On my way down.
As much as she balked at giving in to Nick’s request, she admitted that it would be nice to catch up on Endurance news and hear about his conference. Besides her interactions with Britt, she hadn’t talked about plants with anyone in weeks. Not that her “I think we should do so-and-so” and Britt’s “Go for it” could be construed as botanical discussions.
Britt wasn’t a plant guy. Although he understood the importance of having a diverse native plant community, he kept his focus on maintaining healthy wildlife and left flora management to her.
She should be flattered by his trust—and she was—however, she longed to brainstorm ideas and techniques with other like-minded professionals. Nick would give her the intellectual fix she needed.
So why did apprehension curl in her stomach?
A hard rap of knuckles on her vehicle made her jump. Peering into her rearview mirror, she found Nick’s roguish smile filling the frame. He motioned for her to pop the cargo door.
“Hey,” he said, sliding his suitcase inside.
“Got enough room?”
“More than enough.” He grinned, slow and sexy.
“Do nonsexual thoughts ever cross your mind?”
“I don’t remember.”
She shook her head. “Get in. I’m hungry.”
“Thanks again for picking me up.”
“I still can’t believe you’ve been Lyfting or Ubering or whatever it is you’ve been doing since you’ve arrived. Why didn’t you just rent a car?”
“Not in the budget.” He tossed her another wicked smile while clicking his seat belt into place. “Besides, if I had rented, I couldn’t have begged a ride from you.”
She cast him a warning look. “Keep your hands to yourself tonight, or I’ll dump you at my brother Way’s doorstep.”
“Can I help it if I answered the call of your irresistible lips?”
“Stop it, Nick. Your manhandling upset my dad.”
His roguish smile disappeared. “I’m sorry, Riley. I took our joking too far.” He pulled out his cell phone. “What is your dad’s number?”
“Why do you want his number?”
“So I can apologize.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Why not?”
“Because he likes to hash things out in person, and you’re headed out of town. Just let it go.”
“Will you pass on my apology?”
“Why is his forgiveness so important to you? You don’t even know him.”
He studied her face for a blush-inducing moment. “Because he’s your father. And who knows when I might be in the area again.”
Unsettled, she shifted into drive and redirected the conversation. “Have you eaten at Tupelo Honey Café yet?”
“Not yet.” He rested his hand on the shoulder of her seat. “You can take me there some other time. I made reservations at Varsonas.”
She considered her pale blue tee and capris alongside his red button-down and black slacks. “I’m not dressed for a place like Varsonas.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. You look great.”
“I’m way underdressed.” She maneuvered out onto I-26. “Tupelo is casual and has a great vibe.” And no candlelight or soft, jazzy music.
His attention flicked to the passing scenery a moment before returning to her. “Tupelo it is.”
They chatted about the weather, traffic, and Asheville’s bustling downtown on the short drive from his hotel to the restaurant. When Nick saw the line leading into Tupelo, he balked. “I’ll miss my flight.”
“Hold on, let me see if I can wheedle us a table.”
“Or we could walk to the restaurant where I already have a reservation.”
“Just give me two minutes.”
He gave her a short nod and followed, looking every inch of the put-out date.
Riley nudged her way through the pillars of people until she reached the hostess podium. Keeping her voice low, she said, “I have a seven o’clock reservation.”
“Your name?”
“Kingston.”
“Y’all’s table’s ready. This way.”
When she motioned for Nick to follow, his eyes widened. “What’d that cost you?”
“Nothing but a little luck.” She didn’t know why she kept the fact that she’d made dinner reservations from Nick. She didn’t like taking chances or depending on other people. That way led to disappointment.
So she’d taken it upon herself to secure a place at one of her favorite restaurants. Just in case. Having a backup plan helped curb her tendency toward restlessness when she didn’t have all the details of an outing.
The hostess led them to a cozy bar and stool section that overlooked the kitchen. Nick eyed the bustling staff and flinched when a pot clanked against the stovetop.
“Do you have a table available in a less active location?”
“Afraid not, sir. Would you like to wait until something else comes open?”
“No, thank you,” Riley said, interrupting. “This will do just fine.”
Nick’s golden eyes, normally sparkling with mischief, leveled on her, flat and inscrutable, before he dropped onto the barstool beside her. “Why do I get the feeling that I’ve just been replaced by people-watching?”
An astute observation. Any time she came here, she would sit on this exact same stool and watch the kitchen staff zing back and forth between cooking and plating and calling out orders.
Their interactions with each other, the waitstaff, and their customers who dared to sit too close was a fascinating lesson in human social skills. Facial features, tone of voice, body language—they all altered and adapted to whomever was in front of them. Sometimes they changed midsentence.
“Good evening, y’all,” a young woman with an infectious grin and curly brown hair said. “I’m Heather and I’ll be taking care of you tonight.” She slid a plate of steaming biscuits onto the bar between them. “Have you eaten with us before?”
“I have.” Riley nodded at Nick. “He hasn’t.”
The server’s smile broadened. “Welcome.” She pointed to the biscuits. “These are Tupelo’s signature pepper-flaked biscuits and blueberry preserves.”
“They’re delicious.” Riley lifted a biscuit from the plate and tore it in half.
“What can I get y’all to drink?”
“Water’s fine,” she said.
“Cabernet,” Nick said.
“Be back in a minute.”
While slathering dark purple goodness on each half of the biscuit, Riley followed the movements of the kitchen staff just a few feet away.
“Do you ever take a break from observing?” Nick asked, preparing his own biscuit with far more finesse than she did.
Releasing a dramatic sigh, she admitted, “Afraid not.”
“I guess it’s good that I’m fond of that particular trait in you.”
“What trait? That I enjoy gawking at strangers?”
He leaned close, tracing a fingertip along her temple. “Your mind. It’s forever curious.”
Gratitude clenched her chest, even while she was drawing away from his touch. Most people didn’t understand her need for knowledge. And when they did, they had no patience for it.
But Nick got it.
She studied him out of the corner of her eye, struck once again by his masculine beauty. She waited for the flurry of awareness she always felt in Coen’s presence to kick in. It didn’t.
“Here you go,” Heather said, setting their drinks down. “Are you ready to order?”
Once they made their selections and were alone again, she said, “Tell me about your conference.”
“Conference?”
“The one you flew in to attend.” She cocked her head to the side, studying him. “Or so you told me.” Always interested in learning more about her field, she had poked around on the internet to see if registration had closed. The closest thing she’d found to a conference was a botanical lectur
e series at UNC-Chapel Hill.
Chagrined, he said, “Sorry, your abrupt change of topic threw me.” He took a healthy swallow of his wine. “As it turned out, conference didn’t adequately depict what I attended. It was poorly organized, and the keynote presented on concepts I learned two years ago.” He bounced his shoulder against hers. “But I don’t consider this a wasted trip.”
She tamped down her disappointment. She’d hoped to learn something that would shatter her academic world.
“Did you experience any problems while shutting down Endurance?” she asked.
His smile faded, and he shrugged. “Pretty routine.”
“How did Camilla adjust to her new duties?”
“Not well, I’m afraid.”
“What happened?”
“Dr. Young caught her stealing.”
“Stealing what?”
His golden eyes studied her. “Dr. Young’s journal, for one.”
“His journal?” she asked in astonishment, giving Heather a distracted smile as she delivered their dinner. “Like the journal?”
“No other.”
“How? Why?”
“By befriending one of the guards. She got his security code and then spiked the security guards’ coffee with a large dose of senna.”
“No. She would never—”
“I can assure you, she did.”
“Stealing.” She floated the word through her memories of Camilla. “I find it difficult to believe. Camilla had a strong work ethic and went out of her way to please those she worked with. For her to betray the foundation—” She shook her head. “I don’t understand.”
“Didn’t you find her on the streets?”
“Homelessness doesn’t make someone a thief.”
“But it ups the likelihood. I imagine that she, like many homeless, had to do a lot of unsavory things in order to survive.”
She couldn’t argue the point. After all, Camilla’s abysmal attempt to lift her backpack purse was what put her on Riley’s radar.
“I know it’s hard to accept—the two of you seemed close—but the doctor caught her in the act.”
“Did he have her arrested?”
“No, but only because we failed to catch her.”
Relief swept through her. She dropped her gaze to her plate, to the mound of collard greens. But she stared through the steaming vegetables, the plate, the counter, all the way to Costa Rica until she found a set of forever smiling eyes framed by a thick mass of black-brown hair upswept into a messy knot. To a young, intelligent girl who helped her win the trust of the locals and kept the project organized.
Guilt burned like acid in her stomach. She should’ve checked on Camilla after she returned to the States. Made sure she had settled into her new responsibilities.
“Where’s Camilla now?”
“No clue. She’s disappeared.”
“How do you know?”
“I stopped by her apartment to drop off some things, and she didn’t answer the door. After two days and several attempts to reach her, I asked her landlord to check on her.” He stabbed a broccoli floret with his fork. “The place was empty.”
“Who gave you her address?”
“Security, why?”
“Camilla was very protective of her private life. I didn’t think many knew where she lived.”
“I’m not sure how hiring works in Costa Rica, but I assume the foundation would’ve had her fill out paperwork.”
“I’m sure you’re right.” She dug into her collards, disturbed by their conversation for reasons she didn’t understand. “From the first moment I ran her to ground, I was convinced all Camilla needed to turn her life around was an act of kindness. Something to help her regain her footing in the world.”
“Locals are great resources for our research. But beyond that, I’ve found it best not to intermingle. Scientists wind up transferring their thoughts of right and wrong onto the cultural DNA of the people they’re studying, which might be very different than their own and could lead to hurt and disappointment and confusion.”
The way he framed his comment set her teeth on edge. But the essence of his message made sense—every culture had differing beliefs and value systems.
Even so, she’d worked alongside Camilla for nearly three years. If her former assistant tried to steal something, Riley had to believe she did so out of desperation. It was the only possible scenario that made sense.
“Given your response, I take it that you haven’t heard from Camilla since returning home?” Nick asked.
“Not a word.” She rapped her nails on the bar. “If Camilla had stolen a piece of equipment, I could more easily accept the situation. What I don’t understand is why she would bother taking the journal. Picanula proved not to be a cure for psoriasis, like we’d hoped.”
Nick’s eye twitched, and he reached for his drink.
A dark foreboding engulfed her. “What?” she demanded. “What are you not telling me?”
“Riley, I—”
“Spill it, Nick.”
Bracing his forearms on the counter, he closed his eyes a moment before delivering the best, most wonderful, most horrid secret.
“Project Endurance didn’t fail.”
14
“Say that again.”
“Endurance didn’t fail,” Nick repeated, eyeing her uneasily. “Well, it did, but it didn’t.”
She pushed her glasses up, trying to make sense of his gibberish. Since his verbal communication normally emerged perfect and polished, this jumble of words alarmed her even more.
“I’m not following. The project either failed or it didn’t.”
He released a harsh breath and raked a hand through his perfectly producted hair. “Sorry, I had hoped to avoid this whole thing. I tried to get them to bring you into the circle.”
Circle?
“Dr. Young’s team did prove that Picanula treated psoriasis.”
“We were researching a cure, not a treatment. Did Dr. Young test the other two specimens with Timbroma subvolanum?”
“His team didn’t get that far.”
“What do you mean?”
“They found that Timbroma had a more prestigious, more profitable use.”
“Which is what?”
“The cure for impotence.”
“Cure?”
“Can you imagine? Men can now pop a monthly pill and get a hard-on into their nineties.”
“Why did he even test the plant for that use?”
“From a comment you made in your field observation notes.”
She searched her memory. “I never mentioned—” Then a single word floated to the fore of her mind.
Virility.
A handful of the women she’d spoken to had joked about their men’s interest in sex increasing after using Timbroma. She’d logged virility in her notes, along with a dozen other observations. But she’d thought their increased sex drive had more to do with them feeling better as their psoriasis abated. Not that Timbroma itself caused the reaction.
Her stomach roiled as her role in Project Endurance’s demise became clearer. “So Young decided that ensuring boners for ninety-year-old men was more prestigious than curing people of an unbearable skin and joint disease?”
Nick snorted. “Young is a tool, not the decision-maker.”
“Who made the decision to shut down the research station?”
“Technically, it never shut down. Simply rebooted with a new team.” His attention shifted to the kitchen staff. “Mostly new.”
“I take it you stayed on.”
“A few of us did, yes.”
“Did Young make the impotence discovery before or after I left Costa Rica?”
His jaw clenched.
“Was Dr. Hathaway involved in this?” Please say no, please say no.
“He’s the one who directed the closing and reopening of the lab.”
Every cell in her body deflated, and she caved into her seat. Nothing sparked in her min
d, her questions silent.
“Can I interest y’all in dessert?” Heather asked, glancing between her and Nick.
When she said nothing, Nick shook his head. “Just the check, please.”
The server set the bill facedown beside Nick’s elbow. “No rush. Whenever y’all are ready.”
In the silence that followed, Nick said, “I’m sorry, Riley. I wish you didn’t have to hear it like this.”
Sitting forward, she rubbed her temple. “I’d rather hear it from you than from a stranger months from now.”
He picked up the check.
“What do I owe you?” she asked.
“My treat.”
“That’s not necessary.”
“Consider it a thank-you for chauffeuring me around.”
And a consolation prize.
By the time she rolled up to the passenger drop-off area at Asheville Regional Airport, the shock of his revelations had worn off. Mostly.
“Are you headed home or off to Costa Rica?” she asked, opening the cargo door.
“Both.” He studied her a moment, and a flicker of uncertainty flashed across his handsome features. Then it was gone. “When I finish my next… assignment, I would like to come back and spend more time with you.”
“Nick, I don’t think—”
He gripped the back of her neck and pressed his cheek against hers. “Don’t give me your answer now,” he said in an urgent whisper. “Think on it. I’ll call you when I’m free.” Angling his head, he brushed a tender kiss to the corner of her mouth, inhaling deeply before releasing her.
She stood frozen at the back of her Jeep, following Nick’s broad back as he disappeared behind the sliding glass doors.
A volatile mix of emotions warred for control.
One question rose in her mind, again and again.
Why hadn’t Hathaway chosen her to stay?
15
Peering over his shoulder, Nick followed Riley’s Jeep as it zipped by the sliding glass doors. He stared at the empty space, experiencing an unfamiliar tightening around his chest before he shook it off and straightened his spine.
He dug out his phone, selected a ride-sharing app, and requested a driver. Ten minutes later, he was on his way back to Asheville where he’d left his rental car.
Searing Need Page 6
