Kiss Me If You Dare (13 page)

Shivers streaked through my body. A numbness swept over my mind. Why was I up on a rooftop in a rainstorm? No amount of reason could justify my circumstances. And yet it had seemed so logical a few hours earlier, when the storm lingered over the Pacific and daylight had illuminated my path.

I took a deep breath. How could I know some thief would come after my ladder? I wasn’t irresponsible, just jinxed.

Unable to save myself, I pulled up a section of tape and climbed under the plastic, leaving myself an air tunnel. At least I’d have some protection while I waited to be rescued.

15

The rain poured down around me, the pattering on the roof of my garden shed enough to drive me crazy. I played around with an assortment of tools, displaying them in a way that would catch the interest of a prospective buyer. I hummed as I worked, a song Brad’s sister had written for their father.

Then will come that dawn,
When all around the angels sing,
Christ Jesus takes my hand,
And I feel it touching yours again . . .

Something flashed past the tiny shed window. I jumped, my heart racing.

It could have been my friendly doe, the one that always visited my neck of the woods here at my log home on the lake.

But through the sound of rain crackling on trees and grass and shingles, there came a knock on the shed door.

I jerked back at the unexpected noise.

“Who’s there?” I moved with baby steps toward the door.

“It’s me.” The voice was so familiar. Soft and deep, saying “I love you” with its very tone.

Oh my. Brad. It was Brad.

I raced to the door, throwing it open.

He stood there looking at me with his corny grin.

“You’re here!” I jumped at him, landing against his body, hugging him to me. We stood in the open, me squealing in glee to see him, and Brad making that wonderful chuckling in his chest.

“I missed you so much,” I whispered in his ear.

“I miss you too,” he said.

I laughed, then almost cried to see the crinkles I loved so much around his sparkling brown eyes.

“My goodness.” I touched his cheek. “I was getting worried that I’d never see you again.” I smiled at him, vaguely wondering why we weren’t getting wet though rain still fell around us.

“Come home, Tish. It’s okay to come home.”

I felt giddy at his words, thrilled that we’d get to be together all the time now.

But . . . I was home. The garden shed was just a few yards from my house. I turned around to look at the shed, getting the strangest feeling that something wasn’t right.

I gasped at the sight of only smoldering ashes behind me. There was no garden shed. It had burned down in the spring.

Twirling, I grabbed for Brad, knowing even as I did that he would slip through my grasp. He became pale as I watched him. My eyes pleaded with him to stay. I squeezed his hands tighter, willing him to remain with me. But my fingers turned wet and Brad slipped away, disappearing into swirling smoke.

When he was out of sight, I looked at my hands.

They were covered in blood.

I woke up screaming, tangled in the plastic that protected me from the rain pummeling my perch. I wiped something sharp and grainy from my cheek. Sandpaper would have made a better pillow than asphalt shingles. I rested my head on the back of my hands and hoped the terrible nightmare would fade with the storm.

After my bad dream, sleep eluded me. So when I woke to the chirping of birds and the faint glow of dawn, I nearly rolled off the roof in surprise. I estimated the time to be around six or so. Only an hour more and Celia would arrive.

I slapped the shingles in frustration. No, Celia wouldn’t arrive. She was working this morning. My next hope wouldn’t come around until ten o’clock, with Simon and Dagger.

“Help! Somebody help me!” Where was my mysterious bodyguard when I needed him?

I put out the call every few minutes, hoping someone would respond. But I was stuck on a roof in the back section of a deserted subdivision. What were the chances?

Trapped alone with my mind, I tried to stay calm and not obsess over the extreme amounts of cortisol that could be flooding my brain at that very moment. I wanted to beg God for angels and a helicopter, but couldn’t help feeling I deserved whatever consequences resulted from my foolishness.

A few hours later, I begged him anyway.

“Please, God, I know I’m stupid and I’m trying really hard to quit being that way, but could you please, please, please just get me off this roof in one piece?” My forehead scrunched tight as I concentrated. “And if you really love me, no one will ever find out I was stranded up here all night long in a rainstorm.”

It had to be at least ten thirty before Dagger showed up. He walked down the street with his gangsta swagger.

“Hey! Up here!” I waved my arms.

He stared at me as he moved closer to the house.

“Yo. Alisha. What’s up?”

“I’m so glad you’re here.” I swallowed all pride. “Can you see if there’s a ladder lying at the side of the house?”

He disappeared from view. He was back in sight a few seconds later, squinting up at me. “No ladder. Ray said he dropped it here last night. What’d you do? Fly?” He hummed a laugh.

“No joke, Dagger. Please help me get down.”

“Don’t tell me someone stole it with you up there.” He flipped open his cell phone and dialed three digits.

I tensed, every muscle aching. “What are you doing?” “Getting you down.” He turned away and spoke in soft tones. Then he disappeared. Moments later came the sound of feet up the front steps and the slam of the screen door.

“Hey! Get back here! You can’t just leave me!”

The minutes ticked by. In the distance, the blare of sirens drifted to my rooftop, drawing closer by the second.

He didn’t.

With a deafening drone, a fire rig turned onto Rios Buena Suerta, lights flashing. A police car and several civilian vehicles followed.

He did.

I put my face to the rough shingles and groaned. Why did stuff like this always happen to me?

The rig pulled over the curb and onto the lawn. In a few swift moves, men in full gear had a ladder in place and were climbing to my rescue. On the ground, cameras flashed.

Another car pulled up.

A black Jaguar.

Denton.

I was so dead.

Helping hands guided me to the ground. Safe once more, I hid behind strands of sopping hair and made a beeline for the bungalow, where I could hang out in a closet until the crowd dispersed.

But the group of ambulance chasers—or were they reporters?—photographed my every move. Some angled their long lenses for close-ups.

“Can you tell us what happened?” A woman’s voice carried over the crowd.

“How did you end up on the roof?”

“Were you there all night?”

The questions fired at me as I faltered alone on the porch. I must have looked like a fish out of water the way my mouth just opened and closed . . . opened and closed.

The scene was beyond nightmarish—this time I was really awake. It was really happening.

Denton brushed through the crowd and up the ramp. His hand grabbed my elbow and he led me inside. “I suggest you get out of view, Alisha.”

Back on the porch, Denton fed the crowd a glorified version of my adventure.

In the middle of it, Portia arrived, hustling past the paparazzi and inside. “Alisha. Are you alright? Dagger said you were stuck on the roof all night. What happened?”

I kept to the main points as I shared my adventure.

“I’m worried about you.” She kept her voice low. “Who would steal a ladder around here? Especially when someone is still using it?” She gave a worried scrunch of her forehead. “Maybe your landlord knows you’re here.”

“My landlord?” At Portia’s look of concern, I caught on. “Oh. Yeah. My landlord. Right.”

A snort of disbelief. “You are so full of baloney, Alisha. Landlord, my foot. What’s really going on here?”

Gawkers gone and the ladder truck driving away, Denton came back inside. The screen door slammed like a gavel behind him.

Denton sashayed in our direction. Portia touched my arm. “We’ll talk later, okay?”

I nodded as she scurried off, leaving me to face my fate alone.

“I don’t have to tell you how foolish your behavior was.” Denton’s voice came low and even.

“Of course it was foolish.”

His hands swished through the air. “Besides putting yourself in great bodily harm—didn’t your father ever teach you not to climb a ladder alone?—your face will now be on every major paper on the West Coast. Don’t you care about staying alive?”

His two-point speech expanded into a ten-pointer.

“. . . do you realize how much it will cost me to keep your photo under wraps . . .”

I watched in silence as he ranted. I dove in at the first pause.

“Hey. You can save your breath, really. I appreciate everything you’ve done for me. It’s been great being out here. I’m grateful for your hospitality. But,” I took a deep breath before continuing, “I think it’s time I go home. This arrangement isn’t working anymore. I’m used to being independent. I’ll face whatever’s waiting for me. I can’t keep living like this.”

I brushed his hand from my arm and stalked out the door.

16

He followed me out. “Killers are hunting you as we speak. The moment you return to Michigan, you are as good as dead.”

I twirled to face him on the sidewalk. “It’s apparent they’ve already found me. I don’t understand why they’re playing with me like a half-dead mouse. But the way things are going, I won’t survive long in California. Michigan may be my best option.”

“Michigan is not an option. You will stay here and you will be safe.” His finger pointed with emphasis at the concrete beneath us.

I leaned my head on one hand to combat the confusion. Logically, Denton was right. Returning to Michigan too soon could be a fatal error. But emotionally, I wasn’t sure I could survive out here much longer. I needed to see Brad. I couldn’t shake that nagging feeling that he should have called me by now—if he could. Had something happened to him?

“I’m sorry. I have to go back.”

Denton looked like his blood pressure was ratcheting into the red zone. “A person I love very much asked me to watch out for you. ‘Keep her alive,’ he said. I am not going to let you make some spontaneous, rash decision that puts you back in danger.”

“Hey. I’m already in danger.” My own temper was beginning to flare. “And I get to make the choices about my life.”

“You’re not ready for the consequences.” Denton’s voice dropped to a low rumble. “Give it three more months.” Trapped in Alisha Braddock’s life. I wanted out. Out of Del Gloria, out of California, and back to me. Back to the life of Tish Amble.

I crossed my arms, debating. Maybe it was too soon for me to handle the consequences of leaving the coast.

I nodded. “Okay. But only three more months. Then I’m going back. I have to go back.”

He gave a nod. “All right then. Let’s get you home to Cliffhouse.”

The months wore on. Since that day on the ladder, Denton seemed to soften toward me, his previous anger now a gentleness, which I interpreted as pity. But again, I didn’t understand what caused the attitude shift and didn’t care to ask.

It wasn’t long before Thanksgiving arrived, with skies overcast and a stiff west wind. My attitude was as glum as the weather. I tried not to think of last Thanksgiving, and Brad, and his generous invitation to share the holiday with him when I was still new to Rawlings.

This year I was a thousand miles from Brad. It didn’t matter that later today there’d be guests. None of them were Brad. A forlorn sigh escaped my chest. My arms ached from missing him.

The silky floral comforter on my borrowed four-poster brushed against my wrists as I lay on the bed, flipping through the binder of mementos I’d put together to keep my time in Del Gloria from fading into the mist like Brigadoon. Outside, rain began to fall.

I paused at an article I’d cut out. “Ladder Stolen from Rooftop Heroine,” the headline read. The photo showed a vague shape climbing to the ground surrounded by rescue workers. How Denton had kept Tish Amble’s face from the front page, I’d never know. But he’d also managed to put in a pitch for the college’s Revamp Program and plug the dedicated students who were part of the life-changing course of study, making me appear more like a champion for saving some drywall than a nut for being up on a roof in a lightning storm. The stolen ladder had been found several days later beside the railroad tracks, the theft chalked up to practical jokers.

I rubbed a finger against the newsprint. Things hadn’t been so bad here. I had a crowd of friends for the first time in my life. And my studies had improved my mind and my outlook on life. I was even getting into the whole Christian swing of things, and felt better about myself now than ever before. But with only a few weeks until the end of the semester, I was faced with a gut-wrenching decision. Would I stay or would I go?

I looked around my little piece of heaven. The beautifully furnished room with its view of the Pacific had begun to feel like home. I had barely a care here at Cliffhouse. With Denton footing my bills, no job was required. Three squares a day and even housekeeping services were provided, freeing me to focus on my classes and the Rios Buena Suerta project. It was better than being a kid again—and I didn’t even have a curfew.

I turned the page to a collage of the earlier photographs. Koby, Celia, Portia, and I. We looked like the Four Musketeers, showing off for the camera at each victory.

I leaned on one elbow. How could I even contemplate leaving my team? We were making good progress. Five more families had a place to call home. Besides, Brad hadn’t even contacted me. He must have a very good reason for wanting me to stay in Del Gloria. And if I showed up unannounced back in Michigan, he might be less than thrilled to see me.

Over the past months, the ache that shot up my arm at any thought of Brad had become little more than a twinge. I squeezed a hand to the scar. My injury was barely visible, the hurt a mere memory.