Healing Kiss, page 8
He sighed. “Zoey, if you’re in some kind of trouble, I need you to tell me. I want to help.”
She risked a glance. He stared at the road and not at her, but she could sense his stubbornness in the way his hands gripped the wheel and the hard lines of his profile. Tristan would not give up until she told him the truth, which meant she needed to lie, and it needed to be convincing.
She kept her gaze trained on his and forced a lightness to her tone. “I can’t imagine what you are going on about. I’m fine. I’m just worried about Hannah.” She threw in a sigh for good measure. “It’s been a long couple of days.”
Tristan pulled into the parking lot of a delicatessen and put the car in park. He took off his dark sunglasses.
She didn’t waste any time unfastening her seatbelt and finding the button on the top of the door handle, but before she could open the door, Tristan touched her knee. “Zoey, wait.”
She turned toward him. “Wh… What?”
Sunlight caught his perceptive blue eyes, making them sparkle. A flop of dark curly hair lay across his forehead, taunting her with an insane desire to brush it away. Why hadn’t her mom told her the impact being near a burner would have on her libido? She sniffed the cool, minty scent of his cologne, which filled the space between them, hitting her senses like a powerful punch to the gut. Goosebumps chased up and down her leg as her body absorbed his potent energy.
“You’re afraid, and it’s not just for Hannah. Is someone threatening you?”
Adrenaline surged through her veins, urging her to flee, but she’d learned a thing or two about keeping cool in tense situations over the past couple of years. She clasped her purse in her lap and stole a breath. She kept her voice even, as if she had everything under control, as if she hadn’t spent the last two years terrified of every movement and shadow, as if she never double-locked the doors or assumed a separate identity or kept a loaded pistol in her purse.
She laughed and hoped it sounded light-hearted. “I think you’ve spent too much time inventing video game scenarios, Tristan. I’m fine. Really.”
She didn’t wait for him to argue but pressed the button on the door and scrambled from the vehicle.
Chapter Ten
Tristan clenched his jaw and watched Zoey flee his car. What had her so afraid? Maybe a disgruntled ex-boyfriend or husband? The thought of Zoey with an abusive man caused a strange ache in his belly. How was it he felt so protective of her after they’d only known each other a day?
He got out of the car and followed Zoey into the restaurant, a Jewish deli he ate lunch at regularly whenever his mom visited the clinic. The woman at the counter—Cassie—favored him with a bright-pink-lipstick smile, smacking her gum. He pushed the sunglasses up on his head and nodded hello.
“Your usual ham and cheese on rye?”
“That’s right, and whatever my friend would like.”
He gestured to Zoey, who studied the menu over the counter. She avoided his gaze, which for some reason frustrated him.
“I’ll have the tuna salad on wheat, please.”
“To go,” he added.
Now she did finally look at him, her jade-green eyes wary and nervous at once, like a skittish kitten.
He tried on a smile he hoped was reassuring. It didn’t work—at least, she didn’t smile back. “I thought we’d take this back to the house—you can grab a shower.”
“I need to return to the hospital. I want to be there when Hannah wakes up.”
“Her dad’s with her, and she’s sleeping. There’s nothing you can do for Hannah right now. This is the perfect opportunity to get a shower and put on clean clothes.”
She hesitated and then huffed. “Fine, but as soon as we’re done, I’d like to return to the hospital.”
“Good.” If she thought humoring him by agreeing to come to his house would stop him from discovering whatever she was hiding, she was in for a surprise. Tristan had the resources to hire the best detective agency if that’s what it took to learn her secrets. And learn them he would.
He pulled out his wallet. He wasn’t sure why tackling the mystery of Zoey had become so important to him. Maybe because he’d been lied to one too many times by a pretty face? If there was a single personality trait he despised more than any other, it was dishonesty.
Zoey opened her purse, but he reached across her to hand Cassie his credit card. “This one’s on me.”
“You don’t need to—”
“I know. I want to, though.” He offered her a smile, and in return, she gripped her purse tighter, like he might snatch it from her and spill the contents. “Consider this a pre-date to our official date.”
She opened her mouth—he suspected to deny his claim of a pre-date—but was interrupted by Cassie, who chuckled.
“Honey, if a good-looking man wants to buy you lunch, I’d take him up on it. Especially this one.” She offered him a playful wink. “He’s one of the nice ones.” She rang up the bill and shoved his card in the reader.
Zoey’s cheeks flushed, but she seemed to realize she appeared ungrateful because she inclined her head slightly, and her eyes met his for once. “Thank you.”
Warmth circled his heart and entered, thawing some of the ice he’d built around it. “It’s nothing.” He felt absurdly happy, like he’d won a major victory by buying her lunch. Why he should feel this way was hard to decipher. Most women he knew would be clamoring for him to buy them a meal. Was Zoey being deliberately difficult to capture his attention? If so, it was working.
He returned his card to his wallet and pulled out a twenty, shoving it in the tip jar.
“Such a generous fellow you have here, sweetie,” Cassie said with a wink at Tristan, making him smile.
He’d known Cassie for five years now with all the trips he had to make back and forth to the hospital with his mom. When he’d heard about her struggles to pay for her daughter’s college, he’d chipped in with a little scholarship of his own. She’d been a loyal friend ever since.
“Here you are. Tuna salad and ham and cheese. I added in some cinnamon muffins on the house. Enjoy.” Cassie handed him a large brown bag. “How’s your mom these days? Isn’t she participating in another clinical trial?”
“That’s right. She took a spill recently but is doing well enough. Thanks for asking. Bye, Cassie.”
“Bye, hon.”
Tristan grinned and gestured Zoey to proceed him to the door, sliding his sunglasses on.
Zoey hesitated then complied, but as soon as they stepped out into the bright parking lot, she whirled to face him. “Why did you let her think we’re a couple?”
“We are a couple, at least through tonight.” Why he enjoyed baiting her was beyond him.
“You know what I mean,” she huffed. “You let her believe we’re dating seriously.”
She walked ahead of him, and he lengthened his stride until he caught up to her. He had enjoyed watching Zoey squirm at the insinuation they might be together. And he supposed it had been refreshing not to be chased for once.
“What did she mean, clinical trial?”
He’d known it might come up sooner or later. But for some reason, the simple question sent a rush of emotion through him. Thank the good Lord he’d put on his sunglasses. He waited until they reached the car and were seated inside to answer.
“How much do you know about Huntington’s?”
“A little. It’s a genetic condition, which impacts muscle control and cognitive function.”
“That’s right. My mom’s participating in what’s called a gene silencing treatment. She’s been getting shots every eight weeks. The treatment is supposed to decrease the protein in her brain, which will reduce her symptoms.”
“Has her condition improved?”
“Not enough to make a noticeable difference. Her recent fall is proof of that. Unfortunately, the study ends in two weeks.”
He pressed Start and backed the car out of the parking lot without looking at her.
She touched his arm. It was only a light touch—nothing to get excited about. Still, for some reason his pulse shot to the moon and back. He frowned at the steering wheel. Must be lack of sleep causing him to react this way.
“Tristan, I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.” He detested pity—it didn’t solve a damn thing.
“A disease like that is difficult to cure.”
Anger, hot and furious, erupted inside him like a festering blister. “There is no cure. As a nurse, you must know that.”
She shrank in her seat, her hand falling from his shoulder.
He dragged a hand through his hair. It wasn’t fair to take his frustration out on Zoey. She didn’t understand how hard he’d been working to find a cure and how difficult it had been to watch his mom’s declining health. His mom had been the only constant in his life, the only one who loved him without expecting anything in return.
“I’ve tried everything to find a cure. It doesn’t exist. This is not the first time my mom and I have been through this rodeo.”
“How bad is she?”
He stole a breath, and the fierce pressure in his chest eased a little. “She has trouble speaking and walking. She can’t remember simple things, like what day it is.”
Zoey hesitated, probably afraid to say anything more after his outburst. “You’re fortunate to be so close to your mom. I’m sure that makes it difficult to watch her decline. It’s a helpless feeling.”
“Yes.” He tightened his lips. There was no one else. His father abandoned Tristan when he was five. His stepfather was an abusive alcoholic who came damn near to killing his mom until the day Tristan was old enough to fight back. That was the day he and his mom had packed their bags and fled. That was the day they’d made a pact to always look out for one another. That was the day he’d sworn always to protect her.
“Huntington’s is genetic. Have you been tested for the disease?”
Tristan pulled onto the road toward home. Why hadn’t he changed the subject? That’s what he normally did with strangers. But seeing Zoey’s struggle with her friend’s illness, he had the urge to confide his own. “No. What’s the point? No effective cure or treatment currently exists. After watching the hell my mom’s been through, I’d rather not know.”
“I’m truly sorry.”
He nodded, but he didn’t say anything. He’d already said too much. She was quiet, too.
He turned on the radio to fill the silence. The Beatles were singing “Help.” How fitting. Worry had been his relentless companion the past ten years. When his mom first complained of clumsiness and not being able to think clearly. When she couldn’t remember how to get to the grocery store and said her joints hurt. When he’d taken her to one specialist and then another and another.
He got off the exit and turned right toward home. Huntington’s cursed its victims with a relentless and slow death. The disease was slowly killing the nerves in his mom’s brain and stealing her personality with it. She rarely smiled or laughed these days. The best he could hope for was to prolong her life.
He drove the car up to the entrance. The guard recognized him and opened the gate. A few minutes later, he pulled into the driveway and turned off the car. Silence settled between them, broken only by the click of Zoey unlocking her seatbelt.
She opened the door and got out, and he followed suit. They were almost to the front entrance when he noticed the footprints. The landscapers had been told to keep to the sidewalk.
“What’s the matter?” Zoey turned, giving him a puzzled look.
“I recently had grass seed planted, and someone’s stepped in it.” He pointed to the footprints, which stretched around the perimeter of the house.
She stared at the tracks in the mud, her face draining of all color. “We’d…better get inside.”
He touched her arm. “What is it, Zoey?”
She frowned and stepped back, holding the brown paper bag with their lunches like a shield in front of her. “Nothing. I’m dizzy…from hunger, probably.”
Her nervousness was so thick he could cut it with a knife. He tapped in the code to unarm the security system and unlocked the door, and she scurried inside. She turned to frown at him.
“Aren’t you coming?”
“You go. The kitchen is straight ahead. I’ll be just a second.”
He thought she might argue, as she’d been doing since he’d met her in Annie Logan’s room, but she clutched the bag and stared at him, her wide eyes shining like green jewels.
“Okay. But…what are you going to do?”
Why did a few footprints have her so alarmed? He shrugged. “I just want to see where they go.”
“Be…be careful.”
He nodded, and she took off into the house.
He shut the door and peered at the muddy tracks, following them to the back patio, where they ended at the door leading into the garden room. His heart thumped loud in his ears. There were a few scratches on the door, which hadn’t been there before. It looked as if someone had scraped it with a metal tool of some kind.
He turned to stare at the yard, which led to acres of woods behind the house, the footsteps fading into the muddy grass. They did not belong to the landscaper. Whoever had done this might have been here when they pulled up and had taken off into the woods. The footprints looked fresh and certainly hadn’t been there yesterday.
His stilled, his gut clenching, a cool breeze chilling the hair on the back of his neck and every instinct screaming danger. Someone had attempted to break into his house. He whipped out his cell phone and called his security firm.
Chapter Eleven
Lillian stumbled her way into the massive, open kitchen and dropped the lunch sack onto the counter. She leaned against the sleek, dark granite to catch her breath. Her gaze took in the flecks of orange and the warmth of the complementary glass trio of hanging lights above the counter, before passing over the stainless steel appliances. A chef’s dream—not a smudge dulled their bright surface. Outside the glass patio doors, she caught a glimpse of an in-ground pool.
Her heart beat loud in her ears, and she couldn’t seem to take in enough oxygen. Had she run out of time? Had she led Kinetica to Tristan’s doorstep? Should she grab her things and return to Boston despite the promised date? But what if Hannah hadn’t fully recovered?
Her cell phone buzzed, and she checked her messages—the hospital notifying her Hannah’s records were ready. She pocketed the phone and scooted onto the nearest barstool, contemplating the bag of food and fighting the queasy feeling in her stomach.
“Why are you staring into space?”
Tristan’s sudden appearance had her jolting. “I was thinking about Hannah.” Which wasn’t a lie. “Is everything okay?”
“Yes.” He crossed to the tall cupboards and pulled out a couple of plates and glasses. “What would you like to drink? I can offer you milk, water, soda…something stronger?”
“Water’s fine.”
He filled a tall, clear glass with filtered ice water from the fridge and handed it to her. She held her breath when their fingers brushed, but it didn’t seem to faze him. He opened the bag and placed her tuna sandwich and a cinnamon muffin on the plate, then added some large purple grapes from the fridge. All the while his face remained a closed mask.
She managed to chew and swallow half the sandwich, but it seemed to stick in her throat. The domestic scene didn’t dull the thumping of her heart in her ears, which roared to life when Tristan placed both of his hands on the counter and leaned toward her, his expression serious.
“You’re worried about the footprints, aren’t you?
Lillian’s pulse thrummed, and her neck tingled as if it were attempting to denounce the lie she was about to tell. She looked him in the eyes. “Concerned, not worried. You have the funds to replant.”
She took a bite of the tuna and managed to chew and swallow despite her pounding heart. Kinetica could be watching the house right now, preparing to kill Tristan so they could grab her. The less he knew of her life in Boston, the less he knew of her, the better.
“Replanting the grass is the least of my worries. It appears I’m the victim of an attempted break-in.”
She turned, the blood draining from her face and her voice scratching like she’d swallowed sandpaper. “You saw something? I thought you said everything was okay?”
“Relax. Everything is okay. But someone took a chisel to the door to the garden room. They nicked it up pretty well, but they didn’t get in, which is why the alarm wasn’t triggered.”
She managed to breathe, but it didn’t slow her thumping heart. “Did you call the police?”
“My security company is investigating. Unfortunately, they tell me the outdoor camera malfunctioned, and there’s no video of the incident. Who is it, Zoey? An ex-boyfriend? A jilted lover?”
Her heart stopped and started again. Tristan’s mouth moved, but it took a full five seconds before his words made it past the dull curtains in her mind. His eyes caught hers, trapping them within their steely confines. Game over.
She set the sandwich on her plate and wiped her mouth with a napkin. When telling a lie, it was always best to stick close to the truth.
“No one I know.”
She thought he might say something after he’d stared her down, but he didn’t. Instead, he opened the sack, put his food on a plate, pulled out a stool, and sat next to her. She managed to take another small bite of her sandwich.
“Why do you wear a wig?”
She coughed, almost choking on the mouthful of sandwich, but managed to swallow. She took a drink of water. She had wondered if he’d noticed the wig. It was safer for him if she didn’t explain her reasons.
