“Because I never tell anyone.”
On his belt loop the cell phone he was required to carry rang, jarring both of them.
“Whoops, I forgot to tell you that you’re supposed to turn that off up here,” she said. “FCC rules.”
He glanced at the phone. “It’s not a call, it’s one of those new SMS messages the hospital put us on instead of pagers.”
“Are you on call today?”
“No, but there’s one patient who started a new treatment yesterday and I asked the shift nurse to shoot me a message on his status.”
She nodded toward the phone when it rang again. “Then you’d better check it.”
“Hold your thought.” Pulling out the new hospital-issued flip-phone, he snapped up the cover.
Must talk. Very important!
He peered at the message, then the number, recognizing it instantly. Of course Adele would have access to every resident’s number. And use it to stalk him. She wasn’t going to let go of him that easily, was she? She’d been hounding him for four weeks, even though he’d broken up with her as civilly as he could and had stopped taking her calls.
He shook his head. “Not important.” He focused on Zoe and this conversation, since everything the woman he loved said was far more important than messages from the one he did not. “Why were you in foster care if you have your Aunt Pasha?”
“She’s not my aunt.”
“Great-aunt,” he corrected.
“Not that either. She was my next-door neighbor.”
Now he really scowled. “And she adopted you?”
“She…took me.” She gnawed at her lip and forced herself to meet his gaze, even though, he could tell, that wasn’t easy. “She saved me. I was in trouble when I was ten years old, I was in…” She searched for a word, then shook her head in frustration. “Trouble. And I had to get away from the trouble. So Pasha, the next-door neighbor, took me and—”
“Wait.” He didn’t understand. “The neighbor took you? How?”
“She ran away with me. I needed help and she…” Zoe reached for his arm. “Pasha saved my life, Oliver. She kept me and changed our names and we moved constantly from town to town, and she got fake IDs made so we could manage and we stayed off the grid and under the radar.” The words spilled out, each one a little harder to believe than the one before. “If you want to get technical about it, she kidnapped me.”
The basket buffeted by a gust of wind, the balloon suddenly dropping at least five feet while Oliver’s stomach felt like it plummeted another two hundred.
Zoe whipped around to adjust the valve.
“She kidnapped you?” How was that even possible? “And no one ever caught her?”
“Not yet.”
The phone, still in his hand, rang again. While Zoe worked the valves and the balloon bounced, Oliver read the next message.
I’m serious, Oliver! This is an EMERGENCY!
He stared at the words but didn’t really see them, his whole being waiting for Zoe to finish, his brain trying—and failing—to squeeze this new information into what he knew about her. She’d been kidnapped?
“That’s why we move so much,” she said, finally turning back to him, her cheeks pink from the wind. Or maybe that was shame. Which was crazy because she hadn’t done anything wrong.
Except go along with the insanity, bouncing through life with her crazy aunt-neighbor with as little stability as this balloon.
“Zoe, you have to fix this problem. It’s been, what? Fourteen years?”
“There’s no statute of limitations on kidnapping,” she said, her tone full of the authority of someone who’d done her research. “She could still go to jail.”
“What about you?”
“Me? I didn’t do anything, but I have to protect her.”
“What you have to do is—is fix this.” How could she not see that?
“Oliver, didn’t you hear me? She could go to jail. There’s nothing to fix.”
Of course there was. “How about your life and your future?” Didn’t she see that? He reached for her to make his point, the steps already clear to him even if the problem wasn’t. “Zoe, you get a good lawyer and you work out a deal, maybe pay a fine or—”
“No!”
Her vehemence shocked him. “What are you going to do, hide your whole life?”
For a long, silent moment, she stood uncharacteristically still. As each second ticked by, her eyes filled. “I don’t know, but I’m not going to do anything that’s a risk to her. I’m not going to do anything official.”
The phone rang again. “Damn it,” he muttered. “Let me turn this off.” He opened the cover to find the button, but the words on the screen assaulted him.
OLIVER I AM PREGNANT!
He snapped the phone closed with a crack, making Zoe startle.
“You’re angry,” she said.
“Not with you.”
Adele was pregnant? Seriously? He couldn’t even think straight enough to do the math, but he didn’t have to. They’d broken up four weeks ago. Adele could easily be pregnant.
Or she could be lying, just as easily.
Zoe backed away, her eyes already filled with tears. “I knew I shouldn’t have told you. I’ve never told anyone, and this is why.”
“No, no, Zoe. That’s not—” His logical brain felt like it was short-circuiting. “First things first,” he said, as much to himself as to her. “We get a lawyer and get her cleared.”
Her jaw opened. “It isn’t that easy, Oliver.”
“You can’t live your life like this, Zoe. You have to go to the authorities and—”
“Are you nuts?”
“Are you?” he fired back.
For a second she froze, staring at him. Then she turned back to the valves. “I’ll take us down.”
“Good,” he said, taking out the phone to make sure he’d read Adele’s message right. What would he do if she really was pregnant? He wouldn’t abandon her, but he sure as hell wouldn’t mar—
“Shit,” she muttered, twisting a knob with a grunt.
“What? A problem?”
She whipped around to him, the balloon falling a little too fast. “Yes, Oliver. There is a problem.”
“We’re going to crash?”
“We just did,” she said.
“Zoe, come on. Be smart about this. If Pasha—”
“No,” she said sharply. “You be smart about it. Do you have any idea what it took to tell you that? Any idea at all how I guard that secret? I’ve never told my closest friends, my college roommates. I’ve never told anyone but you.”
“I appreciate that, but—”
“No buts!” Tears splashed now, each one a little kick in his gut.
“Zoe, what did you think I’d say?”
“I thought you’d understand. I thought you’d step forward and tell me you love me anyway, despite my past. I really thought you’d be the one person I could trust.”
“Did you think I’d say ‘Oh, that’s cool, no big deal—we’ll live on the run the rest of our lives and that’s fine?” He hated himself for taking his anger at Adele out on Zoe, but how could he walk away from a baby? He wouldn’t, of course, he’d—
“I don’t know what I was thinking. It was crazy to think I could ever…stay.”
He reached for her, but she snapped out of his touch.
“Zoe, you can stay. You can do whatever you want. You have to clear up this problem.” And so did he.
“Sure.” She nodded, swiping her eyes. “I’m sorry.”
“For what your aunt did when you were a kid? How can you be sorry about that?”
“I’m not sorry about that. She saved me, Oliver. I wasn’t going to survive that situation and she knew it. She swooped in and risked everything for me. She gave up her life for me.”
He didn’t understand how making Zoe disappear and live the life of a tumbleweed made everything all right, but this wasn’t the time to argue about that. His own
life was falling apart faster than this balloon was heading for the ground. “Then what are you sorry for?”
Zoe manipulated the balloon, her hair flipping over her face. “For telling you. For being honest. For falling in—bed with you.”
“You were going to say love, weren’t you?” The phone rang again and he didn’t even bother to look at this message. “Weren’t you, Zoe?”
She flicked her hair off her face, doing something with the valves that made the basket drop and swing a little.
“Whoops!” She laughed playfully, that wind-chime giggle that he loved so much. Except there was something missing in the musical sound this time.
And just like that, her walls went up. He’d spent four weeks taking them down brick by brick, but now she was back to fun-loving, joke-making, carefree Zoe who kept everyone at a distance. Fuck. Could he be handling this any worse?
“We better get you home so you can take care of whoever is so desperate to reach you, Doctor.”
This was the wrong time, the wrong place. He’d fix this later. First he’d handle Adele, then he’d handle Zoe. “In a few weeks I’ll have this all fixed.”
She shot him a look. “ ’Cause that’s what you do, right?”
Right. “I better get…to the hospital.” Or to Adele’s house. “And then we’ll talk, Zoe.”
“Not much to talk about now.”
Like hell there wasn’t. “Zoe, you have to attack the problem logically. You have to do the right thing, even though…” He glanced at the phone in his hand, his chest suddenly hollow and cold. “The right thing isn’t easy.”
She nodded, saying nothing as she worked to get them down. “I’ll call the ground crew when we land and they’ll pick us up,” she said, all the joy and life that had taken them into the skies gone from her flat voice.
He pushed away the guilt. One problem at a time.
“We'll talk later?” he asked again.
“Oh, of course. We’ll talk. I’ll chat with my aunt and tell her what you think we should do. Then we can talk all you want.”
Her voice had a strange note, almost like she was teasing. But he couldn’t dig deeper into that now. Not with his phone exploding with bad news. “You promise?” he asked again.
But she didn’t answer; she was too busy with the balloon instruments.
“Hold on, now,” she finally said. “We’re about to touch down. Prepare to crash.” She winked at him. “Kidding.” They hit with a solid thud, enough to knock him off balance and both of them into each other, and he held her as tightly as he could.
“Do you promise we’ll talk later?” he pressed.
She made an X over her heart. “I promise.”
Less than twelve hours later he stood in an abandoned house on the south side of Chicago, every sign that Zoe and Pasha Tamarin had ever rented it wiped away. Her promise had been broken, along with his heart. And he had no idea how to fix that.
Chapter One
Nine Years Later
Run, Zoe, run.
Stuff it, Zoe fired back at the voice in her head. Running wasn’t an option this time.
It would be so much easier.
And, God, she loved her some easy. And there was nothing as easy as a mad dash when things got sketchy.
Well, things were about to zoom past sketchy and fly right into stupid. Or smart. Depending on how he reacted.
Zoe slid a glance across the wide boulevard that cut a swath through the exclusive business district of Naples, her gaze landing on a two-story Spanish hacienda–style building she’d spotted about six months ago on her last visit to Florida. Between her and that destination, heat shimmered off the road like burning coals.
I’d walk across fire for you.
The memory stabbed, and her finger lingered on the keys in the ignition. Just turn it and run.
The idea pounded as hard as the summer sun on this beachside city, slamming down on her rented 4x4, melting her into the scorching leather seat.
No! She. Would. Not. Run. Not this time.
Zoe had been raised on the altar of “signs from the universe,” and last night the universe had smacked her over the head with a billboard.
While all her closest friends had celebrated the birth of a baby who’d arrived with stunning drama during the Casa Blanca Resort & Spa grand-opening party, Zoe had played a part in a different drama.
Unlike everyone else in the room, Zoe knew the doctor who’d been pressed into emergency service to deliver Lacey and Clay Walker’s baby. He wasn’t just another guest at the event to her.
Calm and commanding, Oliver Bradbury had stepped into the role of lifesaver and baby-deliverer, unaffected by the chaos around him—until he saw Zoe, who had probably looked like a slack-jawed lunatic at that moment. But hadn’t his dark eyes flashed? Hadn’t he nearly stumbled over an order for everyone to leave the room?
Or maybe she’d imagined that. Either way, she’d followed that order and bolted down the hall, reeling. By the time the paramedics had whisked mother, son, and proud papa off to the hospital, the doctor had been on his way out. From the stretcher, holding her little bundle, Lacey had pronounced the man “an angel” and demanded to know his name.
Zoe stayed utterly silent, of course, admitting to no one that she knew far more than his name. Once, she’d known his heart.
She hadn’t slept at all last night. She couldn’t stop thinking about him and what he could do for her. It really was a sign from the universe, as her great-aunt, Pasha, would say.
All Zoe had to do was swallow her pride and beg. Maybe she had to make an offer he couldn’t resist.
Except that among the few things Zoe knew about Dr. Oliver Bradbury was that he’d been married for nine years. Which meant he must have basically left her on their last date and gone straight back to his ex-girlfriend. Who could blame him, after finding out about Zoe and Pasha? Which woman held more appeal: the daughter of the hospital CEO who came with blue blood and big promises of a rich future or the girl who’d been kidnapped, lived underground, and never stuck around in any place long enough to risk attachment?
But you left him, Zoe, before you ever found out which woman held more appeal. You ran. Just like always.
Because he would have turned Pasha in!
The little war of the voices in her head reminded her why she was here and why, as much as she hated it, Oliver Bradbury was the one and only man who could help her right now.
She yanked the keys out of the ignition and jumped out of the big Jeep Rubicon. Heat singed through her wafer-thin sandals as her feet hit the pavement. Squaring her shoulders, she pinned her gaze on the charcoal glass doors and jaywalked to find out her destiny.
Would he or would he not?
He had to. He was the guy who always did the right thing. The logical thing. He couldn’t have changed that much in nine years.
At the door, she took a shallow breath and ran her fingers over the elegant gold lettering that announced exactly what went on in this unassuming building tucked between an art gallery and a frozen-yogurt shop in the ritzy medical district of one of the world’s wealthiest cities.
Dr. Oliver Bradbury.
Oncology.
Now that right there was one ugly word, one that should—
Both doors popped open, shoved from the inside, forcing Zoe to jump back or get smacked with glass. A woman strode out, stopping to blink into the sun and throw open a giant bag covered with a designer’s initials. She whipped out a pair of sunglasses with the very same initials on the side.
But before she got them on, Zoe saw her face. It was one she’d seen the night before, milling about with the guests of the grand opening: Oliver’s wife.
A phone followed the sunglasses, thrust under silky black hair that brushed her shoulders. “Thank Christ,” she said, an amazing amount of sultry in the sarcasm. “I’m finally free and, honey, do I need a martini and massage.”
Zoe snorted. “Who doesn’t?”
The woman t
urned to Zoe, her eyes hidden by the sunglasses but her glare powerful nonetheless. Stark bones gave her angular face a hollow look, the aura of wealth and condescension clinging like a spritz of Chanel No. 5.
Zoe knew that face even before she’d spotted her walking out of Casa Blanca’s lobby doors with Oliver after the baby was born. And even before that, she’d seen Adele Townshend Bradbury, thanks to a search engine powered by a few glasses of wine served at a self-pity party. Zoe took a little consolation in the fact that Oliver’s wife didn’t look quite as perfect without benefit of Photoshop. But damn close.
Zoe gave her a tight smile, knowing that Adele hadn’t noticed Zoe the night before and surely had no idea who she was. “Excuse me,” Zoe said, reaching for the door.
“Of course, dear.” Adele stepped aside, switching the phone to the other ear. “No,” she said into the phone as Zoe went inside. “That was no one. I’m listening.”
No one. The door closed, blessedly shutting out the sun and the sound of the woman who’d married the only man Zoe had ever…No, that wasn’t love. But then how would Zoe know? She certainly had no guidelines for what love was or wasn’t. But they’d had something, and she was about to leverage whatever it was to get what she had to have.
Inside, cool air settled over Zoe as she took in the creamy white walls and icy marble floor. This was like no doctor’s-office reception room she’d ever been in. No mess of magazines on a cheap coffee table for Dr. Bradbury. No impersonal glass panel that slid open and closed like a confessional, either. No worn leather chairs, cheesy art, or canned video presentation.
Nothing but old money and elegant sophistication.
So, Mrs. Bradbury must have decorated the offices.
“Can I help you?” The question came from a striking redhead with a tiny headset in her ear who was seated at a glass table that held nothing but a sleek tablet computer and a space-age-looking phone. Her smile matched the surroundings, cold and impersonal, exactly like her Arctic-blue eyes.
“I’m here…” Zoe’s voice cracked. Great. Now she sounded like a teenage boy. She cleared her throat. “I’d like to see Dr. Bradbury.”
Barefoot in the Sun (Barefoot Bay) Page 2