by Carol Caiton
Finding the Audi unlocked was a good indication of his preoccupation. He couldn't remember the last time he'd left his car unlocked. He started the engine and moved it to the parking lot across from the emergency entrance. On his way back he phoned Jeremiah, glancing at the crowded waiting room . . . and came to a quick stop.
On the far side, off to herself, sat a dark-haired young woman in a wheelchair dabbing at her eyes with a wadded-up tissue. It was Lydia.
What on earth was she doing here? Ending the call, he switched his gaze to the nearest seating arrangement, wondering if her parents had brought her. But the Asian family occupying those chairs discounted that possibility.
Excusing himself when he stepped into the path of another young woman, he walked around and made his way across the room.
"Lydia?"
She looked up and her eyes widened. "Ethan! Is Nina all right?"
"Nina's fine." He hunkered down beside her. "How did you get here so fast?"
"We saw them flip Nina's car—my father and I." Her eyes welled with tears again and she dabbed at them. "He was taking me to a doctor appointment and the traffic was backed up. We saw Nina start to turn into RUSH and then . . . ."
Again, Ethan glanced around. "Where's your father?"
"In one of the observation rooms. He jumped out of the car—left it running right there in the middle of I-Drive—and started swinging at those assholes—" She broke off. "Sorry."
He smiled. "Don't guard your tongue on my account. Is he okay? Your father?"
"The paramedics think he has a couple of fractured ribs. What about you? And Nina?" She looked meaningfully at his lip.
"Nina's hand was cut on something when they overturned her car. She needs a few stitches, but that's it." He ignored the question about himself. "Is your mother here?"
"She's on her way. God, Ethan, I just wanted Nina to have a chance at living."
"I know you did."
"She told you?"
"No. I pretty much figured it out on my own." He drew a breath, then looked into her eyes. "So that begs the question—if joining RUSH is your idea of a chance at living, then why haven't you filled out an application?"
Her pale flawless skin paled even more. The eyes staring back at him communicated enough pain to make him wonder if he'd ripped right into her soul. But he held her gaze and waited for an answer.
The transformation came in slow stages. She blinked several times and the anguish in her eyes changed to confusion, then uncertainty, then an almost tormented hope flared in their almond-shaped depths.
He gave her a warm smile. "I'm going on the assumption that you aren't numb from the waist down."
"God, no!" she whispered breathlessly. "But what about . . . all of this?" She indicated her legs and the wheelchair and her fingers squeezed the tissue she held so hard, there probably wouldn't be anything left of it if she needed it again.
"You'd never be linked with anyone who found you unappealing, Lydia. I guarantee that personally."
For a minute she said nothing, just searched his eyes as though looking for the truth there. Then, on a choked laugh she said, "Maybe I can put off growing up for another year or two."
"What?"
"Never mind. Nothing." She grinned. "Ethan, if I didn't already love you for loving my sister, I'd love you now."
He gave a short laugh. Lydia Millering wasn't going to have any problem at all with finding herself linked. "Glad I could score some points," he said. Then he asked, "Where's your car? Did your father drive here?"
"No. He was brought in an ambulance. A police officer had our car driven to that shopping plaza just south of RUSH. Then one of them drove me here."
At least it hadn't been towed. He started to rise but she stuck out a hand and stopped him. "Don't tell Nina about Dad until after you're on the plane to Las Vegas. And don't let her know I'm here or she'll wonder why. In fact, wait until after you're married to tell her everything. Let her have good memories of her wedding day, otherwise she'll worry and feel guilty.
"You're not coming with us?"
She released his arm. "I'd love to. I told Nina I'd love to. And thank you for inviting me. But no, it's better if I stay here."
He reached for her hand and squeezed. "All right." Then he released her and stood up. "Tell your father RUSH will cover any medical expenses incurred from this. And tell him Nina's going to want to see him after we get back. She'll want to know for herself that he's okay."
Lydia looked up, a new note of optimism in her eyes. "I'll tell him. And Ethan—have a wonderful trip."
* * *
Lydia lowered her fork, placing it carefully parallel to the knife on her dinner plate. She'd given a lot of thought to delivering Ethan's message. In fact, she'd given a lot of thought to several things and had come up with some revealing conclusions. The problem, however, was in figuring out how to share all that information without causing her parents any more heartache or distress.
Changes had been taking place during the short time since her medical bills had mysteriously vanished. Some of those changes were obvious, simply because they stood out—like the bowl of fruit that now sat on the kitchen counter and the five cans of interior house paint stacked in the foyer. Nothing outrageous, but the entire household income had been carefully disbursed for too many years to suddenly embark on a spending spree.
Other changes were subtle—like the larger portions of food her father now ate. It might be because there was more variety, or it might be because his appetite had improved since the level of anxiety had declined. Whatever the reason, he looked healthier, smiled a little more often, and generally appeared more at ease.
Her mother, as well, showed subtle changes, though she didn't appear to be eating any more or less than usual. Instead it was her appearance that was changing, showing the effects of diminishing stress. The worry lines that creased her forehead would probably be there for life, but a new softness was beginning to replace the hard detachment in her eyes, a detachment that, perhaps, had given her some separation from the strain of living. She seemed more relaxed now too, as though she could finally ease up and enjoy her family, her home, and just plain living. They were changes Lydia bore with equal amounts of pleasure and guilt, and it took a lot of conscious effort to push the guilt away and leave it in the past. But she was working on it.
Tonight her father ate his dinner from a semi-reclining position on the sofa, served by her mother on a tray. Hospital x-rays had revealed two fractured ribs, now tightly bound, and his bruised and swollen right hand was difficult to look at. Still, he held his fork with apparent ease, and when he finished eating, resting both fork and knife across his plate, Lydia maneuvered her wheelchair toward the sofa and slid the tray from his lap to hers.
"Thanks, Lyd."
She wheeled over to the kitchen, passed it to her mother, then steeled herself. "Mom, come sit down, will you?"
Her mother lifted her eyes and stared at her as though intuitively knowing the topic Lydia wished to discuss. And she was right. Nina and Ethan, accompanied by another man, had left the hospital together while Lydia still sat in the waiting room. Ethan had used his body to block Nina's view, but he'd looked over at Lydia and winked.
Lydia had assured both her parents at the hospital that Nina was fine, that she'd needed a few stitches on her palm at the base of her thumb, but was otherwise unhurt. Aside from that, however, and a review of the incident itself, they hadn't openly talked about Nina.
But the door had been opened now and was probably as wide as it was going to get until her father made his peace with Nina. And he, too, had figured out what she wanted to discuss. He gave her a long, steady look, and finally a nod. "What is it, Lyd?"
Squeezing the push rims on both sides of the wheelchair, she tried to prepare them. "There's no easy way to lead up to this that I can think of."
"Just come out with it."
She glanced at one parent, then the other and said, "Nina's met someone. They'
ve fallen in love and she's getting married."
Her mother gasped and a moment of shocked silence followed the announcement.
"When?" her father asked. "Who is she marrying?"
Lydia eased her hold on the push rims. "His name is Ethan. I don't know his last name."
"You've met him? Was he at the hospital?"
"Yes, I've met him, and yes, he was at the hospital. But I met him before that. At his house."
She held her breath and waited for her father's reaction but he surprised her.
"Lydia, your mother and I know you've stayed in touch with Nina." He sighed. "Was he the blond one—the one who looks like a surfer—or the dark-haired one?"
Lydia stared. "You saw him?"
"I don't know if I saw him or not. There was a young blond man who stood by the driver's side of her car and fought like a street thug to keep anyone from getting to her. And when it was over, a dark-haired man opened his arms and she walked right into them. He looked . . . like a man who cared for her. They both did." He turned questioning eyes to Lydia.
"Ethan has dark hair." She'd seen a blond-haired man leave the hospital with them, but he hadn't reminded her of the surfer type at all.
"Tell us about him," her mother said. Then a confused expression furrowed her brow. "She met him at . . . the sex club?"
It wasn't said in a derogatory manner. It was more that her mother was baffled by the idea of two people meeting at such a place and falling in love.
"He's a millionaire, Mom. He has a mansion in Isleworth and he's one of the men who owns RUSH." She waited a few seconds, then turned to her father. "He wanted me to tell you that RUSH will cover any medical expenses from today. And he wanted me to tell you that Nina's going to want to see you after he tells her you were there, fighting for her."
Her mother started to cry.
"Oh, Mom—"
"It's okay." She held up a staying hand. "Keep going." She wiped her tears with her fingers.
"Well, I've been thinking that Ethan might be our mysterious benefactor—the one who paid off my medical bills. Nina doesn't know it though. She was just as surprised as we were. And I really don't know it for sure myself. It's just a feeling I have."
No one spoke for several seconds. Then her mother asked, "You've been there? To RUSH?"
This was another opening. Another door. But Lydia wasn't going to pass through it just yet. Not all the way. That could wait for another day.
"Yes," she admitted, "I went as Nina's guest and took a tour. But Nina doesn't live there anymore. She has a job at that new hotel on Millennia Boulevard—the Merona Tropics—and she lives with Ethan in Isleworth."
"What's he like?" her father wanted to know.
Lydia folded her hands in her lap. "He looks like he's in his thirties. Very good-looking. Confident. And aggressive. Definitely aggressive. He's not at all like us—quiet, I mean. He's domineering. And he bullies her. Really bullies her. And Nina stands up to him and bullies him right back." She grinned. "It's the oddest thing to watch because she only comes up to his chin. And you know Nina—she's quiet . . . or she used to be. She's changed, Dad. I've never seen her so alive—so confident and full of life. And I think Ethan worships the ground she walks on."
Again the room fell silent. But it was her father she looked at for signs of duress. Nina was the baby and he'd grieved at losing her.
He met her eyes. "When is she going to marry this Ethan?"
Lydia hesitated. If her parents had softened this much, chances were good her mother was thinking about a wedding. She took a steadying breath. "They're getting married tomorrow I think. They're flying out to Las Vegas."
"I . . . tomorrow?" her mother breathed. "But . . . you and Nina always planned to be the maid of honor at each other's wedding."
"Yes, well . . . ." Lydia lifted her hands and smoothed them along the arms of the wheelchair. "Nina asked me to go with them, but I'm not going."
"Why not?" her father asked.
"Because I love you both and I think you and Mom are hurting badly right now, and because all of this—everything—it's all my fault."
He scowled. "How is it your fault?"
She met her father's eyes squarely. "Because I'm the one who pushed and prodded Nina into joining RUSH in the first place."
He stared at her. "You? Why, Lydia? Why would you do something like that?"
Tears formed in her eyes and she blinked them back. "Because Nina couldn't stop blaming herself for what happened while she lived here."
"That was nine years ago—"
"Yes, it was nine years ago. But she—everyone—has been paying for it ever since. Only Nina never let it go, Dad. She was old enough to realize that dropping those books caused the accident, but she was too young to accept that it could have happened to anyone . . . that it was just a freak accident. She didn't know how to forgive herself."
CHAPTER 54
Simon stood in the open doorway of Ethan's office and stared into the shadowed interior. Anger flowed through him like a living river, roiling and turbulent. Oddly, it had little to do with Nina. Instead it seethed inside because of the betrayal he felt. The betrayal of a friend, someone he cared about.
Nothing in Ethan's office looked any different. Everything appeared as it always had. Normal. As though Ethan might clap him on the shoulder from behind, then edge around him and turn on the lights.
But that wasn't going to happen. It was nothing more than an illusion. Everything that had once been good was now tinged with bitterness, disappointment, and that raging river.
Yes, he was angry about Nina as well, but that was more self-directed. There had been times when his instincts told him something of extraordinary value was within reach. But it was his turn now to experience firsthand the humiliation Ethan had experienced at Denny Cooper's defection. Word hadn't yet spread, but it would. And when it did, he'd better be prepared. Personally and professionally. Because this would have a reverberating effect on him and on RUSH as well.
Despite that river of anger, however, he stared into the darkened office and mourned the loss of a friend. Yes, damn it all, he was mourning. There weren't that many people walking this earth that he cared about. He could count them on both hands. And the truth was, his conscience wouldn't let him forget his own part in Nina's desertion. He hadn't just nudged her into Ethan's waiting arms, he'd given her one hell of a shove in that direction.
He looked down at the slip of paper he'd brought with him. It held the last seven digits of Ethan's system password. Mason would be along any minute with the first five and together they'd access whichever locked file it was that Jeremiah needed. Michael could have opened it for him, but Michael was at Medical Services having his eye checked out. So it was up to Simon to reach inside and detach himself from his emotions, his anger, and take care of business.
The problem was, he couldn't erase the memories—the good times. How often had he and Ethan sat in this office after hours watching the monitors on the wall for the simple pleasure of observing a beautiful woman? How often had they caught sight of an R-link in motion and enjoyed the freedom to ogle without censure? How often had they tried to guess the identity of a masked woman who otherwise looked suspiciously familiar? There were too many damn memories. And too deep the pain of loss.
With an angry twist of his wrist, he reached in and flipped on the lights.
"Ready?" came Mason's voice from beside him.
Simon wondered if he'd been standing there for some time, patiently waiting. "Yes, I'm ready."
They approached Ethan's desk and Mason said, "You go ahead and sit. I can stand."
Simon did so and switched on the computer. Mason typed in the first five digits and Simon entered the final seven. A brief chime sounded, indicating a communication from the database, and he automatically dropped his gaze to the bottom corner of the monitor. It was a natural response. Nine times out of ten the chime signaled the receipt of an icon.
But the icon on Ethan'
s monitor shook him and he blanked for a second. It was blue. With two black bullets.
He went utterly, coldly still.
The chime sounded again and they were prompted to re-enter Ethan's password. "We won't be able to get the file if we don't acknowledge it," Simon muttered.
Mason hesitated, then reached down and once again typed the first five digits. Simon added the rest and the digital stopwatch began its countdown from forty-eight hours.
They had no trouble locating the file Jeremiah wanted. Simon forwarded a copy of it to Security Central then exited the program.
He closed his hand around the mouse and looked up. "It would be best if you left now," he told Mason.
Mason's expression turned grim. "Don't do it."
But Simon narrowed his eyes on the blue icon and its accompanying options. "We both know it's Nina," he said. "But I'll be the first to tell anyone who asks that you advised me against accepting it."
"You don't know for sure it's Nina."
"Yes, Mason, I do. Ethan wouldn't have done what he did—not to me and not to RUSH—if it had been within his power to resist."
Their eyes locked for several seconds and Simon knew his own features were grim with determination. He remembered every curve of the supple young body he was about to see again.
He waited Mason out and knew when he'd won. Mason set his jaw, shook his head, then turned and walked out of Ethan's office.
A series of prickles raced from Simon's hairline down to the base of his spine as he maneuvered the cursor over the plus button. In perhaps the first truly impulsive act he'd committed since childhood, he tightened his fingers on the mouse and clicked.
The introductory image that appeared on the monitor was the same one he'd spent hours staring at. Dark shiny hair, innocent eyes, and full naked breasts.
Ethan hadn't stood a chance. None of them had. Incredible as it was, both he and Ethan had been blue-linked to the same woman. A blue link triangle.
