Foundation for Three (5 page)

B
efore Zoey even stood, a tear leaked out.
Zoey Elizabeth Donovan. Do not cry.
She was a grown woman for goodness sake.

As she swiped away the moisture, Thad’s hospital door squeaked open, and Zoey smacked a hand on her chest.

A nurse she didn’t recognize came in. “Excuse me. I need to check Mr. Dalton’s vitals.”

Thad opened his eyes, but they didn’t appear very focused. “You’re still here.” Only one side of his mouth lifted.

“Yes, but I need to go. Your nurse has big plans for you.” Zoey almost smiled when he grunted. “I’ll stop by tomorrow.”

When she squeezed his hand, grief welled inside her at seeing him this way. Even when he’d been doing the sting operation, underneath all that makeup, and despite the moaning and groaning he’d been required to do, he’d been vital, strong, in command. Now he was in pain, and it hurt to see him work so hard to deny what happened.

As if chased by demons, Zoey rushed out. Once in the hallway, the walls pressed in on her. She had to get out of the hospital, even if it was only until tomorrow when she returned to work. Her goal right now was to soak in her new tub while drinking a glass of wine, and then cook a feast for one. Without a plan, she’d crumble.

One stroke of luck was that after weeks of having a crew in her house, Banks Construction had promised all the work would be finished by today—work that included a new master bath and a state of the art kitchen.

As she headed home, she repeatedly checked the rearview mirror, praying some cop didn’t pull her over for speeding. She slowed a bit, and the image of Garrett McDonald surfaced. Her throat constricted. She’d been scared. Bad. Even after that admission, she didn’t feel much better, in part because she still ached for Thad.

Zoey took a corner too fast and the blood-streaked folder she’d been carrying bumped against her leg. It contained her session notes with Kara Molloy, a cardiac surgery physician assistant, whose story had deeply affected her. Too bad Kara’s tale made Zoey feel helpless, too—similar to when Garrett McDonald was choking her. That was why she hadn’t been paying attention when she walked through the halls this morning. Zoey had been trying to find a way to tell Kara’s tale to the hospital authorities. If it didn’t violate her therapist’s code of ethics, she would have run to HR herself and insist someone investigate her patient’s claim of another doctor’s misconduct. The dilemma of confidentiality and ethics still tore at her.

Zoey stopped for a light that remained red forever. She tapped her fingers on the wheel. The traffic was bad already, and it wasn’t even rush hour yet. “Change, light!”
Christ
. She was never edgy, but the attack and Thad’s injury had shaken her.

Kara Molloy had painfully and tearfully told Zoey about the bullying that went on in the operating room. While Zoey had heard rumors, no one else had ever given details.

Someone behind Zoey honked, and when she moved her foot to the accelerator, the car lurched forward with more power than she’d intended. Damn. When the entrance to her neighborhood came into view, she blew out a breath and turned onto her street. Zoey was dirty, tired, and hungry—a bad combination, especially since she’d only eaten those crackers Cade had bought her. No wonder she was at her wit’s end.

As soon as she pictured relaxing in her tub, the tension in her shoulders lessened—that was until she spotted the construction truck in her drive. “Are you kidding me? You’re supposed to be done! Why can’t you people do what you claim?” Her knuckles gripped the wheel so hard her nail beds turned white.

Her outburst almost scared her. She never should have had the kitchen and bathroom done at the same time. The delays had been a nightmare, but that was what she got for buying a really old home.

Be honest
. She was distraught over the attack, and merely disappointed the renovation hadn’t been done.

After cutting the engine, she grabbed her purse and folder and got out. The key snagged in the front door lock, and she was tempted to just ring the doorbell instead of dealing with it. Just then, the key slid in and she pushed open the door. Instead of hammers pounding and noisy nail guns reverberating off the walls, silence met her. Someone had to be here. That truck in her driveway and her alarm system glowing green confirmed it. “Hello?”

Her plan was to thank the guy and then ask him to leave—politely, of course.

She waited. No answer. A faint humming came from down the hallway, and she edged toward the sound. The person had to be in her master bath—just where she wanted to be.

When Zoey pushed open the door, the sight of a tight ass bent over her newly-installed jetted tub almost took her mind off her troubles. From the length of his legs, the man was tall. At least six feet. He was kneeling, polishing the porcelain bath, and her mind shot to her last two boyfriends, Mark and Dave. Sure as hell, neither one of them had ever cleaned a bathroom.

She’d had a ton of workmen through her house, but she didn’t recognize this guy. “Excuse me?” Regardless if he looked fine from the back or not, he had to leave.

The worker wore ear buds, which was probably why he hadn’t responded and just kept cleaning. She tapped his shoulder. The man turned his head, removed the buds, and smiled. Her heart stuttered.

He jumped up and wiped his hands on his jeans. “Sorry. I didn’t hear you come in. I wanted to have this all cleaned up before you got home, Ms. Donovan.”

She had arrived an hour earlier than usual. “You would be?” That came out rude. “I’m sorry. I’ve had a really bad day.” He wouldn’t have any idea what had transpired.

“Oh, shit. Sorry.” He held out his hand and despite his tanned face, he flushed. “Pete. Pete Banks. Of Banks Construction.”

The owner
. To her knowledge, he’d never stopped by before. She shook his hand, but as soon as their palms touched, he let go. Perhaps he could tell his hand was still damp.

A bit embarrassed for him, Zoey nodded to the tub.
Stay calm. He’ll leave soon
. “It looks wonderful. I can’t wait to relax in it.”
As in now.

He stepped back. “Go ahead. I’m done. I just have a few more things to finish up in the kitchen and I’ll be out of your hair.”

“You’re not done in there either?”
Stop it.
It wasn’t his fault.

He tossed her a sheepish grin. “I just need to grout the last few feet of the backsplash. That’s all.” He nodded to the stack of candles still in their wrapper. “I was about to set them around the edge. I wanted it to be a surprise.”

It was a surprise. It was nice even. “They’re not pink.” Her irrational behavior caused tears to drip down her cheeks, and she swallowed back a sob.

“Ms. Donovan. Are you okay?”

“Why wouldn’t I be okay?” The tears fell and she wrapped her arms around her waist to keep from throwing up. It was like someone else had invaded her body, and all reason had disappeared. No one cried over beige candles.

Pete grimaced. “Ah, how about you sit down?” He grabbed a towel off the rack, folded it, and placed it on the edge of her new tub.

He guided her over there and helped her ease down. “I’m fine.”

On one knee, Pete knelt in front of her. “I beg to differ, ma’am. Your hands are shaking something fierce, your nose is red, you have a bandage on your head, and… I could go on if you like.”

She didn’t need him to detail what a mess she was. “A man I knew was injured today protecting me.” Why did she blurt that out? She didn’t know this guy. “And I could have died.”

Pete dropped onto his heels. “I’m so sorry. Want to tell me about it?”

A huge sob bubbled out of her, one that was both unexpected and violent. Pete straightened and reached out, almost as if he thought she’d fall.

“I’m good.” That was a lie, and he probably could tell that. When she was able to breathe, she told him—in fits and starts—about how she hadn’t been paying attention when she was walking down the hospital corridor this morning. “The next thing I knew, this man grabs me.” Bile rushed up her throat, and she rubbed her neck.

Pete placed a hand beside her. “Inhale. That’s good. You must have been scared shitless.”

His soothing tone helped. In the retelling of the event, more memories had surfaced—ones she needed to deal with. “I was. When the two gunshots rang out, the man holding me fell, and I tumbled, too. If I’d been able to get out of his grasp sooner, the cop could have taken him down before being hit.” There. She’d said it. She’d been the cause of Thad’s injury. Her vision swam, and she rubbed her hands over her slightly bruised knees.

“It’s not your fault.”

He’d hesitated. He must know it had been. “It was.” The tears came in full force now, dripping into her mouth and down her chin. This time she didn’t bother to wipe them away. Pete yanked on the toilet paper roll and handed her a wad. She took his offering and dabbed her eyes and chin. “Thanks.”

“I have a friend who’s a cop,” Pete said. “He’s told me a lot of stories. Trust me on this. You did nothing wrong.” Pete nodded to her face. “Did you bang your head when you fell?”

Her chin trembled as the pain of the horrific memory sliced through her. “No. My captor smashed the end of his gun into my face.” The blunt force trauma could have done some serious damage, but she’d been lucky.

Pete rocked back onto his heels, stood, and held out his hand. “Come with me. You should be lying down. I’ll get you something to drink.”

She liked the drink part. Pete Banks was a kind man. He also had a strength that she appreciated. Between the ache in her head and the grumble in her stomach, she wasn’t sure she was a good judge what was best for her anyway. “Okay.”

Once in the living room, he placed a few pillows on one end of the sofa and then made her sit down. “Lean back. I’ll get you that drink.”

“There’s diet soda in the fridge.” With him taking control, she didn’t have to think. Pete returned with two aspirin and her drink. Wine might have been more soothing, but her headache would have accelerated, not to mention mixing drugs with alcohol would have been stupid.

“Thank you.”

He placed a dishtowel on the seat across from her and sat down. “Do you happen to know the name of this cop?” Before she could respond, his cell rang. He pulled it out, glanced at the number and stood. “I need to take this. He never calls during work hours.”

“Go right ahead.”

“What’s up, dude? You what? Fuck. Where? How bad?” Pete glanced at her then walked into the kitchen.

*     *     *

Pete did not want to leave Zoey Donovan alone, not when she was this highly emotional and hanging on by a thread, but Thad had been shot. Fuck. Pete had been so focused on what Zoey was saying that he hadn’t thought to ask if “her” cop had been Thad. Pete’s roommate dealt with gangs, not abusive husbands. “You okay, man?”

“It was a scratch. Left arm. Doc said it didn’t hit anything vital. I was lucky.”

From the way Thad was working hard to have this conversation, it was worse than he was letting on. “How long will you be there?” Perhaps he needed a ride home if the wound was that superficial.

“Two days tops.”

Shit. It had been serious. “You want me to come over now?” Pete would go, but he wasn’t convinced Zoey didn’t need him more. “Zoey Donovan was the woman you were defending, right?”

“How did you know?”

“It’s her house I’m renovating.”

“She okay?” Thad’s words were a bit slurred as if he was on pain pills.

His roommate didn’t need to be obsessing over her. “She’s good. How’s Garrett?”

“Alive.”

Visiting hours were over at eight. Unfortunately, he knew that because last year he’d visited Thad after he’d been in a knife fight with a kid. That injury required about ten stitches. Being a cop wasn’t easy.

A woman’s voice sounded in the background. “Shit. Another fucking nurse,” Thad said, his voice a whisper.

Now Thad sounded like his old self. “I’ll let you go. I’ll take good care of Zoey. See you tomorrow.”

Pete needed to let her know that he and Thad were roommates. When he walked back into the living room, her eyes were closed and her breathing raspy. She’d only sipped her drink.

He needed to make sure she was okay first, and then he’d tell her about Thad. “Zoey?” Her eyes sprang open. “Would you like me to fix you something to eat?” Perhaps if she ate, her energy level would improve, though she might not appreciate him cooking in her house. Didn’t matter that he’d helped install all the cabinets and put in the new appliances.

She sat up, licked her lips, and then placed a hand on her stomach. “I’m hungry, but I don’t feel like eating.” She shook her head as if confusion was clouding her vision. “That doesn’t make any sense, does it?”

“Sad to say, it does. Would you like to take a soak in the tub while I order some take out?” That way she wouldn’t have to worry about him touching her things.

Her jaw slightly dropped as if no one had offered something like that before. “I…”

He waited for her to finish her sentence. “You what?”

“That sounds perfect. How about Chinese?”

He was more of a Mexican taco kind of guy, but he was flexible. “Wang’s Chinese Buffet work for you?”