Читать книгу Breakaway - Rochelle Alers - Страница 13

Gavin supported his back against the headboard of the bed in the master bedroom. He’d enjoyed hanging out at this house overlooking a picturesque valley. His temporary residence was a far cry from hotel decor that failed to vary much from one chain to another regardless of the upgrade.

Scrolling through his cell-phone directory, he punched in a secure number, grinning when he heard a familiar voice come through the earpiece. The analyst had the sultriest voice of any woman he’d encountered. Now that he heard it again, there was something in its timbre that reminded him of Celia Thomas’s voice. There was just enough of a drawl in Celia’s cadence to garner his complete attention whenever she spoke.

“Good evening, Vera. When did you switch to nights?”

“I put in the request several months ago when Peter was reassigned to forensics. There’s no way we can afford to leave two teenage boys unsupervised for long periods of time. The last time Peter and I worked days they almost burned the house down. I know you didn’t call to get an overview of my home life, Gavin. What’s up?”

“I need you to run a Florida plate for me.” He gave Vera Celia’s license plate number.

“How much do you want to know about her?”

“Everything from the day she was born.”

“Let me call you back, Gavin.”

“I’ll be here.” Pressing a button, he ended the call. Gavin knew he could count on Vera Sanchez to come up with the information he needed on Celia Cole-Thomas. If he was going to connect with her on a more personal level, then he wanted to know what to expect.

She’d told him that she was a doctor—that was verified by her surgical skills. She’d also said that she was on vacation. He wanted to know where she lived in Florida, her family connections, whether she’d been married, had children and if she’d ever been arrested.

Crossing bare feet at the ankles, Gavin stared at the image of the news anchor on the flat-screen television on the opposite wall. He picked up the remote device and began channel surfing. The late-night news was over, so he had his pick of reruns, movies and infomercials.

When he spoke to Mac, he would thank his supervisor for putting him up in a place and permitting him access to cable television. He found a channel airing a movie about Nelson Mandela and the South African prison official who’d befriended him during his twenty-seven year imprisonment for his opposition to apartheid.

Halfway into the film, Gavin’s cell phone rang and he was loath to answer it. However, he knew he had to take the call. “Faulkner,” he said by way of identifying himself. His cell phone was programmed with voice recognition. If he lost or misplaced his phone and someone attempted to use it, then it would be rendered inoperable within seconds.

“Dr. Celia Cole-Thomas has a very interesting life,” Vera began.

Gavin listened, stunned by the information Vera had come up with on the woman. “Thank you, Vera. You’re invaluable.”

“Always glad to help. Be safe, Gavin.”

“Always, Vera, always.”

He hung up and closed his eyes. He’d never been shot or wounded when he’d served as an Army Ranger or during his tenure as a special agent with the Bureau. But on the other hand, Celia—who’d taken an oath to protect life—had nearly lost hers during a street-gang shootout in a hospital’s E.R., where she’d become an eyewitness to murder.

She’d said that she was on vacation, but what Dr. Thomas hadn’t said was that her vacation was also an extended medical leave.

Gavin wondered if the reason she hadn’t returned to the hospital was because she’d been traumatized by the murders, or because she was still mourning the shooting death of her fiancé.

Forcing his attention back to the film, he temporarily pushed all thoughts of the woman with the dimpled smile and sexy voice to the recesses of his mind.

Celia heard whining and opened her eyes. She sat up and scrambled off the bed. Terry was sitting up in the makeshift bed she’d fashioned from a wicker laundry basket and a pillow. After making certain he’d recovered from the effects of the sedative, she’d driven to a twenty-four-hour Walmart to pick up puppy food and supplies.

Kneeling, she picked up the puppy. He’d soiled the wee-wee pad. “Good morning, baby boy,” she crooned softly. “How are you feeling?” Celia was greeted with a yawn. “Are you still sleepy from the drug?” Terry had become her first non-human patient.

Cradling Terry to her chest, she walked to the French doors, punched in the code on the security keypad on the wall and opened the doors leading out to the deck. She placed Terry on the flagstone surface and returned to the bedroom.

Celia made a mental list of the items she had to purchase from a pet store: bed, crate, lead and harness. She wouldn’t trust the terrier to have the run of the house until he was housebroken.

She wasn’t certain whether Terry would eat, but she knew he had to get some nutrition or he wouldn’t survive. She removed the pad, returned him to the basket, carrying it down the staircase and placing it in a corner between the kitchen and pantry. The puppy’s nose twitched as he surveyed his surroundings.

Sitting on the floor, she attempted to hand-feed the puppy when he sniffed the bowl containing a small amount of dry food. He’d walked away, taking furtive steps. It took Celia forty minutes to coax the dog to eat five pieces of kibble. She was more successful getting him to drink water before settling him on her lap where he curled himself into a ball.

She traced the tan spots with her fingertips. “Don’t get too used to me feeding you, little prince. Once you’re healed, either you’ll eat by yourself or you’ll go hungry.” Terry opened his eyes, staring at her as if he understood what she’d said. Celia sat holding the puppy until it fell asleep, then placed it in the basket and went upstairs to ready herself before Gavin arrived.

Celia patted the moisture from her body with a thick, thirsty towel, and then went through her morning ritual of applying a moisturizer to her face and perfumed cream to her body. She’d just slipped into her underwear when the telephone rang. It was a rare occasion when the house phone rang. Her family and close friends usually called her cell.

Smiling, she lifted the receiver from its cradle when she saw the caller ID. “Good morning, Hannah.”

“Good morning, Celia. I’m sorry to call so early, but I forgot to ask you yesterday if you were going to Florida for the Memorial Day weekend.”

Celia sat on a chair in the bedroom’s dressing area. She’d stopped the day before to visit the woman who’d welcomed her with a pan of scrumptious lasagna and an apple pie the day she’d taken possession of the house.

Hannah Walsh, who’d been a newlywed, had just celebrated the publication of the first book she’d illustrated, and Celia made certain to buy copies for every one of her young cousins. Hannah had taught daycare, and her husband worked night security at a department store while attending classes to earn a criminal justice degree. Five years later, Daniel became a North Carolina state trooper and a father for the first time within the same week.

“No. I’ve decided to hang out here for a while. I’m not certain when I’m going back.”

“If that’s the case, then I want to invite you over for a Saturday afternoon barbecue. Please tell me you’ll come.”

“Of course I’ll come. Do you want me to bring anything?”

“No. We have everything. I just want to warn you that Daniel has invited some of his single buddies and now that they know you’re available, you may get more attention than you want.”

Celia smothered a groan. She was more than familiar with Daniel Walsh’s buddies. They were overly friendly, good-natured and quite vociferous after imbibing one too many beers. She didn’t know if Gavin had plans for the weekend, but if she invited him to go with her, then he would become her buffer.

“Would you mind if I bring a guest?”

“Of course I don’t mind. The more the merrier. I’m going to have as much fun as I can before the baby comes. Having to care for a newborn while dealing with a two-year-old and balancing a career will definitely test my patience and my sanity.”

“You’ll do just fine, Hannah, only because you’re the most organized person I’ve ever met.”

“Don’t you mean obsessive-compulsive?”

“That, too,” Celia teased. “What time should I come?”

“I’m telling everyone to come around two.”

“I’ll see you Saturday at two.” She hung up and glanced at the clock on the fireplace mantel. It was nine-forty. She had to get dressed and be ready to leave by ten.

“Is there something wrong, Gavin?”

Gavin blinked as if coming out of a trance. Celia Cole-Thomas was a chameleon. Each time he saw her she looked different. This morning, she’d brushed her hair off her face and secured it in a twist on the nape of her long, slender neck. A white linen blouse, black tailored slacks and a pair of ballet-type patent leather flats bespoke simple elegance. The pearl studs in her ears matched the single strand around her neck, while a light cover of makeup accentuated her large eyes and lush mouth.

“No,” he admitted. “You look—wonderful.” He’d said wonderful when he’d wanted to tell Celia that she looked beautiful. He took a step, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “And you smell delicious.”

A flush heated her face. Celia wanted to tell Gavin he looked and smelled delicious, too. The aftershave on his clean-shaven jaw was the perfect complement for his body’s natural masculine scent.

“Thank you. Please come in.”

Gavin stepped into the entryway, his penetrating gaze cataloguing the furnishings. The night before, he’d been too involved with helping Celia with Terry to take note of anything.

“How’s Terry?” he asked, following Celia into the living room of the split-level house. The fireplace was the room’s focal point, competing only with the arch in the ceiling paneled with fir and illuminated with concealed strip lighting. The walls, covered with a coffee-colored fabric, complemented varying shades of cream and tan suede and leather on a club chair, love seat and sofa.

Celia smiled at Gavin over her shoulder. “Come and see for yourself.”

Slowing, he glanced around the dining area, mapped out by a border of cherry inlay in the oak flooring. Sunlight coming in through oak-framed French doors spilled over the gleaming waxed floor. A bouquet of yellow and white spring blooms on a cherrywood table added a homey touch.

An island separated the open kitchen—with stainless-steel appliances—and the dining room; the ceiling styles in the two spaces were as varied and intricate as the one in the living room. The ceiling was flat over the kitchen with recessed lighting, while it was pitched over the dining area. Glass inserts in the kitchen cabinets came to the same roof-like peak as the cathedral ceiling over the dining table.

The abundance of wood imbued a sense of warmth and hominess. A cushioned sitting area—reminiscent of a window seat—under a row of windows was the perfect spot to sit, read or survey the activity in the kitchen and dining area at the same time.

“Do you own this house, or are you renting it?” Gavin had asked a question to which he knew the answer.

“I own it.”

“How long have you lived here?” He’d asked yet another question to which he knew the answer.

Celia stopped, turned and stared up the man who made her feel something she didn’t want to feel: desire. Although she’d found herself in love with Yale and planned to marry him, he never evoked the all-consuming desire she felt whenever she and Gavin Faulkner occupied the same space.

The tall man standing in the middle of her kitchen wearing jeans, a navy blue golf shirt with a familiar designer’s logo over his heart and a pair of low-heeled boots gave off waves of sensuality that threatened to smother her with its intensity. He’d removed the stubble, and the strong line of his lean jaw made him even more attractive.

“I don’t live here year-round.”

“You live in Florida.” The query was a statement. “Your truck has Florida plates,” Gavin explained when her eyes grew wider.

“Miami,” Celia confirmed. She’d given Miami the Spanish inflection, it sounding like Me-a-me.

Gavin smiled. “You speak Spanish?”

Celia’s smile matched his. “Sí. I have Cuban roots that go back to my great-grandmother.”

“Every time I go to Miami I put on at least five pounds because I can’t stop eating the food,” he admitted.

“Maybe I’m biased, but I believe Caribbean cuisine is superior to any other in the world.”

Gavin’s expression changed, vertical lines appearing between his eyes when he gave her a level frown. “I wouldn’t exactly say that,” he countered.

“Tell me what’s better than Caribbean cuisine, Gavin?”

He registered the slight reproach in her tone. “Southern cooking. Have you ever had North Carolina-style barbecue pulled pork?”

“No. But I bet it’s not as good as—”

“Don’t say it, Celia,” he said, holding up a hand and interrupting her. “We’ll have a cook-off, and you can prepare your best Cuban dish while I’ll make the pulled pork.”

Celia’s eyes narrowed as she considered his challenge. “Bring it, brother.”

Gavin winked. “You just don’t know what you’re in for, beautiful. I hope you’re not a sore loser.”

Celia returned the wink. “I wouldn’t know because I’ve never lost a challenge. Speaking of barbecue, my neighbor invited me to her house on Saturday to celebrate the holiday. If you’re not doing anything, I’d like you to come with me.”

Crossing muscular arms over his chest, Gavin angled his head. “Are you asking me out on a date?”

Celia bit her lip, dimples deepening with the gesture as a flush suffused her face. Her embarrassment was short-lived. “What’s the matter? You’ve never been asked out by a woman?”

“I’ve been propositioned a few times, but I’ve never been asked out.”

“Well, don’t look for me to proposition you, Mr. Faulkner. If you’re not coming with me, then please let me know so—”

“The answer is yes, Miss Thomas.” Gavin agreeing to go with Celia had nothing to do with his mission. He’d agreed because he wanted to spend time with her. Accompanying her would also permit him to pick up bits of gossip from the area residents. “May I ask one question?”

“Sure.”

“Why did you ask me and not some other guy?”

There came another pause as Celia pondered his query. “I asked you because I don’t want to be bothered with some other guy.”

Gavin’s expressive eyebrows lifted a fraction. “So, you want to use me to run interference?”

“Yes.”

He shook his head. “Damn, Doc, you really know how to bruise a dude’s ego.”

Celia rolled her eyes upward. “My heart bleeds for you, Gavin. I’m willing to bet a year’s salary that every second there are at least a hundred dudes somewhere in the world using women for their own selfish reasons.”

Gavin sobered. “I’ve never used a woman.”

“Maybe not you, but I’ve been a victim on a few occasions.”

“Do you like…men?” he asked hesitantly.

“Of course I like men. I was engaged…” Celia’s words trailed off before she could tell Gavin about the ordeal that left her with visible and invisible scars.

“What happened, Celia?”

She shook her head. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“You don’t want to or you can’t?”

“Both,” she confirmed. “Not right now.” She glanced at her watch. “I think we’d better get going or Terry’s going to be late for his appointment.”

Terry began whining when he saw her, his tail moving like a pendulum. “Look at you, baby boy.” Leaning over, she picked him up. “You’re almost good as new.” Turning him around, she stared at his side. “I take that back.”

Gavin moved closer. “What’s the matter?”

“He’s biting the stitches. He’s going to need one of those plastic collars.” Celia wrapped Terry in a towel, handed him off to Gavin while she locked up the house.

“I’ll drive,” Gavin said, opening the passenger-side door to his vehicle. He handed her the puppy. Placing his hands around her waist, he lifted her and Terry effortlessly and settled her on the seat.

“Show-off,” Celia teased.

Gavin ignored the taunt. Picking her up was like lifting a child. His fingers had spanned her waist with room to spare. Either Celia Cole-Thomas was naturally thin or anorexic. He’d hoped it was the former.

Rounding the vehicle, he slid in beside her and started the engine. “Give me the address to the hospital and I’ll program it into the GPS.” There were less than thirty miles between Waynesville and Asheville, and barring traffic delays they would arrive within half an hour.

Belted in, Celia settled back to enjoy the passing landscape. She didn’t want to think about the man sitting less than a foot away. She’d asked a man, a stranger, to accompany her to a friend’s get-together. What made it so incredible was that she knew nothing about him beyond his name. If they were to present themselves as a couple, then she needed to know more.

“What do you do for a living?”

“I’m in personal security.” The lie rolled off Gavin’s tongue as smoothly as honey. It was a lie he’d told so often that he could repeat it even if he’d been injected with a truth serum.

Celia turned to stare at his strong profile. “What’s the difference between regular security and personal security?”

“People hire me to protect their person.”

“Rich people?” she asked.

Gavin nodded. “Have you seen the film Man on Fire with Denzel Washington?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I’m Jon Creasy without being the hard-drinking, burned-out CIA operative.”

Celia sat up straighter. “Are you armed now?”

Gavin stared out behind the lenses of his sunglasses. He knew he had to tell Celia the truth because he was mandated to carry a firearm while working a case.

“Yes.” He gave her a quick glance. “Does that bother you?”

A nervous smile trembled around her mouth. “No. My brothers, uncles and most of my male cousins learned to handle a gun in their teens.”

Staring into a firearm pointed at her and then watching Yale fall with blood soaking the shirt of his scrubs bothered her; seeing her patient shot at point-blank range bothered her and continued to bother whenever she relived the scene in her dreams.

“Have you ever fired a gun?”

Celia focused her gaze on the road. “Yes. It was at a firing range. My father claimed I needed to learn to handle a firearm because I’d never know when I’d have to defend myself. What he didn’t know and still doesn’t know is that I favor legislation for gun control.”

“I take it you don’t believe in the Second Amendment.”

“I believe in law-abiding citizens’ right to own weapons, but should criminals have the same right?”

“Criminals don’t care about the law one way or the other, Celia. They live by their own code, and at times administer their own form of justice.”

You’re preaching to the choir, Gavin, Celia mused. “Who do you work for?” she asked, deftly changing the topic of conversation.

“My cousins. The main office is in Charlotte.” Gavin’s cousins did own and operate a security company in Charlotte, and at any given time would verify that he worked for them.

“Who have you protected?”

“I can’t tell you names because we’re bound by a confidentiality ruling that we would never divulge the identities of our clients. What I will tell you is that I’ve guarded the children of actors, sports figures, entertainers and an occasional business mogul.”

“Why did you choose such a dangerous profession?”

Gavin signaled, maneuvering off Route 74 toward Interstate 40 and Asheville. “It was either security or law enforcement. I make a lot more money providing personal security, my assignments are flexible and I get to travel all over the world on someone else’s expense. That’s something I’d never be able to do as a police officer. Why did you decide to go into medicine?” he asked, smoothly directing the focus away from him.

Celia’s head came around and she stared at him. “Why don’t you want to talk about yourself?”

Gavin’s fingers tightened on the steering wheel. “I just answered all of your questions, Celia.”

“Not all of them.”

He gave her a sidelong glance. “What else do you need to know?”

“Were you ever married?”

“No,” he answered honestly.

“How old are you, Gavin?”

He chuckled softly. “Now, if I’d asked you your age you would’ve told me to mind my own damn business.”

“No, I wouldn’t.”

“Okay. How old are you, Celia?”

“I’ll turn thirty-four in August.”

Gavin’s gaze shifted to the lighted GPS screen. They were less than ten miles from the animal hospital. “I thought you were younger. I’m thirty-seven.”

“Do you like women?”

His deathlike grip on the wheel tightened. “Hell, yeah, I like women. Why would you ask me that?”

“Unmarried at thirty-seven. I was just checking.” Celia averted her head so he wouldn’t see her smile.

Gavin relaxed his grip, realizing Celia was just testing him when he saw her shoulders move. So, he mused, the doctor did have a sense of humor. She’d been sharp-tongued and all business when she’d shouted orders at him the night before.

“You think I’m gay?”

“No, Gavin. The thought never crossed my mind.”

“And if I was?”

“I’d still want you to be my date for Saturday. Someone’s sexual proclivity has no bearing on me. Once consenting adults close the door to the bedroom they can do whatever they want.”

Gavin’s opinion of Celia went up appreciably. She was pretty, smart and open-minded. His role as an undercover agent left little or no time for a normal relationship with a woman. The few long-term relationships he’d had usually ended when he wasn’t willing to take it to a level that included marriage and children. He’d submitted a request for a desk position, and if or when it was approved he would consider marrying and starting a family.

“Do you like men?” he asked.

The seconds ticked as Celia stared through the windshield. “Yes, I do. Why?”

Resting his right arm over the back of her seat, Gavin ran his fingers over the nape of her neck. “Just checking.”

He wasn’t disappointed when she turned to smile at him, neither aware of the invisible web of awareness making them willing captives.