips of neon green paint off the crumbling dirty wall of the outside shower. All he wanted was cold water to course down his over-heated body for at least an hour. The weak trickle of fluid dripping from the ancient shower head thwarted his wish. There was barely enough cool water to wash away the gritty residue of several hours in surgery. Frustrated, he stepped out of the narrow cubicle and grabbed the scrap of towel, wrapping it low on his hips.
“I’m getting too old for this shit!” Still damp from what had passed as a shower, Levi pulled on loose khaki shorts and a soft white cotton T-shirt. Shoving his feet into his black flip-flops, he bent to gather up his discarded scrubs and ancient Crocs and shove them into his backpack. Feeling only marginally better, he pushed his way into the makeshift doctors’ quarters, heading straight to the tiny refrigerator that sat on the drain board of the kitchen sink. Stocked with bottles of beer and water, it was the only cold thing in the entire space. No air conditioning, and tepid water in the shower made Levi doubly grateful for the icy tang of the local brew.
His work with various international relief organizations over the years had been profoundly satisfying, both professionally and personally. It was good to be reminded from time to time about the conditions most of the rest of the world endured and he believed it was important to operate on people who couldn’t even imagine the luxury of scheduling elective surgery in an immaculate state-of-the-art facility. Levi treasured his friendships with the doctors and nurses who regularly travelled the globe, ministering to the victims of war, natural disasters, and epidemics. Like Haiti, where the efforts of workers to cleanup and rebuild after the last hurricane had caused several orthopedic injuries—prompting his former classmate to call upon him for some intricate and delicate shoulder and hand surgeries.
But, at fifty, the long hours of grueling surgery—in makeshift operating rooms—were taking their toll on him. There were kinks in his lower back and blisters on his feet. And if his knee didn’t stop aching, Levi was sure he’d find himself on Fitz’s surgical schedule for some tinkering. Dumping his backpack on floor near his cot, he stretched out under the lazily turning blades of the ceiling fan.
“Only a couple more days and I’m stateside,” Levi muttered to himself. Taking another long sip of beer, he laughed at all the internal conversations he’d been having. “Since I got here, I’ve spent a lot of damn time talking to myself,” he mused. “No,” he admitted honestly, “it’s since I met Ella.”
Levi closed his eyes and visualized her piquant pink lips and her iris eyes, her wind-blown blonde air and long legs. She was standing on the beach the afternoon she kissed him. Her lips softly brushed along his jaw. He could taste the tart sweetness of her mouth, could feel her step into him. He groaned as his exhausted body responded to the sensual memories of Ella. Instead of her abrupt departure after one long and complicated kiss, Levi imagined wrapping his arms around her and holding her tight, feeling her long, lithe length pressed against him. He could feel the firmness of her small breasts against his chest and the fullness of her hips as he swept his hands down her body, pulling her even closer as he caressed her curved bottom. The heat and humidity of Haiti was replaced in his mind by the soft, warm breezes of the Gulf of Mexico and Ella’s sweet sighs. Throbbing with need, he imagined how it would have been to sink into the sand. And into Ella.
Banishing his yearnings with a deep sigh and a final gulp of the now cool beer, Levi rolled over and put the bottle on the floor. As the sky darkened outside the small cottage, he fell back onto his solitary bed, full of longing for Mimosa Key.
“Just a quick stop in Miami to de-brief and then I’m heading back home. Back to Hersch. Back to the kitten. And back to Missy’s fried chicken.” Levi sighed in anticipation of the comforts of home. And Ella’s full-of-promise kisses. As he drifted off to sleep, he told himself that he was finally going to solve the mystery of E. L. Levin.
Chapter Nine
“Hersch is so pissed at you.” Missy threw the words at him as soon as Levi stepped out of his SUV. She was leaning against the porch railing, cradling the orange kitten he had found near the dumpster behind his office the day before he left for Haiti. The cat bore no resemblance to the scrawny, filthy, mewling creature who had huddled into the damp towel he’d pulled from his gym bag. Bright blue eyes peered from a fluffy white and orange face.
“What have you been feeding it? It looks like its gained ten pounds.” Levi was pulling his bags from the backseat. “And what do you mean about Hersch being pissed? I thought you were keeping the kitten at your place ’til I got home.”
Missy just laughed. “I am. Mostly. But she follows me around your house when I’m cleaning. And Hersch follows her. I’m feeding her some special organic kitten food I found online that costs like fifty bucks a bag. I think she’s worth it. But Hersch tried a taste of it and spit it out. So I added some tuna to the mix. I think he approves of the cat’s cuisine now, but not the cat.”
Levi started up the steps, wishing for nothing more than a warm shower, a cold beer, and some hot food. And his faithful canine friend. He whistled long and loud which usually brought the chocolate Lab from anywhere on the property. But the dog did not appear.
“Where is he?” Levi reached out to scratch the kitten’s soft head. A loud purr came from the tiny cat as she closed her eyes in a picture of pure bliss.
“Come with me. You’re not going to believe this.” Missy turned and followed the porch as it curved around the house to the garage. Stepping into the breezeway, she reached for the door to the structure that housed Levi’s collection of cars, trucks and his Harley. The lights came on as they entered the large, immaculate space. The six bays were filled since Levi usually left the Mercedes SUV outside.
Levi looked around but still could not find his missing dog. “What’s going on? I don’t see him.”
Missy was giggling as she pointed two bays over to the Jaguar convertible. At the sound of Levi’s voice, a furry brown head had popped up and mournful chocolate eyes were glaring at him. As Levi moved toward the car, Hersch turned away and buried his head against the console. The sight of his 75-pound dog curled up on the passenger seat of his favorite car brought a smile to Levi’s lips and a tug to his heart.
Missy called out as she turned toward the open door. “You guys better make up. I’m taking Lady Marmalade back to my place for the night. Dinner is on the stove.”
After much cajoling and ear scratching, Levi was able to coax Hersch from the convertible and into the house. Levi dumped his bags in the laundry room and grabbed a frosty beer from the fridge before he headed for the bathroom. One long, soapy shower and cold brew later, he wandered into the kitchen for a meal of Missy’s famous beef chili and cornbread. A note on the counter warned him not to eat too much chili because coconut flan was waiting in the fridge.
Levi spent the evening lounging on the sofa in the family room, watching basketball, and eating until he thought he might burst. Letting Hersch lick both his chili bowl and flan plate—and scarf down a piece of cornbread—had earned Levi forgiveness. The dog lay with his heavy head resting on Levi’s legs, snoring softly while Levi rubbed his back and rump. Looking around at his comfortable home, his faithful pet, feeling fully satiated, Levi reflected he was one lucky man. He was always grateful for his good life, but never more so than upon his return from the suffering he witnessed in so many Third World countries. Usually, getting clean, eating Missy’s amazing cooking, and hanging with Hersch satisfied all his desires. Tonight, though, there was a nagging need for something else. For someone else.
****
A few miles away, Ella was experiencing the same vague feeling of dissatisfaction. Lying in her canopied bed, a warm breeze rippling sheer curtains framing the partially opened patio door, Ella was wide-awake. After a full day of writin
g, begun upon completion of an early morning session with Cory, and a long walk on the beach after dinner, Ella anticipated sleep coming early. Instead, her eyes were open and her mind was racing.
“What the hell?” Her words broke the silence in the room. She usually slept soundly while she was writing. Pulling words out of her creative mind and getting them down in some semblance of order on her computer was exhausting and satisfying. Not for this book, though. It wasn’t just about solving the crime. Ella wanted to do justice to Barb and Joe personally. They had been together for a long time and they were real to her.
The scene she had written just before dinner was playing through her mind.
Barb was conscious but weak, with much of her memory of the attack that had put her in the hospital buried deep. Joe was frustrated with the progress in finding her attacker and discovering the motive for his assault. As she wrote, Ella found his frustration spilling over into his conversation with Barb when she pressed him for details. “God damn it, Barb. I’m doing the best I can without my star detective on the job.” Tears had spilled from Barb’s eyes at the sound of his harsh words. The sight of his tough-as-nails partner in beating the bad guys crying had undone the brusque policeman. He had broken, gathering Barb into his arms, careful of the IV tubes and monitor leads running from her arms and chest. Soon, he was kissing her unruly hair and murmuring reassuring word to her. He’d never held her before. Nine books and all Ella had allowed them were a few awkward buddy hugs.
Ella had left the scene unfinished. She knew I love you was on the tip of Joe’s tongue but had not been able to write it. She still didn’t know how Barb would react.
I love you. When was the last time I heard those words?
Troubled by more than the progress of her work on the love story, Ella threw the covers aside and walked to the patio door. Shivering slightly in the cool late night breeze, she wrapped her arms around her waist. Her hands strayed to her breasts, covering the erect tips teased into hardness by the cold air. And by her memories of Levi’s kisses and caresses.
Shoulder to Lean On Page 6
