Arms of Promise (8 page)

Gray images from that day clashed into ones from her audition a month later. The glare of spotlights couldn’t block her view to the empty seat where Mom had sat through every routine, cheering with raised arms ready to hug her. Anna latched on to Evan’s face in the crowd instead. But when the music ended and the lights dimmed, he was gone, too. And the only arms left to hold her were her own.

A breeze swept in as the bell above the door chimed, jarring Anna back to the present. Hints of vanilla whirled past her.
Mom
? She spun around in the seat. A woman in a floor-length coat shook off the cold and grasped a young girl’s hand beside her.

Anna hung her head, missing Mom more than ever. Missing their talks, their escapes. She always knew how to make it better. Art was supposed to do that. But without her, the colors had turned gray.

Anna tugged her hat back on and rose from the chair. With her bag and cup in hand, she turned and bumped into her dance instructor. “Mr. Jamison. What are you doing here?”

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you.” He swiped a napkin from the nearest table and dabbed at the coffee dripping down her fingers. “I saw you through the window as I passed. You looked . . . lonely.”

She glanced behind her to the windowed wall she’d been sitting in front of like a hopeless artist waiting to be picked for a callback. Okay, that was it. She had to get a grip.

Grasping for some shred of dignity, she straightened her features. “Nope. Not lonely at all.” She tapped the side of her bag and passed off a smile. “I’ve got my dance gear and music to keep me company. That’s all I need.”

The look in his eyes said he didn’t buy it. “When I walked you home last night, I didn’t want to pry, but you seemed down.” He cupped her shoulder. “You sure everything’s okay? I’ve been worried about you.”

“I know. And I appreciate all you do to look out for me, Mr. Jamison, but—”

“I’m never going to get you to call me Andreas, am I?” With an almost coy smile, he backed up and scratched his brow. “You headed to the studio?”

“Um, yeah, actually. I had Advanced Jazz at Visceral this morning, but this ballet piece I’ve been working on is calling to me.” She smiled again. Sincerely, this time.

Despite everything else, the dance floor had a way of making everything right. Just picturing the routine lifted her spirits. The feel of her pointe shoes while doing relevés, the soft breaths in step with the music. Everything about the passionate, fluid movement sang to her heart until it reminded her who she was.

Evan may no longer be tied to her life, but dance always would be. Anna blinked away the sheen building over her eyes. “I need to get going. I have somewhere I need to stop first.”
And something to say good-bye to
.

Evan’s arms held him in a suspended pushup above photos and notes strewn across the hotel carpet. He’d ended the call with Mom’s doc five minutes ago, but the conversation hadn’t released him yet. Given his medic training, the jargon wasn’t the issue. The uncertainty was.

Mom would be in the hospital another ten days before release and then another four to eight weeks off work as she recovered. Waiting. Hoping. Easing back into a normal routine without any guarantee of indefinite remission.

Childhood memories, shadowed by his dad’s volatile nature, pried to the surface. Evan couldn’t go there. Not now. He finished one last pushup, sat on the floor, and hunched over the notes he’d been studying all morning.

No surprise, the tracker’s path had led him to Adele’s Little Italy Restaurant and a bunch of low profile activity. He’d staked it out most of last night, anyway, hoping for a lead. And what did he have to show for it? A raging headache.

Keeping an eye on Anna from a distance instead of up close was supposed to get him back on target. He was used to operating on the margins. Yet now that he’d spent time with her again, being with her was all he could think about.

Evan pinched his forehead between two fingers and tried to rub some sense into his brain. For the twentieth time, he sifted through a handful of photos he’d taken of Michelli’s men. There had to be something. Some clue. Some trail he could hunt down to cut them at the base. What was he missing?

His throbbing temples steered his gaze toward the kitchen. Coffee. He needed a cup. Pronto.

His cell rang before he’d made it up from the floor. He swiped the screen. “O’Riley.”

“Man, I was hoping you were too ill to answer your phone,” Murphy joked. “Unless you got a better reason for standing me up at the gym this morning.”

Evan ran a palm down his face. “Sorry, bro. Long night.”

“Out on a bat chase?”

Evan swept the mess on the carpet into a disheveled pile, stood, and dumped it on the desk. “You could say that.”

“Yo, man, I get wanting to fly solo. Girls dig the dark knight mystique. But since you don’t have an Alfred there to nurse you back to life, you might want to ask a friend to watch your back. Just sayin’.”

“You offering?”

“As long as I get my own bat mobile. And a few battle scars. Gotta keep my game up with the ladies.”

Evan shook his head. “And who you gonna be? Captain Casanova?”

“Like you can talk. You get rid of the Devil Wears Prada yet?”

“Dude, she has a name.” Even if Murphy’s nicknames fit better. “And . . .” He let out an exhale. “I’m working on it.”

“Are you seriously trying to pull that—?”

“Today, all right. I’m taking care of it. Speaking of which, you want to help a boy out? She’s gonna need a date to a gala tonight.”

Murphy wheezed through the line. “Even I have limits, bro.”

“C’mon. Dinner, drinks, women in fine dresses. This has your name all over it.”

“I do look pretty fly in a tux.” Murphy’s swaggering lilt clung to every word. “Considering there’ll be plenty of other ladies there, I’d probably make an exception, but my baby sister would kill me if I missed her party. I’ll be up in Milwaukee with the fam all night.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Evan closed his laptop. “It’s my responsibility, anyway.”

“Get off it, man. You don’t always have to be responsible. Just tell her how it is.”

“Thanks for the advice.”

“Hey, if you’d listen to me, you wouldn’t still be mucking stuff up with Anna.”

“And what would you do?” Evan strode away from the desk. “You know what? Never mind. I gotta run.”

“A’ight. But I expect you to give me Anna’s number next time I see you if you haven’t—”

Click
. That conversation was definitely over. And that blasted coffee was three hours past due.

A knock on the door stopped him at the edge of the linoleum. Drawing his Sig, Evan crept toward the peephole. At the sight of Marissa, he released his gun and a heavy sigh.

She strode inside the second he unlocked the deadbolt. “What are we, like, twelve?”

“What are you talking about?” On second thought, he turned toward the kitchen, not ready to deal with female riddles before a caffeine recharge.

Marissa followed. “I know you have an issue with drinking, but I was just a little tipsy.”

“Tipsy? You passed out in my car. I had to haul you over my shoulder to get you up to your room.”

Her heels clanked behind him across the floor. “Fine, but do you really have to give me the silent treatment over it? You could’ve called me the last two days.”

“I thought you were undercover. Didn’t want to interrupt.” He rummaged through a cabinet for the coffee grounds, tempted to shovel a giant spoonful straight into his mouth.

“We already went over this.”

Not about the one thing that mattered. He dumped two heaping scoops into the filter and swung the basket shut on the coffee maker. “Marissa, we should talk.”

She flung her hand up. Shaking her head, she retreated to the suite’s living area. “You’re back in your hometown, Evan. Seeing old friends, old places. It makes sense to have old feelings come up, too. Now’s not the time to make hasty decisions.”

“I’m not.” He followed her. “And this has nothing to do with being here. This place isn’t home anymore.”

Head angled, Marissa slid a glance toward his camera lying on the desk. “Thought you said photography was an old hobby.”

“It was—is.” He made a beeline to the desk and shoved everything into a folder before her journalistic instincts jumped into full investigation mode.

“Like I said. The past has a way of stirring things up.” She sauntered toward him. “Look, I’m not blind, okay? But just hold off until we leave. I’m close to breaking a story. This gala tonight . . . I need to be there.” Her eyes softened. “I can’t show up alone, Evan. Please. It’s important.”

The urgency in her gaze lowered his shoulders. “Okay. I’ll escort you tonight . . . but as a friend.”

“Understood.” Marissa lifted on her toes to kiss his cheek. “Thank you.” She grabbed his hand. “Come on. We need to go pick up your tux.”

“Coffee first.”

“We’ll grab some on the way.” Marissa dragged him out the door and down the stairs.

With each step, a battalion of thoughts from the morning overpowered the speed talking reverberating in the stairwell. The world of image-building and name-dropping meant squat to him. Especially when his phone call with the doc kept pulsing with the blood drumming against his temples.

Mom needed someone nearby to take care of her. How was he going to do that from Georgia? Was it finally time to come home for good? But how could he let down his team? Not to mention having to watch Anna be with someone else.

That thought alone capsized him. He’d always known that’d eventually be the end result. He was supposed to be ready for it this time.

One step outside, and a brisk wind slammed into him. Just like reality. Cutting and unrelenting.

“Do I need to write any of this down for you, or are you good?” Marissa stood in front of him, waiting for a response to whatever she’d been rambling on about nonstop.

Evan scratched the back of his hair. “Uh . . .” A red coat up ahead caught his eye.
Bells
.

Anna halted just around the corner with a string of emotions chasing each other down her face. Her gaze swung from him to Marissa. She backed up, turned.

He jogged toward her. “Anna, wait.”

Anna hustled the way she came.
Don’t be a coward
. A backward glance caught Marissa glaring from beside the door.
Okay, fine. Be a coward
. She picked up her pace.

“Where are you going?” Evan called.

To go search for the resolution she had five minutes ago.

“Anna, will you wait a sec?” He caught up to her. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing.” With her fingers clasped around the slip of paper with his address on it, Anna inhaled and faced him. “I was just . . . walking.” On a path that happened to lead directly to his hotel. Right. She made herself meet his gaze. “Actually, I came to tell you . . .”

An unreadable expression moved through his eyes. But in classic Evan-stoicism, he nodded for her to go on.

“That . . .” She fiddled with the strings on her hat. “Shaun’s been asking about you. Megan, too. She’s itching to show you the routine we’ve been working on. She had a tough bout with pneumonia six months ago, so it’s taken her a while to get back into dance. But she’s been loving every minute.”
Stop talking
. “You should come by the rec center tonight . . . if you want.”