The Lives Between Us (7 page)

Edward looked toward the house where the kitchen and family room lights cast a warm glow into the cold fall night. They’d be waiting for their traditional homecoming celebration. He took the binders. “Go home, Ben. Get some rest; you deserve it.”

“Just a half an hour,” Ben bargained.

A half an hour delay tonight could very well incite his wife to violence. Edward pivoted the younger man, pointing him toward his car. “Go home. I’ll do it.”

“One more thing.” Ben opened his car door, whipped open his planner, and angled it toward the light. “Make sure you get through those reports on violent video games and adolescents.” He nodded at the pounds of paper in Edward’s arms. “You have a breakfast meeting Monday morning with the senators sponsoring the bill.”

His pen tracked down the page. “Then we need to get a statement out about the proposed eatery smoking ban—I’ll get Adrienne on that and send you a draft,” he mumbled, then looked up. “And don’t forget you accepted an invitation to speak at the NRA about their new mentoring program.”

“I did?” The cell phone in Edward’s pocket vibrated. He pulled it out; his home number glowed neon blue. Noelle was growing impatient.

“Yup. After the dinner they threw that raised nearly two hundred grand for your campaign, you were happy to.”

Edward slipped the phone back in his pocket. “And what am I speaking about?”

“About the benefits of the Mentored Youth Hunting Program that eliminated the minimum hunting age and authorized the Natural Resources Commission to establish rules for hunters under ten years old.”

Edward raised his eyebrows. “And I’m applauding putting guns in the hands of children?”

“You’re supporting parents’ right to determine if and when their child is ready to hunt. Michigan’s hunter participation ranks third in the nation. More than 750,000 sportsmen and women spend over 2.3 billion dollars and generate tax revenue of over one hundred thirty million in Michigan annually—and anglers another 2.4 billion. That’s a
lot
of money. And the kids are under strict supervision from experienced mentors. It’s a good program that emphasizes hunting safety. Read it.”

Edward shifted the binders and looked at his watch. “Anything else?”

“Just the black-tie for the Girls in Math and Science. You’re presenting the award.”

“Couldn’t forget that. Noelle’s on the committee. That it?”

Ben clicked his pen and shut the planner. “No, but good enough for now.”

“Thanks for keeping on top of everything.”

“It’s my job.” Ben tossed the notebook into the passenger’s seat and stuck the key in the ignition.

“Night,” Edward called out.

The cell phone in his pocket vibrated again. Edward pulled open the side door and dumped the binders on the kitchen counter as Noelle came in, looking snug in her flower flannel pajamas and fluffy slipper socks. She’d released her hair from the intricate coil imprisoning it all evening, so that it hung in a shiny mink curtain loosely about her face, and she’d removed all traces of makeup. His wife now looked like the fresh-faced college girl she’d been when they’d first met.

Noelle hung up the phone and then stared pointedly at the binders as if they were porn magazines. “Can’t Ben and work wait for just one night?”

“Sorry. We needed to go over a few things.”

“We need you, too.”

Edward shrugged out of his coat and tossed it over a counter stool. Moving close, he put his arms around his wife. “From now on you will have my undivided attention.”

“Until your phone rings again.” Noelle looped an arm around his neck and pulled his head down for a kiss. The other hand trailed down his chest, slid into his pants pocket, and relieved him of his phone in a slick move any pickpocket would have been proud of. His phone jingled off and thunked against the granite countertop.

Edward broke away from Noelle’s lips to nuzzle that little sweet spot behind her ear that smelled so fantastic, driving him crazy. “I’m all yours, babe.”

The microwave bell dinged, and the smell of popcorn wafted through the room. Noelle pulled out of his arms. “Hold that thought ’til after the movie. You gonna change?”

“What thought?” Noelle’s father entered the kitchen and moved past her to get the popcorn from the microwave. Joseph Dickerson, attired in a maroon silk dressing gown and leather scuffs, should have looked overdressed in his elegant nightwear, but instead he reminded Edward of a pompous English Lord.

“Thanks for staying with Jeff, Joseph.”

Joseph upended the popcorn into the plastic bowl Noelle slid across the counter. “Glad to.”

“Give you any trouble?”

He reached for the warm butter and drizzled it over the top of the popcorn. “Only in ping pong. The kid’s getting good.”

“Takes after his old man.” Noelle patted Edward’s chest as she carried the snack into the family room.

“What’re we watching tonight?” Edward asked. His glance moved to the binders and hours of reading he had to do this weekend. Maybe if it was a movie they’d seen before, he could get away with multitasking.

Joseph opened the refrigerator and scanned the shelves. “One of the Divergent series.”

“Of course. Is there anything else?”

“Hunger Games or Maze Runner.” He shut the refrigerator door and put two Cokes, a Sprite, and an iced tea on the counter.

Edward took the colas Joseph held out to him. “At least he’s reading.”

“Takes after his mother. Noelle loved to read.”

“Still does.” When was the last time Edward had been able to read a novel? Too long.

“D-a-d. Let’s go,” Jeff called out.

Edward tucked the binders under one arm, followed Joseph into the family room and tossed Jeff a Coke.

“Edward, now it’s going to make a mess.” Noelle scolded.

“That’s mine—here’s yours.” He put the other can in front of Jeff. “Be right back.”

“Hurry up, Dad.”

“And leave the reading material up there,” Noelle called out. “You
are
watching the movie with us.”

“Two minutes.” He ignored Jeff’s sarcastic comment that that meant ten minutes.

The hall grandfather clock chimed then bonged ten times as Edward took the stairs two at a time. He plunked the binders on the counter in their bathroom. He didn’t dare try to read it after the movie; Noelle would expect some love tonight and he’d been looking forward to making his lady happy. Really looking forward to it.

But damn. He needed a few hours to prepare for that meeting. Edward kicked his shoes off and quickly shed his clothes. He wasn’t sure what Noelle had planned for family day tomorrow, but he’d have to eke out an hour or two for work. Noelle and Jeff would just have to understand. They always did.

They were used to his hectic life as a senator—they didn’t like it, but they understood how much it meant to him. Edward loved talking to and listening to people. He loved the whole political process used to make a better life for Michiganders. He loved having the power to be instrumental in making a positive difference in so many lives. He loved working each and every day at something he was good at.

So he’d made his family a deal. If they found the patience and energy to support him through another term, Edward promised to be better at time management. He’d carve out twenty percent more family time. Somehow. Not quite sure how, as there were only so many hours in a day, but he’d find a way. He’d promised.

Edward threw his robe on and headed downstairs.

* * *

In 2000, Dr. Albert Dutton founded Aviva Technology
. Skye plumped the pillows behind her and pulled her sheets tight, before settling back to scroll down the page.
Dr. Dutton’s expertise lies in modern molecular and cellular technology techniques
. “Yada, yada, yada.”
Eileen Warren, MD, Dsc, is the Vice President, Research and Development.
“What does Dsc stand for?”
Board certified... A fellow... Chief resident
... “Yada, yada, yada.”

“A-ha.” Skye pulled the laptop closer and squinted at the monitor.
Mark Dutton, graduate of University Michigan MBA program... Worked for... Before joining the team in 2013 as the President of Operations.
She moved through several links looking for pictures, but couldn’t find any of the staff.

Hmm. Would have been handy to know him months ago when she’d been scouring the earth for stem cells for Niki. Now it was too late. Niki was dead and Skye had absolutely no use for a stem cell company or this man’s knowledge. Was this some sick cosmic joke? God sent her this guy
after
Niki’s gone? What’s the message in that?

Maybe there isn’t one and you’re just being paranoid, Skylar.

Maybe, but she still needed to find Mark Dutton and give him back his money. Skye could pay for her own dinner. It was reassuring to discover that he didn’t seem to be some desperate creep with nothing better to do than hang out in bars. Still, why had Mark Dutton come to a total stranger’s rescue and then gone one step further and bought her dinner? It couldn’t be a pick up; he hadn’t stuck around to meet her or get her phone number. He hadn’t even left his business card to make it easy for her to get in contact with him. What was his angle? If he was trying to make her crazy thinking about him, he’d succeeded—not that she’d ever let him know that.

Skye lifted the notebook off her lap and tossed it onto the bed beside her. She crossed her ankles. Maybe Mark Dutton was shy or socially awkward. Maybe he’s married. Maybe it was like Beauty and the Beast and he’s hideously ugly. Not that she was beautiful, but ridiculous occurrences often had equally ridiculous motives. Hmm, what would he look like?

A guy that smooth and confident must be either movie star handsome or homely. One extreme or the other. A president of a research company was probably on the nerdy side. Skye pictured this tall, scrawny, anemic, pocket-protector nerd, with thick glasses that would slide down his nose. And blond; he’d have straight blond slightly-greasy hair, a little on the long side ’cause he never made time to take care of his appearance. And if he didn’t look like that, he’d be prematurely balding and paunchy.

Skye rolled over and turned out her light. Fluffing her pillow, she snuggled down under the covers and closed her eyes, but her buzzing brain refused to slow. Darn Mark Dutton. She didn’t even know the man and already he was causing her to lose sleep.

She’d thought of going back to Luigi’s to question the bartender, but as curious as she was, Skye wasn’t desperate. And that smacked of desperation—and shallowness—as if she wouldn’t be looking him up and repaying him if he wasn’t young, handsome, and available. She was doing the right thing, and it had absolutely nothing whatsoever to do with appearances.

Mark Dutton could be a lonely elderly gentleman who came to her rescue because she reminded him of his granddaughter. In fact, she hoped that was the case. It’d make meeting him tomorrow much less awkward.

* * *

Finishing up her Dear Darlene letters, Skye left the office early and drove through downtown Detroit a good fifteen minutes before pulling into a near-empty parking lot. Though it was late afternoon on Wednesday, the weekend was approaching, and Skye hadn’t wanted to leave this hanging over her head all weekend.

Skye picked up the white envelope from the passenger’s seat, threw her shoulders back, and walked toward the red brick building. The two-story structure bore the name of Aviva Technology in tasteful black lettering. Hunter green awnings shaded the entrance and nondescript beige blinds protected the inside from the strength of late-day sun.

Skye let herself into an open reception area. Live plants leisurely stretched out in the corners. Soft, calming music piped in, complementing the gentle mauve and taupe chairs, and large pastel framed landscapes of innocuous countryside scenes graced the room. The whole decor flowed to soothe and reassure clients—tasteful.

The receptionist sitting in front of a built-in computer desk excused herself from her phone conversation and looked up at Skye. “May I help you?”

“I’m here to see Mark Dutton."

“Your name?”

“Skylar Kendall.”

The receptionist picked up her phone and murmured into it, then turned back to Skye. “Mr. Dutton is taking a conference call, but he’ll be done shortly.

“Thanks, I’ll wait.” Skye went to one of the end tables and stared at the magazine rack bolted to the wall.
Science, Nature, New England Journal of Medicine
, or...the newspaper? Hmm. Scintillating reading. Skye picked up the paper.

“Ms. Kendall.” The receptionist opened the inner door for her. “If you’ll just sign in and attach this pass, you can go on back. Mr. Dutton’s office is the second one on the left down at the end of the hall.”

Skye signed the log and looped the visitor’s pass lanyard around her neck. She walked down the long hallway, slowing as a woman talking on a cell phone drew near. Tall and elegant, the pretty blond approached on three-inch heels and in a cloud of Coco perfume. Her white lab coat lofted open as she strode forward. DR. EILEEN WARREN was boldly embroidered in navy thread over her left breast pocket. She brushed an index finger across her phone, then dropped it in her lab coat pocket before sizing up Skye with an acute two-second glance.

“You look lost.”

Dr. Warren exuded breeding and confidence from the tip of her highlighted blond head to the bottom of her designer alligator stilettos. She looked to be in her mid-forties—far too young to have accomplished all her bio claimed. With her designer suit, fashionable shoes, and expensive perfume, Dr. Warren resembled a socialite more than a serious researcher. Skye felt like going home and throwing away her jeans, clogs, and sweater to change into a skirt and stylish top.

Shoot. What would Mark Dutton turn out to be like? A child prodigy?

“I’m looking for Mark Dutton’s office.”

“Straight ahead, next door on your left.”

“Thank you.” Skye hurried forward before her nerve left her. She stopped in front of a dark wooden door with an etched plaque identifying it as Mark Dutton’s office. Skye knocked and, at his invitation, opened the door.