That Summer Night (Callaways #6) (4 page)

He gave her a thoughtful look and then an unexpected apology. "Sorry."

"Anyway, we got sidetracked. Let's get back to you."

"Do you want a drink?" he asked.

"Haven't you had enough to drink? I need you to focus."

"Since we're about to talk about my brother, I will never have had enough to drink," he said dryly. "And you could use something to stop that incessant tapping."

She realized she'd been drumming her hands on her thighs ever since she'd sat down. She forced herself to stop, then said, "Fine, I'll take a beer. It's been a rough week."

He stood up, a grimace of pain crossing his lips at the action. Then he walked over to the refrigerator. He pulled out two bottles of beer, handed one to her, and then sat back down with another glimmer of discomfort in his eyes.

"You were injured, weren't you?" she asked.

"Yeah."

"Your leg?"

He took a swig of beer. "Yeah."

She'd obviously hit another closed topic. Fine. "So what's the story with you and Robert? Did you have a thing for Lisa?"

He tensed. "If you call an engagement a thing, then yes, we had a thing."

His answer surprised her on several levels. She couldn't imagine a woman turning away from Reid, who oozed sex appeal from every pore, to get to the intellectual Robert, who was attractive but not like this guy. She also couldn't quite get her head around the fact that Reid had been willing to ask a woman to marry him. He seemed more like a player to her.

"What happened?" she asked.

He sighed with resignation. "Lisa hooked up with Robert the night before the wedding, just after we'd finished the rehearsal dinner and practiced making our walk down the aisle." He took a long drink of beer as if to wash away the bad taste in his mouth.

His answer didn't make any sense at all. "I don't understand. You're saying that Robert and your fiancé hooked up at the rehearsal dinner?"

"Yeah, in the coatroom. I think they might have actually had sex on my jacket."

She was appalled. "That can't be true."

"Can't it?" he challenged.

"It's difficult to believe that Robert would do such a thing."

Reid took another drink of his beer. "Then you don't know him as well as you think you do. Before you start trying to find an excuse for him, I can tell you not to bother. I've heard them all before. And, no, it wasn't better to find out before the wedding. It would have been better if it never happened at all. That's the only way it would have been better."

"I wasn't going to make an excuse," she said slowly. Nothing could excuse what Robert had done, but she sensed there was more to the story than the little she'd heard.

"Really? You're not?" he asked, disbelief in his voice.

"No. That's a line a brother shouldn't cross. You were in love with Lisa, and your brother should have respected that."

"So tell me why the hell should I help Robert now?"

She drew in a breath, now realizing the enormity of the task before her. No wonder Robert had told her it might take a few days to convince his brother to help. It might take a lifetime, and she didn't think Robert had that much time. She searched for something to say, something that wouldn't sound inane and stupid.

"Because he's still your brother." It was all she could come up with, and in light of what he'd just told her, it was inane and stupid.

"And you think that makes me care about him? After what he did to me?" Reid shook his head and tossed back the rest of the beer, setting the bottle down with a thud on the nearby table. "That's ridiculous."

"No, it's not ridiculous. You still care," she said with growing certainty. "You wouldn't have left the bar with me if you didn't."

"I've always been a sucker for a blonde in trouble."

"So if I'd been a brunette, you wouldn't have gotten up?"

"I guess we'll never know," he drawled.

"Well, we're together now, for whatever reason, and Robert still needs your help. And it's not just him," she added quickly. "Whatever you think of him personally, whatever he did to you, that's not the sum total of who he is. He's brilliant at his job. His research is important. He needs to finish it. He's going to help a lot of people, people like my grandmother, maybe people you know and care about, too."

"Sounds like you've drunk the Robert Kool-Aid. My brother obviously chose the right person to help him."

"He did, because I care about your brother. Not in a romantic way," she added quickly. "But as a friend and someone who has done a lot for me. And for all the other reasons I just said."

"You want me to save Robert so he can save the world?" he asked sarcastically.

"Yes. Not because he can save the world, but because he can save a lot of people. He can make a difference in the lives of so many men and women who are suffering from Alzheimer's."

"The research goes on without him. You're obviously passionate about it. Why can't you take over?"

"Because I'm not a researcher. I'm better with patients than with drugs."

"Then someone else. No one is irreplaceable, Shayla, not even my brother. Someone else can do what he does."

"Maybe he's not irreplaceable in medicine," she acknowledged. "But you don't have another brother. He's it."

"Yeah, lucky me."

"You can fight me on this, Reid. But I want you to know that I'm not quitting. I'm not going away. I'm going to keep talking to you and trying to find ways to convince you to help, and if you kick me out, I'm going to come back tomorrow and try again. I've never been a stalker, but I'm willing to start now. According to Robert, you're his best hope of getting out of trouble." A wave of emotions ran through her as she tried to convince him to help her. "I need Robert back at his job, Reid. I need him to be okay. I need for all of this to be over. And it can't be over until he's all right." She blew out a frustrated, angry breath. "So what's it going to be?"

Reid's green-eyed gaze clung to hers for a long moment. She could feel the tension simmering between them. He wanted to say no, but she needed him to say yes.

"I don't know yet," he said.

Disappointment ran through her, but she told herself it wasn't a
no
so there was still hope. As a doctor, she didn't quit even when there wasn't hope. She kept going until there was nowhere else to go.

"I need more information," Reid said. He settled back in his seat. "I need to know exactly what happened that night in Colombia, every last detail."

Her heart stopped. "Robert wasn't there. At least I don't think he was. No one saw him."

"But you were there."

She gripped the bottle of beer more tightly. "Yes."

"So what happened that night, Shayla?"

Could she tell him? Could she take herself back to that place, to that horror? She hadn't told anyone the whole story, not the local police in Colombia, not the people from the State Department or the FBI, not her roommate or her family. She'd given out bits and pieces, the facts that everyone pretty much already knew, but Reid wanted more. She could see it in his eyes. He wasn't going to settle for half the truth. He wanted it all.

"Shayla," he said. "I won't help you unless I know the whole story. So you can tell me, or you can leave. Your choice."

Chapter Four

Reid had no idea what he was asking of her. She wanted to run home and bury her head under the pillows, the way she'd done every night since she'd come back to San Francisco. She'd been a coward before. She didn't want to be one now.

She opened her mouth, but no words came out. Her mind was spinning, and her heart was beating so fast she felt like she was going to pass out.

She wanted Reid's help. She
needed
his help. And she was angry with herself for letting her emotions get the best of her. She was a doctor. She was supposed to be able to deal with life and death situations. She was supposed to be brave and strong and unshakeable, but right now she felt every muscle in her body beginning to spasm.

"What the hell is wrong with me?" she muttered, waving a frustrated hand in the air.

"Why don't you tell me what happened to you?" he suggested, his gaze holding hers for a long second.

"Nothing happened to me. I wasn't shot. I wasn't killed. I wasn't even scratched. So why am I such a mess?"

Reid's eyes softened, and there was compassion in his gaze. It was a change from the anger, bitterness and sarcastic amusement she'd seen most of the night. "Because you survived and others didn't. You feel guilty."

"I do feel guilty. I could have done so many things differently." She ran her fingers through her hair, tucking the strands that had escaped from her ponytail behind her ears. "I know I need to talk to you, but it's hard to find the words."

"Start with the last time you saw my brother."

"It was the afternoon of the attack. I had come back from giving flu shots to some villagers on the other side of the river. Robert was leaving. He seemed distracted, but that wasn't unusual. Robert always had a million things on his mind."

"Did you speak to him?"

"Briefly. He said he needed to talk to me but it would have to wait until tomorrow." She paused, thinking back to that day, wondering if she'd missed some foreshadowing detail of what was to come.

"What did he want to talk to you about?"

"He didn't say." She frowned. "Robert had a canvas bag in his hand, the kind of bag we often filled with medical supplies when we left to visit the more remote villages. But Robert never made those trips. He was either in the clinic overseeing the trial or out of the country entirely."

"So he came back and forth between Colombia and San Francisco?"

She nodded. "He was in and out every couple of weeks."

"All right, so let's move ahead a few hours," Reid said evenly.

The suggestion sent her heart racing again.

"What did you do the rest of the day?" he asked.

"I worked in the clinic. We had a lot of patients. One of the other doctors had recently left, so we were shorthanded."

He nodded. "Go on."

She drew in a breath for courage, telling the part of the story she'd already told. "A man came in around seven o'clock that night. He was one of the participants in the trial. He presented with a rash and respiratory problems. After examining him, I decided to take a chest x-ray. The x-ray machine was in the adjacent room. I walked to the door to see if it was in use, and then I heard the sound of gunfire." She licked her lips. "I didn't know what to think at first. I actually thought it was fireworks. And then I heard screaming. I turned around and…" She drew in a breath, willing herself to get through the story.

"And then what?" he prodded.

"A man came through the other door. He was shooting—a million shots a second it seemed like to me."

The sound of rapid fire ran through her head. She could feel her knees hitting the ground as she sought cover. Bullets whizzed by her ear. She cowered on the floor, knowing she was going to die. She waited for the hit, for the pain. It was coming…any second…

"Shayla!"

Reid's sharp voice cut through the haze in her head.

She stared at him in confusion.

"Stay with me, Shayla," he ordered. "What happened next?"

"People died."

"Your patient," he said, meeting her gaze.

She nodded. "He was shot numerous times. There was so much blood everywhere." Nausea ran through her at the memories. "I—I didn't try to get to him. I should have thrown my body over his. I should have done something. But I just dropped to the ground. I saved myself, but I didn't save my patient. He came to the clinic for help, and I let him die." She couldn't believe she'd actually said the words out loud, but it was too late to take them back.

Reid got up from the chair and squatted down in front of her. He put his hand over hers and gently pried her fingers off the beer bottle. "Before you break it."

As the bottle slid from her grasp, her fingers tingled with pain. Another second, and she would have broken that bottle and cut her hand. She almost wished that had happened. Physical pain and her own blood would be easier to deal with than the terrible memories and regrets that kept running through her head.

"You didn't do anything wrong," Reid said, putting his hands on her knees. "You acted on instinct."

"The instinct to save myself."

"You were across the room, weren't you?"

"Yes, but I could have moved. I
should
have moved."

"And you think your body would have stopped those bullets from hitting your patient?"

"It's possible."

"Shayla, you know that's not what would have happened. You would have both died."

"But at least I would have tried."

"It sounds like it happened too fast for you to move a step. The brain's desire to protect itself is a powerful force. You know that. Your mind told you to dive for cover, and that reflex action saved your life."

"You're making excuses, trying to make me feel better, but nothing can make me feel better." She pushed his hands aside and got to her feet. "I need some air."

She walked out to the deck. The air had finally cooled after the long, hot day, and a brilliantly clear sky filled with stars eased some of the tightness in her chest. She stood there for several minutes just letting the breath move in and out of her chest, as she tried to clear her brain. She told herself to focus on the present, on the lights of San Francisco, the Golden Gate Bridge, the large cruise ship making its way across the bay.

A moment later she heard Reid come up behind her. For a moment she thought he might put his arms around her, and shockingly enough, she found herself wishing he would do just that. He had a broad chest, strong arms. A woman could feel safe in his embrace.

But he didn't touch her. He stood next to her, gazing out at the view, his hands tucked away in the pockets of his jeans.

There was silence between them now, the only sounds coming from the distant traffic and the soft lapping of water against the side of the boat. She was starting to understand why Reid liked living out here.