Eden's Dream (7 page)

As if she'd willed him to appear, the object of her imagination materialized on the deck across from her. Even from the distance she could tell he wore skimpy black jogging shorts and a white Nike T-shirt, the bill of a red cap pulled low over one eye. Awed by the sight of his raw male presence, Eden's mouth hung open. When his arms reached overhead in an exaggerated stretch, and his powerful biceps flexed, she thought she would lose it. Nibbling on her lower lip, she continued to gape.

As if conscious of being stared at, Noel glanced her way. A smile so warm Eden could practically feel it transformed what little of his face she could see. He acknowledged her presence with a raised hand and a challenge. “Want to come jogging with me? I promise to take it easy this time.”

Eden forgot the headache plaguing her. She returned his smile. “I might take you up on your invitation later this week. Right now I'm contemplating going into Seattle.”

“Oh? Any place special?”

Actually the thought had just entered her mind. “The public library,” she called.

Noel pushed his cap to the back of his head and leaned over the railing. “When are you planning on leaving?”

“Mid-morning, after the traffic dies down.”

“I'll come with you.”

“What about your wor…”

He wiggled his fingers and disappeared inside.

Eden had just slipped on black leggings and an oversized cotton shirt when Noel rapped on her door. She tied a red bandanna around her neck, patted her hair in place, and hurried to answer.

Through the glass door she spotted him, denim jacket hanging from his index finger, Kahlua held in the crook of his arm. Lately, the fickle beast spent more time at his place than hers. Eden slid the door open and let them both in. She did her best to keep a blank face, though her pulse raced. She focused her attention on Kahlua, scratching the tip of the cat's ear. “Hello, Judas. Am I to assume you've already been fed?”

“Two cans of Nine Lives, plus dry food,” Noel proudly supplied.

“Tell me you didn't.” Eden sighed, accepting Kahlua and Noel's fleeting kiss.

“Did I do something wrong? She seemed really hungry. She ate every bit.”

Over Kahlua's body, their eyes met and held. Noel's held a flicker of an emotion she didn't dare acknowledge. The butterflies in her stomach beat a wild tattoo. She lowered her gaze to the open collar of the Tommy Bahama shirt where a suggestion of chest hairs was visible and caught her breath. She wanted to rest her head against his chest, tangle her fingers in those hairs, and let her tongue explore the hollow of his neck.

Noel broke the hypnotic spell. “Who's driving?” he asked.

“Me. The jeep's more comfortable.”

“Good point. But the Land Rover's faster.”

Eden jiggled her car keys at him. “Humor me. I'm the one who wanted to go.”

On the way into Seattle, Eden hugged the left lane of Interstate 90. A white Buick Riviera followed.

“Do you always drive this fast?” Noel's hands splayed across the dashboard bracing himself as bits of gorgeous scenery literally whizzed by.

Eden switched lanes, settling for a more central position. So did the Buick. “Is that better?”

“You're good,” he acknowledged, patting her knee. “The proverbial truck driver and certainly much better than I am.” Even as he begrudgingly paid her the backhanded compliment, his head moved from side to side, checking the traffic.

Eden accelerated. The speedometer shot past seventy. “You sound surprised.”

“I am. Aren't most New Yorkers weekend drivers? Don't they depend on the subway to get around?”

How did he know so much about New Yorkers? He'd once admitted to being from the other coast. Could he possibly be from New York? Eden kept her voice neutral. “I'm hardly a weekend driver. I keep erratic hours, live in Manhattan and work in Queens. Waiting on some isolated corner or in a smelly subway is the last thing I want to do.”

“Can't say I blame you.” Noel stretched denim-clad legs. He laid an arm across the back of her seat, his fingers expertly kneading the nape of her neck. It took everything she had to concentrate on the road ahead. Eden flashed him one of her more dazzling smiles and plunged on. “You never quite said exactly where you were from.”

Noel's fingers tangled her hair, massaging her scalp. I thought I'd told you.”

“No, you didn't.”

A beat too long. “I was born in Baltimore.”

Ah,” she said. “Then I take it you've been to New York at least once.”

“Why would you say that?” He pointed in the direction of a green sign. “You're about to miss your exit.”

Eden cut off the driver to her right and exited the highway. The Riviera trailed her. At a more sedate pace she made her way down Fourth Avenue. “That car's on my tail the whole way here,” she commented. Noel turned to look out the rear window as the white car changed lanes, zooming by them. It had tinted windows. His face was impassive when he said, “Probably another tourist.” Gazing at budding trees framing buildings with unique architecture, he switched the conversation, “This is some city.”

“Beautiful, isn't it? Course I'm partial. I spent a lot of summers here. There's something about lush greenery and water that makes me feel—Did you see
Sleepless in Seattle
?” She darted him a look, blushing fiercely when he winked at her.

“Of course I saw the movie. Didn't every die-hard romantic?”

His voice warmed her, sending a tingly feeling to the tip of her toes. He'd just admitted he was romantic.

On the opposite side of the road an Infiniti pulled away from the curb. Eden quickly claimed the spot. It began to drizzle when they crossed the street. Eden breathed in the smells of spring as they picked their way through a crowded bus stop and the homeless who'd made the front of the library home.

She led the way through a worn first floor and up the escalator. She decided the downtown library could definitely use a face-lift. On the second level, she edged her way toward the rear, Noel on her heels. Spotting the sign for magazines and newspapers, she headed for a clerk manning a white Formica desk.

“Can I help you with something, miss?” a deep male voice asked. A middle-aged hippie stuck in an obvious time warp peered at her through granny glasses.

Noel quickly inserted, “We're interested in looking at some of your old papers. I assume you have them on microfilm.”

The clerk scratched his ear with a much used pencil. “It's the digital age, but microfilm is still cheaper, so yes. Depends what you're looking for.”

Eden's spirits plummeted. Behind her back she crossed her fingers. “You must have old copies of the
New York Times
.”

The clerk fingered a graying curl and then tucked the escaping lock behind one ear. “Most certainly. Our copies go as far back as 1851. Can I help you find something?”

Eden's shoulders sagged with relief. Noel took control of the conversation. “Show us where the microfilm's kept.” He clasped cool fingers loosely around Eden's elbow.

The clerk's nicotine-stained finger pointed toward an inner room.

Two hours later, Noel decided enough was enough. He finished reading an article speculating about why the flight had been delayed and turned his machine off. The delay had not been a well-publicized fact. Initial reports had indicated air traffic, now he wasn't so sure. He'd have to pursue this new angle. He looked over at Eden busily scribbling notes.

“I'm famished,” he said, coming up behind her, resting his hands on her shoulders and squeezing gently. “Let's take a lunch break.”

Eden rubbed weary eyes and leaned into him. Noel could tell she was wiped out and probably ravenous. Most likely she'd skipped breakfast for a gulped cup of coffee. A break was definitely overdue.

“Lunch sounds delightful, Noel. Did you have someplace in mind?” she asked.

“The man at the information desk says Pike Place Market is right up the street. So is the waterfront. Game?”

“Game.”

They returned the microfilm, then taking the hand Noel offered, Eden followed him out.

“
D
id you uncover anything new
?” Eden asked, pushing her almost empty plate of fried oysters away.

“I'm not sure.”

Eden shot a quizzical glance Noel's way and waited for him to go on. They were seated on the terrace of a tiny restaurant on Alaskan Way, boasting a huge sign,
best seafood on the waterfront.
Noel had decided they should try it to see if it lived up to its name.

Across the table, he raised a crinkled paper napkin to swipe at his mouth and offered her a forkful of salmon. “Want to try some?”

“No thanks. I'm stuffed.”

Noel's next question came out of left field. “How come you never talk about Rod?”

“Wh—at?”

“Rod, your fiancé. Is he still a painful topic? I'd think there would be some good memories to share.”

Inwardly bristling, Eden wondered why he'd evaded her original question. Did he think she would discuss Rod with him of all people? And what exactly did he mean by, “I'd think there would be some good memories to share.” Did he know that she and Rod had had a fight and practically broken up? Was he baiting her?

Avoiding his gaze, Eden looked in the direction of the harbor where old fishing vessels, passenger ferries, and pleasure boats jockeyed for berths. She inhaled the tangy scent of salt and tilted her face toward the sun. “I'm usually not big on discussing my personal life with anyone. But since you asked, what is it you'd like to know?”

Noel seemed nonplussed by her curtness. He flashed another devastating smile and claimed her hand across the table. “I'm not anyone, Eden. You should know that by now.”

“We hardy know each other.”

His lips brushed her fingers. “I'd like to think I'm your partner…and friend. For God's sake, we're working as a team to uncover who knows what. I'd think that signifies trust on at least some basic level.” His thumb made circular patterns across her balled fist.

Trust. Such a misleading word. She'd never trust another man again. Their relationship, tentative as it was, was more that of forced dependency, created by a mutual need to understand why a terrible tragedy had occurred. She wasn't about to put those thoughts into words. “Umm hmm. I suppose.”

“Can I get you folks anything else?” their waiter interrupted.

Noel dismissed the query with a wave of his hand. “Eden,” he said after the man was out of earshot, “I'm only asking about Rod so as to have some sense of what he was like. You must admit the press vilified him and made him sound like a daredevil both on the job and off. They alleged he was a big partier. I'm having a real hard time envisioning you two together. I mean, you seem to have a good head on your shoulders. Rod, according to the press, was a wild man—someone so totally self-centered he'd willingly risk people's lives for the sake of cheap thrills.”

Eden managed a weak smile. “That wasn't Rod. You must have read the article in
People.
”

“I did. That's why I'm curious to hear what the real Rodney Joyner was like.”

Eden swallowed the lump at the back of her throat. She was over Rod finally, but bittersweet memories still mingled with guilt. She'd never admitted to another soul that hours before that fateful flight, she'd broached the subject of breaking their engagement. For months after, she'd chastised herself, wondering if she had in some way caused that crash.

“Earth to Eden?” Noel waved long, brown fingers in front of her eyes. “You're a million miles away.”

“Sorry.” She picked up her glass and gulped the remaining liquid. “Rod was a complicated man,” she began hesitantly. “He had passionate beliefs and an undaunted need to ensure right prevailed over wrong. That's why he was such a good union rep.” She paused, letting the memories take over and then caught herself “His pilot buddies referred to him as ‘the great orator.' He had a way with words, you could say. Actually, that's one of the reasons I was attracted to him, he wasn't exactly the strong, silent type. Like most opinionated people, he could be hotheaded, but he was never one to take unjustified risks.”

“Was he a big drinker as the papers implied?”

Eden blinked at the bluntness of the question. Given Noel's opinion of Rod, she knew her answer might be taken the wrong way. Still, something compelled her to go on. “Rod liked his booze, if that's what you're asking. But he was ex-military and extremely disciplined. He would never drink on the job. I'd have a hard time getting him to have a glass of wine the day before a flight.”

“Really? That's certainly contrary to what the papers said. Wasn't he involved in a drunken brawl in a Miami bar just weeks before the crash?”

Eden shrugged. That incident had shaken her to the core, though she'd never admit it to the man seated across from her. She went with the abridged version.

“Rod was on a two-day layover. From what I gathered, the entire crew was soused. They'd been on a South American trip for the past ten days and were letting off steam. Rod claimed that things got a bit rowdy and he tried his best to move the party out, but then the second officer made an off-color remark to a female patron, and everything ignited. The woman's boyfriend came at him with both barrels. When Rod came to the officer's defense, the whole thing turned into a free-for-all. The rest you read in the paper.”

“Was Rod so friendly with the second officer that he felt obliged to come to his rescue?” Noel's brows were skeptical commas.

“Hardly.” Eden remembered the pilot, a ruddy-faced man with a penchant for drink; she'd disliked him. She plunged on. “There's an unspoken bond that exists between crew members—an ingrained loyalty, so to speak. You don't walk away when one of your own's in trouble.” She omitted mentioning that Rod had once referred to the second officer as a horse's ass. The pilot was already dead, so why sully his memory? Out of allegiance to Rod, and because she was a little embarrassed, she didn't share the other version of the story either.

The way she'd heard it, there'd been a woman involved. Rod had supposedly left the bar with that woman. The fight had been instigated by the jealous boyfriend on their return, and the second officer was the one who'd come to Rod's rescue. That was the real reason she'd asked to postpone their wedding. She'd been mad as hell and decided she couldn't forgive him.

Noel changed the conversation. “Did you want coffee and dessert?”

“Neither, thanks. We really should be leaving.” Noel squeezed Eden's hand and gestured for the check.

A
week later
, on an unusually humid day, Eden raced down the cobblestoned path of her front yard to check the mail. She swiped beads of sweat from her face, reached into the mailbox and withdrew a fistful of papers.

She wore cutoffs, a T-shirt knotted at the waist, and her hair looped into a messy topknot She'd spent the greater part of the afternoon gardening. With temperatures well into the eighties, she was long overdue for a break.

As Eden flipped through flyers and junk mail, she barely acknowledged the white car whipping by, though something about its tinted windows seemed vaguely familiar. Searching her memory, she wondered where she'd seen the automobile before. The encounter hadn't been exactly pleasant, of that much she was sure. She dismissed her nagging unease, and focused on the letters in hand.

“Hey, good-looking.”

Noel's voice, though initially startling, drew a reluctant smile. Every sense heightened as he loped across the lawn, black folder in hand, covering the short distance between them. Time had gotten away from her. There would be no opportunity for the shower and quick change of clothing she'd planned.

“Hi,” Eden mumbled, surreptitiously gazing at him and then focusing again on the letters she held. Warmth flushed her cheeks as she sensed him closing in. She could feel the goosebumps on her arms rise; the butterflies in her belly begin to flutter. God she'd lose it if he touched her.

“Cute,” Noel said, tapping the haphazard knot at the top of her head.

Eden's hair fell under pressure. She shuffled a manila envelope with her name and address typewritten, pushed back an eyeful of hair, and glared at him. “Now look what you've done.”

Noel feigned innocence. “What?”

Though somewhat irritated, her lips twitched. No way could she resist that smile, the sparkle in those killer green eyes. “You're incorrigible,” she grumbled.

“Thank you. I've been called a lot worse. Can't blame a man for liking loose hair and short shorts.” He ran a finger across her cheek.

Eden's stomach flip-flopped. “Is that your way of complimenting me?” She looked at him openly for the first lime. He was drop-dead gorgeous in those navy gym shorts. Much too fine for his own good. And hers. The yellow polo shirt he wore rippled with every muscle. Quickly, she hooded her eyes, moistened dry lips, and tried to ignore the feeling of his hand in hers. It was a losing battle. Noel slipped his arm around her waist and walked with her to the open front door where Kahlua hovered. The cat purred a greeting.

“Hey, buddy.” Relinquishing his hold on her, Noel bent over to pet Kahlua. The cat immediately wrapped her fuzzy body around his bare legs and began to croon in earnest. “Okay, I hear you.” He set down his folder, picked up the feline and followed Eden.

Inside, Eden tossed the mail on the kitchen table. The manila envelope bearing Pelican's return address could wait until after Noel left. This afternoon, they had more pressing things on the agenda. She opened the refrigerator, removed bottled water and a pitcher of iced tea, and set them next to the mail. Marveling at how easily they'd fallen into a comfortable routine, she located a couple of glasses.

With Kahlua still in his arms, Noel leaned against pristine beige counters, openly admiring her. In his free hand he accepted the tea Eden offered and then raised his glass in toast. “We did it, girl. We got through this mess. Seems like we should be going out dancing to celebrate.” His arched brow issued a challenge.

Eden clinked her glass against his. “No, we shouldn't. We've accomplished quite a bit, but we still have a lot more work to do. You know I'll need you to help.”

“Well thank you for the kind acknowledgment.” He sipped his tea, eyeing her over the rim of his glass.

What she said was true. Over the past week they'd practically accomplished miracles. While much of it had been tedious, at times requiring a magnifying glass to decipher, they'd persevered. The end result had been Noel designing a spreadsheet denoting the types and frequencies of mechanical problems the aircraft experienced. He'd also tracked the plane's service history.

“I meant it. Thanks for the help.”

Accepting her graciousness with another enigmatic smile, Noel added, “Let's not forget I had a dedicated partner to keep me motivated.” He set his glass on the counter, put Kahlua down, and pulled Eden against him. Tea flew over the rim of her glass, dousing them.

“Now look what you've done.” Eden ignored her own wet clothing and dabbed at the widening stain on his shirt.

The hardness of Noel's pectorals reminded her that she couldn't let him get too close. She was only human after all. Her hands pressed against a chest as solid as granite. She stared into mesmerizing eyes.

Noel took advantage of her momentary confusion. He placed butterfly kisses against her neck, and made growling sounds. “Humor me,” he said in his gravelly voice. “Let's forget this tedious business and go out and have some real fun. I'll spring for dinner if I can persuade you to slip into a little black dress and three-inch heels.” He nibbled the sides of her neck, adding, “We might even find a good jazz club and go dancing.”

Though Noel's offer was tempting, his kisses unbelievably sweet, she somehow found the strength to say no. “I think we should stick to our schedule. What if I get called back to work next week? Where would we be?” She pushed another handful of hair from her eyes, adding, “Now go get your spreadsheet. I'll order takeout if we get hungry.”

Noel sighed his exasperation. “Okay. You win.” He released her, raised both arms in surrender and backed off. “What did I do with that folder?”

Eden felt a tinge of disappointment that he'd given up that easily. It had been ages since she'd been out. Really out. She'd always loved jazz. Dancing had been something she and Rod enjoyed. She slapped the folder on his chest and forced her voice not to sound like she cared. “Right here. Now sit.”

Two hours later, they were still trying to determine if other aircraft in Pelican's aging fleet had had an equivalent amount of problems.

“With nothing to compare it to,” Noel said, “how fair is it to assume these mechanicals were excessive.”

“But look at how many times the number two engine's been worked on,” Eden argued.