Soul to Soul (RUSH, Inc. Book 2)

by Carol Caiton

  Instead, however, he forced his fingers to release her. "I'll walk you to the checkpoint."

  Turning away, he led her back through the foliage to the sidewalk as another boisterous cheer rose from the crowd behind them. The sound was obscene now and he looked over his shoulder to make sure she hadn't slipped into the jungle to get away from him.

  She said nothing as they passed through the gate to the main walkway. He gave her several inches of space, maintaining a distance as he escorted her back to Checkpoint 1. And he gave her his silence because she wouldn't hear anything he had to say in her present frame of mind.

  He stood by while the guard behind the counter removed the bracelet from her wrist and she waited, pale and silent after the ordeal at Threshold. When her cell phone was returned, however, he found he couldn't let her go without trying once more.

  "Ali."

  But she squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head. "Don't. Just . . . don't." Then she walked toward the doors that led out to the parking garage and didn't look back.

  His heart thudded a slow beat in his chest. For all of five seconds he stared after her. Then he spun around, strode back outside, and reached for his phone. Someone was about to lose his job.

  "Case here."

  "I want the guard assigned to escort Alison Brosig fired."

  A short pause followed his order. Then Jeremiah said, "Before or after he's released from Medical Services?"

  Mason came to a standstill. He shut his eyes briefly, then opened them. "What happened?"

  "An organized invasion."

  "A what?"

  "Our local high school boys are learning battle tactics. We had some climbers. Front line first, then the troops."

  "At Threshold?"

  "The landscaping out on I-Drive is thick. We didn't know anything was going on until they reached the top of the wall and the cameras picked it up."

  "We should have had those trees thinned out when Serena Mandek was murdered. I'll see what can be done. What about the guard? Did you authorize him to leave Alison Brosig without an escort?"

  "Yes, I did. When the first line of boys came over the wall—around ten of them—Cosper and Brosig were out in front of Threshold. The call asking for assistance came through and I sent him in. I could either abandon the adult female, or chance letting those underage boys get an eyeful at the pillory."

  "You know what was going on at the pillory?"

  "It's my job to know what's going on everywhere if possible."

  "You should have sent a second guard to replace Cosper," Mason said. He ran a hand along the muscles at the back of his neck.

  "I did send a second guard. She was waiting outside the gate and he was about to make contact when the second line of boys scrambled over the wall. All told, there were about thirty."

  "For God's sake. —So you authorized the second guard to go in as well?"

  Jeremiah hesitated. "No. He made that call on his own. But I stand by his decision, Mason. If those boys had made it into the courtyard, RUSH might not have been able to survive the consequences."

  Mason wanted to lash out. He wanted someone to pay for what he'd just lost. But Jeremiah had made the right call. And damn it, so had the second guard.

  "How bad was Cosper hurt? You said he's at Medical Services."

  "He was thrown up against the wall, hit his head, and it knocked him out. He's alert now, and he's going to be fine, but he had to be taken to Medical Services on a stretcher."

  "What about the boys? Did any of them make it to the courtyard?"

  "No. I'd already sent backup through the tunnels and we were able to contain them—with a little help."

  "Whose help?"

  "I told you we had two Brosigs on property."

  "Yes."

  "The second one is male. Nathan. Did you know the two are brother and sister?"

  "Yes. I'm acquainted with them both."

  "Did you know he's a cop?"

  "Yes, I'm aware of that, too."

  "Well you might not be surprised, but I am," Jeremiah said. "We don't have cops at RUSH unless they're here on official business. But Nathan Brosig is a client, and he was out by the pillory. Does his sister know about his membership here?"

  "I don't know," Mason said. "It's possible she saw him if they were both at Threshold at the same time. Did Nathan Brosig lend a hand?"

  Jeremiah gave a short humorless laugh. "Maybe it's a sixth sense with cops, or maybe he saw Cosper racing through the vegetation out there. He figured out we had a problem. He even recruited a couple of other men. Cops don't usually do that."

  "You're right, they don't."

  "Think we could put him on the payroll in an off-duty capacity?"

  "I doubt it."

  "Be a hell of a coup for PR."

  "Believe me, Nathan Brosig doesn't care about our public relations. In fact, it won't endear him to his co-workers if they find out he's here in an unofficial capacity."

  "Hmmph. Our loss. Want me to tell him he's free to go? We have plenty of other witnesses."

  "Yes, do that."

  "I hear sirens."

  "Same here. Where are you holding the boys?"

  "I've got them in lockdown. They're under guard in three of the holding rooms under Threshold."

  Mason scowled. He looked toward Checkpoint 1, then up toward the second story where Security Central was located. "How did you get them there?"

  "We cleared the tavern, took them in through a side door, then escorted them down to the tunnels. None of them made it to the courtyard. We'll bring them up one at a time as their parents arrive to collect them."

  "Smart thinking. I'm on my way to Security now. And Jeremiah?"

  "Yes?"

  "Nathan Brosig might be parked at the other checkpoint. If so, take him down to the tunnels and have someone drive him over there."

  Jeremiah paused. "Is there something I should know about this guy?"

  "No. We're just protecting the privacy of a client."

  "Got it."

  Mason ended the call and pressed the speed-dial number that would connect him to Malcolm. It wasn't until two hours later that he left Security Central, laden with a stack of fresh paperwork. He needed coffee and he needed food. He purchased both at the food court, carried them back to his office, and phoned his mother to ask if she could keep Joshua for dinner.

  "I had a feeling you might call. I heard on the news that you had some trouble there today."

  "Yes." He leaned his head back against the headrest and looked over toward the windows. "A small army of high school boys decided to climb the wall. We've just finished turning the last one over to his parents."

  Silence.

  Mason sighed. "Why is it that I'm suddenly feeling reprimanded for working here?"

  His mother's tone when she answered was warm with affection. "Because your father and I raised you well."

  He heard the smile as well and responded in kind. "I'm thinking about it."

  "That's good to hear. Joshua keeps talking about a woman named Ali."

  This time it was he who hesitated. "Now you're prying," he finally said.

  "Really?" Her surprise was coupled with unmistakable pleasure. "That's good to know. It's long past time."

  He opened his eyes again. He wasn't going to discuss Ali with his mother. "I'll try not to be more than a couple of hours. Is that all right?"

  "We'll be here."

  Ending the call, he looked at the small pile of paperwork he'd brought back with him from Security Central. Why had Ali gone into Threshold? Cosper said he told her about the climbers. He also said he'd told her to wait at the gate. Why would she disobey his instructions and walk into the most extreme venue at RUSH? Had she decided she could help detain a gang of high school boys, all of whom outweighed her by at least thirty pounds? What if those boys had seen her? What if the men had? She was young and small. Would they have seen the security bracelet she was wearing and realized she was a guest? With no guard by he
r side, it wasn't likely.

  He drew a long, slow breath and exhaled. He was falling for a woman who wanted nothing to do with him. Falling hard. And there wasn't a thing he could do about it. He thought back to the day he met her, remembered the moment she realized he was interested. Remembered when she'd paused to look at Joshua, comprehending the significance of his invitation to join them out on the lake. Then she'd turned back, looked into his eyes, and the attraction he felt for her was the strongest reaction to a woman he could ever remember feeling.

  He wanted that day out on the lake with her and he wanted a hell of a lot more than that. He wanted her for himself. And he wanted her for his son.

  Picking up his phone again, he skimmed down his contacts until he reached Nathan Brosig's name. Surprisingly, it was answered on the first ring.

  "Brosig."

  "This is Mason Ingersol."

  "Yeah, Mason. What can I do for you?"

  "I'm calling to thank you. Your assistance at Threshold today helped stop those boys from making it into the courtyard."

  "You're welcome. You're not pressing charges?"

  "Not this time. But we made sure the boys and their parents know they won't get a second chance."

  "Well you scored some good PR out of it. It's already been on the news."

  "I'll be sure to watch it tonight."

  "How's the security guard—the one who was knocked out?"

  "He has a good knot on his head, but he's going to be fine. He was alert and able to give a statement to the police."

  Nathan harrumphed. "I was told I have you to thank for my timely tour of the tunnels."

  "Just protecting the privacy of a client. That's what I told our head of security."

  "Yeah, well thanks."

  "You're welcome.

  There was one more call to make before he ate his dinner. Pressing another speed-dial number, he waited for Michael to pick up.

  "Yo, Mason, you all done over at Security?"

  "Yes, I'm back in my office."

  "Everything go okay?"

  "Just like Malcolm predicted. The parents were embarrassed and grateful, and I'm told we got some favorable PR out of it on the news."

  "Sounds good. So what can I do for you?"

  "A favor."

  "Shoot."

  "We had a guest on property today. Alison Brosig." He spelled her name. "Can you go into the files and get her address for me?"

  "Brosig. Any relation to that cop?"

  "Sister and brother."

  "Okay, here it is." He read off Ali's address and Mason wrote it down. "Thanks, Michael."

  "Sure. Anything else?"

  "No, that's it."

  "Okay."

  The connection went dead and Mason took the phone away from his ear. If Ali thought she'd seen the last of him, she was mistaken. RUSH and all its complications would soon be part of his past, so he was going after what he wanted.

  At five forty-five he typed her address into the search engine on his phone and was surprised to see that she lived in the same subdivision as the Oslunds. According to Luke, the Oslunds and the Brosigs had lived within walking distance before Rachel was attacked, but the Oslunds had moved shortly afterward. Apparently, the Brosigs had as well and chose to remain neighbors. Still, he'd expected Ali to be living in her own apartment somewhere. It hadn't occurred to him that she might still be at home.

  At six o'clock he closed his briefcase, turned out the lights, and left the building. He was eager to be on his way now that he'd set a course for himself.

  He merged with rush-hour traffic that seemed to be more congested every year and it took longer than it should have to turn into her neighborhood.

  Her house, like the others around it, was an eggshell-white, stucco contemporary. The lawn was neatly trimmed and edged, and mature shrubbery wrapped around the house on both sides.

  He heard music as he started up the walkway. Someone had opened the front windows to take advantage of the warm weather. He lifted his hand to ring the bell, but the music stopped abruptly and he paused.

  "I already did it, Mom," he heard her call out. Then, just as abruptly, the music started again. Stopped again. Started again.

  He felt the hairs stand up on the back of his neck. It was Ali's voice he was hearing, not a CD. Accompanied by a guitar, she started the song from its beginning and he stood still, listening. It was a love song. But it wasn't one he'd heard before. As she reached the chorus, the music grew in intensity and her voice rang out in a powerhouse of emotion that sent chills all the way into his scalp. Stunned, he caught his breath.

  He glanced at the surrounding houses. They were ordinary houses in a subdivision like a million others. But standing on her doorstep, listening to the vibrant energy of her voice, he knew he was in the presence of something far from ordinary.

  Once again the singing stopped. He waited. When she started again it occurred to him that she was writing the song as she sang it.

  He began paying attention to the words. It was definitely a love song. But when she reached the chorus and her voice rose with such power and emotion, he abruptly realized who she was singing about.

  He took a step back. Then another. He stared at her front windows, shaken and not sure what to do with this new information. He waited again and listened to her incredible voice. There had been no mistake. She was writing a love song, or a praise song, to God.

  He turned around, feeling flat and hollow inside, and strode back down the walkway to his car. He unlocked the door, climbed inside, then started the engine. A few minutes later he was back on the highway, heading for home.

  CHAPTER 13

  Michael knew Rachel was over at the training center. She had a standing appointment every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday with Dalton and she hadn't cancelled. She'd been over there ten minutes already and he couldn't get his mind on anything else. Couldn't focus.

  Why the hell hadn't she called it quits? Why hadn't Dalton? How come the guy was still working with her when it was so obvious she was going about this the wrong way? Dalton had to know it. He wasn't stupid.

  Michael didn't know what the right way was, and maybe there was no right way. Maybe Rachel needed to reconcile herself to that and get through life the best she could.

  He slam-dunked a wadded-up ball of paper into the trash can and clamped his jaw. That was frustration talking—his frustration—and he knew it. He didn't like what she was doing and he didn't want her doing it.

  But if he'd been the one living with what she had to live with . . . . Hell, he'd be doing the same goddamn thing. He'd be fighting for whatever chance he could come up with to live a normal life. He couldn't imagine not being able to touch people. Touch a woman.

  He pushed away from his desk and stood up. His chair rolled back toward the filing cabinet. He remembered the feel of all that gorgeous hair the night he slid his arms around her and kissed her. He could get lost in all that hair. Even now he wanted to sink his fingers into it, get between her legs and fuck her till his brain cells went into shock. And they probably would. With that one frigging kiss he would have gone off in his pants if he'd so much as rubbed up against her. Scary, man. Too scary. He'd gotten way too involved. And she'd been right there with him. He knew when a woman responded to him and Rachel had melted on the spot—a woman who couldn't stand to be touched by anyone else. She'd cried with the frigging beauty of it, goddamn it. But she was over at the training center right now, with Dalton Cooper's hands on her, maybe even stroking beneath the crotch of that skimpy leotard thing.

  Adrenaline rushed into his veins. He felt the spiral of trapped energy that wanted an outlet.

  Jamming his hands into the front pockets of his jeans, he whirled around to stare out the long row of windows that made him feel like he was outside every time he turned that way. He picked out a single monster of a leaf and stared at it while his chest felt all tight like it had in that frigging claustrophobic restaurant.

  But the windows weren
't working this time. The image of Dalton with his hands on Rachel was in his mind and he couldn't shake it. He knew—he knew, goddamn it—that she wouldn't tell him to stop. She'd hate it. She'd cry again. But she wouldn't haul off and hit him this time. She'd let him touch her in places where he shouldn't be touching her and she wouldn't goddamn tell him to stop.

  He was out the door before he made the conscious decision to go after her. He pushed off the opposite wall with the palm of his hand and darted through the corridor, barely able to keep from breaking into a run. The new receptionist, Mary Something-or-other, looked up and stared as he jogged through the lobby, and he couldn't even pick up the pace once he made it outside. If he did, it would draw attention.

  To hell with it. He broke into a sprint.

  Dodging his way along the main path, he ignored the stares and kept going, past Checkpoint 2, past the R-link complex . . . .

  He leapt over the stream bordering the walkway, then over the hedge beyond it to cut through the jungle so he could get to the side entrance. Slapping his palm onto the biometric scanner, he cursed the second it took for it to identify him. Then the door slid open.

  At Classroom C he slapped his palm on another scanner, yanked open the door, and found . . . nothing. The room was empty. But she was here. Her session was still on the schedule. Training center. Two o'clock.

  Spinning around, he took off through the maze of corridors and headed for Reception. It was a damned good thing no one was in line before him because he would have pushed his way in front of everyone.

  "Glenna," he barked, grabbing the edge of the counter. "Where's Ra— Where's Dalton? Right now?"

  The receptionist blinked. Maybe she was startled by the urgency in his voice. "Dalton? Um . . . he's in Turret 4. Is everyth—"

  He was back in the labyrinth of hallways before she finished her question. God frigging damn it! Goddamn it!

  He had the presence of mind to stop beside the door and switch the lighting inside the turret to amber, alerting those within to an interruption. Then he slammed his palm onto the scanner and listened for the lock.