Surrender to You (10 page)

Carver got out of the car first and I motioned that I wanted to follow.

“Stay here,” he said. “Let me check things out first.”

“Please.” I grabbed his arm. The thick muscle under my palm flexed. “I won't say anything. Even if she doesn't want to meet me, I'd like to see her.”

He didn't move and continued to look at the house as if he was considering what I'd asked him. I spoke again before he could change his mind. “I promise to behave.”

In the backseat, I caught Penny shaking her head. For once, she was silent.

Carver took the lead and I followed him up the cobblestone path. Just seeing the tri-level house up close left me in awe. This place had to be in the millions of dollars. Was my mother loaded?

Carver walked up to the double red doors and knocked. I swallowed down my apprehension and waited to see who would answer the door. Would a haughty butler answer?

A short Indian woman answered and my disappointment was immediate. “Can I help you?” she asked.

“I'm sorry to disturb you, but we're looking for Patricia Hall. I work for a private investigation firm.”

The woman's face scrunched up with concern. “I'm sorry but if you have any legal matters for me, you should contact my husband.” She took a step back and the door closed a bit.

She isn't my birth mother.

Carver took a step back and I followed his lead. Now that I thought about it, a stranger walking up to my house and asking for me would creep me out, too. “No problem. We meant no harm. Thank you, Mrs. Hall, for your time.”

My feet shuffled on the pavement during our trip back to the car. Instead of getting into the seat, I wanted to keep going. A headache formed at the back of my skull and the feeling of disappointment settled into my chest.

“We've still got two more people to check out,” Carver said softly.

I forced a smile on my face. “That means she might be out there.”

He tapped my shoulder. “That's what I like to hear, Jason.”

I was headed home empty-handed, but at least the buoyancy of my spirits remained high.

Just two more mystery women separated me from learning about my mom, and I refused to let Carver's people make the introductions without me—which meant I needed another day off.

Toss in a conference on domesticated dog reproduction and you're one busy chick.

As usual, my alarm clocks didn't go off as expected. The siren noise, which got me a complaint from my noisy neighbors, didn't do its job of drop-kicking me out of slumber.

I stumbled out of bed and hurried to get a dose of coffee. Would you believe there were coffee drinks with gluten? The astounding number of products with gluten was more than frustrating.

Those crunchy breakfast bars you hoard at the back of your cabinet—yep, they got wheat.

Those tasty tacos cooked on food trucks that sizzle every time you walk by—cruelty of all cruelties, those were jam-packed with wheat, too. Even a personal favorite I could microwave in a hurry, oatmeal with blueberries, was now off-limits.

In the last few weeks, my life had changed in too many ways. I scratched the side of my face and scanned what I had to eat. Organic, gluten-free bars that had a strange aftertaste, muffins from a gluten-free bakery downtown that I saved for bad days—like yesterday—and the coup de grâce, the one thing I refused to throw away: a wrapped-up loaf of sourdough bread from one of the best bakeries in Boston.

I opened the package and sniffed the stuff like a junkie teetering on giving in. What I wouldn't give right now for a donut stuffed with vanilla custard, a side of pancakes, and a whole-wheat bagel.

Of course, just thinking of pancakes made me think of Tomas.

I opened the bag again, took another hit, and then hurried to get dressed. I wouldn't be able to afford to stay here if I didn't make a living wage. By the time I threw on my heels and a dab of perfume, I scampered back to the bag of bread.

Only to see a bit of mold growing on the bottom.

Good things don't last forever.

I released a very long sigh.

“Consult a dietitian while you're in the U.S., Ms. Jason,” my physician had reminded me.

I knew what I needed to do: I had to change my lifestyle and not live the life I wanted to live. Growing up, I ate whatever was given to me and now I had to make do with this change.

By the time I reached the hotel, the place was packed with conference attendees standing in line. All the clerks were present, but just seeing how busy things were told me I wouldn't see my mother anytime soon.

Two hours later, I was in the middle of the mix at the hotel and I could barely stand up. What I wouldn't give to eat my old breakfast. The line never seemed to end and the conference attendees were out-of-towners who needed hand-holding. Their needs ranged from last-minute tickets to the Boston Opera House to exclusive arrangements at the premier golf courses. Could I make arrangements for a family of six to visit the aquarium? Maybe I could help with a seafood dinner for a party of sixteen? Half of the time, the hardest part about working during a conference was remembering the needs of each client and reacting appropriately when you saw them again.

Not once did I see Tomas.

He was the owner though, what reason did he have to be on the front lines with the soldiers?

As hard as I tried to tell myself I didn't care, I couldn't shake the anticipation around each corner.

Once the line at the check-in desk was under control, I had to make sure another group of buyers would arrive to the conference room for another meeting. That meant a few phone calls to their assistants, or in this case, one of the buyers who didn't have one. “
Bien sûr,
Monsieur Denis. I'll take you to the meeting personally if you'd like.”

Mr. Denis thanked me for my help and ended the call. I had a few minutes to take a breather before I had to fetch him.

“Who are the bigwigs this time?” Yolanda asked me between phone calls. She was on her break and eating the most delicious-smelling pack of powdered donuts.

“More businessmen. This time from Canada.” I played with the phone cord to distract myself.

“Are you all right?” Yolanda asked me with a grin.

“Yeah, what's wrong?”

“You seem nervous for some reason.” Her grin was sly.

“Oh, stop it. I just have a lot on my mind today.”

“Yeah, a lot on your mind.” She hopped back to do a jump shot into a bag.

“I've seen you work a lot and you seem so cool and relaxed. It's rather scary, if I think about it.” She leaned in, her eyes dancing with mischief. “Seeing you lose your cool is kinda refreshing.”

Had I been that obvious? I straightened my back. “Let's just get this done so we can have some lunch. I'm about to tackle one of those cardboard sandwiches the staff abandoned in the break room.”

After I fetched Mr. Denis from his suite on the thirty-ninth floor, we arrived to the conference room where many of the other guests had already assembled.

“Is there anything else I can do for you?” I asked him in French, hoping I hadn't messed up any words.

“No, thank you.” He left my side to greet the other buyers from his team. I looked over the room. Most of the executives from Gold Bridge Construction had the same look. The stiff collars and confident expressions. I walked through the room and checked the beverage and lunch tables to make sure everything was in place. All I had to do was sweep the room and make sure everyone had what they needed and then I could go.

Then I noticed him standing across the room. He was beautiful, practically a lion among his pride. He stood with two buyers discussing the many features of the hotel. None of them included Dante's Second Floor, but what he said reflected his pride. Just listening to him added a glow into my body. If he moved me so much, how come I felt this way? Why was I ready to bolt and run away? Just thinking about our time together in his office still made my stomach quiver.

The group he was with headed toward the beverage table. He separated briefly from them to speak to the lady manning the table. He walked right past me without saying a word. At other times, he at least acknowledged me, but this time, nothing.

A lump formed in my throat and I tried to swallow it down.

Isn't this what you wanted, Carlie?
Our intimate moments would stay locked away. Also, I wasn't willing to give in to him, and this was exactly what I needed—a boundary he didn't cross.

I scanned the room and smoothed down my skirt. The body language of everyone in the room comforted me. No one needed me.

Not even him.

Thankfully, I had the next day off. I'd scheduled myself off ahead of time so I could venture out again with Carver to check out the lead on another Patricia Hall.

This time he picked me up at my apartment around ten in the morning. Any earlier and I would've been comatose.

The inside of his SUV smelled like coffee and candy.

“Hey, Jason,” he said. “I got you some coffee.”

The aroma was wonderful. “I didn't know what you liked so I grabbed a bunch of creamers and sugars.”

“You got enough sugar here to bake a cake.” I chuckled and added a creamer and sugar to my hazelnut coffee.

“I needed some, too.”

I feigned glancing at my watch. “So how long do I have until you go into diabetic shock?”

“I'm doing pretty good today.”

My smile faltered. He hadn't been around the last few days. “Has something come up or…?”

“I was in the hospital for a bit. Not too long.” He flashed me a beautiful smile and I had to grin in return.

“You okay?” I asked.

“Drinking that green stuff every day only goes so far.”

“True that.”

“I've been working long hours, and that shit catches up with you eventually. My doctor says I will be out of commission for a while since I need more testing.”

“And you're out with me today? What are you thinking?”

“I'm not an invalid. I just need to take care of my body.”

“Hence long trips to Dante's Second Floor for people-watching.”

“Exactly.”

I groaned. “Where are we going?”

“Cleveland Circle. My lookout told me she showed up a few days ago. She hadn't been home since then. He said she looked—a bit ill.”

“Ill?”

“Yeah, like she'd been sick.”

“That's not good.”

Just like last time, my heart was deep in my throat, even to the point when we pulled up to the brown brick two-story home. Was this the place where my mom lived? I tried not to get my hopes up. I was in a better place compared to last time.

Carver took the lead and walked up to the door. He knocked a few times, but no one showed up. Finally, after a few minutes, a woman opened the door. She looked nothing like me, though. Her hair was coffee-colored and her skin tone was a few shades darker.

She smiled at Carver. “Can I help you? Sorry it took me so long.”

“I'm so sorry, ma'am. We're looking for Patricia Hall.”

“That's me.” Concern lined her features.

“My client is looking for a relative and, well, we're so sorry to disturb you today.” He took a step back.

“Wait a minute,” the woman said. She peeked at me as I stood on the sidewalk. My heartbeat grew painful. “You're looking for Patty, right? About the height of that girl there, same face?”

I hurried to the door. “Yes, I am. That's my mom.”

The woman laughed a bit and she leaned on the door. “I can't stand up too long, but you can come in for a bit if you like.”

“We can wait here. We don't want to intrude,” Carver said.

“Don't worry. Ace trusts you.” I peered behind Patricia and saw a huge German shepherd. The dog wagged his tail.

We walked into the small house and Carver closed the door behind him. The place was sparsely furnished and newspapers were scattered across one of the blue couches.

“The home care lady isn't coming until tomorrow so you'll have to pardon my mess.”

“No problem.” I picked up the newspapers and placed them into a pile. My hands were shaking the whole time.

“So you know a Patricia Hall who looks like my client, Ms. Jason?” Carver began.

“Yeah, I get chemotherapy every two weeks at the medical center north of here. A few months ago, I happened to notice that the lady sitting next to me had the same name.” Patricia smiled. “We always joked to the nurses that they better not mess up our meds.”

Oh no.

“A cancer center.” My voice sounded hollow.

Patricia nodded. “I shouldn't be spreading Patty's business to strangers, but yes, she has cancer. She looks just like you, though. It's the eyes and the face. I knew the moment I saw you that you're related to her.”

“My mom gave me up and left me in a foster home.”

“And now you're looking for her,” Patricia finished.

I nodded, unsure what I could say to get Patricia to give me more information. I opened my mouth again, but Carver spoke first.

“If you wouldn't mind telling us where you're treated, we can look on our own. We don't want to put you in a position.”

“I don't mind. Patty's always come by herself. You see, my son or my daughter-in-law takes me to chemo, but Patty was always alone. That bothered me to no end. It seemed like she was holding something dark inside, and no matter how much I prayed for her, she seemed withdrawn.”

“Cancer can do that to people. My best friend died from leukemia when I was a kid,” Carver said.

“I'm sorry for your loss.” Patricia sighed. “Every two weeks I saw her at the Blessed Faith Medical Center.”

“So we might find her there?” I asked, eager to see her and find out if she'd be well or not.
Please let her be better.

“Not anymore, honey. Patty told me two weeks ago she was going in for bowel surgery. She's likely still in the hospital. As for her current condition, I don't know.”