Zenith Rising (Zenith Trilogy, #2)

by Leanne Davis

  Spencer was there, waiting. He rose from his chair and straightened up to his glorious height. God, he was tall and handsome. Approaching her, he smiled at her scowl and walked with her to the elevator. When the elevator doors opened, he went ahead to get the car. Minutes later, her car came to a stop under the covered parking by the entrance.

  Her car. He’d driven her car. Huh.

  Skirting around the hood, he took her hand and helped her as she hobbled to the passenger seat. He sat her down gently and his arms felt strong around her.

  He started the car and drove towards her condo, adjusting the air vents until they blew cool air over her face.

  “Found your tunes. Hope you don’t mind I changed the station.”

  “It’s fine, but why do I sense you laughing at me? What’s wrong with what I listen to?”

  “It’s okay, for a nursing home.” He glanced her way. “You’re not too into it, are you?”

  She glared. “You mean, compared to your taste? No. I’ve heard how you nearly ruined your speakers with bass beating, earsplitting, high decibel, heavy-metal rock. Once I heard you pulling into the parking lot from my office! Quite the musician, aren’t you?”

  “At least, no one will mistake me for a geriatric.”

  “It’s called taste, Spencer. Tasteful music.”

  He flashed her a grin. “Tasteful. Yeah, that about sums you up.”

  She shifted. “Why does that sound like an insult?”

  He shook his head. “No insult. Really. You’re taste and class, and all that. You just have bad taste in music. Some time, I should let you hear some real music.”

  She shifted towards him. “You mean like playing it for me, real music? You were in a band. You should be able to do that.”

  He shook his head. “You’re good. It’s not lost on me what you did just then. Don’t hold your breath waiting for me to play you good music.”

  “I would like you to.” No, she would have loved him to. She stared at his profile and found him breathtaking, sexy, and familiar. Suddenly, he became everything familiar to her. Spencer driving her car, and taking her home, felt right. Real. Almost like a couple. She sat up straight, and wondered where that thought came from?

  Eventually, they pulled into her parking spot. He came prepared and had crutches for her in the trunk, taken from the clinic. He thought of everything. She smiled with appreciation as she awkwardly tried them. He pulled her up to standing, and she used the crutches to begin her slow clunky, crippled gait to the elevators.

  Spencer opened the door for her, and helped her get on the couch. He was there, in her space, and it felt... what? Good. It felt good to have him there. Good in a way that kept her skin tingling, and her stomach churning with nerves.

  She stretched her ankle out on the coffee table and Spencer left her suddenly, but came back with a pillow and an ice pack before setting her ankle gently upon it. She smiled her appreciation and felt him scrutinizing her.

  “You need anything else?”

  “Food. A banana off the counter would be fine.”

  “How about coffee?”

  “Yes, even better.”

  She watched him from her couch as he bustled around her kitchen. Opening cabinets and drawers, finding coffee filters and coffee, and setting the coffee maker to brew. Eventually, he brought her a plate with a muffin on it, a banana, an apple and a cup of coffee. She tried to sit up better.

  “Thank you. This is really over the top.”

  “It’s just some snacks, Doc. Not critical care.”

  She drank the coffee and almost sighed with pleasure, it tasted so good. She ate the banana too. Feeling suddenly self-conscious, she ran a hand through her hair. “I must look like hell.”

  “You were attacked last night.”

  “I need a shower.”

  “Need some help with that?”

  Her attention flew to his eyes. There wasn’t even a hint of teasing, only a blank stare. She sighed internally, the man didn’t want her.

  “Yes, from Joelle.”

  He finally grinned. “Afraid you might say that. About time too. Don’t you have family to call?”

  She shrugged. “Sure. But they’re not in town right now.”

  She left it at that. There was no explaining her crazy-ass family, especially if she didn’t have to.

  “Okay. Then call Joelle. Call someone, for God’s sake. Here’s the phone.”

  Erica took it and called her friend. She explained and fielded the questions and exclamations. Finally, she hung up.

  “She’ll be right here.”

  Spencer nodded. “Good.” He turned and started for the front door.

  “Where are you going?”

  “To work,” he said, pausing to add, “but first, I thought I’d stop by the New Trinity Faith and Hope Center.”

  Erica sat up and looked alarmed. “No, Spencer. This isn’t some bogus pamphlet. You can’t just go there. The police are involved now. You can’t get mixed up with it.”

  He shrugged. “Just wanted to check on my immortal soul. See you, Doc. Take care of yourself.”

  “Spencer—”

  But the door clicked and he left. She threw a pillow in frustration at not being able to follow him. Or stop him. Mostly because of the fear that tried to consume her. He had a temper and she’d seen it. She didn’t want to even try to picture what he might do over this.

  A moment later, the door opened and Joelle came in. Taking in Erica, now lying on her couch, unshowered, with her eyes unfocused, all Joelle could say was, “Oh, Erica.”

  “I’m fine. Just bruised up a little. Not like what happened to you.” There was a flash of pain in Joelle’s eyes as she remembered her own brush with violence, when she was beaten badly, and came to Nick and Erica for help. Reversing their roles, Erica knew, would upset Joelle, more than anything. Perhaps that’s why she hesitated before calling her friend.

  “Not fine. Who did this?”

  “Don’t know yet. But I’m afraid Spencer’s going to find out.”

  Chapter Ten

  Spencer walked into the New Trinity Hope and Faith Center. It was surprisingly crowded for nine o’clock on a Wednesday morning. The church was located in a converted, metal building that was formerly a warehouse. There was nothing pretty or fancy, much less church-like. It was cold, gray, and plain. The windows provided the only ambiance. But once through the entry, there was enough seating for a mini-stadium around the center stage. The stage was redone in crimson and royal blue and featured a throne-like chair, enormous flower bouquets, heavy drapes, and complex lighting that hung from the ceiling, comparable to any Broadway play.

  “Can I help you?”

  Spencer glanced at the young girl in braids who addressed him. “Looking for Preacher Don.”

  “He’s right through there.” Spencer followed the direction of the girl’s finger as she pointed. Through a door and down a long hallway, he spotted an open door, and sure enough, found the preacher in there, lecturing a group of young, teenaged kids. Spencer stepped inside and it wasn’t long before Don noticed him. The preacher grimaced and began to stumble over his words. He finally abandoned the Bible study to one of his young assistants.

  Approaching Spencer, he motioned him into the hallway.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Looking to save my immortal soul, Preacher-man. Thought you’d want first crack at it. Seems you go to pretty extreme lengths to do that sometimes, don’t you?”

  “Look, I know what happened to Dr. Heathersby. The police have already been here. I was running a Bible study class at the time. It wasn’t me.”

  “No. It wasn’t you,” Spencer said mildly.

  The preacher glared at Spencer. “What are you? Her henchman?”

  “No. As I told you before, I’m simply her employee. You called her a baby killer. You want to explain to me who else might’ve left those headless, bloody-looking dolls for Dr. Heathersby? If that wasn’t you, or one of your
followers, then who could it be?”

  The preacher sagged. “Look, I know it seems suspicious, even obvious, but it wasn’t me. I created the pamphlet, but not because of why you think. It was only because I liked her so much, and I wanted to save her, and her immortal soul. She can still be saved. I wouldn’t hurt her for anything, and I would never condone anyone else harming her. I think she’s wonderful.”

  Spencer paused when the man began blushing. Holy shit. Preacher had a crush on Erica! Only he couldn’t because he believed it was wrong for him. Erica was a sinner. “You were trying to get into her pants by saving her? You thought by humiliating her and discrediting her, you could make her want you?”

  Preacher Don flushed as red as the throne on the stage. “No. No. I just hoped she’d see the light. And the error of her ways. Then she’d be free for me to... socialize with.”

  “Socialize, my ass. Christ! You think that spreading propaganda and calling her a baby killer is the way to her heart?”

  Don’s eyes flared, and he snarled at Spencer, “Oh, and being her handyman should make her want you?”

  Spencer stiffened, towering several inches over the preacher.

  Don sneered. “Oh, I’ve seen how you look at her. How come you nearly punched me out over that pamphlet? Does she know yet, Spencer? Does she know that you have a crush on her?”

  Spencer fisted his hands and Preacher Don stepped closer, his mouth pinched into a cruel smile. “Do you really think she’d ever look at you twice? You’re her handyman. Her gofer. You’re nothing to her. If you think differently, then you better start praying, son.”

  “Don’t call me son,” Spencer said, stepping forward. His expression grew fierce, and his stance was imposing. “Do you know who did this to her?”

  “No. I don’t.”

  “Possibly one of your deranged zealots?”

  “No. I’m sure no one in my congregation would resort to violence. We strictly spread the words of Jesus by reasoning, talking, and through prayer. Never violence. Never. Even if she uses violence on the unborn.”

  Spencer rolled his eyes. “Give it a rest. No one else can hear us. What would your flock think about your infatuation with a… killer of the unborn?”

  Preacher hesitated, then replied, “All right, maybe they wouldn’t agree that she could be saved if shown the error of her ways. And redeemed. After all, isn’t that what it’s all about? To save sinners? Obtain forgiveness? Find redemption?”

  “I don’t give a shit what you’re about. Just make sure you and yours never bother her again. You’re number one on the suspect list now. Especially, mine. So I suggest you proceed with caution.”

  “Are you threatening me?”

  Spencer stepped closer. “No, not all; I’m promising you.”

  Preacher stepped back, bumping into the wall. “I could report this to the police.”

  “Report what? A repentant sinner came to you, just trying to find salvation?” Spencer smiled and stepped back, turning as he said over his shoulder, “Better watch yourself. And what you say about her. No more. Not another word about Erica Heathersby.”

  “All right. Maybe I inadvertently drew the wrong kind of attention to her. I never dreamed anyone might hurt her. I just wanted to save her.”

  Yeah, right, for himself. “Just watch it, Preacher.”

  Spencer left the church feeling both frustrated and surprised, since he still had no leads on who hurt Erica. He clenched his fists. He could not stand knowing someone deliberately hurt Erica. With full premeditation, someone pushed her down the stairs and left her lying there, bruised and scared. No one could do that to her! Ever. Perhaps, Erica had good reason to worry about him finding her attacker. He wasn’t sure what he might do when he learned who did it. The preacher’s crazy logic to save Erica just so he could be with her made some kind of psycho sense. If you were that crazy. But then again, she was a special kind of woman: so beautiful, self-possessed, and intelligent; perhaps enough to make men do crazy things.

  Spencer was pretty convinced the preacher was telling the truth. Would one of his flock take the preacher’s slanderous pamphlets to heart?

  For now, all he knew was why Erica got targeted by the preacher in the first place.

  Who could despise Erica? It had to be someone who knew about the pamphlet that the oh so misguided, delusional, and sanctimonious preacher set into motion. The lovesick puppy trailing Erica. It truly gave new meaning to the word “lovesick.”

  Spencer left the church and went to work. The police removed all the dolls as evidence. Spencer cleaned up the last drop of the ketchup on the stairwell. He tried to forget the panic he felt at Erica’s urgent call.

  The call he almost ignored.

  He felt really bad about it after hearing her voice, and ignoring her pleas twice, almost three times. Tamira’s eyes were bright with what? Possibly excitement when he did not take Erica’s call, as if talking to her was so important, he chose not to bother with Erica.

  In truth, however, Tamira didn’t even figure into the equation. Heading toward his car when Tamira shouted his name, he turned to find her running up, bouncing her breasts and swinging her ass, all for his benefit. He stopped only because he couldn’t outright pretend she wasn’t there. He had no interest in whatever Tamira Tobison had to say. Now, he couldn’t even recall a single thread of their conversation.

  All he remembered was that Erica called him. And he ignored her call. Almost jeopardizing her survival as she lay sprawled out and helpless on a staircase. And all because he was ticked off at her.

  His eyes were always riveted on Erica. He still wondered why she called him and relied on him, and why, all of the sudden, she looked at him so differently. She came to him for things as easily and naturally as could be. As if he were her rock. Or something just as important to her and her life.

  But he wasn’t her rock. He was nothing. He couldn’t see the two of them becoming anything beyond what they were now. Still, now she trusted him; whereas before, she looked right past him, as if he were invisible. A boy. A loser. Now he was… what to her?

  Nothing, he reminded himself, I’m nothing but her hired hand.

  The sight of her fallen body and injuries, with a knot on her head, and a bandage on her ankle, kindled enough anger inside him to kill. Preacher was lucky Spencer didn’t think he was at fault. There was no being nice or understanding. Not about this. Not since Erica got hurt. Erica seemed so pale and pasty in the hospital. The fear and uncertainty so evident in her eyes, as well as her nerves. He didn’t like Erica being hurt or scared. And God forgive whoever the perp turned out to be because Spencer certainly would not. Pity the fool for making Erica feel like that.

  ****

  “It wasn’t the preacher, or anyone he knew about who assaulted you,” Spencer said to Erica as soon as she got into her car. It was the following morning. He kept her car just so he could pick her up this morning. She was all dressed for work and hobbled over on her crutches. He told her to stay home, but Erica adamantly refused. She said working would keep her mind off her injuries, but she paused at hearing Spencer’s words.

  “How do you know? What did you do to him?”

  “I didn’t do anything to him.” Spencer bristled at Erica’s accusation. “I simply talked to him. Turns out, Preacher’s got the hots for you. Serious hots. That’s why he first targeted you about the abortion stuff. He wants to be the one to show you the error of your ways, and save you from eternal damnation. Then he intends to make you his girlfriend.”

  Erica stared at Spencer, her mouth open. “You made that up.”

  “No, I didn’t. And Preacher didn’t volunteer the information either. I picked up the undertones and guessed it, and he isn’t too glad that I know. The man has a serious case for you. And that’s why he made you the poster child for his anti-abortion campaign. He didn’t want to hurt you. He wants to…”

  “Please, don’t go on, Spencer. I get the picture.”

  “I was si
mply going to say he wants to ask you out.”

  “No, you were not.”

  Spencer flashed her a grin. “Anyway, he was sorry to see you hurt. I’m convinced of it. And he didn’t believe any one in his congregation could to do it either.”

  “Then who did? What about the dolls? You’re telling me someone else suddenly has an issue with me too? Someone totally unrelated?”

  “No. I’d say it’s someone who’s close enough to use the preacher’s former actions to frame him, while terrorizing you.”

  “Who? My God, it’s not like I have a list of enemies.”

  “I don’t know. But it wasn’t random. It was all orchestrated for exactly when you left. Someone knew you always took the stairs. And someone cut up those dolls, which meant something to you. It’s someone in your sphere, Doc; but for what I reason, I don’t know yet.”

  Erica shivered and looked out the car window. She was mad, annoyed, and disgusted. They rode in silence for awhile.

  “How are you feeling?”

  Erica shrugged. “Head hurts. Ankle aches. And pissed off. Otherwise, I’m great.”

  “You don’t have to work.”

  “I don’t want to sit around doing nothing. This helps. I like routines and being normal.”

  “And helping others. Not yourself. Order of the day, right?”

  “It’s not like that’s a bad thing. You make it sound like I devour little children for a living.”

  “No, of course it’s not a bad thing. You could just allocate more time for yourself.”

  “No one’s ever suggested that before.”

  “Well, maybe you should.”

  Erica raised her eyebrows at him. “Yeah, and you should take your talent more seriously. That’s my advice to you.”

  They pulled into the parking lot and Erica glanced around. She was practically freaked out seeing the parking lot. His jaw tightened. Someone sure as shit made her so paranoid, and he intended to find out who it was and fast.

  “Don’t worry. I’ll be around this time. Call me whenever you’re ready to leave your office. I mean it, Doc.”