No White Knight

by Angel Payne

  On that uplifting benediction, I concentrated on work.

  I had a few minutes to kill before Devon triaged the first patient, so I used the time to log into the hospital’s system. I had twelve patients to see over the course of the day. Not a punishing schedule. I expelled a breath of relief—

  Only to have it stolen from my lungs as the phone vibrated in my coat pocket.

  I grabbed in for the thing so fast, my stethoscope and fingers twined and then caught on a thread in the bottom of the new coat, punching the phone into the air and crashing onto the tile floor.

  “Fuck,” I snarled. “Jesus fuck. Don’t break. Don’t break!”

  I dropped to my knees so fast I heard one of my caps pop. I was going to fucking debilitate myself over a text message from a girl I wasn’t even dating. Yeah, I was Taylor Mathews’ fucking puppet. Pathetic.

  Upside? The screen was still intact. I grinned like a drunk rat at seeing the message was from her. If I was going to limp through the rest of my day, at least the pain was worth it. She’d responded. She knows I’m still alive—despite the brutality of how she communicated it.

  Why didn’t you tell me?

  Her fury seemed to seep from every word.

  My smile only widened—despite her demand bringing on true confusion. What the hell was she…

  Shit. Killian and Claire must have told her I was back in town. I hadn’t asked them to keep it a secret or anything, and if she had been in that giggling group up at the main house, then the subject had probably come up. It just seemed my little sassy wasn’t too keen on surprises.

  Guess the cat’s out of the bag?

  I added the little face that looked like a guy feigning innocence after a murder.

  I’m allergic to cats.

  So much for innocence. At once, my cock twitched in my scrubs, making me reach down and adjust. Damn. This was no time to sport a woody. The thin material did nothing to conceal an erection, but her adorably impertinent answers always shot straight to my dick.

  Have dinner with me.

  As long as we were stabbing straight for the important points…

  No.

  I chuckled. Sort of. She didn’t think I’d let this opportunity sift away like beach sand, did she?

  Why not?

  I don’t appreciate being lied to.

  Puzzlement returned. A hefty, straight-up version of the stuff.

  I’ve never lied to you, Taylor. Ever.

  Lying by omission is still lying, clown.

  Okay, so she really hated surprises.

  I’ll explain when I see you. Pick you up at 8.

  Won’t be there.

  Please.

  Well, you can’t come to my place.

  Why not?

  Because we both know what will happen.

  Isn’t that the idea?

  The idea is dinner. Period. I’ll meet you somewhere at 7.

  I have clinic until 6. I won’t be able to make it somewhere by 7.

  Guess you’ll have to try really hard, then.

  I knew better than to send another message—and almost didn’t want to. Christ, what this anticipation already did to my dick. It was torture. It was heaven. No matter what, one thing was clear. The negotiation round was over. She’d agreed to see me, but thoroughly on her terms. I could do that. Her terms. Maybe just this once.

  Later, I’d check in with a restaurant choice—maybe even go to if-you-need-anything-just-ask Devon for a suggestion or two. If I could lure Taylor closer to La Jolla so I didn’t have to deal with the traffic between here and Mission Valley, her dinner call time could be juuuust this side of workable.

  There was a soft knock on the door. A second later, Devon tucked her head in—and scowled at seeing me on the floor, gawking at my phone. “You’re on deck, Dr. Stone. Room one. Chart’s on the door.” Clearly—and thankfully—she thought better of asking any questions.

  “On my way.” I hurried to my feet, plunked my phone back into my pocket, and then took off down the hall.

  It was effortless to fall back into the routine of seeing patients, making notes in charts and consulting with Devon when I needed extra tests, labs, and films ordered. Before I knew it, the end of the day had already sneaked up—and I was damn glad of it. Not that the day had been banal. Just the opposite. The expectation of what awaited at the end of my work made every second of it that much more rewarding…and meaningful. For the first time in a long time, patients were people to me, not just conditions or diagnoses or insurance approval codes. Yeah, even little Lois Wilkes, who’d recounted the highlights of her life for me three times.

  Around lunch, I’d checked my phone quickly, only to see Taylor still hadn’t read my suggestion of the Crab Catcher for dinner. When I checked around four, she’d finally read it and sent back a simple thumbs-up. The confirmation was enough to get me through the ninety minutes with Mrs. Wilkes.

  Ultimately, emerging from the room with an exhausted scowl, I bellowed down the hall, “Devon!”

  “No need to shout.” She proved the point by emerging from the triage and charting station, four feet away. “I’m right here.”

  I bristled at her reprimand. She and I were going to need to lay some ground rules sooner rather than later.

  “Can you please refer Mrs. Wilkes to whoever handles the dementia cases here? She’ll likely need her residence moved, services updated, the usual. Thank you. I’m going upstairs to my office to finish charting from my computer up there.”

  “Got it.” She was brisk to the point of brusqueness. I’d probably ticked her off—again—but had little time to care.

  But the thing was…I did.

  Goddamn it.

  I halted, one arm still sheathed in my white coat and one arm already freed, and pivoted back toward the nursing station. “Hey.”

  “Yes?” Devon was still all business. And yep, still pretty pissed.

  “I…uh…really appreciate your help today. Thanks.” Whoa, this was weird—but kind of nice—to watch how I brightened her features just a little. “I’m sure we’ll find our groove in no time.”

  “Sure,” Devon murmured and then smiled. “See you tomorrow.”

  “Good night.” I shed the rest of the coat as I walked, also unbuttoning the top button of my shirt from beneath my tie.

  Screw the remaining charting. I only had one goal on my mind now.

  Meaning I skipped steps on the stairs back to my office, disrobing further as I bounded up. Once inside, I made sure to lock the door behind me before getting in a quick shower in the small bathroom connected to the office space. I already had a change of clothes stashed in the closet and threw those on after hastily drying off.

  While attempting to tame my hair into some sort of style—the shit was curling around my ears and seriously needed a trim—I checked my phone to make sure the reservation was locked down at Crab Catcher. It seemed to be a popular place, and I’d asked for a prime table with a great view. Nothing like a little oceanic ambience to help smooth my way back into a certain firecracker’s good graces.

  The restaurant hadn’t called.

  But Taylor had.

  And before I jabbed the Play arrow on her message, my gut clenched.

  “Hey…Mac.”

  Mac. Not Clown or Dork or Ass Monkey.

  Shit.

  “It’s…uhhh…me. Taylor. But I guess you know that, caller ID and all. Hey, I’m—well shit, I’m really sorry, but I have to cancel. Please don’t be mad. Something came up. Oh, my God, that sounds lame, but…well…I just can’t do it tonight, okay? I have to…it’s just that…well…yeah. Okay, I’m really sorry. I guess I’ll see you around.” Her voice wobbled on that, despite how she inhaled sharply to even out that betraying keel. “Okay,” she rushed out. “Bye.”

  Click.

  Then the dial tone filled the quiet air of my small office.

  And pierced at the target all but painted on the center of my chest.

  And tugged at the cu
riosity in my brain. Relentlessly.

  Something wasn’t right.

  As in, really not right.

  After thinking a minute, I picked up my phone and tried to call her—or whatever strange alien had replaced her in that message. I’d never heard the woman sound so small and unsure, not even when she was seconds from passing out in front of the Blood Mobile, in the parking lot outside.

  Three rings. Four. Five.

  “Hey there!”

  “Sassy. Thank fuck. What—”

  “You’ve reached Taylor Mathews with Stone Global Corporation. Please leave a message, including your number, and I will return your call at my earliest convenience. Thank you.”

  Well, there was the Taylor I knew, at least. Confident, sharp, and sure of herself—not the stammering stranger who’d called no more than five minutes ago.

  This wasn’t just strange anymore.

  It was way off-kilter.

  The hairs on my neck stood up. I didn’t get the vibe that she was physically in peril, but she hadn’t just voice mailed from poolside at the spa, either. Something was out of whack, and I wasn’t about to just go on my merry way with the awareness tearing at me worse than Mrs. Wilkes’s third retelling of her wild night in Vegas with Mr. Wilkes, three decades ago.

  I turned into a human ping-pong ball, pacing zigzags across the office a few times, before deciding to suck it up and text my cousin.

  Don’t take this the wrong way, Kil Joy. I need to talk to Claire. Have her call me. I’m worried about Taylor.

  If she ended up angry with me, I would deal with it then.

  In a few minutes, my cell rang, displaying Killian’s information, though I picked up to hear Claire’s level but urgent tone. “Mac? What’s going on?”

  “I’m not sure,” I replied tightly. “And maybe I’m totally out of line here—”

  “That’s stopped you before?” Kil’s interjection told me I was on speaker with the two of them. An infant’s gurgle rapidly corrected me. The three of them.

  Normally, I’d be gunning to return that shot right back over his bow, but there was shit bigger than that at the moment. Who the hell cared that he’d had a couple of extra polo ponies and a bunk bed nearly twenty years ago? I gave voice to what was much more important, right here in front of me.

  No. Not in front of me. And that was the terrifying point.

  “Taylor and I were supposed to have dinner tonight.”

  “Yay!” Claire exclaimed.

  “Shock of shocks,” Kil drawled, droll as fuck.

  “Well, she just left me a voice mail, calling it off.” Relieved my cousin held back on twisting his knife deeper because of the tension in my voice, I went on, “And something’s…not right. At all.”

  “What do you mean?” Claire’s voice was closer now, as if she had leaned in toward the phone.

  “Her voice,” I stammered. “It…just wasn’t right. You know how she’s normally so…”

  “Spunky?” Claire filled in.

  I laughed, “Yeah. That’s it.” And it was, describing my girl with freakish accuracy. “Only this time, she wasn’t. Not by a fucking long shot.”

  A new rustling. Claire hauled in a deep breath. “Oh dear.”

  I started pacing again. “Have you talked to her today?”

  “No. We don’t always see each other at work, since we’re both so busy.”

  “I saw her,” Killian offered. At once, there was a delighted baby’s coo. That little girl was pretty smitten with her daddy.

  “Really, baby?” Claire’s reply was tender. Honestly, the pair of them must be bathing in sugar water every morning. “Oh yeah, that’s right…the meeting for Kim’s new Asia launch thing…”

  “What time was that?” I fought to keep my asshole tone out of it.

  “And was she okay?” Claire added. “Her usual spicy self?”

  “It was near the end of the day.” Kil finished addressing my query with a soft coo to his daughter. “Right after four our time, I think, since Beijing is fifteen hours ahead. And no, Fairy, I didn’t notice anything off. What’s going on?”

  “Probably not anything.” His curiosity was oddly grating, perhaps because he enjoyed the freedom to be openly concerned about Taylor—a privilege I coveted. “I didn’t mean to get anyone worried,” I stressed. “Just thought I’d check. Thanks again. I”—was going to choke on this, but I vowed to get it out—“I appreciate it.”

  “Hey,” Claire spoke up. “Why don’t I try to give her a call, Mac? If I get through or find anything out, I’ll let you know.”

  “I’d appreciate that too.” That one didn’t feel as rough to spew. Maybe, with practice, I could manage this “manners” nonsense from time to time—especially when the payback came in the form of a text from Claire just before I got into my car for the drive back to their gatehouse for the night.

  Found her. She’s at her mom’s place.

  The joy of reading the first sentence was clobbered by the ire of taking in the second. “What the hell?” I grumbled, texting back an abbreviated version of the same.

  T just got done posting bail. Janet got into some sort of trouble with the police again.

  Again???

  I didn’t take time out to verbalize it this time. Claire’s reply was equally fast in coming.

  It happens from time to time. Not my story to tell, though.

  Thank you. Sincerely.

  Anytime. Sincerely.

  I believed her. “Keep that woman happy, Killian,” I murmured while watching Claire sign off. “You don’t deserve her, motherfucker.”

  But now, the motherfucker’s cousin was in a real dilemma. Go home and worry about my sassy girl all night, or follow my gut and take a different route, through Mission Valley instead? Texting her to come to me would be useless. She’d ignore the message, just like all the others I’d sent since listening to her voice mail. Then I’d sit at the gatehouse and worry about her all night long.

  Damn. I’d had no idea Taylor was still dealing with her mother’s shitty lifestyle choices, even now—but the revelation filled in a lot of blank spaces about why the woman was so skittish when conversations turned halfway serious about even going on a regular date, let alone attempting any kind of a monogamous choice with each other. No wonder she’d been furious with me for not being more forthcoming about the move, as well. Her entire life, men had brought only misery, mayhem, and “surprises” she’d rather forget, not cherish. Even the males with whom she worked, strictly platonic in nature, probably felt the fallout from Janet Mathews’ crappy decisions.

  That was all going to change.

  At least if I could do anything about it.

  New plan. Finding ways to show her men could be worth believing in. That I was worth believing in. That I could be stable and true, a safe bet for the long haul. For her long haul.

  Whoa. Hold the fucking phone.

  When had the body snatchers come by and replaced my usual douchebag self with this guy talking in my head right now?

  Stable?

  Safe bet?

  Motherfucking long haul?

  “Paging Dr. Clown,” I muttered, almost sealing it off with a laugh. But I couldn’t laugh, because every fiber in my being confirmed the conviction as my truth. I was in deep, disgusting adoration and veneration of this woman—a devotion plunging even deeper now that I’d been handed the key that unlocked her darker truths.

  Worth it.

  Her light was worth every fucking step of that darkness already.

  I couldn’t stop thinking about her. Her porcelain skin. Her quirky smiles. Her gigantic blue eyes, fringed with those thick, beautiful lashes and shining with the constant workings of her incredible mind. I could close my own eyes and recall every inch of her perfection in my memory.

  Well, that sure as hell did it. “Fuck this,” I growled in agreement, right before gunning the engine in order to veer onto the 52 freeway, heading east toward Mission Valley. According to the car’s na
v, a few more interchanges would land me on the freeway passing nearest to her apartment complex. San Diego had a pretty involved freeway system, but I was getting used to the lay of the land very quickly.

  Not more than a half hour later, I pulled into her complex and took a loop through the parking lot. Her 240sx was there, parked in space seventeen. I really doubted Claire would’ve lied to me on her behalf, so I assumed she’d gotten her mom situated and then come home. I found a visitor’s parking spot with ease and then jogged up to her door and knocked.

  It took a second knock before the porch light came on. She opened the door but then just stared at me with dull eyes. She looked exhausted, small and frail.

  Without waiting for an invitation, I stepped inside her apartment and wrapped her tightly in my arms. Wonder of wonders, she let me—though at first my embrace went unrequited. Her posture was like her gaze, limp and lifeless, her skinny arms just hanging at her sides. But she didn’t push me away, either, nor did a single syllable of sarcasm tumble off her lips. She just seemed to…exist.

  I’d never been more freaked out in my life.

  So I squeezed her tighter, pressing my lips to the top of her head. The poor thing smelled of smoke and stale air, much like the corner seat in a bar or a cheap hotel room. This was nothing like her beloved Allure…now my beloved Allure too. The scent of my beloved woman. No wonder she was as limp and defeated as a stray cat who’d been kicked into the gutter. She was covered in the rot of her mother’s world.