The Hart Brothers Series Box Set (Including the bonus book Sabin: A Seven Novel): Freeing Her, Freeing Him, Kestrel, The Fall and Rise of Kade Hart, Sabin: A Seven Novel

by A. M. Hargrove

“And in order to get that unlimited supply, what do you need for that?”

  His eyes are lit up like hazel orbs, sparking with excitement. And it finally hits me.

  “No!”

  “Yes!” he yells, hops up and down like a rabbit, and grabs my hands. We both are hopping now.

  “When? Who? How much?”

  “Late yesterday. A major pharmaceutical company. And as much as it takes for you to discover either yay or nay. They want a cure, my smart doctor. They want your work, Dr. Drayton. They want you to create a way to reprogram the cell. Are you up to the task?”

  “Huh? What the hell have I been doing all this time?”

  “And look where’s it’s gotten you!”

  “Oh my gosh! Wait! Are you telling me I have unlimited funds?”

  “Carter, my girl, you have unlimited funds for your research.”

  I throw my arms around his neck and kiss him straight up on the lips. Then I laugh and he laughs. And we hop around some more.

  Suddenly I come to a halt. “Jesus.”

  “What is it?”

  Rubbing my face, I say, “Well, of all days. I … today’s the anniversary of—you know.”

  “I do know. And I thought it most proper and fitting that this day be dedicated to your family’s memory. Your hard work, everything you’ve dedicated your life to, won’t be in vain, Carter. Some day, children will live because of you. People won’t get a death sentence because of what you’re doing and what you believe in. Not many people can say that. So you know it wasn’t in vain, Ells’ death that is. Going to that conference put you in the right place. And as much as you miss her and your parents, you can at least think of it that way.”

  My arms fly around his body so fast I nearly knock the little bugger off his feet.

  “Thank you, John. None of this would’ve happened without you. If I hadn’t met you at Duke and if you hadn’t believed in my research, I would never have gotten this far.”

  “Nah, you’re a genius, my girl. So why don’t you start with making a list of everything you need and then a list of everything you want. I’ll try to get you both.” He winks at me.

  It’s hard to believe. My dream is becoming reality. Funding for my research project. I can begin digging in. Drugs that inhibit PD-L1 are in development. Two are already on the market with amazing results. But what if one could plug something into the cancer cell to make it impossible for that cell to even produce PD-L1? Decode it genetically, so to speak. Turn off the switch. Once that capability was removed, the human immune system could function as it was designed to and the T-cells could destroy the tumor cells. Boom! End of cancer, or at least some of the cancers. This is my mission. My goal. And if this works, then I’ll move on to other similar projects.

  My lists are outrageous, but I have nothing to lose at this point. The only thing they can say is no. They (whoever “they” are) have seen all of my research and are obviously impressed with my data, thus far. I’ll see what they deign to dole out to me. If I get half of what I’ve requested, I’ll be giddy with excitement.

  “So when should I expect to hear from them?”

  “Tomorrow. They’re coming to meet with you.”

  “Shit, John. A little warning would’ve been nice.”

  “You have nothing to worry about. All you have to do is tell them what you want. And be honest. Carter, they want you, badly. And they’re afraid if they don’t get you, someone else will. That’s how important your research is.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, really. You should have more faith and confidence in your work. It is most spectacular.”

  “I suppose so.”

  My lists are complete, so after lunch I’m back to work as usual and my phone rings.

  “Dr. Drayton.”

  “Hi, Dr. Drayton, this is Anne Crosby from Premier Properties. Foster Haynesworth said he discussed the listing of your home with me. I know this is sudden, but I have someone interested in your house already. And given the price point, this is highly unusual. I was wondering if you could meet me at the house for a showing because I haven’t had a chance to put a lock box on it yet. As I said, I know this is very sudden, but this potential buyer could be a perfect match.”

  My heart falls. Oh, God. Not today.

  “Okay. When?” I stammer.

  “Today.”

  “Um, well, I’m at work and can’t leave.”

  “Dr. Drayton, that’s fine. The interested party can’t be there until five-thirty. Is that okay?”

  No, that’s not okay! “Of course. I’ll see you then.”

  “Thank you.”

  Now I’m in a completely shitty mood. My mood has roller-coastered from low to high back to low again. What the hell! I’m ready for this day to be over. And the room! Fuck! My heart hurts just thinking about it.

  Darn! I was hoping no one would ever be interested. That’s not really true, but the fact is I don’t ever want to move away from that house. I love that house. It’s my home. Now I’ll never be able to focus.

  I don’t hear John behind me until he speaks and I nearly jump out of my skin.

  “Hey, calm down. Is everything all right?”

  “Not having a good day, John.”

  “I can see that. You need to take the afternoon off?”

  “No. I just need to take a few minutes to pull myself together.”

  At least if I stay here, I’ll be away from what pains me the most. I head to the cafeteria, grab a cup of coffee, and sit down. Reaching inside my jacket, I pull out my ever-present pictures and stare at them. My heart cracks when I see her face. I rest my head on my hand as I set the pictures down. Sometimes I think I would just like to end it all if I didn’t have my goal to focus on.

  When I get back to the lab, my brain is barely engaged. I’m in a daze and all I can do is think about that five-thirty appointment. At four-thirty, I tell John I’m calling it a day and go home. I don’t even bother to shed my lab coat. Foggy headed, I drive home and make it as far as the kitchen, where I take a seat at the counter. I’m still sitting there when the doorbell rings.

  A small part of me thinks about not answering it, but then I know how foolish that would be. When I open the door, I’m shocked to see a man standing there and not Anne Crosby. And this is not just any man. Emerald green eyes nail mine and I’m instantly intimidated. He assesses me, analyzes me. I can almost see his brain ticking away. It wouldn’t surprise me if a computer printout would miraculously appear, and he’d snatch it out of the air, fold it up, and slide it into his pocket for future reference.

  “Hello.” His voice is deep and husky.

  He hasn’t blinked since I opened the door.

  “Hi.” I wave him through, but he doesn’t enter.

  “Anne isn’t here yet?” he asks crisply.

  “Apparently not.”

  “I’m Kestrel Hart.”

  “Carter Drayton.”

  I extend my hand to shake his. He takes hold of it and his is warm, almost comforting. My phone rings and I break contact to dig it out of my pocket. It’s then I realize I’m still in my lab coat.

  “Dr. Drayton,” I answer, without thinking. I wave him through again, but he still doesn’t enter.

  “Hi, Dr. Drayton. Anne Crosby here. Has Mr. Hart arrived yet?”

  “Yes, he’s standing on the porch right now.”

  “I’m so sorry. Something’s come up—a family emergency. Nothing serious, but I’m not going to be able to make it. Would you mind showing Mr. Hart around?”

  It’s the last thing I want to do, but what the hell can I say?

  “No, that’s fine. I’ll let him know.”

  “Thank you. I’ll be in touch.”

  “Is everything okay?” he asks.

  “Anne has an emergency and can’t make it. I’ll show you the house, if you’re fine with that.”

  “Sure.”

  This time he enters when I wave him in.

  We start on the first flo
or and after a few minutes, I say, “You know, why don’t you just have a look for yourself. If you have any questions, let me know.”

  “Sounds fine to me.”

  He smiles and it softens his stern features. Then he’s off to look around on his own. He has to sense my hostility. I’ve tried to cover it up, but it’s difficult. I watch him as he moves away. He’s very tall and well built with jet-black hair that is longer on the top but cropped short on the sides and back. A cobalt blue shirt hugs his torso, complemented by a black tie. He wears black pants and no jacket. Under other circumstances, I would probably succumb to his unusually stunning looks, but right now, I’d like nothing more than to see him leave.

  I head back to my perch on the stool at the counter as I wait for him to complete his inspection. And then I wait. And wait. And wait some more. If one could sprain one’s gut then that’s how mine would feel, all twisted up in knots and bruised. My heart suffers as though a piece of barbed wire has been tied around it. I hear his feet come back down the steps. He hasn’t been in the kitchen yet, so I sit and hang tight, and seconds later he arrives. He won’t be displeased. It’s top of the line everything, from the eight-burner Viking range to the Sub-Zero side-by-side single refrigerator and freezer. My parents spared no expense on this remodel.

  He stands there for a moment and then says, “Impressive.”

  I don’t breathe a word. I can scarcely look at him.

  “There’s a room upstairs that was locked. Can you give me the key or unlock it, please?”

  I bite my lower lip. “Yeah. About that.” I clear my throat. I want to say something, anything, but words escape me.

  “Yes?”

  “I, uh, …”

  “Do you have a key, or not?”

  I get up and woodenly walk up the stairs.

  I’m so sorry Ells. I tried. I really did.

  We reach the door, and my hand shakes. The keys rattle on the ring. It takes a couple of stabs before I get the key in the slot. But then I can’t make myself turn it, so I back away until I hit the wall. He looks at me like I’m nuts. I suppose I am, to a large degree. But I’m frozen. No one has seen my sanctum. But now he’s about to and I can barely draw a breath. It’s like my soul is being clawed out of my body.

  He steps forward, turns the key, and opens the door. I feel the rush of air from her room hit my face and the barest hint of her scent seeps into my bones … that baby smell that still lingers in the air. I slide down the wall until my butt hits the floor. Voices fill my ears … her bubbly giggle … the pounding of her tiny bare feet along the wide-planked heart pine floor. Chubby hands splashing in the tub as she palms the water and it flies up in my face in a spray, and we both laugh as droplets run off my cheeks and nose. It all will vanish when this house sells. Her memory … the shrine that I’ve dedicated to her in her room … plucked away like it never existed.

  My forehead rests on my knees and I hear the clicking of his heels as they approach.

  “Ells. She was your daughter?”

  “Yes.” My voice is hoarse with emotion.

  “I’m sorry.”

  I muster the courage to look at him. His eyes, damn them, are so penetrating, I feel like he’s probing my soul. He reaches out a hand to help me up so I take it. It’s warm—a firm grip.

  This is a long shot, I know, but I have to try.

  “Look, I don’t want to sell. But I’m forced to. If I sell to you, will you keep Ells’ room like this?”

  “What?”

  “You heard me. There’s a carriage house out back. It’s fixed up into a one bedroom apartment. I’d like to rent it. If I do, can I come once a month to see her bedroom?”

  “You’ve got to be joking.”

  “No. I’ll do anything you want. Anything.” Then something takes over me. Call it madness. Desperation. Insanity. Call it whatever you want. I step right up to him and put my hands on his shoulders. Then I kiss him. He stands there like a chunk of stone. So I press my body up to him, and rub myself against him. I open my mouth and run my tongue over his lips, and then push it into his mouth. Nothing. No response. Humiliation sets in. I am not this girl. I’m the classic nerd. I don’t have boyfriends. I don’t even date. Where did this come from?

  He pulls away from me and steps back, rubbing his mouth.

  “I’m sorry, but you’re not my type.” His features initially register shock. But worse than that, distaste replaces it.

  That stings. Really stings. But even more dreadful, I am morbidly ashamed of myself. That doesn’t stop me from digging myself into an even deeper hole.

  “What? Am I not sexy enough? Are my clothes not revealing enough?”

  “Um, Dr. Drayton, this is more than a bit awkward.”

  “No, tell me. And my name is Carter.”

  “You’re propositioning me.” Now I detect shock and more than a hint of mockery.

  “No, not propositioning. I want to strike a deal. You see I’m a desperate woman. And desperate people do all kinds of things.”

  “Carter, I’m really not interested.”

  “I know I’m not very attractive, but if you want me to change the way I look, I can do that.”

  “You don’t understand.”

  “What? Am I not good enough for you?”

  His eyes skim me from head to toe. “Good doesn’t have anything to do with it. You’re not bad enough for me.”

  “Huh?”

  Then he grabs me, twists his hand in my ever-present ponytail, and kisses me. But it’s nothing like anything I’ve ever experienced. This is not a kiss. It’s a life-changing event. His lips don’t touch. They possess and control. I am so stunned my mouth opens. His tongue sweeps in and it doesn’t lick; it tastes and sucks as it tangles with mine. His teeth even engage in a way I didn’t think was possible. There is nothing sweet and gentle about this kiss at all. Now I understand the meaning of absolute passion. By the time he releases me, my head spins from the lack of oxygen and my fingers gouge into his biceps, hanging on for dear life.

  When I think he’s done, his mouth dives down to my neck where his teeth scrape and his tongue paints. I shock myself to hear deep groans emanating from me. Jesus, what the hell is he doing to me? Then suddenly he ceases.

  “Now do you understand, Carter?”

  He’s tall, but so am I. And I’m not ready to give up my quest.

  “You don’t think I’m up for this challenge?”

  His eyes narrow as he snakes a hand under my lab coat and grabs my ass. He laughs at my gasp.

  “Not at all. You’re so green, you’re wet behind the ears.”

  “That’s not the only place I’m wet.”

  Now it’s his turn to be shocked. Then he lets out a laugh. “I’m not sure what to make of you, Dr. Drayton.”

  “Give me a chance. Please.”

  He gestures with his head, saying, “What you have up here is a huge dose of unhealthy.”

  My lids drop. He’s right, but I can’t face letting it go. “If I lose this, I’m afraid I’ll lose her memory, too.”

  “That’s nonsense.”

  “Don’t you dare tell me what’s nonsense. Have you ever lost a child?” I wrench out of his embrace.

  “No.”

  “Don’t act so high and mighty, then. You were probably raised like I was, without a care in the world.”

  His features immediately darken and his lips thin. “I’d tread carefully, if I were you. You don’t know a thing about me, Dr. Drayton. Assumptions can be very dangerous.”

  “Point taken.”

  “What’s your price?”

  “My price?”

  “For the house?”

  “Will you accept the arrangement?”

  “The carriage house rental is yours. The room I have to consider.”

  “I meant what I said. I’ll do anything you want. No holds barred.”

  “You may change your mind,” he warns. “And then what?”

  I shrug. “Do what you want
with the room. And I won’t change my mind. I swear.”

  “The price?”

  “Four point five.”

  “I’ll have a check delivered tomorrow. When can you have your things out?”

  Jesus! He didn’t blink or even quibble. Uncle Foster said I’d never get that much. “That depends. Do you want the furnishings?”

  “Isn’t there anything you want to keep?”

  “Well, of course. Some of the family antiques I’ll want, but if I’m moving into the carriage house, I won’t have room for all this stuff. This is a six-bedroom house. Besides, the carriage house is already furnished.”

  “I guess we’ll need to meet to discuss what you want.”

  “The price will change if you want a lot of the furniture. My parents didn’t buy cheap stuff.”

  “I can see that,” he says, dryly.

  “Dinner? Friday? I’ll cook and you can look around and decide what furnishings you’d like to purchase.”

  “Sounds like we may have ourselves a deal.” He squints. “How did you know I was single?”

  “What?”

  “How did you know I wasn’t married? Your proposition?”

  “No ring.”

  “Hmm. A lot of married men don’t wear rings,” he says.

  “Yeah, the ones that try to hide it.”

  He pinches his lower lip as his emerald irises bore into my faded gray ones. Then he says, “Friday. Seven.”

  I walk him to the door. He gets in a sleek, black sports car. The engine rumbles so deep, it vibrates my bones. I’m not sure what kind of car it is, but I know it’s expensive because I’ve never seen one like it before.

  What the hell have I just done? I hope I know what I’m doing because he looks way out of my league and dangerous as hell. The first thing I do is call Harper. I need some encouragement here. But I don’t dare tell her about the arrangement.

  Four — Kestrel

  That was interesting. Or not. I want the house. It’s perfection. The girl—not so much. She’s about as fucked up as I am. No, I take that back. She may be worse. That room is a fucking shrine to her dead daughter. Dead flowers were everywhere. Cards and balloons, too. It was borderline psycho. I wonder what Gabby would think. Hell, I know what she’d think. That the good doctor needs to be locked away in an asylum. I’d be doing her a favor by refusing to keep that room.