The Street Where She Lives (7 page)

Once upon a time he'd been ashamed of how much he'd needed her, a woman who'd prided herself on never needing another soul.

And yet she needed him now. She needed him now and didn't even know it.

She let out a little murmur, a half whimper, and broke his heart. “You're okay,” he whispered, and lightly stroked a hand over her shoulder. She'd always had the softest, sweetest-smelling skin, and that hadn't changed,
either. He let his fingers linger, as suddenly and rather desperately, he wanted his mouth there. Everywhere. “Just sleep.”

Beneath his touch, her response was instant and shockingly gratifying. She relaxed. Just because he'd spoken.

The curve of her breast pushed at the top of the camisole, and he had to take his hand off her and stuff it into his pocket. Feeling like a pervert for wanting to touch her, he covered her back up, and reminded himself why he was in South Village.

Why he couldn't hop on the next plane out of it.

Turning away, he caught sight of a stack of mail on her dresser. At the mac and cheese celebratory dinner last night, right in this room, Ben had met Garrett, Rachel's neighbor. Apparently he always brought in the mail for them. Ben had wondered darkly what else he brought Rachel, but decided he was a fool for caring.

He started to walk out of the room, but jerked to a stop when he caught a glimpse of an envelope sticking out of the stack of mail. The sight of the fancy, stiff olive-colored paper backed the air into his throat. With a quick glance back at the still sleeping Rachel, he slid the envelope out from the stack.

It was addressed to him, in the carefully scripted handwriting he was beginning to recognize all too well. The return address said simply Asada, South America, postmarked a few days prior.

A new letter. Recent contact. With the envelope burning his fingers, he moved into the hallway and ripped it open, his hand shaking as he skimmed the words: “Ben, Worried yet? Frightened yet? Good, because we're still not even…”

 

“T
OOK YOU
FIVE
minutes,” Emily muttered when Ben finally came down the spiral steps. She sat cross-legged in the foyer, a long phone cord trailing across the floor to her laptop, which according to Rachel, she used to chat with her only friends—and cyber friends at that. She unplugged it and stood up. “Next time take the pole down, it's faster.”

He'd taken the extra minute to call this latest letter in to his FBI contact. “Right. The pole.”

“Ready?”

He forced a smile. “Yep.”

They stepped outside. Ben checked and rechecked the front door lock as they stepped outside, then looked around with an eagle's eye. There was a male jogger, a newspaper delivery guy on a bike weighted down by bags of newspapers and a woman in a sports bra and tiny shorts on in-line skates.

Nothing out of the ordinary for South Village, but the urge to wrap Emily up and tuck her away someplace safe for the rest of her life was strong.

Then there was Rachel. How he felt about protecting her was far more complicated. She'd once turned her back on him with ease.

And yet he found himself utterly incapable of doing the same.

Garrett sat on his front step reading a newspaper and drinking coffee, looking big and muscled and capable of taking down anyone he chose.

Ben sighed with resignation. “You going to be there for a little while?”

Garrett eyed him over the top of the paper. “Yep.”

Ben hitched a shoulder toward Rachel's front door. “You'll keep an eye out for a few?”

Garrett looked at the house, then back at Ben. “You expecting trouble?”

“I always expect trouble.”

Garrett nodded. “I'll keep an eye out.”

Since neither Asada nor the bogeyman jumped out and announced themselves, he and Emily left the small front gate for the street.

Though it was still spring, this was Southern California, where there were two seasons—hot and hotter. Even at the crack of dawn Ben could tell the day would be on the fiery side of hell by noon.

“Phat day, huh?” his daughter said, and led him down the sidewalk.

“Phat,” he repeated, and made her laugh.

They passed a dinner theater and a do-it-yourself ceramic studio. And a shocking amount of people for just after 6:00 a.m.

“Early commuters,” Emily announced cheerfully. “Did you know on the weekends we're up to twenty thousand people walking through here?”

That was 19,999 too many if you asked him.

They passed an ice-cream shop, which was also open. And also packed. “Don't you love it here?” Emily asked. “You can buy ice cream 24/7.”

Love it? The crowds, the noise, the hustle and bustle, sucked the soul right out of him. What he'd love would be to leave right now, put ten thousand miles between him and this place. He didn't belong here, on the very streets that had made him miserable. Hollow.

He should be used to that hollow feeling—he'd been raised on it. Then he looked into Emily's happy, expectant eyes, and pushed away that feeling.

At least for now, he was going nowhere but crazy any time soon.

“This is it.” Around the corner, Emily gestured to a small outdoor café that had heavenly scents making his nose and stomach come to life. The tables were wrought iron and close enough that Ben could catch snippets of everyone's conversation around them. Already seated were an eclectic mixture of urbanites, construction workers and shoppers. Ben sat and opened the menu that had more choices for coffee than for food.

“When summer comes,” Emily told him, carefully setting down the laptop she never seemed to be without, “I'm going to ask the owner if I can work here.”

“When you're twelve, summer isn't for working.”

She frowned. “What is it for?”

He'd never been a normal twelve-year-old, so hell if he knew. “For hanging out with friends?”

Some of the sunshine went out of her eyes. “I'd rather work.”

Ben remembered his preteen years pretty much sucking, too, but Emily came from a different universe. “What's the matter with friends?”

“Nothing.”

“Em.”

“The other kids are all weird.”

“Weird, how?”

“The girls are into boys and the boys are into skate-boarding.”

“Well, then things haven't changed much.”

She lifted her menu in front of her face, blocking him off. “I'm hungry.”

Okaaay. Leaning forward, he hooked a finger in her menu and lowered it. “Just let me say one thing.”

“Do you have to?”

“As your dad, yes.”

With a dramatic sigh, she set aside her menu, looking more than a little wary.

“Worrying about you sorta comes with the territory of being your dad. I can't help myself.”

“Do you
want
to help yourself?”

“Huh?”

Her eyes were shuttered now. “Would you rather you didn't have the territory at all?”

How was it he forgot how smart she was? “No, I want the territory. Emmie.” He touched her hand when she looked away. “I want to be a dad.
Your dad.
I love that.”

She bit her lower lip. “Sure?”

“I'm very sure, sweetness, but thanks for checking.”

She grinned.

He grinned back. “So…”

“So, I'm fine.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

Short of alienating her by pressing, he had no choice but to drop it. They ordered enough food to keep their arteries clogged for the year, and Ben spent the entire meal trying to spot Asada, or someone sent by him, in every face.

He hated that. He hated the helplessness, the vulnerability. With Asada in hiding, the cat-and-mouse game was on, with everyone Ben cared about as the mouse.

After breakfast, they started walking back. “Turn here,” Emily said, pointing to an alley between a lingerie shop and a gallery. “Shortcut.”

In his world, an alley was a death trap. “Let's walk around the building and—”

“Hear that? Oh my God, look!”

Before he could stop her, she'd run into the alley, set
her laptop on the ground and scooped something up into her arms.

By the time he reached her, Emily was jumping up and down with the bundle still in her arms. “Can we keep it, can we, can we?”

The “it” in question was the smallest, ugliest puppy on the face of the earth. Drab brown, flat face, hanging ears…the thing couldn't have weighed more than three pounds soaking wet. In Emily's arms, it seemed to sink in upon itself, ribs sticking out, eyes huge and pathetic and right on them. When Ben came close, it shrunk back with a whimper, then licked Emily's hand.

“He's a stray.” Emily hugged it tighter. “No collar. Oh, look…he's half-starved.” Emily blinked up at him. “He's an orphan, Daddy.”

Ah, hell. “No.”

“But we can't just leave him here.”

“Yes, you can. You just put him down and walk away.”

Her face creased into a disapproving frown. “Mom said you're a hero. That you save people. How can you say such a thing?”

Rachel had called him a hero? He couldn't fathom
that
conversation. “Em…we can't just bring a dog home.”

“But I've always wanted one…always.” Her lower lip began a slow thrust outward. “Especially because I'm so lonely…”

Ah,
man…
“Em…”

“Oh, Daddy, isn't he adorable? We
have
to take him home and feed him.”

The puppy, sensing victory, seemed to perk up.

Ben closed his eyes but it didn't matter. He could still see that grungy, mangy, pathetic face.

“Please, Daddy?
Please?
”

He strained for a valid reason that would get him off easy. “Your mother—”

“We've been meaning to get a dog, I swear! Just before Mom's accident we'd decided to rescue one from the pound, but I can rescue this one instead.”

The puppy licked Emily's cheek now. Blinked chocolate-brown eyes at Ben. Then whined softly, as if too hungry to put any real energy into it.

Damn it, he couldn't stand when someone—or something—was hungry.

“And look, his ears are darker than the rest of him, they're so cute.”

And dirty.

Emily rubbed her face against the dog, looking so happy it was almost painful to look at her. “We can call him Patches,” she said.

Patches sighed in bliss, and exposed a sunken-in belly for rubbing.

Ben sighed too, and found himself rubbing that soft belly. “Only one problem, Em.”

“No. No problem.”

“Yep.” Besides his zillion others. He stroked the soft belly again and gave Em a wry smile. “Patches isn't a him.”

S
EVENTEEN AND PREGNANT
. Her father would kill her. Her mother would hiccup, spill her vodka, then burst into tears…or maybe just pass out.

Melanie would care. She'd wrap Rachel in a hug, then offer to drive her to the clinic that Rachel had driven her to twice now.

But Rachel wouldn't consider that route, not for herself. Yet the alternative…keeping the baby… How could she? Everything she was going to be, everything she wanted for herself, depended on the next few years. Years in which she'd have to work hard to make it all happen. She wanted a career, she wanted security and stability. But most of all, she wanted a home, a permanent home, right here in South Village.

And she wanted to never, ever, be dependent on anyone for anything.

But now she had someone depending on her, a defenseless little someone. What did she know about babies, she wondered half-hysterically. Babies needed warmth, caring, unconditional love, but she didn't even really know what those words meant.

Ben would have given her all of those things, and his name along with them. But he also wanted to drag her to the four corners of the earth and never settle down.

Tonight, she'd looked into his incredible eyes, had seen the love he had for her, and had nearly, very
nearly, caved. And yet, ironically, it had been the enormity of what he felt for her that had held her back.

So, she'd given in to the fear and told him to go.

And with shocking ease, he had, leaving her here, alone, just as she'd wanted.

While a little part of her couldn't help but wonder…how deep could his love really have been if he'd shaken it off so easily? With a choked sob, she put her head to her knees.

And awoke to the sun piercing in her window. Just a dream, a horrible, wrenching dream. She started to sigh in relief, but the pain kicked in, and she remembered.

Not just a dream. It'd all really happened.

But she was no longer a young woman all alone. She had Emily now and they were a family, so anything was bearable. To prove it, she struggled to sit up. Her vision wavered for a second and her ribs sent pain jabbing to her brain. Tightening up, she braced for more. But shockingly enough, despite the aches, bumps, bruises and casts, it was nothing she couldn't bear.

Standing up, however, was a different story entirely. She tried until she was gasping for breath and sweating, but she couldn't do it.

Okay, not quite ready, she finally decided, sitting panting on the edge of her bed, swiping at her brow. What now? The pj's were a problem. They were sheer and completely inappropriate for ignoring ex-lovers who were suddenly back in one's life.

Yes, he'd already seen her in it, several times as a matter of fact since he'd checked on her during the night, helping her to the bathroom, bringing her water, and my God, the heat in his eyes had given her sunburn. She'd felt his unbelievable wanting, and had actually felt the same. How did one go thirteen years without setting eyes
on someone and then see him again and want so badly? How did that happen? Well, however it worked, she didn't care to repeat it.

Clothes.
Number one order of business. Getting the pj's top off wasn't so difficult, her new air casts were surprisingly lightweight and easy to maneuver. She simply nudged the straps off her shoulders with her good arm, refusing to give in to the pain that was beginning to make itself known in her bad arm, and let the thing fall to her waist. With a good amount of wriggling, she managed to kick off both the pants and the camisole in one fell swoop.

Getting something else on…not quite so easy. Realizing she had no clothes within reach, her scramble out of her pj's suddenly didn't seem such a wise move. And…yep, that was the doorbell. Naturally. Because she sat there in nothing but panties.

Her robe lay across the foot of her bed. Using her good leg, she grabbed it with her toes and pulled it toward her. So far so good. But the terry cloth was thick and heavy, and one sleeve was inside out and—

The doorbell rang again.

Damn it! Where was Emily? School already? Without saying goodbye? Did she have lunch money and her homework? And where was Ben? She was almost afraid to wonder, because with her luck, she'd conjure him up here while she sat there looking like a black-and-blue poster child for abuse, huffing and puffing like a junkie to boot.

By the time she got herself covered—forget tying the sash, she was cooked. She was a complete shaky mess, never mind the hair, or the fact she hadn't brushed her teeth. Grateful for the wheelchair Ben had left right by her bed, she sort of half fell, half dropped herself into
it. Okay, good. Panting for breath, out of shape and not happy about it, she set her hands on the wheels and paid the price for forgetting how bad her arm and shoulder still hurt. “Right arm only, right arm only,” she whimpered to herself, hugging her left arm to her chest.

But right arm only meant she could only wheel herself in circles. Frustrated, she tried one more time, and let out a huffing scream when she got nowhere.

“Rachel.” Garrett strode quickly into her bedroom, set of mug of delicious coffee down on her nightstand, and reached for her wheelchair. “Let me help you.”

Her next-door neighbor was tall, dark-haired and studiously handsome. He wore wire-rimmed glasses and yep, there was his palm digital organizer sticking out his breast pocket as always. Good old dependable Garrett. He mowed her small lawn every Saturday, played Frisbee with her daughter whenever they were both around, and minded his own business. Usually.

“I was on my porch,” he said. “And heard a thump. I thought maybe you'd fallen.”

“And couldn't get up?” she quipped.

“Well, I knew Emily and Ben had gone to breakfast… I rang the doorbell and called out your name to warn you I was coming in.” He lifted the key Emily had given him after the accident, then unhooked the brake Rachel had hooked on the left side of the wheelchair. “Try that.”

Of course that worked. Feeling stupid, she sighed, making sure to keep her fingers clenched over the lapels of the robe and praying a sudden wind didn't whip through the house. “I don't suppose you'd feed me your coffee intravenously?”

He brought her the mug. “Try drinking it the old-fashioned way.”

She eyed him over the top of it, trying, as she occasionally had, to feel some sort of attraction to him. Why didn't looking at him rock her world, the way looking at Ben did? It made no sense. Garrett was a dentist, which meant he rarely traveled and made a decent living. He gave to charity. He was kind to old ladies. He also played tennis fanatically and had a sailboat. It all added up to him having his own life. He wouldn't depend on her for anything including entertainment. Bottom line, he was handsome, intelligent and funny.

And yet…not a single spark.

As she sipped the coffee, another voice called out her name, and then shortly appeared in the doorway. Adam Johnson this time, her accountant, her financial advisor, her friend and Garrett's physical opposite. Height challenged, blond, and not athletically inclined, he was, however, extremely intelligent, funny and one of the sweetest men she'd ever met.

In three separate momentary bouts of loneliness, Rachel had dated him. Each time he'd made her smile, laugh, think. She'd enjoyed herself immensely and might have made it an even four dates—a record for her—if not for the accident.

And, of course, the fact she didn't feel any more attracted to him than she did Garrett.

Adam had one hand wrapped around a dozen pink roses, the other around a thick file—hers, if she were to guess. He could undoubtedly tell her to the penny how much money she had at that very second.

“The front door was ajar,” he said, moving into the room. “I hope it's okay I just came on in. No one answered my knock and I got worried…”

“I'm sorry.” She managed a smile, though in truth all that rush to get dressed and in her chair had done her
in. She felt like a drooping flower. A hurting, drooping flower. “I'm fine, really.”

“Mom!” Emily stopped short in the doorway.

“Welcome to Grand Central Station,” Rachel said, but then her breath backed up in her throat because Ben appeared behind Emily, wearing cargo pants and a black T-shirt, looking wild and edgy and dangerously sexy. He was taller than Adam, darker than Garrett and, given that there wasn't an ounce on him that wasn't hard, lean muscle, he was far more solidly built than either of them.

In his slow, purposeful way he looked around the room, missing nothing with his dark, deep, direct eyes—not the two strange men in it, not the fact that she wore only a robe or that she was holding it shut,
nothing.

Her pulse picked up speed as his gaze took a leisurely tour over her body. Clenching the robe even tighter, she drew a careful breath. She'd expected to feel a reaction when she looked at him—she always had. But this morning it came with an unexpected twist watching him against the backdrop of the other two men.

Ben Asher wasn't the most handsome, polished or cultured man in the room, but he was simply and by far the most potent, lethal, one-hundred-percent male she'd ever met.

And she couldn't take her eyes off him.

“Dad and I went out to breakfast,” Emily announced, an unmistakable glow about her.

Rachel looked at Ben.

He looked right back.

“And, um, I'm going to school now.” With her heart in her eyes, Emily looked at Ben. “Thanks for breakfast.”

“Don't you need to go over something with your mom?” he asked.

Uh-oh, Rachel thought. “What?”

“Um…” Emily bit her lower lip, a sure sign that she was thinking. And when Emily started thinking, God only knows what trouble she'd come up with. “After school, okay? I'm late.”

“Em—” Ben said warningly, but before he could press, Garrett stood. “I've got to get to the office,” he said.

“He dates really pretty models after he makes their teeth white,” Emily said.

Garrett grimaced. “I'm a dentist,” he offered a little sheepishly.

“A dentist to the stars,” Emily bragged.

Ben nodded without judgment, even though Rachel knew this life had to be as completely foreign to him as his world was to her.

Not having been previously introduced, Adam thrust out his hand toward Ben. “Adam Johnson. Financial advisor and friend to the pretty patient.” He hoisted the flowers, then held them out to Rachel.

She tried to take them with one hand while holding her robe closed with her injured arm, but as had happened so often since the accident, her brain didn't quite get the message to her fingertips, and as she reached out, they fell and scattered at her feet. “Oh, Adam.” Frustrated, she sighed. “I'm so sorry.”

“No problem, there's always more.” Adam went down on his knees, offering her a sweet smile as he scooped them up.

“I, um, gotta go,” Emily said, and gave her father a long look that apparently spoke volumes between them.

“After school then,” he said firmly.

Emily nodded, turned to high-five Garrett, then threw herself at Ben and kissed him. “Bye, Daddy.”

“Bye, sweetness.”

Rachel would have sworn she heard Emily whisper, “She's in my room, watch her,” but decided the pain had gone to her head. She waited for her kiss, but Emily danced to the door.

“Hey, Em. Me, too?”

With a martyred sigh, Emily came back and kissed Rachel, while Rachel felt like a world-class loser mom. “Is it a Monday?” she asked the room, a little defeated. “Because it sure as hell feels like a Monday.”

“It's Wednesday, Mom,” Emily said in a humor-the-idiot voice. “Bye!”

Garrett followed her to the door, then turned to Rachel. “Call me if you need anything.” And with a nod to both Ben and Adam, he was gone.

Adam straightened, his now sorry-looking bouquet in his hands. He set them by Rachel's bed, where they drooped in a way Rachel sympathized with. “I've got to run, too,” he said. “I've got a client.” He glanced at Ben before leaning down and kissing Rachel on the cheek, setting her file down by the flowers. “In case you want to see that everything is in order. Can I bring you dinner?”

“Oh, Adam, how sweet. But don't trouble yourself.”

“It's no trouble.”

 

A
T
A
DAM'S OFFER
of dinner, Emily stopped short in the hallway, then raced past a startled Garrett and peeked her head back in her mom's bedroom. “Mom, Dad's doing dinner tonight. I forgot to tell you.” She added a smile because in her experience, a smile always aided her cause.

Bless her dad, he didn't blink, much less call her a big, fancy liar.

God, she loved him.

“Oh. Well, then.” Adam kissed Rachel again, gave her a smile Emily was quite certain her mother thought sweet, and finally,
finally
he left.

Emily again glanced at her father.
Yes!
He had a little frown on his face, and was watching Adam go from the doorway. Yes, yes, yes! He didn't like that Adam had kissed her, either! So maybe her parents weren't falling all over each other as she'd hoped they'd be by now, but this was only day two.

Still, she'd have to work fast. Her luck, Adam would do something stupid like…propose. Her stomach sank. “This time I'm really leaving.” Without a wave, she raced down the hall, ignored the muted puppy whines she could hear from her room—holy smokes she still had to deal with
that
—hopped onto the pole and leaped down into the living room just as Adam came down the spiral stairs. Opening the front door for him, she walked him out. “Thanks for checking on my mom,” she said.

“You don't have to thank me, Emily. I like to see her.”