In Good Hands (10 page)

“Sorry,” he said. “I know you're doing your best.”

She shot him an irritated look, but didn't comment. Instead, she stomped over to her kitchen and lifted up her own glass of yuck-green smoothie. He felt even worse when he saw that her hand was shaking as she took a sip.

Crossing to her side, he enveloped her in a hug. She resisted at first, but in the end, she relaxed into his arms. She even returned the hug with one hand.

“I'm sorry,” he said into her hair. “It's not your fault. I've just never woken up to a psychopath before.”

She pushed out of his arms, and he reluctantly let her go. “Spike's not a psychopath. He's just addicted to gambling. And that's taking the predictable course.” She grabbed Spike's empty glass and took it to the sink to wash it. “God, what am I going to say to his mother? She thinks I can wave my fingers and have her son magically heal. I'm doing my best, but he's got to take some responsibility for the addiction.”

Roger stared at her, wondering at her odd reaction to the situation. First of all, she was calm. A lot calmer than he felt right then. Which meant she probably faced situations like this all the time. And if that wasn't scary as hell, he didn't know what was.

Then there was her bizarre statement about sessions and Spike's mother. Did she really think that living foods and energy mumbo jumbo could heal a
gambling addiction?

Honesty forced him to admit that she obviously did
not
think that. After all, she'd just said Spike had to take some responsibility himself. Well, duh. But the dullness in her body language told him something was weighing her down. She obviously thought she'd failed the boy. But rather than argue, he gestured to her locked metal cabinet.

“Can you give me back my phone? We need to call the police.”

She carefully did not look up from the dishes. “We don't need to call the police.”

“We sure as hell do,” he answered firmly. How had he known she was going to argue with him?

She shook her head. “I'll get in touch with Moira whomever she is through her website. We can get her back her dream catchers that way. Spike's going to have enough problems without us adding the police on top of everything.”

“He
stole
those dream catchers. He
threatened
you. And now he's so desperate that he'll probably hold up a liquor store or something. At this point, the police are his only hope of surviving until tomorrow and not killing someone else in the process.”

She didn't answer, but he saw the stubbornness in every line of her body.

“Amber!”

She turned back to face him, slumping against the sink as she did. “I just keep thinking about his mother.”

“Well, don't,” he returned. “Come on, Amber. Spike has created this problem. Enabling his addiction is the opposite of helping him and you know it.”

“I'm not enabling! I'm just—”

“Shielding him from the police and keeping him from facing the consequences of his violence? Amber, think! He's going to hurt someone else!”

He saw the knowledge in her face. In truth, it had been there all the time, but she'd needed him to force her to face it. Not a problem for him, so long as she eventually got to a rational place. She got there in less than a minute, and soon she was fishing a key out of her pocket. A moment later, he was talking to the police while Amber curled up on her couch and Roger watched her with a worried frown.

The woman who had approached him in the elevator yesterday had been all business and cool confidence. Last night's dinner had shown him a warmer woman with a nurturing streak a mile wide. But neither event had prepared him for the woman he saw now. She was unnaturally still on the couch, her expression carefully blanked. She appeared to be waiting—for him to get off the phone, for the police to arrive and take their statement, for God only knew what else. And she appeared not so much lost as defeated. Slowly, but inevitably, defeated. Like a stone worn down by steady, grinding pressure.

And that sight bothered him more than anything Spike had said or done.

R
OGER'S CAR WAS TRASHED.
Amber had walked outside to get a breath of fresh air, away from the cops, away from her growing doubts, away from everything for just a moment. Roger had shot her an anxious look as she stepped out, but he was occupied with the police, giving his statement. So she'd slipped outside into the afternoon glare only to see what had been done to Roger's car.

The windows were all smashed in. A door was dented as if someone had kicked it repeatedly. And when that hadn't worked, someone had scratched key marks all the way around it. That someone was obviously Spike, and the whole thing just made Amber sad. Bone-deep sad.

“Well, hell,” groaned a voice behind her just before large hands framed her waist. It was Roger as he realized the extent of the damage to his car.

“At least you didn't get a ticket for parking in front of a hydrant,” she said.

“Well, then everything's okay,” he said as he stepped around in front of her, his eyes worried. “Are you okay?”

She blinked. “Your car just got thoroughly trashed and you're asking about me?”

“I have insurance for my car. So, yeah, I'm asking about you.”

She smiled, touched. “I'm fine.”

“Really? Because I gotta say, you don't seem so fine.”

She took a deep breath, consciously centering herself back in the
now.
She was healthy on a beautiful day. She'd had a fabulous night last night. And best of all, the reason for the fabulous night was standing in front of her, looking at her as if she were—well, if not the most important thing in his life, at least in the top three. Life was good. She was good. She just had to hold on to that.

She forced her lips into a curve and said with as much confidence as she could muster, “I'm really fine, Roger. And you probably want to get home and change. And, um, call your insurance agent.”

He gave a rueful grimace, then gestured to one of the cops leaving her building. “I believe I have another crime to report,” he said to the officer. Then he turned back and looked at her. “Go and get a bag packed. Whatever you need. I'll finish up with the police and call a tow truck. Then we'll go get something sinfully delicious for lunch before settling in at my place.”

She smiled, her heart and her soul warmed. God, he really was the nicest man. And if it were a couple years ago, she would have already had her bags packed. She didn't want to admit it, but Spike had rattled her in more ways than one. But she was stronger than her fears. She would not turn tail and run away. She was going to stand her ground and stay in her home.

Fortunately, she didn't have to say any of that. The police officer came forward, grimly flipping a page over in his notebook. Amber took that moment to duck back inside. She wasn't going to pack, but she wasn't going to fight about it either. Certainly not out there on the street anyway. So she
stepped back up into her apartment and ran right smack dab into Mary.

“Oh, my God, Amber, oh, my God! What happened? Why are the police here? Oh, my—”

“Hello, Mary. How are you feeling today?” The doctor in Amber eyed her friend critically, picking out the symptoms of rheumatoid arthritis. Mary seemed to be walking better and her hands didn't seem so cramped. That was good news.

“Oh, well, I'm out of bed, see. And I thought I should take a walk and thank you for taking over my plant duties yesterday. You said I should get out more. Enjoy the sun when I can, and you were so right. But then I saw the police cars and I had to rush over. Well, rush as fast as I can go, you know. Everyone's talking about it. Did Spike really attack you? And who is that man in the suit with the poor car? Was he staying over? Amber…”

Her words went on and on, like a babbling brook of sounds. But they held more life and energy than Amber had heard in a long time from her friend, so she smiled as they walked together back into Amber's home.

The words continued, and soon another person was adding more. Sandy from down the hall came with her daughter, just to check on Doc Crystal. With the police outside, everyone inside the building felt safe in slipping in to find out what had happened.

Amber told them the short version, explaining that Spike's gambling had gotten him into a bad situation. He had not hurt her, but he was desperate. If anyone saw him, they should stay away and call the police immediately. That was all she said, but it sparked long discussions about addictions and desperate people. Then they shifted to things that could go wrong in a person's life, and from there to other neighborhood gossip while she made some more green smoothies and passed them around. For some, this would be the healthiest food they'd
have all day, and she didn't mind the task. The noise of the blender, thankfully, kept her from adding to the conversation. And so it went until Roger came back upstairs.

Everyone went silent the moment he walked in, their speculative gazes hopping from him to Amber and back. And for his part, his eyes widened in surprise at the collection of people he saw on her couch, on her floor and leaning against her breakfast bar. But he was nothing if not suave. He smiled warmly to everyone and carefully shut the door behind him before addressing the group.

“Well, I'm certainly relieved to see that you have a lot of friends here to watch out for you,” he said by way of greeting.

“Oh, we're all here for Doc Crystal!” piped in Josie, Sandy's daughter.

He didn't say anything, but Amber saw his eyes flicker with emotion. She could almost hear his thoughts all the way across the room. He knew as well as she did that her friends would disappear the moment anything resembling danger or the police returned to her doorstep. It wasn't that they were bad people. They just had a lot of things on their mind, enough troubles on their plate. Too many to be willing to leap into her issues.

Fortunately, he didn't say any of that, and Amber wisely cut off any opportunity by coming out from behind the breakfast bar. “Everyone, this is my friend Roger. He's—”

“Oh! You're from that robotics company!” piped in Mary.

“Yes—” began Roger, but Mary wasn't going to be stopped.

“Well, my God, Amber, you get all the luck. I've been watering the plants there for months and never came home with anything as fine as—”

“Mary!” exclaimed at least three people, including Amber.

“What?” protested Mary. “I'm just saying…”

Roger took up the thread. “That I should have looked at my company's plant care personnel much sooner. I can't disagree with that!”

Not surprisingly, Mary blushed a pretty pink. Meanwhile, Roger touched Amber's waist in a purposely intimate gesture.

“Well, as much as I hate to break this up, Amber and I need to get going. Thank you all for stopping by. I'm glad the doc has people she can count on in an emergency.”

Amber glanced at him, trying to gauge his words. Was he being sarcastic? She couldn't tell. Either way, she didn't argue. As uncomfortable as she made her home—with a decor defined by its lack of furniture—she still tended to gather neighbors. If she had enough chairs for them all, they'd never leave. So she didn't say a word as Roger managed to tease, cajole and charm everyone out the door. He was smooth, she'd give him that. And sweet. And overprotective. And so she'd tell him the moment he tried to order her out of her home.

That moment came about three seconds after he shut the door behind her friends. “Wow, they sure like to talk,” he gasped. Then he peered into her bedroom. “So where's your bag? The tow truck's been and gone. I just need to grab my briefcase and your bag, then we can go. I gotta say, I'm starved! What do you think of Italian…?” His voice trailed away when he realized she hadn't moved from where she was leaning against the breakfast bar.

“Oh, hell,” he said. “You're about to be stubborn, aren't you?”

She smiled, letting her weariness show in her face. “Thank you for everything you've done, Roger. I couldn't have managed Spike alone or the police. You were wonderful.”

He smiled. “So thank me over a big pile of lasagna.”

She shook her head.

“No lasagna? Fine. We'll eat more salad. But I'm telling you, it's going to have to be a
lot
of salad. I'm starved.”

“Actually,” she said as she moved to her refrigerator, “I made some lasagna just the other day.” It was raw-food lasagna, made out of zucchini slices and pureed tomatoes. Which meant it looked like the favorite Italian dish, but tasted nothing like it.

“Amber,” he said, his voice dropping low. “Come on, you can't stay here. Spike could come back at any moment.”

“Then it's a good thing I keep my door locked and have a cell phone to call the police.”

“Amber—”

“This is my home, Roger. It's my sanctuary.”

“And it's a great home, but for the moment, wouldn't you rather feel safe? Just until Spike is caught?”

She didn't have an answer to that. The chatter from her friends had kept her from thinking about being there alone after Roger had left. But she'd have to face her fear sometime. “I can't hide every time something scares me.”

“I'm not talking about every time. I'm talking about this time. For now. Until Spike is picked up again by the police.”

Amber shook her head. “He's not going to come back. There isn't anything here for him.”

“There's money here—”

“Ha!” she snorted.

“
He
thinks there is,” Roger pressed. “Don't you remember? He said he knew you had the cash.”

“He's delusional.”

“Probably,” Roger agreed. “But that doesn't mean he won't come looking. Maybe this time with a gun.”

Amber crossed her arms over her chest, fighting the fear that had started creeping up her spine. “You're just trying to scare me into going home with you.”

Roger shook his head. “The cops said the same thing. And I'm adding that it's better to be safe than sorry.” He stepped forward and brushed his hands along the outside of her arms. “Come on. This just makes sense. I swear I won't jump you. Unless you want me to, of course.”

Oh, she'd want him to. Not right now, but all too soon, she was sure of it. But that wasn't the problem. There was something else holding her back. And because he wasn't a fool, he noticed that right away.

“What is it that you're worried about? Honestly.”

She bit her lip and tried to think. And when her mind twisted in on itself without shedding any light, she simply closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She purposely quieted her thoughts and allowed the truth to form out of the silence.

“I've been thinking hard about my life lately. Wondering if I made the wrong choice so long ago in coming to Chicago.”

He nodded. “Big life questions. I understand. A scare like today can bring that on.”

She smiled. “Yeah, but it's not just that. I mean, it is that, but in a larger sense. I'm a healer at heart. That's who I've always been. I want to heal people.” She gestured to her home and the neighborhood at large. “I came here because traditional medicine wasn't answering my questions. Because the politics was interfering with the healing. And because I wanted to explore the places Western medicine wasn't looking.”

“And now you're wondering if everything you've done has been a whole big waste of time.”

She arched a brow. “Yeah.”

He gestured to the doorway. “It didn't look like those people
thought you'd wasted your time. They looked like you were part of their lives in a good way.”

She smiled, reassured but not enough. “Thank you for that, but—”

“But you don't know if that's enough. You don't know if all your research and explorations have done anything but tanked your medical career.”

Her eyes widened; she was surprised that he could so clearly read her thoughts.

He laughed, his expression wry. “It's not like that's a hard thing to figure out. I mean, you obviously feel like you failed with Spike. You've given up a lot to pursue your passion. It's not surprising that after this morning, you'd be wondering if it's worth it.”

Overwhelmed by his understanding, she gave him an impulsive hug. He responded in kind, wrapping her in his arms until she felt like she never wanted to leave. Then his voice came rumbling through to her, his words gentle, coaxing.

“What I don't understand,” he said, “is why all those thoughts are keeping you from going to my house where you can cogitate, ponder and meditate on these thoughts in safety.”

She smiled, amused by his phrasing. Personally, she'd have to add “angst” and “worry” to the list of what she was likely to do as she sorted through her feelings. But that's not what forced her to push away from him. It was the knowledge that she ought to face these thoughts without his distracting presence. She couldn't make life decisions while a man as gorgeous as him was a breath away.

But she wasn't ready to tell him that, so she reached for something else. Something logical, but not the real reason. “You live in a high-rise condo, right?”

He nodded.

“You probably have the works. Huge TV, stereo sound, espresso machine?”

“I gave away the machine when I gave up caffeine.”

She snorted. Like that made any difference at all. He still lived the life she'd left behind. The life that could look way too appealing after months of living in a converted warehouse. “Your life, your space, is everything I used to be. High energy, high pressure, high stress.”

He arched a brow. “So?”

“So going back to that is making the decision. It's choosing all the trappings of that life over what I've created here. I'm not ready to do that. I'm not ready to say everything I've done here is worthless.”