That Summer Night (Callaways #6) (5 page)

"Not so bad, is it?" Reid asked.

"Not so bad," she echoed. "Do you have neighbors?"

"A few. Some of the houseboats are used as vacation rentals. I rarely run into anyone."

"It doesn't get lonely?"

"I know where to find the action, if I want it."

"The Cadillac Lounge?"

"Among others." He fell silent, his gaze back on the view. Then he added, "It's going to be okay, Shayla."

"Is it?" she asked, not at all sure
okay
was even a remote possibility.

"With time, yes. You won't forget, but you'll find a way to go on. Because that's all you can do."

"You sound like you speak from experience."

He shot her a quick look. "Unfortunately, I do."

She stared back at him. "I have nightmares every night. I haven't slept for more than a few hours at a time since I got back. When I close my eyes, I see the gunman and the wide, shocked eyes of the man I was supposed to help." She bit down on her bottom lip. "Tonight was the first time I said any of that out loud."

"You need to talk, to let it out."

"Really? That doesn't sound like the kind of advice a man like you would take."

He tipped his head. "We're not talking about me."

"Why would I be different?"

"Because you are."

"The Chief of Psychiatry at St. Paul's, the hospital where I work, called me yesterday and said his door was always open. He had spoken to Tom, another resident, who was in Colombia with me. Tom had gone in for some counseling and suggested I might need some, too. But I couldn't talk to him. I said I'd think about it."

"Tell me about Tom. Was he injured in the attack?"

"No, he wasn't at the clinic at all. He was back in the apartment building where we were staying. He didn't know anything until the local police got him out of his apartment and took him to the embassy. They evacuated us out of the country the next morning."

"Just you and Tom?"

She nodded. "We were the only Americans besides Robert. The other members of our team were from Australia and Germany. They were also sent home, but not with us."

"Have you talked to Tom about your experience?"

"A little, but not the part about me failing my patient. I haven't been able to tell anyone that—until tonight, until you forced me to talk in exchange for your help, which you still haven't given me."

"I'm still thinking about it."

"I didn't realize you were such a thoughtful man. The few times Robert spoke of you he described you as a man of action, a fearless, courageous warrior."

"That's what he said about me?"

"Pretty much in those words," she said. "But when I asked him more about you, he shut up. He certainly never told me what went down between you. I'm kind of shocked about all that. And Lisa never said a word to me, either. Not that I know her very well, but we've had a few dinners together."

"I don't want to talk about her."

She could understand that. "So, getting back to Robert…"

"Right. Tell me what Robert said to you on the phone this morning."

She tried to remember his exact words. "He wanted to know if anyone from the FBI or State Department had spoken to me. I said that I'd been interviewed by both agencies."

"What did they ask you?"

"They wanted to know about the attack, what I could remember, whether I could identify anyone, and I said no. The men had masks on. I didn't see their faces. They asked me about Robert, where he was, when I last saw him, where I thought he might be now. I said I had no idea. They also questioned me about the clinical trial, whether Robert had said anything to me about the data."

"Had he?"

"Not really. And since I only worked with bits and pieces of data, I had no idea how the trial was going. I wasn't seeing the whole picture, which is not at all uncommon by the way."

"Okay. What else did Robert say to you this morning?"

"He asked me to get him something from his office, to make sure that no one saw me do it. He wanted me to give you the item and ask you to meet him on Sunday."

"Why Sunday? Why not tomorrow?"

"He said he didn't know how long it would take him to get there or how long it would take me to convince you to help him."

"And he thought three days would be enough?" Reid asked dryly.

She shrugged. "I guess."

"Where am I supposed to meet him?"

"I'm not sure. He said to give you this quote.
It is not the mountain we conquer but ourselves
. Do you know what that means?"

The spark in his eyes told her he knew exactly what it meant.

"Yes, I know what it means."

Relief ran through her. "Good."

"Did you bring whatever you're supposed to give me?"

She shook her head. "No. I was waiting until late tonight to go down to the hospital."

"What are you trying to get?"

"Well, it's kind of weird. Robert told me to get the present I'd given him last year for his birthday. He wouldn't let me say what it was on the phone. He was afraid someone might be listening in on our call, which sounds really creepy, but I'm hoping that wasn't the case. Anyway, what I gave him was a notebook, an artist's sketchpad. When Robert gets stressed, he likes to draw. It helps him to relax. He told me that when he was a little kid he would draw his own comic books."

A glimmer of something shifted in Reid's gaze, as if her words had touched a deeply buried nerve.

"I remember that," he muttered. "
The Amazing Adventures of Razor and Rocco
." He blew out a breath. "I haven't thought about that story in years. Robert would spend hours on those pictures. It was the only thing he did that ever distracted him from his studies. Of course, he was as good at illustrating comics as he was at everything else," he added dryly. "My parents' pride in him knew no bounds."

"They must have been proud of you, too."

"I gave them more headaches than feelings of pride."

She wasn't surprised. She had a feeling that Reid had raised a lot of hell in his life. His hard edges had no doubt come from pushing the limits, which had probably made him a very good soldier. And that was probably why Robert wanted Reid's help, something he still hadn't promised to give.

"So Robert asked you to get this sketchpad and give it to me?" Reid asked.

"Yes, he must have written something down in it that's important."

"And he didn't have it in Colombia?"

She thought about that for a moment. She did remember seeing Robert working on something, but had it been that notebook? "I don't know. I don't think so."

"When was the last time Robert was in his office here in San Francisco?"

"He made several trips back here during the three months that I was in Colombia."

"It looks like our next step is to get that notebook. I'll get my keys."

"And you'll let me drive," she said firmly. "You've been drinking. I'm sober."

"Do you know how to drive a stick?"

"Of course, I do. Five brothers, remember? And a father who insisted I learn how to check the oil and change a tire."

"Fine. You can drive."

"Good." She paused, pleased by the sparkling light in Reid's eyes. "You're going to help Robert, aren't you?" she asked hopefully.

"We'll see," he prevaricated. "Right now I'm going to help you get that notebook. Let's take it one step at a time."

"You really don't like to make long-term commitments, do you?" she asked in frustration.

"No," he admitted. "Not anymore."

As he turned away, she realized that the last time he'd probably made a long-term commitment was when he had asked Lisa to marry him.

Chapter Five

He could make a commitment, Reid thought, as Shayla drove them to the hospital. He could commit to a plan of action, to his fellow soldiers and to his friends. If he said he'd do something, he did it. If he said he would go somewhere, he went. He prided himself on never making a promise he couldn't keep, which sometimes meant he didn't make promises.

He knew Shayla was frustrated by his unwillingness to commit to helping Robert. And he probably wasn't fooling her any more than he was fooling himself. At some point he would probably agree to meet his brother. He didn't want to. Robert's betrayal had been a knife to the heart, and he could still feel the pain. A part of him thought maybe Robert was just getting what he deserved.

His brother had always been self-absorbed. Everyone around Robert had treated him like a God. Shayla had had the same adoration in her voice when she spoke of her brilliant mentor. Robert had always been the bright light, the sun around which the rest of the world orbited.

As a kid, Reid had felt the same kind of amazement when it came to Robert, but as the years went by he saw Robert start to believe in his own wonderfulness. His brother didn't have to clean his room or mow the lawn or do anything to get his allowance, because according to his parents Robert needed to spend his time on studies. In school Robert had been excused from classes like P.E. and ceramics because they would have slowed down his incredible pace toward an early high school graduation. With all the perks of being a genius, Robert's head, his ego, had swelled to a point where he thought he could do anything he wanted, and someone else would clean up his mess, because that's what people always did. Now, Reid couldn't believe he was actually considering being one of those people.

But it wasn't too late to back out. He hadn't made Shayla the promise she wanted. He was keeping his options open until he knew more about what kind of trouble Robert was involved in. If Robert was at all guilty, he was going to be out the door so fast Shayla's head would spin around.

"You can't bail on me," Shayla said abruptly, interrupting his thoughts.

He turned his head and saw the determination in her eyes. While he didn't care for her words, he appreciated the renewed fighting light in her gaze. It was far better than the hurt, bewilderment and agonizing pain he'd seen earlier when she'd told him what she'd gone through in Colombia. She was bouncing back. That was a good thing. What wasn't a good thing was that she'd read his mind.

"I'm not bailing," he said. "Not yet anyway."

"You always like to keep one foot out the door," she complained, as she stopped the truck at a red light.

"It makes for a faster getaway."

"I promised Robert that I'd get you to meet him."

"That was your promise, not mine."

She sighed. "You're really annoying."

"I've been called worse, sweetheart."

"And I don't like to be called sweetheart," she retorted. "Or babe, or chick, or whatever other word you use for females. I'm not some girl you picked up in a bar. I'm a doctor."

"Okay, Doc," he said with a smile tugging at his lips, because he hadn't felt so challenged or entertained by a woman in a very long time.

The light changed, and Shayla switched gears with an awkward rev of the engine. "Easy," he said. "You have to be gentle with her."

She shot him a quick look. "Seriously? You're worried about this truck? It's about a hundred years old."

"Fourteen years old," he corrected. "She's just coming into her prime."

"You're seriously equating this ugly ass truck with the dented fender and the peeling paint to a woman in her prime?"

He grinned. "I'm not coming off very well tonight, am I?"

"Do you ever?"

"Hey, I think this truck is a beauty. You're the one being judgmental."

Shayla probably would have had more to say if they hadn't reached their destination. She pulled into the parking lot and shut off the engine, all traces of humor fading from her expression as she stared at the hospital and adjacent medical building.

Reid put his hand on the door, but when she didn't make a move, he hesitated, shooting her a thoughtful look. "Are you okay?"

"Sure, of course," she said, her frozen posture not backing up her words. "Why wouldn't I be? I'm just going into Robert's office, like I've done a thousand times. What could be hard about that?"

"Two answers to one question isn't usually a good sign. Have you been in the hospital since you got back?"

"I was there for about an hour. I was having a panic attack for pretty much the whole time. Everyone thought I was sweating and pale because I'd picked up a virus in Colombia. It gave me a good reason to leave quickly."

"When are you supposed to go back?"

"Two weeks. I'll be in the E.R. again, and I'm not sure I'll be ready. I still feel jumpy and nervous. A car backfired the other day, and I thought I was being shot at again. I dove behind a garbage can, and a woman walking her dog looked at me like I was crazy. Maybe I am crazy."

"You're traumatized, not crazy."

She looked at him with frustration in her eyes. "I want to stop feeling so anxious, but I don't know how to get to a calmer place. I keep thinking that things will change when Robert comes back, when I know he's safe, and that whatever happened in Colombia is truly over. Not that I even know if the attack in Colombia and Robert's disappearance are tied together," she added. "He wouldn’t tell me what's going on. He said he didn't want to involve me too much."

"You're looking pretty involved to me," he said dryly, thinking that if Robert had really wanted to keep Shayla out of it, he wouldn’t have called her at all.

"I just have to get his notebook. That's not a big deal, right?"

"It's not. I find the best way to deal with dizzying panic is to narrow your focus. Don't think about tomorrow or next week. Stay in the present. All we have to do tonight is go into an office building, not even the hospital, right?"

"Right. His office is in the medical building next door."

"Great. There's nothing scary about a medical building. You've been in Robert's office before. You know where it is, what you'll see."

"That's true."

"Unless you want to tell me where the notebook is, and I'll see if I can find it on my own?"

Her lips drew together as she shook her head. "No, I'm not sure where it is, but I'll have a better idea where to find it. I can do this." She drew in a long breath and reached for the door handle. "I just have to get out of the truck."