It Had to Be You (Christiansen Family) (11 page)

Or maybe he had been exactly this man, trapped, broken. John Doe needed someone to rescue him just as badly as Jace had that night in the water.

Eden brought him back from the memory. “I keep thinking about who he might be and how sometimes people come out of a coma if they hear a familiar voice.” She lifted a shoulder as if already shrugging off the idea. “I was thinking I might try to find his family.”

Her words slid like fire through his bones. “You want to find out who he is?”

She made a sort of face then. “I know. It’s a long shot, but I feel sad for him
 
—”

“I’ll help.” He wasn’t sure where those words emerged from, but as soon as he said them, something shifted inside him.

Yes. He could find this kid’s family, and maybe everything in his life, in his world, wouldn’t feel so dark.

Eden looked stunned. “What?”

“I mean, I know you’re the reporter, but . . . could I help somehow?”

She set down her cup of coffee. “Uh . . . I don’t know
 
—”

“Listen. I get that you don’t like me very much. But maybe we can work together on this. I’m just . . .” He shook his head. “I’m
sick of being helpless. Of watching the people I care about suffer.” Or his career die. “I don’t know
 
—it might help to do
something
. Anything. Even help this stranger find his family.”

“Uh . . .” She blew out a breath. “Just so you know, I’m not . . . I mean . . .” She made another strange face. “I’m not a great reporter.”

He frowned. “I’m sure you are. And it’s a great story.”

Something flickered in her eyes. Her expression stirred a tingle in him, a curiosity. “It
is
a good story, isn’t it? It’s a great
 
—even front-page
 
—story. The kind of story I’ve waited for.”

He couldn’t help but notice the way her countenance changed as she got up, stood over John Doe.

“He looks like a college student, and maybe an athlete? We could check at the local colleges . . .”

“Or maybe he’s just a kid who was in the wrong place at the wrong time?”

“Right. It could be that he’s not even from here. Maybe he’s from Chicago, and he came to town to hang out with friends. Or he flew in to finally meet this girl he connected with online, and she is still waiting
 
—”

“In the snow.”

She glanced at him. “Pining, actually. Knowing he’s the right guy, finally, but not sure why he hasn’t shown up. Why he’s left her in the darkness and cold . . .”

“Wow. Now I don’t know if we should help him, after he abandoned her like that.”

Eden raised an eyebrow, but he smiled, winked.

“Let’s give him a chance. It wasn’t his fault. He was on his way to buy flowers when he was jumped,” Eden said.

“You’re right. For Marilou.”

“Marilou?”

“The girl who is pining.”

“Right. Marilou.” He won another smile, something warm, igniting dangerous, unexpected feelings of anticipation.

So he could admit that the prospect of spending time with her didn’t make him want to run. Didn’t mean he shouldn’t be on his guard. The first hint that she was picking apart his life or bossing him around or telling him what a terrible role model he’d become, he would walk.

Even if she might be right. “So, for Marilou?” he said.

She picked up her coffee. Considered Doe. “Okay. Yes. You can help me. Let’s find John Doe.”

I get that you don’t like me very much. . . .

Jace’s words tugged at Eden all morning.

Mostly because she
did
like him, despite herself. Just a little.

For Marilou.
Eden had to smile at that. She loved the game of imagining a person’s life, but to find him playing along . . . She might be in trouble here. Had she completely forgotten his reputation?

She could blame her fatigue. Her fragile emotional state. And Jace’s devastating smile. It slid up his face, stopped at an unexpected dimple, and possessed the power to chase words from her brain.

It would help if he weren’t so handsome, with all those chocolate curls, wide shoulders, a warrior’s physique.

It only confused her
 
—and her good sense. One second he was shutting down their conversation and steering her back to the elevator; then he was plugging his cell number into her phone and offering to help her land a story.

A great story. Yes, this story would certainly make Hal sit up and take notice.

And maybe, if she found Doe’s family, they could wake him up. She might even save a life.

Still, what game was Jace playing? Because certainly famed Jace Jacobsen wasn’t serious about donating his time to help her find a kid that society forgot.

Although, for a long moment there, Eden had believed him. Especially when he helped her search Doe’s room for his belongings. She’d found them in a big white bag in the closet, and then, with Jace standing guard by the door, she sorted through his grimy red ski jacket, flannel shirt, faded jeans.

She’d unearthed only a flimsy, faded receipt for a sandwich, with the restaurant name partially torn off the top.

Before she had a chance to invoke any investigative powers, the nurse came in, gave them an annoyed look, and shooed them away.

And Jace vanished. Poof! Gone. Like she’d dreamed the entire escapade.

But the sandwich receipt sat like contraband in her pocket, burning Eden as she worked at her desk in obits.

She’d
stolen
it. From a coma patient. She’d rifled through his disgusting, soiled clothing. Three times she’d washed her hands in Owen’s room, hanging around while her parents ordered pizza.

The dinner felt like a feeble attempt by her family to inflate another flimsy bubble of hope around Owen, as though his outburst hadn’t sent a tremor of fear through all of them. But they didn’t know Owen like she did.

He wasn’t destined to take this well.

Eden took out the receipt. Smoothed it on her desk. She could make out the time and date and part of a name.
Frog
 
—
?

Maybe this
was
a bad idea. Impulsive, and really, how was she going to find this kid’s family if the police couldn’t even do it?

Except what if it were Owen in that bed, all alone?

It
is
a good story, isn’t it?

She glanced at Charlotte’s closed office door. Took a breath. Got up. She put the receipt back in her pocket, then headed to Charlotte’s office. Pausing outside the door, Eden ran her thumb over the edge of the receipt.

No, it’s a great story.

She knocked.

“Enter.” Charlotte looked up as Eden eased the door open. “Oh yes, hello, Eden.” She wore a gray cashmere sweater today, a fedora on her head as if she were some
Vogue
editor. “How’s your brother?”

Eden brushed her hands across her wool pants. “He’s . . . not great, actually.”

“I’m so sorry to hear that. I saw the news reports. It sounds like he might be out for a few games.”

“We hope he’ll be back soon.” Yesterday her father had talked with reporters from KARE 11 on the phone after the family devised a party line.
We hope he’ll be back soon. Go Blue Ox.

“Do you need a few days off? I know you and your brother are close.” Charlotte smiled, but her gaze had already tracked back to her computer.

“No . . . I mean, thank you, but I’m here because I have a story lead.”

Charlotte pulled off her glasses. “Oh?”

“Yes. While I was at the hospital, I happened upon a John Doe. He’s in a coma, and they can’t find his family. I was hoping that maybe I could track them down.”

Charlotte just sighed.

“What?”

“He’s not deceased, is he?”

“He’s in a coma.”

“Is he likely to die?”

“Well . . . I hope not. I’m trying to find his family so he might hear their voices and wake up.”

“Then he’s not a fit for obits, is he?”

Oh. “But what if . . . ? Why do we always have to wait until they’re dead?”

Charlotte raised an eyebrow. “Because we’re the obituary department?”

But
 
—and she wasn’t sure why she wasted her desperation on Charlotte
 
—“I don’t want to write about the deceased the rest of my life.”

Charlotte put her glasses back on. “You don’t have to. But you are writing obits
now
. And the last time I looked, you had a tidy pile of them to compose. I would say that you might want to focus on keeping the job you currently have.”

Eden stood there, her heart a stone.

“You’re dismissed, Eden.”

She took a breath, and the words just spilled out. “Aren’t you tired of always writing about death?”

Charlotte looked up at her, frowned. “But, Eden, I don’t write about death. I write about life.”

Right.

Eden headed back to her desk, where a stack of mail-in forms awaited her attention, not to mention the online submissions.

She took out the receipt, stared at it a long moment, then crumpled it in her fist.

She wasn’t a reporter, and she never should have lied to Jace. Truth was, she hadn’t a hope of tracking down this kid’s family. The entire thing was a stupid, impossible idea.

“How was your weekend?” Kendra popped over the side of the cubicle. “And your date with Russell?”

So much had happened since then, she’d nearly forgotten. “Tragic. He showed up for the game with his body painted.”

Kendra’s jaw dropped. “No.”

“Yes. And dyed his hair blue.”

“No!”

“Oh yes. It was . . . quite the game.”

“I’m sorry. And, oh, by the way, I heard about your brother. How is he?”

“We’re supposed to tell the news that he is fine, but . . . it’s pretty bad. His orbit is broken, and he has a severe cut in his eye.”

Kendra made a face. “Wow. That is awful. So they’re thinking he’ll be out for the season?”

She couldn’t say
forever
, so she nodded.

“Bummer. How’d it happen?”

“He can’t remember. It was a fight, of course. Owen trying to prove something.”

To be tough. Maybe even impress someone, like his team captain.

“What do you have there?” Kendra pointed to the crumpled paper in Eden’s hand.

“A receipt. I was trying to figure out where it was from.”

“Why?”

Eden flicked her thumb on the paper. “While I was at the hospital, I happened upon this guy . . . he’s in a coma. And he’s a John Doe.”

“How sad.”

“Yeah. I was sort of thinking I might try to . . . I don’t know
 
—” She shook her head.

“Find out who he is? I love it!” Kendra came around the cubicle. “That’s a fabulous idea. And so cool. So . . . is that his?”

“I picked it out of his pocket.”

“Oh, you’re bad.”

“Yeah
 
—”

“No, silly. Bad is good.” She took the receipt. “The name is ripped off it.”

“I know. But it sort of looks like
Frog
 
—maybe
Frogtown
. It’s an area in St. Paul, about five miles from downtown, across the river. There’s a White Castle around there, and Owen sometimes likes to stop after practice.”

“You’ve got to be kidding.”

“Hey
 
—don’t dis the Castle.” Eden studied the print. “I’m going to do some googling at lunch and see if I can find a deli. Maybe after work I’ll go down there, see if anyone can help me figure out who he is.”

“You’re not going by yourself, are you? I’ve heard of that area . . . it’s not the safest. You need a big, strong man. Maybe even one who wears paint.” Kendra waggled her eyebrows.

“I’m not calling Russell. Ever.”

“Okay, fine. How about your family? Don’t you have a couple brothers?”

“No. I don’t want . . .” Yeah, that’s what she needed
 
—Casper the treasure hunter taking over her search. Or worse, mocking her.

“What about rounding up someone from your brother’s tribe of pals?”

“You mean hockey players?”

“Well, I’m not talking about the swim team, for pete’s sake.
You know the entire team. Certainly you could drum up one big, muscly
 
—”

“Okay, that’s enough. No. I mean, sure . . . maybe I have someone I could call.”

Oh, shoot, why did she say that? Because Jace hadn’t been serious about helping her, and now Kendra looked at her, all expectant eyes.

“Who?”

“Nobody. It’s silly.” Eden made to throw the receipt away, but Kendra caught it.

“I mean it
 
—either you find someone, or I’ll call Russell. Maybe he’ll bring his paint.”

“Oh, for
 
—fine.” Eden picked up her cell phone. She scrolled down to Jace’s name. Let her thumb hover a moment before she sent the call through.

This was a mistake.

Her heart began to beat again when he didn’t answer. “Voice mail,” she said to Kendra and pulled the phone away.

Kendra pushed it back to her ear. “You leave a message or I’m looking up Hays Funeral Services.”

Fine. She took a breath at the beep. “Uh, Jace. Hi. I . . . This is Eden. And . . . I . . .” Oh, she couldn’t
 
—really, how desperate was she? “I’m sorry. Forget it.”