Key to Love (3 page)

She glared at him as the clear, clipped voice of Taylor Swift wailed from the stereo speakers. “No. Have you ever learned to drive below seventy miles per hour?”

He laughed, and Elise felt the car surge forward even faster as he applied gentle pressure on the accelerator. She settled back in the seat again, allowing the speed and music to carry her away, toward center city Scranton and the hospital. At least if they were going to wreck, she decided, they were headed in the right direction.

Chapter Three

Community Medical was quiet and antiseptic-smelling, like most hospitals in every city of every state. Elise tried not to dwell on the cold, sterile feelings it invoked as she and Lucas made their way to the small, third-floor waiting room, sprinkled with padded vinyl seats a shade darker than the blue, nondescript wallpaper.

“Wake up, Fritz, she’s here.” Thomas’ voice, perfectly timed with his elbow, awakened the sleeping man beside him. He rose and grabbed Elise in a warm brotherly embrace.

Yawning, Fritz squinted up at Lucas. “Easy deal or tricky maneuver? Elise, I mean.” He stood and waited patiently for his older brother to release his sister.

“It was touch and go,” Lucas admitted in a weary drawl. “I considered commando tactics at one point. A drag rope was mentioned in our conversation.”

Fritz winced. “You made good time.”

“You’re kidding, right?” Elise turned and enveloped her younger brother in a hug. He lifted her off her feet like so many times before and jiggled her as if she was little more than a rag doll. “With Bandit at the wheel, we could have outrun a cop. Put me down, you big goon.”

She landed on her feet and took time to fill her eyes with both of them. They were so opposite in temperament and looks it was hard to believe they were related. Thomas was tall, methodical, reserved, and without a particle of lint on his finely tailored suit; and Fritz, dressed in khaki slacks and a comfortable plaid shirt, was the comic, sporting a wicked grin that made women’s hearts melt. He could sell life insurance to a corpse.

“How’s Dad?” she asked.

“He’s out of recovery. We should get to see him in a few minutes, as soon as the nursing staff gets him settled for the evening.” Fritz jammed his hand into his pocket to fiddle with loose change. “Breezed through it. Got a plate in the ankle, a pin in the fibula, and should recover nicely if he stays away from large magnets.”

“Hold on, Fritz, it’s a little more complicated,” Thomas countered.

Now she was going to get something closer to the truth. Thomas was the one who lived his life on a more cautious, serious note, so typical for someone who practiced law. “Yes, he came through with flying colors, but it could mean a week’s stay or more in the hospital, physical therapy, and a long recovery. Then we’ll have to make arrangements for him to adjust and recover comfortably at home.”

A stocky nurse appeared in the doorway. “You can go in now, but it might be best if you keep your visit short.”

Anton Springer looked old and tired and fragile against the white sheets and bleak surroundings. Elise felt a sting of remorse. It had been over a year and a half since she had last paid a visit home to see him. Since her mother had passed away, she had found it harder and harder to sandwich in even a yearly trip to Pennsylvania.

“Dad.” She kissed him gently on his weathered, wrinkled cheek.

“Elise?” He opened his eyes, still sharp and luminous, but clearly pain-filled, and automatically reached for her hand. A weak smile spread across his face. “When did you get here?”

“Two minutes ago.”

He tried to push himself upright while he searched the room. “So it takes an old man with a busted leg to get you all together again?” Fitfully, he toyed with the buttons on the bed rail until the mattress rose. “Gosh darn mechanical beds. You need a PhD to be able to run them.” Anton waved his hand toward the door. “Don’t try to hide, Lucas. You’re as much a part of this family as these other rascals. Get in here before the nurses get cranky and toss you all out on your backsides.”

The next half hour was like a family reunion as they talked, clowned around, and teased each other, rehashing the accident, and recalling old times and tales until excitement finally took its toll.

It was Elise who noticed her father’s weariness first. She rose. “I don’t know about these dudes, but I need some rest. It’s been an exhausting flight and a long day.” As if on cue, her brothers and Lucas stood and headed for the door.

“Don’t leave yet,” Anton said to her as the men silently filed out. “How long can you stay?”

“However long you need me.” She decided this was no time to tell the truth. Paul Winston had begrudgingly allowed her two weeks of vacation days with an underlying inference to get back earlier if possible.

“It’s not just me.” Wincing, Anton struggled with a pillow behind his back. “It’s Lucas.”

“Lucas?” She moved to help him, meticulously fluffing and positioning his pillow until he was comfortable.

“He came back over two weeks ago, claiming he’s going to settle here for good. His brother died a few months ago in a car accident and left some loose ends behind. Now rumor has it that it might not have been an accident, maybe a drug bust gone bad or maybe someone had a vendetta. He was a state trooper.”

“I didn’t know Lucas had a brother.”

“Not many people did. Mike Fisher was raised in a foster home in upstate New York. It’s too complicated to sort out now, and it’s not my place to say, but Lucas is chasing lots of ghosts. Work with him, will you, Lizzie? I promised him I would, but I can’t now, not with this dad-burned busted leg.”

Elise watched her father’s grizzled face become agitated, more upset because he could not fulfill a promise than because he was worried about his health.

“I’ll see what I can do.” She hoped her voice sounded more reassuring than she felt. Lucas Fisher had never been the type of person who wanted anyone to meddle in his affairs. She pecked her father on the cheek again and stifled a yawn. “I’ll stop by tomorrow. We’ll talk. You can fill me in. You need to rest, Dad.”

“Look who’s talking,” the old man muttered. His voice held more amusement than chastisement.

Outside in the hall, the three men, their heads bent, were huddled near a wall, speaking in hushed whispers. As soon as she approached, they fell silent and looked up at her with guilty expressions.

“We can transfer my things to Fritz’s car,” she suggested, at a loss for something to say. “Thomas, you’re coming back to the house for a few minutes, right?”

He nodded, looking anything but pleased. “Elise, we need to talk.”

She glanced at Fritz, who looked like he was about to squirm out of his clothes. Through a careful breath, she said, “So what’s up? Somebody fill me in.”

“She hasn’t eaten,” Lucas interrupted in a voice so calm it unnerved her. He pushed himself upright from where he had been leaning against the wall and uncrossed his arms. His expression was brooding but controlled, his eyes a cloudy gray. He glanced at her, then looked over at Fritz. “Why don’t you pick up some pizzas? Lizzie and I will meet you at home. Thomas can take his car, too.”

“Good idea,” Fritz agreed, visibly relieved.

“I can go with Thomas,” she offered. “It’s been a long day, for you, too, Lucas. You have to be exhausted.”

Three pair of eyes darted cautiously back and forth among each other.

“We need to talk,” Lucas said in a low voice, coming to stand beside her. “Just you and me.” She could feel the heat of his body so close to hers. “I’ll drive you home.”

“Okay.” She nodded, wondering what could be so important it couldn’t wait a while longer.

Minutes later, seated inside the car in a half empty parking lot, she waited for him to start the engine. The scent of warm tar from freshly laid blacktop filtered in through the open windows. After what seemed like an eternity of silence, she leveled a glance his way. He sat still, his hands gripping the steering wheel.

“All right, Lucas, spit it out. You guys were acting like baboons back there. In triplicate.” She felt her mental energy waning. The disagreements with Levinson, Winston, and Sanders, and the flight out were beginning to wear on her.

“We have a problem.” He returned her stare. “I’ve been staying at the farm with your father for the last few weeks.”

She studied him a moment. His jaw, now rigid, gave him an almost defiant appearance in a handsome sort of way. “That’s the problem?” Actually, it was, she thought, as she saw all hopes of an uninterrupted, peaceful evening fly out the window.

“It’s not a big deal with me, but your brothers seem to think it might be with you.”

“Hey, I don’t own the place.”

“So you’re not concerned?”

“About what?”

Lucas scowled. “Your reputation, I imagine.”

This time she laughed a musical laugh. It rippled outward into the car and night air. “Lucas, the only reputation I’m concerned about is becoming a noted architect before my hair turns gray, or God forbid, falls out.”

“Don’t you want to ask why?”

“Why what?”

“Why I decided to come back to the area?” he asked.

“No, it would be prying.”

His face split into a grin. “It’s never stopped you before, Miss Curiosity.”

“Okay, what are you doing back in the Scranton area?” Elise smiled.

“I’m moving here and opening a specialty restoration and auto center in Scranton, a spin off from my business in Atlanta. I’ll be selling and leasing high-end used vehicles combined with a restoration facility for collector cars. I’ve hired a manager to run my Chevy dealership in Atlanta.” The engine came to life, and he shifted the car into reverse and eased out of the parking place. “I would have stayed at my grandmother’s house, but it needs lots of work and the utilities haven’t been turned on yet.”

“That’s a pretty big undertaking. Why here?” She remembered his grandmother’s house. It was more a cottage than a house. She had been inside it only once, her first summer back from college, but she had barely noticed any of the details, except it was quaint and situated in a magnificent rural setting with its own little lake.

Lucas shrugged, frowned, and gripped the wheel tighter while he concentrated on the road ahead.

Elise had learned many things working with people. It wasn’t always what was said, but sometimes what wasn’t said. A subtle body movement, a certain look, a slight hitch of a shoulder often revealed more than what the ear heard.

“It’s...it’s...” He groped for the right word. “It’s complicated. Very complicated.” His face was grim, and she could see he was struggling with something. Inner demons, perhaps.

Elise leaned back, resting her head against the seat and closed her eyes. She sighed. “Hey, we can talk about it later. After all, it’s not like we’re going to have to make an appointment to see each other.”

“True enough,” he agreed in an exhausted but appreciative tone.

****

Lucas wrapped his fingers around the steering wheel and gave his full attention to the road, listening to the soothing hum of the motor. He loved the sense of control an automobile provided. The speed. The motion. It was all part of a glorious, cleansing experience.

Monique, unfortunately, had not shared his love and interest in cars. Monique DuBois. The name tumbled in his head like some ancient dream, flimsy and without substance. Hell, he and Monique had not shared much, except her perfect body on occasion, when she was between modeling engagements. How had he ever believed he could sustain a lasting relationship with someone whose most important concern each day was selecting which outfit to wear?

Bile rose in his throat when he thought about the day his brother had died. He had been chasing after Monique in the Caribbean, and it had taken the authorities four days to track him down.

He had flown directly to Scranton where Mike had been assigned to work undercover—where the body was on ice, waiting to be claimed. Monique had not joined him, begging off with the lame excuse she was under contract and would meet him for the funeral, a few days later. She never arrived.

In the end, it was Anton Springer, Fritz, and Thomas who stood by him through the whole ordeal. Gently, the old man had guided him through the chaos that followed, including the flowers, casket selection, even the service arrangements and music for the viewing. Afterward, when he had gone on a four-day drinking spree, it was Anton who had sent Fritz out to gather him up, bring him home, and help him while he spewed his guts into the porcelain bowl.

Later, sober and harboring a headache to match his heartaches, he learned the old man had saved his hide without his knowledge. Todd, Mike’s four-year-old son, had been placed in a foster home nearby, but only because Anton Springer had intervened, climbing on the backs of the Children and Youth Services Agency and pulling strings when he discovered their plans were to ship the kid back across the state to New Castle, Pennsylvania.

Orphans. Foster brats.

Lucas despised those words. They were worse than the most hideous swear words. Adults whispered them in pitying sighs, behind your back as they sent slanted, curious looks your way. Did they honestly believe children could help it that their parents were dead or couldn’t take care of them? Did they honestly think children really wanted to wear hand-me-down clothes that didn’t fit properly? So kids could taunt and stare at them as if they were freaks?