by Laura Scott
She swallowed hard, biting back the pathetic wish he wouldn’t leave her alone.
He must have sensed her hesitation, because he unlocked her door and then paused, holding it ajar as he stared down at her.
Close. He was so close she could breathe in the comforting smell of him, could see each individual eyelash framing his kind eyes. Their gazes clashed, tension shimmering, and she held her breath, thinking he might kiss her.
But instead, he handed her the room key and took a step back. She had to catch the door with her hand before it closed.
“My room is right next door,” he said, his voice low and gruff. “If you need anything, just bang on the connecting door and holler. I’ll hear you.”
She nodded, because that was what he expected her to do. He was being kind, a friend to someone in need. She should be grateful he wasn’t making things difficult for her. “Thanks.”
“Good night, Tara.” He didn’t smile but stood waiting patiently for her to go inside the room.
“Good night, Max.” She took her overnight bag, flipped on the light inside the room and then closed the door behind her. The connecting door was immediately to her right. She moved closer, listening as he unlocked the door and entered his room.
For a moment she put her hand flat against the door jumping back in surprise when she heard a loud click as he opened the door on the other side.
“Tara?” he called.
She cleared her throat. “Yes?”
“I’m right here. All you have to do is open your door if you need anything.”
“Okay.” It was easy to imagine him standing on the other side. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Get some sleep.”
Silence surrounded her, intensifying the stark feeling of being alone.
She turned away. She wasn’t alone, not really. God was always with her. Max was on the other side of the door. She took a few minutes to pull her belongings from her small overnight bag, grateful for the few items she’d packed. After washing her face and brushing her teeth she climbed into bed.
Closing her eyes, she prayed. Dear Lord, thank You for sending Max to help me. Thank You for keeping us safe after the explosion. Please help Melissa and Beau recover quickly from their injuries. And please give me strength and courage to carry out Your will, Amen.
Usually experiencing God’s peace in prayer helped her to fall asleep. But not tonight. Her mind replayed those brief moments with Max standing outside her door. What was wrong with her? Had she really wanted him to kiss her? She shouldn’t. She’d loved her husband.
Surely God had sent Max to keep her safe, not to replace Ted in her life. With her eyes tightly shut, she tried to center her thoughts on Ted. But his familiar features grew increasingly blurry, seeming to slide away like water swirling through her fingers, no matter how much she tried to hold fast.
Then without warning, the hazy features cleared. Her heart raced until she realized the face smiling brightly down at her wasn’t Ted’s.
It belonged to Max.
FIVE
Max awoke with a rush, sitting bolt upright in bed, his heart ricocheting off his ribs as he fought the crippling remnants of another flashback.
He sat for a moment, willing his heart rate to return to normal. The first flashback was to be expected. The sound of the explosion had catapulted him right back to Iraq. But dreams turning into flashbacks were a little unusual, at least for him.
Maybe the stress had brought it on. He’d spent a good hour sitting in a chair right next to the connecting door to Tara’s room, unable to relax. Glancing at his watch, he realized he’d only slept for about three hours.
Not enough rest, but there was nothing to do now but to get up. He wondered how Tara was doing before abruptly realizing he should be more concerned with Lissa’s progress.
A quick shower helped push the flashback deep into a crevasse of his mind, clearing away some of the fatigue. He bypassed the army gear in favor of a comfortable pair of blue jeans and a wrinkled shirt he’d found in the bottom of his duffel. As soon as he’d finished getting dressed, he used his cell phone to call the hospital.
The nurse reassured him that Lissa’s condition was unchanged but stable. He thanked her and hung up. Then he called the police officer whose name the nurse had given him. A guy named James Newton answered the phone.
Max explained he was Melissa’s brother, but the cop sounded impatient, like he was in a hurry. Basically, he asked for information on Gary, which Max didn’t have. When Max hung up a few minutes later, he wasn’t convinced the police were giving Lissa’s case top priority. Newton had pretty much admitted he was planning to wait for Lissa to wake up before he went any further.
Max would have to take on the burden of finding Gary himself.
Hungry again, he considered running down to the small dining room for breakfast but thought he should wait for Tara, considering she didn’t have money to spare.
A guy didn’t make a lot of money in the army, but he didn’t need to spend much, either. Just about everything was taken care of for him or available at steeply discounted prices.
He didn’t mind giving Tara a helping hand.
It was too early to call her, barely nine in morning, so he tried to be patient. He stood at the window, gazing at the city street outside the hotel, amazed at how busy it was even on a Saturday morning.
The ringing of his cell phone shattered the silence, startling him. The number wasn’t familiar, so he answered hesitantly. “Hello?”
“Lieutenant Forrester? This is Detective Graham, with the St. Louis P.D. I took over the Carmichael case from Anderson and Schimberg. I need to talk to Ms. Carmichael about her car and her house.”
Max spun away from the window and walked toward the desk. “If you give me your direct number, I’ll have her call you.”
Detective Graham gave him his number. “Please have her call me as soon as possible.”
His fingers tightened on the receiver. “Did you find something?”
There was a pause on the other end of the line. “I understand from the officers who arrived on the scene that you’ve taken the role of protecting Ms. Carmichael, but even so, I’d rather talk to her about this directly.”
He wanted to argue. The fact that he’d just arrived on a plane from Germany yesterday evening had ruled him out as a suspect. But Tara was an adult, and he understood the police were only following procedure. “I’ll have her call you back.”
He could knock on the door, but that seemed a little too personal. Using the hotel line, he dialed Tara’s room, listening to the ringing on the other side of their connecting door. The phone rang several times, before going to a hotel message service. He hung up, trying not to panic.
It was still early. She could be sound asleep or in the shower. He paced the length of the cramped hotel room, waiting a full five minutes before walking over to the connecting door. His side was open—hers wasn’t.
He rapped on it. “Tara? Are you awake?”
No response.
Pressing his ear to the door, he strained to listen. There was nothing but silence. He rapped again, harder. “Tara? It’s Max. Open up.”
Still nothing.
He grabbed the slip of paper with Detective Graham’s number and his room key. He headed down to the lobby. The kid from the middle of the night was gone, and in his place was a thin, middle-aged woman with a bad bleach-blond dye job. “May I help you?”
“I need a new key for room 211.”
“Your name?”
“Max Forrester.” He pulled out his wallet and showed her his ID.
She entered his name into the computer. “Yes, I see you have two rooms under your name. Do you need keys for both rooms?”
“No, just 211.” A stab of guilt sliced deep. He didn’t have any right to invade Tara’s privacy like this. If she was sound asleep in her bed, then he was going to feel like a jerk for disturbing her.
But if she wasn’t…
<
br /> Steeling his resolve, he took the newly programmed key card and rushed back upstairs to the second floor. Outside her door, he hesitated only for a moment before swiftly unlocking the door.
Holding his breath, he pushed the door open as quietly as possible, so as not to wake her.
The bed was empty. Through the open bathroom door he saw that it too was empty.
Panic surged, choking him. Where could she have gone? There were at least four hotels all within walking distance of the hospital. How could her stalker have known where they were staying? Had the guy somehow managed to follow them after all?
His gaze swept the room, absorbing every detail. Her overnight bag was still there, but he didn’t see her cell phone or her purse—the small, black one she’d checked at the bus stop when she’d looked for money.
Get a grip, he told himself. If her stalker had found her, she probably wouldn’t have had time to take her purse. The room was neat and tidy, no evidence of a struggle. He would have heard an intruder through the connecting door. Tara was a fighter; she wouldn’t have gone easily.
Taking one deep breath after another, he calmed his racing thoughts. Tara didn’t have a car. She couldn’t have gone far. He couldn’t call her, because he hadn’t taken the time to program her number into his phone.
He left her room, shutting the door behind him. He followed the bacon smell to the dining room, but Tara wasn’t among the small smattering of guests enjoying their breakfast.
Where else could she be? The hospital? He left the hotel, jogged across the street and crossed the hospital campus. The hotel he’d chosen was way on the back side of the hospital, as far from the front entrance as possible.
This time the doors were open. He didn’t stop at the information desk but headed directly up to the ICU.
He had to call in from the hallway phone and give his name to the woman inside seated at the desk.
“Come on in,” the ward clerk responded, unlocking the doors.
He walked to room eight, looking first at Lissa, who appeared to be resting comfortably as the nurse promised, before noticing Tara, who was seated in a chair beside Melissa’s bed. Her head was bowed over her clasped hands. She was praying.
Tara was safe.
Now that he’d found her, he stood uncertainly, not wanting to disturb her. Her praying made him uncomfortable, even though it reminded him of his life before the army, when he’d once had faith in God. Before his best friend, Keith, had died. Before he’d lost his faith. Her peaceful presence drew him forward, until he remembered how God had seemingly abandoned his soldiers, especially Keith. The memory of his best friend, dying too young, held him back.
Tara was a believer. He wasn’t. Not anymore.
She was also a young, grieving widow. An enticing mix of fragility and strength, stubbornness and beauty. It would be too easy to lower his defenses, allowing himself to be drawn to her.
He took one step back and then another until he was in the hallway, out of sight. The best thing he could do for Tara was to leave her alone.
She’d found peace. A peace he envied.
A peace far beyond his reach.
Tara bowed her head and prayed for strength. Prayed for wisdom in following the correct path her Lord had chosen. For courage to do what He asked of her. She also prayed for Melissa’s swift recovery. She stayed at Melissa’s bedside for over an hour and finally found the serenity of God’s presence.
She lifted her head and gazed at Melissa. Looking past the cuts and bruises, the endotracheal tube sticking out of her mouth connected to the ventilator and the heart monitor beeping above her head, she might have been sleeping. Resting. Hopefully gathering her strength to heal in spite of the seriousness of her injuries.
She wasn’t afraid of Gary finding Melissa anymore, considering the nurses planned to put Melissa under an alias once Max arrived.
They needed to find Gary. And the stalker.
They? Wait a minute. Why had her mind already linked her and Max together as a team? Max needed to find Gary. She needed to find her stalker. Max had already helped her enough.
No wonder she couldn’t clearly visualize Ted’s face anymore. She was spending too much time with Max.
A wave of guilt hit hard. Was it wrong of her to enjoy her time with Max? He was only a friend, but she still felt as if she were somehow being unfaithful to her memories of Ted.
She’d never love anyone the way she loved Ted. So there was nothing for her to feel guilty about. Now, if only she could make herself believe it.
The police wanted a list of potential clients who might carry a grudge against her, so she’d give it to them. Keeping busy would only help. She quickly stood. Assaulted by dizziness, she swayed, grabbing onto Melissa’s bed rail for support and blinking back the darkness. Lack of food. Lack of sleep. She might be able to fix the former if she could get access to an ATM.
Sleep was impossible.
She waited for the light-headedness to pass. She needed to get back to the hotel before Max discovered she was missing. Glancing down at Melissa, she took her client’s hand in hers and leaned close.
“Fight to get better, Melissa. Max needs you. He’s only here for a couple of weeks. Please get better so you can talk to him before his leave is up.” The thought of Max heading back to Iraq, without knowing his sister’s fate, made her heart ache for him. “God is with you. If you trust in Him, he’ll keep you safe. I’ll be back to see you soon. Take care, Melissa.” She gently squeezed Melissa’s hand before letting go.
With coma patients, hearing was often the last sense to go and the first to recover. And God created miracles every day. She hoped at least the essence of her words had gotten through. She wondered if Melissa would respond better to Max’s deep voice.
She left Melissa’s room and walked down the hall, surprised to find Max near the nurse’s station talking to one of the doctors. She quickened her step so that she could hear what the doctor was saying.
Max acknowledged her arrival with a curt nod. She sensed he wasn’t happy with her.
“We need to do another CT scan of her head,” the doctor was saying, “to make sure the bleeding and subsequent swelling of her brain hasn’t gotten worse. If it hasn’t, then we believe she should recover without too much residual damage.”
And if it had gotten worse? She didn’t voice the question, because the implication was clear. If there was more bleeding or swelling, her chances of recovering were slim.
“So there is a chance she’ll wake up?” Max asked.
The doctor nodded. “Certainly. There’s a good chance she’ll wake up. Head injuries can be tricky though. We need to watch the brain very carefully. Right now we’re keeping her sedated, so that the swelling has a chance to go down, giving her a chance to recover.”
“Thank you,” Max said, offering his hand.
The doctor shook it. “You’re welcome. We’ll be in touch if her condition changes.”
Max turned to her as the doctor walked away. “You took several years off my life disappearing like that without a word,” he said in a low, accusatory tone. “I looked everywhere for you.”
“I’m sorry,” she said, truly feeling bad. Deep grooves of exhaustion creased his face, and his mouth was drawn in a tight line. “I couldn’t sleep. I thought I’d be back before you even knew I was gone. Maybe I should have woken you up, but that didn’t seem fair. There was no reason for both of us to be awake.”
“Fair?” Max let out a loud snort. “Worrying me to death wasn’t fair, either. I would have rather gone without sleep. But when I was trying to find you, I realized I didn’t have your cell-phone number.” Max pulled his phone from his pocket. “We’re going to fix that right now.”
“I’m sorry,” one of the nurses interrupted with a polite smile, “but you can’t use your cell phone in here.”
She didn’t think his expression could get any more grim, but it did. “Fine,” he muttered between clenched teeth. “Come on, let’s
get some breakfast.”
“I need to go down to the lobby first to get money from the ATM,” she said, following him out of the ICU.
He glanced down at her as they headed for the elevators. “We’ll have time for that later. Do you mind if we eat first?”
She supposed she owed him one for sneaking out on him. She didn’t want to admit she’d left the hotel because she’d been thinking too much about Max. “I don’t mind.”
“Thanks.”
The elevator ride down to the cafeteria was silent. He gestured for her to precede him in the cafeteria line.
She wasn’t very hungry but the fluffy Belgian waffles drew her gaze, looking the most appetizing of the selections so she took a small helping topped with fresh strawberries. Max went for the more traditional hearty fare of bacon and eggs. As he paid for their meals, she mentally tallied up what she owed him, vowing to make good on her debts.
After spending the past eighteen months pulling herself out from beneath a mountain of bills, she wasn’t about to head down that slippery slope again.
She silently thanked God for the food He’d provided before picking up her fork. When she was finished, she noticed Max staring at her curiously, but he didn’t say anything. He shoved a forkful of eggs in his mouth.
He didn’t swear or make inappropriate comments, but that only meant he’d been raised by someone who’d drilled good manners into his head, not that he’d been brought up Christian.
The idea that he might not believe in God distressed her.
Max ate with a single-minded determination, as if he were afraid someone might yank the food out from under his nose. She ate slowly, savoring every bite.
He didn’t talk, not until he’d finished his food. And then, he was all business. “What is your cell-phone number?”
She gave him the number and watched as he entered it into his phone. He reached out his hand. “Now yours.”
Growing a little annoyed with his attitude, she simply picked up her phone and raised a brow. “I can do it.”