Brain Storm (A Taylor Morrison Novel Book 1) (10 page)

Our raised voices had alarmed the floor nurse who was hurrying into the room. Not caring about having an audience, Jonas stood and braced himself on the bed, leaning over me.
 

“And just how did you save my life?” he whispered. “Did you slam the door on his hand?”

I gasped, my eyes wide with shock. I had meant that I had warned him, distracted Denzel at the pivotal moment. The thought that I had somehow managed to slam the car door had never entered my mind. It had, however, popped into his. Was Jonas right? Did I slam the door? The realization that it might be possible sent shock waves coursing through me. Oh dear Lord, what is going on? If I had slammed the door without realizing it, what else had I done that I didn’t know about?
 

My questions hung on the air, unasked and unanswered, as the nurse escorted Jonas from the room.

NINE

TWO DAYS LATER I was a free woman. Released from the hospital, I was still somewhat shaky on my feet, but the swelling had gone down enough that I could see out of my left eye again. My bruises had faded from the violent black and blue to lovely green and yellow tones that only served to punctuate the dark circles under my eyes, but I was happy to be gone from the sterile confines of the hospital and on my way to Mama D’s to finish out my recovery.
 

The first time I had stepped into the house that Trinity had bought for her grandmother, I knew it was more than a house. It was a home. A real home. The sparkling windows and scrubbed floor were softened with cushioned rugs and sheer curtains billowed with the air from the open windows. Pots of flowers dotted the tables and sat nestled in corners, giving the house a fragrant breath of life and color. As cozy as it was though, it wasn’t the decor that made it a home. It was Mama D. From Trinity’s stories, the love of Mama D had always been there, in good times and bad, no matter the circumstances. Without Mama D there, it would have just been another house.
 

I felt a pang of remorse for the parents I could barely remember and the family I would never have. Killed in a plane crash when I was seven, I remembered my parents only in bits and pieces of time. Sometimes I would catch a scent in the air that would stir my senses and take me back in time to memories otherwise forgotten. I might not have remembered a lot from back then, but what memories I had were good ones. Of laughter and love and a house full of joy.
 

Unfortunately, most of my childhood memories were of after the accident. I’d gone to live with my father’s sister, Vivian, a woman I had never even heard of, much less met. She was a young, single woman focused on her career. She had no idea what to do with me, but there were no other options, no other family existed. That Vivian had appeared on the scene was nothing short of a miracle. If she hadn’t taken me in, I would have ended up a ward of the state.

To say it was a rocky relationship would be an understatement. Aunt Vivian had a firm set of rules and a firmer hand with punishment when those rules were broken. I had learned over time and same rather painful lessons, when to question and when to keep quiet, fearful but grateful to have a place to call home.
 

However lacking her parenting skills, she did have the funds to ensure that I never lacked for anything. I was sent to the best schools, had the best clothes, and went to the best places. She had given me everything she had, except the time and the love that I so desperately needed. The older I became, the less time we spent together, each of us going our own direction. By the time I went off to college, we had become strangers. I never saw her again after that. Didn’t really even hear from her except for the obligatory and stilted phone calls on holidays and birthdays.
 

Time passed, and then when I was 20, I got the phone call. Aunt Vivian was gone. She’d suffered a massive coronary, and there had been nothing they could do. I flew back to arrange the funeral. Sold the house and most of the furniture, and donated her personal items to charity. There was nothing there I really wanted that belonged to her. I didn’t want to be reminded of my time there. The exception was my Grandmothers silver service. That belonged to me. I packed it in my suitcase and left, closing the door on the house and the memories it held. For the first time in my life, I was completely on my own, with no one to answer to. No one to judge me. Just me. Completely alone.

Five years later, I had gone to dinner with Trinity and found a new family. Mama D had taken me into the fold and I had found a place to belong. A good place, full of laughter, acceptance and love. Now, as we pulled up to Mama D’s, I knew I had two to three days ahead of me of constant hovering, home-cooked meals and lots of tender loving care. I could hardly wait.

IT WAS RIGHT
after breakfast on my second day there, that Mama D led Jonas Hill into the kitchen.
 

“This man says he knows you and needs to have a word,” Mama D announced. “Is that so?”

Mama D looked ready to toss Jonas out on his ear if I indicated that he wasn’t welcome, the thought of which, had me smiling as I assured her that I did indeed know him. She got him settled at the table with a cup of coffee and one of her famous homemade cinnamon rolls, before heading out to the garden to give us some privacy.
 

I hadn’t seen Jonas since our blow up at the hospital several days earlier. The guard he had posted at my door had disappeared sometime the next day. I wasn’t concerned. No matter how angry Jonas was with me, I knew he would never have called off the guard if he thought there was any danger. I had filled Trinity in on what had happened with Jonas, and she was as confused and frustrated as I was about what was happening. I’d had a lot of time to think about things while in the hospital. I still didn’t have any answers, but I thought I had a better grasp on things.
 

“I hope you’re here to tell me some good news,” I started in while he lifted the roll, plate and all to his nose and inhaled deeply.

“Yes, and no,” he replied, finally taking a bite out of the roll. “We’ve just identified your friend Denzel from his prints. Records indicate he’s one Marcus Adams out of Omaha.” Jonas frowned as he stopped to take a sip of coffee. “ I don’t know about you, but Marcus didn’t impress me as having come in off the farm. I found him to be a little more uptown.”
 

I nodded my agreement, wondering where this was going. The last time we’d talked about Denzel, er, Marcus it hadn’t gone well and I had decided to keep quiet until I saw where Jonas was heading.

“That’s the good news. Bad news is, all we have is a name and a location. Nothing else.” He finished off the roll and stood up. Strolling over to the window, he watched Mama D working the garden, obviously waiting for me to say something.
 

“A dead-end?” I asked, not just a little confused. Jonas was good at his job and I had no doubt that if there was information to be had, he would have found it.

“A big one. We have an identification, which I am almost certain is false, and a body, and that’s pretty much it.”

I digested this while Jonas toured the kitchen and headed into the living room. Picking up my coffee, I followed him, mulling over the implications of Jonas’s news in my head. Everyone has a past. Everyone leaves a paper trail. The fact that Marcus didn’t, meant he had friends in high places. Someone who could make him disappear. I felt my muscles tense, as my gaze flew to the window, and the street beyond. Marcus Adams wasn’t working alone. Someone else was out there.
 

Picking up a Christmas photo taken a few years ago, Jonas held it up to me, chuckling, “Don’t you ever feel funny being the only white child in a black family?”

“No, I don’t, and shame on you for saying such a thing,” I chided, taking the photo from him. He might have been joking, but it still bothered me, his tease being a reminder that prejudice still existed. He looked at the photo and saw the color. I looked at it and all I saw was love. I had come for Christmas dinner and afterward we had set up the camera and taken a group photo. It had been a happier time then, before Kevin had been killed. Before I had met Keith and lost him. We hadn’t known what the future held, but we had endured. We had supported each other through staggering heartache and loss and formed a bond that would last a lifetime.
 

Looking at the photo now, I realized this family of mine was in danger now. Marcus Adams worked for someone and now Marcus was dead. If Marcus had been after me, I was willing to bet there was someone else already in place to step into his recently vacated shoes. Well great. Just great.
 

Jonas watched the emotions play over my face and reached out to take the photo from my hands.
 

“I’ll drive you home,” he said softly. I nodded and headed out to the garden to say my goodbyes.

TEN

JONAS NOT ONLY drove me home, but he came in and searched the place too. As he was looking in closets and under the bed, I found myself more and more concerned. Just in case he hadn’t noticed, I informed him his paranoia was freaking me out, which didn’t stop him from going out to check the balcony.
 

When he finally left, after ordering me to lock the door and set the alarm, I couldn’t have been more relieved. As nice as it was to be mothered and pampered by Mama D, there really was no place like home. Surprised at the thought, I headed into the kitchen to put on a pot of coffee.

After Keith died, I was sure I would never have that feeling again. That wherever I lived, at the end of the day, it would always be a ‘place’, not a home. I was even more convinced when I sold the house that Keith and I had bought right after the wedding. We had furnished it ourselves, enjoying picking out the furniture together. I had lasted nearly six months after the funeral before I couldn’t stand being in the house for another minute without him. Every room held a memory, every piece of furniture a story. I sold the house and everything in it. I would never forget him, but the sadness of the empty house tore at my heart every time I opened the door.
 

I had moved into the city, bought a brand new condo and new furniture, determined to make a new home with new memories. However, regardless of my intent, my new place had remained just that. A new place. Until now. This was the first time I had come through the door, relieved to be here. Maybe it was all the turmoil of the past week, or the hospital stay, or maybe a new sense of awareness came along with the Telekinesis thing. Whatever the reason, I thought, as I took my cup of coffee and snuggled into my sofa, I was glad. I had finally come home.

THE RINGING OF the phone brought me up with a jolt. I’d fallen asleep on the sofa, and now, the blaring of the phone was having a definite impact on my ability to wake up enough to coordinate getting off the sofa and locate where I had laid the cordless phone.
 

“Yeah?” I mumbled when I finally found the phone, which was unaccountably sitting in its charging base where it should have been. Go figure.
 

“I’m coming over with dinner and a plan.” It was Trinity and from the sound of the background noise, she was in her car.
 

Glancing out the window, I saw the lengthened shadows and realized I must have been out for quite some time. As I watched, a patrol car slid slowly by and parked just up the street from the building. Hm. Interesting.

“Are you listening to me? Hello? Hello?”

“Yes, I’m listening.” I may not have been totally focused on the subject at hand, my mind still on the patrol car sitting outside, but I had the gist of it. “You’re coming over with dinner and a plan.”

“That’s right. I’ll be there in 10. You have stuff to drink?”

I abandoned my post at the window and wondered over to the refrigerator to peruse the contents. “I have diet Coke, water and week old tea.”

“Coke is good, I’m bringing pizza. See you in a few.”

Pizza again? That was a first. Not that I was complaining. She hung up and I tossed the phone on the counter while I dumped the tea down the drain. Any good southerner knows, tea is best fresh. Nothing worse tasting than old iced tea, unless it’s tea from a metal dispenser. Yuck.

 
Another peek out the window let me know the patrol car was still there and I decided to give Jonas a ring to check it out. Picking up my cell I discovered I had slept through a couple of calls and a voice mail. Second time that had happened. This falling asleep thing was getting to be a habit. I could excuse it this time because I had a concussion, after all, but still, I had never slept through calls before and it bothered me that I had. Of course, a lot of things were bothering me lately. Not the least of which was this whole business with Marcus and the police now stationed outside.
 

I listened to a voice mail from Jonas proving my suspicions were right about the patrol car. That was his handiwork. I shook myself as a feeling of unease tensed the muscles in my back. Jonas was worried, and that worried me. The second caller had blocked his number and didn’t leave a message. It wasn’t all that unusual, probably a wrong number, but something to let Jonas know about, just in case. Looking around I noticed the shadows deepening in the condo and flipping on a light, made my way around until I had checked all the windows and made sure they were locked up tight and the alarm was on. So much for feeling safe and secure.

By the time Trinity arrived with the pizza, I had managed to splash some water on my face and run a brush through my hair. I actually looked half way presentable or so I thought before I opened the door to Trinity.