To Heal A Heart (Love Inspired) (6 page)

Angrily, reluctantly, she slapped the sandwich back into her lunch kit and snatched up the strap. Good manners could be a downright bore and a burden.

Mitch hung up the phone, jotted down a last note with his left hand, then shoved back his cuff to check the time. Three minutes past noon. Rising swiftly, he snatched his suit coat from the back of his chair and threw it on, straightening his tie as the coat settled across his shoulders. He bent and opened the bottom desk drawer to grab a folded brown paper bag. Not wanting to lose precious minutes picking up something to eat, he’d packed a lunch of sorts that morning. Bag in tow, he sailed out of the office, giving his coat pocket one last pat to make certain that his cell phone rested safely inside.

He was pleased to have received three more contacts from airline passengers. One call had given his heart a momentary jolt. The gentleman on the other end of the line had wanted to know if Mitch had found a small slip of paper—with the combination of a safe written on it. Such a slip had apparently fallen out of his wallet at some point. Mitch was sorry to disappoint him, sorrier still to be disappointed himself, but at least, after a bit of conversation, the fellow had offered Mitch the name of another traveler who might be interested in speaking to him.

The other two contacts, one a letter and one a telephone message, would take more time to follow up on, but Mitch felt encouraged to still be receiving any communications connected with the airline notice. He prayed regularly for the person who had lost the letter, but he no longer felt the sense of urgency that he had in the beginning. Urgency had been replaced by eagerness. He strode down the sidewalk with long, swift strides and a smile.

He spotted her standing beside a bench with her hands on her hips, tapping a toe. A wave of his hand sent her plopping down onto the hard stone seat. By the time he reached her side, she was munching a sandwich pensively. He dropped down beside her, abandoned his lunch bag to the vacant spot next to him and leaned close.

“What’s wrong?”

She lowered the sandwich to her lap and looked up at him with stormy amber eyes that flicked back and forth across his for several seconds. Then she dropped her gaze, bowed her head and in a small voice said, “Nothing.”

He didn’t believe it for an instant. His hand gravitated to her back, coming to rest between her shoulder blades. She didn’t seem to mind. Perhaps she didn’t even realize. Perhaps his touching her felt as natural to her as it did to him.

“Rough morning?”

She nodded.

“Want to tell me about it?”

She dipped her head a little lower, but then looked up, briefly met his eyes with hers and shook her head very gently. She’d plaited only the top part of her hair that morning, leaving the braid to hang down against the thick, bright curtain of her hair in back. He thought it the most beautiful sight he’d ever seen and only just restrained himself from stroking his hand over the shiny tresses when she sighed.

“I’m just in a lousy mood.”

“Let’s see if we can find a little help for that,” he said. Closing his eyes, he began to pray in a quiet voice. “Gracious Lord God, You have given us a glorious day, and an hour of it to spend together. We thank You for that and for this food we ask You to bless and for all the many other ways in which You show us Your love. Whenever the world beats us down, Lord, You always stand ready to pick us up again. Please lift up Piper now, Father. Let her feel Your love throughout the afternoon and always. Amen.”

When he looked up again, he found her blinking a wet sheen from her eyes. An anemic smile trembled across her lips. He realized he was holding her tightly against his side; his arm had slipped around her fully at some point. She seemed to realize it at the same time and stiffened slightly.

He quickly released her, asking, “Better?”

The smile grew a little more robust. “Yes, thank you.” She settled back a bit and lifted her sandwich toward her mouth. “Aren’t you going to eat?”

He remembered the brown paper bag at his side. “Oh, sure.”

As he pulled out hard-boiled eggs, a hunk of cheese, crackers and pickled peppers, she commented wryly, “Having your heat with a side of cholesterol, I see.”

He chuckled. “The peppers aren’t that hot, and my cholesterol is fine, thank you very much. I just didn’t have a lot in my fridge this morning.”

“I see.” Her sandwich in her lap, she broke the seal on a bottle of water. “Nothing in there to drink, I take it.”

He made a face, only then realizing that he’d forgotten the beverage. “Well, like I said, the peppers aren’t that hot.”

She produced the cap off a thermos bottle and poured water into it for herself, passing the water bottle to him. He saluted her with it.

“Thanks.”

“Think nothing of it.”

He thought plenty of it—and her—but he just smiled and gobbled his lunch.

Piper watched him eat the fourth boiled egg and the last of the peppers with a shake of her head.

“What?” he asked, swallowing.

“Oh, nothing. It’s just that, for someone I hardly know, I sure have seen you eat a lot. This is our third meal together.”

“Don’t forget the other night at the restaurant. We didn’t actually eat
together,
but we were in the same room.”

She laughed. “Lawyers. All right, our fourth meal. Just goes to prove my point.”

He shrugged and casually suggested, “Maybe we ought to find something to do together besides eat.”

A thrill of expectation shot through her, and she was struck suddenly by the contradiction with her earlier feelings. Why had she thought that she wouldn’t enjoy seeing him again? Something about Mitch felt comfortable and familiar; something else felt oddly compelling, if a little frightening. When she looked into his dark blue eyes she sensed the weight and significance of his experience as well as the earnestness of his emotions. The former drew her as well as repelled her; the latter tingled in her nerve endings, ephemeral, only the promise of a feeling.

But did she want that feeling? She couldn’t deny that she liked him, that he
interested
her, and yet anything more seemed perilous.

Her heart pounded as she lightly tossed out a refusal. “Like I said, I hardly know you.”

He sobered and softly rebutted that statement. “You know me. You already know everything important about me that there is to know.”

“Do I?”

“I’m not a complicated man, Piper.”

“Maybe I’m a complicated woman.”

“I don’t doubt it.” He didn’t have to say that it made no difference.

Her heart beat so hard that it hurt.

He wadded up the paper sack and seemed to ponder what to say next. When he did speak, the subject took her by surprise.

“Interesting case walked through my office door this morning.”

“Oh?”

“Umm-hmm. A thirty-eight-year-old man was caught peeping in windows at women in his neighborhood.”

Piper shivered. “Ugh.”

Mitch nodded. “His wife was the one who caught him. She hit him eight times with a baseball bat. Broke six bones. He’s in the hospital. She’s in jail. Neither of them want a divorce, because they have four kids under the age of thirteen, but the D.A. wants ironclad assurance that this won’t happen again if they get back together.”

“Can you give him that assurance?”

“No. She’s still mad enough to whack him, and he won’t own up to what he did.” He spread his hands in a gesture of helplessness. “They both need counseling, but of course they can’t afford it. Her I can probably get into an offender’s program. Him…” Mitch sighed and shook his head. “There aren’t any victim’s programs for what’s wrong with him, even though he’s more in need of help than she is. Voyeurism can be a tough addiction to break, and he won’t even admit that he has a problem.”

Piper shook her head, trying to work through the situation to her own satisfaction, but it was a true conundrum. The victim and the perpetrator were both guilty.

“What are you going to do?”

He sighed gustily. “Well, about the only thing I can think to do is to build a case against the husband. It’s not my job. In fact, it’s the exact opposite of my job, but the D.A. can’t justify spending resources to do it. On the other hand, if a case is handed to him, the D.A. will file. He doesn’t want a Peeping Tom on the streets any more than I do, and if I can get charges against the husband, then maybe I can get them both the help they need to put their family back together. If not, four kids are probably going to grow up in foster care.”

Piper let her shoulders slump forward. “Forgive me for saying so, but that’s pretty depressing.”

“I think of it more as challenging,” he told her, “and when a case works out well, it’s downright exhilarating. I really wouldn’t want to do anything else.”

“I know what you mean,” she said automatically, and just like that she was right back there in the emergency room, her mind racing as she assessed a patient’s condition, hands flying smoothly through complicated procedures.

She felt the relieved thrill of stopping a bleed-out or feeling a heartbeat revive. She remembered the satisfaction of telling a family member that a loved one was going to make it and the defeating disappointment when it went the other way. Then compassion had become true empathy, knowledge had sharpened into actual realization and all the victories she’d ever known, all that had made her work worthwhile had turned to ashes and blown away in a puff of wind. In one awful moment she had gained real understanding and lost everything else.

The pain of it was as acute as any physical injury.

Gasping, she popped to her feet, her eyes filling with tears.

“Piper?”

She whirled away, aware that she was about to make a fool of herself, fearing much worse.

“I have to go,” she choked out, shaking free of the hand that he reached out to her.

Mitch called out her name again, but she couldn’t speak to him, couldn’t look at him. All she wanted to do was hide. She’d run all this way to Dallas to escape the pain, and she would do it even if it meant hiding from him.

M
itch looked around the mostly paved square, scanning for a bright copper head, but once again he was disappointed. He should have gone after her that day, should have insisted that she tell him what was bothering her. Whatever it was, they could work it out together—he just knew it. Provided, of course, that he ever saw her again. He’d thought about going to her apartment the previous evening, but he couldn’t even get through the security gate to her apartment door. It seemed that he had only one other option, then. He set off toward the building where she worked.

Surely he was due some explanation, he told himself, striding quickly across a busy intersection and down the broad sidewalk. In reality, he just wanted to know that she was all right. She didn’t have to give him an explanation if she didn’t want to, so long as that bright smile was in place, so long as he could see that she was well. She didn’t even have to see him again, though his stomach clenched at the thought.

He reached the front of the Medical Specialist Insurance Company building and pushed through a heavy glass door into the cool marble interior. A bank of elevators lined the opposite wall. Short leather banquettes had been fixed to the walls on either side, perpendicular to the elevators, presumably so a non-employee could sit and wait for a friend or family member to come down. Every elevator but one required an electronic pass card, and it was clearly marked “Visitors.” Mitch walked to it and punched the up button set into the marble. The doors slid open instantly.

He stepped into the car. The doors closed, and the elevator began to rise even as Mitch realized that there were no more buttons to push, no choice of floors to be made. The Medical Specialist Insurance Company was obviously careful to protect its workspace and employees from unwanted intrusion. He supposed they had to be.

As swiftly as it had risen, the elevator car stopped, and the doors disappeared. Mitch strode into a large room fashioned into a maze of modular cubicles and cordoned off by a half wall of wood, behind which a trio of receptionists sat, all with headphones and mouthpieces. A brisk older woman was talking on the telephone, while a stylish younger one carefully wrote something in a padded book. A reed-thin kid, maybe still in high school and wearing a blindingly white shirt and tightly knotted necktie, waved Mitch over.

“Can I help you?”

“Yes, I’d like to see Ms. Wynne, Ms. Piper Wynne.” Mitch turned away, hoping to forestall any questions, but the company had trained their employees well.

“I’ll need you to sign my register,” the young man said, sliding a padded volume to the edge of the half wall. A pen was attached to the spine via a beaded chain.

Mitch quickly scrawled his name, wrote “attorney” in the space requiring an occupation and “personal” under the column demanding to know his business. The kid turned the book and glanced over the entry, then looked up a number and punched it into a hidden keypad. After a few seconds he spoke.

“Mr. Mitchell Sayer, attorney, to see Ms. Wynne. Umm-hmm. Umm-hmm. I’ll tell him.” The
boy
—he didn’t look as if he could possibly shave—broke the connection and fixed Mitch with a no-arguments stare. “Ms. Wynne is out.”

Mitch tamped down his irritation. “Out for lunch? Because I can wait if I have to.”

“Out for the day,” the young fellow said, hitting the last word hard for emphasis. “Maybe longer.”

“She’s not ill, is she?”

The other fellow didn’t so much as blink. “Not that I’m aware of.”

Mitch’s stomach sank. He thought briefly of leaving a message, but he figured that she’d already gotten it and sent one of her own. Hers said, “Go away.”

He looked at his feet, nodded brusquely and turned toward the elevator with a muttered “Thanks.”

Once safely inside the silent car, he closed his eyes and let disappointment unfurl inside him. He was in his office and at his desk before he could tell himself that he obviously wasn’t meant to be more than a passing acquaintance to Piper Wynne.

All right. So be it.

He didn’t like it, but what difference did that make? He would just have to focus his attention elsewhere. God had something, someone, for him. He could think about other matters, other purposes. Such as the letter.

There was one contact in Houston with whom Mitch had not yet spoken. The fellow had responded late last week to the airline’s notification, and he and Mitch had been playing telephone tag for several days. Mitch had been the last one to leave a message, but hey, he thought, might as well try again now.

Lifting the telephone receiver from its cradle, he dialed the number, reading it off the notepad at his elbow, then sat back in his chair and waited for the familiar sound of an answering machine. What he got instead was the man himself.

“Well, hello, there,” he said pleasantly, his mood lightening somewhat. “This is Mitchell Sayer calling.”

“Oh, Mr. Sayer!” the man said, recognizing his name at once. “I’m so sorry I haven’t gotten back to you.” He went on to tell Mitch that at first he’d dismissed the notice the airline had sent, then later had realized that he’d misplaced an important letter. Mitch sat up abruptly.

“A letter, you say?”

“A very important letter. I was frantic for a few days. I’d kept the airline notice—I generally keep everything—and it did say an item of no
actual
value, so I gave you a call on the off chance—”

In his excitement, Mitch interrupted. “Can you describe the letter for me, sir?”

“It was a letter of intent. Being an attorney, I’m sure you’re familiar with the term.”

Mitch
was
familiar with the term, familiar enough to know that this man’s letter was
not
the letter in Mitch’s possession. Deflated, he barely heard the rest of what was being said—something about a large company buying out a smaller one. He waited for a lull in the flow of words, then gave the bad news.

“I’m sorry, but I didn’t recover your letter.”

“Oh, I know that,” the man said, unperturbed. “I found it filed improperly. My secretary has a bad habit of picking up things off my desk and putting them away for me, as if just having them out of sight clears up the business.”

Mitch found a pallid smile. “I see.”

“I’ve had a strong talk with her about this,” the fellow went on, “and I meant to call you yesterday to let you know that I’m not the person you’re looking for. Sorry I didn’t get to it.”

“That’s okay. I’m glad you found your letter. I just wish I could find whoever lost the one I have in my possession. You, um, didn’t happen to see anyone else drop a small folded sheet of paper while moving down the loading ramp to the airplane that day, did you?”

“Well,” the man said, “I sure didn’t, but maybe one of our group did. I could ask them to call you or just give you their names and numbers—whatever you prefer.”

Mitch perked up. “You don’t think they’d mind talking to me?”

“Not at all, but there were about a half dozen of us. If you’d rather not make that many calls—”

“No!” Mitch said quickly. “That’s fine. I don’t mind at all.”

“Just let me get those numbers, then.”

Mitch closed his eyes while he waited for the gentleman to get back on the line. Things were looking up, he assured himself. Surely one of these folks saw something pertinent or could at least lead him to someone else who had.

Holding the phone between his right ear and shoulder, he prepared to write down this new list of leads. It was a little like looking up and seeing a light at the end of a long, dark tunnel. He suspected it was a holy light, and he thanked God for it.

He had come to the office looking for her.

She tried not to think about it, tried not to think about him at all. That way she didn’t have to remember running away in a panic with tears threatening to spill down her cheeks. It was exactly that kind of humiliating behavior that she was trying to put behind her, and she had been correct in assuming that Mitch Sayer was a stumbling block along her path toward that goal.

She didn’t know why, really, but something about him put her in direct touch with her past. Houston and all that had happened there seemed distant and misty unless she was with him. What was he—some spiritual or metaphysical conduit to her most painful moments? She shivered at the thought, but more mystifying still was how relaxed and comfortable she felt in his company, until the memories blindsided her.

It was a pity, because she really did like the man, but she just couldn’t be with him and preserve her sanity.

She leaned over the side of the chaise and trailed her fingers in the water. It was still warm enough to swim in the afternoon, but the evening was too cool. She liked the serenity here when there was no one else to splash and laugh and scrape the furniture across the decking.

“Oh, for pity’s sake,” Melissa said, breaking into Piper’s reverie. Piper had almost forgotten she was there, sitting next to a glass-topped table with an open novel in her lap.

“What?” Piper asked, assuming that the slightly sarcastic outburst had something to do with what Melissa was reading.

“You!” Melissa replied, to Piper’s shock.

“Me?”

“Yes, you. What has got you so down?”

Piper laughed lightly, as if to prove her friend wrong. “I’m not down.”

“And I’m not human,” Melissa retorted dryly.

Piper fixed her with a deadpan look. “I knew there was something fishy about you.”

“Right. I’m a fish, and you’re as happy as a pig in clover.”

“I am
not
depressed,” Piper insisted. “I’m just bored.”

“Okay, fine.” Melissa set aside her book. “Let’s go out and have a little fun, then.”

Piper smiled perkily. “Excellent.”

“I’ll have Scott call Nate.”

Piper’s face fell before she could stop her reaction. “Uh, let’s not.”

“He wants to see you again.”

Piper controlled her grimace. Barely. “It wouldn’t be fair. Nate’s not my type, and even if he were, I don’t want to see any one person right now. I want to keep my options open, you know?”

Melissa shrugged. “Is that why you aren’t seeing that Mitch guy?”

Piper’s gaze sharpened. “What made you think I would be?”

“Maybe it was the way you perked up when you laid eyes on him at the restaurant that night,” Melissa said, “or the way you gushed afterward about meeting him.”

“I’m not seeing Mitch,” Piper said flatly.

“Duh,” Melissa said. “If you were, would you be sitting here with me on a Saturday evening? I think not.”

“I—I just…”

“Want to keep your options open,” Melissa said dryly. “Hey, it’s okay by me, but if you really want to look over the options, why don’t we go hear this band down at the West End?”

Piper squirmed inwardly. She’d never been one to frequent concerts, but what else did she have to do? Besides, it might be fun just to see what went on. She could listen to some music, do a little people watching. What could it hurt?

“I’m, uh, not sure I have anything to wear.”

Melissa flopped a hand dismissively at that. “Oh, we can come up with something.” She scooted forward to the edge of her chair, hands on the arms, ready to rise. “Why don’t I run it by Scott, and if he’s up for it, I’ll come down, and we’ll take a look in your closet. Okay?”

Smiling, Piper squelched a niggle of dismay. “Sure.”

Melissa lunged to her feet, proclaiming eagerly, “I’m going to wear spandex!”

Piper’s spirits sank even lower. “If Scott doesn’t want to go, don’t press him,” she said hopefully. “We can always do it another time.”

“Oh, he’ll want to,” Melissa promised, hurrying away. She looked back over her shoulder. “He loves the band that’s playing.”

Piper closed her eyes and tried to tell herself that she wouldn’t be sorry.

The music pulsated so loudly that Piper felt sure the walls must bulge with each thunderous beat. Melissa and Scott seemed to have perfected a style of communication for just such deafening circumstances, including hand gestures, well-aimed shouts and a form of lipreading that involved exaggerated pronunciations. For her part, Piper felt lost in a world of chaotic noise and shifting shadows peopled with slightly threatening bodies. She found it impossible even to enjoy people watching at these decibels. To say that she was out of her element was putting it mildly. She looked around and wondered if she were even part of the same species as these laughing shrieking creatures.

When the wildly energetic band finally took a break, she realized that her ears were ringing and perhaps always would. Scott bounced up to journey to the concession area for fresh sodas and a gratis basket of popcorn salty enough to guarantee an increase in beverage sales. Piper had been careful to limit herself to ginger ale, prompting Scott to jokingly proclaim her a “cheap date.” When he offered her another refill she declined with a smile and shake of her head, then studiously pretended not to notice the activities around their tiny, cramped table.

The room was dark, but not so dark that she couldn’t see those around her. She fixed her attention on a raucous group at the bar, only to realize within moments that the hilarity was being generated by a contest among the males. They were launching kernels of popcorn up into the air and trying to swallow them. Piper looked away, only to start when someone bumped her chair from behind.

She glanced over her shoulder, just as that someone began telling a joke to someone out of sight.

“So there’s this guy on a deserted island, just him and the birdies for months on end, when one day three women wash ashore, a blond, a brunette and a redhead….”

Piper tried to tune him out, but he was practically standing on top of her, and as the story grew more ribald by the syllable, she felt her cheeks begin to burn. Squirming in her chrome-and-plastic chair, she sought mightily for a way to shut out the words. She even began to wish for the earsplitting music to crank up again, despite the continued ringing in her ears. Seeing her discomfort, Melissa made a valiant attempt to come to her rescue.