Hearts in Darkness (2 page)

"I guess I might as well get comfortable, too, then,” she said, as much to fill the dark silence as to make small talk with him. She found the back corner of the elevator and sat down, then carefully stretched her legs out in front of her and crossed her ankles. She smoothed her skirt over her thighs and then rolled her eyes at her actions. It wasn't like he could get a peek right now anyway.

She couldn't tell how much time was passing. The darkness was so disorienting. Not a hint of ambient light filtered in anywhere. Her impulse was to use the led on her cell phone to shed some bluish light on their predicament, but its battery was currently somewhere in the elevator lobby of her floor. And, because this day was what it was, she'd drained the battery to her laptop earlier, so it wasn't any use either.

She wished she knew what Good Sam looked like. His aftershave was clean scented. She bit back a laugh as the thought of running her nose up his throat dashed through her head.

She twiddled her thumbs, counting to a hundred twiddles as she also shook her ankles back and forth.

Why isn't he saying anything? Maybe he's shy. Or maybe you shocked and awed him with your graceful entrance, elegant nervous breakdown, and sexy snorting. Yeah, clearly that's it.

Caden wished Red would laugh again, or at least talk. Her reminders about just how goddamned dark it was in this suffocating box of an elevator had quickly reawakened his anxiety. When the tightness settled back into his chest, he'd sat down so he didn't embarrass himself by passing out or some shit and kicked her when he'd stretched out his legs. She hadn't uttered more than two sentences since.

Good going, man.

He heard her over there fidgeting and sighing and shifting. He started concentrating on the sound of her legs shaking against the short-napped carpet of the elevator floor, and the distraction helped him slow his breathing. The deep breath he finally pulled into his lungs relieved and surprised him.

Caden was kind of a loner. He had a few close friends—people who'd known him most of his life and knew what happened when he was fourteen—but otherwise he didn't spend much time talking to people he didn't know. Part of that he did himself. The ink and the piercings and the skull trim all gave off an antisocial vibe, even if that was more image than reality. So it was odd for him to siphon calmness off another person the way he was doing with Red. He didn't even know what she looked like, for God's sake, or what her name was.

There was one way to fix that. “Hey, Red?” His voice sounded loud in the small space after the long moments of quiet. “What's your name?” he asked in a quieter voice.

She cleared her throat. “Everyone calls me M.J. You?"

"Caden. Is M.J. your name, or just what everyone calls you?"

She chuckled. “Well,
Caden
"—her emphasis on his name brought an unexpected smile to his face—"my name is Makenna, but M.J. seems to have stuck."

"What's the J for?"

"My last name is James."

"Makenna James,” he whispered. He liked the name. It fit all that thick, luscious red hair. “You should go by Makenna. It suits you.” Caden grimaced as he waited for her reaction to his unsolicited opinion. His mouth had worked faster than his brain.

"Hmm,” she replied noncommittally. He thought he'd offended her until she continued, “Well, one advantage of M.J. is it doesn't make me stand out in my firm."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm the only woman."

"What do you do?"

"Are we playing Twenty Questions now?"

He grinned. He liked a woman who gave as good as she got. For an instant, the darkness felt almost freeing—she wouldn't be able to judge his appearance. And he was enjoying her openness. “Why not?"

She laughed softly. “Well, in that case, I've answered a lot more than you. What's your last name?"

"Grayson. Caden Grayson."

"And what do
you
do, Mr. Grayson?"

He swallowed thickly at the sound of her saying his name that way. It...did things to him. “Um"—he cleared his throat—"I'm a paramedic.” Caden had known what he wanted to be since he was a teenager. It wasn't easy seeing other people, other families, in situations like the one that'd changed his life, but he'd felt called to do it.

"Wow. That's great. Very impressive."

"Yeah. It pays the bills,” Caden said, embarrassed at the compliment. He wasn't used to receiving them. As he thought, he brushed a hand back and forth against the short-trimmed hairs on the top of his head. His fingers trailed over his most prominent scar. “How about you?” When she chuckled, he wondered what amused her.

"I'm an accountant, and, before you die of boredom over there, I do forensic accounting, so it's not as bad as it sounds."

He found himself laughing, though he wasn't sure why. Something about her just made him feel good. “Well, that's very...interesting."

"Shut up.” She chuckled again.

He grinned broadly. “Good comeback."

She huffed and her voice sounded amused. “If I could see you, I'd smack you."

The sudden reference to the darkness chased the smile from his face. He gulped down a deep breath through his constricting throat.

"Hey, where'd you go?"

"Nowhere.” He couldn't help the shortness in his tone, though his frustration was more at himself than her. He didn't like losing his shit, certainly not in front of other people.

"I'm sorry. Um...I wouldn't really hit you, you know."

And just like that, she refocused him, and he was flirting again. “Oh, well, I feel better now,” he said. It was true. He rolled his head on his shoulders to release some of the tension in his neck. She was quiet for a while, making him wonder if she really thought he'd been upset about her comment. He didn't like the idea she might be feeling badly. “Um, I'm a little claustrophobic is all. So, if you could, maybe, stop mentioning it's dark in here, even though...shit."

"What?"

"Well, obviously it's dark, but I can avoid thinking about how tight and...close it is in here when you're talking—just, talk about something else.” He rubbed his hand roughly over his skull trim knowing he sounded like a complete idiot, which was why he didn't often get to know anyone beyond his small circle.

But her reply sounded completely earnest. “Oh, okay. Well, then, what should I talk about?"

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"Well, hell. I don't know. How about that game of Twenty Questions?"

Makenna smiled at his gruffness but couldn't blame him. She'd be freaking out if she were claustrophobic and thought he had to be strong to sit there so calmly. She wondered if that was why he'd been so quiet earlier and decided to help him through their hopefully temporary confinement.

"Okay. You go first."

"Okay.” He was quiet for a moment, then said, “What's a forensic accountant?"

"An accountant who analyzes accounting and business practices as part of an investigation, like for litigation."

"Oh, well, that actually does sound interesting. Like detective work."

She appreciated his effort, but was so used to people developing narcolepsy at the mere mention of being an accountant that she wasn't sure if he was being serious. “Are you making fun of me?"

"Not at all,” he replied. The speed of his words confirmed his sincerity.

"Okay, then. My turn?"

"Fire away."

Makenna smiled. “Did I see a tattoo on your hand?"

He didn't answer right away. “Yeah. It's the head of a dragon."

Makenna didn't have any tattoos—she was too afraid it would hurt to get one—but she'd always been a little fascinated by them. “Is it just the head?"

"Hey, it's my turn now."

"That wasn't a new question,” she argued, “that was simply a clarification of my previous question."

"I thought you were an accountant, not a lawyer.” He chuckled. “Fine. The whole dragon's on my arm and its head's on the back of my hand. Now, is it my turn, counselor?"

Makenna couldn't help but smile at his sarcasm. Growing up with three brothers had taught her the fine art of banter. “You may proceed."

He laughed and she liked the ring of it. “How very magnanimous of you."

"Ooh, pulling out the sat words now, are we?"

"What? A guy with a tattoo can't use a four-syllable word?"

Makenna sucked in a breath, then sighed. “I wish I could see your face so I could tell if you're being serious or not.” Then, just in case her indirect reference to the darkness bothered him, she hurried to add, “That's
so
not what I was saying. Just yanking your chain. It's your turn, already."

His low chuckle made her smile in relief. “Yeah, yeah. Okay. What made a girl like you become an accountant?"

A girl like me?

"A girl like me?” Makenna frowned and awaited his explanation. She couldn't begin to fathom what he meant. Growing up in a houseful of boys turned her into a tomboy from as early as she could remember. Although her college roommates introduced her to girly things like dresses and skirts and lingerie and makeup, she still thought of herself as just one of the guys. Nothing remarkable. Certainly not the kind of girl her brothers drooled over.

"Just...” Caden sighed and murmured something she couldn't understand. “You're pretty."

Makenna went from flattered to perturbed and back again. In the end, she couldn't decide which emotion to settle on.

"Um, shit, that didn't come out right either. I mean, you
are
pretty, but of course pretty girls can be smart. I mean—shit, I'm just gonna stop talking now."

Makenna finally settled on amused and burst out laughing. “Yes, now would be a good time to put down that shovel.” Getting more serious, she said, “Well, and this will no doubt up my geek factor to you, but I was always very good at math, and numbers just came easy to me. I didn't really want to go into the theoretical side of it and teach. And then my oldest brother became a cop. He told me about forensic accounting."

Caden didn't respond, and Makenna was almost certain she'd put him to sleep. Then he said, quietly, “I really like the sound of your voice."

Makenna's flush ran down into the neck of her silk blouse. Saying she was pretty hadn't gotten to her, but his saying he liked her voice set butterflies loose in her stomach.

"Me, too. I mean, your voice. I like it, too. Your voice, that is.” Makenna bit her lip to cut off the spectacular stream of nonsense coming out of her mouth, then pretended to thunk herself in the forehead. In that moment, she was glad for the darkness.

Caden felt lucky Makenna was as easygoing as she was, because if he put his foot in his mouth one more time, he was sure she'd make good on her threat to smack him. First, he jumped to conclusions, assuming she'd judged him when she learned of his tattoo. He'd just been so disappointed she might disapprove of him even without seeing him. Then, his verbal filter failed, and he'd called her pretty. He'd been thinking of her red hair again and, without a doubt, it was pretty, beautiful even, but it slipped out without him thinking about the caveman way he'd phrased the question. And then he'd actually admitted he liked her voice. It was true, but he didn't need to be saying that shit out loud.

But then she'd said it too. And the dynamic shifted back in his favor. She'd stumbled over her own compliment. He thought maybe, just maybe, she enjoyed him saying he liked her voice.

He searched his mind to think of another question, one that ran less risk of him encountering bodily harm at her hand. He finally came up with “How many brothers do you have?” He probably should've thought of something else, but the words were out of his mouth.

Her voice sounded like she was smiling. “Three. Patrick's the oldest. He's the one who became a cop. Ian's next. And Collin's a year younger than me. Do you have any siblings?"

"His name was Sean. He was two years younger than me.” Caden waited, suspecting Makenna would pick up on his use of the past tense.

Finally, her response came. “I'm sorry. I can't imagine losing one of my brothers. That must've been very hard. Can I ask how long ago he...you lost him?"

Something about the darkness made it safe to share some of this story. She couldn't see his grimace, or the glassy brightness of his eyes. She couldn't wonder about the way he flexed his right shoulder so he could feel the skin over his shoulder blade move where Sean's name was inked. And she couldn't see the crescent-shaped scar on the right side of his head he always fingered when he got tangled in memories of his brother.

"I'm sorry. You don't have to talk about it."

"Don't apologize. I don't talk about him often, but maybe I should. He died when I was fourteen. He was twelve. That was fourteen years ago.” As he said the words, Caden could hardly believe he'd been alive longer without Sean than he'd been with him. He'd been the best friend Caden ever had.

Makenna burned to reach out to him. She shoved her hands flat under her thighs to keep from seeking out a hand to hold or a shoulder to squeeze. She didn't know this man from Adam, but she hurt for him. Two years ago when Patrick was shot in the line of duty, she'd experienced a kind of terror she never wanted to feel again. And she could only imagine the way that feeling would've been amplified if he hadn't pulled through. She could hear it in Caden's voice.

But she couldn't resist some small gesture, so she said, “Thanks for sharing that, Caden. That's so damn young. I'm really sorry."

"Thanks,” came his whispered reply. “So"—he cleared his throat—"how old are you?"

Makenna figured he'd appreciate her lightening things up, so she said in her most haughty voice, “Why, Mr. Grayson, what kind of question is that to ask a lady?"

"You're fascinated with numbers, so I'd think you'd be happy to tell me about this one."

She smiled as the good humor returned to his voice. “Fine.” She exaggerated a sigh. “I'm twenty-five."

"A mere babe."

"Shut up, old man."

He barked out a laugh that made her grin.

A comfortable silence enveloped them. But now, without the conversation to distract her, Makenna was hot. It might've been the end of September, but the daytime temperature still felt like the middle of the summer. The lack of air conditioning was starting to make a difference inside the old elevator, and her silk blouse clung uncomfortably.