First Crush

by Ashley Ludwig

  The nurse in a kitty-cat scrub shirt checked Mrs. Valence’s vital signs and reset the machine.

  “Glad to see Mrs. V.’s not alone anymore. The poor dear.” She tossed a sympathetic glance at the restless woman between them.

  Kathy—as her name badge read—pushed the IV drip, watched, waited, then let the tube rest. “Her lawyer certainly has the nurses station buzzing whenever he comes around. Have you met him yet?”

  “Tomorrow. We have a meeting.”

  “Lucky you. He’s a looker. Kind of like a young George Clooney,” she purred as she turned oxygen tubes. “Anyhow, glad Mrs. V.’s got family here now.”

  “I—I’m not family.”

  “You’re not?” Kathy’s mouth quirked. “There’s a resemblance.”

  Natalie sat up straighter. “Not close family.”

  “She’s lucky to have you, all the same. You say ‘hey’ to that lawyer for me.” Kathy wolf-whistled on her way out the door.

  With work starting at ten in San Diego, she couldn’t make both. Should she call in sick? Cancel the appointment?

  Chewing her nail, Natalie watched her bio-grandmother’s breath come a little easier following the nurse’s attention.

  Tomorrow she’d find out from this mystery lawyer exactly what she was doing here and what Mrs. Valence wanted from her.

  Her family was spread out across the globe—everyone with their own issues. After months of praying for a way to prove she was grown up and independent, this opportunity had fallen into her lap. Until Natalie knew what she was dealing with, she resolved not to mention this to her family. Her palms tingled in anticipation of handling things on her own.

  Waiting until Mrs. Valence’s ragged breathing softened into even slumber, Natalie left the room with the empty pitcher and walked the twisting halls to the ice machine. The hulking brown box rattled when she jammed the button with her palm, groaning in complaint but doing little else.

  “Great.”

  She kicked at it, and one little cube tumbled free.

  Footsteps paused behind her and she cringed. Someone had witnessed her ice machine tantrum.

  “I think it’s broken,” she said without turning.

  “Nah, just temperamental.” The man’s voice was so deep and soothing that she had to turn around. His voice matched the smile he offered. Tall, rangy, wearing worn jeans and a work shirt, he leaned in and gave the button a gentle press. “Like this.”

  Pebbles of ice rained into her bucket.

  “Thanks.”

  “Glad to be of service.” His suntanned face broke into an approving grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

  She stepped back and watched him fill a cup with ice. A thin scar marred his right dimple. He caught her looking and smiled again.

  “Is that your grandmother in there?”

  “Sort of.” Natalie tucked an errant curl behind her ear, wishing the glimpse in the machine’s glass didn’t show her honey-blonde bun wilting to one side.

  When she let her gaze shift back to the man, an Avengers actor came to mind minus his cape and mighty hammer.

  “Nice to see someone visit her.” He added water and raised the cup to his lips. “I’ve been with my buddy across the hall all day. Hospice sucks. No one should be alone here.”

  Her brows knit as she reached for a reply. Marie Valence was an old woman—this was the natural progression of life. But the thought of a friend dying? Words failed her.

  An orderly rattled by with the dinner cart. Aromas of beef broth and boiled chicken faded with her appetite.

  “I’m so sorry,” she said at last.

  “Kind of you to say so.” He watched the cart roll on by, the injustice clouding his sky-blue gaze gone as fast as it arrived. “Are you from Long Valley?”

  “No, San Diego. Just came to see her. It’s complicated.”

  Silence wound between them. She rattled the ice to fill the empty spaces, then added more to the pitcher before looking his way again. She recognized the Napa winery logo on his pocket as Triage Vineyards—a supplier for her hotel dining room—but small talk didn’t fit here. Instead, she introduced herself.

  “Nick Hardaway,” he offered back, hand extended in greeting. Not a wine rep, Natalie thought, with those work-roughened hands.

  They fell into step, heading back to respective rooms, hesitating where their paths diverged.

  “Could have sworn we met before … ” Nick said as he searched her face.

  How long had it been since she’d met a man who made her want to linger in a hallway, not to mention a hospital hallway?

  She tucked that wayward curl behind her ear again, stalling, enjoying the distraction. “Maybe you’ve stayed at The Grand? San Diego, bayside?”

  He shook his head. “If I’m that close to home, my mom would have my hide if I didn’t stay with her.” He paused, eyes widening. “Not that I’m a mama’s boy.”

  “I get it.” Her smile blossomed, thinking of her own boisterous family.

  “Nice meeting you, Natalie.”

  His eyes said it all; warmth drenched in melancholy.

  If this were any other time, any other situation, she imagined they might have a much different conversation. As for now, they each bore the mantle of mutual concern, though his was drenched in consuming loss.

  She lingered at the doorframe of Mrs. Valence’s room and watched him walk away. When he didn’t look back, she moved inside and replaced the pitcher on the table.

  The withered woman breathed softly and the IV dripped, but all that Natalie could think of was the handsome man across the hall. She hadn’t checked for a ring. But a good-looking guy like that? He was probably married with three kids and another on the way. She unclamped her loosening hair from its restraints and massaged her aching head.

  How much longer do I have to stay here? Do I have to come back? Will saying goodbye tonight be enough?

  The beeping heart monitor changed its rhythm—fluttering with speed.

  “A-man-da,” Mrs. Valence’s dusty voice rasped.

  “It’s Natalie.” She leaned close. “You wanted me here. I came.”

  There was a flash of recognition in the woman’s foggy stare. Her eyes, although hazed with age, were the same bottle green as hers.

  “N-Natalie.” Her whisper was dry as a bone. “Yours.”

  “My what?” Natalie leaned in, watched the lady’s mouth working to form whispered words.

  “How … syours …” A bittersweet smile touched Mrs. Valence’s face.

  “I’m sorry, I don’t understand.” Natalie reached for the offered hand, returning the weak grip that cried for understanding.

  “A—man—”

  “Amanda?” Natalie’s heart jerked at the offered name. What was she trying to tell her? “You mean my mother.”

  Birth mother, her thoughts chastised. How quickly her well-ordered world of separating mom from birth mom collapsed in a jumble.

  The old woman stared beyond Natalie, beyond the walls of the room. Finally, her eyes drifted closed as she settled back into a drugged sleep.

  Though every fiber wanted to flee, Natalie remained. On the monitors, the numbers dropped, lower, lower still, but they did not cease. The dip and rise of her heart rate wound down like a metronome.

  And for the first time in a long time, Natalie didn’t want to be on her own.

  Chapter 2

  The girl’s arrival changed things.

  All of his plans were so neatly arranged, so perfectly set. He’d pushed the dinner cart through the hallway wearing a stolen orderly uniform, a syringe heavy in his pocket. With the old woman gone, his wine country obstacle would easily topple.

  But now?

  He didn’t dare complete his task until he knew who this stranger was and why she was here.

  He hurried back into his street clothes and calmly walked down the stairs out into the main lobby. Hidden by the floral cart, his nose full of first blush roses, baby’s breath, and stale water, he wa
tched every elevator that shushed open and closed. She would come down. Someone dressed that buttoned-up wasn’t spending the night sleeping in a chair. He brushed a hand over the tiny white flowers. They were just like the tight wildflower buds by the lake’s edge where he’d left the last girl’s body.

  The elevator doors opened, and there she stood. After hours in the hospital room, her hair was freed from its restraint and her starched white blouse and black pencil skirt were rumpled. Confident high-heeled steps took her away from him across the linoleum tile and into the lobby proper.

  Why did she visit Mrs. Valence’s room tonight of all nights? When he’d planned to end the old hag’s suffering once and for all?

  He gripped the syringe in his pocket. If he chose, the heavy sedative would freeze Miss-High-Heels’ lungs and make it impossible for her to breathe.

  But that death was reserved for the woman upstairs. Designed to appear as if she’d gone into respiratory failure, the DNR would see to the rest. This was supposed to be over. And he only had enough sedative for one.

  “Can I help you?” the flower cart attendant said with a smile.

  “Still deciding.” He shot a practiced grin. “So many meanings behind the flowers, you know. Hard to decide what I’m looking for.”

  “I just know roses.” She reached for a stem, revealing tattoos across her wrist and circling her finger. Piercings studded her eyebrow and cheek. He swallowed his distaste as she offered what little she knew of floral symbolism. “Red for love; yellow for friendship.”

  He wanted to tell her how stupid she was and that she had no right to be selling flowers to strangers without understanding the messages in each blossom. He imagined stuffing her nose and mouth full of withered buds until she choked.

  Her dull eyes tracked to his jaw, and he realized he was clenching it. She went back to arranging her booth. Nervous.

  If anything happened here, she’d remember his face, tell security. It was time to go.

  Leaving the flower vendor at a tight clip, he caught sight of the blonde exiting the swooshing doors into the southern California night.

  He followed, slowly, keeping an eye on her. He knew how to do this. She climbed the stairs to the second, then the third level of the parking garage.

  Alone. Distracted. Crying?

  His job just got so much easier.

  She shouldn’t have visited the old woman. Next week, she’d be another newspaper headline for his collection.

  Jane Doe latest Lakeview Slayer victim.

  It would be grisly. He’d make sure that her remains wouldn’t be discovered by the lake for weeks. It was almost time, and she had that … glow about her.

  Setting foot to stair, he continued to follow her. He kept his chin low and his cap lower, fully aware of the security cameras. He paused as a car screeched around a turn several levels up. Rounding the switchback to level three, he spotted her.

  Her heels clicked as she walked in a zigzag pattern across the cement floor. Stupid girl couldn’t find her car. The time was ripe; she was his for the taking.

  A shudder wound its way across her shoulders as she scanned the second level of vehicles for her bright-yellow Volkswagen Bug. She had been in such a hurry to get here that all she remembered was parking between a white van and a black Ford pickup truck.

  Aaron would remember where he’d parked. Corie would have paid for valet. Natalie’s self-deprecating laugh stuck in her throat as she backhanded the prick of tears away, missing her brother and sister more than she cared to admit.

  As the third floor swept into view, she surveyed the sea of fog-dulled minivans and compact cars. Amber lights tinted the clouds with an eerie glow while a whipping coastal wind iced through her work shirt. She needed her jacket. She needed to get home. She needed …

  Her watch read eight o’clock. When had it gotten so late? Red Beemer, white Toyota, black pickup … Wait. Natalie stopped. Focus. That was the truck she’d parked next to. She was sure of it. Maybe.

  “You lost?” a man’s voice called from the stairwell.

  “Nope. I got it.”

  Praying she was right, she angled past the enormous work truck directly to her little convertible. Complete with a tiny sunflower in its holder, her car beckoned like an old friend. It was the first purchase she’d made after high school ten years ago, and it was on its last leg.

  Please, Lord. Let it start this time.

  Too late, her father’s warning about driving the cranky vehicle on the freeway at night came to mind.

  If it starts, I’ll head straight for The Creekside Hotel. I’ll get a comp-room for the night and stay there.

  She rubbed the steering wheel for luck and spun the key in the ignition. The car sputtered to life briefly before dying with a gasp.

  “Come on.”

  She spun the key again, felt the engine catch, gasp, and die. She tried again. Nothing.

  Head to steering column, she wanted to bang her forehead in sheer frustration. If only she could rewind this whole day and start over.

  “Okay, buddy. Third time lucky …”

  A shadow blocked the parking garage lights, and she glanced over as a man leaned down to peer into her driver’s window.

  “Need a jump?”

  Rolling the window down a crack, she glanced down to the door lock. Unlocked.

  He was a good Samaritan. No need to panic, right? The guy didn’t read ax murderer. But neither had Ted Bundy, and he drove a yellow V-Dub too. Curse Aaron and his real-life-crime TV shows!

  “Just a push. I can kick-start it.” She shrugged away the heebie-jeebies, locking the door with a well-placed elbow. “Happens.”

  “Roll your window down a bit more,” he said. “I’ll muscle it out of the space.”

  She couldn’t see his face in the shadow of the ball cap.

  “Nah, this is good.” Natalie swallowed bile and glanced at her purse, her dead cell phone tucked inside—another piece of Dad’s wisdom ignored.

  She was breaking records of what not to do in case of emergency.

  Natalie tried the stubborn ignition again. “I’ll pop it in neutral. Just shove it out from the front?”

  He slung his elbow to the ragtop roof and leaned down, face shadowed by a ball cap’s brim. She read, “Eat at Joe’s.”

  “How about I give you a ride, get you a bite to eat? You can call a tow truck.”

  “Oh, no—I couldn’t impose.” Her palms slickened as she gave the starter one last try.

  The complaining engine groaned, clicked, whined, and at last bucked to life. “See? It’s just temperamental.” She popped it in reverse. “All better.”

  “Proved me wrong, didn’t you ...” He drew out the silence, skeezy gaze dropping to her blouse. “Natalie.”

  Ugh. She wanted to rip off her stupid hotel badge and hurl the glossy, golden traitor into the back. But it was too late.

  “My offer still stands. Dinner? Somewhere ... quiet?”

  “No, thanks.”

  “Next time, Natalie.” He fell into shadow as she gunned the engine away.

  Heart hammering, Natalie kept an eye trained on the rearview mirror until she was sure he hadn’t followed her.

  Chapter 3

  Nick Hardaway palmed the hotel counter and stared down the pert-nosed reservation chick. Her hair was falling from its librarian style, and her lips looked a few hours past a last attempt at glossing. She tap-tapped the keyboard of her little computer, and he guessed she’d stopped looking for a room and started working on Solitaire.

  Maybe if he appealed to her better nature she’d be more willing to find him something. “So, Stacy,” he read her nametag with a grin. “Are you sure there’s no room at the inn?”

  “Sorry, sir. We release any unclaimed rooms after seven.” Type, type, type. Her gaze flicked to his and he watched as her well-arched eyebrows rose, showing she was having a bit of fun at his expense. “And you didn’t call …”

  Sir. How old did he look? Nick scrubbed
a weary hand across his forehead. “No. Like I said. My cell died on the way here.” Inhaling his agitation, he exhaled calm. Mom always said he’d catch more flies with honey. He could just go home to his parents … but no. Not after the day he’d had. “Could you just check one more time? I’m ready to pay extra for a nice, hot shower,” he said, following up with his never-fail smile.

  “I can call over to The Empire.” Stacy ground out a patronizing smile, but her hand stalled on the phone as she looked him over.

  He hooked her attention with his smolder. “I’d really appreciate you checking one more time.”

  “Perhaps I could—”

  “Empire’s full up.” A disgruntled, paunchy man in a rumpled suit jacket walked by and set down his newspaper. “Sal Bonsuelo, in from Bakersfield. Whole world’s here, seems like, for the harvest festival. You can take the other end of the lobby couch.”

  “As good as that sounds, I was really hoping for SportsCenter and room service.” Nick shot him a sideways grin. He turned back to the counter. Come on. Take the bait, lady. “Drove all the way from Napa. I know hotels always keep a spare room. For emergencies, right?”

  “I might have found something for you.” She gave a small, sexy roll of her shoulders.

  Uh-oh. He’d crossed a line—given the reservations girl the wrong idea and she’d lapped it up like a cat to cream.

  “Great. Maybe my new friend Sal and I could share it for the night.”

  She slid a glance to where the portly man flipped a page of his paper and slicked a hand across his comb-over. A frown of distaste marred her pretty features.

  “I know somewhere else you could stay … with much better company.” She kept her voice low, sultry. Her fingers went tap, tap, and then paused. “I’m off at ten. Wanna get out of here?”

  “Sorry, Stacy. I’m a one-woman man these days.” He’d have accepted her offer happily a few years ago, but things had changed. He was a Christian now, and he knew his wife was out there somewhere. He just hadn’t met her yet. “Uh, where’s the best place to get a burger around here?”