The Lives Between Us

  “Thanks for comin’.” He waved and hurried after Dad and Grandpa. He didn’t know what had happened to change his dad, but he was gonna ride this wave as long as it ran. Suddenly Jeff turned and watched the sisters climbing into Skye’s car.

  Mrs. Lynch said she didn’t know anything about hockey. Why would she lie about that?

  * * *

  Mark watched Skye barge through the kitchen door, then come out with a plate of French fries. With a quick search of the room, she located him, isolated from the late-afternoon crowd in one of the back booths. Mark’s hands tightened on his beer bottle, and he took another fortifying sip. It’s over, Dutton.

  Though she’d lost a little weight, defining her features more, Skye looked as graceful and beautiful as ever. Her hair bounced at her shoulders, the satiny curls tempting him to plunge his hand into the thick mass to see if it was still as silky as Mark remembered. His groin tightened uncomfortably. Mark dropped his gaze to the table.

  So she’s hot? A neurotic, mean, manipulative bitch hides beneath that sweet smile. You’re better off without her, man.

  As Skye neared, Mark noticed the faint bruising beneath her eyes that makeup had failed to completely conceal. Apparently she wasn’t sleeping any better than he was. Good. Maybe she had a conscience after all. Mark got out of his seat when Skye reached the booth, then reseated himself after she slid in. He schooled his features into a bland expression.

  “Thanks for coming.” She flashed a smile.

  Mark’s knee bounced manically. He worked at peeling the label from his Heineken. “I didn’t want to have to take out a restraining order against you.”

  Skye’s smile faltered as if she wasn’t sure if he was joking or not.

  The light floral scent of her perfume—the perfume he’d given her for Valentine’s Day—hung in the air between them. God, she smelled good. And, damn it, she shouldn’t.

  “What do you want, Skye?” Mark steeled himself against the hurt darkening her eyes. She used you, Noelle, and Jeff, to hurt Ed.

  “I just wanted to tell you you’re making a big mistake breaking up with me, but...” Skye took a deep breath and looked him in the eye. “I won’t fight it anymore.”

  Mark searched her face for nervousness or a telltale blush. Why the sudden about-face? “You won’t?”

  Skye shook her head. “I don’t know what else to say or do to convince you and Edward that I didn’t do it, and I’m tired of fighting. So I give up.”

  Mark sat back in his seat. It wasn’t until that minute that he’d realized that he’d always secretly hoped she’d come up with a credible excuse. Now she’d stripped away that hope. It really was over. “You admit it?”

  “Oh, no.” Skye shook her head. “I didn’t do it. I just give up trying to convince you. I’m tired of defending myself. This is as close to masochism as I’ve ever gotten, and it’s a bit too brutal for me.”

  They sat in silence for a minute. Once again, a stalemate. It was over. Now they could both move on. “You were creative; I’ll give you that. Getting Don Miller from The Times to give you that notarized letter claiming he’d never met you, spoken, or communicated with you, was creative—however ineffective.”

  Skye bit her lip, undoubtedly biting back the urge to argue. Mark smiled inwardly. It hadn’t been nice to bait her.

  She inclined her head. “I’d like to take credit for that, but...” She paused and dropped the fry she was twirling about in her ranch dressing. “I once had a great friend who tried to convince me of something that way.”

  Bam. In your face, Dutton.

  Skye stared at him long and hard, as if she wanted to say more. Then she frowned and looked away.

  Time to move on. Mark polished off his beer and reached for his wallet.

  “How’s work?” Skye asked.

  He threw a ten on the table and shoved his wallet in his back pocket. “Great. Word-of-mouth is selling our storing adult stem cells, and with that and the cord blood, we’re in a great position to finance our research.”

  Skye nodded and smiled. “That’s good. Hey, um, not that it’s any of my business, but…” She picked up a French fry and raised curious eyes to Mark. “Why didn’t you use stem cells in your cancer treatment?”

  “We didn’t have any matching stem cells, but now that I’ve been well, I’ve stored some of my adult stem cells in case I ever need them.”

  “So, did you ever manage to get that new ESC line for your diabetes research?”

  “Not yet.” Mark snorted. “Damn ESCs have been a royal pain in the butt from the beginning.”

  “So Aviva isn’t using any ESCs now?”

  “No. Why?” He scanned her face as if trying to read her motive. “There’s no story here.”

  Skye raised her eyebrows. “Don’t be so sure; your company might make for interesting press.”

  Press. Always the job. Stupid to think she cared. Mark hardened his eyes. “Make an appointment if you want an interview.”

  “And...” She shrugged as if he hadn’t spoken. “It’s pitiful, really. I miss you. I miss our late-night conversations. I miss the way you made me laugh.” She softened her voice. “I miss cuddling while we watched movies. Heck, I even miss you bossing me around.”

  I miss you, too. Too bad you don’t understand loyalty. Mark bit back the truths. Truths that wouldn’t do either of them any good at this point. He swallowed hard and avoided her gaze. Sliding out of the booth, he stood. “I gotta go.”

  Skye stood, too. Swiping her hands down each thigh, she looked at him. “I know it’s corny, but do you think maybe we can be friends?”

  “No.” Mark spun on his heel and headed for the pub door.

  “Didn’t think so,” Skye whispered.

  Mark disappeared out the door. Skye picked up her cold fries and his empty Heineken bottle and carried them into the kitchen. She took the ten, swiped the table down, and reset it so it’d be ready for the evening crowd. At the bar, she rang up his beer, and then reached in her pocket for her cell phone. Skye dialed through her address book until she found the number and hit send.

  “Jenny, I’ve got your info, and I’ve got an idea, but I need your help.”

  Chapter 30

  Skye jumped in Jenny’s Jeep and handed her the indexed binder she’d put together. “Want to share what it’s about?”

  Jenny opened the binder and scanned the tabs. She put it in the back seat and headed downtown. “My stepdaughter has Huntington’s. She’s asymptomatic right now, but it’s just a matter of time.”

  “Gosh, I’m sorry.” Darn. Huntington’s was horrible and fatal, with no promising treatment yet. “How old’s she?”

  “Twenty-one.” Jenny sighed. “Her mom was going to wait until she and Ted were older to tell them, but when Alex and her boyfriend started talking marriage, Judith thought it was only fair they knew.”

  “Wow. That’s rough. What about the son?”

  “Ted didn’t get tested. Didn’t want to know. But now that Alex is confirmed, it’s statistically unlikely he’d have it, too.”

  “So you want to know the likelihood that stem cells could bring you a miracle?”

  Jenny nodded as she turned onto the freeway.

  “From what I read, I’d say not in the next ten years. But it sounds like they’ve had some promising animal results and are ready for phase one trials at UC Davis, so there might be helpful treatment, if not a cure, by the time Alex becomes symptomatic.”

  “And they have plenty of stem cell lines to research?”

  Skye shrugged. “Not sure. I didn’t come across anything that said they didn’t. Why? You have some Huntington stem cells you could donate?”

  Jenny pursed her lips and looked thoughtful. “Not personally, but if it’d save Alex, maybe. I have her father’s sperm.”

  Skye squinted at Jenny. What’d that mean? “It’s illegal to make embryos for research or treatment.”

  “In the United States.”

  “And
most of the world—not that I’m judging. I’d probably have done it to save Niki.”

  “Desperate people do desperate things.” Jenny pulled into the parking lot. They left the car and headed toward the building. She looked Skye in the eye. “Remember. Most current entries back, and no lab results—unless you have time."

  Skye nodded. “Wanna switch jobs?”

  “Not a chance.”

  She took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. Hitching her large black bag firmly up her shoulder, she held the heavy glass door aside allowing Jenny to precede her into Aviva's lobby.

  Jenny smiled at the receptionist. “Hi, I’m Jenny Grant. I have an appointment with Mr. Dutton for eleven.”

  Tina’s smile wilted a little as she looked past Jenny to Skye, but she still reached for another pass. “Sign in, please, and put these on and you can go on back.”

  Skye and Jenny breezed through the door, and Skye led the way to Mark’s office.

  Just through the lobby door and to the left was a wide, open alcove that housed four six-feet-tall, sliding filing cabinets. Three of the filing cabinets held colorful files on both sides, while the last one stood empty. Plenty of room for expansion.

  Down the hall another twenty feet, Mark’s door was cracked six inches open so Jenny rapped lightly on it before they entered.

  Sitting at his desk with his reading glasses on, Mark looked up and smiled that warm, friendly grin that made Skye’s stomach flip-flop and her heartbeat gallop. He must have an important meeting later because a blue silk tie bisected his white dress shirt today, and his gray jacket was slung over the back of a chair.

  Skye had never noticed Mark wearing glasses before, but the wire rims gave him a studious handsomeness that sent an ache of regret streaking through her heart. His friendly welcome dissolved into annoyance as he noticed Skye behind Jenny.

  “Mark? Hi, I’m Jenny Grant.” She approached the desk and held out her hand. “Thanks for making time to talk to me.”

  Mark stood and whipped off his glasses before shaking Jenny’s hand in a greeting that was a tad too emphatic. “Great to meet you.” He looked past Jenny to her. “I wasn’t expecting two of you.”

  “My camera guy called in sick, and I’m hopeless with mechanical things, so Skye agreed to help me out and take some candid pictures while we talk—if that’s okay with you?” Jenny opened wide, innocent eyes and blinked at Mark.

  What red-blooded man was going to deny that female appeal? Darn, Jenny was good.

  “Uh... Sure, that’s fine.” Mark moved around her to pull up another chair for Skye. “So.” He leaned back against his desk and faced them. “What can I do for you?”

  “I have a ton of questions about you and your company, but I was hoping to get a tour first so I could kind of get a feel for the place,” Jenny said.

  “I’ve cleared the next hour, so we have time for a quick tour. Our facility isn't big, but we’re proud of the work we do here.”

  He crossed the room and held the door open for the women. Mark led the way down the hall, pausing by a room to regale Jenny with an explanation. He talked on, barraging Jenny with facts and stories, like a high school boy showing off for a pretty girl he’s trying to impress.

  Skye stamped down hard on the jealousy sparking her sadness. Not long ago, Mark used to give her his undivided attention, looking at her, listening to her, as if she were the most fascinating person on earth, instead of dismissing her with a cursory glance.

  As they passed the chart room and headed for the lab, Skye’s palms grew damp. They’d have to gown-up to explore the lab. This might be her best opportunity to break away. Skye put a hand to Mark’s arm. “I’ve got to run to the bathroom. Why don’t you show Jenny the lab, and I’ll catch up?”

  “We can wait.”

  “No, thanks. I might be a little bit.” Skye wrinkled her nose and put a hand to her stomach as if it churned painfully. “Guess leftover Mexican doesn’t make such a great breakfast. You two go on.”

  Mark paused. “Are you okay?”

  “I’ll be fine. Go ahead. I’ll catch up.” Skye lowered her voice, pretending to be embarrassed. “Is it okay if I use your private bathroom?”

  She wanted to give him the impression she’d be a while.

  “I... Uh...” Mark didn’t want her to but couldn’t come up with a graceful reason to deny her request. “Of course.”

  Skye smiled in relief. “Thanks,” she threw over her shoulder as she power-walked in the opposite direction, but they’d already turned away and started down the hall.

  Heart hammering, Skye broke into a trot as she bolted through the lobby door and looked at the empty receptionist desk. Darn, where was Tina? Now what? Why was Tina wandering around, not sitting at her desk? Skye looked both ways down the empty halls, then searched for the appropriate file cabinet. After having located the H’s, she moved back into the hallway for another quick check.

  Empty. Skye darted into the space between the file cabinets and ran her fingers along the edges of the charts looking for Hastings. Suddenly she snatched them back. She shouldn’t leave any fingerprints—just in case. Then her finger landed on it. Skye pulled the file two inches out when the phone at the receptionist’s desk bleeped loudly. Skye froze. What if the phone summoned Tina? Where could she hide?

  Skye ripped the chart from its group. It took her three tries to get her trembling hands to stuff the file in her bag. Hang up, damn it, she silently told the persistent caller. She heard the swishing of clothes and scuffing of rushing shoes.

  Skye fervently wished she had Harry Potter’s invisibility cloak, but since she didn’t, she dashed to the wall and the eight-inch space at the end of the cabinet. Skye stuffed the black case on top of some files, took a deep breath, and squished in the narrow space, praying the caller wouldn’t hang up before Tina could race past and answer the phone.

  With her head turned sideways and her cheeks plastered between the steel cabinets and painted walls, Skye just squeaked in. Though if she exhaled, she might lodge herself in there permanently.

  Someone raced through the lobby door and picked up the phone. She couldn’t hear what they said, but the murmuring voice reassured Skye that the person was at the desk where they wouldn’t see her.

  Skye peeled out of hiding. Without bothering to check for people, she grabbed her bag, bolted out of the alcove, and hurried down the hall to the safety of Mark’s office and bathroom. She’d worry about returning the file later.

  In the bathroom behind the locked door, trembling hands pulled the file from her bag and flipped it open, balancing it across the white porcelain sink. She took out her phone and activated the camera but couldn’t steady her shaking arms to get a clear picture. She lowered the phone and blew out a quick breath. “Come on, Skylar. You don’t have time for this.”

  She raised the phone again, steadied it, and pressed down. The shutter clicked loudly in the silent room. Skye flipped the page and raise the phone again. She focused and was about to take the picture when something caught her attention. She lowered the phone and brought the page closer to her face. Nancy l. Hasting? What was this doing in Noelle’s chart? Her gaze lowered to the white label.

  “No. Oh, nooo,” she moaned at the clearly printed letters. Nancy Hasting. Skye sank to the toilet. She’d taken the wrong chart. How could she have made such a mistake? What were the chances there’d be another patient with a name so similar to Noelle’s?

  A sharp wrap sounded at the door. “Skye, are you okay?”

  She jumped and stared at the door. Thank God, she’d locked it.

  “Skye? It’s Eileen Warren. Mark said you were ill.”

  Mark sent Eileen to spy on her? He didn’t trust her at all.

  “I’ll be fine,” she choked out, slumping miserably on the closed toilet. “I’ll be out shortly.”

  Great, all she needed was to get caught in here with the stolen chart. That’d confirm all Mark and Edward’s suspicions. Now what?

&nb
sp; “I brought some Pepto Bismol we had in the lab. I’ll leave it outside the door for you.”

  “Thank you. Where’s Mark?” she called out.

  “Probably still in the lab with Ms. Grant. I was just on my way out and Mark asked me to check on you.”

  Great. No doubt Eileen was going to keep an eye on her when she emerged from the bathroom. She had to return the chart, and she wasn’t even going to try to retrieve the correct one. They’d just have to consider this an aborted mission and find another way to get the information.

  “Thanks very much. I’ll give it a try in a minute,” she called out.

  “Okay.” Eileen sounded puzzled. “Can I get you anything else?”

  Noelle’s chart? “No, thanks. Don’t let me make you late.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Skye counted to sixty before flushing the toilet. She twisted the water on and shoved the impostor chart back in her bag. Turning the water off, Skye slowly opened the door and scanned the empty room before nearly sprinting out of Mark’s office.

  Hurrying down the hall, she smiled at a passing tech, before approaching the chart alcove. She looked around, whipped the chart out of her bag, and shoved it in the cabinet with similarly colored charts. Whoever went looking for Nancy Hasting’s chart next was going to hate her, but that was the least of her problems.

  Moving into the hall, Skye scanned the ceilings, looking for security cameras. The way her luck was running, they’d have caught her whole theft on tape. The ceilings remained blessedly electronically free—at least that she could see.

  She hurried up the stairway to the lab. Skye didn’t know the exact location but followed the sound of voices. The door to Eileen’s office stood open, and Mark sat facing Jenny in front of the large grey metal desk. They chatted like old friends. She moved to stand by Eileen’s messy desk. The office smelled of stale coffee and Eileen’s perfume.

  “Sorry to keep you waiting.” Skye took out her camera. “This would make a good shot. You two just act naturally. Don’t mind me.” Skye moved around the room taking lots of photos of Jenny and Mark from different angles. Skye paused and looked at Mark. “How about some photos of the lab?”