Heaven Sent

by Rochelle Alers

  She turned off the water and stepped out of the shower stall. Reaching for a towel, she folded it expertly around her head, turban-style. A second towel blotted the droplets of water from her body as she bent and stretched, using isometric maneuvers.

  The image of her ex-husband came to mind, eliciting a smile. The best thing to have come from being married to Xavier was his emphasis on body conditioning. A number one draft pick by the National Football League’s New York Giants, Xavier was able to combine his two passions: football and medicine. He attended medical school in the off-season, choosing sports medicine as a specialty.

  She met Xavier when he was a resident at the hospital. She had been the head nurse in the operating room, and the attraction between them was spontaneous.

  They dated for four months, then married. Serena realized their marriage was in trouble before their honeymoon ended. Xavier had managed to camouflage his explosive displays of jealousy while they had dated, but the second day into their honeymoon he verbally abused a man whom he thought had made a pass at her. The only thing that prevented a violent confrontation was that the man did not understand English. What should have been an exciting and romantic interlude in France became a suffocating prison when she refused to leave their hotel room until the day of their scheduled departure.

  Xavier tried curbing his unfounded bouts of jealousy, but it all ended for Serena when he confronted her and the hospital orderly who had walked with her to hail a taxi in a blinding, late spring snowstorm, brandishing a scalpel while threatening to cut the man into tiny pieces.

  Her marriage ended that night after she checked into a hotel instead of returning to their apartment. A week later, with two New York City police officers in attendance, she moved her personal belongings out of the spacious Fifth Avenue apartment overlooking Central Park, and six weeks later Xavier was served with certain documents. She hadn’t asked him for anything from the union except that he agree to an annulment. He did not contest her demands. And she took her maiden name.

  Her exercise regimen increased her stamina, and her jogging endurance resulted in her entering the annual New York City Marathon. It had taken three years, but she now could guarantee that she would cross the finish line with the first fifty entrants. She didn’t have the Central Park jogging trails in Limón, but there was always the beach. She decided to wait another day before beginning her jogging regimen. The lingering effects of jet lag continued to disrupt her body’s circadian rhythms.

  Her motions were mechanical as she smoothed a scented moisturizer over her body, walked into the adjoining bedroom, slipped into a pair of floral print panties, and covered them with a loose, flowing, cotton tank dress. Poppy-red mules matched the airy cotton fabric.

  There was a light knock on her bedroom door moments before her mother’s head emerged. A bright smile softened the noticeable strain on Juanita’s face.

  “I knew you’d be up, Sweetheart,” she said, walking into the room. “No matter how tired you are, you never can sleep beyond sunrise.”

  Serena returned the smile. “Good morning, Mother. You look wonderful this morning.”

  “Makeup does wonders,” Juanita replied.

  Relieved that her mother had left the sanctuary of her bedroom, she curved an arm around Juanita’s slim waist and kissed her cheek. Her clear gaze swept over the older woman’s neatly coiffed, short hair and her petite body swathed in a crisp, white linen sheath.

  “Makeup cannot improve on perfection.”

  Juanita’s smile was radiant. “You’re the best daughter a woman could ever have. When I have you,” she added.

  “Mother, please. Don’t start in on me. Not now.”

  Seeing the anguish on Serena’s face, she nodded. “You’re right—not now.”

  Over an early breakfast she’d shared with her husband, after he’d awakened her with the encouraging news of their president’s intervention regarding Gabriel, they’d discussed their daughter.

  Raul voiced concern that Serena had not let go of the pain from her short-lived marriage, recognizing there was an obvious hardness about her that wasn’t there before she married Xavier Osbourne. He’d also revealed that David Cole lay under their roof, recuperating from injuries he had sustained somewhere in Costa Rica.

  “I want to tell you that your father and I will be leaving within half an hour,” Juanita continued in a soft tone.

  “Where are you going?”

  “We’re flying back to San José. President Montalvo wants to talk to Raul about Gabriel. He’s set up a meeting with the American ambassador. Hopefully he can work out a deal where Gabriel will be granted bail, and when he returns to Costa Rica he will be placed under house arrest until his trial.”

  A powerful relief filled Serena with her mother’s statement. She wanted to see Gabe, hold him close, and reinforce the bond that had developed the moment she held him in her arms twenty-six yeas ago. Closing her eyes, she mumbled a silent prayer.

  Seeing the gesture, Juanita smiled, and it was her turn to kiss her daughter’s cheek. “I’d better go now. Try to make David Cole as comfortable as possible. Even though he and Raul have never gotten along, I like the young man. The problem may be that they are too much alike to recognize their own negative traits.”

  Serena pondered her mother’s assessment of David Cole after she and Raul left La Montaña for the short flight to the capital city. If David and her stepfather shared the most obvious negative trait, then it would have to be arrogance.

  She looked in on David and found him asleep and resting comfortably. His skin was noticeably cooler, indicating that the antibiotic had begun working against the infections invading his body. Sighing in relief, she went downstairs to see after her own breakfast.

  Chapter 6

  David woke to the sound of rain tapping against the glass of the French doors. The heat had vanished, along with the oppressive weight, but hunger and thirst had taken their place. The rumblings and contractions gripping his stomach had him wondering when he’d eaten last.

  His right hand went to his cheek, fingertips encountering an emerging beard. He jerked his hand away. The stubble on his jaw verified that he hadn’t shaved in days. Once he had begun shaving at sixteen, he had never permitted more than a day’s growth to cover his cheeks.

  Scenes from the wedding flooded his memory. Had he drunk so much that he lay in a drunken stupor for days without getting up to shower and shave?

  A frown marred his smooth forehead. He had not gotten drunk. In fact he was very alert and quite sober when he boarded the jet for his flight to San José, Costa Rica! He was not in Florida, but in Costa Rica.

  Suddenly he was aware of where he was and what had happened to him. Someone had broken into his hotel room and assaulted him while he was in the shower. Who was it that hit him, and why?

  He wasn’t given time to ponder the questions. He heard voices—male and female. It was the female’s voice that held his rapt attention. He had heard that voice before—but where? It sounded so much like the husky, velvety whisper that belonged to his sister-in-law. He used to tease his oldest brother’s wife, telling Parris that she should’ve been a radio disc jockey because of her hypnotic, X-rated, dulcet tones.

  The woman sounded like Parris, but he knew it couldn’t be she. This woman spoke Spanish like a native, while Parris had achieved only a perfunctory facility of the language.

  Turning his head toward the sound of the voices, David discerned that he had limited use of his vision. Reaching up, he touched the bandage covering the left side of his face. The pressure of his fingers on the area brought on a wave of blinding pain.

  The questions tumbled over themselves in his head. Where was he in Costa Rica? How many days and nights had he lost since his arrival? He didn’t have to wait for some of the answers.

  “¡Buenos días!, Señor Cole. I am Dr. Leandro Rivera. How are you feeling this morning?”

  David examined the young doctor for a full minute with his uninju
red eye before he replied, “Quiero algo de comer y beber.”

  Leandro smiled and placed a slender hand on his patient’s forehead. The fact that David Cole was hungry and thirsty was a good sign. There was no doubt that he had not suffered any serious head trauma.

  “Señorita Morris will make certain you’ll get something to eat and drink, but first I want to check your face.”

  David could not see the Miss Morris the doctor referred to, but he could sense her presence and smell her perfume. It was a sensual, floral-musk scent. Closing his eyes, he tried remembering where he had detected that scent before.

  Sitting down on the chair beside the bed, Leandro pushed his hands into a pair of sterile latex gloves, removed the gauze dressing, and peered closely at the stitches holding the flesh together along the left side of his patient’s face. There was only a little redness, but no swelling. He had to smile. Given the conditions, he had done an excellent job of repairing David Cole’s face. The wound would heal, leaving a barely noticeable scar—a thin scar that could be completely eradicated by a highly skilled plastic surgeon.

  The area over the left eye did not look as good. The eye was still frightfully swollen, and the flesh over the lid claimed vivid hues of red, purple, and black.

  Leandro replaced the dressing with smaller butterfly bandages, leaving the left eye uncovered. He would caution Serena not to let David see his face until most of the swelling had gone away. The discoloration would take days, if not more than a week, to fade completely.

  He checked the right foot, manipulating the toes and registering David’s reaction. He winced slightly, but didn’t moan or cry out. Leandro had his answer. The ankle was not broken.

  “How’s my face?” David asked.

  “Healing,” Leandro said noncommittally.

  “I know it’s healing,” David retorted. “What I want to know is what did you do to it?”

  “I put thirty-six stitches in your face to close a gaping laceration.”

  David stiffened as if the doctor had struck him when he realized his face would be scarred. Closing his eye, he turned his head, the uninjured side of his face pressed to the pillow.

  David Claridge Cole knew himself better than anyone, and his haughty self-image was the result of not only bearing the Cole name, but also of his inheriting the genes of his African-American-Cuban ancestors.

  He had entered adolescence with full knowledge that girls were attracted first to his face, then his family’s wealth. This all continued into his twenties, once he had made a name for himself as a talented jazz musician. The band had garnered worldwide popularity, while he had personally amassed groupies who waited at stage doors for him in every city Night Mood toured.

  So many things had changed since he left the band: he’d become CEO for ColeDiz International Ltd., had a custom-designed, ocean-view house built in Boca Raton, Florida, that he hadn’t moved into, and he was in the planning stages of starting up his own recording company. What he had not planned for was marrying. He still had too many projects to realize before he settled down with one woman and fathered children.

  “Where am I?” he questioned, his voice muffled against the pillow.

  Serena looked at Leandro, who nodded. She stepped over to the bed and touched David’s bare shoulder. Shifting, he stared up at her, his eye widening noticeably.

  He remembered seeing hair—lots of it—and now he knew who the hair belonged to. Dark curls were secured on the top of the young woman’s head, a few wayward ones spilling over her high, smooth forehead.

  She was a rich, lush shade of brown spice: cinnamon, nutmeg, ginger, and cloves. And the hypnotic fragrance he had detected earlier came from her. It was a seductive musk with an underlying scent of flowers. Her perfectly rounded face claimed high cheekbones, a short, rounded nose, soft chin, a full, overly ripe mouth that was a deep, rich, powdery cocoa shade, and a pair of large, round eyes that were the clearest brown he had ever seen. There was just a hint of gold in their shimmering depths.

  “You’re in Limón,” she said, speaking English. “My father’s driver found you in an abandoned van,” she continued in Spanish. “He recognized your face and had you brought here.” David nodded slowly, grimacing. Serena was aware of the effort it took for him to move his head.

  The voice. The deep, husky voice also belonged to her. She was the angel in his dream. She was the one who held him, comforted him, and offered him succor during his pain and suffering. And the pain was back—with a throbbing vengeance.

  “How did you come to be in the van?” Leandro questioned.

  “Someone broke into my hotel room and hit me while I was in the shower.”

  “Why do you think they hit you, Señor Cole?” Leandro continued.

  “I…I don’t know,” he gasped, breathing heavily. The image of the large man towering above him in the shower came back, along with the memory of the blinding, red hot pain. He wondered why he had been assaulted. By whom and for what reason?

  Serena felt the muscles in his shoulder tighten under her hand. Without David saying anything she knew he was in pain.

  “Why don’t you rest, while I get you something to eat and drink?” Her gaze met Leandro’s and she motioned for him to follow her.

  They stepped outside the bedroom and she rounded on him. “David Cole may be your patient, but he is in my parents’ home. My father has assumed responsibility for him. And that means he will monitor any police investigation and interrogation.”

  Leandro stared at her, complete surprise on his face. His expression mirrored Serena’s own shock at her reprimand. Never in her nursing career had she ever come to the defense of a patient. Perhaps it had something to do with the setting, and just maybe it had something to do with the patient, but she was totally out of character. Sharing David Cole’s bed had also been out of character for her.

  What was it about the man that made her go against everything she had been taught as a health care professional? Over the past twelve years she had earned a B.S., R.N. and a Master’s in Public Health, and not once had she ever been cited for any professional violation.

  What she had to do was acknowledge the reason behind her behavior: fear. Unconsciously she had substituted David Cole for Gabriel Vega. David, in a foreign land and imprisoned by pain, was in a position so like Gabriel’s. The only difference was that once David healed he would be free to return home. Her brother, if found guilty of the charges against him, would more than likely forfeit his young life.

  They apologized in unison.

  “I’m sorry, Leandro.”

  “Forgive me, Serena.”

  Serena gave him a warm smile, her lush mouth softening attractively. “I suppose I’m a little overzealous.”

  He returned her smile. “You have every right to be. And you’re right. Your father is paying me to treat Señor Cole, not interrogate him.”

  She touched the sleeve of his lightweight jacket. “When will you return?”

  “I’ll be back tonight.”

  Serena’s clear brown eyes were shadowed by sweeping black lashes. “Perhaps we could share dinner,” she offered, hoping to make amends for her scathing rebuke.

  Leandro nodded. “I would like that. Is eight too late? I have office hours until six.”

  “Eight is perfect.”

  She walked Leandro down the staircase and waited until he drove away in his Jeep before she returned to the kitchen to see about getting something for David Cole to eat.

  The scent of the woman lingered in the room long after she left, and David drew in a deep breath, savoring the lingering smell of her.

  A crooked smile softened his parched lips when he recalled the soft press of a feminine body next to his. He’d awakened briefly during the night to find her beside him and tried reaching out for her, but couldn’t. He had been too weak.

  Women who shared his bed always shared their bodies with him. But this time it was very different. He found it difficult to move his head or even sit up.
He was as weak and helpless as a newborn.

  Feeling pressure in the lower part of his body, he knew he had to leave the bed or embarrass himself. Moving slowly, he turned over to his left and half-sat and half-lay on the bed. He reached across his body with his right hand and pulled himself into a sitting position, using the headboard for support. Objects in the room swayed before they righted themselves. He sat on the edge of the bed for a full minute before his feet touched the floor. The sheet fell away from his naked body as he stood up. Without warning, the floor came up to meet him, and seconds before he slipped back into a well of blackness he heard a woman screaming his name.

  Chapter 7

  “David!”

  There was no mistaking the hysteria in Serena’s voice as she knelt beside him. He lay facedown on the floor, motionless. What she feared most was that he had reopened the gash along his cheek. She managed to roll him over, sighing in relief when she saw that no sign of blood showed through the bandages.

  He groaned, then opened his one good eye. Serena’s face wavered dizzily before he was able to focus. “I have to go to the bathroom,” he explained, his breathing labored.

  Slipping an arm under his neck, she cradled his head gently within the crook of her elbow. “I’m going to have to help you whenever you want to get out of bed.”

  David tried shaking his head, but gave up the effort as a ribbon of pain tightened like a vise over his left eye. “No,” he whispered.

  “Yes,” she countered. “You’ve suffered a concussion, and it’s going to be a while before you’ll be able to stand up on your own.”

  Gritting his teeth, he tried pushing himself up off the floor. “Let me go.”

  Despite his weakened condition, David Cole was still twice as strong as she was, and Serena couldn’t hold him when he turned away and pushed himself to his knees.

  “David! David,” she repeated. This time his name came out softer, almost pleading. “Let me help you.”