Eden's Dream (13 page)

Wending her way through assorted monitors, computers, and printers, she eventually came to a section where small groups gathered around oversize TVs. All were tuned to the same channel showing a baseball game in progress. Eden could tell by the sharp intake of breath and muttered cheers; the home team was winning. She continued, reaching the end of the row.

An uncomfortable feeling made goose bumps pop out. It was that sense again of being followed. Glancing over her shoulder only made her more paranoid. Was that a person hiding behind the floor model to her right? She stared in that direction. Then convinced that it was more a figment of her imagination than anything else, she continued down another aisle filled with even more TVs. Paranoia must be getting the better of her. That's what almost getting killed did to a person. No, no, those were distinct footsteps behind her, someone was closing in. Her skin crawled as she clutched the strap of her newly purchased pocketbook and darted a furtive glance behind her.

Taking long, slow breaths to calm down, Eden inhaled the scent of the perfumed interior. For an interminable moment, she stood still, gathering her bearings and willing her heartbeat to go back to normal. With purposeful steps, she exited the store, ignoring the beeping sound coming from behind her. A hand clamped down on her shoulder, spinning her around and making her jump.

“May I see your receipt, miss?” asked a long-haired fellow; a Fabio double. The man wore tight jeans and a backward baseball cap. One hand held a walkie-talkie.

“Why?” Eden's grip on her purse tightened.

“Just show me and you'll be on your way.”

Comprehension dawned as she unzipped the purse and found the receipt. Lone black person in a predominantly white store, and the store security immediately assumed she was a thief. Eden gave the detective a scorching look.

Calmly, the man remained with his hand held out.

“Here,” she said, dropping the crumpled receipt into his outstretched palm, and sliding the bag's zipper closed.

A small crowd gathered around them. Eden could tell from the look on their faces that she'd been tried and found guilty. Catching the eye of a middle-aged mother with a portly teenager in tow, she was surprised to see the animosity flashing from those hazel eyes. The woman's lip curled, and she knew that she'd already been labeled a thief.

Eden turned her attention back to the store detective. His smirk was gone as he scrutinized the small slip of paper she'd handed him and returned the receipt to her. “Those are some awfully expensive purchases you've made,” he said.

Eden crossed her arms and eyeballed him. “And that's a problem?”

“Sorry, ma'am, no offense meant, just being cautious. You didn't come in with a bag.”

“Just the money to buy one,” she responded, continuing to glare.

“I'm doing my job,” the detective mumbled. “The salesperson should have removed the security tags for you and there wouldn't have been a problem.”

No sincere apology. Just a bunch of muttered excuses.

“Do you have a boss?” Eden asked.

“Of course.”

“Then take me to him. I have a good mind to sue you people.”

As the crowd dispersed, Eden followed the man to the back of the store. She emerged a half an hour later, slightly less annoyed than she'd been. Apologies had been made, but that had not compensated for her humiliation. And even though the store had tried to soothe her feathers by giving her a written apology and a fistful of discount coupons, she knew that would be her last shopping excursion in Mon Cache.

On her way out, she passed through the electronics department again. A few hipsters were huddled around the same wall models where the detective had lurked. The tallest of the group held the remote and was busy surfing the channels.

On the screen an announcer's voice boomed, getting her attention. “Missing going on three weeks is Noah Robbins…” That got Eden's attention. She made a U-turn. A face flashed on the screen. It was Noel or Noah. “Our station has been flooded with calls from women all over—”

Abruptly the newscaster's voice cut off as the channel got changed.

Dare she ask the holder of the remote to flip back to the channel? One glance in that direction convinced her that might not be wise, especially given her recent run-in, better to leave well enough alone. Quickly she looked around for another TV, eventually catching the eye of a Native American man and his family.

“Would you mind?” she asked, motioning to the remote he held.

“Not at all.” He handed her the rectangular object.

Immediately she began to surf the channels. But by the time she'd found the station, the reporter had moved on to another topic.

Feeling like she'd been punched in the gut and her innards ripped out, Eden quickly left the store. She'd been right all along. Noel hadn't been on the up and up from the very beginning. Still, who would have thought he was a fugitive? And what did the reporter mean by, “Our station has been flooded by calls from women...?”

Then the awful thought surfaced. Noah Robbins must be a criminal on the run; a wanted man.

R
eplaying
the newscaster's words in her head, Eden ignored the scenery. She drove by rote, turning onto her block, her stomach still lurching.

“Please God,” she whispered, “don't let Noel—uh—Noah—be out on his deck waiting for me.”

She needed to digest the news and wasn't ready to face him yet. What had she been thinking of, getting involved with someone she barely knew? No sire. It wasn't as if she hadn't known that something about the man didn't add up. She'd just refused to listen to the little voice in the back of her head, and she'd totally ignored her gut. A confrontation right now was absolutely out of the question. She simply wasn't up to it. She'd need time to rehearse, plan what she would say.

Eden pushed open her front door to a ringing phone. Kahlua padded across the floor to greet her. While she attempted to block the door and stop the cat from running off, the answering machine clicked on.

A stress-filled female voice inquired, “Eden?”

A stranger had her new number? She waited for the woman to speak.

As the woman stumbled over her words, barely making sense, Eden frowned. “Eden uh…it's Mrs. Moss. Your mother's uh…next-door neighbor.”

Forgetting Kahlua, she left the door wide open and grabbed the phone. “Yes, Mrs. Moss.”

“Oh Eden, thank God you picked up.”

“What's wrong with Mommy?” She hadn't called her that in years.

“Well uh…that's why I'm calling. There's been a slight uh…accident.”

Eden suddenly felt faint. She waited for the room to settle, clutching the nearest chair for support. She rode the first wave of nausea.

“Eden, are you there?”

Taking deep breaths, Eden focused on the ceiling. Now wasn't the time to fall apart. Her mother needed her. “I'm here, Mrs. Moss. I'm here. Is she all right?”

A beat later. “The doctors say she is, but they're keeping her overnight for observation.”

“She's in the hospital?”

“Yes, Downstate Medical. Earlier today she was crossing the street—using the pedestrian crossing if you please—when this white car flew out of nowhere and just about mowed her down. Thank God for quick reflexes, only the edge of the bumper caught her or she'd probably be—look she's okay. Just bruised up really bad, and the doctors think she might have a slight concussion.”

A white Buick,
Eden thought, processing the information. “I'm coming home, Mrs. Moss,” she said before the woman went off on another tangent.

“I thought you would want to. Bill's flying in as well. He called the apartment when I was getting some of your mother's things, so I told him what happened. He's agreed to take the next plane in.”

“My brother's coming from Germany?” It had to be more serious than Mrs. Moss was letting on. Bill didn't disrupt his life for anyone.

“Umm hmm. Says he can easily move his vacation up a week or so. He was coming to the States anyway; didn't you know that? That boy is just so loving. A real devoted son.”

And I'm a cold slab of liver.
The words hung unspoken in the air. “Thank you, Mrs. Moss. Thanks for letting me know.”

“Don't mention it.”

After obtaining the hospital's number, Eden hung up. She brushed back a tear. Her extended leave had just ended. It was time to go home. It wasn't like she could have pushed Pelican Air off forever, anyway. Not if she wanted to keep her job.

“
H
ey
, Rob, you ready for this?”

Noah propped the cordless phone between his ear and shoulder, waiting for his buddy to go on.

“I think I found your white Buick.”

“Yeah?”

Excitement coursed through Noah. He suddenly wished Eden were with him to hear the news. After running, he'd stopped by her place and found her gone. Initially he'd been worried. As the hours ticked by, his anxiety grew, and he'd become frantic. Had Eden been there right now, she would have seen Joe Cool dissolve before her eyes and a nervous wreck take his place. Glancing at his hands, he realized they'd fisted. He closed his eyes and imagined his grip around the neck of whomever had hurt her. One twist. One wring. Christ, he could even hear the pop. No, he had to stop his wayward thoughts. He'd never been a violent man, not until someone had deliberately set out to kill him and Eden. Messing with him was one thing. Messing with Eden, another. He planned on doing everything in his power to ensure they stayed alive.

“I ran a check on the license plate just like I promised,” his friend boomed.

“Get to the point.”

“It's a stolen vehicle.”

Noah let out a long, low whistle, every muscle in his body tensed. His voice was harsh when he responded.

Who's the owner?”

A beat went by, then two.
Drumroll please.
His buddy had an annoying habit of dragging out a response.

“Well, that's the thing. It's a company-owned vehicle registered to Pelican Air.”

Noah felt another wave of excitement engulf him. It didn't serve to display too much interest. His bud, who he called Freckles, sensing a rapt audience, only provided trickles of information. “Go on,” Noel said, making his voice deliberately testy.

“Pelican filed a stolen car report several months ago. Kinda strange that the vehicle would show up on the other coast.”

Noah didn't have time for irrelevant chitchat. “Has the car been impounded?”

Another pause. “Well, that's the thing. The automobile's still missing.”

Noah bit back a crude oath and ended the call. Hopes of wringing the vermin's neck evaporated. He'd even fantasized about doing it publicly. Eden would be there to watch, and he'd be her hero.

Instinct told Noah all the pieces were finally coming together. It would only be a matter of time before he unraveled the puzzle. Right before the end of most cases he was usually pumped, but this time he was angrier than he'd ever been. It had been so easy to attribute the crash to pilot's error, now he wasn't so sure. His gut told him something about the way the plane had literally fallen out of the sky stunk. It had felt good to be able to pin Flight 757's crash on someone. That way he hadn't felt so helpless about his friend's death. Ty was the closest he'd come to having a brother.

But why the attempts on his life? Why the threats to Eden? They must be on to something. Somebody undoubtedly had something to hide. The attempts on his life had intensified after he'd been on TV, though he'd, merely been doing his job, just like he always did.

Noah mentally ticked off all the avenues he and Eden had explored so far. They'd considered the poor maintenance angle. They'd even gotten hold of the logs and reviewed the plane's mechanical history. Hitting a temporary dead end, they'd then focused on the flight delay. When Eden had revealed the surprising news that the plane had been held awaiting the arrival of a cooler, he'd been hell-bent on finding out who had ordered the delay and which department had accepted responsibility. Any day now, Eden's friend should have that answer.

Noah suspected that Eden had been the last person to speak with Rodney Joyner. What had the pilot's demeanor been like? Had he said something seemingly insignificant, but extremely vital to the case? Dead men couldn't speak, and Eden seemed the logical person to pursue, up until he'd gone and foolishly fallen in love with her. He'd been told she'd been Joyner's lover and confidant. Acting on a whim, he'd sensed she'd be heading cross country, and he'd been lucky to rent the house next door. Initially, he'd hoped that with some subtle questioning, she'd break and admit that Rodney Joyner was the drunken playboy the papers had made him out to be. But she'd remained loyal. True-blue in fact. He liked that quality in a woman.

Noah heard scratching at his back door. He frowned and then realizing it was Kahlua, cracked a smile. Hustling to answer the cat's call, he scooped the feline into his arms and nuzzled her furry head. Desire suddenly pulled at him. He needed to see Eden. He'd camp on her doorstep all day if that's what it took. If she didn't show up, he would call the police.

E
den ignored the buzzer
. She already knew who was on the other end.

The ringing persisted. It sounded like someone had put their shoulder to the bell. Dumping the contents of the lingerie drawer on the sofa, she took her time sorting through flimsy underwear. Muttering, she thrust bras and panties into an open suitcase and turned her attention to another drawer of clothes.

The ringing continued.

“Go away,” Eden muttered. “Just go away.”

“Eden, I know you're in there. Your car's parked out front.”

The sound of Noah's voice made her shiver. This made no sense at all. She'd just received confirmation the man was in hiding. He could be a serial killer for all she knew.

“Eden! Let me in.” The racket almost deafened her. “Want the entire neighborhood to hear your business?”

That did it. Eden flung a pair of black lace bikini panties on top of a bright red teddy. Confrontation time! She stomped her way toward the door and flung it open: Denim and attitude filled her doorway. Noah held Kahlua out, his lopsided smile tugging at her heart. She wouldn't weaken. Wouldn't let him get to her.

Eden accepted the cat and grumbled, “What do you want?”

“You.”

Refusing to make eye contact, she focused on the cleft in his chin while the clean, fresh smell of him filled her nostrils.
Stay strong, Eden.

“Aren't you going to invite me in?”

“I hadn't planned on it.”

Another devastating smile and she was a goner. He gently moved her aside, and without waiting for an invitation strolled in.

“You can't come—”

“What's this?” Mouth welded into a grim line, he gestured to the half-filled suitcase.

Eden set Kahlua down. “What does it look like?”

Noah arched an eyebrow. Using his index finger, he picked up the black lace bikini panties and swung the tiny scrap of lace off the tip. “Going somewhere?”

“Home.” Eden remained at the open door, one arm crossed over the other, eyeballing him. “I have an emergency. It's my mom. I need to get home.”

Crumpling the panties in his palm, Noah eyed her warily. “Doesn't sound good. What happened?” He waited for her to fill him in.

Sick of the back and forth, and already wary of him, Eden said, “When were you planning on telling me, Noah?”

She watched for his reaction, but he didn't even flinch. “When was I planning on telling you what?”

His nonchalance infuriated her. Losing it, she pointed a finger at him. “You're on the run, aren't you? You're hiding out. That must mean you're in some kind of trouble.”

The panties fell or got tossed into the open suitcase, she wasn't sure which. The same finger holding them now stroked his chin. He stared at her for what seemed a long, long time. “What makes you think that?”

Eden moved in closer. She wanted to see his eyes. Her mother once told her that you could tell a liar by the way their eyes shifted. “I went shopping today—”

“Yes? What does that have to do with anything?”

“I walked into the electronics department. The news came on. The newscaster said you were missing.”

Noah's index finger made stroking motions against his chin. “And so you immediately concluded that I'd done something evil, that I must be wanted in several states.”

“Well are you?”

Noah crossed the room, looming over her, his fingers pressing into her shoulders. She ignored the warm, tingly feeling starting in her toes and working its way upward. She wouldn't let her treacherous hormones betray her.

“Lady, what does it take to gain your trust?” he asked.

Honesty.
“Noah, if you're in some kind of trouble, why can't you just admit it?”