by KH LeMoyne
“I’m here to put Briet’s place back into shape.”
“Back into shape from what?” Jason shifted into fourth gear and surged into the far left lane to bypass the downtown traffic.
“Her apartment was trashed this weekend.”
Jason gave Ansgar a sharp look to find the man glaring at him
“Trashed how—how did they get in? She lives in a security building with cameras everywhere.”
“You know a lot about Briet’s apartment for a co-worker.”
Not a question, more of a threat. Well, Briet wasn’t here to field this line of interrogation so his way would have to suffice. “My relationship with your sister is her business, but she’s had other close calls and I’m concerned. How about you drop the act and tell me what’s going on?”
Ansgar might have been chewing on eight inches nails, but the man nodded in concurrence.
“Forced their way in, couldn’t have been quiet. They went through her furniture and personal belongings. Destroyed things, but it looked like it covered up a search.”
“Thoughts on why?”
“I think it’s a big mess and too much trouble for one person to have caused. I think if my sister had been home this weekend she’d be dead now. I can’t figure what she has they’d be looking for.”
Jason signaled for his exit. “She doesn’t have quick-grab items. No TV. No small valuables or cash hanging around. Her place wouldn’t make a good target for drug money or a home invasion.”
“Again, you know a lot of personal shit about my sister.” The tone grew deeper and louder.
“Again, not your business. But for the record, I’m just as concerned as you are about her well being.”
“I doubt that.”
“She tell you about her car?”
Ansgar’s scowl shifted. “She said her friend was killed.”
Jason noted the change of expression from anger to exasperation as the realization hit Ansgar. “The woman was in Briet’s car?”
“She tends to leave out details.” Jason looked away and pulled into a parking spot in front of the well-manicured courtyard of a college sports center.
“The police, the people she works with, all thought Briet had been killed in the accident. No one knew she’d loaned the car to her friend. Your sister doesn’t drive much, but she’s not close enough to most people for them to know much of her personal details.”
“Points to someone she works with. I don’t get how both incidents are connected.” Ansgar looked like a pot ready to boil over. Jason made a quick decision to leave the attack at the reception out of the conversation. They were both focused enough on the issue without more over-the-top reactions.
“No clue, and I don’t buy coincidences, but I haven’t had any luck figuring this out.”
“She says you keep tabs on her.”
The expression was still a little dazed, but Ansgar’s comment sounded more like an accusation. Jason didn’t care and focused on the main point, Briet’s safety. “Every day.”
“Did you tell her what you suspect? She needs to get away from this job if she’s in danger, not spend time piddling around with hu—”
Jason waited for a minute, his hands resting on the steering wheel, curious where that thought was going but Ansgar had clammed up. “What do you suggest? Dragging a grown, professional woman away to safety, as if she were a child? If you know your sister at all, you know she’s not going to leave her patients until the trial ends. No matter what you or I think is best for her.”
Ansgar shoved open the passenger side, lunged out, and slammed the door behind him.
So much for rational thought. With a measure of sympathy Jason watched the man stand outside the car, hands clenched at his hips. There was only so much anyone could do until more evidence pointed to the reasons for the attacks on Briet. Deep in his gut, Jason felt a tie to the blood samples she had been collecting. The same samples sucking up hours of his brainpower and sanity. He wasn’t about to discuss his strange visions and delusions with Briet’s brother. At least not without proof and a damn good reason.
Bag in hand, Jason activated the lock mechanism for the car. “There’ve been no problems at the hospital.”
“Could be just a matter of time.”
“Unless you have a better idea, we’ll take it one thing at a time.”
Ansgar glanced at the fresh, red brick façade of the center. “This a contact sport?”
Rugby? He was kidding, right? “Yeah,” Jason answered, surprised the man had acknowledged going in blind.
“Good.”
He returned a brisk nod. They were in lock step agreement on two things now, the need to exert some physical violence and Briet’s safety.
Thirty-seven to thirteen, a winning score, and significant bruises later, Jason walked out of the shower room in his sweatpants and pitched his towel into his duffel. He snagged a sweatshirt. Not quickly enough to avoid Ansgar’s fixed stare.
Jason turned uncomfortably, running a hand over the odd bruising at his hip. What had appeared a few days ago as a shadowed bruise had turned into a sequence of lines and dots running around his thigh, curving around his hipbone. It looked like a frickin’ constellation map and while he might seek medical consult if it didn’t go away soon, he firmly refused to discuss it with Briet’s brother, despite the man’s remarkable delivery as a forward in the day’s game.
“Ready?” Jason didn’t wait for an answer but grabbed his duffel and headed into the hallway.
“Jason.”
He cringed at the high lilting feminine twang. Could he not catch a break?
“Priscilla.”
He did manage to fend off the full frontal launch, keeping the thin recipient of too much makeup and too little food at arm’s length. Jason bit back a sense of physical nausea as her hand covered his. A shiver of distaste rolled through him at the contact of her lacquered nails along his cheek.
He’d never dated Priscilla, only briefly gone out with a friend of hers several years back. He couldn’t remember what had even compelled him to do that.
“I watched your game and rooted for your team. Daddy’s company is going to be very pleased with the donations. He’s matching dollar for dollar.”
Daddy. Yes, another reason he’d left off seeing the women in this particular clique. Clingy, bored and spoiled rotten.
“Glad to know we could help. Hope the women’s shelter gets the funding it needs.”
She sidled in front of him blocking his exit. “There’s a party at the club. Maybe you and,” she glanced around him curiously at Ansgar, “your friend would like to come?” The exuberance melted from her face. Evidently, Ansgar wasn’t presenting any more of a friendly mug for Priscilla than he had for him.
Jason didn’t even bother to turn and look. “Sorry Pris, I’ve got an appointment.”
“Later? We could get drinks and catch up.” She tried to link her hand in his elbow, but he disengaged her fingers.
“I don’t think so.”
“Maybe after the next game? I can give you my number.” She leaned closer and Jason stepped back.
He had to give her points for persistence, but he didn’t want a misunderstanding. “Actually, I’m seeing someone, Pris.”
“Since when?”
Her face turned distinctively unpleasant, taut skin pulled over her cheekbones and her lips lost what little fullness they had. The lines on her face deepened with annoyance, not laughter, offering him a quick glimpse of the way she’d look much later in life.
“Since recently.”
“I can always hope it doesn’t last.” She turned away with an attempt to cover her sneer with a smile. “Call me.”
Not if hell freezes over.
Jason let out a deep breath and turned around to leave. The large palm of the star forward of the game clenched around his throat and Ansgar slammed him unceremoniously into the concrete wall.
“You stay away from my sister.”
Jason
dropped his duffel on the floor and tugged on Ansgar’s hand with both of his until he was free and breathing. “You’ve got this wrong.”
It took every ounce of self-control not to launch himself at the man and beat the righteous look off his face. It would do more harm than good. Instead, he kept the image of Briet’s look of admiration for her brother locked in his mind, letting it work like ice on his anger. Escalating this animosity would get them nowhere.
“No? Because you look like some playboy wannabe with a fast car, a hot job, and girls to spare.” Ansgar glared at Jason, his fisted hands at his side, ready to draw a punch.
“I never claimed to be a saint, but I would never two-time Briet or intentionally hurt her.”
“It doesn’t really matter. You’re not good enough to pump her gas. So let me make it clear. Stay. Away. From my sister.” His hands flashed with each word. Finished, he threw the team jersey to the floor, grabbed his bag and left.
Jason tried for a full breath, stretched his neck, and looked around the hallway but he was alone.
CHAPTER 17
Jason walked quickly to his car, senses alert for more aggressive females on the make.
Common sense was usually something he prided himself on. He found it sorely lacking as he hit every number on his cell phone, trying to track down Briet. She hadn’t called, which wasn’t a surprise since he doubted she even had the phone with her. The knowledge didn’t make the process any less frustrating.
In spite of Ansgar’s dictate, he had no intention of staying away from her. She was full of surprises, which he found refreshing. She didn’t nag, even though he knew she had thoughts about his actions and his past swirling in her head.
Whether she had her phone or not he would cover the bases anyway. “Briet. Jason. You okay? Give me a call.”
Because it wasn’t like her to break a promise, he kept cycling through numbers to track her down. Security at the lab hadn’t seen her since morning. The nurse’s station wasn’t answering. Not surprising, given it was time for a shift change. He surfed through his messages, listening with no attention to the ones from Sanyu, and only half-focus on several from Max.
The black tie event was scheduled for one week from tonight. Like he didn’t already know that.
One of the team members, Barton, had tried to get a hold of him but hadn’t bothered to leave a message. Annoying habit. At least say what you need so I can work the issues before I get back with you. He shook his head and dredged through his bag for his keys as the last message played.
“Mr. Ballard. This is Tasha King. I’m one of the nurses on the pediatric oncology ward.” There was a brief pause. “You asked me to let you know if there were any changes with the patients…I thought you would want to know one of the children on the protocol, Annie Bremar, died earlier, around four thirty this afternoon.”
Shit. Almost three hours since she’d left the message.
He’d found Briet, but he would give anything for this not to be the reason.
Twenty minutes and two elevator rides later, he walked onto the very quiet hallway of the pediatric oncology floor.
It was always quiet. Husbands, wives, mothers, fathers, siblings, friends, none of them were ever there when life was strong and hearts were upbeat.
Jason walked to the far end of the ward and nodded to the nurses at the station. The rooms for Briet’s protocol patients were are the end of the ward. The small room for doctors, where Briet often hibernated to catch a nap and update her files, was just past the nurses’ station. That’s where he found her.
He stood in the entrance to the small room for several minutes before she acknowledged him. She sat, a piece of paper filled with colorful scribbles dangling from her fingers. Her empty gaze was riveted to the computer screen. He doubted she saw anything on the screen in front of her.
Her head turned and her eyes met his for a full thirty seconds before she registered a physical reaction. The quick start of her shoulders and sharp intake of her breath let him know she was back. Then her eyes widened, she bit her lip, and one lone tear tipped from her eye and traced a path down her cheek.
He knelt between her legs, pulled her into his arms, and held her as the shaking took over her body. She didn’t make a sound, though her tears soaked his sweatshirt. He stroked her hair and held her close. For fifteen minutes, he let her purge.
“Let me take you home. There’s nothing more you can do here right now.”
She gave a small nod. He pulled her to him, wedging her tight against his side, and shielding her from people as they walked past the station. Patrice Walker was on duty. She met Jason’s glance and dipped her head to him with a sad look before he moved Briet along the hall to the elevator.
He had tucked her into the passenger seat of his car and driven almost ten blocks away from the hospital before she seemed to realize where she was. He felt her sudden clarity like a ripple in the small space.
“I’m sorry. I forgot the game.”
“Not really a concern.” He reached for her hand.
“I’m—”
Her fingers were ice cold when he brought them to his lips. “Just rest.” He curled his hand around hers and pressed it to his thigh for warmth, for comfort.
Giving a squeeze back, she closed her eyes and fell asleep during the brief trip, not even waking as he lifted her from the car and carried her into the elevator. The chimes of the door closing seemed to reach through her fog and she blinked her eyes.
“Where are we?”
“I brought you back to my place.” He waited for her objection. Seeing none, he stepped from the elevator into the small private foyer of his apartment. He put her down at the entrance, “If you’d rather, I could take you home?”
“No, I’d like to stay.” She looked around and dipped her head. “Though, I’m really not much company.”
With an arm around her shoulder, he guided her to the hall, through his bedroom to the large bathroom. He started the water from the dual shower nozzles, placed a large towel beside the shower, and handed her a thick black robe. “Take a long shower. I’ll have some Chinese delivered. You can sit and say nothing all night long.” He kissed her temple and left.
***
Briet held the robe up to her face and glanced at the pristine bathroom covered in large geometric patterns of black and white tile.
Closing her eyes, she blocked out the view and inhaled. The scent of him was the only personal item in the whole room. The one thing she needed to ground her.
She wiped the tears from her eyes and undressed. In the peace of the shower, she cried some more for Annie. For Annie’s parents. For herself—for the children she would probably never have.
Totally spent, she pulled back her shoulders and used one of Jason’s large black towels to rub dry. Wrapping herself in his robe, she padded back out to the living room.
The wide-open room boasted a full floor-to-ceiling glass window on the far side, framing the lights of the harbor in the distance and the mazes of traffic in the forefront. To one side was an open kitchen with stainless steel cabinets and appliances. The other side had large pieces of leather furniture: a couch, several deep armchairs, a roaring gas fireplace, and wide-open built-in dark wood bookshelves.
Food had been the last thing she wanted. Yet the delicate aromas of shrimp, garlic, ginger, and vegetables tantalized her senses. Her stomach voiced a resounding grumble.
Jason pulled her to the couch and handed her a plate with a little bit of everything from the cartons littering the coffee table. With the first bite, she let the flavors wash through her system like a tonic and focused only on the food and the taste.
Suddenly, it was all gone. She’d finished everything and stared in surprise at the empty plate for a second before Jason made it disappear.
“When did you last eat?”
“I don’t remember.” Her lunch with Ansgar hadn’t resulted in food, both of them sidetracked with his concerns for her safety.
&n
bsp; She stood and contemplated helping Jason in the kitchen, but he looked almost finished. Instead, she turned toward the fire and watched the uniform yellow-orange of the gas flames dance. It was beautiful. A little too perfect, but still stunning.
With renewed interest, she looked around the room. The wall colors, the furniture, the small design touches were all muted browns, beige and black—male and perfect, but too much like a model apartment. Not one item revealed anything personal or intimate. There wasn’t a sign of Jason anywhere in the room, any more than the bedroom she’d passed through or the bathroom. Not a picture or memento, not even used paperbacks marring the perfect presentation of the room.
She walked over to one of the bookcases and ran her hand along the open shelves in confusion. On the center shelf was a black lacquered wicker basket filled with envelopes addressed to Jason, every one of them unopened. The last one postmarked this week. She turned to find him watching her with a closed expression on his guarded face.
“I didn’t mean to pry. I was just looking for something of you here.”
He fixed her with a blank look. “This is me now.”
“What of your family?” She bit her lip, regretting the words the minute they came out. She didn’t want to rub salt in his wounds, though she desperately wanted to understand what had closed him off.
He sat in the corner section of the couch, his arms draped across the leather back and arm. Even when she settled beside him, his gaze remained on the fireplace, not her. “If you’re looking for a childhood tragedy, I can save you the search.” He turned to look at her and she moved to curl a bit away from him on the couch. Tucking her feet beneath her, she leaned almost within touching distance of his fingers on the back of the couch.
“My mother got pregnant. My father married her. Then he proceeded to make her life hell. End of story.”
Her shocked expression must have shown, because he waved a hand at her.
“Don’t waste time on bad thoughts.” He took a deep breath. “My mom wanted to be a mom. My dad—resented being tied down. He married her and never let her forget the reason why or his anger.”