“I don’t know why you need—”
“You’re going to do this, Olivia. First thing in the morning,” he ordered, leaving no room for negotiation.
She glared at him.
“Are you going to call me a dumb ass?” he asked.
“No, but I’m thinking it,” she muttered. “Why are you smiling?”
“Because we had our talk, and I understand. You aren’t going to marry me, and you hope that I’ll get on with my life . . . my life without you.”
“Yes,” she said defiantly. “When you leave here, that’s exactly what I want you to do.”
“Okay. You give Pardieu permission to talk to me about you, and after that conversation, you’ll never see me again. That’s my condition.”
Never see him again. The thought made her sick.
“Yes, all right.”
Grayson untied her belt and opened her robe, uncovering her beautiful breasts. She was so lovely. His fingers caressed her soft, flawless skin.
Olivia was confused. She didn’t want him to stop touching her, and yet she wanted him to go.
“Everything will change when I leave here. I know that’s what you want,” he told her. He pushed the robe off her shoulders. “But I haven’t left yet.”
THIRTY
Grayson had been up half the night working at his computer. It was amazing how much confidential information was available when one had the right credentials and knew where to look.
Olivia had said that it would have been easy for Simmons to find out about her connection to Jorguson and Martin, and that was true. Her entire life was there with a push of a button, including the names of her employers. Simmons had obviously gained access to that information because he’d called them to try to discredit her.
Yes, it would have been easy for Simmons to plant the gun in Martin’s house. He considered the possibility while he showered and got dressed. It was Sunday morning, and he was getting ready to leave for the office. He knew Ronan was already there, catching up on his own reports.
In the kitchen, Henry was having breakfast with his grandfather and Patrick. The two men were getting a blow-by-blow of what had happened the night before. Grayson heard Henry boast that Olivia had come to the hospital and had insisted on holding his hand while he got stitches. He also mentioned once again that she was his very own attorney, which the men knew was his segue into the story of what had happened in the principal’s office.
Grayson poured himself a glass of orange juice and pulled out a chair across from his nephew. “Has there been any change in plans?” he asked.
Henry nodded. “Grandfather is going to take Ralph and me to the movie, but Ralph has to go home after because”—he glanced at his grandfather before continuing—“because he can only take so much of Ralph.”
“I get that,” Patrick said, smiling.
Grayson nodded. Ralph was a little on the wild and loud side, but then, so was Henry. Together they sometimes sounded like a tornado.
“Henry, how would you feel about me marrying Olivia?” Grayson asked.
Henry’s eyes clouded with worry. “Will you move away?”
“No, she would move in here with us.”
“With me and Patrick?”
“Yes, and with me,” he said.
“Will you have a wedding?”
“Yes.”
He shook his head. “No, I don’t want you to marry her.” He bowed his head and stared at his cereal bowl.
“We know you like Olivia,” his grandfather said. “You talk about her all the time.”
Henry wouldn’t look up. “I do like her. I just don’t want Grayson to marry her.”
“Tell us why,” Patrick insisted. “We want to understand.”
Henry glanced at his grandfather, received his encouraging nod, and turned to Grayson. “Because if you have a wedding, you have to ask my father, and he’ll come back here and take me away.”
Grayson was surprised by Henry’s response. The child’s anxiety was almost palpable. He shouldn’t have such a worry, Grayson thought. He sat quietly while his father tried to calm the boy’s fears. “We would never let that happen. Never.”
Grayson explained that he had full custody, but that didn’t make much difference to Henry.
It was Patrick who finally convinced him. “Don’t you have your own attorney?”
Henry nodded. “You know I do. It’s Olivia.”
“Do you think she’ll let your father take you away?”
Henry didn’t have to think about it long. “No.” He smiled then. He looked at Grayson and added, “If I tell her, she won’t let you invite my father.”
Grayson laughed. “I think you’re right.”
“Are congratulations in order?” his father asked. “You do know I’ve yet to meet this woman.”
“You will,” Grayson said. “And, no, congratulations aren’t in order. She’s being difficult.”
“Do you want me to ask her?” Henry offered.
Patrick gave his opinion. “You might have a better chance with the kid.”
It was the last time Grayson smiled the rest of the day. When he got to the office, he told Ronan about Olivia’s hope regarding Simmons, and after tossing the football for a few minutes, the two decided on a plan of action.
“It can’t hurt,” Ronan said.
“Right. Just to be sure,” Grayson replied.
For the next several hours, both he and Ronan caught up on their case files. It was late afternoon before Grayson finished his last report. He had just logged off his computer when his cell phone rang.
“Grayson Kincaid?” The voice had a thick French accent.
“Yes.”
“This is Dr. Andre Pardieu. Olivia MacKenzie asked that I give you a call. She has authorized me to discuss her medical history and her prognosis with you. What would you like to know?”
“Thank you for calling, Doctor. I know you’re a busy man, so I’ll get right to the point. I’m in love with Olivia and I want to marry her, but she’s a very stubborn woman.”
Dr. Pardieu laughed. “Yes, I’ve known that for quite some time.”
“Olivia is afraid to commit. She fears that her cancer will return. She sees her friend Jane so ill, and that has convinced her she can’t make plans for the future. I don’t know how I’m going to persuade her, but I figure if I got some assurance from you, I’d have a better chance.”
“I can’t discuss Jane’s case specifically, but I can tell you that Olivia should not be concerned. I’ve been away from the hospital and haven’t been able to give this latest development my full attention, but now that I’m back, I’m going to get to the bottom of it. Let me assure you, Olivia has not shown any symptoms of toxemia, so, from what I’ve seen, she has nothing to worry about.”
“Thank you, Doctor,” Grayson said.
“Good luck,” Dr. Pardieu said. “Olivia deserves some happiness, and I hope she’ll find it with you.”
“Yes, sir. That’s my plan,” Grayson assured him before he ended the call.
Grayson sat back in his chair and thought about what the doctor had said. Something stuck in his mind. Toxemia was a general term for blood poisoning, wasn’t it? He booted up his computer again. He began feeding in data, and that only created more questions. When he ended his search, he told Ronan what he had discovered. They knew whom they had to talk to and what information they needed to gather. By late afternoon, their questions had been answered, and he phoned Dr. Pardieu right away. If the doctor confirmed his suspicions—and Grayson was certain he would—he needed to act immediately. Time was critical.
* * *
Olivia tried to keep busy so she wouldn’t think about Grayson, but that was impossible. Sam called, and even with a horrible connection
, she knew something was wrong. She heard it in Olivia’s voice. The questions came, one after the other, until Olivia was close to tears.
“I can’t talk about him,” Olivia said. “Tell me the story again, Sam. It will take my mind off my miserable life.”
“No, you’ve heard that stupid—though amazingly incredible—story at least five times.”
“More like twenty, but tell me again. It makes me laugh every time I hear it.”
Sam’s sigh was loud and clear even with the static. “There I was, minding my own business in seat twenty-eight A on flight—”
“Twenty-seven forty-three,” Olivia supplied.
“The plane was packed, and it was noisy, but I’d blocked it all out because I was frantically studying for a final I had to take the next morning at zero eight hundred. The flight was making good time and I, along with everyone else, thought everything was just fine, when a flight attendant tapped me on the shoulder and asked me to come with her.”
Olivia added the details she remembered. “You shoved your notebook into your flight bag and dragged it with you. You thought you were being upgraded to first class for some bizarre reason.”
“Yes, that’s what I thought. Clever deduction.”
“You told me.”
“Should I go on?” Sam asked.
“You want to, don’t you?”
“Okay, yes,” she said, her voice eager. “You and Collins and Jane are the only ones I can brag to. My brothers are so sick of hearing this story, they groan whenever I bring it up.”
“I’m not groaning,” she assured her.
“It was a beautiful plane,” she continued. “A jet, of course, with—”
“Don’t get technical again. Suffice it to say it was pretty.”
Sam laughed and continued, “It wasn’t a jumbo jet, but it was still pretty, I suppose. Anyway, I followed the perky flight attendant past first class, noticing that all the seats were occupied. I started to get a bad feeling, but the flight attendant was smiling and acting like nothing was out of the ordinary. She said that she’d heard me tell another passenger that I’d gone through the Air Force Academy. I hadn’t said anything to any of the passengers, and I was about to correct her when she said in a rather loud voice that the captain had also gone through the academy and wanted to say hello. That didn’t make any sense, and she could tell I was going to argue. She knew the cockpit door was locked while the flight—”
“I know. Don’t cite regulations. Get to the good part.”
“The attendant whispered ‘please,’ then tapped on the door—that crazy smile on her face all the while—and the door opened, and she pushed me inside. And I mean pushed me,” she reiterated.
“You don’t have to go into a long description of this part,” Olivia pleaded.
“Oh, I want to. The whole crew was throwing up into these plastic bags, and it began to dawn on me: they must have gone through their passenger list looking for a pilot. It smelled so vile in the cockpit, the attendant gagged. I didn’t, of course. I grew up with such gross brothers. That, plus going through chemo . . . nothing really gets to me.
“Anyway, their complexions were lime green and they were throwing up what looked like chunks of bile.”
“Oh God, Sam. Don’t be so . . . visual.”
Sam laughed. “I naturally thought the worst, that they had been poisoned, but the captain told me they had just been on a flight where several passengers became quite ill. It took two of us to get the copilot out of his seat and move him. You know the rest.”
“Oh no, you have to tell it.”
“In the midst of dry heaving, the captain gave me instructions. As you know, I’ve flown just about everything with wings,” she boasted. “This plane wasn’t a challenge. I told him to relax; I’d take over. The attendant came back in with a napkin over her mouth and nose because of the awful smell that I’d kind of gotten used to, and she told me some of the passengers knew something was wrong and were getting nervous. The captain flipped on the intercom to calm them down. He still thought he was going to land the plane.”
“But you didn’t know the intercom was left on,” Olivia interjected.
“No, of course I didn’t. I wouldn’t have argued with the captain if I’d known passengers were listening, and he was so sick, he forgot. He looked like he was going to pass out any second. I told him to relax, that I could handle it, and I began to familiarize myself with the control panel and do a couple of maneuvers to get the feel of the plane.
“The poor captain’s eyes kept closing, and he was struggling to stay conscious. He said that, on final approach to the runway, I must instruct the passengers to get into a crash position. I tried not to take insult, and I asked him why would I want to do that, and we got into a bit of an argument.”
Olivia laughed. “A bit of an argument? I heard the recording. It was more than a bit.”
“Can you believe passengers recorded the conversation? You can’t do anything these days without someone documenting it. I swear, our privacy—”
“You’re getting off track, Sam,” Olivia reminded.
“Yes, okay. So even though I tried not to take insult, I was insulted. I mean, how could I not be? I tried to explain my position, and I listed all the different planes I’d flown, and I ended my litany by saying that I am a pilot in the United States Air Force, and I have been trained by the finest. Air Force fighter pilots don’t crash planes. I also told him I could understand his reticence if I were a crop duster or even a Navy pilot, but come on . . . I’m Air Force. Didn’t he realize how superior we are?”
“You also said—and I’m quoting—‘We are the best pilots in the world.’”
“We are,” she countered, and Olivia could picture her friend shrugging. “So I might have said something like that. Yes, it was ego, but the passengers calmed down. At least, that’s what the attendant told me. She also said there were three passengers in the back of the cabin throwing up. Whatever that virus was, it was quick and powerful.”
“But you did instruct all of them to get into crash position?”
“Only because the captain insisted.”
“Tell me what you said, your exact words.”
“Don’t make me. It was all over the news.”
“Tell me.”
“I just explained that the captain and the copilot were under the weather and that I would be landing the plane. I also said that, even though I personally did not believe it was necessary, they all should get into crash position, and I only hoped they were as insulted as I was.”
“And?”
“And on approach I saw all the fire trucks and the ambulances, and I might have said something to the tower about getting them the hell off my runway.”
“Might have.”
“I also told the passengers that the landing would be the smoothest they’d ever experienced. It was, too,” she asserted. “Not a single bump.”
“That’s what I heard on the news,” Olivia said.
“The tower thought we should use the chute, but I got them to let us park at the gate because it would be much easier to get all of the sick off the plane that way. Once we opened the door, I got out of the way so the paramedics could get into the cockpit. I waited a long time in the galley while all the passengers filed off, but then I saw what time it was, and I knew my ride was waiting for me at baggage claim. I put on my baseball cap and my jacket, grabbed my flight bag, and headed into the terminal. I was relieved no one stopped me because I had to get back to base before curfew.”
“You just left.”
“You know I did. I had to,” she explained. “Randy was driving three of us back. He’d already picked up the others, and I didn’t want them to be late, too.”
She sighed before she continued, “I had this stupid hope it would b
low over. You know, no big deal, right? Unfortunately, it was all over the news. I got back in plenty of time, and after I dropped my bag in my room, I went to report to my commander. That was mortifying. He was in a bar with some other officers—a sports bar—and there were jumbo screens all over the place. I asked him for a moment alone and quickly explained what had happened. I also told him I thought the newsmen would try to get on base, and if they wanted any interviews, I was going to assume he’d handle them. He didn’t like me dumping it in his lap, but I argued I had an exam the next morning, and I needed to concentrate on that. The commander is never in a good mood, but he was that evening, and it was only later that I found out why. He’d heard what I’d said about being superior to the Navy. He liked that.”
“Ego,” Olivia said. “All of you pilots have major egos.” Olivia heard a beep on the line, indicating there was a call waiting. “I’ve got to go,” she said after she looked at the screen.
“Wait. Don’t you want to hear about the press conference? It was really hilarious.”
“I’m sure it was,” she agreed. “Sorry, I can’t hear more. Jane’s beeping in.”
“E-mail me after you talk to her,” Sam said, “and tell her I’ll call her this week.”
Olivia said good-bye and switched to Jane’s call. Her friend was phoning to invite Olivia to dinner. She insisted that she come because Logan was making a special roast with fresh herbs. Although Olivia really didn’t want to go out—the weather had turned nasty and it was beginning to sleet—she did want to see Jane and make sure she was all right. She would pretend that everything was fine, but Olivia would know the truth as soon as she looked at her face. She told Jane she’d be there in an hour.
The nasty phone calls about her father had subsided—there were only two that morning—and, at Olivia’s insistence, Grayson had canceled the guard at her door as long as she promised to call one of them if she chose to leave. Since Jane lived just a short distance away, Olivia decided she’d be safe if she took extra precautions. John, the doorman, kept her informed about the number of reporters trying to get in the building to interview her. He had warned her that some of them sat in their cars, waiting, so, before leaving her apartment, she called down to John. The sleet was working to her advantage, he told her. There weren’t any cars on the street tonight.
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