Detour

by Kurtz, Sylvie

  Wow, was that when “crazy” went into the shrink’s notes? When the patient started missing the voices in her head?

  Are you there, Sofia? Are you okay?

  Right, like there could be something wrong with a ghost. But still, the answering silence was unnerving. What if she was gone for good?

  I snorted silently. As if I’d get that lucky. She wasn’t done; she’d be back.

  As the 737 leveled off, I let the facts of the case tumble around in my mind. I juggled and twisted and turned over the pieces of the puzzle, hoping a clear picture would emerge. No aha moment lit a bulb over my head.

  I’d just have to dig harder.

  I steamed breath against the window. As the mist evaporated, the vast expanse of black outside rumbled to the drone of the engines. Skydiving would help. Everything was clear and sharp when the ground was rushing up at you. Every cell of your body came alive. Worries that had seemed so huge before shrank down to nothing. It was life in its purest essence. Too bad I was afraid to risk strapping on a parachute.

  I sighed, suddenly melancholic. Out of nowhere a sprinkling of lights appeared, shook, then vanished. Like life, I thought. Short, but oh, so precious.

  “I’ve always liked flying,” I mused. “Up here it seems like the possibilities are endless. Like nothing is impossible. Like the world is a blank slate.”

  Wyatt offered a noise of agreement and stuffed the magazine back into the pocket before he mangled it to shreds.

  “If anything was possible,” I said, “what would you do?”

  In the dim light of the plane, his cheeks were dark and shadowed and his jaw cut a sharp silhouette. “I don’t know. I’ve never thought about it.”

  “You’ve never dreamed?”

  He shrugged, reclined the seat and crossed his arms over his broad chest. “I have dreams.”

  “Like what?”

  “The ranch.”

  Before the transplant, I’d lived my life on a knife-edge. I didn’t have a death wish but I’d wanted to experience as much of life as possible. Did Wyatt feel as if he was experiencing life to its fullest? Did he take risks? Was his marriage to Sofia everything he’d dreamed marriage would be?

  I know I had no business asking, but curiosity was an investigator’s gift and curse. “Did your mother ask you to take over the ranch after your father died?”

  His jaw tightened. “She didn’t have to. It’s tradition. The oldest son takes over. The ranch isn’t going to die on my watch.”

  “Did you ever consider that she might have wanted to run it herself?”

  “She’s earned her retirement.”

  So okay, he hadn’t even considered it. I already had a foot in where it didn’t belong, might as well stick the other in, too. “She’s not as helpless as you make her out to be, you know.”

  He grunted a noncommittal noise and closed his eyes.

  Coward. As if that would save him from me. “If the ranch wasn’t there, what would you do?”

  “Why all the questions?”

  “Because for some reason it matters.” His gaze met mine, green swirling in the brown of his irises, and something sparked. “What would you do?”

  “I’d probably go back to writing code.” A small smile quirked his lips. “I’ve been working on that mechanical cow. It’s going to be better than the real thing, especially for youngsters just starting. Safer. And eventually I’ll be able to have it programmed for specific drills.” Passion for the challenge lit his eyes for a moment, then his smile drooped as if allowing himself to want anything would bring him disappointment. “Still needs some tweaking.” He elbow-nudged me. “What about you?”

  I let out my breath slowly. “I’d stop being afraid. I’d live again like I used to. I’d have a real connection with my brother and mother instead of this feeling of obligation.”

  “You? Afraid? Of what?”

  In the dark it was somehow easier to admit that I wasn’t perfect. “Of my heart rejecting me. Of always having this feeling that I’m not alone in my body.”

  “Sofia?”

  I nodded. “I know it sounds crazy. But sometimes I think of her and I get nervous. Something in my body changes, like there’s someone else watching me, and I’m not myself.”

  “That’s enough to scare anyone.”

  “Sometimes I’m afraid she’s going to take over my body and that I’m going to disappear.” A ripple of cold mist filled my chest, made my heart pound.

  Is that you, Sofia? No answer. Maybe it was just the recycled air filling my lungs with germs. No wonder people got sick on airplanes.

  He reached for my hand and squeezed it. “No way. You’re too damn stubborn. She wasn’t half as strong as you are.”

  The solidness of his hand over mine eased the knot in my chest. Sofia didn’t voice any objections, so I let my hand rest in his.

  “Do you miss her?” Stupid question. Of course he missed her; she was his wife.

  “All the time.” He took his hand back, pain etching his face. “You don’t expect someone so young to die. One day she was there. The next she was gone.”

  “It’s supposed to hurt.” I thought of Leo and the way he’d loved me one night and been gone the next. Even with my own heart dead and decayed, there was still a tender bruise left on my psyche.

  I shifted in my seat, trying to find a more comfortable position. Fatigue tugged at my eyelids, but instead of giving in to sleep, I watched Wyatt through lowered lashes.

  I could understand why Sofia fell for him. He was principled and determined to see things to their end even if he didn’t agree with them. He provided a safe refuge from chaos. And if my visit to Sofia’s parents’ home was any indication, her life there hadn’t been a picnic. Wyatt had been her knight, riding off with her into the sunset.

  But I didn’t need a hero. Especially one who liked to boss me around, fix things his way. And he worried way too much. That would drive me crazy.

  Still…

  Admit it, Sierra, you like the way he looks. I sighed.

  I liked the blunt cut of his hands, that his palms were rough with calluses. I liked the steadiness of his hazel gaze when he looked at me. I liked the way the solid feel of his body against mine could make me forget all about Sofia, even if for just a few seconds. And, yeah, I liked the way his kiss had knocked the knees out from under me.

  But business and personal didn’t mix. I’d learned that lesson the hard way. And even Leo would agree that I didn’t make the same mistake twice. So I closed my eyes tight and sought a reprieve in the oblivion of sleep.

  Two hours later, as the plane started its descent, I woke up with my head snugged into Wyatt’s shoulder and an airline blanket draped over me. Good thing Sofia was AWOL or my train of thought would upset her. Avoiding Wyatt’s gaze, I got my stuff together.

  We’d both taken overnight bags so we didn’t have to stop at Baggage Claim.

  “Garage,” I said as Wyatt started toward the exit to catch a cab. “I have my car.”

  Betsy waited where I’d parked her. Wyatt raised a doubtful eyebrow when he saw her patchwork body.

  I unlocked the doors. “She’s a cantankerous old witch, but I can’t seem to give her the boot. Nobody gives her a second look when I do surveillance.”

  Wyatt threw our bags into the back. “She looks like she’s going to fall apart any minute.”

  “That’s part of her charm.” I turned the ignition. All I got was a choked cough. “Unfortunately, she doesn’t always pick the best times for a dose of extra attention. Come on, Betsy, you beautiful girl. I really need you to take me to see someone special tonight.”

  “We’re going straight to your place.”

  I cajoled Betsy into starting and nosed her into the nearly deserted streets of Boston toward the hospital. “I know it’s way past visiting hours, but I can talk my way in to see the pilot.”

  Wyatt shook his head. “You really are something. He’ll be sleeping. We can wait a few more hours to see
him. Besides you need some rest.”

  I stifled a yawn, fighting the weariness that had settled into my bones. “I had a nap on the airplane. I’m good.”

  “You look like you need another week’s worth.”

  “Gee, thanks.”

  But the depth of my exhaustion panicked me a little, because I didn’t want to think about organ rejection, about dying.

  So don’t think about it. Keep moving.

  I hit my flasher to signal for a turn toward the hospital.

  “Don’t even think about driving to the hospital until tomorrow morning,” Wyatt warned. “Or I’ll tie you to your bed and make you beg me to set you free.”

  “You wish.” Grumbling, I reluctantly took I-93 and drove to my apartment in Nashua on the top floor of an old Victorian. Sneaking in to talk to the pilot would be easier during visiting hours.

  As I unlocked the door to my apartment and flicked on the lights, I tried to see my space through Wyatt’s eyes and was a little embarrassed that it seemed to shout of loneliness. Plain vanilla walls. No photographs. No pets. No plants. Nothing all that personal. I could leave in a flash and have no worries about anything requiring feeding or care.

  And I must have left the heat on because the living room was stuffy and warm. Real smart to jack up my heating bill when my checking account was in the red. Or maybe the flushed face was because I was alone with Wyatt in my tiny apartment.

  “You can have the bed.” I pointed toward the small room in the alcove. “The sheets are clean. I’ll take the couch.”

  “I couldn’t take your bed.”

  “It’s not a sacrifice, Wyatt. I haven’t slept in it in months.”

  “Why not?”

  I shed my tote and bag as I headed to the bathroom. He followed me.

  “Why not?” he insisted, arms braced on both sides of the door frame.

  “Didn’t I tell you about Sofia haunting me?” I asked as I squeezed toothpaste onto a toothbrush. I was going for normal, trying to hang on to the illusion that this was just another investigation. Didn’t work. Just the thought of him sprawled in my bed without a stitch of clothing on had me working up a sweat. Where was Sofia’s ice-cold splash of reality when I needed it?

  Maybe her silence was a good sign. Maybe I was coming back into myself. Maybe she’d finally given up on me being able to fix the problem with the HART.

  Wyatt looked at me long and hard. Sweat trickled down my neck.

  “Okay,” he said finally, “I’ll take the bed.” But he made no move toward my room.

  Tension. Awkwardness. The zing of it raw as I finished brushing my teeth and reached for a facecloth. What was I supposed to do about the pull I felt around him? About him? I knew him well, yet not at all. And when he looked at me, how could he not think of Sofia? I didn’t need this. I just wanted to work. Close the case. Get back to my life. I’d have to ask Mrs. Cartier if she’d let me paint the walls. Red maybe. Or emerald green. Something vibrant. Something wild. Adventurous.

  I slung the wet facecloth on the towel rack and started for the door but Wyatt’s body blocked the way. That snake of sweat had wound its way down my spine and pooled at the small of my back. Even my palms were damp.

  For a second, I thought he felt sorry for me and my delusional state. Then the glint of something else flashed in his eyes, and my face flamed.

  “Get some sleep.” His eyes never lost their intensity.

  He didn’t kiss me. But the way he looked at my mouth, the way his breathing sped up, made me think he wanted to. And that stoked me with need.

  But sex required a surrender I wasn’t yet ready for. Especially not with Wyatt. And who knew when Sofia would decide to pop back in.

  A pounding at the door startled me and broke the spell. “Sierra, I know you’re in there.”

  “Van?” I brushed by Wyatt and ripped open the front door. “What are you doing here at this hour?”

  Van bulldozed his way inside, and Wyatt, standing sentinel behind me, puffed up in protector mode.

  “You look like shit,” Van started, then broke off when he spied Wyatt. “Who the hell is this guy and what’s he doing here?”

  “Thanks for the compliment. I can’t look that bad. If you hadn’t barged in, I’d be in the throes of passion right now.”

  Behind me, Wyatt’s whole body jerked in surprise.

  Van eyed Wyatt as if he was going to lunge for his throat. Like I needed two Neanderthals raking me over the coals.

  “I don’t think I want to hear this,” Van said.

  “That’s what you get for barging into my home at this time of the night.” I crossed my arms under my chest. Unbelievable. It was almost 3:00 a.m. and he’d taken the time to put on a suit. “What are you doing here?”

  “I told Mrs. Cartier to let me know the minute you came home.”

  I hoped my landlady hadn’t sold me out for back rent. “What the hell for?”

  “You’ve been gone for almost a week, that’s why.” Van plopped onto the couch, buried his face in his hands, then looked up at me. “I’ve been worried sick about you. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

  It did. And if he was a little more open-minded, I’d tell him about Sofia and the HART, but I couldn’t take the chance that he’d stop me. He’d had Mom committed once when she went through a stretch of depression after Dad died. Yeah, she’d been suicidal, but I know he’d do it to me in a heartbeat if he thought it was for my own good. “Wyatt is a client, Van.”

  Van popped back up. “And you’re sleeping with him?”

  Wyatt held Van’s lawyerly gaze with his own Wild West one. “Not that it’s any of your business, but no.”

  “She’s my sister.”

  “She’s a grown woman who knows her own mind,” Wyatt said. Nice one, I thought. Till he ruined it. “When we make love,” Wyatt insisted, “it’ll be between us. No third party involved.”

  When? Gee, Wyatt was taking a lot for granted. And he was forgetting Sofia.

  Any second now he and Van were going to butt heads. I two-fingered a whistle. “Time out. Nobody’s going to do anything without my okay.”

  Ignoring Wyatt, Van took another tack. “Where have you been?”

  “I told you. I’m working a case.”

  He ran both his hands through his thinning hair. “How come I don’t know anything about it? The least you could have done is keep Noelle up to date.” He grabbed my wrists. “What if something happened to you?”

  “I’m old enough to take care of myself.”

  He dropped one wrist and pressed a palm against my forehead. “Obviously not. You’re running a fever.” He turned to Wyatt, forehead lowered as if he would charge him. “Did she tell you about her heart? Do you know how dangerous a fever is for her?” He snapped back to me without giving Wyatt a chance to answer. “I can’t believe you’re being so cavalier with your health.”

  “Whoa, Van, now you’re going too far. I’m tired but I’ll be fine after some sleep. And just so you know, I chose to come home and rest instead of pursuing a lead, so back off.”

  Fortunately Wyatt didn’t spoil the moment by adding that he’d all but forced me to come home.

  “You can’t take a fever casually,” Van insisted.

  “He’s right, Sierra,” Wyatt said. “Your health comes first.”

  “Stay out of this, Wyatt.” At least I knew all that sweat had a biological reason and not a hormonal one.

  “I want you to go for a checkup,” Van continued.

  “Couldn’t hurt,” Wyatt added.

  I hated that they were both right.

  I threw my hands up. “That’s it. Gang up on me.” No need to tell either of them that would put me exactly where I wanted to be—the hospital—with a built-in reason to visit Captain Lamphere’s room. “I’ll make an appointment with my cardiologist in the morning.” I opened the door and swept an arm. “Now, go home to your wife and kids. They’re the ones who need you to worry about them.”

&nbs
p; “You’ll make sure she keeps her word?” Van asked Wyatt.

  “I’ll haul her there myself.”

  I shook my head. “Between the two of you, I feel like I’ve stepped into a really bad caveman movie.”

  Van dragged me outside, shutting Wyatt out. “Have you checked this guy out?”

  Wyatt inched the door open ready to come to my rescue.

  “Yes, Van, I have. He’s a worrywart just like you.”

  “This isn’t a joking matter.”

  “I know how to do my job, okay? I still have over two weeks on the month you promised me.” I shrugged. “And I like him.” The admission blindsided me for a second.

  Van blinked once, as if seeing me for the first time since he’d knocked at my door. “Well, maybe there’s hope for you yet.”

  I frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  He blew out a breath and shook his head. “Nothing. You’re right. It’s late. I should have waited till morning. Make sure you see your doctor tomorrow.”

  I gave him a quick peck on the cheek. “Go home, Van.”

  He left. Wyatt cornered me. “Level with me. The fever. How serious is it?”

  “Could be the start of an infection. Could be nothing but fatigue.”

  “You’re not going to pull one of your pretexts on me and try to get out of seeing the doctor tomorrow.”

  Not a question, I noticed. “Why would I do that? I like living as much as the next person.”

  Monday, April 24

  The one-hour drive to Boston the next morning turned into two because of an accident on Route 3. Talk about flashbacks. The flecks of broken glass speckling the pavement popped Sofia’s nightmare in full Technicolor, and I almost ran off the road.

  You’d think that would have brought Sofia out again, but no, nothing. Why was I even bothering to worry about someone who didn’t exist?

  My low-grade fever was gone by the time I’d woken up from my short, restless night, but Dr. Durant squeezed me in, anyway, and I now sat in a lovely paper gown on his examining table. He poked and prodded and listened with his instruments but, as usual, not with his ears.