Eden's Dream (3 page)

Noel tilted her chin up till she looked at him. His eyes were equally misty, though no tears fell. “Know what I think?” he paused, waiting for Eden to ask, then continued. “You're a beautiful woman who just happens to be vulnerable right now. That's what I think.” Impulsively he brushed her lips with his.

Oh God, she wasn't ready for this. She had to get her composure back. She hardly knew the man. Even worse, she didn't trust him. She inhaled a mouthful of air and rested her head against his chest. “Sorry. Now I've ruined your shirt.”

“No, I'm the one who's sorry. I shouldn't have done that.”

His apology surprised her. Drug dealer or not, he was Mr. Gallant.

Eden shifted safely away from Noel. “Thanks for the coffee and comfort, but I've got to get going. I've taken too much of your time already.”

Noel just nodded. “I'll see you home,” he offered.

Panic built in Eden. The tightening in her chest heralded the arrival of another attack. She couldn't let him see her in that state. Not again. “Oh that's not necessary,” she jabbered, racing from the room before Noel could protest. She almost tripped over her feet getting away from him.

“You forgot something,” Noel called from the terrace.

Eden turned in time to see him hold up Kahlua. His biceps bulged under the tight-fitting T-shirt as he brought Kahlua to her.

“Okay, girl,” he joked, turning the cat over. “Next time it's my turn to visit.”

“Wh-what,” Eden stuttered, knowing there wasn't a remote possibility of that happening. Not in this lifetime anyway. He would be an unwelcome visitor at best. She couldn't risk him getting too close.

Noel pressed the issue. “I take it your mom doesn't plan on issuing an invitation, Kahlua.” He scratched the cat behind the ears. “See you sometime, old girl.”

Eden thanked him for his help and ran.

E
den sat hunched
over the kitchen table, scanning a collection of newspaper clippings she'd meticulously arranged. She exhaled a perfect smoke ring and flicked her ash in the vicinity of an overflowing ashtray. Rotating her neck to ease the cramp at her nape, she picked through the pile to find the most recent article.

Ever since Rod's death she'd read voraciously, perusing every newspaper that covered the tragedy of Flight 757. What boggled the mind was that the Federal Aviation Authority and the National Transportation Safety Board could not agree on what had caused the crash. Even so, the rag sheets had labeled it pilot error. Their assumption galled her. Rod had been Pelican Air's best pilot, and though they'd had a falling out, she hated to see his reputation tarnished.

Eden forced herself to concentrate on the
New York Times
clipping in front of her. The headline, “Captain's Competency in Question,” was a rude reminder that the best succumbed to sensationalism. How dare they besmirch Rod's name, especially when he was no longer around to defend himself? The print blurred as Eden focused on the picture accompanying the caption. Rod stared back unflinchingly, the epitome of cool. His cap sat at a rakish angle, just like the first day she'd laid eyes on him. As the memories surfaced and the floodgates sprang open, Eden stubbed out her cigarette.

She cried not so much because she missed Rod, but because of guilt. When her tears threatened to ruin the print on the paper, she pushed the articles a safe distance away. Eventually her sniffles turned to full-fledged sobs, and a pounding noise finally filtered through.

“Eden?”

Eden looked up to acknowledge Noel's presence. He hovered at the open glass door, uncertain of his welcome. It had been at least a week since she'd seen him. “Wh–what do you want?”

He didn't answer immediately but crossed the room, Kahlua cradled in his arms. After setting down her cat, he crouched at Eden's side and pulled her into arms. “Go ahead and cry. Let it all out. I won't say a word, I promise,” Noel crooned.

Sniffling, Eden sought the haven of his arms once again. She leaned her head against his chest and let tears soak his freshly laundered T-shirt. When she was finally able to speak, she croaked, “Where did you find Kahlua?”

“Asleep on my terrace. Didn't you miss her?”

She'd been so engrossed in her newspaper articles she hadn't even missed her cat. She wasn't about to tell him that.

Noel continued, “I checked on her off and on. When I realized she'd been asleep for more than two hours, I thought that was long enough, so I decided to bring her home.” He stroked Eden's hair, making soothing noises.

Rather than her sobs subsiding, his touch provoked a reaction she was determined to ignore. Hiccuping her words, she said, “I—should—be thanking—you, not—sobbing—my brains out.”

“Nothing to thank me for. This was the perfect excuse to visit. And a good thing too. I haven't seen Kahlua's mother in…what is it?” He paused. “Ten days.”

So he'd been counting the days too. So had she, although she'd not made an effort to seek him out. There was something about him that still made her wary. Most likely it was those strange men paying nocturnal visits to his home.

Noel's calloused fingertips traced the edge of Eden's jaw. Kahlua's soft purr intruded on the silence. Eventually, Noel whispered, “Look at me, Eden.” He tilted her chin back until her eyes held his. “Hiding in here and perusing newspaper articles isn't going to bring your fiancé back.”

She knew that, but finding Rod's murderer might help assuage her guilt. It had made her more determined than ever to find those responsible for his death. And she wasn't really hiding, just taking a little sabbatical. She'd never been a coward.

A little voice inside reminded her that her mother voiced similar concerns. “I'm not hiding,” she said a shaky voice.

“You're not? What do you call this then?” Noel made a sweeping motion to include the newspaper articles on the table.

“Research,” she justified. “My need to piece together why Flight 757 went down. If I can do that, I can finally put closure to this whole ordeal.” Her voice sounded almost normal now.

“And what have you found so far?”

He seemed more than casually interested. Why should he care? Still, it would be good to talk to someone outside the travel industry. Someone to whom she could explain that Rod had not been the incompetent pilot the newspapers made him out to be. Eden handed Noel the article clutched in her hand.

“Right here, it says that Rod had been flying for ten plus years. That he'd flown that route at least once a week.” She jabbed at the words with her finger. “That he was a vocal union rep, and constantly at odds with management. Why then would a rabble-rouser take a plane with even minor mechanical problems up? Stranger than that, how could a plane just fall from the sky?”

Noel's face remained inscrutable as he scanned the article. At last he looked up. “Could he have grown too confident? Or was he playing hotshot pilot with an insatiable need to defy the odds?”

His response ignited Eden's anger. She pushed out of his arms, and stood, arms splayed. The chair went toppling. “How dare you say that?”

A look of surprise flashed across Noel's features. He scrambled upright. “Eden, I didn't mean…”

“Not another word!” She crossed one arm over the other and glared at him.

“Eden. Be realistic. The best of us make mistakes. When we do something over and over again, it becomes routine. Rod could have grown careless.”

It wasn't something she hadn't thought of herself, but to hear someone else say it…well, that was too much. “Rod was the consummate perfectionist. He cared too much about his passengers to risk their lives.” She turned her back on him.

“Perhaps whether he flew or not wasn't exactly in his control,” Noel speculated. “But couldn't he have just said no and waited for a maintenance crew to fix the problems? His decision to leave those blocks cost lives.”

“He would have said no,” Eden insisted. “Rod would never have taken that plane up, even if there were minor mechanical issues. I knew him that well. He wouldn't have left the jet way until the last No-Go item was repaired.”

“No Go?” Noel frowned, clearly puzzled. “What does that mean?” He squinted at her.

She'd forgotten he wouldn't know the jargon. But he seemed to know a great deal more than the average person with macabre interest. Come to think of it, he'd referred to the chocks under the airplane's wheels as blocks, not normal for a lay person. Who was this man? She wondered. Still, he was easy to talk to and had managed to worm so much out of her already. She'd told him things she'd never voiced to another soul.

Eden plucked a tissue from a box on the counter, blew her nose, sniffed, and turned around. “No Go is airline lingo for mechanical problems needing repair before takeoff. Why are you so interested?”

Noel's voice sounded incredulous, though he ignored her question. “I thought every mechanical item had to be repaired before a flight was airborne.”

Eden shook her head. “No, not necessarily. Only those affecting the operation of the aircraft. Minor items, for example a seat that failed to stay in an upright position, isn't a No-Go item. You'd just make sure a passenger didn't sit in it.”

“Hmmph.”

“Hmmph, yourself,” Eden snorted, her mood lightening. Impulsively she asked, “Would you like a cup of coffee?”

Noel smiled his magnificent smile, emerald eyes twinkling. “Now you're talking.”

“I've got a great brew from Kenya,” she jabbered, digging through the cupboard to find the box.

“Sounds delicious. Any chance it's decaf?”

“You're in luck.”

She looked back to see that he'd taken the seat she'd vacated and was already absorbed in the newspaper clippings. Grabbing the coffeepot, she scooped coffee into the filter, added water, and flicked the switch to the On position.

“So what do you think?” Eden asked, leaning over Noel's shoulder. “Isn't it interesting how each newspaper seems to have a different perspective on the crash? Did you read this one?” She tapped the column with the tip of her finger.

“Umm hmm. That's the one where the reporter thinks it was a missile.”

“It's not that far-fetched. Several people swore they saw a ball of fire in the sky right before the plane lost control.”

“And if I remember, one of them was flying high on heroin. I'd hardly call him a reliable source,” Noel tossed over his shoulder.

“What about the others?”

Noel turned, and his face was now inches from hers. He was so close she could smell the mint on his breath and see herself reflected in his pupils. “Wasn't one of them recently released from a looney bin? I'd be more inclined to go with the cockpit's failure to adequately monitor flight instruments than any of this other stuff.”

He flashed that dazzling smile, presumably to let her know he was teasing, and though angry with him, his smile totally unnerved her. She took a step back, placing safe distance between them. “So how do you know so much about the Pelican crash?” she asked from her new safe position.

Noel's smile faltered, though he made a quick recovery. “I read a lot. Smells like that coffee might be ready.”

And so it was.

She poured them both cups and took the seat across from him, determined not to let him off the hook. “But seriously. How come you're so well-informed?”

He blinked once, and then twice, carefully putting on his poker face. “No more well-informed than the next guy. The Pelican Air disaster has made every newspaper. It's been front-page news for weeks.”

Somehow she didn't believe that was all there was to it. He was hiding something—she was sure of it. She quirked an eyebrow. “So it's only morbid interest? Sheer curiosity on your part?”

The glint in his eyes told her she was treading on sensitive territory. Noel seemed to scramble for words. At last he said, “Actually, it's a little bit more than curiosity or a penchant for gossip that has me interested. I lost my best friend on that flight.”

“Oh God, I'm sorry.” The words tumbled over each other. She reached for his hand across the table. “I feel terrible prodding you, asking why you were interested. I should have backed off. I sensed you didn't want to talk about it.”

Noel's hand curled around her fingertips. Their gazes locked and held. As ridiculous as it might seem, she knew with certainty that their connection was both mental and physical. But even that thought did nothing to assuage her doubts about him, her suspicions that he wasn't telling the whole truth.

Eden opted for safer ground. “How long have you lived on Mercer Island?”

Noel took a sip of coffee and set his mug down. “Actually I'm new to the area. I only moved here a couple of weeks before you did.”

She was dying to find out why he'd chosen Mercer Island and how he'd managed to acquire such a terrific house. Instead she asked, “Where from?”

Noel's hold on her hand tightened. Eden's body flooded with warmth. Covertly, she studied his features. He had cheekbones sculptured in pure granite, a pair of lips that most women would die for; the bottom one pouting slightly, and beautiful, beautiful hands. Artist's

hands, fingernails squared to perfection. What would it be like to have those hands explore her body? she wondered.
Stop it!
a little voice inside screamed.
You've lost your mind. You just met this man.

Noel's response pulled her back to the present. “My, you're certainly full of questions.” He released her hand, pushed back his chair, and stood. “Some time we'll have to share life stories, but not today. I've got work to do.”

“Work?” Eden blurted, her hormones in overdrive. “I didn't think you worked.”

“I create pieces.” She must have looked puzzled. He went on. “I'm a furniture designer actually, and, if I don't finish the piece I'm commissioned to do, I'll be an unemployed one. Thanks for the coffee.” He headed for the door, hesitated for a moment and then retraced his steps. “Hey, would you consider running with me tomorrow?”

When she didn't answer right away, he looked pointedly at the overflowing ashtray, adding, “That's if you're up to it.”

It had been a long time since she'd pushed her body to its limit. Truth be known, she missed the exhilaration of a good sweat. And he had issued a challenge. “What time did you have in mind?”

Noel's eyebrows flew skyward. He seemed startled that she'd actually agreed. “Is six too early? It's pretty cool then, and the roads are usually deserted.”

Eden nodded her agreement “Six it is then.” She waited until he'd left before lighting up a cigarette. The whole time he'd been there she hadn't felt the need to smoke.