Indivisible Line (8 page)

“Wow.” Cheryl chewed on her bottom lip. “Makes you wonder why he got shot and what’s going on with that big entourage. You think he’s an important man?”

Sarah considered that for a moment. The man had seemed nowhere near ordinary. Even in his sleep, he’d been intimidating, and she could easily imagine him being someone born to power. His clothes had spoken of fine craftsmanship and excellent taste—too bad she’d had to cut them off him. “Maybe. I really wouldn’t know.”

“Hmm . . . you did say you dreamt about keeping him warm that night, right?” Cheryl teased.
 

Sarah should be used to her by now. Still, color rose up her neck. Flipping over on the bed, she buried her face in a pillow. “Shut up!” The pillow muffled her response. She regretted ever telling her friend about that dream.
 

“Yeah, yeah.” Cheryl giggled.

“Whatever.” It was impossible to get Cheryl to take her seriously when she got into this teasing mood. It was Sarah’s cue to leave for class. “I’m going. Don’t wait up. There’s a good chance I’ll be late tonight.”

Snatching her backpack off the desk, Sarah hurried out of the room before Cheryl could see how her teasing affected her. It was one of many things she wasn’t ready to admit.

“Greg, the car’s ready,” Simon Moss called out from the doorway.

Gregory Andrews III glanced up from the mountain of papers on his desk—documents requiring his signature, approval, or review. He nodded at Simon, who left after scrutinizing him a bit longer than necessary. There were too many papers piling up around him, and Greg had no idea how fast he could get to everything. He’d been back in the city for two weeks following his long hospital confinement in Fairbanks. Since he couldn’t make an appearance at work without clearance from the doctor, he opted to work from home. The trouble was his body hadn’t been the same since he’d returned to the mainland.

Most days he felt better, and it seemed like he was inching back to normalcy. There were good days when he moved with ease, enjoying the absence of shooting pain from his abdomen or the recurrent nausea and dizziness. But some days, the only thing he could do was stay in bed or seated, or he’d have stumbled and hurt himself.

Greg planted his hands on the desk and hoisted his body up. Before taking a step, he plucked the cane perched on the side of his chair. The cane was a staple for him these days, an aid he needed in case his muscles decided to spasm without advance notice. It had happened many times earlier, and the results had been devastating. Busted lips, extreme fatigue, and a bruised ego were some of the side-effects he’d encountered after his surgery.

Clutching the cane, he hobbled toward the door, through the hallway and out of his Fifth Avenue penthouse to the elevator. The elevator attendant smiled at him when he approached.

“Good morning, Mr. Andrews. You’re looking well today,” the elderly gentleman greeted with sincerity.

“Thank you, Lewis. I’m feeling much better.” Greg resisted the urge to snap back. Instead, he concentrated on the descending numbers encased in a metal display. His mood hadn’t been the best and would remain sour until he heard from Trevor.

“Are you going for another appointment?” Lewis looked at Greg over his shoulder, his kind eyes crinkling at the corners.

Greg gave a silent sigh before answering. “Yes. It looks like it’s never going to end.” His tone sounded curt, despite his best efforts to keep his annoyance at bay.

At long last, the elevator saved him from the unwanted small talk. “See you later, Lewis. Say hi to the missus for me.”
 

Greg waved to him before stepping out of the elevator. Pushing his sunglasses down to cover his eyes from the sun’s glare, he headed to the glass door a doorman held open for him.

“G’morning, Mr. Andrews.”

“Hey, Juan.” Greg marched straight to the waiting limousine, and Simon closed the door after him. In the confines of his chauffeured car, Greg let out a ragged breath.
Here’s to another day of tests, inconclusive results, and nothing solid to go on. How can doctors scratch their heads and repeatedly come up empty and still have jobs?

Granted the woman, this Sarah, had successfully saved his life by removing the bullet and transfusing him with her blood. Although the surgery had been crude and performed under less than optimal circumstances, his test results showed no permanent damage in the affected area.
 

Greg’s heart and fists clenched at the same time. Even though the doctors didn’t understand the allergic reactions from the blood transfusion, there had to be medication to alleviate the nausea spells and the poor balance he’d been suffering from ever since. For heaven’s sake, this was the twenty-first century. There had to be a corresponding treatment for every disease imaginable, and yet the doctors couldn’t even come up with a name for his affliction. They just called them “side-effects.”

He stared straight ahead and hoped no small talk would be necessary for the rest of the day. A wide range of concerns needed his attention, from work to his parents. And of course, there was Cade . . .

Now that was his top priority—as well as dealing with
her
 . . .

Once Simon had taken the passenger seat next to him, the limousine purred and joined the city’s morning rush hour. Out of the corner of his eye, Greg saw Simon regarding him with mild curiosity. As the head of the company’s security, he had been one of the few people who knew the truth about what had gone down in Alaska. Simon had volunteered to act as Greg’s bodyguard until he was back and up on his feet.

A reliable and loyal employee, Simon could always be counted on. In his late forties, Simon was as physically fit as a twenty-year-old, sporting a muscular physique underneath his everyday uniform of a leather jacket and denim pants. Since Greg stayed cooped up in his penthouse most of the time, this arrangement also gave his security man the much-needed vacation he deserved. As long as Simon understood his boss’s need for privacy and quiet, they’d get along fine.

Greg had decided to keep everything on the down low for now, until Cade was found and apprehended. Until then, he’d continue to have his soon-to-be ex-wife followed. The more dirt the PI dug up on Cassandra, the better Greg’s case against her would be.

Smirking, he settled on the plush leather seat. With his eyes closed, he focused his attention on the mark his mysterious savior had left on him—the heady scent of cedar and mint had been engrained in his brain.
 

After yet another disappointing meeting with Dr. Kemp, Greg walked out of the clinic still without a firm grasp on what was causing his frequent spasms and dizziness. His hemoglobin level had been tested several times and checked out okay. The doctor’s latest absurd suggestion was to hire a personal caregiver to help him with basic chores. In short, Dr. Kemp wanted him to get a babysitter.

Just because Greg had money didn’t mean he spent it irresponsibly. His doctor had come up with a list of recommended nurses who were available at the drop of a hat, but Greg had snorted at the idea and stormed back to the waiting car, ready to explode.

“Nothing again?” Simon pushed the button for the glass divider. The partition came up, ensuring their conversation would be private.

“No.” Although he’d intended to say nothing more, Greg ended up blurting out the doctor’s ludicrous idea. “Dr. Kemp wants me to get a nurse. A caregiver who can help me out while I regain my strength and remind me to take my medicine, like I’m a child.”

Simon chuckled, as usual. He might have been a man of few words, but he was certainly not one to miss the humor in any given situation. “Did you tell him to go to hell?”

“Yes.”

The ringing of his cell phone prevented him from replying further. Greg pulled his Blackberry from his trouser pocket and checked the caller ID, recognizing the number of a private investigation firm. “Trevor, I’ve been waiting for your call.”
 

Greg listened to the head of the firm speak for several minutes.

“Are you sure that’s what happened?”
 

Again, information came in a rapid-fire flood that included proof, names of witnesses, and sources.

“Then proceed as planned. I want it clean. Cover your bases.” He paused and listened. “Yes, I know how much you’re charging. Don’t worry about the money. No trace, all right? And no one gets hurt. I’ll handle the rest from my end. Thanks.”

After he hung up, he smiled at Simon, who had been looking at him with a strange expression.

“There’s been a change of plan. I’m going to listen to Dr. Kemp’s advice and get someone to help me after all.”

The autumn air was crisp when Sarah stepped out of the main building to head home after her last class. The days were shorter now, a far cry from the late sunsets she was used to in Beaver. She hugged her sweatshirt closer and braced herself for the two-mile walk back to Cheryl’s house. Unlike Alaska, Los Angeles at nine in the evening still bustled with activities, cars continued to race by, and people littered the Westwood campus like the circus was in town. Back home, the only sounds she’d hear during her night walks were chirping crickets and the dense silence distinctive of their quiet town.

She missed home, and she missed her father. Regardless of what he had said, Sarah couldn’t fault him for the decision he’d made. He had his people’s best interests at heart. Being a leader came with big responsibilities, and that meant being an example to his people, even if it led to sacrificing his only child to prove his point. Her actions had come with a high price, and she was paying it.

Sarah turned left on Wilshire Boulevard, a busy thoroughfare, before she reached the section of houses a mile away. Cheryl’s father had suggested she take the well-lit routes as much as possible, considering her lengthy walk to get home. The entire trek would take about thirty-five minutes, enough to get her mind all worked up.
 

Her main concern these days was her tuition fee. Ahila had made it clear that the tribe would stop paying for her schooling. With her hectic class schedule, all she could manage was twenty hours a week at the campus bookstore. If she was going to cover her food expenses and incidentals, she’d have to find a way to earn more.

Once she’d cleared the busy street, the lampposts illuminating the way were more spread out, giving just sporadic specks of light in the general vicinity. Sarah lengthened her steps, wanting to cut the walking time as much as possible. A nondescript car stopped a few feet away just as she was about to cross the street. She stepped back and waved, trying to allow the car to pass. Instead, the doors opened, and three men got out and moved in her direction.

Sarah clutched her backpack tighter, wishing more than ever that she had a cell phone. This would have been a perfect time to practice being a good citizen by reporting suspicious activities or run into an active member of the neighborhood watch. A few vital seconds passed before she realized she should run. She broke into a sprint, but she hadn’t even gotten a few yards before strong hands gripped both her arms and yanked her back. Another hand was clamped over her mouth, making screaming impossible. A piece of cloth was tied over her mouth, and she was carried back to the car, kicking at her captors in a futile attempt to get free. They shoved her in the passenger seat, sandwiching her between two muscular men. That effectively squashed any hope of escape. Before she could take mental notes of her abductors’ faces, a blindfold covered her eyes.