Soul to Soul (RUSH, Inc. Book 2)

by Carol Caiton

  She picked up her purse. "Mason—" Again she had to stop, swallow, and wipe the tears away. The warmth in his eyes, the affectionate smile, was almost her undoing. She owed him so much. "I'll stop by your office . . . before I leave if that's okay."

  "I'll watch for you."

  She needed to leave quickly now. "Dr. Zeman, do you . . . do you still need to see me at three-thirty?"

  "I think we can leave it until next time."

  "Yes," she said. "Next time."

  She reached for her jacket and slipped into her shoes. Then she gave them all a tremulous smile and tried not to run from the room.

  * * *

  Michael watched her make a dash for the door. Then he stepped from behind the trunk of the palm tree where he'd had a clear view of the entire . . . short session. He stared over at a bunch of strange looking purple flowers and frowned.

  Why had she run off like that? She should have been in there for thirty minutes. And why was she crying?

  Picking his way back through the shrubbery, he was glad Jeremiah happened to be inside the classroom instead of eyeballing the monitors. That wasn't to say somebody else wasn't watching him tromp through the plantlife. But somebody else wouldn't confront him with a lot of questions. Jeremiah though . . . he'd want to know why Michael had been lurking in the bushes when he could have been sitting comfortably inside.

  He stopped when the path leading to the training center doors came into view. Pushing aside a huge leaf of something, he waited for her to come outside.

  Yeah, it would have been more convenient if he'd been in the classroom. All this curiosity wouldn't be irking him now. But Rachel Oslund would've wondered what he was doing there and how he knew where to find her. She might've wondered if he'd been following her. Dalton had caught a glimpse of him and that was okay. But she didn't know he'd been watching

  He'd told himself it would be better to hang out in the shrubbery 'cause he didn't want to scare her off. Not that he'd figured out what the hell he did want. Probably nothing. But she'd walked right up to him and said she hadn't picked her nose for at least two weeks, and stuff like that intrigued him. Girly-girls didn't say shit like that.

  So okay, maybe he was a little interested. But mostly he was curious.

  He stepped out from behind the shrubbery and started following her. And watching all those blonde curls sway back and forth over that perfect little ass was a true pleasure.

  But she was still crying. Or at least it looked like she was. He couldn't tell for sure because he was behind her. But it looked like she was still dabbing at her eyes. And he didn't think she knew where she was going, meandering this way and that. But he was pretty sure he knew.

  She turned onto one of the alcove paths, but she was too busy digging in her purse, pulling out another tissue, to pay attention. Between wiping her eyes and blowing her nose, she walked past all three alcoves. And now she was gonna dead-end at the fountain. It was a cul-de-sac, not a link alcove, so she wouldn't raise any alarms. She could sit down for a while if she wanted, or she could circle around and come back out.

  She sat. And then she started bawling her eyes out.

  Geez.

  What the hell had happened back there? And what the hell was he doing here? Fuck if he knew. But he stood and watched until she calmed down some. And then, just so she wouldn't freak if she looked up and saw him standing there, he decided it would be a good idea to make his presence known.

  "My name's Michael," he announced, hanging back at a distance he figured wouldn't scare her.

  Her head shot up and her eyes widened when she recognized him. Then her shoulders sagged and she relaxed again, wiping her eyes some more.

  "I saw you walking this way." He shrugged. "So I followed you."

  Hey, it was the truth—not all of it, maybe, but it was still the truth.

  She nodded and reached inside her purse for another tissue. Hell, did she have a whole box in there? At least she seemed to accept his explanation for what it was. She didn't act like it bothered her either. She didn't seem to care if he was there or not. And hell, she even looked good when she cried. Pretty. Her nose was all pink and stuff and it made her look like somebody should go over and baby her.

  "So," he said. "You okay?"

  She nodded again. "Yes. Thanks." She blew her nose. "I'm just a little scared."

  Whoa . . . . That took him aback and he watched her, more alert now. Scared wasn't good. "What're you scared of?" he asked.

  She looked at him then—really looked. She sniffed and tilted her head and stared. Then it struck him that she was gauging his level of interest.

  "Yeah, I asked so I wanna know."

  She squeezed the tissue in her hand until her knuckles turned white. Then she straightened her shoulders and said, "I was twelve."

  Shit, he thought. Ah, shit. Mason had said she was young when it happened, but Michael thought she'd been a teenager. Instead, she'd been a little kid. And by the looks of her, a dainty little girl.

  Not sure what to say, he nodded in acknowledgment.

  She gestured toward one of the other quarter benches. "Do you want to sit down?"

  He glanced at the squared-off privacy hedge that surrounded the circle of concrete benches, then shifted his gaze back to her.

  "Yeah." He walked over, lowered himself onto the bench next to hers, and crossed his ankle over the opposite knee. "So how come you're scared?"

  The strap of her purse slid down her arm but she didn't seem to notice. Or maybe she didn't care.

  "I, um, have some issues. Well, one, really." She looked down at her lap. Back up again. "Mostly touching. I don't like to be touched—at all," she added, clarifying it. Then she looked over at the fountain like she couldn't meet his eyes anymore. "I don't know if I'll ever be able to . . . well . . . . I mean . . . ."

  "Get physical with someone?" he supplied. "Hell, you don't have to be embarrassed to say it. This is RUSH. That's what people talk about here."

  She started blushing till the pink in her cheeks matched her nose. He couldn't remember if he'd ever seen a girl blush before. She looked down at her lap again and her hair drifted forward. Man, he really liked looking at her—just looking at her. She was so damn pretty. It didn't seem to matter if she was crying, talking, being sassy, or blushing from being all embarrassed and shit. He wondered if she ever looked less than perfect—like, did she wake up with bedhead maybe? Probably not. She probably looked all sleepy and tumbled and gorgeous. Man, all that hair. He sure would like to see her that way and that wasn't good. Really not good. She was Mason's sister-in-law—sort of sister-in-law. And she didn't like to be touched.

  "Do you know what systematic desensitization is?" she asked, dragging him back to the conversation.

  "Yeah, I know what it is."

  "Well that's why I'm here—at RUSH, I mean. I spent some pretty awful years just learning how to tolerate shaking hands or hugging my parents." She frowned. "Are you sure you want to hear this?"

  He looked into her blue eyes. Trusting eyes. He wondered about that. He wondered about a lot of things just then because he'd never spoken one-on-one with anyone who'd been raped. He'd never wanted to. But right now, with her, he did. And he wanted to know how she fought the demons.

  "Yeah, I wanna hear it. And I wanna know how come you were crying."

  She hesitated, made a little face while she thought about it, then said, "I met with one of the instructors here. He agreed to work with me. To help me . . . ." She sighed like she was exasperated. "I want a normal life," she said. "I've spent a long time preparing myself for this. It was like a nightmare."

  He scowled, confused. "The instructor scared you?"

  "No. No it wasn't that." Her cheeks turned all pink again. "Not at all."

  "You mean it didn't turn out to be the nightmare you expected?"

  Her eyes watered again.

  Ah, shit, don't cry.

  "No, it wasn't a nightmare." She blinked a few times, then stuffed
the used tissues into a zipper section of her purse. "I'd better go," she said, sliding the strap back up her arm. "I'm supposed to meet someone at the administrative building."

  Hell. Just like that she was retreating. She probably wondered why she was even telling all this to a stranger.

  When she stood up, he pushed to his feet too, searching for something else to say so she'd spend more time with him. He wasn't ready yet to let her get away. "Will you have dinner with me tonight?"

  She looked up, surprised. And yeah, okay, it was a surprise to him too. But he settled right into the idea because he decided it would be a good way to find out more about her. He grinned down at her and her eyes widened.

  "I . . ." she started. "I don't know you."

  "Yeah, I figured I was gonna have to come clean on that one."

  "Come clean?"

  "I knew who you were before I followed you here."

  She frowned. "I don't understand."

  "I'm one of Mason's business partners," he told her. "Michael Vassek."

  Her eyes widened again and she stared up at him. Then she ran a quick glance over his Save the Manatees T-shirt and his threadbare jeans.

  He grinned. "I'm the computer geek."

  She tilted her head to the side, considering him. "When, exactly, did you know who I was?"

  "Right before your session with Dalton."

  "You didn't know before that? At the fish pond?"

  "No. I went back to my office and ran a bunch of searches. But you weren't in the system as a member."

  "I . . . no. I'm a guest."

  "Yeah, well, it took me a while to figure that out."

  She fooled with the strap of her handbag. "Then . . . you know all about me."

  He snorted. "I don't know shit." Not quite the truth, but what the hell. "I know your name is Rachel, and I know—" He scowled. "I know we've had a similar experience."

  That brought things back to the connection they shared and maybe showed her that he wasn't a threat.

  She studied his face again. Then she moistened her lips and asked, "How did you know? When you first saw me?"

  He stared back into those pretty blue eyes. That was the really weird part. He'd just looked into her eyes and there it was. "I don't know," he admitted. "And nobody on earth knows what I told you back there."

  Time stretched while their gazes held. Then the moment broke and she nodded and that was that. Somehow he knew she'd never tell another soul what he'd told her.

  "If you let me pay my own way, then yes, I'd like to have dinner with you."

  "Nuh-uh. Nope." He cut that option straight out of the deal. "This is a date. Man-woman. Not a buddy-buddy get together."

  "I'm not very good with the man-woman thing. It's better if—"

  "I already figured that."

  He could see she was unsure.

  "I've never been out on a date," she told him up front. "You'll probably end up wishing you'd let me pay."

  The corner of his mouth pulled up 'cause he was enjoying this. "I'll take my chances," he said. And he was pretty sure he wasn't gonna be sorry.

  She gave a little shake of her head and smiled back, looking a little bemused. "All right. How should I dress?"

  Damn, he felt good. She'd never been out on a date, and he knew for certain it wasn't for lack of offers. "Let's discuss it while I walk you over to Admin. Betcha don't even know where you are, do you?"

  As though suddenly realizing he was right, she looked around at the fountain, the benches, over toward the path . . . . "I would have figured it out eventually."

  "Yeah, you probably would. But now you don't have to. C'mon, let's go."

  CHAPTER 5

  Mason listened to the last of the messages in his voice mailbox, scribbling a note to remind himself to phone City Hall.

  "Do you have a minute?"

  He looked up. Malcolm stood in the doorway, shirt sleeves rolled up, suit jacket folded over one arm and briefcase in hand.

  Mason glanced at his watch. Nearly six o'clock. He tossed his pen on top of his legal pad, welcoming the reprieve. "Sure. Have a seat," he said, nodding toward the two chairs in front of his desk. "What's on your mind?"

  Malcolm set his briefcase on the floor, draped his jacket over the back of one chair, and sat down in the other. "How did Luke's sister-in-law do today?"

  Mason leaned back and relaxed. Rachel Oslund wasn't his brother's sister-in-law yet, but it was easier to refer to her as such. And as far as Luke was concerned it was just a formality.

  "Surprisingly well," he told Malcolm. "Dalton is the right man to work with her."

  Malcolm considered that. "So that outburst of violence in the conference room was an aberration?"

  Mason thought about what he knew of Dalton and apparently took too long to answer.

  "I'm not asking for a solicitor's abstract, Mason. Just give me your thoughts."

  Mason laughed. "Malcolm, I weigh all my thoughts. Always have."

  "All right. So how does Dalton weigh in?"

  In fact, Mason didn't have to give a lot of forethought to Dalton Cooper. He'd done that already when he learned three instructors had agreed to meet with Rachel.

  "For starters," he said, "I think we're fortunate to have him. Fate somehow managed to land us with a number of truly talented people and he's one of them. But throwing a punch at Ethan? No, I don't think that was out of character. I think Dalton has a firmly rooted tendency to protect the females in his family because of his father. Ethan may have provoked him, but Dalton wasn't averse to throwing a punch if he thought it was warranted."

  Malcolm raised an eyebrow.

  "I reviewed the background Michael ran on him. When he agreed to an interview with Rachel I wanted to refresh my memory."

  "And?"

  "And he and his mother visited several urgent care facilities over the years, up until Dalton turned seventeen. Then his father took a turn in the hospital. Said he'd been mugged." Mason looked pointedly across the desk. "He gave the same explanation the next six times."

  "Hmm. I see what you're not saying." He switched topics then. "Have you heard anything more about the siege on Nina's car?"

  Mason thought about the message he'd just listened to. "You've seen the video. There were three women in the group that overturned it."

  "Hmmph."

  "All six men and three women have been charged, along with another twenty-two."

  "My ideal of feminine comportment is becoming wishful thinking."

  Mason smiled at that. "We're chauvinists, Malcolm."

  "And I make no apologies for it. Do we know yet if these three women are involved with the PIC organization?"

  "Yes, they are. And only one of them is a local."

  "Really? So that little march out there was planned out and they brought in reinforcements."

  "That's how it looks. From as far away as Jacksonville."

  "Keep us informed."

  "I will."

  Malcolm rested both elbows on the arms of his chair, narrowed his eyes, and wore a thoughtful expression.

  "What is it?" Mason asked, though he wasn't sure he wanted an answer.

  "Hannah Breckenridge."

  "Again?"

  "This afternoon. She was leaving the restroom," Malcolm said. "She turned her face away as soon as she saw me, but it was obvious she'd been crying."

  "Simon?"

  "That's my guess."

  Mason sighed. "This is what—the third time?"

  "As far as we know, yes. There may be more."

  "She's Elliott's secretary. Is he aware of the problem?"

  "I don't know. Elliott hasn't said anything."

  Mason frowned. "Why this sudden antagonism? Hannah works in architecture. Her office and Simon's office are on opposite sides of the building so they seldom have a reason to cross paths."

  "I don't know what Simon's frame of mind is at present. He's not talking—not since all this business with Ethan and Nina." He linked his hands and
tapped both index fingers against one another. "But Hannah's an exceptional employee. I don't want to lose her."

  "I agree."

  "Good. Then I'd like you to speak with Simon."

  "Me?"

  "It'll seem less like a reprimand coming from you than it would coming from the CEO."

  Mason gave a short laugh. "You're a shrewd sonofabitch, Malcolm. All right, I'll see what I can do.

  "Cheers." Malcolm planted both hands on the arms of his chair, ready to push to his feet.

  "There's one more thing we need to discuss," Mason said, interrupting him. He leaned forward and picked up his pen, glancing at the three names he'd written on his legal pad.

  "What is it?" Malcolm settled back again.

  "My son is five now. He recently told someone I work at a place called Hurry Up."

  "Oh, hell." Malcolm sighed heavily. "I knew it wouldn't be long before this came up, but I was hoping we'd have you for another year or so."

  "Thanks. But the time was getting close anyway. He'll be entering public school next fall so I would have said something in a few weeks."

  "Do you have anyone in mind for your replacement?"

  "I've started working on it." He tapped the three names with his pen. "And I'll be looking to sell my shares."

  "Yes, you told us to expect that. A clean break then?"

  "I haven't decided yet about membership. Probably."

  "When are you planning to announce it?

  "At the meeting Thursday morning."

  "All right. Thanks for the advance notice." He twisted his wrist to glance at the time. "I have an engagement this evening. Shall I call to say I'm going to be late?"

  "No," Mason told him. "That was it."

  He drew a heavy line beneath the three names and thought about a young, very pretty teacher who exchanged e-mails with his son.

  CHAPTER 6

  She hadn't told him her last name. Or her address. But he'd called himself a computer geek so he probably knew both. He'd already run several searches just to find out who she was. He might not be interested in anything more, but he'd been interested enough to run those searches.

  With a small, private smile, she lifted a pale blue knit dress from her closet.