Perfect Timing (28 page)

That’s when Aidan began to wonder what might happen if Isabel needed him. Maybe nothing. Maybe she’d reach out. And before he knew it, Aidan was turning gesture into possibility. He made the executive decision that
98.6—The Normal FM for Easy Listening
change its format, giving the outrageous order that the radio station prove itself with an on-demand audience. In turn, it made him the only viable solution to the problem. It was an incredible risk. Aidan couldn’t fathom the devastation if Isabel rejected any notion of him coming to her aid. The waiting had left him on edge, his ridiculous arrest the last thing he wanted on Isabel’s mind. He shifted restlessly, thinking he should have been more direct. Maybe he should have showed up on her doorstep with his heart and a mega check in hand. Why not? It seemed like a slam-dunk move. Slam-dunk if it was anyone but Isabel. She’d see it as a flashy attempt to buy her, and arguably she would be right. Dropping in on her life would have led to a lopsided ten-second opportunity to reconnect. He needed to be invited. And much to his amazement, according to his mother, he had been. He understood that it was just an opportunity. That he could end up doing nothing more than performing a benefit concert and Isabel writing him a lovely thank-you note. There was a man named Nate Potter, someone who, in a heartbeat, could render him meaningless. He sucked in a breath, the image harsh in his head. Aidan rubbed a hand around the snake, expecting to find an ink-stained hand. It wasn’t the obvious that haunted him: body art, marketing tool, branding, sexy fodder, a universal danger sign in the world of rock ’n’ roll, but the symbolism about which he’d been warned. Neither the snake nor Isabel was ever going away. Aidan was aware of the uncharted future. For a guy who’d never suffered a bout of stage fright, the approaching moment was wildly unnerving. He couldn’t recall the last time anything had sparked such a buzz in his soul. It was never money or fame or even thousands of people screaming his name—it was always Isabel. Exactly as he’d told her. As the plane pushed east, on a physical course bound for Providence, Aidan leaned back and closed his eyes, praying for the same destination.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Providence, Rhode Island

N
ORMALLY,
T
ANYA
AND
M
ARY
L
OUISE WOULD BE GONE BY FIVE O’CLOCK
, but they’d hung around, recapping the last of the
104.7
brainstorming ideas. A few minutes after five, they unanimously agreed that every reasonable option had been exhausted. At the very least, they would go down together.

“I guess that’s it,” Mary Louise said, straightening an unusually disheveled desk. “I’m going to tell Joe everything tonight.” She smiled at Isabel. “Did I tell you that his brother’s fishing business in Florida has really taken off? Maybe tonight we can talk about how nice it would be to spend next winter there.”

“Florida. That means you’d have to move.”

“It’s just an idea, Isabel.”

“But Joe gets seasick, which is why he stuck to building boats, and you fry like a lobster,” she said, a hand flailing at Mary Louise’s ghostly skin.

“There’s always Dramamine and 80-plus sunblock. We’re only exploring our options, even if it means relocating. Maybe this is for the best. I happen to know a gem of a guy who’d love it if you changed your address.”

Finishing a cup of coffee, a hum rang from Isabel’s throat. Before she could add words, Tanya cleared hers, drawing their attention. “I, um, meant to say something before, Isabel. I’m sorry my theory about Aidan was so off the mark. I just thought . . . Well, we all know I’m the last person who should be tossing around her two-bit theories on romance.”

“It’s okay, Tanya. Obviously, I couldn’t have been more wrong about him—across the board. No harm done.” Isabel turned in her chair, round-filing scraps of paper where hope had been scribbled.

“I’ve got to get going too. Big Eddie has all three kids. He’s been a huge help with the midnight oil we’ve been burning. He really was the best of the lot.”

“He was,” agreed Mary Louise. “If only he could have quit taking the rent money to Foxwoods.”

“If only,” Tanya wondered, her romantic ideals decidedly intact.

“Oh, I nearly forgot,” Mary Louise said, moving a stack of papers. “Patrick called while you were in with Rudy.” Another hum radiated out of Isabel, having delivered their epic fail to a dismayed station manager. “He asked if you’d call him back on his cell.”

It barely registered. Her mind was still reeling from the letdown of not coming through. “Okay, I’ll call him.” Retrieving her cell phone from her purse, Isabel saw three missed calls from Patrick. “Damn,” she murmured, “how did this end up on silent?” Isabel sat up straighter, trading an anxious glance with Mary Louise. “With everything going on here, I haven’t talked to my dad since early last week. Patrick probably just wants to know what’s up.”

“Yeah, that’s probably it,” Tanya said, smoothing a crumpled Dunkin’ Donuts napkin. “I’m sorry; I forgot too. He called this morning. I was here early thinking my contact from
JMX-Classic Rock
in Dallas might have left a message. I wasn’t awake.” She handed her the chocolate-smeared napkin, Isabel reaching for a more reliable landline. A call to Patrick went straight to voicemail. A call to her father brought the same result. She dialed Nate. When that went to voicemail, she tried his apartment. He was supposed to be off after spending the weekend on call. She almost hung up when a woman answered. There was a brief exchange, Nate having mentioned that Jenny would be in town. She’d spent the last year living out of a duffel bag, and she was coming by to collect the rest of her things. After identifying one another, she said that Nate had returned to the hospital early that morning. It was all Isabel needed to hear.

“I can stay,” Mary Louise said. But her tote bag was in one hand, a pile of Sunday circulars that Tanya brought in bulk stacked in the other. With three children to gather, Tanya was already at the door.

“No, it’s okay.” Dialing Patrick, she missed a number and started over.

Mary Louise turned as she exited the office. “Call if you need me. You know . . .” she said, backing out the door. But before Isabel could reply or dial she heard Tanya gasp. It was like she’d seen a ghost or a unicorn or maybe a snake. Waxy circulars flew through the air, wafting around the doorway. There was an audible “Oh my God!” from Mary Louise as Isabel rushed to the door. Crouched outside were three bodies, one wearing a ball cap. It was a tight huddle, everyone grabbing for the loose pages of Sunday circulars.

“Here, sorry, let me help. I didn’t see you ladies coming.” Isabel propelled backward—about seven years—one, two, three giant steps, until her backside was pinned against the desk. She summoned every form of apathy. But the voice in the air was having none of that, challenging indifference. “I’m looking for Isabel . . . Isabel Lang.”

“There . . . in there,” Mary Louise squeaked.

Isabel’s fingers gripped the desk’s edge. Her heart pounded out an old coded rhythm, her brain insisting it was residual and passé. A thought flashed through her head, something about running away to Las Vegas or Boston. But before she could breathe another breath, or locate a safe exit, it happened. She and Aidan were face-to-face.

His eyes were brighter than she remembered or maybe it was the Dodger blue of the ball cap he wore. It struck her as odd. Isabel didn’t recall Aidan being the ball-cap-wearing type. He grinned, revealing something she did recognize, a feature stitched to that runaway rhythm. “Hello, Isabel.”

“Aidan,” she said, though it came out raspy and unsure.

“Sounds like you haven’t said that in years, or maybe even thought it.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” she said, glancing at documentation that confessed as much. She wanted to burn the evidence. Clearly, old habits died hard.

“My, um . . . Stella . . .” She watched him draw a deep breath. She couldn’t read him, like a forgotten parlor trick, and she hung tighter to the cold metal edge of the desk. “My mother gave me your message.” Before she could reply with,
“That’s okay, I already got the one from Anne,”
he changed the subject. “You look . . . You’re as pretty as the night of the gala.” There was a slight bob to her head. “I’m sorry,” he said, sounding as if he’d come all that way to say as much. “I never told you that night, and I should have.”

“Didn’t you?” she said, lying. “Well, nothing really went as expected that night. Did it?” He smiled at humor that seemed to have lost its rhythm. “Your mother, how is she . . . Stella?”

“She’s great. She lives in Boca Raton.”

“I know. I mean, I thought of it after I tried Catswallow information. I remembered that she talked about Boca, that your dad left her the condo. It was a shot in the dark. There weren’t too many ways of getting a hold of you. You, um, changed your cell number.”

“A few hundred times.”

“I’m sure. Anyway . . .” She stopped, not wanting to review any more desperate measures. “I hope I didn’t bother her.”

“You didn’t. She’d been away in Hawaii with some friends.”

There was a nod from Isabel, anxious to conclude six-degrees of separation from Aidan Royce. “I figured the one thing you’d take care of would be Stella.” There was a pause, the remark hitting the air more accusatory than complimentary. “I mean, I bet she’s seen the world thanks to you.”

“The better resorts anyway. You know Stella. Give her an umbrella drink and a conga line. But you’re right. It’s been one of the perks, doing that for her. She called with your message.”

“My message,” Isabel repeated, as if one of them was speaking another language.

“Yes, your message. That you, um, needed me.”

Isabel blinked wide, her bottom slumping onto the desk. For a second she was utterly confused. Anne and her entourage had made things perfectly clear. Then she recalled the exceptions to the Aidan Roycroft rules, honor thy mother being the only item on the list. Scattered sweet Stella always had a soft spot for Isabel, and her son was standing there out of respect for his mother, maybe a good browbeating—something she might dole out if Aidan showed too much swagger. Suddenly, her message to Stella seemed more pathetic than her Hail Mary pass to Fitz. “Okay, even so, I thought you’d call . . . like, on the phone,” she said, pointing to the one on the desk. Her fingers flitted fast, tucking her hair behind her ear. “And what do you mean,
I needed you
?” She untucked her hair, deciding she didn’t care for the sound of that.

“That’s what she said. That you needed me to come right away.”

“I didn’t say any such thing.” Isabel popped up from the desk and scooted around to the inside. “I only asked if you could call back.”

“Okay, either way,” he said. “Here I am. You know it’s not my nature to do things halfway. I took it as urgent, your need to see me.”

“Urgent?” she said. “You flatter yourself, Aidan.”

“All right, pressing. A pressing need to see me.”

“Important. Maybe, just maybe, I used the word
important
.”

“Fine,” he said, teeth gritted. “Important!”

“Wow, would you listen to that.” Their heads snapped simultaneously toward Tanya. “Sorry. I’ve just always wondered what it would take for someone to get on Isabel’s last nerve—and so quickly.” In reply Aidan pulled the cap from his head, Isabel rolling her eyes. Apparently, deep-rooted Southern manners had survived Aidan Royce.

“This is Tanya Mariano and Mary Louise . . . Mary Louise . . .”

“Bland,” she prompted.

“Bland . . . of course. They work with me; I work with them.”

“Ladies, nice to meet you. Sorry, again, about the traffic jam. My fault.”

They offered mouth-gaping greetings, Tanya continuing with unfiltered thoughts, “Gosh, that tattoo does make a statement, especially in person.”

“Isabel gets the credit,” he said, glancing at her. “Just one of a thousand incredible things that happened in Vegas . . . that summer.” She listened to Aidan make small talk, standing there as if he popped into her office every evening at five.

“Funny, that’s kind of the way Isabel told it.”

“She told you . . .”

“Everything,” Tanya assured him. Isabel felt her face blush, recalling the level of detail she’d shared with Tanya. His face showed a sudden look of surprise, Isabel guessing he was trying to summon the obscure memory.

“To be honest, if you add it all up, I’m not even sure the tattoo makes the list.”

“You can say that again.” Feeling like a footnote, Isabel arranged a pile of papers bound for the shredder. “Like he said, it was a year full of shockers.”

“Isabel, I—”

She looked up, seeing a hard swallow bob through his throat. Her eyes locked on the tattoo, the thick line of his neck, and the smoothness of his skin and something inside her softened. She looked away, her glance bouncing from wall to wall. “Aidan,” she said, focusing on her desktop, “what, for the love of God, are you doing here?”

“I told you, my mother called and said that you needed me. I just—”

“Stop saying it like that,” she said, eyeballing him, any waver of indifference halted. “It wasn’t like I called your mother, hysterical, desperate to see you!”

“Okay—well, you did call.”

“Yes, I suppose.”

“And you said that you needed me?”

“I said I needed your help.”

“So here I am,” he snapped. “Do you think this was easy, Isabel? Do you have any idea what it took for me to come here?”

“Why? Am I interrupting the wild life and times of Aidan Royce? Though I appreciate the risk, wasn’t crossing state lines a condition of bail?”

“That was last time,” he shot back, narrow-eyed glares passing between them. “Seriously, Isabel, whatever’s happened between us, did you think that if you ever called I wouldn’t come?”

Her lips pursed tight, eyes welling. “In a million years,” she said, arms wrapped in a straightjacket grip, “I never thought I’d call.”

“I see,” he said, a deeper bob riding his throat. A taut thread of silence wove through the room. It was like barbed wire. The phone rang, granting a reprieve, and Isabel snatched it up. As she listened, her gaze tangled with Aidan’s. It was the draw of a magnet, the pull of the tide, or maybe something stronger, like their past. As the sentences sunk in, Isabel’s heart thundered, no longer startled by Aidan’s impromptu presence but with absolute fear.

“Isabel? What’s wrong?” She shook her head, holding up a hand.

“When?” she demanded. “Why didn’t he— Yes, of course, I’m on my way. I’m not sure how long.” Cradling the phone with her shoulder, she reached for her purse and rummaged for a set of keys. “Rush-hour traffic . . . I don’t know.” Aidan grabbed the purse and instantly produced the Mass General key ring that held them. “I’ll be there as quick as I can. Tell . . . tell him I’m coming.” Isabel hung up the phone—twice—fumbling frantically with the receiver. While grabbing the keys and running was not only appropriate but necessary she looked to Aidan, plainly telling him what she needed, “It’s my father. I have to get to him.”