Fatal Hearts (6 page)

The thought had him stepping back. “So what happened to the Senator? Was it a stroke? I think that’s what Josh said. I know it was something catastrophic, since he had to vacate his Senate seat.”

Hayden seized the change of subject, clearly eager to put the awkwardness behind them. “Yeah, the official statement said stroke.” Hayden walked to the window and drew the curtain aside to look out. “Funny thing, all the media attention seemed to focus on his seat, not the Senator himself. If I hadn’t been friends with Josh, I doubt I’d even have known he was here.”

“Yeah, but you’re from away, right?” Boyd joined her there, taking care not to crowd her, to see what view his new bedroom offered. The rear parking lot, as it happened. He hadn’t even looked last time he’d been in this room. Or if he had, the view hadn’t registered. “Maybe folks aren’t as open if you’re not third-generation Frederictonian.”

She rolled her eyes at him. “That’s a terrible stereotype about Maritimers.” She let the curtain fall back into place and moved away. “Things haven’t been like that for, oh . . . tens of years.”

He laughed. “So they’ve adopted you?”

“They’re campaigning hard to add me to their census roll, all right.”

“Ah, the hard-sell recruitment?” He took her sigh as an affirmative. “Have you told them you’re not sticking around?”

“Repeatedly. The recruitment officer doesn’t let a little thing like my life plan deter him.”

Boyd caught himself before he could ask her what her life plan involved besides disappointing his twin and robbing him of the chance for the kind of love he’d dreamed of.

Shit.
The thought was unworthy of him. As much as it pained him to think about the unrequited love Josh had harbored for Hayden, it wasn’t her fault. Emotions couldn’t be willed or manufactured, something he well knew. But knowing that and getting past it were two different things.

He realized she was looking at him as though she expected him to say something. Oh, yeah. The overly optimistic recruiter. “So you’re going to break the poor guy’s heart and go where, exactly?”

“I’m not sure.”

Not sure?
After that speech about career plans and not letting relationships get in the way—dammit, after using it to shut Josh down—she didn’t even know where she wanted to end up?

She snorted. “God, Boyd. I wish you could see your face. You look like I just said I was going to burn my diploma and walk away from medicine when I finish my residency.”

“I’m sorry . . . It’s just . . . How could you not know where you’re going?”

Her smile faded. “Okay, I should have said I’m bound for a bigger center. Toronto, Edmonton, Vancouver, even Halifax. It depends on what offers I get. All I know is I want to work somewhere where I can help the people who have the biggest health challenges, the people who need intervention the most.”

He blinked. “Junkies?”

That elicited another eye roll. “I meant the poor, Boyd. Which, yes, could include addicts.”

“And there are no poor people here?”

“Of course there are. There’s always poverty, wherever you go. But it’s relative. I’m sure Josh must have told you what a white-collar town this is. Seat of government, home to two universities, culturally rich. Scores very highly on all of those best places to live polls. It has a very high percentage of people with postsecondary educations, and we rank fairly high on per capita income.”

“I see your point. Why would anyone want to work here?”

That smile flashed again. “Okay, so it’s a great place to live and work for most people. But Fredericton doesn’t really need me. Rich, well-educated Canadians generally demand and receive high-quality care. They navigate the health system extremely well. They also tend to be healthier to begin with. They eat better, exercise, do all those things that reduce their risk of disease.”

His irritation with her segued into a grudging respect. “Well, you’d certainly find your target populations in any of those cities you named. I can personally vouch for Toronto.”

“Toronto would be great. But actually, my first deployment is going to be to Haiti.”

“
Haiti?
”

“Yep. I’m going to do a stint with Doctors Without Borders there. I’ve always wanted to do something to help the people of Haiti. That’s where my mother is from.”

A Haitian mother? That must be where she got her slightly exotic looks. The wide, full mouth, golden skin tone, and masses of curly hair. Her father must have contributed the blue eyes and the blonde hair color.

“So is your mom still there, or is she here in Canada?”

“Here,” she replied. “She emigrated from Haiti to Canada with her parents in the seventies. They settled in Montreal, as so many of them did. But she still has relatives back in Haiti, including two brothers. When I got to be old enough, we—my parents and I—started to go on mission trips with the church a couple of weeks every year. I’ve met all my Haitian uncles and cousins, and now those cousins have families of their own.”

“And that’s where you got the bug to do good deeds?”

“I got so much more than that out of it. What I saw down there . . . that’s what gave me the passion to study medicine in the first place. It only seems right that I honor that, you know?”

Yes, he could understand that. “Have you explained this Haitian connection to the recruiter?”

“Of course. But it’s his job to not take no for an answer. He’s never going to let up.”

“Guess he’ll have to when you walk out the door after your last shift, huh?”

She laughed, and it was just as musical as he’d imagined. He must have been watching her mouth again, because she sobered quickly.

“I was going to stay and help you search, to save you from being alone in this room,” she said. “But if you’re going to be staying here, I guess there’s not much point in that, is there? You’re going to have to get used to it.”

“I thought that might be what was behind your . . . uh . . . offer to come here with me.”

“My insistence, you mean?”

“I’m glad you insisted. It was very kind of you.”

She shrugged. “I just know I wouldn’t have wanted to come back here alone.” She glanced around the room. “I should go. You’re probably anxious to start your search, and I should get home.”

“Of course,” he said. “Let me walk you to your car.”

“No need for that. The parking lot is reasonably well lit, as you saw, and this isn’t exactly a high-crime area.”

He grinned at the idea of a criminal daring to invade Sylvia Stratton’s world. “I’m sure you’re right, but I’m still going to walk you out. I have to get my bag from the car anyway.”

A moment later, they stood in the parking lot by her Subaru.

“So, you’re good from here?” she asked, keys in hand.

He understood instantly what she was asking. “I’m further ahead than I was,” he acknowledged, nodding his head toward the Stratton House behind him. “But I think there’s more I can learn from you. Nobody knew Josh—the Fredericton Josh—like you did. I’d still like to talk to you some more.”

She eyed him uncertainly. “You really think my telling you this stuff—what movies we saw together or which nights I came over here or he came to my place—is going to help you?”

He met her gaze. “Absolutely. One way or another, it’ll help. If it doesn’t lead me to understand more clearly what happened, maybe it can lead me to accept it.” He shrugged. “To be honest, I could use someone to talk to about Josh. I can’t say his name around my parents without one or the other of them breaking down. And everyone else . . . they just don’t know what to say.”

He saw her acquiescence in the slight relaxation of her shoulders.

“Okay,” she said. “Just tell me what I can do.”

“You can start by hanging around with me, just like you would with Josh.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “Just like that, huh? We’re going to be insta-buddies and we’re going to text each other five times a day?”

He grimaced. “Okay, maybe not that part.”

“Good. Because I don’t think I could stand that.” Her voice sounded thick. “I mean, you look so much like him . . .”

“I get it,” he said flatly. “I’m not Josh. Believe me—I know that very well. I don’t think there’s any danger of either of us forgetting it.”

“That’s not what I meant to—”

“But it’s the truth. I’m a fan of truth, Hayden. In that respect, at least, I’m a lot like my brother.”

She gazed up at him. “But not
all
truths, I guess. Josh told me you weren’t interested in knowing your birth parents.”

She’d said something very like that to him when they’d talked at the restaurant, but he’d completely ignored her statement. This time, her words slid into him like a surgeon’s scalpel.

In his defense, he could have told her what he’d told Josh—that this investigation could land the people who’d been their
real
parents in questionable legal waters. But it would have been a false defense. The truth of it was he just didn’t care to know.

Their birth parents had given them up, and that’s all there was to it.

Oh, it’d taken him a while to reach that conclusion. Frank and Ella McBride had been solid parents, but, knowing they were adopted, he and Josh had often speculated about their “real” mother. In their young minds, she was glamorous and beautiful, and had shed glamorous, beautiful tears about having to give them up. In their imaginations, there was always a compelling reason. Josh’s favorite had been that she was a superhero and hadn’t been able to take care of them herself because she was busy saving the world. Boyd preferred to think that she’d been knocked on the head and developed amnesia—or, even better, that she’d been magically enchanted and made to forget about them—but eventually the amnesia would clear, or the magic spell would be broken, and she would remember and come find them.

For Boyd, those childish fantasies had given way to the certain knowledge that their mother just hadn’t wanted them. But for Josh, the dream had never really died. Not that he still believed their mother was a superhero or a secret agent or a fairy princess, but his conviction that their mother would want to meet them never faltered. It had irked Boyd that Josh continued to search into his adulthood, after it became painfully clear that their mother didn’t want to reconnect. There were plenty of places she could have registered if she’d wanted to be found.

He smiled. “There’s that magic word—
interested
. If I’m not interested, if I don’t care about learning a particular truth, there’s no point in the pursuit of it, is there? Unless, of course, it means discovering what really happened to Josh.”

“You’re right, and I’m sorry.” She sighed. “Look, can we park this conversation until tomorrow? I’m exhausted, and if I don’t get my sleep, the ER will be hell in the morning.”

Damn, she did look exhausted. “Of course.”

She hit the remote to unlock her car, and he reached for the door handle and opened it for her. She slid into the seat.

“When can we get together again?”

“You really want to walk in Josh’s shoes?” she asked.

“As much as I can, yes.”

“So be it,” she said. “Tomorrow night, then. My place. It’s
Burn Notice
night, and it’s your turn to bring pizza.” She produced her phone. “We might as well get each other’s details.”

He punched in her number and address, then gave her his phone number.

“What time?” he asked, when she’d finished programming her phone and tucked it back in her purse.

“Seven. And make it a veggie pizza.”

“Veggie?” He made no attempt to hide the dismay in his voice.

“Yes, veggie.” Smiling, she keyed the ignition and the Subaru’s engine sputtered to life. “Now close my door.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He obliged, then stepped back as she reversed out of the parking space and drove away.

He glanced up at the old Victorian, his smile dying as his gaze found the lighted window of Josh’s bedroom.
His
bedroom for the next couple of weeks.

I’m not giving up on you, Josh. If your death wasn’t natural, I’ll uncover the truth.

With that determination, he unlocked his rental, retrieved his leather travel bag, and trudged back toward the house.

Hayden was three blocks away before she realized she was holding herself so tensely, something was likely to snap.

Easing her death grip on the steering wheel, she took a few slow, deep breaths and willed her muscles to relax. After a few moments, they complied.

Much better.

Small wonder she’d been tense. Between Sylvia Stratton’s company and her increasingly acute awareness of Boyd McBride, she’d overloaded her circuits.

Boyd.
Several times tonight, she’d caught him looking at her face. No, not her face—her
mouth
. Had he been thinking about kissing her?

God help her, she’d been thinking the same thing.

She didn’t know what was more bizarre, that she was having this strong reaction to someone she’d met just that day—the handshake at the funeral was so brief and impersonal, it hardly counted—or that that someone was a genetic duplicate of the best friend she’d just lost.