by Lynn Cooper
“What if I refuse?”
“Your appendix will rupture, and you will die.”
I think about how many times over the last couple of months I wanted to do just that. But lying here now, facing my mortality, I know living is what I truly want.
Taking a deep breath, I say, “I don’t mean to be difficult. I have a hard time trusting anyone and, in this instance, I have no choice but to trust you. Literally putting my life in the hands of a stranger is scary.”
He smiles warmly and pats my hand. “It’s a simple, routine surgery. I’ve successfully performed hundreds of them. You’re going to be fine.”
I can’t resist asking him this question: “Have you had any failures?”
“Not a single one, and I’m not about to start with you.”
“I appreciate that.”
He hands me a clipboard and says, “If you’ll go ahead and sign this consent form, I’ll administer a sedative, and we’ll get you prepped. The surgery will be over before you know it and, in a day or two, you’ll be happily on your way home.”
Taking the pen he offers, I scribble Nora Adams across the signature line. He nods when I pass the form back to him. As I watch Dr. Palter open a steel door with a clear glass insert, I realize this is my chance to tell him I’m being held prisoner. I’m sure he will contact the authorities on my behalf, and once the surgery is over, I can go back to my house instead of Tretan’s.
When he steps back toward my bedside, he is holding a vial. I feel faint watching him stick the needle into a rubber top before aspirating a clear, thick liquid into the syringe. It’s now or never. I have to tell him my plight before he injects me with the sleepy juice.
I’m still working up my nerve as he lifts my hand and prepares to put the sedative into my IV tube. With the tip of the needle in place and the doctor’s thumb resting on the plunger, I say, “Wait!”
He pauses, frowns and says, “We really need to get you into surgery. Delaying won’t do you any good.”
“I know. I—I just wanted to tell—”
“Her husband how much she loves him before you knock her out, Doc,” Tretan says, extending his hand toward my surgeon.
I gawk at both men as they introduce themselves and exchange pleasantries. They are engaging in some unwritten but understood good ol’ boy bonding which obviously doesn’t include me. I start to protest, and Tretan cuts me off. “Dr. Palter, would it be possible for me to have a couple of minutes alone with the missus before you sedate her?”
The doctor smiles broadly. “Sure, but make it brief. Time is of the essence here, and I know you want what’s best for your wife.”
“You bet I do.”
“Good enough. I’ll step outside the door and give you some privacy. You have two minutes.”
“Thanks, Doc,” my captor says, pulling up a rolling stool and sitting beside my bed.
As soon as we are alone, he asks, “You weren’t about to rat out Fernando, were you?”
I swallow hard. “No, I was going to turn you in.”
“Well, I guess I got here just in time, didn’t I?”
“I can still tell. You have no power in here. What’s to keep me from spilling the beans while they wheel me off to surgery or after it’s over?”
“Nothing except the fact that you have nowhere else to go and no one else to count on while you recover.”
“I have a home and a mother. Not a very good one, but I am her offspring. She might actually step up one time if she knows I really need her.”
The look on Tretan’s face is weary and full of pity that I’m not expecting. “She won’t, Nora.”
I gasp. “How did you know my name?”
He holds out my pretty pink purse, and I feel sick from something other than appendicitis.
“One of my men retrieved it from the Devil’s Den. I brought it along, thinking you might need the identification or your health insurance card from the library. I know you haven’t been to work in over two months, but I thought maybe your coverage was still active.”
“I doubt it, but thanks for being thoughtful.”
He furrows his brow. “You don’t seem surprised about where I’ve been.”
“I overheard Sally when you were leaving the lighthouse. She squawked on and on about you going to kick some biker ass.”
He chuckles. “I never should have gotten that damn bird’s beak fixed.”
For some reason what he says makes my eyes mist. “I just remembered something Fernando said when he brought me to you.”
“What’s that, Täubchen?”
My heart warms at the sound of his pet name for me. Even though he knows I’m Nora Adams, he still sees me as a dove. His dove.
“Fernando said I was broken, but you could fix me like you do everything else. What did he mean by that?”
Tretan shakes his head. “Nothing.”
“If you lie to me, I’ll never be able to trust you.”
“You’re determined not to trust me no matter what I say or do.”
“Fine,” I whine, crossing my arms over my chest. “I guess I’ll never know because when I get released from here, I’m going back to my home. Even if my mother doesn’t help me, I’m strong enough to make it on my own.”
He smiles sweetly, almost adoringly. The expression seems so out of place against his rugged stubble and scarred eyebrow. “You have no home to return to, Nora. The house has been foreclosed on. As of yesterday, your mother has been removed from the premises. She is the most vile, disgusting woman ever to live. Before it is all said and done, I will personally see to it she rots in a state-run prison or one of my making. Much of that will depend on you.”
My mind is already muddled with pain and fever, but Tretan’s words are wreaking havoc on what’s left of my cerebral comprehension. “What are you talking about?”
He stands, pushes the stool into a corner and begins pacing. “When my men and I raided the Devil’s Den earlier today, I interrogated the bikers. Foras didn’t take you for kicks. He kidnapped you at your mother’s request. She felt like you were getting too strong and assertive. That you were growing tired of being her slave, so—”
I finish for him. “So she decided to find a way to knock me down a notch. To make my life utterly miserable, thinking I would welcome the chance to serve her again.”
“Yes. I’m sorry, Nora. I truly am. No one should be treated in such a horrible way by family and especially not by a parent.”
“I appreciate your sympathy, but it doesn’t make this revelation hurt any less or keep me from being shocked and angry as hell. Just when I think Taney can’t go any lower, she finds a way to dig a little deeper.”
He stops pacing and places a hand on my forehead. “You’re burning up, little dove. The doctor is going to be back any second, and I’m glad. You need the surgery. And I need you to come back to the lighthouse with me.”
“Why can’t you let me go, Tretan? I promise not to press charges or file any reports against Fernando or you.”
I said his first name before thinking, but he didn’t seem to mind. Or else he is cutting me some slack since I’m all laid up.
“I believe you mean that right now. But when you’re well and looking back on all of this, you might get pissed and change your mind. All I’m asking is that you stay with me for two months. After those eight weeks are up, if you still want to leave, I swear I’ll let you go.”
“What’s so important about that time frame?”
Dr. Palter breezes back into the room, keeping Tretan from answering. Without a word, the surgeon injects the sleepy-pie serum, and my world goes black.
Chapter Ten
Tretan Voss
SEEING NORA’S BIG BROWN eyes drift shut does something terrible to my insides. I know she is only sleeping and the doctor is here to help and not harm her, but I still feel so fucking hollow and helpless. It’s the same, gutting reaction I had to seeing my sister Kendra’s eyes close for the final time.
&nbs
p; Shaking the memory away, I answer the phone vibrating in my pocket.
I forego any formal salutation and say, “Congratulations on the new grandbaby, Dr. Ramhart. I’ll be sure to send your daughter a gift basket loaded with all her favorite things. But right now, I need you to get your ass on a plane and meet me at Saint Augustine’s ASAP.”
“Thank you, Mr. Voss. How’s the patient?”
“Nora’s in surgery. You were right about her appendix.”
“An appendectomy is a piece of cake. She should be discharged from the hospital in a day or so. If all goes well, she will be fully recovered in a couple of weeks. There’s no real reason for me to rush back.”
“I can think of fifty thousand of them, Ramhart. They were deposited into your bank account at the first of this month, like they are every damn month.” My retort is met with silence, so I give the good doctor another push. “I expect you to be here first thing in the morning to sign Nora out of this hospital and into your care. She will be staying with me at the lighthouse, but you will check in on her every morning to make sure she is healing properly. Do I make myself clear?”
“Crystal, sir.”
I end the call without saying goodbye. I’m not a callous bastard where my employees and their families are concerned. But when it comes to Nora, every fucking one of them will toe the line whether they or their families like it or not. She is my main priority. She will be theirs, too.
AS I ANTSILY PACE the hospital corridors, Fernando comes milling in from the parking lot. I told him to drive Alice home and meet me back here. Since my men have the Hummer, I’ve got no wheels. And although I have no plans to leave Nora’s side, I don’t like the idea of being stranded anywhere. But no matter how many fleets of cars I own, I will always be metaphorically stuck in the past. And right this minute, the demons of days gone by are raising holy hell in my head.
I’m bracing myself for psychological battle when Fernando sidles up to me like a newborn foal does to its mother. I spare him a sideways glance, silently giving him permission to speak even though the last thing I want to do is talk. I feel rung out, worried and impatient. I prefer silence, but I know I won’t get it.
“Boss?”
“Yeah, buddy?”
“Is your pet going to die?”
I stop pacing and firmly take Fernando by the shoulders. With my dark eyes boring into his nearly translucent blue ones, I say with conviction, “No. Nora is not going to die.”
He smiles. “You named her Nora?”
I drop my head feeling even more bone weary than before. Fernando doesn’t know I have been calling her Täubchen, and I don’t know exactly how to explain how she came to be known as Nora, so I say, “That’s what her previous owner called her.”
He nods, seemingly satisfied. I didn’t want to say Nora was the name her mother gave her. To Taney, my little dove was nothing more than a slave to be owned.
As we continue to traverse the hospital halls in silence, my phone vibrates again. I’m two seconds away from shattering the damn thing against a wall. The ID tells me it’s Vadik. I’m anxious to hear his update. I send Fernando to get us some coffee.
Vadik says, “The rat pack has been securely sealed inside the designated container on the north dock.”
“Good,” I say. “Other than the foreclosure notice posted to the door, did you find anything of importance at the Adams residence?”
“Depends on what you classify as important.”
I normally enjoy the cat-and-mouse banter with my chief comrade but, with the weight of worry over Nora’s surgery sitting heavy on my shoulders, I’m not in the mood. “Any and every fucking thing that provides insight into my beautiful dove is important.”
“Okay, my search of the house revealed Nora Adams loves all things pink. Her bedroom looked like a damn Little Debbie Snowball had exploded in it.”
“I could have guessed that much based on the color of her purse. What else?”
“She had wall-to-wall bookcases filled with romance novels. I thought young women her age downloaded books onto iPads or e-readers.”
I shake my head even though Vadik can’t see me. Of course Nora would prefer paperbacks to digital copies. She was a librarian and still is in her soul.
Trying not to sound jealous or possessive, I ask, “Did you find any photos of interest? Perhaps a boyfriend or someone of significance to her?”
“Oh, yes.”
I clench my jaw, but manage to say, “Go on.”
“She was definitely having a love affair. There were tons of pictures hanging from the walls, sitting on her nightstand and bookcase shelves of the one who holds her heart.”
“I need a name, goddamn it!”
While I seethe, Vadik laughs raucously. When he finally breaks for a breath, he says, “Miss Bliss.”
“Who the hell is that?”
“A Pomeranian puppy. Its name is stenciled on the sides of every picture frame. Apparently, she was Nora’s puffball of love.”
“What do you mean was?”
“I did a little digging via one of my financial contacts. Leo told me after the bank tossed Taney out, she went to stay with a relative, one who isn’t fond of canines.”
“So what happened to Miss Bliss?”
“Leo said Taney told him she was going to have the dog euthanized.”
“Fucking bitch!”
“Hold on, Voss. Leo suggested she take the puppy to the pound.”
“Which one?”
“He didn’t know, but I’d imagine she would go to the closest one. There’s only three in a twenty-five-mile radius of her house.”
“Check all of them, and let me know what you find.”
“Sure thing,” he says, chuckling.
“What’s so damn funny?”
Vadik clears his throat. “Nothing. I just never thought I’d see the day you’d go all soft in the chest. That girl has done a real number on your heart for sure.”
“Never mind, dickhead. Just find Miss Bliss, and be quick about it.”
Chapter Eleven
Nora Adams
MY NOSE TWITCHES AT the soft scent of fragrant roses and the warm, familiar aroma of freshly-baked bread. I am no longer at the hospital but back at the lighthouse. When my eyelids flutter open, Tretan is sitting in a chair beside the bed he and I shared two nights ago.
His white dress shirt is rumpled and in stark contrast to the dark circles beneath his bloodshot eyes. The shadowy stubble peppering his jaw is hypnotic in its allure. Disheveled never looked so sexy. I’m sure no other man on the planet could wear exhaustion so well.
He gives me a heart-melting smile and says, “Hey, sleepyhead. How are you feeling?”
“Better, but a little sore,” I say, pushing back the covers to take a look at my incision site. As I pull up the hem of my obviously-new, super-soft, Persian-pink nightgown, I shiver at the sight of my bare bush and blush. Without asking, I know who dressed me. The crackling heat in Tretan’s gaze confirms my suspicions.
Unapologetically, he says, “I figured the waistband of any type of panties might snag your stitches. However, when you are ready to wear them, I bought you some in every shade of pink they make.”
I smile at the sound of pride in his voice. “It must have been pretty embarrassing for you to pick out and purchase underwear for me.”
He shakes his handsome head. “I didn’t give a damn how many stares I got from the saleslady. I’d do it all over again in order to get you the things you need to make your stay with me more pleasant,” he says, clearing his throat. “Anyway, Dr. Palter was able to remove your appendix laparoscopically. You only have a few stitches. The scar should be tiny.”
I nod, not really caring about the size of my abdominal scar. It’s the emotional and psychological scars I’m carrying on the inside that cause me so much consternation.
“I can’t believe he released me. I was certain I’d need to be under medical supervision for at least a day or two.”
“Let me guess. Dr. Ramhart?” I ask, feeling nervous. “Tretan, you didn’t kidnap me from the hospital, did you?”
He chuckles, and the sound swirls pleasantly through my chest.
“No, but I would have if Dr. Palter hadn’t agreed to let you leave.”
My eyes grow wide. “I can only imagine how you convinced him. What did you do? Threaten to break his hands?”
“Nothing so dramatic as that. I told him you would recover better at home and promised him Dr. Ramhart would send him daily updates on your condition.”
“So,” I say, looking at the crystal vase sitting on the antique writing desk, “where did the pink roses come from? Is there a greenhouse out back I don’t know about?”
“No. I’m not the flower-growing type. I asked Alice to pick them up early this morning along with the—”
“Pink throw pillows and blankets.”
“Yes. There’s a 24-hour Walmart about twenty miles down the road. I thought having a few things in your favorite color might cheer you up.”
“And make me forget I’m being held prisoner?”
“Please don’t say that, Täubchen. Can’t you think of yourself as being my guest for a couple of months?”
His question reminds me of the one I had asked him at the hospital but got no answer to, so I ask it again. “Why two months?”
He shrugs, almost shyly. “The bikers kept you that long and treated you abominably. I guess I was hoping, given the same length of time, I could somehow replace those horrible memories with good ones,” he says, taking my hand and lacing our fingers together.
I soak in the warmth of the intimacy he has created by his touch and softly say, “You don’t have to atone for the sins of others.”
“Since I can’t atone for my own, I want and need to do this for you.”
“Are you referring to your crime? The one you said Fernando went to prison for?”
“Yes.”
“Talking about it might help. Can you tell me what you did, Mr. Voss?”