Kiss Me If You Dare (11 page)

The million-dollar question was, what was my mind protecting me from now? What happened between the time Candice pulled the trigger and the moment of impact on I-35?

Yes, I’d been shot in the arm. But was that so traumatic that I’d blocked out the next twelve hours? With the events of the previous night, when I’d been run off the road and barely escaped death at the bottom of a quarry, and later held hostage at gunpoint by some fool who thought I knew where my dad was holed up, I suppose the cortisol had been flowing at top levels. Probably no amount of mental concentration could track down those hours missing from my memory.

I’d just have to let it go and convince Professor Braddock to do the same.

I took another ten minutes to write down the discombobulated images from my dreams, then went downstairs to catch the professor at breakfast.

“Good morning, Alisha,” he said as I entered the dining room. His voice had a cold tinge to it.

“Morning.” I scooted my chair up to the table.

Ms. Rigg poured my coffee, keeping track of me out of the corner of her eye.

I took a sip. “Mmm. Delicious. Thank you.”

“Aye,” was her best shot at being cordial.

“Did your daughter make it safely back to the city?” I asked her. Now that I knew Portia wasn’t the looter responsible for taking my signature page, I wanted to explore the Jane equation.

Next to me, Professor Braddock blinked and turned to me, as if wondering what I had up my sleeve.

“Aye,” Ms. Rigg countered, offering nothing more. She took a step to go.

“Does Jane come often to visit?” I held her with my question.

Ms. Rigg looked at Denton. Then her gaze swung back in my direction. “Only when she can afford to. Poor dear struggles for her bread. And her poor mum can’t very well help.”

The woman’s comments were likely more directed at Denton than me. Fishing for a raise, I figured, remembering how Jane had focused on money the other day.

I took a sip of my coffee. “Oh. I was hoping Jane would be back soon. There was something missing from my tote the other day and I wanted to ask her about it.”

The matriarch squirmed.

Denton looked back and forth between the two of us, nibbling on his bagel like popcorn at a movie theater.

Steam collected around Ms. Rigg’s ears as she came to her daughter’s defense. “I hope you’re not calling my Jane a thief. She only opened the notebook to see who the tote belonged to.”

I suppressed an “ah ha!” So, Jane was the guilty party after all. How else would Ms. Rigg have known about the notebook? What kind of scam was Jane running now? Her schmaltzy, overzealous smile reminded me of a con man I once knew. No doubt Jane was sweet as pie to my face but would gladly hold a knife to my back. No doubt she’d written the note and knew my true identity. The question was, what would she do with that information?

13

Ms. Rigg dashed out of the dining room as soon as I looked down at my plate. I supposed Jane could tell key people who I really was, putting my life in terrible danger.

“Don’t worry about Jane. I’ve already spoken to her. She doesn’t suspect anything,” Denton said, with a terse wipe of crumbs from his moustache.

“Really?” I said it with a touch of sarcasm. “She certainly looked guilty the day she found my tote on the cliff.”

Denton’s eyes narrowed. “Jane fancies herself one of the family. Even if she knew who you were, she wouldn’t have any use for the information.”

My fingers tapped on the table. Was he talking about the same Jane I met in the kitchen? The woman was a leech. A leech with a plan. She must be a fine actress after all to pull the wool over Denton’s eyes like she had. “I suppose you came right out and asked her if she snatched the page with my real name out of my notebook?”

“You wrote your real name in your notebook?” Denton shook his head like he couldn’t believe it. “What were you thinking? You should have told me.”

“How was I supposed to know someone would snoop? Anyway, I crossed it out.” I kept my voice low.

He leaned toward me. “Did you write your name so you would be discovered? Is there something in you that can’t bear to live in peace and serenity?”

I looked at him, flabbergasted. “No. Of course I want peace and serenity.”

“You’re acting like you have a death wish.”

Frustration surged through me. “I do not have a death wish. I just want to get home to Brad.”

At the mention of Brad’s name, Denton gave me a look that resembled hatred. “That is a death wish.” Stony features underlined his derision.

I stood and slowly backed away, wondering how he could transform from the pleasant man in the parlor last night to this hardened stranger.

“I’m sorry, Alisha,” he said. “I received some difficult news this morning. I don’t mean to take it out on you.” He cleared his throat. “I’ll be leaving town for a few days. Ms. Rigg will be here for your needs.”

I stared at him, frightened by the pain in his eyes. Where was the pillar, the rock I had come to depend on? I didn’t want to see the swell of emotion on Denton’s face. He was supposed to be the strong one, the protector. I was the weak one. As if to prove it, I grabbed my tote from beside my chair and whirled. “I’ve got to go.”

I nearly ran over Ms. Rigg on my way out the door.

Denton returned a few days later, the smile still missing from his voice. I avoided him. The way he looked at me, with something close to contempt, or at least anger, made me nervous. Brad had told me Denton would keep me safe. But with his recent change in attitude, I felt alone in enemy territory.

It seemed I wasn’t the only one facing hostile forces. Portia had tracked down Gwen and discovered that Team A couldn’t agree on anything. Dagger had dropped the class, citing “Too lame for me.” The pencil-twirling brunette couldn’t remember to show up without a personal phone call and an escort. And Simon Scroll still wouldn’t lift a hammer.

“Gwen couldn’t stop crying,” Portia said. “If she quits the class now, it’ll show up on her transcript—a big ‘D’ for Dropped. You’d think it was going to kill her. But if they can’t finish the project and she gets less than a 4.0 for the class, I swear she’ll kill herself. That girl is headed over the edge. Sheesh. I remember feeling that way. I’m really worried.”

We talked as we peeled wallpaper in the one room that escaped our diagnosis for total demolition. I scooped up a pile of shredded remains and dumped them in a bag.

“Professor Braddock insisted that they’re on their own. He refuses to get involved.” A shake of my head. “I wish there was something we could do to help.” I gave a discouraged sigh. “But we couldn’t if we wanted to. We’ll barely finish on time as it is.” I hated to tell her I could bail out at any moment myself, the instant Brad called me to come home.

Portia kept scraping. “I’ve been thinking about it. What if Gwen helped us finish our side of the street, then we went over and helped her finish their side of the street? Our team would still finish first and qualify for the award, but the other homes would be completed for the families that are waiting.”

I gave her a raised eyebrow. “Humanly impossible. Maybe if her entire team hadn’t ditched her . . . but the way it is, I say no.” I shook my head for emphasis.

“What if we can talk Dagger back in? The professor can reinstate him if he wants. And I can always walk over and get Maize Martin when her ADD is in overdrive. As for Simon, well, I don’t suppose we’ll get much out of him.” She shrugged. “So what? Not everybody is handy with a hammer.”

Portia seemed far too generous. I wasn’t about to work my behind off while Simon Scroll lounged from porch to porch just so we could have even teams.

I soaked a new section with solution. “Why should we help them at all? With their team out of the running, we’ve got a better chance at the Covenant Award. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

Her brows scrunched. “I don’t know. I feel sorry for them now. It’s not even fun winning when the teams are so unevenly matched.”

“Weird, huh? Denton said he put a lot of consideration into the teams. I don’t know. We definitely got the best members.”

Portia brooded a moment. “Maybe the professor knew we’d all have to work together if the houses were going to get finished on time. The team thing was just to throw us off, make the project seem real-world. But there’s only one way to earn the Covenant Award.”

“What are you talking about?”

She paced the room as she explained. “The Covenant is all about serving others. Yes, we’re helping people in the community by fixing up houses. But it’s more than that. Gwen, Maize, Simon, and Dagger can’t do the project alone. They need us. Professor Braddock knows that. And we need them. If we all work together, we’ll get the whole block done on schedule. It’s an exercise in teamwork, not competition.”

I shook my head. “I don’t know. I’ve never met a more helpless group of people in my life. They really don’t deserve to finish if they’re not willing to do any work themselves.”

“Of course they’re helpless. They’ve probably been told their whole lives that they couldn’t do anything right. Let’s give them a chance to find out that they can.”

I thought for a minute, then nodded. “Okay. But Celia and Koby both have to agree or there’s no deal.”

We shook on it and headed downstairs. As my foot touched the bottom step, I realized that for the first time in weeks, I’d gone two entire hours without thinking of Brad.

Over the course of the morning, Portia and I convinced Celia and Koby to go along with our scheme. They agreed to take a shot at accomplishing more than any reasonable human being should even consider. Somewhere in my gut, little doubts screamed in protest. But I shut them down, knowing the busier I stayed, the quicker time would pass—and the less I’d mope about Brad’s continuing silence. He wouldn’t want me piddling away my life in a depression. He’d want me accomplishing great things, in preparation of our new life together.

I put in extra hours on Rios Buena Suerta over the weekend, happy to work in solitude once again. The rest of the time, I avoided Denton by staying in my room and catching up on my novel.

Sunday morning I consented to attend church with the professor. I couldn’t explain it, but ever since he came back from that trip, he gave me the heebie-jeebies, like he was mad at me for something. His attitude had to stem from more than just me writing my real name in a notebook, and some sneak finding it. But I certainly wasn’t going to ask him. And apparently, he didn’t plan to clue me in. I tried to quash the feeling while sitting in the quaint, semi-modern sanctuary close to campus. But the sermon, which centered on Abraham’s near-sacrifice of Isaac, seemed only to heighten Denton’s aversion toward me. It was as if a thick, stone wall had been erected between us. I had no idea how it had gotten there, and no idea how to pull it down.

That week, Gwen and Maize from Team A joined our renovation squad. Portia gave the two women specific tasks and checked their progress throughout the morning. I watched and learned from her leadership skills, grateful she was in the Revamp Program.

By Thursday, Portia had talked Dagger into rejoining the crew in time to unload the drywall delivery. And the next day, Simon finally caved and picked up a trowel.

With the two teams working together, the first property was ready for its finishing touches.

It wasn’t until we’d finished painting the interior that I realized I’d gone an entire day without thinking of Brad.

The heat of mid-July became stifling as we strove to keep to our schedule. The ocean breezes that kept us comfortable in early summer had departed, leaving a pall of humidity over Del Gloria’s rocky promontory. I couldn’t help but dwell on the fact that I’d been away from home more than a month and still hadn’t heard from Brad. Things couldn’t possibly be taking this long to wrap up, could they? Back in Michigan, my old log cabin would be cool in its woodland hidey-hole by the lake. What I wouldn’t give to spend the blistering summer there in the shade. I knew it was impossible, but my fingers itched to pick up the phone, if only to remind Puppa to pay the electric bill. I calmed myself, certain I’d be home any day now.

Then came August. Still in Del Gloria. Still shriveling in the heat. I’d gotten in the habit of arriving at the project before dawn, while the air was somewhat bearable. The rest of the gang generally arrived around seven, allowing me treasured hours to work in solitude.

Before I knew it, September came without fanfare, and without a phone call from Brad. With each passing month, it got harder and harder to keep faith that he’d ever contact me.

Every morning I’d wake up and pretend everything was still okay. To work, to school, then back to Cliffhouse, like that was how things were supposed to be. I would put Brad out of my mind and get through each day, imagining that I could keep it up until the Old Town project was finished and I had my college degree.

Still, I couldn’t shake the feeling that my life was like a balloon about to land in a field of needles. I’d aced my exams, the team was on track for completion of house number four, and the longed-for rain showers were holding off until the roof repairs got done. I should have felt blessed. But somehow I knew better.

I threw on my work clothes, put my hair in a ponytail, and headed to the curb for my date with Dogpatch.

Headlights came up the road, pulling over to let me board. I took my usual seat one row behind the driver. A few other sleepy riders looked toward me, then back out the window.

“How are you this morning, Miss Braddock?” the driver asked in his Chinese accent. He put the bus in gear.

“Could have used a cup of coffee,” I answered, yawning. “You and me both.” His slight frame was made smaller by the immensity of the vehicle he drove.

“Have you heard the weather?” I set my tote on the floor next to my feet.

“Old Chinese proverb says when everybody wants rain, nobody gets it.”

“I don’t want rain. We still have to tar the chimney before it’s allowed to rain.”

“Good. Then it rains tonight.” He looked in his mirror at me. “Better hurry with that chimney.”