by Liv Morris
“Where can we meet?” I ask.
“Don’t you have your clerkship in the morning?”
“I’ll worry about that. Just meet me, okay? I don’t want you trying to handle leaving James alone.” I want to add that I worry what my uncle might be capable of, but I don’t. Harlow’s anxiety is likely through the roof already.
“Okay … but I feel horrible to make you miss anything at The Clinic.”
“Don’t. I think you’re brave.” And worth it.
“Thanks. I can’t believe you’re doing this for me.” Her sweet, appreciative response makes me smile. I want to do more than share her burden. I want to carry it, shield her from being used by James ever again, protect her from harm.
“Where can we meet? I don’t know the area, so I’ll leave it up to you.” The drive to James’ condo continues as I talk to Harlow. The Porsche rides like a dream, but I feel as if I am part of a twisted nightmare.
“Let me think,” Harlow says.
James and I are approaching downtown. I can see The Clinic on the horizon standing out like a beacon of the city. It is Rochester. Remove the doctors, nurses, and staff from the community, and the businesses catering to them would never exist.
“Somewhere private,” I interject. “Just to play it safe. James works tomorrow, right?”
“Yes,” Harlow says. “He works every day, Monday through Friday, and is on call for heart transplant surgeries. He’s always gone.”
I imagine her reading poetry or writing a few lines in her cheap spiral journal while she sits alone in James’ mansion. The vision makes me see red and I vow it will change—no matter the cost. To hell with this clerkship, Harlow comes first. I may have Elliot blood flowing through my veins, but I am not my uncle or my father. I have a chance to prove it with Harlow and nothing will stop me.
“I know a place. My mother and I used to go to a small lake outside of town. We can meet there. I’ll text you the directions.” I can hear the shift from sadness to hopefulness in her tone and relief washes over me. I want her to trust in her decision and believe I am going to be there for her.
“Can you meet me at eleven?” I remember having a late morning break until about one.
“Sure,” Harlow says. “And thanks, Sin. I can’t tell you what your help means to me. I don’t want it to come in between you and your uncle, though.”
“What happens between me and my uncle will never be your fault,” I say through gritted teeth. “From here on out, I will only think about what is best for you. It’s time someone did.”
We end our call as James slows in front of a large modern building and signals to turn with his blinker. The architecture doesn’t match the surrounding tired and old buildings. It appears to be a tear down and then rebuild. The shining glass windows and balconies remind me of the upscale high rises in New York City, like my apartment building, where the human eye can scan the glory of the skyline, see all the manmade wonders. I wonder why James doesn’t live here versus his remote fortress surrounded by open spaces. My guess is the country serves his purpose to keep Harlow away from others. The house and gated grounds have made a beautiful and deceptive prison, until now.
James turns his car toward the underground parking lot and I continue behind him, entering the secured entrance after he speaks to the attendant in charge. We wind around a couple sharp corners, then James parks his Mercedes in a spot marked “Penthouse 13A”. I pull into the empty space next to him with the same sign.
I climb out of the car and circle around to the passenger side door. I open the door and gather my belongings lying on the passenger seat, the only place I can stow my luggage. Trunks in this sports car work if you have a bottle or two of wine, along with a small order of takeout. I am not sure last night’s pizza box would fit inside it. The car may be worth more than the average house in this town, but it is for show over function, that is for damn sure.
“Need any help?” James stands a few feet away while I unload everything on the gray concrete.
“All good.” I force a half-smile.
I notice several files the size of a legal pad in James’ hand. He tucks them under his arm when he catches me eyeing them. They’re not completely hidden, but I don’t think he plans on sharing their contents with me.
“The elevator is against the back wall.” James heads away from the car and me. Instead of walking beside me, he has me tagging behind him. He gets off on being the lead and controlling the situation. I hold back a smile when I think about him discovering Harlow has left his sorry ass. Tomorrow can’t come soon enough.
Ahead, I spot a pair of shiny elevator doors and see a warped version of my reflection in the buffed silver. James arrives ahead of me and pushes the up button. As I walk to meet him, the silver door parts and we enter into a cherry wood lined lift with glossy marble floors. Every inch of this place reminds me of Manhattan so far.
“Once we get upstairs, I’ll give you a tour of the penthouse.” James underscores the last word as he inserts a white key card and pushes the button labeled PH. “I think you’ll find the place more to your taste compared to my home in the country.”
“I’m sure.” I won’t though, because someone is missing. “So, do you spend much time here?”
James has kept his life closed off, hidden away like the damn folders he’s clutching under his arm. Even my grandmother didn’t know he was acting obsessive again. Who would expect a renowned physician to need more help than his patients?
I’m trying to pry any details out of him—ones that seem innocuous, though I hope I can find a path to lead them to Harlow. I still can’t wrap my head around their relationship; or more, his side of it. She was at the lowest point in her life with no one to help her. Lost and afraid, she was the perfect victim for him to abuse. I can’t frame it any other way. James appeared in her hour of need like a white knight, but how did he know? And why would he care about a woman nearly half his age?
“I used to live here full-time. You’ll see why soon. It’s like a piece of the Big Apple in Rochester.” He gives me facts, but nothing more. What made him leave? Was there a dark motive behind his move to the country estate? Getting information out of him is harder than catching a cab in Manhattan on a rainy day. I will go with his flow and hope he slips me a morsel or two. No need to get him suspecting I’m not on his side. He will find that out soon enough.
I stand beside him in the elevator and notice our joint reflection on the metal doors. Our shoulders hit at the same height. Our builds look remarkably similar. Even our feet are opened in the same position and angle. From the neck down, a person might think we are twins. But our hearts our different, and I pray mine reflects love and kindness. I never gave much thought to my heart’s condition until I made this trip.
The elevator’s ascent slows and stops. The doors open and I wait for James to exit. I pull my luggage down the lush carpeted hallway, the walls lined with the same dark wood from the elevator. Something about the décor and its mix of patterns reminds me of his home—classic and clean lines with expensive finishes.
We don’t pass any other doors while walking to the end of the hallway. I glance over my shoulder and spot only one other door at the opposite end. Two apartments on the entire floor. James’ place must be huge, which makes me even more surprised he moved. He could walk to work in under five minutes versus the twenty-minute drive.
James presses a few buttons on a metal panel and the over-eight-foot-tall door clicks open.
“Welcome,” James says while pushing the door wider and holding it for me to enter. I ease my belongings over the threshold and shake my head.
“Wow.” In shock, the word escapes my mouth before I can stop it. The last thing I want is James thinking I’m in awe. I am more surprised. The place looks so New York City, I half expect to see the top of the Empire State Building or 30 Rock out the window instead of The Clinics’ tower. The apartment reminds me of a friend’s apartment in SoHo close to the East Village wit
h its large loft with brick exposed walls and fine art work placed in strategic locations to keep the eye moving.
“I have to agree.” A smug grin slides across James’ face. Pompous ass. “Just set your things down here.”
I push the luggage near an entrance table out of the way. With my hands empty, I turn and scan the living area. Couches and chairs with straight lines mix with tables of distressed wood. Add the brick backdrop and it defines modern contemporary.
“So, really, after living in New York City for years and then here, why move to cow pastures?” I prod him one more time.
“I’ve only lived there six months. Another doctor built it but moved after living there a year. I got it for a steal.” Again, facts, but no true reasons.
“So what appealed to you? You’re so close to work here,” I ask, pushing the subject.
“I wanted somewhere more private. No shared walls or floors. A place to live with a wife.”
I contemplate my next question for a few seconds and end up throwing care to the wind. “So you knew Harlow then? When you bought the place?”
James’ face becomes expressionless. The smugness marking his sick mug has vanished. Even his skin tone appears whiter.
“Well, I bought it with hope.” Shuffling on his feet, he thrusts his fingers through his hair and I make a mental fist pump for rattling him. “Hope that one day, I would meet someone like Harlow and make her my wife.”
So much implied and left unsaid. Someone like Harlow, as in lost, scared, and in need of a savior—at least in his eyes. But did he know of her before? What would take him from the cardiac floor of the hospital where he treats patients awaiting heart transplants to the active chaos of the ER?
I take a deep breath and send the last bit of caution I have in me sailing through the air. “How did you two meet?” Again, James ruffles his hair and begins to walk away from me.
“Long story. Better left for another day,” James deflects, flashing his charmed smile at me. It signals my question will remain unanswered. Dammit.
“Gotcha.” I lower the tension by dropping the subject. No need to poke the bear.
“Let me show you around.” James starts toward the open kitchen and highlights the stocked fridge. “I had it stocked by my housecleaner.”
“Cool,” I say, but I imagine the food will go to waste. After Harlow leaves him, I will be out the door in a flash and off to who knows where. My guess would be back to Manhattan. But the thought of leaving Harlow here alone in Rochester to fend for herself makes me uneasy.
Never seeing her beautiful eyes shine with happiness at me or watching the sunlight catch her golden hair leaves me hollow and sad. She found a way inside my heart when I was least expecting it. What’s that quote? “Life is what happens when you’re not looking for it.” As cheesy as it sounds, I can’t dismiss it. This attraction to Harlow was the last thing I anticipated when I walked off the plane a few days ago. Life has thrown me a curveball in the form of a beautiful woman I can’t say no to and will do anything to help.
James rattles on about the penthouse as we weave through the living area. He claims the artwork alone cost him over a million dollars and I roll my eyes. Nothing he says now will ever impress me.
“Here’s the master. I guess you can stay here.” How thoughtful of him. Jerk.
“Cool.” I crush any sarcasm, but damn it’s hard to hold back with him.
The bedroom screams bachelor pad. Dark hardwood furniture with gray bedding showcases everything with a masculine feel. Definitely not a place to bring a wife.
A modern painting hangs above the bed and doubles as a headboard. It portrays a blond woman lying on her side, facing away from my view. Her backside remains uncovered in all its glory. Soft hued skin appears shadowed. Her arm sits relaxed over the top of her hip. I trace the curve of her spine and immediately think of Harlow tied down on the dining table. The painted woman mimics Harlow’s body and its delicate curves. A cold chill runs through me. I have to know how long James has owned this work of art.
“That’s some painting. When did you acquire it?” I move closer to the piece to inspect it and James moves to stand beside me.
“It’s my masterpiece.” James closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, like he is savoring his words. “I commissioned it last year.”
I feel more than a chill this time. The blood in my veins turns to ice. I may not be able to prove it, but I believe his obsession with Harlow started before the night they met in the hospital. At this point, does it matter? Making sure it doesn’t continue is my focus.
“The woman is breathtaking,” I say in true awe.
“She truly is,” James says with a sigh. It’s likely the only point we will ever agree on. He shakes his head to undo the portrait’s power over him and walks toward the master bedroom closet. I stay standing near the headboard.
“I have to put a few things away. Safekeeping.” He removes the folders still tucked under his arm and disappears behind the closet door. He leaves the door slightly cracked and I have a sliced view of him as he crouches down. I hear a few beeps and clicking, then a safe’s door swings into sight. The door looks heavy and at least three feet tall.
Why does he have the safe here versus his house? I want to know what he has hidden inside, so I inch closer to the door. Before I can get a better vantage point, I watch James push the heavy door closed. Shit.
I wait for James to exit the closet before I ask him about the safe. “Hiding a pirate’s booty in there?” I tease in hopes he will cough up a few details, though it would be against his normal pattern.
“Nay, matey.” James snorts at his own joke while I laugh at him. “Odds and ends. Personal papers.”
“Kind of a large piece for odds and ends,” I say.
“I’ve had it for years. I figured papers would pile up over time. Plus, it’s built like a tank. No way anyone can break into it or carry it away.” He avoids eye contact with me and wrings his hands in a very nervous, un-James-like fashion.
Bentley once told me his family’s best safecracker could open any safe in ninety minutes. I might have to call him tonight and disturb his party at my apartment. My curiosity needs to be satisfied, but I doubt anything can be done. Still, my gut tells me more than odds and ends sit hidden away inside.
James’ cell phone rings and he digs it out of his pocket. “Doctor Elliot,” he says in a rush and goes silent. Then he raises his head and shakes it. Bad or unwelcome news would be my guess.
“I’ll be there in ten.” James ends the call and stashes his phone away.
“Trouble?” I ask.
“Transplant.” He shuffles toward the door. “No rest for the wicked.” I nod my head while I walk behind him out of the bedroom. Wicked all right.
“So, you will be okay here?” James asks while approaching the front door. I am certain he doesn’t give two shits about my welfare, or anyone’s, for that matter.
“I’m good.” I should thank him, but the words are stuck in my throat. I am studying to be a doctor, not an actor.
“I better call Harlow and tell her the news. I’ll be at the hospital until sometime tomorrow.” He pulls out his phone again. “Are you ready for this, Sinclair? Medicine isn’t for pussies, but it sure helps you get your pick of them.”
Stunned to silence, I stare expressionless at him, burying the anger until he leaves. I hear the door click behind him and the hate I’ve tried to rein in explodes.
“Fucking asshole,” I yell through gritted teeth while pushing my middle fingers toward the door. It feels damn good.
Time for me to make a call …
I bring up the contacts on my phone and push call when I find the friend who can help me. Safe-heir Bentley.
“Hello, Sin,” he says, his voice raspy, like I woke him.
“Wake up, bum,” I almost scream into the phone and hear him push out a long sigh on the other end.
“I’m up. I’m up,” he says in a sharp tone. Sheets rustle in
the background and I imagine the woman who was in the photo he texted me last night lying next to him.
“I need to ask you a big favor.” The type of favor that will make me indebted to him for life.
“Sounds fucking serious. What’s up?” asks Bentley.
“I met this girl.”
“Wait. This is about a girl?” I proceed to tell him Harlow’s story and how he can help me help her.
“Okay. I will have someone there tomorrow morning. I need you to text me the details about the safe. Make. Model. Even a photo. I hope you find what you’re looking for, Sin.”
I want to tell him I have in her, no matter what lies in the safe.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Harlow
“This bracelet is worth a hell of a lot of money.” The pawnshop owner eyes me with a troubled expression. His bushy gray brows almost touch each other in a straight line. “Do you have any idea how much?”
“No. It was a gift.” Was it really a gift? I earned every diamond carat shining in the shop’s light.
With a slight shake in his hand, the older man returns the small magnification device back to his right eye and bends down over the counter. He inspects the diamond stones from every possible angle. I hear him mumbling, but can only make out one word: thousands.
No wonder he questioned me. I’m wearing a pair of worn jeans with frayed hems. The thin material of my shirt is threadbare. But they are my clothes, not ones bought and paid for by James. I worked long hours standing on my feet to pay for them no matter their present condition. The only thing left of James in my life is the car in the parking lot and bracelet I’m trying to sell. I packed all my old clothes and the few other items, like books, this morning. I stowed them inside the trunk of my car and hope Sin will help me drop it back by James’ house. Looks like I am going to be bussing it around Rochester again, but I will live a life that would make my mother proud and pull myself out of this hole.
