by Carol Caiton
But Simon wasn't amused in the least.
CHAPTER 8
Swearing softly beneath his breath, Kyle pushed to his feet and walked over to stare through the expansive glass that made up one of the lobby's outer walls. Unease kept him on guard, his muscles tense and ready for action.
He shouldn't care. He didn't care. He was only here because he couldn't stop thinking that Jessica Breckenridge was headed for trouble. Yes, the circumstances under which he'd met her had a lot to do with that. But damn if she hadn't needed rescuing again today. So maybe his instincts weren't so far off. She was in over her head at this place. Two out of two didn't make for good odds. So what sort of disturbance would he find her tangled up in when he ran into her for the third time?
Glancing at his watch he saw that she'd only been back there—wherever there was—for five minutes. Her sister was with her, he told himself, though he didn't think the sister had any better sense than she did. In fact, it had probably been the sister who advised her to join RUSH in the first place, just so she could apply for a blue link. Exasperated, he stared out at the sunny afternoon. Would the sister listen to him when he asked her to convince Jessica to leave this place?
For the third time he looked down at his watch. This time though, he noticed the black band was crusted with dust and dirt, as were his jeans and T-shirt. Not the best way to make an impression on the sister.
Turning, he walked back to the waiting area. The receptionist glanced over at him, then looked away when he resumed his seat and faced the arched corridor where Jessica had disappeared. He wondered which of the cafés she worked at. That skimpy uniform hadn't gotten past him. She looked good in it too. Too good. Too provocative. Obviously, she hadn't applied for a position as RUSH's interpreter.
A minute later he spotted her in the hallway. He was on his feet before she reached the arch and her eyes found him. Smiling, she started in his direction, and the restlessness that held him seeped away.
He didn't consider himself a touchy-feely guy. As a cop he maintained physical and emotional distance. But once again he opened an arm to her. He told himself it was more for her reassurance than his own, but he knew he was indulging himself and he liked that she quickened her steps. When she fitted herself to his side and slid her own slender arm around his waist, it occurred to him that where she was concerned, his dirty clothes were inconsequential. It was the man she saw, not the sweat and grime of the day.
"Thank you for waiting," she said, smiling up at him.
"Sure. Come on, I'll walk you to your car." Hell, he was forever trying to get her away from here.
"I can't" she said, squeezing his waist when he would have steered her toward the doors. "My purse is in Hannah's desk drawer."
"Go and get it then."
But she held back. "I don't want to open her drawer, Kyle. It would be an invasion of privacy."
He looked down at her. "How long have you been back in the States?"
"Not very long."
A vague answer if ever there was one. "Are you staying with your sister?"
"No. Hannah scarcely knows me. We're family, but we're mostly strangers to one another."
She began easing away from him so he dropped his arm. "Okay," he said, "we'll wait for her here then."
She swept a hand beneath her very short blue skirt before sitting down. His eyes went to her breasts, plump and more than a handful, and he yanked his gaze back up.
"What's your sister's job here?"
"She's a secretary."
"Who was the jerk giving her a hard time?"
"He's Hannah's boss. One of them. That's what she said." She thought about that and frowned. "I suppose that would mean he's one of the owners here. So he's one of my bosses as well." She looked up and met his eyes. "He did apologize for what he said to her."
"Did he apologize to you too?"
"Me?"
He reached for her wrist, turned it over, and showed her the faint pink marks where the guy's fingers had bitten into her skin.
"Oh," she said, as though it surprised her to see them. "Since he's a bully, I'd like to say he hurt me, but he didn't. My skin is pale and marks easily. I think he was most concerned with finding out who I was."
Kyle reserved judgment on that.
"And yes, I believe he apologized to me as well."
"You don't know?"
"It was . . . in a circle."
"In a circle?"
"Indirect."
"You mean roundabout?"
"Yes. Roundabout. He said he felt sure he deserved whatever I said to him." She looked up, uncertainty in her expression. "I've never struck anyone before."
Kyle gave the guy his due for backing down. The fact was, the jerk could have called the police and had her arrested on a misdemeanor charge of battery. The fact that he didn't scored a grudging point in his favor.
"So what was it you said to him?" he asked her. "In Chinese."
"Mandarin."
"Okay, Mandarin."
She looked down at her hands and soft color crept into her face. Then it deepened.
He'd never met anyone who blushed as often as she did. "Jessica?"
"I speak a little differently than you do here in America."
"Yeah, I got that already." She looked up and he grinned so she could see he was teasing her.
"I sometimes think a little differently as well," she told him.
Was she hedging? He searched her eyes. Did she think she was inferior? A little strange maybe, but not inferior.
"So what did you say to him?"
She compressed her lips like a child unwilling to eat her vegetables. Then she sighed, relaxed her shoulders, and relented. "I told him his mind was decayed and his words were as mold."
Kyle stared at her. Then he looked over at the arched corridor, grinned, and burst out laughing.
She sprang up from her chair, indignation in the proud set of her chin. So he shot up from his and swept an arm around her before she could run off.
"Honey, you might say it in different words than we do here in America, but there's nothing wrong with the way you think." Hell, he hadn't meant to embarrass her.
Soft gray eyes searched his face.
"I was laughing at him, not you," he told her. "You call it mold and decay, but I'd just call him a scumbag. Or a slimeball." He smiled down at her. "It takes fewer words, that's all."
After a moment she relaxed again and he let his arm drop away.
"Come on, sit back down."
She did, crossing one leg over the other and making herself comfortable. "Tell me about yourself, Kyle."
He frowned. "Why?"
"Because I don't know anyone in this country. I'm trying not to be alone in a city full of people."
Hell, how could he brush her off after a statement like that?
He looked into her eyes. Really looked.
Her interest was genuine and because she looked so damned guileless, he gave in. Oddly, a strange sort of friendship was developing between them.
"I'm from up north," he said. "Philly. Philadelphia. I was born there and grew up there."
"And that's where you were a policeman?"
"Yeah."
"Does your family live in Philadelphia?"
It was a natural enough question, but it wasn't an easy one to answer. "I don't want to have this conversation here," he told her, shifting his gaze pointedly toward the reception desk. Besides, this young girl had a way of getting right to the heart of things. She'd done it the last time she started asking questions.
As though it hadn't occurred to her that someone might be listening, her eyes widened. Then she glanced over at the receptionist, turned back to him, and nodded. "If I invite you to have dinner at my apartment, will you come?"
Movement from across the lobby caught his attention and saved him from having to turn her down. She turned as well, then stood up and walked over to meet her sister halfway. The sister glanced at him, then looked away again.
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"Hannah, is everything all right?" Jessica stretched out a hand and her sister took it, smiling.
"Yes, everything's fine."
She was gracious, Kyle decided. But Hannah Breckenridge was simmering with tension. Her smile wasn't natural and she held herself as though her knees wouldn't bend if she wanted to sit down.
Jessica saw it too. Her expression darkened with concerned. She glanced again at the receptionist who had been watching until she was caught and looked away.
"Come meet my friend Kyle," she said, holding onto her sister's hand as they crossed to where he stood.
"Kyle, this is my sister Hannah. Hannah, this is the man I told you about, Kyle Falkner."
He judged her to be a year or two older than Jessica, which wasn't saying much. She was a little fuller up top, but they both had the same feminine features and blonde hair that was just about the same length. Without the open-toe high heels, they'd be the same height as well.
Again, the sister was gracious, making all the right responses while, in fact, Kyle figured she'd like to put her fist through a wall somewhere.
"It's nice to meet you, Kyle."
He gave her a half smile. "You know," he said, "there's a punching bag over at the men's gym. Maybe there's another one over at the women's counterpart."
It took a second, but her features relaxed, becoming more natural. "Thanks. I might have to check into that." She turned to Jessica. "You need your purse, don't you?"
"Yes."
"I'll wait here," Kyle told them, making it known he planned to walk Jessica to her car and hoping they took the hint by not getting carried away talking.
They didn't. A minute later Jessica emerged through the archway, the strap of her purse—a bulky supple leather about the size of a piece of carry-on luggage—resting on her shoulder.
"All set?" he asked, falling into step beside her as they approached the exit.
"Yes. —All set."
He walked with her, mostly in silence, until they passed through Checkpoint 2 and into the parking garage.
"Jessica," he said when they reached her Mercedes.
She looked up with a soft smile that made her eyes appear warm and caring. "You were there again," she said. "When I needed rescuing. Thank you."
He grunted. "Well don't get used to it. I'm no white knight."
She looked surprised. "Of course you are. That's why you became a policeman. You're one of the people who watches over the rest of us."
He shifted his weight to the other foot. "I was only here today because a piece of equipment broke down."
"Yet we encountered one another in the administrative building of all the places at RUSH."
"Nothing mysterious about that. I came to see someone who works there." She didn't need to know it was her sister he'd been looking for.
"And I came to have lunch with Hannah."
"Look. Jessica. I'm not going to be around every time you need help."
The warmth in her eyes faded a little. "I rarely need help, Kyle."
"Yeah, well, that might be because you lived under your father's wing all your life."
She stiffened. "It's unkind of you to say that."
"I'm not trying to be unkind. I'm trying to make you realize this place—RUSH—can be dangerous for someone like you."
"Someone like me?"
"Young. Inexperienced. Look at you." He swept out a hand to indicate her skimpy uniform. "The way you're dressed is an open invitation for a man to look and touch."
Her chin came up. "I don't invite anyone's touch. This is my uniform. I was told men would look. But I was also told only men and women linked by the computer touch each other."
"Have you applied for your blue link yet?"
She stared at him.
"Well have you?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"Because Hannah is my older sister. I should wait for hers first."
He felt like shaking her. "Hannah could be waiting a long time."
"Or it could happen tomorrow."
He started to tell her that that wasn't likely, then clamped his mouth shut. Nothing he said was going to convince her.
Snatching her keys from her hand, he ignored her startled expression and punched the remote to unlock her car door. "When you come to work tomorrow, get on one of the computers at Member Services and apply for that link." He opened the door for her and returned the keys. "And after you do that, go find a job somewhere else."
"What?"
"You can still be an active member in the system."
"But I don't want—"
"You'll have to pay membership fees," he interrupted, "but you won't have to work here." He looked down at her breasts, then farther to the miniscule skirt that barely covered her underwear. "And you won't have to dress like a cheerleader panting after a football player."
Her eyes widened. "Panting?" That stubborn little chin firmed. "I told you that I want to work here. I'm able to see Hannah. We spend time with each other."
"Spend time with Hannah on the weekends."
Expression mutinous, she spun away and climbed into her car. "You are uninvited to dinner, Kyle."
He stared at her.
"You need a refresher course—like the woman with big breasts."
"What?"
"Maybe after that I'll try my cooking on you."
What the hell was she talking about?
With a hard tug, she slammed the door closed. The engine started with an angry roar and he stepped back.
Watching her drive off, he stood for a few seconds longer, then grinned. So she thought she was going to try out her cooking on him, huh?
* * *
Simon wouldn't have expected the day to continue on a downward spiral since it had bottomed out so many times already. But he should have known better. From the moment he'd turned on his computer and spotted that blue icon, fate had seized control. He just hadn't expected the confusion and disorder to start until he decided whether or not to pursue the woman.
Receiving the icon was only the first blow, however. After that, learing that Hannah was his link, the entire state of affairs soared out of control with the severity of his anger. It never occurred to him until later that she wasn't the least interested in his supposed good looks and bank account. Hannah Breckenridge abhorred him. He was the last person at RUSH she'd want for a blue link.
But it didn't stop there. No . . . he hadn't even left the starting gate. He'd made an ass of himself out in the lobby, then he'd been raked over the coals for it—in Mandarin, for God's sake. And for the first time in his carefully structured, well-ordered life, he'd been slapped in the face, only to learn there was a second Breckenridge in the system.
All of which was still just the beginning. He'd put a young woman's job in jeopardy. No, make that the jobs of two young women. Holly McGarvey stood a fair chance of being caught for helping him. And as fate would have it, considering his luck when it came to high-ranking links, the young lady who looked like a schoolgirl—the one who had put him in his place with such flourish—was most probably the female at the other end of his link. Not Hannah. How the hell was he supposed to develop a meaningful relationship with the younger Miss Breckenridge when he lusted after her sister?
But that wasn't the end of his inglorious day. He'd had no choice but to write up a valued employee for something he knew he had caused. And when Elliott found out about it, he'd stormed into Simon's office, slammed the door, and had shouted at Simon to stay away from his secretary.
"Don't talk to her! Don't even look at her, goddamn it!"
At least he'd been reamed out in English that time.
But he'd been told RUSH was about to lose Hannah, that she was no longer happy here. And once again, Simon knew he was the cause.
By the time five o'clock came around he was ready to go home. All things considered, he should have taken himself back home as soon as his eyes locked on that blue icon. He should have removed himself from t
he situation long enough to think it through logically. Instead, he'd let his anger, his emotions, take over. And that, of course, was when the problem plummeted and became a downward spiral that seemed unending.
Now he had fences to mend, and fate, as was becoming the norm , wasn't cooperating. Leaving his office, he was waylaid by Oliver and those few minutes cost him. It was five past five when he reached Holly's office and the lights were off. So he lengthened his stride and headed for Hannah's domain. He should have gone there first and that was confirmed when he found her office dark as well.
Thumping the doorjamb with his palm, he turned and headed back toward the lobby. At that point, however, for the first time since he'd driven into the parking garage that morning, his luck changed.
Approaching the arch, he caught sight of Hannah leaving the building. Something had delayed her long enough to give him a chance to intercept her.
Picking up his pace, he followed and caught up to her out on the walkway. "Hannah."
She turned, saw him, then whirled back around and quickened her pace.
"Hannah," he said again, reaching her side.
"You're on my dime now, Simon. Go away."
He caught her arm. "Hannah wait."
"Don't touch me!" She jerked free of his hold and glared up at him.
Raising both hands in a gesture of surrender he stepped back and said, "Have dinner with me."
Eyes widening in disbelief, she started walking again. "Leave me alone."
It wasn't difficult to keep pace with her since he towered over her by eight inches, even in her heels.
"Hannah, let me apologize."
She stopped so abruptly, he stepped right past her and had to turn around.
"Why?" she demanded. "Why do you want to apologize after all these months?"
"Because I crossed the line today."
"Why, Simon? What have I done to make you despise me?"
"I don't despise you."
Shaking her head, she started walking again.
"Hannah."
She stopped once more, spinning on the ball of one elegant shoe. "Go away, Simon, or I'll call Security and report you for harassment."
Then she tucked her purse under her arm and strode toward the checkpoint, anger in every hurried step.