Chapter 5
The assistant, Lori, was on the phone when Sloan started down the long corridor. She was also multitasking, working on her desktop and, once, silently admonishing a wayward student who appeared to be loitering in the hall on his device.
Lori acknowledged his approach with a practiced, careful glance before giving her attention back to the call. As he neared the desk, Sloan heard the fretful half cry of a baby. Walking around Lori’s desk, he stopped at the open doorway of the next room. He saw two cribs, two strollers, and two children. One he recognized immediately as the child he’d cuddled and held during his first visit to Harvest Prep. Gaye, he recalled. She was hugging a stuffed animal, but she was distracted by his sudden appearance. She stared up at him with great curiosity and calm. She suddenly broke into a babbling grin and pointed a finger at him. Sloan raised a brow at the baby’s possible recognition of him. He stared back at the baby and, after a moment’s hesitation, approached and crouched next to her stroller. He continued to study her, and when she reached out a hand to him, cooing something or other, he gently took her hand, rubbing his thumb on the soft skin, shaking it a little as a way of greeting. The other child, a younger boy, was asleep in the next crib. Then Sloan stood, heard the goodbyes from the desk, and exited the makeshift nursery to face the assistant who’d risen from her chair.
“Hi. Lori, right?”
She silently nodded, studying him.
“Sloan Kendrick. FBI. I was here—”
“Oh, right. I remember.” She sat down again. “The students are still talking about that academy thing they took part in. You have a fan club going.”
Sloan was surprised but remained straight-faced. “I’m flattered, but they don’t get any extra points for that.” He titled his head toward the nursery. He could hear Gaye babbling to herself. “Do you regularly babysit kids?”
Lori shrugged. “It’s the best we can do, I’m afraid. The girls…the young parents…don’t want to leave their babies at home. They still kind of see them as cute little dolls and want to carry them everywhere. But Ms. Cameron was afraid the mothers might drop out of school because of their kids and maybe never get back.”
“So they bring the kids to school?”
“It’s actually a growing movement. LA County is still grappling over how to establish day care in schools, how to pay for it, but they do exist. Fortunately, we only have two young children to deal with. What can I do for you, Agent?”
“I’m here to see Ms. Cameron. I thought I might catch her before school let out.”
Lori shook her head, her expression suddenly puzzled. “She’s not here. Haven’t heard from her since just after lunch. She always calls if something came up and she’s running late. Nothing all afternoon.”
“I tried calling her, but it went right to voicemail. Never got a call back.”
“I’m trying not to worry too much. Ms. Cameron’s very responsible.”
Sloan was quickly processing information from the assistant against the facts of the moment. No one knew where Olivia might be. “Maybe she’s unable to call…” he murmured, instantly on the alert. “She never told you if she had an appointment of some kind?”
Lori frowned, thinking. “No. I mean, maybe I didn’t pay a lot of attention once she said she’d be back in an hour.”
“Sorry to be pushy, but could you possibly remember anything else she might have said? An appointment, a person, something she had to do?”
Lori frowned, shaking her head. “I think… I think she mentioned something about…the police and something they were looking for…”
“Where?” Sloan asked, his FBI persona suddenly in charge.
“Where? I’m not sure. Actually…I think Olivia mentioned her house.”
“Thanks. That’s very helpful,” he said, smiling benignly and heading for the exit.
“School lets out in an hour. I’m betting she’ll return very soon.”
Sloan was already out the door.
Rush-hour traffic, in a town where rush hour was almost twenty-four hours anyway, was a real roadblock to Sloan’s drive to Olivia’s house. Not the one she currently lived in in Baldwin Hills but the one she’d inherited in Windsor Hills. Not that far between communities as the crow flies, but this afternoon, heading into early evening, the crow was flying all over the freeway in a stop-and-go crawl that had Sloan anxious and impatient. And his anger was also growing with what he guessed might have happened that afternoon, where Olivia had gone.
It infuriated Sloan that time was lost before he could exit the freeway and make the rest of the trip by side streets. Not as much traffic…but again, stop and go. When he drove up the hilly street of Olivia’s house, he immediately saw her SUV pulled halfway into an improvised carport that was being used to store materials for use in her renovation project. But seeing Olivia’s vehicle was only moderately comforting and only answered one question: she was here. Or might be.
Sloan could see there were two other immediate problems. The front of the house faced east, and the sun was already at the back. It was no longer bright in front. The high-powered flashlight he routinely kept in the trunk of his car might not be enough illumination if he had to search through the property. The other problems he didn’t want to fully explore. Olivia was hurt. She’d had a run-in with a second party. She wasn’t actually here at all, only her car. That was more than two problems, and Sloan began to imagine others. He was wearing his gun but never entertained he was going to need it.
The house was built partially on an incline, the right side, as you looked west, on the shallow downward angle. Sloan parked his car right at the top of the angle, in front of the entrance. There were no sounds. No one calling out. He got out of the car, listening closely for any movement, a voice. He started up the steps to the door. It was unlocked, and he quietly entered, stepping into the center of the foyer, a staircase to his right, looking around for a sign.
“Olivia?” Sloan called out, no chance that he wouldn’t be heard in the hollowness of the empty house. There was no response.
He made the decision to move to the right, onto the floor extension that would be above a lower level. He walked through the foyer into another room. It could double as a dining area or living room or simple salon.
“Olivia?” he tried again. Then he thought he heard some muffled movement a little to his left. He made his way toward it.
Olivia heard her name and thought she was dreaming.
Unbelievably, as concerned and uncomfortable as she’d become in the last several hours, she’d managed to finally fall asleep. After screaming and yelling for help, she’d given up, briefly, in tears of sheer frustration. No one was coming. No one knew where she was. When she’d fallen through the floor, there had been no time to prepare for impact. She’d landed on her left side, managing to partially brace herself with her forearm, hip, and thigh. She was sore, but nothing was broken.
In a momentary flashback, Olivia suddenly recalled her situation in another accident, not of her making, but then she’d been hurt badly. Marcus had been concerned when he was summoned to the hospital, but he had also been critical of her. Why hadn’t she been more careful? Had she been speeding? Couldn’t she have avoided the truck? And then he asked the doctor if she was stable or was any surgery needed. Yes. And no. He had an important meeting with his department head and had to leave her. He’d return afterward.
“I can’t play savior right now. I’ll be back.”
A stroking of her cheek. A kiss on her forehead. And then Marcus was gone.
The truck. Her car on its side, having flipped once. The terrible pain in her back and head. The blood…
Olivia squeezed her eyes closed, took a deep breath, and coughed out dust. She looked around the cement cell of a very small room. No windows, no door, no way out. It had a musky, dank smell. It was dark. She rolled over and heaved herself into a sitting position. She didn’t seem to be hurt. Olivia had reached for her cell phone in the pocket of her white slacks. Then gasped when she suddenly recalled that she’d dropped it into her purse when she began to explore the kitchen. She’d left it on a sawhorse makeshift table in the foyer.
She heard her name again, and her heart lurched. A phantom pain returned briefly in her back, her head. She gritted her teeth.
Marcus was going to be so angry.
The voice was closer. It wasn’t a dream. Someone was above her. Someone was roaming the rooms, the kitchen. Their movement stopped where the pantry door had been. A duplicate to the one she’d first discovered that held piles of money. She’d found another hiding place.
It went quiet. Had she imagined someone calling?
Someone was at the pantry opening. They’d see the other panel, the hole in the floor. She saw a shadow over the hole.
“M…Marcus?”
“Olivia? It’s Sloan. Where are you?”
Emotion and relief swelled in her chest. “Here! I’m down here. I’m… I fell…”
He kicked through the second door, sending some debris crashing below. A head appeared.
“Oh…Sloan,” Olivia moaned.
“Watch out!” he shouted to her as he just missed making a false step that would have sent him plummeting through the floor to the space next to her.
Olivia made a small yelp as wood splitters fell around her. She crouched back against the cold, bare cement wall. Sloan squatted down over the opening. She peered up at him. Her heart was pounding in her chest. She was covered in dirt and dust from where she’d fallen. It was even in her hair.
“Are you hurt?”
She shook her head. “No. No.” Her voice was hoarse. Flat. Sore. “Sloan?” She didn’t plead.
“You’re okay. I’ll get you out.”
He disappeared, and she heard rummaging, stuff being moved and shoved aside. Sloan shouted as he continued to search for anything that could be used to help her. “Is there anything down there to stand on? Bricks or wood? A crate?”
“No, nothing.” He seemed to move farther away, and she couldn’t hear much of anything. “Sloan?” Olivia got no answer.
“Stand back,” he suddenly called down to her, standing on the edge of the opening above her, holding a ladder. He suddenly stopped, in thought.
Sloan leaned the ladder against the wall where he stood above her and detached the hard casing that housed his sidearm and snapped onto his belt. He pulled it off and set it aside and reached for the ladder again.
He knelt, lowering the ladder and awkwardly pulling it opened. It was too short. If he dropped it or let it go, it would topple over to the floor below.
“Listen to me. I’m going to brace the feet against the floor and hold the ladder in place. You have to climb up to me.”
“I…don’t think…I…”
“Yes, you can. Hold on and try not to move around as you climb. I’ll keep the ladder steady, but you have to be quick. You’re not that far below me. Olivia? Do you hear me? You’re going to be okay.”
Olivia stared up, seeing his eyes and a rigid determination to his countenance. He was stretched out on the floor above. She could detect Sloan’s stiff, straight arm bracing the top of the ladder, forcing the legs against the cellar floor.
“Come on,” he commanded. “Start carefully until you find your balance.”
She squeezed between the wall and the bottom rungs of the ladder and placed her foot, taking a first step cautiously. The ladder settled but otherwise didn’t move. Olivia gripped the sides and then began to climb. Only once did she feel the ladder lurch an inch or two, starting to tilt to one side. She stopped moving instantly. Sloan forced the feet of the ladder flat on the floor again.
“Keep moving,” Sloan urged. “You got this.”
The strain of trying not to shift her weight made her hands and arms shake. She stopped when she had only two more rungs to clear the opening, quickly glancing up and seeing Sloan’s face hovering just above her. His forehead was beaded with sweat.
“I can’t go any higher.” The ladder swayed with her weight and indecision.
“You’re almost there, Liv. Step up! I’ve got you!”
Olivia’s breathing became heavy and erratic. Like she’d just finished climbing a steep hill. She made a tentative reach for one more rung.
“I’m going to let go of the ladder…my right side. When I reach down, grab my hand. Okay…NOW!”
They let go of their hold at the same time, but there was a fumble as Olivia flailed for his hand. They finally clasped tightly, and she made a short, startled sound. She shifted in an effort to hold on to Sloan’s hand. He had a death grip on her. Her feet pushed the ladder. It began to slowly flip to one side. Sloan let his hold on the ladder go completely and swiftly reached down in the hole to circle her lower back. Olivia gasped again as she forcibly expelled air. Sloan snatched her halfway up through the hole, hauling her against his chest. She lost her breath.
He grunted as he fell backward, forcing her up in his arms. Sloan felt a sharp pain along his arm from scraping over something rough on the floor. He ignored it. He clasped both arms around Olivia and quickly twisted, landing with a heavy thud on his back with her on top. The ladder crashed to the cement floor beneath them. Olivia was clutching his shoulders, her hands shaking. He lay breathless for several seconds and then struggled to sit up while still holding her.
“Okay…okay,” he muttered, his voice even more hoarse, strained, and breathless. “You’re fine. It’s over…”
In a burst of willpower, Sloan pushed her away so he could look into her face. Olivia’s hands were cold, her skin a dull, flat color. Clammy. He forced her face up so he could look closely into her eyes. Olivia blinked, but she was dazed. He shifted her off his chest completely so he could come to his feet. One of his knees locked and unlocked as he moved, shooting pain through his leg. Sloan half lifted, half carried Olivia away from the hole, out of the tight space that was a false pantry entrance to begin with. He lowered her to the ground, kneeling over her. She was struggling for air, her chest heaving. Olivia couldn’t even form words, any kind of response. He pulled her into a sitting position. Sloan’s hand pressed firmly to her back, rubbing and pressing in a circular motion. Suddenly Olivia could breathe freely. She gasped, panting gulps of air.
Not letting go of her, Sloan stretched to the side, reaching for something. It was a heavy, folded tarp. Olivia listlessly watched as he folded it again and slipped it under her legs, trying to elevate them above her chest. She struggled to sit up with her legs elevated, so Sloan gently but firmly pushed her back down.
“I’m…fine…fine,” Olivia kept insisting.
Sloan grabbed her wrist, putting two fingers on the pulse point and holding them there. “You’re not hurt or bleeding. Your pulse is too fast.”
“I…I’m trying…breathe…normal.” Olivia swallowed. “I don’t want to go into shock.”
Sloan frowned and stared into her eyes. “You’ll come out of it in a few minutes.”
“I know. Water?”
“Not yet.” He let go of her wrist. “Still too fast. Don’t move.”
“I’m cold.”
“I know.” He was looking around. “I don’t see anything to cover you with.”
Olivia pulled her face away from his exploring hand trying to force her to look at him. “Marcus…wasn’t my fault…said, I’m okay.”
“You will be,” Sloan whispered. He stroked and tried to smooth her messy hair, her face.
His thumb pushed under her chin, and Sloan continued to study her face, looking to see if her pupils were dilated. Their gazes met…and locked. Slowly, Olivia focused. She blinked again. She let out one long exhalation in a whimper. But she felt odd and disoriented.
What Sloan did next Olivia never saw coming. It was slow motion, and she had plenty of time to move, do something. But she didn’t. He shifted his sights, watching her mouth. Suddenly, Sloan pressed his mouth to hers. It was a light touch, momentarily exploring, rubbing over her lips. He withdrew barely an inch and pressed again closer, firmer. Olivia didn’t feel surprised, and her lips parted, her eyes drifted shut. Sloan accepted her acquiescence, cupping her face in his hands. Olivia wrapped her hands around his wrists. If she meant to stop him, she changed her mind. She sighed, Sloan moving his mouth against hers. Or was she moving her mouth against his? Her fingers moved caressingly over the back of his large strong hands. She liked his hands.
The kiss did not deepen, but they maintained contact, and the effect was immediate and electric. Sloan didn’t seem inclined to end it. He seemed comfortable where they were. Not exactly in each other’s arms, her legs were still slightly elevated, but they were connected in the most fundamentally emotional way. Olivia was confused, but she liked the way she was beginning to feel kissing Sloan. She more than liked the pressure of Sloan’s lips, the teasing texture of his tongue. Her erratic breathing now was not from the possibility of shock. Or if it was, she was not in any danger. Kissing Sloan was creating another kind a trauma. A different, special, never-before-felt experience.
But then, with an agonizing jolt of awareness, Olivia pulled her lips away.
“I…have to stop.”
Sloan responded at once, standing to help her up. In her recovery, she’d also regained strength. She pushed at his chest. “Don’t. Don’t…”
“Okay. I won’t touch you.”
“I don’t need to be rescued. You’re not my savior,” she said, her own voice sounding unnatural, angry, and…unreasonable.
Sloan was stunned. He was absolutely, suddenly chilled to the bone.
“You mean…are you accusing me of…of being…like some white savior?”
Olivia blinked rapidly and stared at him, her eyes blank. Her breathing was still shallow and rapid. She frowned.
“Wh…what?”
“What you wanted to say was…you don’t need some white man to rescue you. I’m the only white guy here. You didn’t need me to rescue you. But you definitely needed someone to help. That was me. The white guy.”
Olivia didn’t move, only stared at him. Was she dazed and disoriented, frightened and hypersensitive? Did she not remember what she’d just said? She looked at him, trying to focus, to see clearly. Sloan turned away from her. But he, too, appeared weary. Defeated.
“I… What do you mean?” she asked in a bewildered voice.
Due to their unplanned kiss, a show of emotion, and what could have meant more, Sloan felt a bit in shock himself.
What did she mean, savior?
“You’ll be all right once you get home,” Sloan said to her, calm but formal. “I’ll drive you in your car. Are your keys in the ignition?”
Olivia shook her head. “No. There.”
Sloan followed her pointing finger to a space somewhere over his shoulder. Her tote was on a makeshift worktable, her keys next to it. He picked up the bag and keys. He handed the bag to Olivia, not meeting her gaze. He looked around and located his gun holster, snapped it back on, and settled the firearm against his hip.
“I know you think you can walk on your own, but I’ll hold your arm. Let’s go.” He opened the front door and waited for her to exit in front of him, firmly holding her upper arm.
He became distant, a defense against Olivia’s rant. Sloan also realized that the very fact that she’d managed to affect him so quickly was also a stark indication of the depth of his desire to be someone more in her life. Had he really let the fast and first aura of attraction go to his head? Had he not been paying attention to Olivia’s skepticism? As a Black woman, of course there were institutionalized odds stacked against her. He knew that. Had he been too cavalier in fashioning a connection between them that maybe only he could see?
Olivia had gone silent as they left the house. Sloan realized he couldn’t overlook the chance that she was still on the edge of shock, that she was still very affected by what she’d gone through, alone, all afternoon. He tried to let the practical, knowledgeable, pragmatic side of him slide back into place and make sure she was okay, to take care of Olivia in a moment when she could not do so for herself.
Had he forced her to get up too soon? Could she tolerate a car ride without vomiting? He recognized he’d become distant and seemed to be getting even further away.
Sloan watched her as she walked unsteadily to her car. He opened the passenger door and held it until she got in. Olivia just sat, staring ahead. Exhausted. Sloan silently fastened her seat belt for her.
She turned her gaze to him, and Sloan realized that she was not recovered. She needed to get home. Have a shower and get some sleep.
Was he trying to rescue her?
“What…about you?” she asked.
Her voice sounded hollow. She closed her eyes. He knew Olivia was feeling slightly dizzy.
“How will you get your car?”
“Don’t worry about it.”
And that was the extent of conversation. Olivia was too worn-out to talk, and Sloan felt the same way. She’d nearly fallen asleep during the fifteen-minute drive to her house. He knew where she lived, how to get there, and Sloan unerringly made his way to a neat, small Los Angeles cottage. The car stopped, and as she unfurled herself from the front seat, Sloan already had the passenger door open. While she grabbed the frame to haul herself out of the car, Sloan went to unlock and open her front door. He felt a stab of pain in his left knee. The one that had locked when he’d put his strength behind hauling Olivia clear of the hole in the floor. When he turned around, Olivia had reached him at the door. She stared at him, her gaze questioning.
“Are you okay?”
His jaw was tensing, his mouth grim. “I’m okay.”
Sloan ushered her through the door into her house. He took her tote from her and set it on a chair just inside the living room. He looked at her, and they stood facing one another in the late-afternoon dimness.
“I’ll wait until you go shower, get into clean clothes. It’s best if you don’t eat anything for the rest of the night. Drink water. You’re probably dehydrated. You’ll be fine in the morning. I probably won’t be able to talk you out of going into school, but take it easy. You’ve been through a lot today.”
“It could have been worse, I guess. But you—”
“Don’t worry about me.”
She frowned, bewildered. “Sloan…”
“Go. I’ll wait here until you’re out of the shower.”
She opened her mouth to say more but stopped. Olivia left to do as he’d ordered. She slid her hands along the wall for support as she disappeared down a short hallway.
Olivia returned twenty minutes later dressed in a kimono robe, barefoot, her hair wrapped in a terry cloth turban. He stood in the living room, his hands in his pockets with his sight trained on the entrance as she reappeared. His other observation, from his gut, was how beautiful Olivia looked. Her demeanor serene and graceful. Her brown skin glowing and clear. From where he stood, he could detect the smell of lavender.
They stood facing each other across the space of the living room. His gaze softened slightly. She looked refreshed and composed. Olivia suddenly began walking right to him, and he saw that she held a brown bottle in one hand and cotton pads in the other. She stopped in front of him.
“Let me see your arm,” Olivia ordered quietly.
Sloan was confused and then felt the slight tightening of skin on the back of his arm that indicated an abrasion. He twisted his arm and glanced down, seeing the long scratch just above his elbow, but it wasn’t deep enough to bleed. Olivia reached for his arm, but he pulled away.
“I’ll take care of it.”
“I’ll do it,” Olivia said, firmly taking his arm and positioning it so that she could see the wound as well.
“Should I accuse you of rescuing me?”
Sloan regretted his words and his tone as soon as he spoke. He sounded petty. And he was bewildered. Olivia didn’t respond to his cold question. She opened the bottle of peroxide and applied it to several cotton pads. She took his arm, and Sloan didn’t resist, watching Olivia, with her focus and sudden calm as she swabbed the scratch, the cool liquid stinging along the surface cut. She didn’t look at him as she worked, concentrating on what she was doing. She didn’t say anything, and he didn’t either. Suddenly he was relieved that neither of them knew what to say.
Olivia completed her attention to his laceration.
“That should help. You don’t want to risk an infection.”
“Thanks,” he murmured, his voice gruff. Olivia’s actions created mixed emotions in him.
“It will heal quicker if you don’t cover it up.”
He silently watched as she recapped the bottle and put it aside with the used pads. Sloan reached for a glass of water on an end table. He held it out to her.
“Water. I hope it’s okay I wandered into your kitchen.”
She took the glass. Their fingers briefly touched. “Of course it’s okay. I feel much better.”
Sloan nodded. She took a few thirsty sips of water. He watched as Olivia swallowed, watched as her face settled into her usual appealing features of quiet calm. But he was still too stunned to be drawn into her charm. He could feel himself resisting being drawn in again.
Sloan abruptly turned and headed back to the door, opened it. He stepped halfway out and turned back to look at her. He had a momentary urge to ask Olivia if she wanted him to stay awhile. But he also wasn’t willing to risk another accusation thrown at him.
“Get some rest. I mean it.” And before she could respond, Sloan pulled the door closed behind him.
He walked to the curb in front of Olivia’s house. He had a suspicion that she might be watching, peering from a hall window facing the street. Sloan didn’t turn around to see. He pulled out his cell and made a quick call. It lasted less than thirty seconds. Ninety seconds later an LAPD squad car slowly drove through, stopping right in front of him, and he climbed into the back. He never glanced at the house again, to see if Olivia was watching him ride away. If he’d done so, Sloan wasn’t sure how he’d feel if she wasn’t there.
Sloan was fooling himself if he thought it would be simple.
In the dark of his balcony, he stared out over the railing to a view that displayed mostly the Pacific, with a diagonal strip of the freeway. The busy LA night below was quiet from where he sat stretched out in a patio chair, the cars and streetlights a tiny distraction not taking away from his deep and troubling thoughts—that his instant attraction to Olivia would now instantly go away just because a harsh possibility had suddenly reared its ugly head.
It was not so simple. Sloan’s brows furrowed deeply over the way his gut was reacting. There was no way he had not seen that Olivia was African American when she turned down the school corridor toward him that first day. It was a fact that took second place to what he intuitively experienced from her smile, her eyes—the windows to her soul—and the way she carried herself with a presence that drew him in. It was the way she approached him totally without any suspicion or hostility. He was used to both of those. There was only one other time he could remember anything remotely similar to his response to Olivia. But he was only seven years old at the time.
The thing that Sloan had known for certain was that in the moment of their gaze meeting, somehow, he and Olivia were on the same page. That is, until the one moment in the house after he’d helped her out of a difficult situation. After he’d confirmed that she was unhurt but maybe in shock. Until what she’d said was said.
Sloan understood immediately what Olivia meant with her comment about a savior. He closed his eyes and tried to conjure up a situation in which her scenario might have happened. He couldn’t. Of course, he’d never had any of the experiences that challenged her because she was Black.
Nonetheless, he knew far more than Olivia could know about the insidious assumptions and beliefs held on both sides of the aisle and had also learned how ignorant and pointless they were. He’d also learned when he was still a kid that if you just listen to someone, you were far more likely to not only learn some truths but discover surprising similarities as well. He had no idea if any of that came to mind when he’d met Olivia Cameron. But Sloan did know that once he experienced a kind of immediate recognition, there was immediate acceptance.
His intuitive and profound reaction to Olivia did not change with the confrontation after the incident at her house. His only concern was, how the hell was he supposed to deal with it now?