Here Comes Trouble Read online

  “No,” Gage said and squeezed her hand. “It’s not.”

  It was then Sheila recognized the grief she’d been fighting in Gage’s voice. He’d formed a very strong bond with Brandon in the weeks before the little boy’s death, but Sheila hadn’t been paying enough attention to realize the similarity to their pain. “You miss him, too.”

  “Every day,” Gage said, but he smiled around it. “It gets better, then it’s not. But there are two little boys who need what we gave Brandon. So I do it for him.”

  “Yeah. I’ll remember that. I, um, have some work that needs doing. Malcolm, have a good weekend.”

  “Sheila?” Malcolm caught her arm as she passed, but the concern in his eyes ignited her temper.

  “I’m fine,” she said, not able to meet his sympathetic gaze as she tugged free and followed Morgan and Kelley outside into the bright sunshine. Alone.

  ***

  Malcolm didn’t remember Lantano Valley having this many glass windows, but he’d seemed to have found most of them in the last few days.

  Friday morning’s view of downtown Lantano Valley, replete with a movie theater, coffee bar, a new age art gallery, and one of the best Kosher delis this side of the Mason-Dixon line, was courtesy of Lantano Valley Memorial’s oncology unit and research facility.

  At least with the buyout behind him, some of the pressure was off. Not that he’d been able to sleep. Waiting for the fallout would be doubly draining.

  His head continued to reverberate with the bang, bang, banging of the CT machine, but at least the tests were over and done despite the holes in his arm Tiger Woods could practice putting on. The second he was out those front doors he was heading for the biggest burger he could find . . .

  “Okay, Malcolm.” Dr. Joshua Collins strode into his office with Malcolm’s medical file, offering one of those encouraging yet guarded smiles as he gestured for Malcolm to retake his seat. “I can call you with the test results myself or have Doctor Chapman do so once she’s back. Up to you.”

  “She mentioned having you consult on possible treatment options.”

  “If need be, yes, I’d be happy to.” Dr. Collins took a seat, and pushed his wire-rimmed glasses up higher on his face. He made Malcolm’s joints creak with his positive and youthful enthusiasm, which, all things considered, Malcolm appreciated. “I hope you’re not dwelling on the worst-case scenario.” Dr. Collins’s brows knit as if scolding a naughty child. “Despite the odds of a recurrence being slightly higher in the type of cancer you were treated for—”

  “I was told there was a forty-five percent chance within five years. Sounds like Vegas odds to me, Doctor.”

  “One reason I don’t care for Vegas. And it’s Joshua, please. I make it a point to be as open and honest with my patients as possible, so as far as I’m concerned, from here on, no matter what the tests say, you, me, and Doctor Chapman are a team. We’ll do what has to be done; we’ll fight it together. You’re either on board or you can find another doctor. Understood?”

  Malcolm nodded, admiration taking hold. “Understood.”

  “The results will be trickling in over the next week to ten days. I expect they should all be on my desk by next Thursday.” He flipped through the file. “Sorry, old fashioned. Still like paper over screens.”

  “As someone who has made his fortune on computer security, I appreciate the added confidentiality. So.” Malcolm forced himself to stay still in his chair. “We just wait.”

  “I did detect some swelling of your lymph nodes, but that could be attributed to a virus of some kind. Hopefully the antibiotics will address that. Other than the fatigue you mentioned and the occasional bouts of night sweats, anything else to report?”

  “Now the insomnia has kicked in.”

  “There are lots of reasons for insomnia, Malcolm, so no borrowing trouble. You should be done with the antibiotics Doctor Chapman prescribed this weekend, which I bet you’ll be glad of,” Joshua said. “We will deal with what comes as it comes.”

  “I appreciate you fitting me into your schedule. And for understanding my concern for keeping things private.”

  “Not a problem,” Joshua said with a smile as he got up and shook Malcolm’s outstretched hand. “We’ll get you through this, Malcolm.”

  “I’ll wait to hear from you then.” Somehow he’d put this out of his head, focus on the new information that had come in on Oliver Technologies, and enjoy the weekend he had planned for Sheila. Starting first thing in the morning.

  He exited the office feeling a bit lighter than when he came in. Joshua’s positive attitude and optimism was the boost he needed, and despite the diagnosis looming over him, at least this wasn’t his first time. The terror was minimal compared to eighteen months ago. This time he knew what to expect. Not that a second go-round with radiation and chemo held any appeal.

  He pushed open the glass door onto the teal-carpeted hallway just as the elevator dinged. He hurried forward and almost bashed into the curvy strawberry blonde with her nose buried in her bag as she dug around in its depths. Malcolm froze as his gaze landed on the staircase and exit sign down the hall. The second he moved toward them, Morgan Tremayne’s head snapped up.

  “Malcolm, hi.” She beamed, but the smile dipped as the dots connected. “How funny running into you. I was just about to text Sheila and see if you and she wanted to have dinner . . .” She trailed off, her gaze moving past him to Joshua’s name on the door. “What are you doing here?”

  “Donation,” he lied, cleared his throat, and plastered on the most fake smile he’d ever worn. “Kelley’s enthusiasm got me to thinking, so I wanted to see if there was anything TIN could do to help fund the research side of things.”

  “Oh.” Morgan’s eyes widened. “That’s so generous of you, especially after your donation to the foundation.”

  “Yeah, well, covering every base I can.” Not to mention covering another lie. “I don’t want to keep you.” He waved a hand down the hall.

  “Right.” She knocked herself on the side of the head. “Consult with our new head of nursing for the center. I can’t believe we’ll be able to take in patients by the beginning of the year. Now if we could just get the landscaping finished, maybe Sheila and I could relax for a few weeks. I’ll see you on Monday?”

  He bowed his head. “My presence was requested.”

  “When Kelley invites, you’d best take notice. I was thinking about inviting you to dinner this weekend, but I’ll forego that for now.” She gave him a sly smile. “In case you have other plans for my sister.”

  “Am I that transparent?”

  “I’m that hopeful.”

  Malcolm watched her disappear into an office down the hall. He was still standing there when Doctor Collins emerged.

  “Malcolm, you’re still here. Everything okay?”

  “Fine, but . . .” Malcolm glanced at his watch. “Do you have a few more minutes? I’d like to discuss making a donation to the hospital.”

  “For that, I’ll give you ten. Come on back.”

  ***

  “When you suggested a run on Saturday morning,” Nathan said as he climbed out of his SUV in the lot near Sterling Park, “I assumed you meant after the sun was up.”

  Malcolm grinned and resumed his warm-up routine of stretches. He’d spent the rest of Friday making special delivery arrangements for Sheila and willing himself into a whole four hours of sleep. The fact he had any inclination to exert himself in regards to exercise was a minor miracle.

  “Best way to clear away the cobwebs.”

  “Didn’t this used to be your hangover cure?” Nathan asked as he joined him on the bench.

  “Followed by a huge breakfast at Cecily’s,” Malcolm confirmed, but the idea of greasy bacon and runny over-easy eggs didn’t have much appeal these days. “I’ll settle for a stop at Ay, Caramba Juice Bar once we�
��re done.”

  “Oh, yum.” Nathan rolled his eyes. “Just so I’m prepared, is this conversation going to be Nemesis related or Sheila related? And for the record, I try to stay out of my sisters’ love lives.”

  “I’m looking for some perspective.” Malcolm tightened his shoes. “Ready?”

  Half a mile later, Malcolm felt the burn, the winding cement path taking them through thick overhanging trees and billowing bright summer bushes. He’d been clawing his way back to workout shape over the last few months, but as plans to return to Lantano Valley had picked up steam, he’d fallen off the exercise wagon, something he was regretting. Holding a conversation at the same time was pushing it. His condition must have been evident to Nathan, who eased his pace, casting a worried look in his direction.

  “Been a while,” Malcolm admitted. “It’ll come back.”

  “Along with your color? Stop and get some water.” Nathan angled them off the path around the lake toward one of the drinking fountains. “And some air. Breathe, man.”

  “We’re just getting started.” He wasn’t about to wuss out of a run. How humiliating.

  “We’ll be stopping all together if you don’t watch it. Drink.” Nathan slapped a hand on his back and shoved him over. “Inhale already.”

  “Not the first time you’ve said that to me.”

  Nathan smirked. “I heard you met Princess Kelley yesterday.” Nathan planted his hands on his hips and looked up and down the path as other morning enthusiasts biked or jogged by. “Bundle of energy, that one.”

  “Yeah. She had a definite effect on Sheila.” He let his unspoken question dangle as he concentrated on breathing, hands planted on his thighs. “Since you brought it up. Tell me about Brandon.”

  “Oh. Wow.” He let out a long breath, rubbed a hand across his neck. “I take it this is the perspective you were talking about? He was one of the Fiorelli’s foster kids. Morgan’s a sponsor of sorts, and very involved with all of them. She’d have taken them in herself if she’d been able, but she owns the house they live in. Brandon and Sheila had a pretty strong connection. Reminded me of how she was with our brother, Colin. Brandon survived kidney cancer, underwent this horrifying treatment that just about killed him. And then he, um.” Nathan inhaled, squinted into the sun. “He’d been in remission a good year when he suffered an embolism. Just collapsed in his room one afternoon. Sheila’s the one who found him.”

  Malcolm squeezed his eyes until he saw stars, feeling as if he’d taken a punch to the heart.

  “Things like that happen, at least that’s what Morgan says,” Nathan continued. “I don’t know how she does it every day. Sheila on the other hand, she locks down, closes herself off, as you’ve no doubt noticed. Used to be she could paint her way out of it, like she did when our mother died. You’ll have to ask her to show you the watercolor copy she did of a Georgia O’Keeffe. It looks like Mom, strange as that sounds, with these stunning reds and corals. But this time, with Brandon”—he shook his head—“I don’t think she’s even been in her studio since he died. She won’t let anyone in, and for once, I think Nemesis is working against us, against her.”

  “You thought helping Levia was enough to get her focused again.”

  “Both Dad and I did. But that was weeks ago. That art auction is in less than two weeks and as far as I know, she hasn’t painted a thing. Someone has to break through to her, otherwise failing Levia is going to drive her farther under.”

  Maybe it was the fresh air, or maybe it was focusing on Sheila for the last few minutes, but Malcolm felt warmer now, stronger. Finally, he’d found a way to make up for the past. The tingling in his arms and legs faded as he shook them out. “Okay, let’s try again.” He gestured up the path.

  “You sure?”

  Malcolm nodded. “Yeah, I’m sure. And thanks for this. I think I know where to start with her now.”

  “Where?”

  “I’m going to start small,” Malcolm panted. “Very, very small.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  An early yoga class and twenty laps at the spa pool did nothing to rid Sheila of the tension knotting her entire skeletal system.

  That late-morning hit of caffeine on the other hand, set the world right. The only thing that could make things perfect was scarfing down an entire package of Double Stuf Oreos, but dammit, she’d forgotten to stop at the store. She kicked her apartment door closed, dropped her gym bag on the floor. Ever since she’d eaten that burger the other night she’d been craving junk food.

  But she was in for the rest of the day. The long, quiet, thought-filled endless day. She supposed she could call Morgan, but her sister’s Saturdays were spent at sporting events with the kids or helping Gage refurbish the aged two-story Victorian across the street from the Fiorellis’ he’d bought a month ago. Ugh. Sheila couldn’t think of anything more abhorrent than pulling up linoleum and scraping off wallpaper. Besides, Nathan was planning on lending a hand, which took care of sibling distraction number two.

  Leaving bachelor number three, her art studio, as her default choice.

  She’d finish her coffee first.

  A flip of her stereo filled her home with the underpinnings of smooth jazz that tugged at the knots lodged in her shoulders. No sooner had she curled up in the corner of her sofa, bare feet tucked under her butt than the downstairs buzzer rang. “Of course.” She unfurled and padded over to the door. “Yes?”

  “Delivery, Miss Tremayne.”

  “I didn’t order anything.” That she remembered. “Who from?”

  “I was just told to deliver, ma’am. Apartment 4A, correct?”

  “Yeah, okay. Bring it up.” She depressed the button on the intercom and heard the buzz. She kept one eye on the peephole, the other on the white door under her winding staircase.

  Tick. Tick. Tick.

  She pulled a few singles out of her wallet before she opened the door for the deliveryman bounding onto her landing with a medium-sized box in his hands. “Miss Tremayne?” Wide eyes were magnified to cartoon status behind thick black-rimmed glasses. His lanky build made her think he could fly should he catch a cross wind at just the right time.

  “Yeah. Thanks.” She accepted the box and examined the dime-sized holes punched out beneath the lid. “Is there a card?”

  “Not that I know of, ma’am.” Eesh. The way the kid said ma’am made her wonder if she should rent a walker. “Have a good day.”

  “Wait. Your tip—”

  “Taken care of.” He grinned over his shoulder.

  Sheila yelped as the box jerked in her hands. Door closed, she carried the vibrating box into the kitchen and set it on the counter. What on earth? She leaned down, heard something. Was that a . . . She flicked the lid and peered inside. A tiny black kitten blinked up at her as if she’d awoken it from a nap.

  “Mew.” The white bow tied around its neck dwarfed the furry little creature as it hiked itself up to hook its paws over the edge of the box. “Mew.”

  “Oh, boy.” Sheila ducked down so she could look the perfect blue-eyed feline face eye to eye before glancing down to its tail. “Yep, you’re a boy all right.” A paw lifted and pushed against her chin, batted at her. Wait, was that a smile? “Now where did you come from?”

  The muted ring of her cell phone echoed from her gym bag. “Stay there,” she ordered the cat as she headed to her purse. “Hello?”

  “His name is Sherlock.”

  “Malcolm.” She should have known. “I don’t want a cat.” She looked at the box just as a fuzzy butt arced free and skittered across her counter like a toddler on ice skates. “Hey, come back here. Malcolm, this isn’t funny. I can’t have a cat.” She scooped up Sherlock seconds before he dive-bombed behind the refrigerator. “Oh, don’t do that.” But Sherlock’s motor had engaged and he was purring up a storm. “Great. He trained you for this, didn’t he?”

>   “He reminded me of that weekend we went to that farmers’ market in Santa Barbara. You were so upset because you couldn’t take that kitten home with you because your mother was allergic.”

  “I can’t believe you remember that.” Resistance sagged against the memory, the sound of waves crashing onto the shore, nights beneath the moon. A long, lazy, steamy weekend. Sheila tucked her phone against her shoulder and scratched Sherlock under the chin. “But it doesn’t change the fact that I can’t have a cat.”

  “You can, actually. I checked your lease, or rather I called to look into leasing another apartment to make sure the building is pet-friendly. So it’s not a matter of can or can’t. He needs a home. And we both know what happens to black cats at shelters.”

  Her heart pitched. A shelter kitty? “They’re the last to be adopted. If they ever are.” Sherlock blinked blue eyes at her as if looking at her from behind bars.

  “The shelter’s open for another couple of hours,” Malcolm prodded. “I can return him if you want . . .”

  “Oh, shut up.” She lifted Sherlock so they could examine each other face-to-face. “Where are you?”

  Her doorbell rang.

  She found him lounging against the wall outside her door, looking spectacularly male in jeans and a black T-shirt, his hair damp and curling over the collar. Her entire body went hot, as if thawing from a five-year freeze.

  “You don’t play fair,” she accused as he clicked his phone off.

  “Remember that as the weekend progresses.” He pushed off the wall and peered around the corner into her apartment. “Can I come in?” He scratched Sherlock behind the ears and sent the kitten into another frenzy of purring.

  “What are we doing, Malcolm?” she asked before he could pass.

  “Starting over?” He grabbed her face and kissed her hard and quick, making her head spin with the promise of something wonderful. And positively terrifying. “Now, how about you give me the grand tour?” He pushed past her.

  She clutched Sherlock to her chest, nuzzled her new furry friend with her chin, and got a serious head bop in response. “Oh, help.” She slumped against the door as Sherlock kneaded her arm, teeny claws pricking her skin. “This isn’t going to end well.” But for the first time since Malcolm had returned, she wasn’t sure she cared.