The Blue Link

by Carol Caiton

  At RUSH, though, her discolored skin provided a few advantages. Through her advisor she obtained permission to put off attending classes, freeing up her time. She had all of her meals delivered to the warming unit on her floor, and she'd been told to phone the residence attendant for anything else, even if it was just a cup of coffee from Urns & Leaves.

  Fortunately, the R-link salon was located inside the complex so she maintained her morning appointments. She was free to ask for a massage whenever they had an opening, and she didn't even mind Marguerite's tsks and pampering.

  But her days were free after that. Sometimes she took her sketch pad out to the courtyard and drew, sometimes she went off property, and sometimes she was outright bored. But she wanted to stretch this grace period through the first week of her new job if possible. She'd have to come up with an excuse for skipping out on her salon appointments, but she'd think of something.

  After that first week though, she didn't know what she'd do. Hopefully, the board of directors wouldn't put her out on the street. And she hoped their idea of a payment plan was reasonable enough to afford. Davidson, Davidson & Bligh had offered a good salary, but for all the money she owed RUSH, she was going to be in debt to this place for the rest of her life.

  She greeted the evening guards inside Checkpoint 2, braced herself for the cold again, then stepped outside.

  Had coming here been worth it? Or had she simply exchanged one lifetime of indebtedness for another? She'd gained her freedom, but she'd lost her family, and her time here had been so brief. Nevertheless, the experience had been like nothing she could ever have dreamed. The classes she attended were bold, sometimes to the point of embarrassment, but absolutely, incredibly fascinating. And despite Marguerite's drill-sergeant disposition, or probably because of it, her skin glowed with health and vitality. She'd made wonderful lasting friendships, had lived, however briefly, in luxury, and people treated her differently now—not just at RUSH either. People were nicer. Friendlier. Maybe her new sense of self had something to do with it. Maybe it was because her confidence had quadrupled. And maybe it was because she looked good, dressed well, and took pride in herself every time she looked in a mirror. How could she place a dollar amount on that?

  Exiting the checkpoint, she breathed in the crisp night air. Even now, on the cusp of winter, the sweet fragrance of flowers drifted to her nose. Deep blue and green floodlights glowed softly in the jungle. Water trickled in a nearby fountain. She loved it here. The beauty, the ambience . . . . She'd probably cry when it was time to leave.

  Pulling her sweater closer, she started down the walkway. She made it to the bend in the path, then pulled up short.

  She was alone.

  It was nighttime.

  She should have asked one of the guards to walk with her to the gate.

  Switching all her shopping bags to one hand, she turned to go back inside, and a big hard body slammed into her.

  "No!"

  She stumbled and struggled for balance, dropping her bags to the ground as she freed up both hands to fight back. About to scream for help, she looked up into a face she recognized and paused.

  "Ethan?"

  He grabbed her arm, swaying, and cursed.

  "I'm so sorry," she said. "I know I was blocking the path . . . ."

  He didn't seem to hear her. Scowling, he held onto her arm, squinting at her as though trying to bring her into focus.

  "Ethan?"

  Releasing her, he lurched to the side of the path. Then he found his footing but stumbled again and glared at her. "Where the hell have you been?"

  She frowned, confused. "I . . . ." Looking down at the bags scattered on the pavement, she gestured toward them and said, "I went shopping. Is everything okay?"

  "You went shopping . . . for ten frigging hours?"

  It hadn't been ten hours. More like six or seven. But she noticed his words were slow and slurred and it dawned on her that he was drunk. Really, really drunk. He must have just come from one of the nightclubs.

  "Ethan?"

  "Where's Simon?"

  "I don't know where Simon is."

  He gave her a nasty look. "Weren't you . . . even going to tell him?"

  She backed up a step. What was she supposed to have told Simon? That she was going shopping?

  "Get outta my way."

  He tried to stagger around her, so she stepped forward again to block his path. "Ethan, you've been drinking."

  "Well aren't you smart."

  She glanced over her shoulder toward the checkpoint then faced him again. "Where are you going?"

  "Home. Whaddaya think?"

  "Why don't you stay at RUSH tonight? You shouldn't be driving."

  "I have a house."

  "Yes, but—"

  "I'm going . . . home."

  "Let me drive you then."

  He squinted at her. "Your car's too little."

  "Then let me drive your car."

  "No."

  She held out her hand for his keys. "Let me drive or I'm going to ask the guards to take your keys away."

  He gave her a mean look and she was tempted to go back inside and ask for help. But she thought about his position here. He wouldn't want the guards to deal with him like this, to have to wrestle his keys away from him. He was their boss.

  He glared at her for another minute, then, surprisingly, dug into his pants pocket and came up with his keys. He dangled them in front of her, teasing her, but he was intoxicated and she was quick. She snatched them away before he could pull his hand back. "You carry my bags," she told him, "and I'll help you walk."

  "Get Simon to carry your bags."

  "I don't want Simon to carry them."

  She bent down, quickly gathered each of the handles, then straightened and wriggled them onto his wrist.

  "They're heavy."

  "They're not heavy. Now put your arm over my shoulder and try to walk straight."

  She slid her own arm around his waist and nearly tumbled over when he started swaying again. Planting her feet, she locked her knees and waited. When she got a feel for the way he moved, she steered him back toward the checkpoint.

  "Where do you live?"

  "Isleworth, sweetheart. Know where it is?"

  "Yes, I know where it is."

  Wonderful, she thought. Isleworth was a gated community where rich and famous people lived. A code would be needed to drive inside and Ethan might not be sober enough to remember it.

  "Is there a guard at the gate?" she asked, hoping it would be someone who would recognize him and let her through.

  "I don't . . . remember."

  "What about a transponder? Do you have a transponder on your car?"

  He grinned at her. "Maybe . . . maybe not."

  CHAPTER 23

  She woke up to the aroma of fresh coffee and knew without opening her eyes that she wasn't in her own bed. Her own coffeemaker had been purchased at a garage sale. It was brand new, but the asking price had been five dollars because the preset function didn't work. So it was someone else's coffee she smelled, and someone else's blanket tucked around her.

  Opening her eyes to the back cushion of a chocolate-brown leather sofa, memories of the night before slipped into place.

  Ethan.

  Drunk.

  Alternately cursing at her, then teasing her.

  Sighing, she swept her hair away from her face and felt the cotton pullover she'd worn the day before slip up around her midriff. Her jeans, sweater, and bra sat on the floor beside the sofa, along with her purse and shopping bags. She tried to recall where the bathroom was so she could have some privacy and get dressed.

  Rolling over, she blinked a few times, focused . . . and found herself looking right into the sober, unsmiling eyes of her host.

  Showered and dressed in a dark business suit, he sat in an armchair on the other side of the coffee table, utterly silent. He offered no morning greeting or a word of thanks for bringing him safely home. This was neither the laug
hing, teasing man she'd first seen, nor the concerned head of security who advised her not to leave the R-link complex alone. Instead, his eyes were hard and unfeeling. The stern set of his jaw could have competed with Simon's.

  Tugging the blanket up higher, she dropped her eyes to the steaming mug in his hand and said, "Do you think I could have one of those?"

  He didn't answer at first, didn't move. He just sat there staring at her. Finally, he got up, deposited his mug on the polished surface of a huge chunk of stone beside his chair, and left the room.

  She exhaled. If that was a hangover, she was glad she'd never been drunk. Maybe he'd been sick during the night and still didn't feel well.

  Pulling herself up onto her elbows, she swept her gaze around what she now could see was the living room. Morning light streamed through a row of arched windows and she marveled at the amount of square footage given to one single room. It was large enough to hold two separate seating areas with matching sofas, chairs, and several bolder-size rocks that served as tables. Maybe he did a lot of entertaining. The house had appeared enormous from outside, certainly big enough to hold a large party. Still he wouldn't be able to shift his furniture around without a forklift. Not in this room anyway.

  Lowering her head back to the sofa, she closed her eyes and wondered if all the owners of RUSH lived in quasi-mansions. Probably. But it was hard to imagine Michael, with his casual jeans and not-quite-polished manners, living in a luxurious multimillion-dollar house. What had it been like to grow up on the streets, then suddenly fall under the guardianship of a wealthy senator?

  The soft chink of a cup touching stone brought her eyes open. Pushing back up onto one elbow, she reached for the mug Ethan had placed on the coffee table.

  "Thank you," she murmured and took a sip. It was a good thing she drank it black because that's what she got.

  Ethan sank back down onto his chair and again, his eyes zeroed in on her. Then to the blanket wrapped around her. "You went snooping."

  Oh, for goodness sake. Was this the way it was going to go? Accusations instead of gratitude? It was his fault she was here at all. "I looked around for a blanket," she told him. "It was either that or be cold all night."

  "Why didn't you sleep in one of the guest rooms?"

  "Because you wouldn't have known I was here. If you'd woken up first, which you did, and left for work, I would have been stranded here."

  "You could have driven the car back to RUSH."

  Carefully, she placed her cup back on the glistening stone. "Actually," she said, "I tried that. But you threatened to have me arrested for grand theft auto. So I decided I was entitled to a blanket and a toothbrush for my trouble."

  Why was he so angry? She hadn't snooped at all. She'd only looked for the couple of things she needed to get through the night. And she'd eaten a small scoop of the casserole she'd found in his refrigerator.

  Refusing to look away because she wasn't guilty of anything more than that, she held his gaze and stared back. But now that she'd had a few sips of coffee and was more alert, she noticed a pallor beneath the healthy tan of his face. And it was possible his eyes weren't narrowed on her with accusation but rather from the sunlight filtering into the room.

  Deciding to give him the benefit of the doubt, she asked, "Are you feeling all right?"

  "No. I feel like shit. Where the hell were you yesterday?"

  So much for friendly concern. "I went shopping."

  "Shopping," he repeated. "What did you buy?"

  "Clothing. A few things to wear when I go off property."

  "You're planning to wear skirts and blouses to go off property?"

  She blinked. "You looked through my bags?" Tugging the blanket with her, she sat up.

  "That's right. So why did you buy clothing suitable for going to church . . . or a job?"

  Alarm trickled through her. She searched his face, hoping he hadn't guessed, but it was obvious he had. Where would she go if he ordered her to pack up and move out?

  Choosing her words with care, she said, "I'm planning to leave RUSH."

  "When?"

  "Soon."

  "How soon?"

  "I'm not exactly sure."

  A nasty glitter lit his eyes. "Try again, sweetheart."

  She winced.

  Reminding herself that beneath the hangover was a man who had shown concern for her safety, a man who easily laughed and bestowed affection, she gave in and hoped for the best.

  "I can't be an R-link, Ethan. I thought I could at first. I even thought I wanted to. But then I realized it wasn't something I could do, so I started looking for a job."

  He crossed one ankle over the opposite knee, but he wasn't relaxed. Cold eyes stared back at her, clearly unmoved. "How does Simon fit into these plans of yours?"

  She stiffened. "I don't want to talk about Simon."

  Down came the ankle. Leaning forward, he pinned her in place with his eyes and said, "Maybe you don't grasp the circumstances here, so listen up. My first loyalty is to Simon. The only reason he isn't asking these questions instead of me is because I owe you one. Now, I'm prepared to listen to what you have to say, or I can pick up the phone. It's your call."

  She gripped the blanket a little tighter. How could she have misjudged this man so badly? The harsh, ruthless person sitting across from her was nothing like the man she'd met at RUSH. Here, outside the protective stucco walls, he was a tough, callous brute.

  Heart thumping wildly in her chest, she moistened her lips and said, "Simon and I didn't work out. The last time we were together . . . ."

  She couldn't bring herself to tell him that Simon had sampled the goods and walked away. Instead, she said, "I was starting to think that maybe—"

  But she couldn't say that either. She lifted one hand in a silent plea for understanding, then let it fall to her lap. "Things just didn't work out, Ethan. I've been looking for a place to live and I'll make arrangements to pay back whatever I owe RUSH. But I can't be an R-link. I'm sorry."

  "Where are you moving to?"

  A fresh surge of fear washed over her. "I . . . um . . . I haven't found anything yet. I was hoping to stay in my apartment at RUSH for a couple of weeks. Just until—"

  "No."

  "It would only be for a couple of weeks."

  "No." He was adamant. "Only R-links live on property. You know that. It's strict company policy."

  She tore her gaze from his and stared at a painting on the far wall. Panic threatened to overtake her ability to think and, more than ever, she needed her mind to function. Would her parents let her come back home if they knew she had no place to go? She saw again her father's face as he drew back his hand.

  "You can stay here until something comes up."

  She jerked her eyes back to his.

  "I've got six guest rooms. Pick one."

  She stared.

  "Temporarily," he qualified.

  A different kind of fear began to unfold inside her. She didn't know Ethan Vale any more than she knew the changing gate guards. Why would he invite her to stay in his house?

  Watching him carefully, she said, "You don't even know me."

  "No, I don't. But the linking system tied you in a blue link to Simon, and that's good enough for me to trust you won't make off with the silver."

  She shook her head. "How can you put so much faith in a computer program? All of you?"

  "It's not just a computer program. RUSH's linking system is the result of nearly three hundred years of psychiatric experience. The combined efforts of eleven experts cost the company three point eight million dollars."

  "I thought Dr. Zeman designed it."

  "Dan Zeman headed the team."

  She considered that for a moment, then dismissed it. "But why would you open your house to me? You don't even like me."

  "Correction—I don't like the fact that you're walking away from RUSH without a word to Simon. As for opening my house, the debt we owe you for giving us the face of Serena Mandek's kil
ler is . . . . Let's just say that as head of Security I have a personal stake in catching him."

  Her unease began to fade. But something else occurred to her. "Wouldn't my presence here make things awkward for you? I know you and Denny Cooper have—"

  Something dangerous flashed in his eyes. "Let's get one thing straight," he cut in. "If you ever mention her name again, I'll throw you out on your ass. No second chances. Got that?"

  She was out of her element. Beneath the professional veneer he wore at work, Ethan Vale was menacing, maybe even more so than Simon. Until moving to RUSH, she'd never experienced the aggression that seemed intrinsic to dynamic businessmen. Her father was beta. Definitely beta. And she'd lived a sheltered existence.

  "Yes," she said, "I got it. But—"

  "Look, I don't give a flying fuck if you stay or not. Go get dressed. Do whatever you need to do and I'll drive you back to RUSH. You can pack your things and come back here, or you can pack your things and go someplace else."

  He shoved up from his chair in his thousand-dollar business suit, big and intimidating . . . but he suddenly didn't frighten her anymore. Because it occurred to her that his drinking binge the night before and his savage anger today had something to do with the pretty girl in Admin's front lobby—the one whose name he never wanted her to mention.

  With a lot less momentum than he had shown, she rose to her feet, gathering the blanket around her as she did. "Thank you for your offer. I'd like to accept. Temporarily. I'll try to keep out of your way and I'll—"

  He turned his back on her and walked out of the room.

  For a minute she was so startled she could only stare after him. But now that she was on her feet, finding a bathroom was critical.

  Scooping her clothes off the floor, she dragged the blanket along behind her and headed toward the nearest hallway. She wouldn't question what she was about to do or she'd talk herself out of it and right into the ranks of the homeless. Miraculously she had a place to live. She'd stay out of his way and he'd never know she was around.

  When she found her way back out to the living room, he stood next to the far sofa, cell phone in hand. "We'll be there in twenty minutes," he said, watching her cross the hardwood floor. Then, "No problem."