TRACE (The TRACE Series, #1) (3 page)

Wait. No. It can't be.

"Do you remember me?" he asks with a low growl. "We met last week."

My lips are so dry that I have to run my tongue over them, twice. It does little to help. "Yes. I remember you. You're Garrett Ryan."

"I brought these for you."

There's a flash of color in front of me and a chorus of gleeful squeals from some of the other nurses as they catch sight of the large bouquet of flowers he must have been holding behind his back when I was checking him out.

I reach for the flowers and his fingers brush against mine. A burst of energy flows between us. It's not electric or dynamic. It's more restrained, but intense. He holds my gaze as I inhale the lavish scent of the flowers.

"I can't accept these," I lie not because I don't welcome the gift, but because with it comes with the promise of a favor in return. I see that within his gaze and the way his tongue darts out over his bottom lip.

"Yes, you can, "Rosalie, my supervisor, pops into view. "These are beautiful, Vanessa. Your boyfriend has excellent taste."

"No," I whisper through a scowl. "He's not my boyfriend. I don't even know him."

"I'm a grateful man." He rests his hand on Rosalie's shoulder and I watch the heave of her chest at his touch. "Nurse Meyer took extra good care of me last week."

"She's a wonderful nurse," Rosalie says. "We're so lucky to have her."

"You're very lucky to have her," he continues with a nod. "I'd like a few minutes alone with her if you can spare her."

"I have to get back to the patient in exam room five," I wave the flowers in the air before I shove them into his firm chest. "You should take these back. I don't need flowers. I was doing my job."

"They're yours to keep." He raises his hand to gently push them back at me. "I just need five minutes, Vanessa. I promise I won't take any longer than that."

The breath I draw in is so heavy that it's audible. "I can spare five minutes."

"You lead the way." His hand jumps to my elbow as he falls in step beside me.

***

"I
don't remember everything that happened last week." He leans back against the wall in the private waiting area I've taken him to. "I spoke to Ben about it this morning."

I cross my ankles as I sit on the edge of a chair. "What did he say?"

"He said I was out of it." His left hand jumps to his right bicep. "Apparently my blood sugar was low. I just remember being in a lot of pain."

"You hurt yourself when you hit the tree." I glance at my watch.

"I still have three minutes." He dips his chin towards me. "That's just enough time to apologize."

"You don't need to." I bounce to my feet, smoothing my hands over the wrinkled legs of the blue scrubs I'm required to wear since I work in the emergency room. "You don’t owe me anything. I was just doing my job."

"I'm worried that I said things I shouldn't have. I wasn't thinking clearly."

The cultured tone of his voice doesn't match the frenzied cries of the man who was in here last week, clinging to the edge of the exam table because of the pain he was. "You were in shock."

"If I was a jerk and I'd like to make it up to you." He taps his shoe on the tiled floor. "Can I buy you a coffee sometime?"

I'm wise enough to know when a man is wearing a hidden cloak of future regret around him. I've always based my decisions to meet men for coffee, or drinks, or even just sex on first impressions. He may have cleaned up remarkably well in every sense of the word, but the man standing before me, who is dressed impeccably and looks like he'd fuck me into tomorrow, is still the same jerk who I met last week.

"I don't think so." I move towards the waiting room door.

"You don't want to give it some thought?"

"I don't need to." I glance briefly at the plain gray, fabric colored chair where I left the flowers. "I appreciate the apology, but I'll pass on the coffee."

His full lips part slightly as he exhales loudly. "You forgot your flowers, Vanessa."

I narrow my gaze at him, noticing how completely in control he looks at this moment. It's the polar opposite of who I imagined him to be. "You should take them up to the nurse's station on the third floor. They took much better care of you than I did."

"I'd beg to differ." He walks across the room with confidence, scooping the flowers into his hand.

"You were only in my care for an hour." I swallow hard when he stands directly in front of me. "They took care of you the entire night."

"They may have watched over me through the night," he stops talking to lean down so his forehead is hovering close to mine. "But you're the only one I remember."

I inhale the luxurious scent of his skin combined with expensive cologne. He knows what he's doing to me. There's no way in hell that he's oblivious to the sheen of moisture on my lips or my labored breathing.  I can't do this. I need to remember what a total ass he was when the paramedics brought him in. A bump on the head and hypoglycemia can't completely alter a man's personality, can it?

"I have to get back to work." I turn towards the door before looking back over my shoulder to catch him staring directly at my ass.

"I
went onto a few of the adoption reconnection forums that I was telling you about, but there wasn't anything." I scratch the top of my nose. "I think that is a sign that I shouldn't search for my birth mother."

"A sign?" Zoe pulls her fork through the salad she's been picking at for the past fifteen minutes. "It's a sign that you're wasting time doing that. We need to take a road trip to Maine."

I knew she'd say that. I thought it too. When I'd logged into the forum for Maine adoptees and birth parents, I had a sinking feeling that I'd turn up nothing. I based that prediction on experience. I've been on the forums on and off for months, and although a host of new members always pop up, I've never found a match for my birth date. The reassurance that I'd feel knowing that at least one of my birth parents is looking for me isn't going to come. I'm beginning to realize that now.

"I think I'll put the idea to rest until..." my voice trails. I can't bring myself to say the words even though the thought that fuels them runs through my mind every single day. My mother is seventy-five-years-old. If she were healthy, I'd be counting on having years with her yet. I'd feel safe in the knowledge that she'd be at my wedding, and be standing by my side when I gave birth to my first child. I'm schooled enough in medicine to know that her time is limited, and that it will be a miracle if I'm able to celebrate with her on her eightieth birthday. I'm going to lose her and the thought terrifies me to my core.

"Don't think about that, Van." Zoe reaches across the table to pull my hand into hers. "Think about all the fun the two of you had when you were growing up."

It's a notion that I should embrace. I try to and want to but the sad and tragic reality is that I miss the moments when I could talk to my mom about everyday things like a new dress I bought or the flower garden that she used to lovingly nurture in front of our apartment building in Maine every spring and summer. Those are lost memories now.

"I miss her," I say softly. "I don't want to disappoint her."

"You can't." Her head tilts to the side as her eyes hone in on mine. "You have a right to know your birth mother. You told me it's been nagging at you for years. You need to do this for you."

She's right. I've been volleying the idea of knowing versus not knowing around for a long time. My desire to know more about my birth parents was first ignited when I was in nursing school and one of my classmates had gotten ill. It was a genetic condition and the simple fact that I didn't have an understanding of my predisposition to medical issues worried me. It's much more than that though. I want to look into the face of the woman who gave me life.

"What if I find out who my birth mother is and she wants nothing to do with me?" The question is painful to ask.

She tugs on my hand to get me to look at her. "This will eat at you until you find out. You have to do it. You'll never know how she'll react until you find out who she is and you contact her."

"You're right," I agree. "I need to find the courage to go to Maine. I have to. It's time."

***

"I
t's time to party."

I disagree. It's time to sleep. The problem is that today is Rosalie's birthday and virtually everyone who works in the emergency department, who isn't on duty right now, is in this bar. It's more a pub, actually. It's Easton Pub and I've been here more times than I can count. That's because Zoe used to work here and she met her husband here. When she feels like taking a sentimental walk into her memories, we come here. She orders a club soda with lemon and I order the same thing I'm drinking tonight, a Tom Collins. It might not be what you'd expect a petite blonde nurse to drink but when I drink, I don't want to waste the effort. It always gives me a slight buzz, and I'm not going to shy away from that tonight. I don't work tomorrow which means I'm only responsible for myself for the next thirty-six hours.

I scan the room looking for a familiar face. I want someone who isn't going to engage me in a lengthy discussion about a patient's prognosis. I get enough of that when I'm rushing between exam rooms during the twelve-hour shifts I pull. Tonight, I'm just Vanessa. I'm not Nurse Meyer and I want to keep it that way.

"Nurse Meyer," Rosalie slurs the words just as she embraces me from behind. "Let's toast to me."

I turn towards her and raise my glass in celebration of her special day. I would have brought a gift if she hadn't insisted that we don’t mention the fact that it's her birthday. She actually called it a non-birthday party because she's not ready to age another year. She's beautiful and brilliant and by my best estimate, can't be more than fifty-years-old. Judging by the killer set of legs that she's sporting under the short black cocktail dress she's wearing, the woman is not only young in spirit, she's in great shape. 

"You're so pretty, Vanessa." She pulls on the bottom of my hair. "You look so different when your hair is down like this."

I smile at the compliment. I doubt that she's ever seen me with anything other than a high bun on the top of my head or a ponytail. It's not only hospital protocol to have your hair pulled back, but it's my preference. I don't waste a lot of time fussing with how I look but tonight I took the time to straighten my hair and put on make-up. I needed a night out.

"You have the next two days off, don't you?" She races her hand up my exposed arm until it reaches my shoulder. She adjusts the strap of my white bra so it's hidden beneath the grey, textured lace tank top I chose to wear with black jeans. "What are you going to do?"

I'm going to get on an airplane and go to Maine, all alone. I haven't told Zoe because I know that she'd insist on going with me. Her presence would definitely add a comfort I'm likely going to need, but at the same time, the solitude will give me a chance to absorb the names of my parents. 

The server walks by and Rosalie clings to her arm as she orders us both another drink, even though I've barely touched mine. I don't want to be rude, but hanging out for more than a couple of hours isn't in my plan. I want to get home and crawl into bed so I can try and chase a few hours of sleep before I jump on the bus that will take me to La Guardia airport.

"You invited him?" Her hand flies into the air. "I thought you said he wasn't your boyfriend."

I turn towards the entrance of the pub just in time to see Garrett Ryan embracing a beautiful brunette.

"D
id you follow me here?"

I should be asking him that question, but he's beaten me to the punch. I lost sight of him soon after he arrived at the pub. I turned completely around hopeful that he wouldn't spot me in the growing crowd. I thought I could finish my drink, visit with a few co-workers and be out the door before he even spotted me. Now, he's whispering in my ear.

"Why would I do that?" I take in a quick, short breath as I pivot on my heels to face him.

"What are the chances that you'd show up at my neighborhood pub?" He motions towards the bar with his chin. "Manhattan's a big place. You could have gone drinking anywhere."

He wears arrogance with the same confidence that he wears the clothes on his back. He has to know that virtually every single woman in this pub, and likely most of the not-so-single ones, are checking him out. A quick glance to my left confirms my suspicion when I catch Rosalie giving him the once over.

"I'm here to celebrate a co-worker's birthday." I shoot back, wanting to justify my presence, even though there's absolutely no need for it.

"A birthday?" He taps his hand on the bar. "This calls for a drink. What are you having?"

I hold up my empty glass. "I was drinking a Tom Collins, but I'm afraid two is my limit."

"A woman with limits?" He rakes his eyes over my body. "That's a shame."

The hidden innuendo within the words isn't lost on me. "Your loss."

"I wouldn't say that." He raises his hand, motioning towards the bartender. "I owe you for what happened at the hospital. Let me buy you a drink and we'll call it even."

I look around the room before speaking. "You're not going to drop this grateful act, are you?"

"It's not an act." He gracefully lowers himself onto the bar stool next to me. "I make it a point to repay my debts. I owe you so I want to show my appreciation."

"You don't owe me anything, "I counter. "I told you I was doing my job."

"That's not the debt I'm referring to." He grabs the edge of a cocktail napkin sitting on the bar. "I think I offended you. I want to make that up to you, Vanessa."

I could give him a free pass and tell him that there are no hard feelings. It would be the truth. I don't know the man and how he acts when his blood sugar is plummeting is no concern of mine. If anything, I got to be witness to one of the most exciting emergency room visits I'll probably ever see. He's not the first man to comment on my body, and he won't be the last. I'm hardly the only nurse who has heard her fair share of sexually charged comments. It's par for the course.