The Blue Link (RUSH, Inc. Book 1)

by Carol Caiton

  "How long?" he asked.

  "How long will I stay at Ethan's?"

  "Yes."

  "A couple of weeks. A month at most."

  "I want you to spend your free time at my house."

  * * *

  Nina didn't answer right away. She was wary of becoming involved with him again. She'd started to care. She'd had a glimpse of his softer, human side the night she sketched Serena Mandek's killer, and he'd kissed her. Lord, had he kissed her. But then he'd disappeared.

  She searched his eyes. "Spending my free time with you might not always be possible. How far away from Ethan do you live?"

  "Three houses down."

  CHAPTER 24

  He led her out of the cul-de-sac to the main path, removed his suit jacket, and draped it over her shoulders.

  She looked up and smiled weakly. "Thank you."

  His returning smile told her he'd known all along she was cold, and once again she searched the warmth she saw there, tried to hold onto it for as long as possible.

  He walked with her to the R-link gate where she returned his jacket and thanked him again.

  "Are you free tonight?" he asked.

  "Yes."

  Surprising her, he slid both hands into her hair, stared into her eyes, then brushed his mouth over hers . . . once . . . twice . . . . Then he covered her lips with a lingering kiss. Right there on the main promenade.

  "I'll stop by," he murmured, lifting his head.

  She watched as he walked back in the direction of the admin building.

  So . . . he lived three doors down from Ethan. She wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not. Convenient, but maybe not.

  She understood why he didn't want her to stay at Ethan's house, but moving her things to his wouldn't be wise. A few more kisses like the ones they'd shared and she'd find herself in his bed—but only until the next argument.

  She stiffened. It hadn't occurred to her but he would probably have expected her to share his room if she'd agreed to fall in with his plan. It was at times like this that she wished she was more sophisticated.

  She took her time walking through the R-link courtyard. This was the last time she'd be allowed inside the complex. She stopped at one of the meditation alcoves and regretted never having had the opportunity to use it for its intended purpose. Once the weather warmed, they'd be occupied every morning, but she wouldn't be here then. As it was, she hadn't even been here long enough to earn a paycheck and decorate her apartment. Libby had asked why she didn't frame and hang some of her drawings and she decided she would do exactly that at the next place she lived. She'd frame a couple of the alcoves she'd drawn and have memories of her time here to look back on.

  A sort of melancholy followed her into the lobby where Stephanie smiled a greeting at the same time she reached to answer the telephone. Nina skimmed her eyes around the elegant interior, willing her mind to take a permanent snapshot, to recall the fresh, light fragrance of flowers, the restful, muted colors. Later, before she left, she'd visit the salon for the last time to say goodbye and to thank Marguerite for the help and guidance she'd so badly needed those first few days.

  "We're going to miss you," Stephanie said, hanging up the telephone.

  Nina blinked. "How did you know I was leaving?" She approached the reception desk.

  "That was Ethan on the phone. He called to give me an address for the driver."

  "The driver?"

  The other girl nodded. "I'll have some boxes brought up in about forty-five minutes. When you're finished packing, just leave them in your apartment and I'll arrange for two guards to carry them down to the truck. Will five o'clock work for you?"

  "Oh, I won't need a truck. Just my car."

  Stephanie looked bewildered. "That would take half the night. You'd have to make a dozen trips. At least a dozen."

  Nina stared back, equally confused and not sure why either of them should be. "I don't have that much," she said.

  "Your wardrobe alone will take a dozen trips."

  "My wardrobe?"

  Comprehension registered in Stephanie's eyes. "Whenever an R-link leaves, the wardrobe she's been given is hers to keep. No one told you that?"

  "I . . . no. I didn't know. But I haven't even worn most of them."

  "Well there's nothing in the guidelines that tells me you have to leave behind anything you haven't worn. Besides, they were made to your specific body measurements and the color scheme was chosen to complement your skin tones."

  "But they must have cost a fortune. What about all the jewelry? And the shoes?"

  Stephanie gave a small shrug. "There might be some crystals, but no precious gems. And Ethan wouldn't have given me an address for the driver if he didn't expect you to need a truck."

  Nina began laughing. "Where on earth would I wear clothing designed for an R-link?"

  Stephanie smiled as well. "Maybe they hope it'll inspire you to come back."

  "You might be right."

  But she wouldn't be returning as an R-link. She held out her hand. "Thank you for all your help, Stephanie. I've enjoyed my stay here."

  The other girl shook her hand. "It's been a pleasure. You haven't been at RUSH very long, but you're one of the easiest people to work with."

  Nina gestured toward the R-link office. "I'm going to check my mail before I go up."

  Because she had elected not to receive junk mail, the linen-textured envelope sat alone in the dark, narrow box. Sliding it out, she opened it and removed the single sheet of company letterhead.

  A small version of RUSH's oval brass plate was centered at the top, the words RUSH, Inc. Embossed on its shiny surface. At the bottom, the seven men who had watched her piece together the face of someone she'd never seen had signed their individual names.

  The enormity of all they'd given her began to take hold. She stared at each of their signatures and when she reached Michael's narrow slanted scrawl, emotion welled up inside, lodging in her throat. She refolded the page, unread, and left the office, quickly crossing the lobby to reach the elevator.

  Tears streamed down her cheeks as she made her way along the second floor corridor. A door opened and closed somewhere behind her and she quickened her pace, jabbing her index finger on the small scanner and fumbling for her doorknob before anyone called her name.

  Dropping the envelope onto the coffee table, she sank down on the nearest chair and let the tears fall, heavily at times, easier at others until eventually they slowed, became quieter and the desperation of the past weeks began to abate. The pressing need for time drifted softly away. The anxiety of repaying unthinkable sums of money began to wane. And the terror of facing life on the streets in a dangerous world dissolved with the memory of a brown leather sofa.

  It took quite a while to readjust her mindset and yield to the release of fear and tension. She felt weak and tired and a little dazed.

  For the first time since early childhood, a yawning future stretched out in front of her. Freedom, fragile and uncertain, began to blossom inside. This was the gift her sister had been trying to give her—the chance to live, to have choices, to see possibilities. To be freed from the weight of responsibility that stole every opportunity for happiness.

  Memories of the accident that had changed everything flitted through her mind. The screams, the horror, the sirens . . . and the moment she'd realized it was all her fault. Guilt would always walk in her shadow. But it wasn't quite as sharp now, she realized. That clawing need to pay and pay and pay again was a little softer, it scraped a little lighter.

  She stared at the envelope on the coffee table. Lydia had grasped at RUSH as the only means of escape available, then used all her cunning to push Nina toward taking it. There had been heart wrenching consequences. But at this moment, although she had no choice but to live off the benevolence of a man who would toss her out at the drop of a hat, she couldn't say Lydia's plan hadn't worked.

  Sweeping her hair away from her face, she stood up and headed for the
bathroom and a box of tissues. Looking in the mirror, she stared, then shook her head. It was no wonder Libby thought she needed to settle down and have babies. For as long as she'd lived at RUSH, she'd spent a fair portion of that time with bruises, red eyes, or the side of her face swollen, be it left or right.

  Once again she turned on the cold water and leaned over the sink. When she was finished, she got a clean washcloth from the linen closet and walked back out to the kitchen. She didn't own an ice pack, but the freezer now held two trays of ice cubes. Loosely filling the washcloth, she rested it over her eyes as she made her way over to the sofa. Half way there, however, someone knocked on the door.

  The female security guard on the other side narrowed her eyes when she saw Nina's face, then looked away. A large utility cart packed tight with flat, unused boxes was wheeled into the living room. A roll of packing tape and sturdy white paper sat on top, along with a black permanent marker.

  "Let us know if you need more," the guard said, stepping back out to the corridor.

  Nina thanked her, closed the door, and turned. The white envelope, still resting on the coffee table, caught her eye again and she picked it up. Then she pulled one of the boxes off the cart and carried both to her walk-in closet.

  Making a place for herself on the floor, she sat down and opened the letter. It was just as Ethan had told her. The board of directors appreciated her discretion and warmly thanked her for applying her skill on behalf of RUSH. The lifetime complimentary membership covered all of the amenities for as long as she chose to use it, barring ineligibility. It listed all the included benefits, along with those not included, and stated that any outstanding debt to date had been absorbed by the corporation.

  She read the letter a second time, then traced her fingers over the list of signatures. They had no idea how much they'd given her.

  Recalling the woman she'd worked with and the silky teal mask hiding her identity, Nina recalled as well Michael's phone call to Simon that night. Their witness had been someone who couldn't go public. Which meant the artist had to be someone who wouldn't ask questions. All seven of those men would probably have stood behind her and Kay throughout the night and all the next day if it had taken that long.

  She lifted her eyes to travel around the full rows of outrageous clothing, now hers to keep. Many of them she'd be able to pair with something conservative underneath. The rest . . . well, she'd save them for her husband's eyes—if she ever fell in love and got married. And for the first time, that possibility didn't seem so unlikely.

  It took three hours to fill the boxes. In addition to all the clothing she now owned, there were linens and kitchen items to pack, cosmetics and odds and ends she'd accumulated. When she was finished, she changed into the clothes she'd set aside. Technically she was still an R-link, so she'd kept out a pair of low-rise jeans from Wardrobe, the required half-cup bra, and a long-sleeved beige top which, once again, wouldn't offer much warmth because it was off-the-shoulder and stopped just below her midriff.

  Glancing at her watch, she saw there were still a few minutes before she had to meet Libby for lunch, so she sat down at her desk and logged onto her account.

  As always, the blue icon sat in the lower corner of her screen. She wasn't going to accept it, though. Not yet. Not only was her relationship with Simon rocky and volatile, but something had changed with those tears in the living room. She was free in a way she'd never been free before and she wanted time to get used to that and to think about what options the future held. She was about to start a new job in a new life with a new body, beautiful clothes, and . . . well, she was pretty. She wanted to experience each day with this new and different outlook, feel its energy and just live. She also wanted time to gauge Simon's interest before he had a chance to overwhelm her. Could he really come to care for her, or was he blinded by the supposedly perfect linking system? Heaven knew her faith in it wasn't on par with everyone else's. If things between them didn't work out, she didn't plan to reactivate her file. Frankly, she wanted all the amenities without any of the obligations. No links, no perverted men, and no sex. And right now, that's exactly what she had.

  * * *

  "Why does nothing else satisfy the taste buds when you crave something you're not supposed to eat?" Libby wanted to know.

  "Why? What is it you want this time?"

  "Fried chicken. A whole bucketful so it'll last a while. Didn't Barry Manilow do a jingle about Kentucky Fried Chicken?"

  Nina swallowed a forkful of salad. "Who's Barry Manilow?"

  As usual, they sat at a table outside Magnolias. Sunlight sparkled off the fountain and a light breeze whispered across her bare shoulders. But the temperature had risen since early morning so the soft beige pullover proved sufficiently warm.

  "Barry Manilow wrote a bunch of TV jingles back in the seventies. I'm pretty sure it was the seventies."

  "I wasn't alive back in the seventies." Nina dabbed at her mouth with her napkin. "Neither were you."

  Libby shrugged. "They were great jingles. He had some hit songs, too."

  Nina kept eating while Libby sang a little ditty about being stuck on Band-Aid.

  "I've heard that before," she admitted, surprised.

  "Yeah, well, that was Barry Manilow."

  "How do you know this stuff?"

  "I have family in the industry. And my dad's a producer."

  Nina paused, fork in midair. "You never told me that."

  "It never came up."

  "So who does he work with? Anyone famous?"

  "Yeah. All the time." Libby picked at her veggie burger and grumbled about the superior flavor of real meat. Nina listened until the topic ran its course, then she lowered her fork and set it on the plate. "I'm moving out of my apartment today, Lib. I won't be living at RUSH anymore."

  "You're leaving today?"

  "Yes."

  "But why? Things were going so well."

  Nina shook her head. "Actually, they weren't."

  "You're talking about Simon, aren't you? But you've hardly given him a chance."

  "We are giving it a chance. We talked this morning and agreed to take it slow . . . see where it goes."

  Libby sighed and plopped back in her chair. "I get it. You can't live in the R-link complex if you're not going to be an R-link."

  "Something like that."

  "Well why didn't you tell me sooner? We could have thrown a party for you."

  Partying with the R-links would have been a memorable experience to take with her. "Thanks. I would have liked that. But it was sudden. I didn't know until this morning."

  "This morning? Wait a minute." Libby eyed her suspiciously. "How could you not know until this morning that you're moving out today? Where are you going?"

  Nina reached for her glass of iced tea to buy a little time. No matter how she phrased it, telling Libby she'd be moving into Ethan's house wasn't going to go over well. Moving into any man's house would conjure up a lot of suggestive ideas.

  She took a breath. "I'm going to be staying at Ethan Vale's house for a couple of weeks."

  Libby shot upright in her seat. "What?"

  "Shhh." Nina cringed. "It's just until I find something else."

  "Just? Nina, you can't move in with Ethan."

  "It's only for a couple of weeks, Lib. It'll be all right."

  Libby stared, appalled. "No, Nina, it's not all right. Is Simon okay with this? I can't believe Simon's okay with this."

  "Simon's not happy about it, but we've reached an agreement."

  "An agreement. God, do you know what you're doing?"

  "Yes. And it's just temporary. Three or four weeks at the most."

  "Ha! You won't last three or four weeks."

  "What do you mean?"

  "I give it two weeks before you and Ethan are bumping bods."

  Nina's mouth fell open. "How can you say that? Listen—just listen, okay?"

  "I'm listening, but I don't like it." Libby pursed her lips, crossed her arms bene
ath her breasts, and pouted.

  "First of all, Ethan's involved with the receptionist over at Admin, remember?"

  "Actually," Libby said smugly, "Ethan and Denny are old news."

  "What?"

  "Ethan and Denny. They aren't an item anymore."

  "I— What happened?"

  "Denny accepted a blue icon yesterday afternoon, and the other half of that icon isn't Ethan Vale."

  Nina's shoulders dropped. "But . . . they were so good together."

  Libby shrugged.

  "I don't understand. Green means both their files were supposed to be inactive."

  "Yeah, but blue overrides everything except another blue. I guess she applied for a blue in the first place but couldn't get a match higher than a green--. Then a new guy must have applied for membership and his file was more compatible. A blue icon was sent to him and he accepted it and that was the end of her link with Ethan."

  Nina exhaled slowly. So that was why Ethan didn't want Denny's name mentioned. It was probably the reason he'd gotten drunk, too. Empathy swept through her. "How did you find out?"

  "Things like that get around almost as fast as they happen."

  "I feel so bad for him."

  "And that's just the kind of thinking that'll get you in trouble."

  "Oh, Libby, stop. Simon lives three doors down, so I'll probably spend all my free time at his house."

  "Well that's something anyway." She continued pushing her food around on her plate. "Things are going to be boring around here without you."

  Nina shook her head. That was probably the most bizarre thing anyone had ever said to her. Doubly so because it was in relation to RUSH. "If you only knew what my life was like before I came here. Watching a dead stick was more exciting."

  "Yeah, right. You're one of those erratic forces of nature. Things happen around you. Even here."

  "You're exaggerating." Nina waved her fork for emphasis. "I had no control over Simon and that blue link."