“I begged off poker night early.” His smile was a smooth, dangerous thing. “I remembered that this was where Manny and Dillon met you, and wondered if anyone had seen them since yesterday. So I stopped to check the place out.”
“Well, no one’s seen them, Mr. Creighton.” She scrubbed the pot harder, ignoring how good Stephen’s aftershave smelled, and trying not to care how unfresh she must be after a long day running around town and several hours of passing out food.
“So I learned. Someone said you’d been asking around, too, and I was pointed back here. I know you don’t want my help, but—”
“No, I don’t!”
The pot escaped her fingers again, with the same splashy result as before. Only this time, her face was leaning over the sink.
She gasped.
“You okay?” He handed her a towel, blue eyes twinkling.
She wiped away the moisture along with any remaining traces of her makeup.
“Everything all right, Kate?” Randall asked on his way back through the kitchen to where he always parked out front.
She sighed as her friend sized Stephen up—the same way her hulking baby brother always used to, ready to step in and defend her honor if need be.
First her ex, then Creighton, now Randall Montgomery.
Whatever Kate had been doing or saying the past few days that made men think she needed to be rescued, it was time to pull it together.
“I’m fine.” She tossed Stephen the towel and grabbed the oversized pot from the soap. “Go to bed,” she said over her shoulder to Randall.
She listened to him shuffle away. No way was she looking up again—at him or Stephen. Not until she had her act together.
“I didn’t mean to upset you.” Even Creighton’s voice sounded expensive.
His genteel accent spoke of old, Southern money. It belonged to a man with resources that could accomplish far more, and quicker, than she could searching for the Digarros alone.
“What did you really come here for, Stephen?”
Peeking out of the corner of her eye, she watched him turn back to the stove. He folded the towel and set it aside.
“I need to learn more about the Digarros,” he began, “without alerting the wrong people that I’m doing it. I need to figure out what direction Manny ran, and…”
He stopped talking and faced her. She realized she’d just been caught staring at his ass. He met her gaze with a wink.
When she didn’t respond—because she was too busy cleaning her pot and ignoring his wink—he stepped closer.
“You said the doctors needed to run more tests,” he prompted, “to understand Dillon’s condition. He needs treatment as soon as possible, right?”
She nodded. “As soon as Manny realizes it’s safe to come back to the hospital, the doctors will—”
“But it’s not safe, not for sure, and he knows that.”
“Is the INS investigating?” She realized she’d been scrubbing the same spot for five minutes.
She let the pot be and sank onto a nearby stool.
“Maybe,” Stephen admitted. “Maybe not. But Manny’s not going to take the chance either way. He’s more likely to head for some nearby city, or maybe back home to Colombia.”
“You think he’s already gone?”
“I know I don’t have a lot of time to stab in the dark. But Manny may have a contact here I can pinpoint.” He waited expectantly. After several seconds, he crossed his arms. “I was wondering if you’d put any more thought into asking your brother for help—maybe through the sheriff’s department he worked for wherever he lived before Atlanta.”
“I told you, Martin has his own problems to deal with.”
“But given the circumstances, you don’t think he’d—”
“I spent most of today putting out feelers for Manny, everywhere I could think of. I left my cell number and urgent messages that it’s about Dillon. I’m going to do it all over again this weekend, after my double shift at the hospital tomorrow. Don’t you think if there was anything I could do besides waiting for Manny to contact me, I would?”
Her cell phone chose that moment to begin a happy dance, ringing and vibrating in her jeans pocket. She nearly dropped the thing as she flipped it open to get to the display. Her excitement evaporated as quickly as it had shot through her.
It wasn’t Manny Digarro. It wasn’t even a call she was sure she wanted to take, not in front of Stephen. The third ring threatened to make up her mind for her.
The caller would roll to voice mail next.
She turned her back to the ever-watchful attorney and thumbed On.
“Hello?”
“Hey.” Her brother’s voice was tight.
“Martin, what’s wrong?” she asked. “Are you hurt?”
“No, I’ve just fallen, and…” His gasp broke into a chuckle. “And I can’t get up.”
Rustling on his end of the line testified to the fact that he was still trying. A sharp expletive followed.
“Stop trying to get up on your own,” she chastised. “You’ll fall again and break something, if you haven’t already. Let me come help you.”
Heavy male breathing was the only response she got.
Please, please trust me! she silently prayed.
“I know where your apartment is,” she admitted when he didn’t say anything.
Of course she knew.
Just like she knew Martin still depended on a specially designed crutch to walk, even though he’d regained significant feeling and mobility in his right leg. She’d met with both his local physical therapist and the one in Oakwood. She knew exactly to the day when her brother had begun growing impatient with his slow progress and had started hampering it, instead of improving further.
But she’d kept her nose out of it, believing that’s what he wanted.
Now, he was calling her for help, even if he still didn’t want it.
“I’m coming over,” she insisted. “Tell me how to get in, so I don’t wake your neighbors breaking windows.”
Seconds that felt like hours later, her brother let loose another of those chuckles that sounded so familiar, her eyes shimmered with tears.
“My back door’s the third from the side parking lot, on the left,” he said in a whisper, as if he couldn’t believe this was happening any more than she could. “Turn onto Brocket off Spring. The lot’ll be your first left. I keep a key buried in the empty flowerpot beside the door, just like Mom…”
“Give me ten minutes.” She hung up, fighting the impulse to back out—to call an ambulance and let an EMT handle it.
“Is your brother okay?” Stephen asked.
She flinched, actually dropping the phone this time. She’d forgotten she wasn’t alone.
“No.” She headed for the storeroom to get her coat and purse. “He’s fallen in his apartment.”
Stephen was standing in the kitchen doorway when she came back out. He handed her her phone.
“I need to go,” she said instead of thanking him.
He didn’t budge. “How big a man is your brother?”
“What?”
“I hear he’s a pretty big guy. Someone should go with you.”
He couldn’t be serious.
“Get out of my way, Stephen. You’re not following me over there, so you can talk Martin in to helping you find the Digarros—”
“No, I’m not.” Stephen sighed, shifting so she could get by. “I’m following you because I’m concerned about what will happen when you try to lift a man twice your size. Think about it. What good are you going to be to your brother or the Digarros if you end up in traction yourself?”
He pushed the swinging door open, leaving the choice to her.
Muscles bulged beneath his long-sleeved knit shirt. Strength she’d already guessed was there. Strength she somehow knew she didn’t have to be afraid of.
I’m following you because I’m concerned….
“Martin’s place is several miles from here,
” she hedged, “on the other side of I-85. If that’s too far for you, I—”
“Not a problem.” Stephen fished his own keys from his pocket. “I’ll be right behind you.”
Sure.
No problem at all.
Except for how grateful she was that he was going with her.
Having Stephen Creighton along shouldn’t make it easier for Kate to deal with her brother. But it did.
STEPHEN FOLLOWED Kate’s sleek, black Maxima through the nearly deserted, late-night streets, his mind overflowing with all he’d learned about her in the last two days.
She worked grueling hours in unisex scrubs, but in a pair of jeans, her body’s curves had the natural strength and grace of a dancer’s. And she liked high-fashion accessories, like tonight’s purse—black this time, just like her car. She drove a thirty-thousand-dollar luxury car with an engine that purred like it was ready for a motor speedway, but every speck of her free time was consumed by volunteer work in a soup kitchen. She’d dropped everything to help her brother, regardless of their differences. And regardless of her resistance to working with Stephen, she’d trusted him to come along tonight.
You barely gave her a choice!
But she’d trusted him, and something told him trusting people wasn’t her thing, any more than it was his.
They turned off of Spring Street onto a side road that fronted several courtyard apartments. The address Kelly had dug up for Kate’s place was less than five minutes away. Kate turned into the full parking lot of a neatly kept, older building, and double-parked behind an ancient, rusting truck. Stephen followed suit, blocking in a Toyota he hoped wouldn’t need to tunnel out anytime soon.
When he reached Kate, she was staring at the truck as if it were a ghost. He ran a hand over the vintage Ford’s tailgate.
“This must be at least forty years old,” he said. “Your brother’s?”
“My father’s.” She tucked her hair behind her ear. “Martin never could let it go. He couldn’t part with any of my parents’ things.”
She was already walking toward the building when a thought struck Stephen.
“If your brother can’t even get up off the floor after he’s fallen,” he asked, “how can he drive that thing?”
She stopped and turned back, surveying the parking lot through the darkness.
“He can’t.” She headed toward the apartments again. “I’m guessing the van in the handicapped spot is his, too.”
The certainty in her voice told Stephen Kate wasn’t guessing. The woman no doubt knew every available detail of her brother’s life. She went to the back door of the third ground-floor apartment and jiggled the handle. He was eyeing the window set in the top half of the door, wondering how much noise they’d make breaking it so they could flip the inside lock, when she sifted through the sandy soil of a nearby flowerpot and drew out a key.
“Old family tradition.” She swallowed, hard. Visibly shaken.
In that moment, Stephen knew pushing to come along had been the right thing to do—damn the Digarro case for tonight.
Kate needed someone there, and not just to help with her brother. The shadows in her eyes had grown deeper. Sadness had vibrated through the word family when she’d said it, making Stephen feel ten kinds of protective.
She lifted the key toward the lock, hesitating. Then she sighed and quietly let them in.
“Martin?” she called through the dimness inside, as they both took off their coats.
Stephen followed her through a utility kitchen into a cozy living room that was overfilled with what looked like antique furniture. Only a single lamp glowed beside the leather couch.
As Kate kept walking, he flipped on the overhead lights, illuminating the rest of the space.
“Martin?” she called out anxiously. “Where are you?”
“Down here,” a rough voice answered. “In the bathtub.”
A sound came from the right, down the hallway. A hallway covered with framed family photos that Kate barely glanced at. Stephen couldn’t help but stare.
The smiles on the faces of the people looking back at him seemed so effortless. A family enjoying life. Holidays. Vacations. Birthdays. Kate resembled both her parents. She and what must be Martin hugged each other in frame after frame. Younger. Seemingly inseparable. Happy in every shot, as if they knew exactly how to make each other laugh.
It occurred to Stephen that he’d yet to see Kate smile, let alone laugh.
Her knock on the bathroom door jerked him back to the issue at hand—getting a presumably wet and likely hurt Martin Rhodes on his feet, then leaving him and his sister to work out whatever they needed to.
Stephen joined her at the door.
“Is it okay if we come in?” Kate asked.
“We?” the deep voice countered.
Something that sounded like plastic rustled, followed by a grunt.
“I brought someone to help,” she explained. “I wasn’t sure I could get you up on my own.”
Martin’s sigh was loud enough to carry to the hall.
“Sure,” he said with exasperation rather than gratitude. “Whatever. Let’s get this over with.”
Kate’s worried glance shifted to Stephen.
“I’ll wait here,” he offered, not insensitive to the embarrassment the other man must be feeling. “Just let me know what you need.”
She gave him a tight smile.
“Give me a minute or two.” She slipped inside, leaving him standing there, blown away by her easy acceptance. The unspoken trust it implied.
“Hey,” he heard her say to her brother. “Let’s see what we can do.”
We.
He knew she was talking about her and her brother. That this was about coming to Martin’s aid. But the vulnerability she couldn’t hide was also making it about Stephen wanting to help Kate get through this without falling apart. To protect her from the emotions he could sense were backing up on her.
Somewhere between here and the shelter, this had become personal.
“Hey, Katie,” he heard the other man say.
More rustling followed.
Kate said something too low for Stephen to catch, then cleared her throat.
“You can come on in,” she called.
Curt’s description was dead-on. Martin Rhodes was a bruiser. Kate had helped him wrestle on a robe, but that was about all she’d be able to do on her own.
Whatever moisture had clung to the man after his shower was long gone. Martin’s hair had dried in crazy spikes, and he was shivering.
“We’ll get you out of there and get something warm into you.” Kate knelt on the mat beside the tub and gently rubbed her brother’s arm.
Martin flinched at the touch. His attention cut to Stephen, then back to his sister.
“You help people with stuff like this all the time, right?” he asked.
“Yep. No problem,” bluffed the woman whose average patient barely came up to her waist. “I’m going to put my arms around you. You brace yourself on the edge of the tub and lean forward. Let me use my weight to shift you until you can push with your legs, and I’ll help you balance.”
“I’ll slip.” Martin shook his head. “My right hip’s strained or something. I don’t know if it will hold my weight.”
“We’ve got to get you x-rayed.” Kate reached toward the robe-covered hip in question.
“Just get me on my feet.” Martin shifted away. “I’ll stretch things out. Everything will be fine.”
“Martin,” Kate argued, “I don’t think—”
“Don’t think!” her brother snapped. “Either help me, or get the hell out.”
“It’ll work better if I’m in there with you.” Stephen grimaced at the anger that flashed across the other man’s face. “I can support you while Kate does whatever she needs to.”
Martin’s reluctant nod propelled Stephen to step into the tub. Kate sighed and waited until he’d positioned himself.
“Okay.” She settled
into a squat, balanced on her toes.
Martin looked even larger as her delicate arms slid around his wide chest. She could barely lock her hands behind his back. She rested her head on his shoulder, her eyes closing as her brother’s body tensed.
“This will only take a second,” she promised. “We’ll get you on your feet first, then worry about stepping out of the tub. Lean into me. I’ll rock backward, then stand. Try to find your balance.”
A shaking hand rose to cup Kate’s curls. Martin turned her head until she looked up. The big man cursed at the tears in her eyes.
“This isn’t going to work,” he said. “I’ll hurt you.”
“I’ll balance your weight.” Stephen shifted closer.
It couldn’t be clearer how much Kate needed her brother to let her help. And that was suddenly what Stephen needed, too.
At Martin’s hesitant nod, Kate laid her head back on his shoulder.
“Okay.” The supple muscles beneath her T-shirt rippled as she braced herself. “On three. One, two—three!”
The next second seemed to stretch endlessly. She rocked back and lifted at the same time. Martin grunted as he pushed up with his hands and legs. Stephen grabbed his waist, offering whatever stability he could, and prayed they didn’t both end up on top of Kate.
Miraculously, everyone found themselves standing. Kate edged away, her hands still reaching toward her brother.
Stephen let go more slowly, watched and waited as Martin braced a forearm on the shower wall.
“Can you step out?” Kate glanced toward Stephen, who nodded in quiet agreement that he had her back—well, her brother’s back. “Then you can sit, and we’ll see how badly you’re hurt.”
“Give me a second.” Sweat glistened on Martin’s forehead. Goose bumps popped up and down his arms. The fingers clenching the robe around him were shaking.
“Let’s do this while you still can, man.” Stephen wrapped Martin’s arm around his shoulder and circled Martin’s middle.
“Left leg first,” Kate instructed. “You don’t want all your weight bearing on that right hip.”
Because of a Boy Page 6
