Unbelievable (22 page)

“I’m going to have to come up with a new nickname for you,” I said, tracing his lips with my finger.

“Why? I like Opie,” he said, kissing the tip of my nose.

“Because you kiss way too well for a goodie-goodie like Opie.”

“Lilah, whether someone’s good or bad has nothing to do with how well they kiss. Kissing is an art. In fact, I’ve been studying our kisses and—”

“
Let me get this straight. You’ve been Brain Gaming our kisses?” I asked incredulously.

“Yes. Lilah, does that really surprise you?” He looked at me with a lopsided grin. “I’m trying to perfect my kissing. For instance, I now know just the right amount of pressure to use to make the kiss more enjoyable for you. I’ve learned how to move my lips against yours for maximum enjoyment, and what’s just the right amount of moisture to allow for a slightly moist, yet not too wet kiss.”

I laughed, resting my head on his shoulder. “You’re too funny.”

“The next thing I
hope to figure out is how you like to be held when I kiss you.” He pushed me back a little. “For instance, do you prefer I bury my hands in your hair like this?” He pushed his hands through my curls and kissed me thoroughly. He pulled back way too soon as far as I was concerned.

“Or,” he said, in a low husky voice, “do you prefer I hold you tight?” He slipped his arms around my body and pulled me next to him, kissing me just as thoroughly as the last.

I pulled back, sucking in air. “Yup,” was all I said.

“Yup to which one? Because you seemed to enjoy them both equally.”

“Exactly. A girl likes variety.” I pushed myself back to his mouth. We’d discuss his theories later. Much later.

The next day Cole had to work until six. He called to say hi during one of his breaks, and I invited him over for dinner. I planned to make his beloved Lemon Chicken and set the chicken in a bowl of warm water to thaw while I read my mail.

“Junk. Junk. Junk.” I tore the junk mail in half. I picked up an envelope titled
Occupant
, noting the impeccable handwriting. “Why would anyone use such nice handwriting for junk . . .” A rush surged through me. I knew the writing. It was from Birdie. With a shaky hand, I tore open the letter.

My dearest child,

I need to talk to you. I had my niece set up an email account for me. Access the account immediately. You’ll need a password. It is the name I used to call your father behind his back. Please hurry. Time is growing short.

All my love, Birdie.

I didn’t realize how hard my breathing had become until I found my purse. My free month of internet had expired and I’d have to use my phone.

“Calm, Lilah. You must remain calm.” I wrapped my hands around
the phone, pressing it to my chest. With a shaky hand, I opened the web browser and went to the email site Birdie noted at the bottom of her letter and entered the password: spawnofsatan.

The account loaded. There was one letter.

“Oh, how I’ve missed you. For so long I’ve tried to find you. I needed to talk to you, tell you things too sacred to trust to anyone but
you. What I have to say cannot be put into a letter. I must see you.

Lilah, call this number
below. I’m worried your father will try and trace the call so we will only be able to talk for one minute. Please listen to my instructions closely. We’ll talk more when you get here. I’ll delete this account as soon as you read this letter. I do not trust your father.

Love, Birdie
.”

“That’s it? Some crazy, over-the-top, cryptic message with no explanation whatsoever, and she thinks I’m just going to drop everything to come see her?” I mumbled.

Of course I would. I punched in the number and waited three rings before hearing the dulcet tones of the woman I loved as much as my mother.

“Child, it’s so good to hear your voice. It’s been too long.”

“Birdie! Oh, Birdie, I’ve missed you so much.” Tears welled in my eyes as I dropped onto the couch. Her warm Caribbean accent poured
over my soul like honey. I knew I missed her, but actually hearing her again made me painfully aware of just how much.

“We must talk. It’s very important. Can you meet me?”

“Yes, but why all the secrecy?”

“Your father wants me dead. I can’t risk coming out in the open.”

I shot off the couch. “What? Birdie, how do you know that?”

“We’ll talk when you get here. Now listen. You and I can both get to Raleigh, North Carolina easily. There’s a good size airport there and a shuttle service to most hotels. I’ll
arrive tomorrow morning. There’s a direct flight out of Rochester that leaves tonight at midnight.”

“What? Tonight?” I couldn’t go. What about Cole? And work? I was supposed to start decorating Booker’s office
complex Monday. “Birdie, how about in a couple weeks?”

“No, child. This cannot wait. Things, evil things, have gone on long enough. I’ll meet you tomorrow morning at the Café La Tour at
seven a.m.” She paused. Her voice now soft, almost fragile, as she added, “Lilah, I know this is not much notice, and if there were any other way to do this, I would. Please, please come.”

I hesitated for just a moment before exhaling loudly. “Al
l right, I’ll be there. I love you, Birdie.”

“I love you, too, more than my own life.” And with that declaration she hung up. The entire conversation lasted forty-five seconds.

Nausea welled up inside me. “What if I can’t come back to Port Fare?” Maybe I’d have to go on the run right from Raleigh. The thought of not seeing Cole again sickened me. I knew the day would eventually come. I only hoped it’d be further away.

“Daddy, why are you so stubborn? Why can’t you see these people are innocent?” I mu
ttered to myself, punching the couch. Everything I loved was about to slip through my fingers . . .  again.

I booked the twelve a.m. flight and tried to remain calm as I made dinner. I failed, burning the potatoes. By the time Cole arrived, my nerves were a frazzled mess.

“I really can cook,” I said, remembering the burnt disaster the last time he came over.

“Come, sit down and I’ll massage your shoulders,” Cole said. “Don’t worry about dinner. It can’t be worse than my cooking.” He kissed the top of my head.

I sat on the couch and sighed aloud as he rubbed the ache out of my shoulders I didn’t even know was there. “Okay, I’ve died and gone to heaven. You are truly ‘a minist’ring angel,’”
I said, hoping thoughts of Shakespeare would push the anxiety out, for a little while with anyway.

“
Hamlet,
Act V, Scene 1,” he quipped.

“Okay, smarty pants. Try this one. ‘
Love looks not with the eyes but with the mind.’”

“Easy.
A Midsummer Night’s Dream,
Act I, Scene 1
,”
he said with a cocky grin.

“Your turn. Give me something really challenging
.”

He thought for a minute,
and then said,
“‘
Cowards die many times before their deaths. The valiant never taste of death but once.’
”

Coward. Me. This was me. If Cole only knew. “
Julius Caesar
, Act II, Scene 2,” I replied soberly. I turned and snuggled into his arms.

“Not a Julius Caesar fan I take it?” He tucked an unruly strand of my hair behind my ear.

“No. My turn.” I stared into his eyes, quoting Romeo and Juliet Act II Scene 2. “‘My bounty is as boundless as the sea / My love as deep; the more I give to thee / The more I have / for both are infinite.’”

He captured my mouth in a kiss that washed away all thoughts of Shakespeare, my father, and even Birdie. It was only us; no secret assignments, no half-truths, no lies. I wrapped my arms around him and tugged him in close. My poor heart beat so hard it bordered on painful. I wanted to run away, just the two of us, and spend forever together, reliving moments like this one.

He drew back. This would be our last evening together. These would be our last kisses. Birdie hadn’t risked Daddy finding her over a social visit. Something was up, something big.

“If you’re trying to kill me, you’re almost there,” he murmured into my hair. “You’re kissing me as if the world’s going to end tomorrow. Not that I mind, but your faith in my self-control is sorely misplaced.” He stood up and took my hand. “Let’s
go for a walk.”

**

“Are you sure you don’t want to stay a while?” I pressed after dinner, desperate to spend every last second with him.

“I’d better not. Don’t want to tarnish my Opie reputation.” He planted a chaste kiss on my forehead.
“Walk me to my car?”

I wanted to beg him to stay, only I had to leave in an hour for the airport and needed to pack.
But when I got back,
if I came back
, I decided I’d tell him everything. I was done with games. No matter what happened with Birdie, I wasn’t going to do this anymore. Then I’d leave Port Fare for good. Daddy would spend his last, dying breath coming after me and not trying to hurt these people.

Beside his car, Cole took me in his arms for one more kiss. I held back this time. It hurt too much.

“I love you, Lilah,” he said, without reservation. My heart swelled at his words. It was the first time he’d said them.

“I love you more,” I said, my voice barely a whisper.

“Impossible,” he assured me.

“Oh, you think you’ve cornered the market when it comes to love?” I teased, tugging on the front of his scrubs I’d grown to love so well.

“No, just on loving you.”

As he drove away, t
he tears didn’t stop until I got on the plane two hours later.

Chapter
19

Seven hours. My flight, originally scheduled to land at five-oh-five in the morning, didn’t land until seven-fifteen. My nerves were fried, and I’d not slept. Business men and women carrying computer bags filled the long, sterile airport corridors. A mother with a small crying child tucked under one arm, and a hand grasping desperately for a second just out of reach passed me, as did several senior citizens with canes. I raced toward the exit to find the café Birdie wanted to meet at.

I clipped around the corner, narrowly avoiding a collision with a gray-hair
ed woman. “Sorry,” I said over my shoulder, stopping dead in my tracks. I turned back to the warm, ebony-skinned woman I loved and collapsed into her arms.

“Birdie. Oh, Birdie.” Tears covered both our faces as our hearts reunited. “I’ve missed you so much, Birdie. I’ve made a complete mess of things. I’m-in-love-with-the-most-wonderful-man-and-now-I’m-supposed-to-betray his—”

“Whoa, child. My old ears can’t understand you, you’re talking so quickly.” She laughed. pulled a tissue from her oversized purse, and mopped up the tears, first on my face and then hers.

“You look good. Your eyes, they’re so bright.” She ran her hand over my hair. “You’re no longer hiding behind all the makeup. I can see your beautiful skin again. And your hair’s not all straight and flat. It’s curly, as it should be. I like it.” She nodded approvingly. Her rich Caribbean accent hadn’t change a bit since I’d last seen her three years ago.

“Thank you, Birdie. Daddy
hates
it.”

“Then I love it even more. Come, let us get your bags so we can go somewhere to talk,” she said.

I held up my tiger print carry-on. “This is it.”

Her eyes widened in surprise then crinkled to a smile. “I see. Well, you’re full of surprises today.” She looped her arm in mine and led me out to a rental car.

“I thought we were meeting in a café across the street.” I said, putting my bag in the trunk.

“That was a false lead in case your father was listening in,” she said, patting my hand. She’d grown even more paranoid about Daddy.
I didn’t say anything.

North Carolina air hung thick with moisture, worse than Port Fare’s. My poor hair frizzed even more. “Birdie, next time let’s meet in a drier climate.” I twisted
my hair into a thick bun and tucked the ends under to get it off my now damp neck.