Eden's Dream (16 page)

“Me too.”

Her admission, lukewarm at best, served to encourage him.

He kissed the nape of her neck and trailed his hands down her arms. Time to tell the truth. He couldn't put it off much longer. When she wrapped her arms around his neck and sighed softly, thoughts of serious conversation were temporarily put on hold as ten frustrating days of loneliness took their toll. This time he kissed her, holding nothing back.

Eden tugged at his shirt, located the buttons, and undid them one by one. She slid her hands inside the opening, running her fingers through the curly hairs of his chest. Oh, God. Just the touch of her palms drove him wild. He kept his mouth on hers as he lowered her onto the couch and pressed himself into her. Their desire grew into a live, tangible thing.

“Oh God, girl. I've missed you so much.”

“Not as much as I've missed you.”

Eden's legs imprisoned him, pulling him closer. There would be no turning back now. He managed to free himself, lower his zipper, and fumble for the foil packet in his wallet. His other hand slid the flimsy scrap of fabric she called underwear aside.

“Help me,” he said, ripping open the seal.

Eden slid the sheath on him and helped him into position. Like custom gloves, they fit perfectly. Each thrust elicited a series of ecstatic gasps. Sliding the shoulders of her dress downward, he captured her breasts, molded them gently and then nibbled at the peaks. “God, Noah.”

“I'm hardly the almighty, baby.”

In a simultaneous outpouring of passion, they toppled over the edge.

Spent, Eden emitted a contented sigh. Her nose lay in the hollow of his neck. Only a slight movement of her head indicated she was alive. He kissed the soft wooly hair. What would it be like to have her in his life forever and ever? He dismissed the thought, concentrating on the cargo manifest. Who would have sent the list? And what had been their purpose?
Think, Noah. Think. You're rusty, old boy. Someone's trying to tell you something.

The phone rang. Eden stirred beneath him. The ringing continued, and still she made no effort to get up. “Do you have your answering machine on?” Noah whispered, his tongue teasing the lobes of her ears. “Umm hmm.”

“Umm hmm, yes? Or umm hmm, no?”

She looked at him through glazed eyes, her body language subtly changing, tension slowly returning.

Comprehension dawned. “Jesus, Eden.” He leapt off the couch and strode purposefully toward the phone. “Why didn't you tell me it's happening again?”

Adjusting the red dress, and simultaneously avoiding his eyes, she propped herself into a seated position, staring at the silent figures on TV.

Noah picked up the phone and a soft click resounded in his ear. He swore softly. “Dammit.”

Heading back the way he had come, he noted that Eden's concentration was now riveted on the television. Judging from her expression, something or someone totally captured her attention. There was such a look of abject disbelief on her face that he wanted to go to her, hold her, and assure her that whatever it was couldn't be that bad. Curiosity and his own need for reassurance made him come closer. He froze in his tracks, any thoughts of comforting words fleeing from his head. There he was, a microphone thrust under his nose, bigger than life on her twenty-five-inch screen.

Impulsively, he grabbed the remote and clicked the power off.

E
den glared at Noah
. “Hey, why did you shut off the TV?”

“Because we need to talk.”

Looking into Noah's solemn face, she was torn between hurling accusations and hearing him out. “Who are you?” she whispered.

“Can we sit down?”

“No. I'm comfortable standing.”

He reached over to touch her arm, but she stepped back, putting distance between them.

“Eden, it's a long story.”

“I have all day.” Expression bleak, she folded her arms across her breasts. “I'm waiting.”

“My real name is Noah Robbins.”

“I already know that.”

“I'm really not a furniture designer.”

“Surprise, surprise! Yet you fed me some story about a deprived childhood apprenticing with a carpenter. Or was it a furniture designer?” She clicked her tongue. “This vocation later became a hobby.” She tapped the tip of her shoe against the wooden floor. “Your latest story is that you're a reporter.”

“Actually I'm a—”

The phone rang, cutting him off mid-sentence.

Distracted and torn between hearing Noah's latest fabrication and the person waiting on the other end of the line, she darted a look at the offending instrument. “The machine will eventually pick up,” Noah said. “This talk is long overdue.”

They stared at each other. The tension in the air was so thick you could literally cut it with a knife.

The answering machine clicked on, and Eden's recorded message filled the room. “Sorry, I'm not available, but please be sure to leave your name, telephone number, and a brief message, I'll call you back as soon as I can.”
Beep.

Heavy breathing on the other end, then a muffled voice. “Mind your own business, witch. Next time you won't be around to hear this.”

Taking rapid strides, Noah crossed the room. He grabbed the receiver and shouted into it, “Who the hell are you?” After a second or so, he mumbled, “Damn coward, hung up.” He slammed the phone down and turned back to her. “Look, Eden, I swear no more lies. If you hear me out this once, I'll tell you everything, and at the end, if you decide you want nothing to do with me, I'll understand.”

Despite the fact that she was angry with him—very angry—curiosity prevailed. “All right, talk,” she said, seating herself on the sofa.

He came to sit next to her, but she sidled away. She couldn't let him touch her, not if she wanted to keep a clear head.

“Eden, I'm a safety inspector. I work for the National Transportation Safety Board. Those men you saw visiting late at night are friends on special assignment at the Seattle branch.”

His admission made her sit up and listen. Every airline employee knew who the NTSB was. The agency, based in Washington, DC, was charged by congress to investigate civil aviation accidents throughout the United States. Was this another one of his stories? “Go on.”

“I was the inspector assigned to Flight 757.”

No wonder his name and face were familiar. He had been all over the internet and on TV.

“You know our agency has a reputation for impartiality. Since I was fully aware that my best friend was on the plane, I should have refused the case. But I wanted to be a big guy. I was gonna handle it.” His voice broke.

So there had been a friend. She wanted to reach out and touch him but steeled herself against making contact. He hadn't lied just once, he'd lied over and over.

“Initially, I figured I'd just do my job, write my report, and that would be that.”

“Why didn't you?”

“My gut told me there was something wrong from the very beginning. Most accidents occur during takeoffs and landings, and airplanes don't usually fall from the sky, especially when they've been airborne for more than an hour. Then when the black box was found—”

“The black box was found?” She must have missed that particular news article.

“Yes. The cockpit voice recorder, not the FDR.”

“The Flight Data Recorder's still missing, then?”

“Yes.” Noah cracked his knuckles, and for the first time Eden realized telling her this wasn't easy for him. She desperately wanted to believe him, but how could she trust anything he said?

“Was there something on that recorder that made you believe Rod was to blame?” she probed.

“Yes.” Noah wasn't able to look at her. He massaged his temples, and he stared straight ahead.

“Why was it so important you find me?” She held up her hand, silencing whatever he was about to say. “Don't deny it. Your move to Mercer Island was deliberate.”

“I—” Noah darted her a quick look, wincing at her unsmiling face.

“It was hardly a coincidence that you moved next door.”

“I was taken off the case and forced to take vacation,” he said, cracking his knuckles again. “The powers that be felt that I'd become too personally involved. And I'd begun receiving death threats. That vacation later became an extended leave. So when I learned through friends at the agency that you'd be moving to the Pacific Northwest, I thought maybe if I talked to you, I'd be able to put closure to this thing. See, I knew you were the last person Rodney Joyner spoke to. I thought you might be able to confirm that he'd been—”

Eden stood up, her voice trembling. “Drinking? Let's not play games. You've always thought he was drunk. That's why you questioned me and made those inferences about him being a party boy. That's why you wanted to crucify him. Let me tell you something.” She pointed a finger close to his nose. “I was fully aware of Rod's faults. But one of them was not drinking and piloting. I must have spoken to him dozens of times before a flight, in fact moments before takeoff. This particular evening was no exception. Yes, Rodney was upset, but he was coherent, considering that I'd broken things off with him.” The last slipped out, she hadn't meant to say that much.

“You'd broken up with him?” Noah's green eyes fixed on hers.

“I know what you're thinking,” Eden continued. “Impaired judgment. Sorry to blow your theory, but Rod knew it was coming. He'd had weeks to adjust. I'd threatened to break the engagement when I found out—well—look, he wasn't perfect, but he wasn't half as conniving as you. You used me, Noah. You skillfully worked your way into my pants just so you could get the information you needed. That's despicable.” She felt herself tear up. She couldn't let him see her cry. Wouldn't.

“Eden, that's not—”

“Eden, nothing,” she said, refusing to give in to his pleading or his woeful looks. The man was a con artist. “Shouldn't you be thinking about leaving?” She threw him a pointed look.

He stood, examining the wrinkles in his khakis and brushing an imaginary piece of lint off his knees. “I had my friend drive my car home. I thought I'd take the shuttle back.” He moved as if to comfort her, but she stepped out of his reach. “Eden, I'm sorry.”

“Not sorrier than. I am. If you catch a cab right now, you might make the seven o'clock shuttle. May I have my keys, please?” She held out her hand.

Noah's emerald eyes burned a searing path across her face, the muscle of his jaw twitching. His warm hand brushed hers as he curled the key ring into her palm.

The connection was electric. She stepped back before she could be short-circuited.

“Eden, whether you choose to believe it or not, I love you.”

“Please leave.”

She waited until the door closed before letting the tears come. When would she get it through her thick skull that the entire male gender couldn't be trusted?

L
ori Goldmuntz entered
the crew lounge, a pot of coffee in one hand, two pieces of fattening Danish in the other. “Shall I top that off?” She pointed to Eden's half-empty cup. When Eden nodded, she poured the liquid in the cup, and set the Danish down. She took a seat opposite Eden. “Why so glum? You've only been back a couple of days. Sinclair couldn't have gotten to you already.”

Eden managed a watery smile. “Sinclair has nothing to do with my mood.”

“Cigarette?” Lori shook a Dunhill from a red pack.

“No, thanks. I quit.”

“Good for you. You were smoking like a chimney for a while, especially after Rod died. Oh, I'm sorry.” Perfectly manicured nails flew to Lori's mouth. “How insensitive of me.”

For the second time that morning, Eden managed a wobbly smile. “Just goes to prove anyone can quit.”

Her friend's bottle-blond hair flopped into her face as she busily attacked the Danish. Looking up, she spoke between bites. “Michael's having the hardest time finding out who brought the cooler to the airport. Even worse, none of the guys seem to remember delivering it to the plane. Michael's stumped. Nowhere in the system is that thing registered. He's going to try to contact his source—you know, the guy that's been laid off.”

The news was hardly surprising considering neither cooler nor organ had been documented on the cargo manifest. Eden was now convinced the cooler wasn't just any old cooler. Her nightmare had helped to drive home that point. Wisely, she kept her thoughts to herself, remembering what Noah had once said. He'd felt that both Lori and Michael relayed the details to too many people. “Lori, do you think our ex-employee would be willing to speak with me?”

“Let me check with Michael. If it's cool, we'll set something up.”

Eden switched the subject. “Did you ever find out who the delay was charged to?”

“Yup. It was coded a flight-crew delay.”

Eden spoke hesitantly, “That would mean—the plane was held—waiting for one of the pilots.”

“Either that, or the decision to delay the flight came from someone in the cockpit.”

“Gee, I hadn't thought of that.” Joining Lori, Eden bit into her Danish. They were onto something at last. Should she call Noah? An impossible thought. Their business together had concluded. She couldn't trust the man.

“On another note, whatever happened to Noel Robinson? I could have sworn that was a budding romance waiting to bloom.”

Did the woman have ESP? Eden sputtered and took several seconds swallowing. Lori patted her back. Eventually she answered, “Noel Robinson's history, Lori. Actually the man was a fraud. Last I heard he claimed to be Noah Robbins, National Transportation Safety Board inspector.”

Lori bounced in her seat. “Eden, you sly dog. You've been dating Noah Robbins. The Noah Robbins.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“Where have you been hiding, kiddo, under a rock? There isn't a woman from here to Timbuktu that doesn't salivate over that man.”

Eden tossed her a puzzled look. Why did Lori make it sound like she'd been hanging with Denzel Washington? “I've always thought the name was familiar. Is he famous?” She held her breath.

“Noah's the National Transportation Safety Board's hottie. Knowing that television ratings will soar, the NTSB trots him out every time there's a plane crash. He gets his fifteen minutes of fame, and the newscasters just love him. He's even been interviewed by Oprah.” Lori raised a hand fending off Eden's interruptions. “Let me give you his profile. Six foot four, skin the color of deep mahogany, a body built like the proverbial brick—well you know. Buns that remind you of an onion. You could cry just looking at them. Wait there's more. Man's got a smile that lights up the world, cheekbones carved from pure granite. Top that off with being thirty-something and single.”

“Noah Robbins is some kind of national stud?” Eden's heart plummeted. She'd been taken in by a master.

“In the same league as
Sports Illustrated
swimsuit models.”

“Eden.” A voice from the back of the room interjected.

Eden turned to see Sinclair Morgan heading their way. How much she'd overheard was anyone's guess.

Sinclair glanced at a piece of paper in her hand, frowning slightly. “A couple of guys from the NTSB are coming to look at our operation tomorrow. They've asked to have you show them around.”

“Me?”

Sinclair winked. “Yes, you. Looks like you made quite the impression on Noah Robbins. He'll be here tomorrow, eleven.
a.m.
sharp.”