Eye of the Storm. Hannah Alexander
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since arriving here. Everything was still too fresh, and the dreams each night reminded her that the world was a dangerous place.
No one knocked. There was no doorbell. The pain in her hands distracted her.
A familiar voice reached her. One word, softly spoken. “Megan.”
She silently gulped in a great lungful of air. It couldn’t be.
“Megan? It’s me. Gerard.”
She stared through the darkness toward the door, and at once her fear metamorphosed into something even less manageable. How dare Gerard Vance follow her here?
TWO
Gerard didn’t want to knock. “Megan, please.” He could hear the cracking fatigue in his own voice. Could she hear it too?
According to his late-sleeping sister, Tess, who’d taken a couple of road trips with Megan last year, Megan had never slept this late when she lived in Corpus Christi. In fact, Tess complained that Megan never even allowed the sun to rise before her on a day off.
He knew she was here because as he’d driven up his headlights had flashed across her bright yellow Neo parked beneath the limbs of a huge oak tree around back—no missing that color. Megan was nothing if not safety-conscious. When he’d helped her pick out a replacement car last year after her old one breathed its last, her only requirement was a bright color. The front window of the car was illuminated by a few streaks of moonlight that filtered through the leaves.
“Megan, I’m not going away. I may camp out here until daylight, but I’m not leaving.”
He waited. Nothing. No movement inside at all.
Hadn’t he seen light coming through the windows a moment ago? It may have been a reflection, or imagination…though Gerard didn’t give in easily to imagination.
He pressed his forehead against the door frame of the tiny cottage. No one answered as he continued to wait. No light came on.
That didn’t mean Megan was asleep. It could just mean she was turning a deaf ear to his voice outside her front door, as she’d ignored the messages he’d left on her cell and at the clinic this past week…and with Kirstie Marshal, his source.
The energy that had kept him going for the past twenty-four hours—a full day at the mission followed by a long night of driving—began to wane. He was here. He couldn’t force Megan to open the door or to answer him, but he still had to find some way to breach the divide for her sake and, selfishly, for his. His clinic needed her, and though several local docs in the Corpus Christi area had volunteered to fill in during her absence, she’d developed a bond with her patients. She’d developed a bond with him, and he wasn’t about to let that be destroyed.
“Look,” he said, more softly still. “I’m not here to nag you about your work ethic, okay?” She still owed three months out of two years of work at the rescue mission clinic for her med school loans. She needed to complete those months. He was pretty sure she would be given some leeway by the loan officer, considering her trauma, he just didn’t know how much.
Unfortunately, he’d tried to point out that she could be jeopardizing her career if she left when she did. He’d learned the hard way that she didn’t respond to authority very well. Why had he made that stupid mistake after he’d known her for twenty-one months—appearing to pull rank on her as she’d walked away from the clinic? Demanding she fulfill her obligation? Sometimes he behaved like an inexperienced young buck. Desperation did that to him on occasion, especially when it came to a certain irresistible doctor with a mind of her own.
“Megan, are you studying?”
She’d often teased him about taking a detour past her apartment every morning on his way to the mission just to check up on her. How could he help it? He liked being near her, even if just in the neighborhood. The sight of her cheerful smile, the warmth in those golden-brown eyes, evident for all patients to see, had grabbed Gerard by the scruff of the heart as they had the rest of the staff.
It had taken his sister, Tess, to point out that Megan, with the long curtain of wavy hair the color of ginger, the delicate yet audaciously feminine lines of face and body—Tess’s description, not his—could win an international beauty contest. What he knew of Dr. Megan Bradley’s heart affected him more than any physical beauty.
And now, after nearly two years spent helping the neediest of patients, she was the one in need of help. Gerard held himself responsible for the tragedy at the clinic three weeks ago, and he couldn’t allow Megan to isolate herself out here in the woods because of it.
Of course, he was probably being egocentric to think that she belonged at the mission clinic permanently, that her life should revolve around his calling. He’d not been mistaken, however, about the look in her eyes these past few months as they met together about her patients. She loved them.
Had he been mistaken to think she was looking forward to his company with as much enthusiasm as he was to hers? Was he imagining that she cared for him? The shock of Joni Park’s murder had destroyed more than Joni’s life. It had shaken the foundations of everyone her life had touched, and though Joni’s sister was devastated, Megan had been the one to bear firsthand witness to the destruction of the young woman’s body.
The boards squeaked beneath his feet as he turned to gaze out into the dark morning and rested his head against the support post. It was possible Megan had changed her routine since leaving Corpus Christi. She may still be sleeping. It was possible.
His eyes closed of their own will. Such a long trip…but he’d made it for so many good reasons. Tess and Sean could run the mission until he returned. Gerard had things to attend to here in Jolly Mill.
Tree frogs slowed their croaking and fell silent. A tractor started up in the distance and a rooster crowed at the stars…or perhaps at the vague lightening of the darkness past the tree line. There was a rustle of brush nearby and a cottontail rabbit hopped across the overgrown lawn, sniffing for an early breakfast. Gerard stepped down from the porch and felt the soft cushion of grass beneath his shoes as he returned to the car. Once inside he closed the door quietly so he wouldn’t awaken Megan—if she truly was asleep and not just waiting for him to leave. He moved the back of his seat to nearly horizontal and closed his eyes.
Morning was here, though the sky had not yet turned blue, and the sun had not yet penetrated the forest. He would allow the gray darkness to hold him in sleep for a few moments, but Megan would not be able to leave this place without speaking to him.
Megan sat frozen on the love seat as rips tore through the protective emotional screen of forgetfulness and Gerard’s deep voice echoed in her mind. A new kind of fear controlled her thoughts. Why had he come when he must know how hard she was trying to forget?
How could the founder and director of a rescue mission be so demanding? He expected too much. Anger, her constant companion, thrummed through her. How dare he traipse up here after her? This was her home, her safe place. She needed this respite.
She inhaled the scent in her pillow, as she had so many times these past two weeks to counter the scent of blood that had fixed itself in her memory. Why had she tried to convince herself that it was even possible to forget? Gerard Vance would have to realize that she couldn’t match his psychological strength. This was what she got for trying. Nightmares.
Would he ever be able to understand that? The man had a vocation that was the passion of his life, and he would ride roughshod over anyone who stood in his way. He’d made that obvious when she left.
Megan’s fingers dug into the prayer pillow as images tumbled past her carefully set barriers: that wicked blade, Joni’s wide, frightened eyes, terror giving way to pain, the echo of screams that continued to pursue Megan through the dark passages of her dreams—and now Gerard Vance following behind her, making his demands like some kind of Viking warrior.
How could she return to work in that place that bore the permanent imprint of brutality, and why was he camped outside her house?