The Rebel

by Adrienne Giordano

  Needing to get her mind right, she shook her head and stored her iPod in her bag while the quiet in the lab made her arms itch. Too quiet.

  “When I was nine,” she said, “my mom found a conch shell on the beach in Florida. I have it on my workbench where I can see it every day. It’s a paperweight for important things. Right now one of those things is a registration form for a forensic workshop I’ve been thinking about taking. Pretty high-level stuff. I keep putting off registering.”

  “Why?”

  She gave up on packing her things and faced him. “My mother was a forensic artist.”

  His eyebrows lifted. “She doesn’t do it anymore?”

  “She died. Ten years ago. Killed herself.”

  Wow, Amanda. Totally on a roll here. That miserable fact had only been spoken a handful of times and each time to people who’d proved their loyalty. People she could trust. Apparently, David was now one of those people.

  “I can’t imagine that. I’m sorry.” He stood, unmoving, his face completely neutral, no judgment or horror, just a mild curiosity over whether she’d continue.

  “Thank you. But I’m only telling you so you understand. She did a drawing once that helped convict a man of murder. He went to prison for a few years and was later exonerated. She never forgave herself.”

  His head snapped back and Amanda held up her hand. “She didn’t kill herself over it, but it didn’t help. My mother always battled depression. She may have been bipolar. I’m not sure. All I know is that there were tremendous highs followed by days she couldn’t get out of bed. Work was her savior. She loved making a difference. After that man was exonerated she never did another sketch. Never. I think the loss of her work sent her into a spiral she couldn’t come out of.”

  “And now we’re asking you to do a reconstruction.”

  “Yes.”

  David cracked his neck, finally showing some indication of his thoughts. “If I’d known, I wouldn’t have pressured you.”

  “I’ll do the sculpture,” she said.

  For a moment he stood in his spot, his face deadpan, not even a flinch as dead air clogged the space between them. “I’m... Wow. What made you change your mind?”

  So many things. My mother. An unidentified dead woman. She pointed at the image she’d created still sitting on the lab table. “Look at her. She was a beautiful girl. At least from my interpretation.”

  He reached for the sketch, then stopped, his hand in midair. “May I?”

  “Sure.”

  “Your work is amazing.”

  He set the image back on the table and angled back to her. “Are you okay?”

  “I am. I thought doing the work my mother loved would be this big dramatic scene where I’d be doomed by my own emotional sludge. Turns out, it wasn’t so bad. If anything, I got a taste of what my mom went through each time. It’s odd, but it was like I had a piece of her right there with me, and that made me come alive a little bit.” Oh, what a thing to say to a man she barely knew. “I’m just babbling.”

  “You’re not. I get it.” He winced. “Ew. Sorry. No, I don’t get it. Not really. What I should have said was I can see where, in a weird way, you’d connect with the work.”

  All she could do was nod. Talking about this, letting him dissect her and examine her motivations, wouldn’t help her stay detached.

  From the work or him.

  “If they’ll give me the cast of the skull, I’ll try it. The reconstruction will be 3-D and have much more detail than my sketch.”

  Appropriate or not, and definitely not caring that Paul sat just across the room, she stepped closer, slid her hand under David’s jacket around his waist and went up on tiptoes to hug him. “Thank you for being a pushy Hennings. After spending the afternoon in the lab, I believe my mother is letting me know it’s time I use my talent for more than what I’ve been doing.”

  He backed away from the hug and hit her with one of his amazing smiles, not lightning quick but a slow-moving and devastating one that creeped across his face and kicked off a tingle low in her belly.

  “Well, we Hennings people like to do our civic duty. How about as a thank you for saving me from my mother’s wrath, I buy you dinner one night this week? I can’t do it tonight because I’m expected at my mother’s.”

  “You don’t have to feed me.”

  “Yeah, I do. You’re doing this for us despite what you’ve been through. Besides, what I really want is a date with you, so a dinner kills two birds with one stone. As they say.”

  So slick, this one. Total charmer. And such trouble. But trouble, right now, might be nice. “I think I’d like that.”

  * * *

  “JUST PULL UP in front and drop me off,” Amanda said as David turned the corner leading to her building.

  He double-parked and turned off the engine. “I’ll walk you to the door.”

  “David—”

  But he’d already hopped out to get the door for her, which, the girlie-girl buried deep inside admitted, gave her a little thrill.

  The door flew open and he waved her out, adding a little bow that made her laugh. How she loved a man who could make her laugh.

  “Do you need help getting upstairs?”

  “No.” She retrieved her briefcase and tote from the backseat. “I’m all set. Thank you, though.”

  “I’ll walk you to the door.”

  Early-evening darkness had fallen and the streetlamps gave her building a creepy glow. Having been gone all day, she’d neglected to leave any interior lights on. As she approached, she spotted something white stuck to the front door of the building. Vendors were constantly leaving bagged flyers hanging on the door handle, but no one had ever fixed anything to the door. The nerve.

  Using the flashlight on her phone, she read the notice—what the heck?—marked City of Chicago, Building Department. Below the letterhead in thick, bold letters the sign left no doubt of the city’s request. OFF-LIMITS. DO NOT ENTER.

  She tilted her head, pondering this not-so-minor development. It had to be a joke. She glanced back at David a few steps behind her, thinking maybe he’d have... Nah. He hardly knew her well enough to pull this kind of prank. One she wouldn’t think funny.

  At all.

  “What’s up?” David asked. “Did you forget something?”

  “I...” Stumped, she held her hand to the door. “I don’t know. There’s a sign from the city telling me not to enter.”

  Has to be a joke. Right? Because if it wasn’t, she had big problems. But why would her building be sealed? Something odd squeezed her stomach, shooting tension right into her chest. Without access to the building, she’d be locked out of her studio and home. Out of her life.

  Frowning, David looked up at the door. “Why?”

  As if she knew. She shone the flashlight on the paragraph below the big block letters and scanned it while the pressure in her head skyrocketed and a sharp throb settled behind her eyes. “It says the building must remain vacant until further notice. Are they kidding me? My entire life is in this building.”

  “They must have the wrong location. Plus, they haven’t barricaded or padlocked the door.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means the building isn’t going to collapse. If it was they’d block the entrances. The city can’t afford to barricade every door and window on every building. If the problem is due to contaminants and the building won’t collapse, they do signage. Which they’ve done, so don’t panic. Call your landlord and find out what’s happening.”

  Yes. The landlord. The city had to have contacted him. Quickly, she scrolled through her contacts and found the number. “I’ve been trying to convince him to apply for landmark status on this building. And they want to condemn it?”

  The phone rang a third t
ime and Amanda grunted. “He never answers when I call.” She left a voice mail explaining the situation, then disconnected. “I’m calling the building department.”

  “You can try, but it’s after five. They’re probably gone for the day.”

  She’d try anyway. Couldn’t hurt. Not wanting to deal with searching for the number on her phone, she dialed information and was connected to the city’s building department, where—yes—she received a recorded message telling her the office was indeed closed.

  Terrific. She tapped the screen and scrunched her eyes closed. Stay calm. Just a mix-up.

  Opening her eyes, she once again read the sign as her thoughts raced. Work. Clothes. Checkbook. Her damned allergy medicine. Everything was inside.

  Forget calm.

  Forget not panicking.

  All at once, her body buzzed and throbbed and itched and all this emotional garbage was so not good for her, the woman who kept her life in a constant state of neither ups nor downs. Well, this was one heck of a down. “I don’t know what to do. My clothes are all in there!” She flapped her arms. “My work is in there.”

  “Hang tight.” David retreated a few steps and stared up at the darkened building, obviously formulating some kind of plan. “There’s a back door, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “We’re going in the back.”

  “The sign says...”

  “Yeah, but you just said you don’t have any clothes. We’ll sneak in the back door, hope we don’t get caught and you pack up whatever you need for a few days until this gets hashed out.”

  Without the studio, she couldn’t work. Without work, she couldn’t earn. Her draining checkbook—the one inside the no-access building—filled her mind. “I lease a storage unit, but there’s not enough room for me to work in there. I have a sculpture to finish!”

  David slid the tote and her briefcase off her shoulders, walked back to his SUV and stowed them. “I’ve got this. My condo is still being renovated. You can use one of the bedrooms that’s not being worked on. I’ll put you in the guest room.”

  Amanda’s head dipped forward. “You’re letting me turn your condo into a studio?”

  “Why not? The place is empty. You might as well use it until I can move in.” He waved his hand at the building. “This’ll get straightened out in a few days and you can move back here. No problem.” He inched closer and grabbed both her hands. “We’ve got this. We’ll load as much as we can and take it over to the condo.”

  The idea might not be a bad one. It might, in fact, be a short-term solution. “We can use my car also.”

  “Good. Then we’ll get you set up in a hotel for the night. Is that a plan?”

  “David Hennings, I could love you.”

  He threw his hands up, grinning at her. “Let’s not get crazy now or you might be stuck with me.”

  At the moment, as she thought about every minute she’d spent with this man since he’d walked into her studio earlier that day, being stuck with him might not be a bad thing. She grabbed hold of his jacket, the leather Belstaff she loved so much, and dragged him closer. Going up on tiptoes, she kissed him. And it wasn’t one those tentative let’s-test-this kisses where they sort of eased into it. This one left nothing on the table. Tongues were involved.

  And she’d started it. Total insanity.

  But he certainly wasn’t rejecting her. He made it worth her while by wrapping his arm around her and pulling her right up against him. A few seconds later a bulge at his crotch area announced itself in a truly obvious way, and her heart slammed. What he wanted couldn’t have been clearer. No doubt. At all.

  “Dude,” a guy passing by said. “Lucky dog.”

  David pulled back and his amazing lips tilted into a wicked grin. “Dude,” he said, “don’t I know it?”

  * * *

  DAVID SET THE last box of supplies they’d taken from Amanda’s in his extra bedroom and did a quick survey of the place. The walls were still unpainted and the drywall dust left a weird coating on the floors. For what she needed, it would do. If the dust didn’t give her an asthma attack. “We’ll run out tonight and get you a couple of tables to set up. It won’t be perfect, but this is triage.”

  “Yes. Triage. I’m hoping whatever the mix-up is will be taken care of tomorrow and I can move back home.”

  Having dealt with bureaucratic red tape, David wasn’t feeling hopeful. Miracles could happen, he supposed.

  She checked her watch. “It’s only six. I can still hit the office supply store for the tables. You said you have dinner at your mom’s tonight. Go. You don’t have to do this with me.”

  Whatever he expected her to say, that wasn’t it. And yeah, part of him was insulted that she thought he’d leave her to handle this mess on her own. He propped his hands on his hips and shook his head. “My mother raised me better than that. We’ll go get the tables and then I’ll head out. I’ll still be on time.”

  If he did ninety on the Eisenhower and didn’t shower before dinner.

  “Whoa,” she said. “Don’t be mad. Please.”

  “I’m not mad.” He held up a hand. “Wait. Yeah. Maybe I am. I don’t know what kind of men you’ve had in your life, but I’m not about to leave you alone with this.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean...” She closed her eyes, shook her head. “I’m sorry. I’m not used to the help. I just don’t want to be a problem.”

  “You’re not. Let’s get you tables. On the way, I’ll make some calls. See if any of my contacts know anyone in the city’s building department. If that doesn’t work, I’ll pull out the big guns.”

  “The big guns?”

  “My mother.”

  Amanda laughed. At least something made her laugh.

  “Don’t laugh. Do you know how many people in this town owe my mother a favor? She’s sat on the board of every major charity. The mayor takes her calls on a regular basis. Favors don’t come cheap, though. She’ll help us, but if she does, she’ll owe someone and I don’t like putting her in that position. I could also ask my sister for help. She’ll love that.”

  Wait, had he ever asked Penny for help? Most likely he hadn’t. It would have become a weapon between them. The fact that their relationship had reached that point didn’t say anything good about either of them.

  “Why?”

  “We...uh...don’t get along. We’re basically oil and water.”

  Because of the lack of chairs, Amanda leaned against the wall. “She must have had a hand in it.”

  “We should be ashamed of ourselves.”

  “You’re siblings. There’s bound to be some infighting.”

  “What about you? Brothers or sisters?”

  “Two stepbrothers,” she said. “My dad remarried five years ago.”

  “Was that hard?”

  She scooped her water bottle from her giant purse and swigged. “No. And I wonder about that. Shouldn’t it have been rough for me to see my father happy with someone else?”

  “From what you’ve said—and I mean no disrespect here—life with your mom wasn’t easy. You know it, and your dad would definitely have known it. What’s wrong with wanting someone you love to be happy?”

  “I guess. In the beginning I was afraid it meant something. That somehow I was wrong for wanting my father to have a quiet—and stable—life.”

  “I’ll tell ya, you worry a lot.”

  “I do. I’m always thinking. It’s maddening.”

  He wandered over to her. “I can help with that.”

  She rolled her eyes but laughed. God, he loved to make her laugh. It was like every exceptional thing that had ever happened to him in one giant sound.

  “I’m serious,” he said. “I think a lot, too, but not like you. I don’t worry like you do. It’s gonna be w
hat it’s gonna be. Me worrying about it won’t help. It’s paying interest on a debt I don’t owe. Who needs that?”

  She cocked her head. Considered that. “That’s a good way to think about it. Thank you.”

  “Amanda LeBlanc, you need fun in your life.”

  “I have fun in my life.”

  “Not my kind of fun. The kind of fun that has you on the back of a motorcycle tearing down country roads. Girl, you need to let go once in a while. Preferably with me.”

  “Promises, promises.”

  “Just take a chance. You’ll see.” He tugged on the end of her hair. “Now we need to go before I’m late for dinner and my mother murders me.”

  Chapter Five

  Some things in life were out of David’s control. Rainy days, crabby clients, the plague.

  Family dinners.

  He paused at the base of the stairs and listened to the chatter coming from the dining room. The gang’s all here. Of course, he was late.

  Blame it on his mother, who’d hooked him into this cold-case business. Even though Amanda LeBlanc had turned out to be beautiful—and alluring, smart, talented and sexy as hell—he’d still spent the better part of his day working on his mom’s project.

  “Where’s David?” he heard Penny ask from the other room.

  His sister had a snarky tone that hit his ears like nails fired from a gun and he bit down, already trying to control his rising temper. Breathe, dude. He inhaled, held his breath for a few seconds and then slowly let it out.

  “Upstairs,” Zac said. “He walked in with us. He’s getting cleaned up.”

  “He’s late for dinner and he didn’t even need to drive anywhere?”

  Holy hell, his sister made him nuts. From the time she was seven years old and wrapping everyone around her finger, getting him and Zac in trouble all the time, he’d learned to accept her power over this family. But sometimes it ate him raw. Time to break this up. He swung around the staircase and marched into the dining room, where his dad was just landing in his normal spot at the head of the table. His mom would sit at the opposite end by the windows, and David would sit to her right. From there, he wasn’t sure. With Zac and Penny having significant others now, the seating arrangements could have changed. Another reminder of how long he’d been away. Penny stood at the sideboard pouring a glass of wine and Russ stood next to her.