Kiss Me If You Dare (22 page)

My fists hit the wood. “Hey! Open up! That’s my lunch! Hey!” I kept pounding, determined not to stop until Austin opened the door.

Down the hall, a head poked out of a doorway.

“Excuse me, miss,” an elderly gentleman said with a missing-denture lisp. “
M*A*S*H
is on. I can’t watch it with all that racket. Makes a rumble in my hearing aid.”

I held my hand suspended mid-thud. What was I doing? Standing in an old folks’ home pounding on doors was definitely low-class.

“Sorry.” I gave a little wave. The head disappeared.

I turned back to my task. I was not leaving here without seeing Brad.

Tapping a finger softly on the door, I spoke through the wood. “Come on. I promise I won’t upset him today. Anyway, you have to open up. I have a present for him.”

Silence. He probably couldn’t answer because his mouth was full of that special sauce with meat and beans and topped with onions . . . My stomach growled.

“Fine. Give me back my lunch and I’ll go away.”

Still no answer. Maybe he was back sharing the spoils with Brad.

A building attendant passed by in the narrow hall. “Can I help you with something?” the man asked.

“Ahhh . . .” I wiped the guilty look off my face. I had every right to be here. More than every right. “I seem to have been locked out. Could you show me where I can find a phone?”

The man in navy coveralls walked me to the lounge and pointed to a phone on a decorative desk. “Local calls only unless you have a calling card.”

“Thanks.” I put the clock down and sat in the straightback chair. I opened the long top drawer of the desk. A phone book. Just the thing.

I flipped through the
W
s. No Brad Walters. But one listing read Walters-Russo, Samantha. Instead of a Port Silvan prefix, it had the Manistique exchange. That had to be Brad’s number at River’s Edge.

I dialed it.

“This is Austin,” came the voice.

“Austin. Hi. It’s the crazy college chick. Open the door, okay? I really need to talk to Brad.”

Click.

I dialed the number again. It rang once, picked up, and slammed in my ear.

I dialed again—and this time got a busy signal.

The receiver dangled from my hand, its
beep beep beep
audible throughout the lounge.

“What’s the matter, dear, he’s not taking your call?”

I looked toward the gentle voice. A woman with a wizened face sat in a corner by a window, the various shades of pink in her clothing allowing her to blend with the general décor. No wonder I hadn’t noticed her earlier. Gray hair swirled in perfectly round curls atop her head. It had to be a wig. I touched my own masterpiece, suddenly conscious of how foolish I must look.

I smiled and turned away, avoiding conversation. The pages of the phone book fluttered under my fingers as I delved for the secret to visiting Brad.

The voice interrupted my thoughts again. “Perhaps I could help.”

The sweet old lady apparently couldn’t take a hint.

I waved a hand and nodded. “I’m fine, really. Thanks anyway.”

Back to the pages of phone numbers. I could call Puppa and get him to come out. Or call Sam and bawl her out. No. There had to be a better, faster way of getting in there.

Movement in the corner of my eye. I glanced up. The old gal had moved to the chair closest to me.

She leaned forward and spoke in a scheming voice. “I happen to know Austin runs errands for that Walters fellow between two and three o’clock.”

My brows shot up. “Really.” How did the spry old gal know what I was up to?

She gave my leg a firm pat. “They keep him locked up in there like a prisoner. No visitors outside of family, they tell us. And he never comes out. Never.” She
tsk
ed her show of disapproval. “Not even for Bingo. I say that poor young man needs some excitement.” She looked me up and down. “And you seem like the exciting type.”

Good heavens. Was the old woman trying to set Brad up on a date? As Brad’s onetime almost-bride-to-be, I was mortified that Ms. Matchmaker was on the job in the lobby. Brad did not need excitement. He needed me.

That being the case, how could I pass up this opportunity to see Brad? All I needed was a way to get inside once Austin left.

Another pat on the leg. “I have a plan,” the old gal whispered and crooked her finger. “Follow me.”

The clock in the box chimed and sang its soulful melody from its place on the table in the woman’s apartment, two doors down from Brad’s.

“Patience,” my cohort advised. “Give Austin a few minutes to get out the door.”

The saucy gal’s name was Ruby Callahan and she’d been a resident of the building for some time, she’d told me.

“Not often we get youngsters like that Mr. Walters in here. Shame about him, isn’t it?” She leaned toward me on the plain ivory sofa and checked her watch. “It’s time.” She gave a nod toward her adjoining bedroom.

I snuck into the room and hid behind the door, listening for my cue.

The sound of humming . . . the main door to the hallway opening . . . Ruby’s voice of fake surprise.

“Why, Austin. Just the man I’m looking for. Remember that magazine I lent you? With the article about finding the perfect mate? I have someone else in need of it and I must have it back, please. Snip snap.”

“Just heading out, Mrs. C. How about I grab that for you when I get back and drop it by?”

“That’ll never do. You promised to return it last week.”

A sigh. “Fine. I’ll be right back.”

“Nonsense. I’ll come with you.”

A few minutes passed with no voices. Then a perky, “Thank you, thank you. The young woman will be thrilled. Thirty-four and she’s never been married, poor dear.”

“You’re welcome. Talk to you later.” Austin’s exasperated voice disappeared down the hall.

“Coast is clear,” Ruby said a moment later.

I stepped into the hall. “Now what?”

“Door’s unlocked,” she said with a sly grin. “Just make sure you fasten it when you leave.”

“Thanks.” My heart fluttered with excitement as I headed down the corridor, clock in hand, to Brad’s apartment.

I gripped the knob, half expecting it wouldn’t turn. It did. Tiptoeing, I closed the door behind me and locked it against the meddling Ruby Callahan.

The air inside felt oppressive. Through the partially open bedroom door came the canned laughter of a television show.

In my hand, the package ticked like a bomb as I stood, hesitating. Austin could return at any moment. If I was going to do this thing, I’d better get to it.

I set the clock down on the counter, the paper scraping softly on the surface, and steeled myself.

“Austin? Is that you?” Brad’s voice spoke tentatively from the direction of the bed.

I cleared my throat. “No, Brad. It’s me. Tish.”

The door swung back under my fingertips. I stepped into his sight, taking off my wig and sunglasses, holding them in one hand while I smoothed my snarled hair with the other.

His eyes were huge, as if he were seeing a ghost.

“Hey,” I tossed my disguise on the coverlet over his feet and circled to the head of the bed. “It’s okay. It’s really me.”

I touched his hand, which lay on top of the sheet, holding its warmth in my fingers as if holding a lost pearl, now found.

“You’re . . . They told me you were dead.” His voice tore from his chest.

I nodded, squeezing back tears from my smile. “I know. I heard. But turns out I’m still around to haunt you.”

He looked up at the ceiling a moment, as if searching for an explanation. Then he shot a hard glance at me. “Who let you in here? I told them I didn’t want to see anyone.” The words burned. I pulled my hand away. “I’m not just anyone.”

He strained to look down over his body. “Look at me.”

I crossed my arms, running my eyes from his face to his feet. “I heard most of this is your own doing.”

“What?” His voice rumbled. “I was shot and almost killed. Nothing works anymore. You think I wouldn’t change that if I could?”

“Puppa told me you won’t even try.”

His face turned red and I could see rage build in his heaving chest. I welcomed the thought of him leaping from the bed and chasing me from the room. My mission would certainly be accomplished.

But no such miracle.

“Get out and don’t come back!” His roar almost peeled the hair off my head.

I stood my ground. “Come on,” I said in a soothing voice. “Don’t chase me away. Do you know how much I love you? How much I’ve missed you?”

“I’m not that man. He’s . . . dead. Gone.” He turned his face away from me. “Nothing means anything to me anymore. Including you. Leave me alone.”

The words hurt. I scrunched my face as a shield against them, but they crawled under my skin anyway and made a home somewhere a little right of my heart. The pain stole my breath.

I gasped and choked for air, trying to keep myself from melting into a pile of unwanted cells right at the foot of Brad’s bed.

“You’re all I thought about. You’re all that kept me going in Del Gloria. And you just want me to walk out of here like we had nothing?”

He gave a wild look. His neck and shoulders moved slightly as if he were trying to sit. His head flopped back to the pillow and he closed his eyes, catching his breath.

From the other room came the sound of a key being inserted into the lock.

27

I controlled my sobbing long enough to know I’d better be out of sight when Austin entered the room. “Please . . . ,” I whispered, followed by a hiccup, “don’t tell him I was here.”

I pulled back a curtain from the window, the sudden light blinding me. My hands scoured the panes for a locking mechanism.

In the living room, the door opened and Austin’s voice filtered in as he conversed with a male visitor.

“I’ll see if he’s up for company. Just a minute.”

My fingers fumbled, but the window wouldn’t budge. I searched the room in a panic, my eyes darting to the closet. I grabbed my wig and sunglasses on the way past and stepped inside the tight square, sliding the louvered door closed and feeling ridiculous as I did so. What prevented Brad from telling Austin I was hanging with the shirts?

Inside, my cheek rubbed against fabric, fascinating my nose with the Brad-scent that had always messed with my hormones.

By some miracle, I held my breathing quiet and steady when Austin entered the room.

“Hey, Mr. Walters,” Austin greeted. “I barely made it out of the building when I came across a friend of yours. Are you up for a visitor?”

Brad must have made some sign to the negative.

“He’s come a long way to see you. It’s Mr. Braddock. Says it’s an emergency.”

My jaw clenched. What if Denton was here to track me down? Once he figured out I’d flown the coop, he’d probably made some inquiries, then headed this way.

A sigh from Brad. “Go ahead and send him in.”

At least Brad hadn’t told on me.

Footsteps, a door opening. Then Denton’s voice as he entered the room.

“Hey! How are you feeling?” Denton sounded more exuberant than usual, as if trying to compensate for something.

Brad remained silent.

A pause. “Everything okay?”

“You lied to me.”

A longer pause. “What’s this all about?” Denton asked.

“I saw her. I saw Tish. She isn’t dead. She said she’s been in Del Gloria. I assume that means she’s been staying with you.”

No answer.

Brad’s voice again. “How could you? Do you know what you did to me? And now it’s too late. Too late.”

Denton went on the defensive. “You asked me to keep her safe. I did what I had to. Besides, you find strength in God. You find strength in hope. You don’t obsess over flesh and blood. She’s not the reason to wake up in the morning and do your therapy and move on with your life. You do it for God. And God alone.”

Brad took in a seething breath. “I hate God.”

I cringed at the words, stuffing a shirtsleeve against my mouth to keep from crying out as my heart ached for the man who’d introduced me to God’s love.

“And I hate you,” Brad told Denton. “Is that why you left Mom? You actually had to pay attention to something besides God in your life?” Brad emphasized each word. “You couldn’t hack being a husband and father. That’s the truth. It had nothing to do with God.”

I pressed close to the louvers, reeling in the accusation. Denton Braddock was Brad’s father? Brad . . . Braddock. Duh. It should have been obvious, but I’d been focused on surnames—and Brad’s “mentor” baloney, not to mention he’d always implied Samuel Walters was his real dad.

Denton sighed. “I . . . barely knew your mother. What was I supposed to do, drop out of life because I’d slept with the banquet waitress?”

A choking sound. “Don’t demean her. She was the finest woman who ever lived.”

I strained for a peek at the two men, but could only see Denton’s feet through the louvers. His dark slacks draped gracefully over salt-stained shoes.

The professor gave a deep sigh. “I know my shortcomings, my flaws. I admit I sometimes let things get between me and God. But I don’t blame him for any of it. I just keep thanking him for the good that has come from my twisted mess of a life. How can I be sorry to have founded Del Gloria College—a safe haven and retraining ground for those whose compass hasn’t always pointed true north? Don’t hate a God that can take pain and turn it to love.”

Brad’s breathing sounded strained.

“Son—”

“Don’t call me that. When I agreed to have a relationship with you—what’s it been, twenty years now?—it was as a teacher and a student. Sam Walters was my father. The only man with the right to call me son.”

“Brad, then.” Denton’s voice became intense. “Listen to me . . . I was wrong. Your Patricia . . . she was more than I thought. She was everything you said. So many times I wanted to send her to you, let her come to you and help snap you out of this self-destructive mind-set. But . . . how could I risk her life? I’d made a promise to you. I’m only sorry now that I wasn’t able to keep it.”

Through the louvers, I watched Denton’s feet pace the room.

“I can’t have you for my son. I know that. You’ve made me pay over and over for the mistakes of my past. But Patricia—she’s like a daughter now. She loves me, she’s grateful to me. It’s in her eyes, on her face, in her smile when we’re having coffee or talking about the day.”