by Camy Tang
It wasn’t actually that bad. He’d discovered the open door before the temperature had dropped too much, and now Rachel’s plants were all in greenhouse seven. He was also planning on paying for an evening guard to walk the greenhouses—at least until the person responsible for this was caught.
Detective Carter glanced up from where he surveyed some toppled tables. “It would have been better for me if you’d left the scene as is, Edward.”
“Sorry, Detective, but Malaysian basil is extremely sensitive to temperature and humidity. The plants could have died within the hour.”
Detective Carter shrugged and went back to taking notes.
“Thanks for convincing Rachel not to come out here tonight, Horatio,” Edward said.
The detective shook his head, his thinning red-gold hair glinting dully in the fluorescent light. “She didn’t need to see this. She’s had a bad night already. How many plants survived?”
“Almost all of them, actually.”
Horatio grunted.
“My brother, Alex, and I counted as we transferred the plants. We’re only missing about twelve of them, and I’m sure there are a couple lost in the piles of dirt. Some will die later, but we’ll try to prevent that.”
“I’m about done here.” The detective flipped his notebook closed. “You mentioned Alex took pictures of the greenhouse before you two moved the plants?”
Edward nodded. “He’s in greenhouse seven right now.”
“Good. I wanted to talk to him anyway.”
It always amazed Edward how Alex had become such good friends with Detective Carter, who had been the man who had arrested his brother all those years ago for robbing a convenience store.
“I hope not too many plants die because of tonight.” Horatio paused as he pulled open the door. “Rachel has been working pretty hard on this new product.” He left the greenhouse, heading toward the south side of the property.
Edward’s jaw tensed. “Yes,” he said softly to himself. He knew exactly how hard she’d been working. At least, how hard she’d started working three months ago. She was probably driving herself into the ground by now.
And why should he care?
He was fooling himself if he thought he didn’t care. Seeing her on her knees, her eye swollen and red, had shot him through the heart.
For the past year he had been growing the special Malaysian basil plants she used to create the scar-reduction cream that she planned to launch in a few months. During that year they had grown closer, but a couple of months ago she had discovered how truly revolutionary her product was. She had then thrown herself into her research with single-minded purpose and insanely long hours.
She had spent less time with him, and he had tried not to let it bother him at first—after all, Rachel’s cream, thanks to the Malaysian basil as the secret ingredient, was truly a breakthrough product in reducing scarring, and they were only working together, not dating. But up until that point they had been getting closer, and he had wanted to see if she would take their relationship beyond a professional one. He had asked her to dinner at his mother’s house, to meet his family.
She had been pleased and excited, which got his hopes up. But the night of the dinner, thirty minutes late, she had called to say she had found a new formulation and wanted to test it. That she was sorry to have to cancel last minute. Maybe next time?
Mama had been disappointed. For Edward, Rachel’s phone call had caused a twist of pain in his gut because it had reminded him of Papa’s excuses, the way Papa would cancel last minute, the way Papa would put work before his relationships and all the bitterness and pain coloring Edward’s memories of his father.
To protect his heart, he had made a decision to back away from their friendship before it became more than that. He’d thought a couple of months of polite phone conversations and professional meetings here at the greenhouse meant he had distanced himself emotionally.
He’d been deluding himself.
He threw himself into the cleanup work, trying to sweep away the vision of her bruised face. After clearing a path through the dirt and pottery shards on the floor, he righted the tables that had been knocked over, making a mental note to fix the broken leg on one of them.
Snap!
His heart stopped in his chest. The sound had been too loud—like a heavy foot stepping on a branch.
Horatio had left several minutes ago to talk to Alex in greenhouse seven, which was in the opposite direction of where the sound had come from, so it couldn’t be either of them. Which meant…
An intruder was outside in the darkness.
He exited the greenhouse as casually as he could, listening for sounds of running footsteps just in case the intruder had seen him leave through the glass of the greenhouse windows and was now escaping. No sounds except a soft rustle of tree leaves in a stray night breeze.
It took too long for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. He moved away from the greenhouse door by feel and smell more than sight, his shoes padding against wet leaves and grass.
The crickets from the pond were loud. He hunkered down near a tree, still and tense.
Suddenly he saw a shadow move.
He circled around, avoiding patches of dry leaves that could give him away, keeping the shadow in sight.
Then the man stopped moving.
Had the figure heard him? Edward froze, trying to pick the intruder out from the darkness. It was almost impossible—he had to wait until the figure moved again.
Nothing stirred in the darkness for what seemed like hours. His hands started to numb from the cold night air, so he eased them into his pockets to warm them, never taking his eyes from where he’d last seen the intruder. This was private property, and he resented this invasion.
Edward saw a slight movement. The man was short and stocky, or maybe he was hunched down. He almost didn’t seem to be trying to stay out of sight. He had stopped under an orange tree, and the overhanging branches partially hid him from sight and protected him—Edward couldn’t grab him while the arms of the tree circled him.
Then the man moved.
The stranger eased closer to the greenhouse and seemed to be trying to peer inside. He had to be up to no good. He moved slowly, as stealthy as a coyote.
When the intruder had fully cleared the branches of the orange tree, Edward leaped at him.
They went down in a whirlwind of dead leaves and the stranger’s thick jacket. The man was smaller than he had anticipated, but wiry and quick. Edward got a glancing blow to the jaw from a flailing fist that made him jerk back slightly.
The stranger took advantage of the pause to scramble away, or maybe to grab a branch as a weapon. Edward didn’t want to find out—he dived for the figure, using all his weight to pin the man to the ground, reaching to capture scrabbling arms and twist them behind the man’s back.
“Eep!”
He stilled. Male trespassers didn’t eep.
He loosened his hold, and the person flipped over.
“Rachel!”
She stilled the moment their eyes met. The light from the greenhouse windows gave her face a pearl-like glow, and he caught a whiff of her perfume—lavender and citrus. She was beautiful, ethereal. The first time she’d come to his greenhouses to hire him, over a year ago, the sight of her had sucked the air out of his lungs. Like now.
No, this was dangerous territory. Edward stood and gave her a hand up.
She busied herself dusting the leaves from her jeans, but at the same time, she seemed to be trying to shrink inside her bulky winter jacket.
“What are you doing, Rachel? Detective Carter said you didn’t need to be here.”
“Yes, I did.” Her eyes, wide, determined, but fighting tears at the same time, met his. “I did. I couldn’t stay home and just…” She bit back a sob.
He could understand her need to see for herself the damage done to the plants and how that sight would somehow make her feel more in control of the whole situation. She had been w
orking long hours to develop her scar-reduction cream, and this kind of setback would have thrown her for a loop.
He wanted to hold her, comfort her, tell her it would be all right.
No, he had to keep his distance from her. He and his family had already lived through the broken promises and hurt from a workaholic father. He had vowed he would never neglect his own children for his work, he would never make them feel like a secondary priority in his life, he would never make them feel as if their graduations and work successes were not important enough to attend, as Papa had done to Edward. Therefore, he wouldn’t even consider getting involved with a woman who would cause the same sort of pain in her children.
So he’d withdrawn from Rachel. He had to remember why he’d done that.
She shivered, despite her jacket.
“Come inside the greenhouse.” He led her into the warm, moist air. The sight was going to upset her, so he watched her closely.
She surprised him. She went completely still as she surveyed the mess. Her bottom lip trembled once. Her hands pressed to her stomach as if to keep herself from falling apart.
Her silence filled the greenhouse, so he spoke tentatively, reiterating what he’d told Detective Carter. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
No answer. Her unfocused gaze told him that he’d lost her to her own thoughts.
“Rachel?”
She started, then darted a sideways glance at him. She took a deep breath and adopted a more businesslike demeanor. “What do you want me to do?”
“You’ve had a tough night. Are you sure you want to help clean up? Why not come back tomorrow—”
“No, if I go home, I’ll just lie awake worrying about it all.” She gave him a small smile. “I’m fine, really. The black eye looks worse than it feels.”
Actually, it hadn’t colored much yet. It only looked like a trick of the shadows. “Did Monica look at it?”
“She sighed in exasperation and said something like, ‘If you insist on gallivanting around Sonoma County with a black eye, don’t come crying to me if you faint or get blurry vision. Go to some other nurse, because you won’t get sympathy from me.’”
Edward laughed. “Which means, in Monica-speak, that you’re okay but she doesn’t want to say so.” He handed Rachel a broom. “I’ll clean up the broken shards. You sweep the dirt into the bin. And look for any plants I might have missed.”
They worked in silence for a moment. Then Rachel asked, “Did Detective Carter already leave?”
“No, he’s in greenhouse seven. He needed to talk to Alex.”
Rachel hesitated a moment before asking, “Is your brother in trouble?”
Edward blinked at her. “No, why?”
“Why would Detective Carter need to talk to him?”
“Oh. Horatio and Alex are friends. Horatio is the officer who arrested Alex for the robbery.”
“The robbery? The one that sent Alex to prison? That makes no sense.”
Edward laughed. “After Alex received Christ in prison, he went straight to Horatio once he got out on parole and thanked him for arresting him. And apologized for giving him so much grief for so many years.” He’d have given anything to have witnessed his tall, 220-pound brother apologizing to Detective Carter, who, while steely-eyed and intimidating in his own way, was still five inches shorter than Alex.
“Wow.”
“They’ve become friends in the years since. I think Alex occasionally helps Detective Carter on some of his cases, because of his past experiences and connections he still has.”
“Not illegal connections?”
“No, he gave those up. But he still visits several of his old friends asking them to come to church with him.”
“Oh.” Her eyes skittered away as she renewed her sweeping.
There was only silence for a moment, then Edward said, “Alex said to tell you he was praying for you—”
“Tell him thanks.” But her words were curt.
He tried again. “He also said that if you wanted him to pray for anything in particular—”
“No.” Her voice was sharp, and she started sweeping the floor with short, jerky movements. The conversational topic was clearly over.
Strange, she seemed even more uncomfortable talking about her faith now than three months ago, when they had been closer and chatting together more often. They’d rarely discussed God, but she’d never avoided the subject. She had said she was a strong Christian. Was her faith wavering in the face of all the recent problems?
She suddenly stopped and stared at the ground, her broom lax in her hands. He caught the sheen in her eyes, the painful way she pressed her lips shut. Even the red tinge of her nose made his concern well up in him, and before he knew it, he’d crossed the room to gently grasp her shoulders. “Rachel, it’s okay.”
The smell of her perfume brought it all back to him. He was surrounded by lavender-citrus—the way it melded with her musk made it distinctly Rachel. It brought back the memory of dinners spent talking and laughing. The unique way she viewed the world made him think, made him laugh. Being this close to her, he missed that.
She relaxed under his touch, but her head dipped down. He peered over her shoulder at what had caused her distress—a mangled uprooted basil plant, its leaves dark green with damage, the roots tangled into a brown yarn ball. Forlorn and dying.
“Stupid,” she whispered. “Crying over a plant.”
“It’s not just a plant.” He knew it was the crux, the “secret ingredient” of her scar-reduction cream, which made it like gold to her.
He gently lifted his hands from her shoulders and stepped back. “Don’t worry. You’ll have more than enough basil for the product launch.”
“How can you be sure?” Her voice was worrying.
“Because I’m the one raising your plants.”
“But you can’t guarantee I’ll have enough. This product launch is important.”
Edward couldn’t understand why this launch was everything to her. “Rachel, the world is not going to end if your product launches a month later.”
She shook her head. “You never understood the kind of pressure I’m under as the spa’s dermatologist.” Her shoulders had become stiff again. “You’re the good son, the oldest of two brothers, successful and confident.”
What? He frowned at her. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“You can’t understand what it’s like being the oldest of three sisters and yet not as successful as the two of them.”
“What do you mean? You are successful. You create innovative products for your father’s spa, which has international renown.”
She was shaking her head. “In company, my father praises Naomi for her management of the spa while he has been recovering from the stroke. He praises Monica for her nursing helping him recover so quickly. But he bemoans the fact that my last research project had to be canceled because it wasn’t going well. He worries that my last product launched isn’t selling as well as he had hoped.” She rubbed her forehead.
“Have you talked to him about it?”
“I try, but he just doesn’t listen. He doesn’t understand me.” Her voice cracked.
Her unexpected vulnerability shocked him. Her frailty made him want to wrap her in his arms. In the year they’d been working together on her basil plants and growing closer as friends, she had never been this emotional with him. Then again, she hadn’t been suffering under this kind of setback before, either. “I want to understand you, Rachel. If you’d only let me.”
She met his eyes, touching him with her gaze like a caress to his cheek. But then her eyes wavered, doubt filling them, stress drawing lines down her face, and she turned away.
He’d lost her.
She turned quickly and grasped a basil plant, shaking it loose from the clumps of dirt on the floor, but holding it so tightly that she bruised its leaves.
Despite the fact that he didn’t agree with her workaholic tendencies, they had been
more than researcher and gardener. They had been becoming friends. He couldn’t deny that this kind of brutal attack on her, leaving her shaken and vulnerable, made him want to help her.
He put his hand over hers, taking the forlorn basil plant from her fingers. “Don’t worry, Rachel. Things will turn out fine.”
She shook her head, biting her lip. “I’ll never find out who did this.”
“Yes, you will. Because I’ll help you.”
TWO
Rachel’s stomach was a block of ice despite the sun warming her back and the sweat dripping down her neck. She pedaled harder, making the wind sting her face as her bike tires ate up the sun-bleached asphalt of the Sonoma country road.
Yesterday had been awful. She couldn’t believe that she hadn’t been safe in her own spa parking lot. The attack on her plants at Edward’s greenhouse felt like an even deeper violation—not just against her, but against her research, against her family’s spa.
And last night in the greenhouse, she’d wanted Edward to protect her—to hold her and make everything all right. She’d wanted to unburden herself and wrap herself in his concern.
But she didn’t have the right to ask that of him.
Her father had been concerned, but even more than that, he’d been worried about the research, about the product launch. As usual. Unspoken was the specter of her last disastrous venture, and how he’d blamed her for it.
Four years ago she had developed a grape-seed extract moisturizer for the spa to launch as a new product. A month before Joy Luck Life spa released it, Avignon spa in New York happened to release a grape-seed extract moisturizer, as well. It wasn’t the exact formulation, even though it also used a grape-seed extract ingredient, and Rachel hadn’t thought it would be a problem to continue with their product launch. Plus, it was too late to stop it. But then Internet news reporters had accused Joy Luck Life of “stealing” Avignon’s formula. The spa received a lot of bad press and had been subjected to false rumors, which her father had taken hard, asking her again and again why she had suggested they continue with the product launch.