Eden's Dream (4 page)

T
he rumbling noise
of a failing engine penetrated Eden's subconscious. She watched helplessly as the plane plunged out of control. The staccato sound grew in intensity as the jet exploded, spewing metallic parts and huge balls of fire. Eden's eyes popped open. She groped her way out from under the covers, her heart beating wildly. God, her mouth tasted gritty, and her head felt as if a wild war dance had been performed on her skull. Wide awake now, when the noise repeated itself, she recognized it for what it was, someone pounding on her back door.

Eden gazed at the digital clock on the night table. Oh God, she'd overslept. Already she was ten minutes late for her running appointment with Noel. It had to be him banging on the door.

“I'm coming. Give me a minute,” she shouted over the racket, scrambling to gather clothes.

“Better make it soon,” Noel shouted back. “That's if you want to go running before the sun's up.”

Eden stumbled toward the bathroom. She splashed cold water on her face, quickly brushed her teeth, ran a comb through her hair, swept it into a knot on the top of her head, and slipped on a T-shirt and boxers. She raced back to the bedroom, fumbled through drawers to find socks, and shoved her feet into sneakers.

Noel's nose was pressed against the sliding glass door when Eden entered the kitchen. He backed off quickly when she released the safety latch and slid the door open.

“Well, good morning,” he greeted in a voice decibels too loud. “By chance I wouldn't have woken you?” He tapped the face of his watch pointedly. “It's fifteen past six.”

Eden blushed. “Sorry,” she mumbled, focusing on his athletic legs and the crisp white shorts hugging muscular thighs. Even at this outrageous hour, he looked the picture of cool. His togetherness irked her. Refusing to look him in the eye, she hissed, “All right. You made

your point. The alarm didn't go off. Why didn't you just leave without me?”

Noel's voice softened. “I wouldn't do that. We had a date, and you're not that late anyway. Shall we?”

Eden ignored the arm he offered. Date? Was that what this was supposed to be? She'd never have agreed to a date. Hoping he wouldn't notice her inflamed cheeks she hurriedly said, “Ready if you are.”

Together they jogged down a winding road bordered by honeysuckle and overgrown shrubbery. Red and yellow poppies peeked from the foliage. A soft breeze cooled the heat in her cheeks, and she took small puffing breaths of the crisp morning air. When they rounded the bend, the briny smell of the lake filled Eden's nostrils. As a child she'd adored the salty smell. As an adult she loved it for the memories it evoked.

Noel's voice invaded her thoughts. “So how's the investigation coming? Were you able to fit any more pieces of the puzzle together?”

Eden shook her head. In an attempt to keep up with him, she concentrated on placing one foot in front of the other, before answering. “Not really. But I'm planning on calling a coworker today. Lori Goldmuntz's husband is a supervisor on the ramp, and he's got access to maintenance logs. If my hunch proves right, I'll be a lot closer to clearing Rod's name.”

“How do you figure that?”

She debated not telling him and then decided it wouldn't matter. He didn't know the people she worked with. “You see, each plane has an identifying number on its tail. Industry people refer to it as the tail number. It's a registration number, really. I'm going to ask Lori to fax me the maintenance logs for aircraft number N3332F. That's the tail number of the plane Rod was flying. Guaranteed, Lori will get that information to me today.”

Noel shot her a quizzical look. “And you plan on doing what with this information?”

She was starting to tire, but Eden flashed a smile of undisguised superiority his way. Her chest was on fire, and they'd only gone a quarter of a mile, but she wasn't about to tell him that. She would keep up with him if it killed her. “I'm going to count…the number of times that plane's been in the hangar for repair,” she panted, “see…what types of mechanical problems…the aircraft's had in the past.”

Noel's breath came easily, nothing like hers. He was in much better shape, she conceded. And he didn't smoke. His coolness really did irritate her.

“What if the plane does have a history?” he challenged.

Eden's rib cage hurt. She had developed a stitch in her side. “I'll let you know…later. Till then…I'm pleading…the fifth.”

A couple in matching bright red windbreakers ran past them. Noel acknowledged their salute with a friendly nod. Once the twosome was out of sight, he stopped and jogged in place. “You okay? Or should we turn back?” he asked.

Eden's head bobbed back and forth. She couldn't form the words to answer. Her chest felt as if a cannon had exploded in it. “I've…got…ta sit…down,” she rasped.

Noel grabbed her arm before she could follow through on her words. “No, you don't. Take deep breaths. Keep your legs moving. You've got to cool down.”

Her brain had a hard time following his instructions.

She looked longingly at the rolling terrain on either side, wishing he would let go so she could sink onto the springy grass, lie down, and die. But she followed his advice anyway, closed her eyes, took deep breaths, and willed away the pain. Even so, she was conscious of Noel's hands under her armpits, keeping her upright. Gulping for air, she leaned into him.

“Eden? Eden?” Noel's voice penetrated. “Open your eyes and look at me. Keep those legs moving now, girl. Slowly. You can do it. Yes, that's better. Good girl.”

Opening her eyes, she found Noel's concerned green ones scrutinizing her. His hands caressed her hot cheeks, the thumbs massaging her jawline. “Feeling better?” he whispered.

Mesmerized by the connection, she nodded, her breathlessness this time having nothing to do with her inability to answer him.

“Baby, I shouldn't have pushed you so hard. I should have been more thoughtful.”

Baby? Where did that come from?

Noel's hands on the nape of her neck forced her head back. Their gazes held. There was that crazy feeling of déjà vu all over again. Eden forgot they were on the side of the road, in full view of the neighborhood. She wrapped her arms around his waist and pulled him closer. When his mouth covered hers, she parted her lips and accepted his tongue. As the kiss deepened, time and place ceased to exist. The sound of pounding feet broke the lip-lock. Heart racing, Eden stepped out of his embrace and put a respectable distance between them.

“May I have some water?” she asked, hoping such a mundane question would bring with it normalcy.

For a fleeting moment, Noel's warm fingers stroked her cheek. He reached for the bottle at his hip and turned it over. “Of course. Don't gulp though, take tiny sips.”

The pounding came closer. A female jogger, a striped towel draped around her neck, whizzed by. She threw them a curious look and waved.

Noel's white smile caressed Eden's face. “Ready to head back?” He held out his hand.

“Yup. Now that I've got my breath back.” She took his hand as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Making irrelevant small talk, they walked back. In front of her house, Noel asked, “Eden, would you mind if I helped with your investigation?”

His question threw her. Why, after weeks of maintaining his distance, did he suddenly feel the need to get close? Obviously something more lay behind the question. Today, he'd been so sweet, so utterly charming, she'd let her guard down. She'd almost forgotten she didn't trust him. “Why would you want to?” she quizzed

Noel took seconds to answer and then said, “Ty MacMillan was on that flight. He was the brother I never had. I still haven't gotten over his death. He was my age, thirty-five. Like you, I guess I seek closure.”

“You know, this may not be the best partnership,” Eden warned. “We'd actually be working at cross purposes. I'm bound and determined to prove Rod's innocence, and you're bound and determined to crucify him.”

Noel held her wrists while her treacherous heart thudded in her chest. She couldn't have said no to him if she wanted to.

“No, Eden,” Noel answered, “
Crucifying
's too strong a word. I just want to uncover the truth.”

N
oel cradled
the phone between ear and shoulder. “What time are you planning on getting here?” he asked.

While awaiting a response, he stabbed his fork into a coagulating mess of chicken française and made a face. Despite following the microwave instructions to the letter, dinner had turned out disastrously.

“Eleven's good,” Noel confirmed, chewing slowly. “Just make sure to bring a full wallet. You guys owe me big time.”

He took another stab at the chicken and then gave up. Microwave tray in one hand, cordless phone in the other, he pushed back from the table. Dinner was disposed of in a nearby trash can.

Noel turned his attention back to the phone. “Now what kinda question is that? Didn't I tell you I'd find some way to meet her, and I did? Even better, I may have convinced her to let me help with her investigation.” He chuckled, acknowledging the crude comment on the other end. “I'm a fast worker! You should talk. Now, don't even go there. All right, enough already,” he said, “Gotta go. See you later.” Abruptly, he hung up the phone.

Noel's stomach gurgled as he searched the cupboards for something to replace the dinner he'd dumped.

He'd never quite mastered the art of cooking, never needed to. Where he'd come from, sustenance could be purchased on any city block. If he didn't feel like eating in a restaurant, takeout was a mere phone call away. Amazing how drastically life had changed for Noel Robinson.

Eventually, he found tuna fish and a can opener. He plopped a couple of slices of whole wheat in the toaster and swore when someone knocked on his front door.

Visitors? The boys weren't expected until eleven.

A second knock came before he'd figured out how best to handle his unwanted company. A female voice threatened, “If you know what's good for you, Noel Robinson, you'll open up or I'll feed your dessert to Kahlua.”

Noel chuckled at the thought of Eden on the other side, bringing him dessert. Must mean he hadn't scared her off. Taking the can of tuna with him, he hurried to answer.

As he flung the door wide, his words tumbled over each other. “Eden, how nice to see you. Come on in.”

The object of his most recent fantasies held out a covered dish and smiled sweetly. “Brought you something,” she chirped. “It's not exactly cherries jubilee, since all I had was bread and a gallon of milk about to spoil. But bread pudding it is.”

Noel snapped his mouth shut. His gaze remained riveted on Eden's face. He'd never seen her with makeup before, and words failed him. Eden Sommers wasn't just incredibly good-looking, as he'd originally thought. She was one stunning woman. Those cognac eyes with lashes lengthened by mascara, issued a definite challenge. She'd curled her hair, and a layered mane swirled loosely about her heart-shaped face. Just the right touch of sienna had been added to her cheeks and lips, and her trademark sweats had been exchanged for a denim micro-mini. Noel's gaze shifted to take in a pair of dynamite legs that even Tina Turner would envy.

“Earth to Noel,” Eden called, snapping her fingers under his nose.

“Uh…yes…where are my manners?” He caught himself and stepped aside to let her in.

A tangy smell of something utterly bewitching preceded her. Noel followed the slight swish of her hips, praying that by the time they faced each other he would have his emotions under control.

Seemingly oblivious to his interest, Eden tossed over her shoulder, “Where shall I set this down?”

“Here, I'll take it.” He relieved her of the dish, his fingers accidentally brushing hers. Her touch triggered a chain reaction, starting at the tips of his fingers and traveling downward to settle in his groin. The hunger he felt had nothing to do with his empty stomach. “Want to join me for a tuna sandwich?” he growled.

Eden scrunched her nose. “No thanks. I hate tuna. Is that all you're having for dinner?”

“It was, until this.” Noel lifted the covered dish and stuck a finger inside. He scooped out a generous portion of bread pudding and plopped it into his mouth. “Do you like pizza?”

Eden thought about the peanut butter sandwich she'd devoured before coming over. She was still ravenous.

“Love it. What did you have in mind?”

“There's a little Italian place a couple of blocks away, makes great pizza, almost as good as…New York. Why don't you grab a seat? I'll put this away, change clothes, and we're off.”

Eden sat on the leather sofa, wondering why she was even there. All her life she'd never acted impulsively. But today she'd done a lot of soul searching and concluded that although Noel had said some pretty harsh things about Rod, he'd only voiced what the majority of the world thought: Flight 757's crash had resulted from pilot error.

Her initial anger over with, she looked at things far more rationally now. What did it really matter that Noel blamed Rod? He had a right to his beliefs, and so did she. She could put aside their differences to gain his help if more would be accomplished with two people investigating. Besides, time and facts would prove her right, and time was something she didn't have much of.

Eden grabbed a magazine from the coffee table. She glanced at the cover, registering that it was another copy of
Flight International
. This time the address label had been removed. Why? she wondered as she flipped through pages of articles circled in bright red Magic Marker. She'd just begun to read some gruesome speculation about the Trans World Airways tragedy when the phone rang.

On the third jingle, Eden yelled, “Should I get that?”

Either Noel didn't hear or didn't care to answer, so Eden went off in search of the phone. As she approached the kitchen, the answering machine clicked on. A man's southern twang could be heard loud and clear. “Hey, Rob…Robinson, where are you, big guy? You forgot to tell me how much stuff you need me to bring.”

Eden froze. Stuff? Were her suspicions confirmed? Was Noel really a drug dealer masquerading as a furniture designer?

She reached for the receiver as a hand clamped her shoulder, turning her around. Eden pressed her hand to a pounding heart “You startled me, Noel…” she said, her words trailing off. In his collarless denim shirt and skintight jeans, Noel Robinson gave new meaning to the word
fine
.

“Didn't intend to. I'll get it.” Noel pushed the button on the remote and mumbled into the phone, “Robinson here.” He listened for what seemed an eternity and then began to laugh. Eden heard him say, “Thanks, but I'm going out to eat.” Then before hanging up, “None of your business, boy. Didn't your mama teach you good manners?”

Eden was certain she'd been the topic. The moment he hung up she asked, “What was that about?”

Noel seemed amused. Amused and preoccupied. “Just a friend checking up on me. He wanted to know if I needed something from the store.”

A load of BS. He was lying. That prompted her to make a sarcastic comment. “A very caring friend. Wish there were more of those around.”

Noel's hand at the small of her back moved her along. He bent over to whisper, “You're too young to be this cynical.”

Eden shot him a withering look.

The short drive to the restaurant was completed in silence.

“We're here,” Noel announced, pulling into a crowded parking lot. “Think we can manage to have a good time?” His raised eyebrows indicated he had doubts. After executing a series of maneuvers, he successfully squeezed his Land Rover into the only vacant spot. Before Eden could set one foot on the ground, he was at the passenger door, holding it open.

Eden hastily straightened her skirt feeling Noel's gaze sear her legs. She ignored the desire in his eyes, took the arm he offered, and walked with him toward an A-frame building.

“This looks interesting,” she said, dismissing the jittery sensations his closeness evoked. Even so, Noel's masculine scent invaded her senses. Dope peddler or not, the man had definite sex appeal.

“It is. The restaurant's been in the Di Murio family for years, or so I've been told.” Noel answered her unspoken question. “Not in this building though. The original burned to the ground, and they've since rebuilt.”

“Gee, for someone who's not been around here long, you sure know a lot.”

Noel chuckled. “I make it my business to ask a lot of questions.”

“Amen.”

Inside, the entire population of Mercer Island gathered, or so it seemed. Eden noted their attire. The lumberjack look was definitely in. Levi's and plaid shirts were about as fashionable as it got, and she felt positively overdressed.

Again, reading her thoughts, Noel confirmed, “You look terrific, and we fit right in. We are wearing denim.”

A perky, dark-haired beauty approached, jiggling size thirty-eight breasts and plastic menus simultaneously. “Welcome to Di Murio's,” she greeted. “The waits about twenty minutes. May I have your name?”

Noel gave his name, collected a beeper, and led Eden to an outdoor bar.

When they were seated, he asked, “What would you like to drink?”

Eden inhaled the crisp spring air, tempted to answer, “Single-malt Scotch,” knowing that would shake him up. Instead, she said, “We're having pizza, so Chianti should go nicely.” Already she'd gotten the feeling that he viewed her as both entrée and dessert. That made her self-conscious.

Noel signaled to the waiter. “Chianti it is then.” After the waiter had taken their order and departed, Noel teased, “No cigarettes tonight. Not feeling well?” Now that he'd mentioned it, she wanted a cigarette badly. And there were smokers at the bar, so it wasn't exactly frowned upon. Eden reached for her purse. “Please don't.”

She caught the look in his eyes and hastily dropped her hand. “You don't like smoke?” she challenged.

“I despise the smell and hate the habit. You would, too, if you watched your father die of lung cancer.”

Eden reached for his hand across the table. “Oh, Noel.”

The waiter returned carrying the Chianti and two glasses on a tray. “Excuse me.”

To give the server space, Noel released her hand. He steered the conversation to less emotional ground. “Were you able to get in touch with your friend?”

Somehow she'd known he'd come back to that. Eden sipped her wine, debating how much to tell him. She finally said, “Yup. Lori's already faxed me over a bunch of stuff.”

There was a distinct glimmer in Noel's eyes when he responded. “Have you given any thought to my proposal, then? I still think we'd make a helluva team.”

Eden opened her mouth to tell him she'd given it a lot of thought, and team wasn't exactly what came to mind, but the scraping of his chair against polished wooden floors stilled her words. “The beeper just went off,” he said. “I think we've been summoned. I'll have

the Chianti sent to our table.”

He approached Eden's side of the table and offered his hand. Folding her hand into his seemed the most natural thing in the world.

The same over-endowed hostess escorted them to a table covered in red plaid. Flickering candles dripped wax over empty wine bottles, creating patterns against a cream-colored wall. Noel held out a chair and waited for Eden to sit.

Once their hostess was out of sight, Noel said, “I'll be happy to top off your wine.” He had an amused look on his face.

Eden decided it wouldn't hurt to have another glass. It might even relax her. “Sure.”

Conversation ebbed and flowed. Over pizza and the last of the Chianti, Eden asked, “Noel, did you always want to be a furniture designer?”

Noel's hand covered his mouth, suppressing a cough. Quickly he dabbed the corners of his mouth with a napkin.

“You okay?” Eden eased his water glass closer.

“I'm fine. Crust went down the wrong way.” Noel lifted the glass and gulped the water. “Now to answer your question, I did want to be a commercial pilot at one point. Sadly, that didn't work out.”

“Why didn't it?” Why did he fascinate her? Eden traced the patterns on the tablecloth while awaiting his answer.

“Because my folks didn't have money. When my father became ill, we existed on welfare checks and what little money I made from my paper route. After high school, I was lucky to apprentice with a furniture designer. I did the night-school thing and graduated college by the skin of my teeth. By then, the dream had died.”

“I'm sorry.” She seemed to say that a lot around him.

“Don't be. I'm happy doing what I do.”

Whatever that is,
Eden thought.

Across the table, he reached for her hand. His eyes burned a slow path across her face, leaving a warm tingle in its wake. His next question grounded her. “So tell me, when can we go through the maintenance sheets your friend sent you?”

“We?”

“You are going to let me in on your investigation?” It was a direct challenge.

Eden decided to keep him guessing, though she'd already decided she needed him. “Any particular reason I should?”

Noel finished off the last of the Chianti before extending the bait. “Because two heads are better than one. And because I just might have some information you need.”

She remembered the copies of
Flight International
magazine and the articles circled in red. She was sure Noel knew a whole lot more about Flight 757 than he was letting on. Come to think of it, his interest in the crash seemed almost an obsession. The thought crossed her mind that there might be more to the story than just losing his best friend. Still, with his information and her Pelican Air connections, they might make a formidable team.

“Okay.”

“Okay?” Noel's delight was evident. In the candlelight, the cleft in his chin was even more pronounced. He flashed his Colgate smile and squeezed her hand. “Let's shake on a successful partnership and an interesting friendship.”