Soul to Soul (RUSH, Inc. Book 2) Read online

  Soul to Soul

  RUSH, Inc.

  Book 2

  By Carol Caiton

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, organizations, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2017 by Carol Caiton Ware. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  MAP

  BOARD OF DIRECTORS

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  CHAPTER 27

  CHAPTER 28

  CHAPTER 29

  CHAPTER 30

  CHAPTER 31

  CHAPTER 32

  CHAPTER 33

  Preview of Full Circle

  MAP

  BOARD OF DIRECTORS

  Malcolm Speeridge – CEO

  Mason Ingersol – Attorney

  Ethan Vale – Former Chief of Security

  Simon Yetzer – Statistician

  Michael Vassek – Systems Programmer

  Elliott Longstreet – Architect

  Oliver Pace – Accountant

  PROLOGUE

  Her name was Rachel Oslund and Nathan had adored her since . . . well, probably since she was eight years old, though he would have been appalled by the idea at the time. At seventeen, the mushy way his heart warmed whenever he looked at her had been easy enough to shrug off. She was a sweet kid—quiet and dainty, pretty and shy. She was still all of those things, though now he'd say she was beautiful instead of pretty. But he wasn't seventeen anymore, he was thirty-two. And his heart still turned to mush every time he saw her.

  Back then it had been his job after school to take care of his eight-year-old sister until their mother got home from work. Lucky for him, as an elementary school secretary his mother rarely worked late. He may have complained now and then, but watching Ali wasn't a hardship. As far as sisters went she was okay. And since some of other guys had to babysit their younger siblings too, he didn't feel like such a pansy.

  The truth of the matter though was that Ali had needed that time with him. Their father, a cop with the Orange County Sheriff's Office, had been killed in the line of duty the year before and she'd been grappling with death and loss at an age when she should have been carefree and unconcerned with the cruelties of life. Unfortunately, that struggle resulted in an over-protective vigilance that focused right on him, as if she thought he was going to die and leave her too. She wanted to know he was exactly where he was supposed to be throughout the day.

  It was a hell of a burden for a seventeen-year-old guy to shoulder. But watching her fall apart was worse. So he made a lot of concessions by taking an extra minute to tell her where he was going if he went out, letting her know when he expected to be home, and spending one-on-one time with her on the days he had to babysit. Sometimes they played video games, sometimes board games. Sometimes they'd turn on the TV and bicker back and forth about which show to watch, and sometimes she'd just pull out a chair at the dining room table and color pictures while he tacked his homework.

  Then one day she came home from school with two little girls in tow—identical twins. Talk about a surprise . . . . But from that day on, she never asked him to play another board game. Come to think of it, he hadn't played one in all the years since. For some reason, connecting with Rachel and Jill Oslund had marked a turning point for Ali. She still kept tabs on him, but she had other things to focus on, normal everyday kid stuff, and he began to get a little breathing space.

  The funny thing was, when he finally got that breathing space, he didn't take advantage of it. She and the twins used to drag a ton of Barbie stuff out to the living room and make up the silliest dialog a guy ever wanted to hear. But he'd hang around and watch, intrigued by two identical little people interacting with one another—same face, same spindly body, even the same voice and facial expressions. It added an interesting twist to babysitting, sort of like watching a duplicate image jump out of a mirror and take on a life of its own.

  But there were differences too. Rachel and Jill were petit little blondes with curls spiraling down their backs and eyes as blue as the sky. Their skinny arms and legs always seemed to sport a cut or a bruise. If one of them had a scraped knee, he could pretty much bet on the other having a cut or bump too. Sometimes it struck him as sort of eerie, like if one had to suffer, the other commiserated with an injury of her own. The thing was, it occurred often enough for him to notice.

  Sometimes he used those telltale injuries as a quick reference for identification. But eventually he grew to know them well enough that their individual personalities showed him who was who after just a few seconds.

  Almost always Jill was the first to speak. She was the first to show enthusiasm, the first to put forth a suggestion and the first to want his attention. She was a vibrant little butterfly—outgoing, adventurous, and happy. He took it for granted she was the leader of the two.

  But the more he watched, the more he realized Rachel just marched to her own drummer, pursuing her own ideas rather than falling in with Jill and Ali. So maybe Rachel wasn't a follower after all. Maybe he'd gotten it wrong and she was the one with leadership qualities.

  He dismissed that idea though the day all three girls took up in-line skating. Jill, in keeping with her usual pattern, was the first to get hurt and, holding fast to that pattern, was the first to show him the bandage on her elbow. Of course he offered all the sympathy a teenaged guy could think up, telling her what a tough break she'd had. But out of the corner of his eye he saw the oversized bandage on Rachel's knee, par for the course, and judging by the dark stain that had seeped up to the top layer, she'd had a nasty fall.

  But Rachel didn't ask for attention the way her sister did. Instead, while Jill had her thirty seconds in the spotlight, Rachel cupped a palm around her injured knee and watched.

  He gave that some thought as all three girls took off for Ali's room and began dragging out the Barbie paraphernalia. Then, when they sat down to play, he looked over at Rachel's knee and said, "Yo, Rachel, you fall down too? Man, look at that knee."

  Her head snapped up and those pure blue eyes came alive with quiet pleasure. And just like that, man, he was a goner. The kid had him wrapped around her little finger. Or maybe he just wrapped himself around her little finger. But that's when he decided he'd been right the first time. Rachel was naturally shy and Jill was the leader.

  So he started going out of his way to draw her out. For every time he 'needed' Ali or Jill to help with something, he called on Rachel twice. "Yo, Rachel! Come help me with the popcorn, okay?" Or, "Yo, Rachel! You get the pizza cutter and I'll grab the paper plates."

  By the end of the first week, the Oslunds invited the Brosigs to dinner. His mother and the twins' mother, Eileen, found a lot to talk about and a lasting friendship grew out of that evening. He, on the other hand, gravitated toward t
heir father and, as the only two males surrounded by five females, that suited Wayne just fine.

  During dessert Eileen had offered to take on some of the afterschool babysitting, but Ali's eyes had snapped to his as soon as the suggestion was made. Without a doubt his friends would have called him an idiot, but one look at her had him turning down the offer. It was too soon. She wasn't ready yet. Of course, the Oslunds had been surprised by his refusal. For a minute or so conversation around the table had been a little stunted. He and his mother waited until the girls took off upstairs to play then gave them an explanation.

  He remembered feeling embarrassed, mumbling through the words as he described Ali's fear. Then he'd shrugged off Wayne's approval when the older man said something about empathy between siblings being a rarity in today's world.

  But later that night, back at his own house, he'd felt pretty good about himself. His concern for Ali had impressed the Oslunds. It had also gained their trust in his ability to watch out for Rachel and Jill. And for a seventeen-year-old kid who had lost his father, the approval and friendship of Dr. Wayne Oslund had gone a long way toward shaping the man he was to become.

  Eventually, by the end of the school year, Ali's fear was manageable and her vigilance relaxed. During the summer months she'd get up, eat breakfast, then walk the couple of blocks to the Oslund house. For the most part she spent the summer there and he only saw Rachel and Jill on occasion.

  He was busy himself that summer though. He took a couple of online courses to get ahead of the fall term at UCF, and worked two part-time jobs so he could buy a motorcycle. He planned to use it for transportation back and forth to school and when he finally bought one, he sometimes took the girls for a cruise around the block. No big deal.

  But it turned out to be a big deal for Rachel. Surprisingly, she took to it like a miniature biker babe. Her skinny little arms would squeeze around his waist in excitement and she'd call out, "Faster, Nathan! Go faster!" Toward the end of the summer he ended up spending a couple of hundred dollars on a double seat with a backrest. It was pretty much just for her because it hadn't taken long for Ali and Jill to lose the thrill of the ride. Then he asked Wayne and Eileen how they felt about him taking Rachel out on longer excursions. They bought her her own helmet, little-kid riding boots, and one of those long leather ponytail holders to keep her hair from knotting up. A mini biker babe for sure.

  Throughout college, he continued living at home, commuting back and forth, and by the time he'd earned a two-year degree Ali no longer questioned his whereabouts. The problem was, he'd decided he wanted to be a cop. His mother knew he planned to apply to the academy, but he waited until the last minute, until he'd been accepted, before telling Ali. And the reaction he got—the burst of tears, the slammed bedroom door, and a repeat of that annoying vigilance—was more than he'd expected.

  Once again she began keeping tabs on his whereabouts, pulling a chair over to her bedroom window to watch for him if he went out at night, or sitting on the front step, waiting for him to come home if it was during the day. It was a pain in the ass having to account for himself to his ten-year-old sister. He was too old for this. But when he'd pull into the driveway and see her face pushed up against the glass, he'd keep his grumbling to himself.

  It took time, again, but she finally adjusted. She didn't have much choice. But when he graduated from the academy and started on as a rookie, her gray eyes looked about ten years older than they should have. He talked it over with his mother and decided the time had come for him to get a place of his own. Ali was eleven. She needed to let go, and he needed his freedom and privacy.

  A couple of months passed before he came up with something affordable. The twins had turned twelve, then Ali had a birthday, and the following week he began loading his pickup truck to move out. He'd just closed the tailgate when Ali called his cell phone. It was an unexpected call since she and the twins were a couple of blocks away at yet another birthday party. But her voice was high and anxious and it brought him to a standstill.

  "Nathan, Rachel went home to get a CD and Jill tried to call and tell her to get her pink headband, only Mrs. Oslund said Rachel didn't come back. But she should be there by now. It's been a long time."

  "How long's a long time, Ali?"

  "Maybe twenty minutes."

  He was inside the cab in a flash. "You stay there at Gretchen's and I'll check it out."

  "You'll call me back?"

  "Yeah. She probably just got talking to somebody." Possible, but not likely.

  "Hurry, Nathan."

  "I'm on it."

  He was already halfway down the block when he snapped the phone closed, his eyes scanning both sides of the street. He made it almost to the Oslund house, saw Eileen standing out on the sidewalk, and pulled over.

  "Ali phoned," he told her. "I'll look for her."

  Eileen was worried as well. Lines of unease creased her forehead. She stepped back so he could be on his way and said, "I'll wait here. Thanks, Nathan."

  But there was nothing to see. The streets were clear, the sidewalks all but deserted. A man, still dressed in his suit and tie after work, checked his mailbox. Several houses away a dog barked.

  His eyes skimmed past the privacy wall at the entrance to the subdivision then jerked back to the landscaping in front of it. Intuition kicked in. Somehow, though he'd never understand how, he knew he'd find her there. Behind the bushes.

  Swinging the pickup to the side of the road, he grabbed his Glock from the glove box and bolted from the cab.

  When the truck door slammed, a man's head shot up from behind the shrubbery, eyes locking with his, and he very probably saw death in Nathan's gaze.

  "Police!" he shouted, taking aim.

  A soft cry sounded from the ground behind the bushes and the sun glinted off the blade of a knife already in motion.

  Nathan fired.

  His aim was accurate and the assailant dropped forward.

  Jesus Christ. Jesus Christ.

  Charging the bushes, his mind screamed in protest. Not Rachel. Please, please, not Rachel.

  But he knew, even before he reached her and hauled that sorry piece of human excrement off of her, that he hadn't gotten there in time.

  Dropping to the ground beside her, he dragged her into his arms. "It's okay, baby. It's okay now."

  The bastard's blood was splattered over her face and chest. She had a deep gash on her left arm that needed stitches, her left eye was swelling even as he held her, and her shorts had been yanked down to one ankle.

  He fought a raging battle for control, ripping off his T-shirt to cover her while everything inside urged him to point his weapon and fire at that piece of shit animal again and again until there were no bullets left to shoot.

  "Nathan?"

  "I'm here, sweetheart. It's okay now," he got out, holding her close with one arm while wrapping his shirt around her thighs with his free hand.

  "Nathan . . . ."

  "I know, honey. I know. He won't ever hurt you again. Never. Okay?"

  But Rachel didn't answer. Instead she choked out a sob against his chest and he bundled her close, rocking with her in his arms until the ambulance arrived.

  Then days turned into weeks and weeks became long silent months as she retreated from the world to a place no one could reach. He hadn't known it at the time, but he'd been the last person from whom she would ever again accept comfort. Once he made the call and she was taken to the hospital, no one—not him, not her parents, not her twin—no one at all was able to connect with her through physical contact without inviting a frantic reaction and sending her back to that silent place.

  CHAPTER 1

  Michael walked out of Medical Services, wincing when the sun hit his face. Man, it hurt worse now than it had before he'd seen the doctor. He'd have another scar to add to his collection, except this one was high up on his cheek and a little off to the side. He hadn't had one on his face before. But at least his eye wasn't swollen shut anymore
. In fact, when he'd looked in the mirror that morning, he looked no worse than if he'd gone a couple of rounds, then walked away. Yeah, it hurt like a sonofabitch, but the sucker wasn't even bruised. No black eye. Go figure that one.

  Rolling his shoulders to loosen the muscles, he turned in the direction of the administrative building. He should be grateful for small favors. Or big ones, he guessed. At least he hadn't been stuck inside the car when a mob of yahoos flipped the damned thing over. And hadn't Nina turned out to be a little slugger? When that jackass took a swing at him from behind, she'd packed a good one right to the solar plexus . . . before Ethan dragged her back.

  A smile pulled at his mouth. He turned off the main path, cutting through the jungle toward the koi pond. Fact was, there was nothing like a fistfight to get rid of some aggression. It stirred up the testosterone and gave all that energy an explosive outlet . . . made a guy feel charged and steely. And now he was sounding like a fucking cereal commercial.

  It was interesting though that he didn't feel the need to go looking for those fights anymore. Maybe he'd worked off enough inner rage to finally give himself a little peace. Yeah, right. He'd have to think about that one. Or hell, maybe he was settling down or something. He was twenty-eight years old after all. But that wasn't to say he'd look the other way if he figured the reason was good enough to join in another brawl. Still, it was unfortunate Nina had been caught up in this one.

  Surprisingly he missed her. And that was plain ironic. He'd started out all set to dis her before he'd even met her, but she'd appointed herself his guardian angel. Like he needed a guardian angel.

  Well, maybe he had.

  He paused on that thought. Shrugged. Well yeah, okay, maybe that was true. A couple of times. And she'd come through for him in a big way. But he didn't want to think about Nina. 'Cause then he'd be thinking about Ethan leaving RUSH. And didn't that suck?