Formula for Danger

“Eep!”

He stilled. Male trespassers didn’t eep.

He loosened his hold, and the person flipped over.

“Rachel!”

She stilled the moment their eyes met. The light from the greenhouse windows gave her face a pearl-like glow, and he caught a whiff of her perfume—lavender and citrus. She was beautiful, ethereal. The first time she’d come to his greenhouses to hire him, over a year ago, the sight of her had sucked the air out of his lungs. Like now.

No, this was dangerous territory. Edward stood and gave her a hand up.

She busied herself dusting the leaves from her jeans, but at the same time, she seemed to be trying to shrink inside her bulky winter jacket.

“What are you doing, Rachel? Detective Carter said you didn’t need to be here.”

“Yes, I did.” Her eyes, wide, determined, but fighting tears at the same time, met his. “I did. I couldn’t stay home and just…” She bit back a sob.

He could understand her need to see for herself the damage done to the plants and how that sight would somehow make her feel more in control of the whole situation. She had been working long hours to develop her scar-reduction cream, and this kind of setback would have thrown her for a loop.

He wanted to hold her, comfort her, tell her it would be all right.

No, he had to keep his distance from her. He and his family had already lived through the broken promises and hurt from a workaholic father. He had vowed he would never neglect his own children for his work, he would never make them feel like a secondary priority in his life, he would never make them feel as if their graduations and work successes were not important enough to attend, as Papa had done to Edward. Therefore, he wouldn’t even consider getting involved with a woman who would cause the same sort of pain in her children.

So he’d withdrawn from Rachel. He had to remember why he’d done that.

She shivered, despite her jacket.

“Come inside the greenhouse.” He led her into the warm, moist air. The sight was going to upset her, so he watched her closely.

She surprised him. She went completely still as she surveyed the mess. Her bottom lip trembled once. Her hands pressed to her stomach as if to keep herself from falling apart.

Her silence filled the greenhouse, so he spoke tentatively, reiterating what he’d told Detective Carter. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

No answer. Her unfocused gaze told him that he’d lost her to her own thoughts.

“Rachel?”

She started, then darted a sideways glance at him. She took a deep breath and adopted a more businesslike demeanor. “What do you want me to do?”

“You’ve had a tough night. Are you sure you want to help clean up? Why not come back tomorrow—”

“No, if I go home, I’ll just lie awake worrying about it all.” She gave him a small smile. “I’m fine, really. The black eye looks worse than it feels.”

Actually, it hadn’t colored much yet. It only looked like a trick of the shadows. “Did Monica look at it?”

“She sighed in exasperation and said something like, ‘If you insist on gallivanting around Sonoma County with a black eye, don’t come crying to me if you faint or get blurry vision. Go to some other nurse, because you won’t get sympathy from me.’”

Edward laughed. “Which means, in Monica-speak, that you’re okay but she doesn’t want to say so.” He handed Rachel a broom. “I’ll clean up the broken shards. You sweep the dirt into the bin. And look for any plants I might have missed.”

They worked in silence for a moment. Then Rachel asked, “Did Detective Carter already leave?”

“No, he’s in greenhouse seven. He needed to talk to Alex.”

Rachel hesitated a moment before asking, “Is your brother in trouble?”

Edward blinked at her. “No, why?”

“Why would Detective Carter need to talk to him?”

“Oh. Horatio and Alex are friends. Horatio is the officer who arrested Alex for the robbery.”

“The robbery? The one that sent Alex to prison? That makes no sense.”

Edward laughed. “After Alex received Christ in prison, he went straight to Horatio once he got out on parole and thanked him for arresting him. And apologized for giving him so much grief for so many years.” He’d have given anything to have witnessed his tall, 220-pound brother apologizing to Detective Carter, who, while steely-eyed and intimidating in his own way, was still five inches shorter than Alex.

“Wow.”

“They’ve become friends in the years since. I think Alex occasionally helps Detective Carter on some of his cases, because of his past experiences and connections he still has.”

“Not illegal connections?”

“No, he gave those up. But he still visits several of his old friends asking them to come to church with him.”

“Oh.” Her eyes skittered away as she renewed her sweeping.

There was only silence for a moment, then Edward said, “Alex said to tell you he was praying for you—”

“Tell him thanks.” But her words were curt.

He tried again. “He also said that if you wanted him to pray for anything in particular—”

“No.” Her voice was sharp, and she started sweeping the floor with short, jerky movements. The conversational topic was clearly over.

Strange, she seemed even more uncomfortable talking about her faith now than three months ago, when they had been closer and chatting together more often. They’d rarely discussed God, but she’d never avoided the subject. She had said she was a strong Christian. Was her faith wavering in the face of all the recent problems?

She suddenly stopped and stared at the ground, her broom lax in her hands. He caught the sheen in her eyes, the painful way she pressed her lips shut. Even the red tinge of her nose made his concern well up in him, and before he knew it, he’d crossed the room to gently grasp her shoulders. “Rachel, it’s okay.”

The smell of her perfume brought it all back to him. He was surrounded by lavender-citrus—the way it melded with her musk made it distinctly Rachel. It brought back the memory of dinners spent talking and laughing. The unique way she viewed the world made him think, made him laugh. Being this close to her, he missed that.

She relaxed under his touch, but her head dipped down. He peered over her shoulder at what had caused her distress—a mangled uprooted basil plant, its leaves dark green with damage, the roots tangled into a brown yarn ball. Forlorn and dying.

“Stupid,” she whispered. “Crying over a plant.”

“It’s not just a plant.” He knew it was the crux, the “secret ingredient” of her scar-reduction cream, which made it like gold to her.

He gently lifted his hands from her shoulders and stepped back. “Don’t worry. You’ll have more than enough basil for the product launch.”

“How can you be sure?” Her voice was worrying.

“Because I’m the one raising your plants.”

“But you can’t guarantee I’ll have enough. This product launch is important.”

Edward couldn’t understand why this launch was everything to her. “Rachel, the world is not going to end if your product launches a month later.”

She shook her head. “You never understood the kind of pressure I’m under as the spa’s dermatologist.” Her shoulders had become stiff again. “You’re the good son, the oldest of two brothers, successful and confident.”

What? He frowned at her. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“You can’t understand what it’s like being the oldest of three sisters and yet not as successful as the two of them.”

“What do you mean? You are successful. You create innovative products for your father’s spa, which has international renown.”

She was shaking her head. “In company, my father praises Naomi for her management of the spa while he has been recovering from the stroke. He praises Monica for her nursing helping him recover so quickly. But he bemoans the fact that my last research project had to be canceled because it wasn’t going well. He worries that my last product launched isn’t selling as well as he had hoped.” She rubbed her forehead.

“Have you talked to him about it?”

“I try, but he just doesn’t listen. He doesn’t understand me.” Her voice cracked.

Her unexpected vulnerability shocked him. Her frailty made him want to wrap her in his arms. In the year they’d been working together on her basil plants and growing closer as friends, she had never been this emotional with him. Then again, she hadn’t been suffering under this kind of setback before, either. “I want to understand you, Rachel. If you’d only let me.”

She met his eyes, touching him with her gaze like a caress to his cheek. But then her eyes wavered, doubt filling them, stress drawing lines down her face, and she turned away.

He’d lost her.

She turned quickly and grasped a basil plant, shaking it loose from the clumps of dirt on the floor, but holding it so tightly that she bruised its leaves.

Despite the fact that he didn’t agree with her workaholic tendencies, they had been more than researcher and gardener. They had been becoming friends. He couldn’t deny that this kind of brutal attack on her, leaving her shaken and vulnerable, made him want to help her.

He put his hand over hers, taking the forlorn basil plant from her fingers. “Don’t worry, Rachel. Things will turn out fine.”

She shook her head, biting her lip. “I’ll never find out who did this.”

“Yes, you will. Because I’ll help you.”

TWO

Rachel’s stomach was a block of ice despite the sun warming her back and the sweat dripping down her neck. She pedaled harder, making the wind sting her face as her bike tires ate up the sun-bleached asphalt of the Sonoma country road.

Yesterday had been awful. She couldn’t believe that she hadn’t been safe in her own spa parking lot. The attack on her plants at Edward’s greenhouse felt like an even deeper violation—not just against her, but against her research, against her family’s spa.

And last night in the greenhouse, she’d wanted Edward to protect her—to hold her and make everything all right. She’d wanted to unburden herself and wrap herself in his concern.

But she didn’t have the right to ask that of him.

Her father had been concerned, but even more than that, he’d been worried about the research, about the product launch. As usual. Unspoken was the specter of her last disastrous venture, and how he’d blamed her for it.

Four years ago she had developed a grape-seed extract moisturizer for the spa to launch as a new product. A month before Joy Luck Life spa released it, Avignon spa in New York happened to release a grape-seed extract moisturizer, as well. It wasn’t the exact formulation, even though it also used a grape-seed extract ingredient, and Rachel hadn’t thought it would be a problem to continue with their product launch. Plus, it was too late to stop it. But then Internet news reporters had accused Joy Luck Life of “stealing” Avignon’s formula. The spa received a lot of bad press and had been subjected to false rumors, which her father had taken hard, asking her again and again why she had suggested they continue with the product launch.

And now this sabotage of her basil plants, causing a setback for her latest product launch.

She’d considered skipping her daily bike ride this morning, but aside from a low-level headache and some tenderness around her eye, she felt fine. She needed to be alone with her thoughts.

As she neared the base of an upcoming hill, the hum of a car engine came from behind. Her heartbeat sped up for a second as the gleam of chrome seemed to appear directly next to her, blinding her—the vehicle was too close!

Then the auto blazed past her, whipping her in the wind of its wake, making her wobble a bit. She caught a glimpse of the bright sticker of a car-rental company on the bumper before it disappeared over the hill.

Another tourist, viewing the sights of Sonoma County or maybe getting a very early start on a wine-tasting tour. She couldn’t complain, since the tourists contributed to the spa’s popularity, but their recklessness on the roads sometimes made her hug the sides more than normal.

She struggled up the winding hill, the breeze dropping with her dwindling speed. The sun warmed her head inside her bike helmet. Her lungs heaved, and she welcomed the exertion, trying to somehow purge her body of all the confusing, frightening feelings of last night.

The greenhouse destruction made it obvious that someone else knew about her research and wanted to stop the product launch. While anyone could have followed her to the greenhouse at any time, they couldn’t know how central those plants were to her current project unless they’d somehow gotten her research notes, which were only on her computer at work.

She couldn’t take the chance someone had hacked into her work computer, or could do so in the future. This morning she had called her cousin Jane, a computer expert, to ask her if she could come to the spa to upgrade the security on Rachel’s work computer and see if someone had breached her system.

Jane was the main reason she had developed the scar-reduction cream, and she could barely repress her desire to present it to her, to feel that she had somehow atoned for what she had done to Jane all those years ago.

When Rachel and her cousin were eight years old, Rachel had inadvertently started a fire in Jane’s playhouse, causing scarring along Jane’s cheek and jawbone. Jane said she forgave Rachel, but Rachel couldn’t forgive herself. When she’d realized how incredible the results of the cream were, she had doubled her efforts to perfect the formula, thinking of Jane’s scars the entire time.

She reached the crest of the hill, her heart pounding. Her entire body was tired today, probably from the stress of last night, getting home so late only to face her father’s heavy disapproval, and then rising early to go for a bike ride. Maybe she’d cut her ride short today so she could get into work early. She coasted down the hill, the breeze cooling her, the wind filling her lungs.

Another car engine sounded behind her, ruining the feeling of freedom and being alone out here in the crisp air. She damped down her irritation and, mindful of the last car, moved closer to the side of the road.

The engine seemed abnormally loud—and close. She glanced over her shoulder.

Her movement caused her bike to slip off the asphalt and skid a little in the gravel bordering the road.

Suddenly she felt as if the car behind her had bumped into her back tire. The bike bucked her off and flung her upward.

She screamed.

For a stricken heartbeat she hung poised in midair, staring at the ground sloping from the road to a field of grapevines. And then she plummeted down, rocks and juniper bushes rising up to meet her.

She curled as she landed, striking her right shoulder with a crack! that trembled through her entire frame. She rolled and pitched, head over heels, sideways and underways and every which way. She finally landed with a jarring thud! to her spine that snapped her head back into the ground.

For long, excruciating seconds, she couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t make her diaphragm move. She stared at the pale blue sky, misted with incoming clouds, and struggled to make her body obey her frantic mind.

Then she gasped long and hard. She coughed, hacking up dust from her lungs, burning her throat. And pain exploded in her bones.

She curled onto her side, thorns pricking her cheek. She could suddenly hear the whistle of the wind, and the receding sound of a car engine.

Someone had hit her—and was driving away.

He’d come. The one man she wouldn’t have expected but wanted.

As soon as Edward’s truck pulled alongside her and she met his fierce gaze through the windshield, she relaxed muscles that she hadn’t realized were tight.

She had never been more thankful for her rugged waterproof phone—it had been unscathed from her accident. After calling Aunt Becca, she’d made her way back to the road and moved away from the sloping hill so that she’d be out of range of any cars speeding down. Also, a stubby tree that she could lean against grew a few feet in from the road. She still felt as if her bones were creaking, but at least she could walk.

She vaguely registered Naomi, Monica and Aunt Becca also getting out of the four-door truck, but Edward filled her vision. He reached her first, folding her in his tanned arms, strong and warm, smelling of earth and pine.

He had never embraced her before.

She never wanted to move again.

“Are you all right?”

“Where’s your bike?”

“You look awful. Let me look at you.”

This last was from Monica, who wedged between them so she could stare critically at Rachel’s face and her limbs. “Any pain when you walk?”

“No.” She glanced around Monica’s head, but Edward had already walked away, his back to her.

Her sister touched her at various places on her body. “How about your arms? Ribs?”

“My shoulder hurts.” It throbbed, actually, as if the blood would pulse right out through her aching muscles.

“Hmm, doesn’t look dislocated.” Monica gave a few experimental touches.

“Ow!” Pain lanced through Rachel’s shoulder.

“Hold still,” Monica said grimly.

“Did you call the police for me?” Rachel asked Aunt Becca through gritted teeth.

“I spoke to Horatio personally. He’s on his way.”

“What happened?” Naomi demanded.

Rachel relayed what she could remember, trying to block out the memory of her terrifying flight and painful tumble.

Monica shook her head in disbelief. “Not to be mean, but you’re not hurt very much considering you were rammed by a car. You should be grateful it’s not worse.”

“Well…” She remembered the jumbling of the bike frame as her tires skidded. “I turned back to look at the car, and my bike ran off the road because I was hugging it too closely. Maybe that made the car only sideswipe me rather than hitting me full on.”

“Praise Jesus!” Becca said. “He took care of you.” She wrapped her in a hug against Monica’s protests.

Had God been taking care of her? Did He really care so much about her that He’d do something small like making her bike skid? Was He really orchestrating her life like that? Rachel wondered.

Her mind shied away from the thought. She had never really thought of God as that intimately concerned about her. She had always thought of God as a distant, powerful figure who didn’t bother Himself much about her, which was a view of Him that was easier for Rachel to understand and fit into her life. Did God really care about her like that? The idea seemed foreign to her. A God who cared about her might require more of her than she’d been used to giving Him—more than going to church with her family, reading her Bible once in a while, praying once in a while. And she wasn’t sure she was ready to do that.

“Did you see anything about the car?” Edward approached her again. “Make, model?”

She could barely remember that Naomi drove a Lexus and Aunt Becca drove a pink Cadillac. “No. I didn’t get a good look at it.”

“That’s too bad.”

The disappointment on his face made her spirits sink a fraction. She racked her mind, but couldn’t remember more than a flash of chrome. Or was that from the first car that had passed her?

“Why are you here?” she blurted out. She wanted him here, but felt shy about telling him so, and it came out awkwardly. She’d never be as smooth with her words as Naomi or Monica.

“I went to your house this morning with a report for you about the greenhouse,” Edward said. “Don’t worry, I also spoke to your father about it. To reassure him.”

Had he thought she couldn’t relay the information herself accurately? Or had he wanted to spare her and instead put himself in the line of fire—her father’s detailed grilling? Edward’s closed expression couldn’t tell her anything.

She opened her mouth, but the words didn’t form. I’m glad you’re here but you didn’t have to tag along sounded ungracious, and her mixed emotions seemed perversely paradoxical today.

He was obviously reading her mind, because he said, “Don’t worry, Rachel, I’m glad I was there when you called and could see for myself that you’re okay.”

His words made a smile rise to her face. “Thanks.”

“There’s Horatio,” Aunt Becca said. She and Rachel’s two sisters walked toward a car in the distance, waving their arms.

Edward glanced at their backs and leaned closer to Rachel. “I do want to ask a favor, however.”

“What?”

“I want you to come with me to talk privately with your father.”

Privately? “About what?” she asked, bewildered.

He glanced at her mangled bike. “About protection. For you.”

“For me?”

“You’re not safe. Someone may be out to kill you.”

Edward followed Rachel into her father’s study. Augustus Grant looked up quickly from his desk, and his body seemed to relax at the sight of her striding into the room with only a barely noticeable limp.

He navigated his wheelchair from behind the desk toward them.

“You don’t have to move, Dad—”

Augustus grasped her arm and pulled her down to embrace her tightly. It seemed to surprise her, from the start she gave and the pink in her cheeks. “I’m fine, Dad.”

“Well, what did you expect me to think when you call home talking about ‘riding your bike’ and ‘car’ and ‘accident’?”

The man had a point. If Edward had received that kind of phone call, he’d have expected Rachel to come home looking more battered than she did.

“Edward.” Augustus extended his hand to him. “Thank you for going out there for me.”

Augustus’s grip was still weak, but much firmer than it had been a few months ago. He seemed to be progressing steadily since the stroke.

“It was no trouble.”

Rachel rolled her father to the fireplace, and she and Edward settled into chairs. Augustus settled back and rested his hands at his stomach, his gray-blond hair catching the light from the open windows.

“Augustus, I wanted to run an idea by you to get your opinion.” And his permission, although Edward would find a way to go through with his plans even if Augustus protested.

“Dad, for the record, I don’t think Edward’s idea is necessary,” Rachel said.

The older man cocked his head in question.

“There are two things about the greenhouse break-in that bother me,” Edward said. “First, the man—or men, because I think there were at least two of them responsible, were professional enough to dismantle a very sophisticated security system. Second, they not only trashed the plants, I think they stole a handful of them. We’re a few short.”

Augustus frowned thoughtfully.

“And there’s no way the thief knew the computer belonged to Naomi and not Rachel. Rachel had been carrying it and it had been stolen from her.”

A deeper frown.

“Then the accident today—”

“You can’t assume it was deliberate,” Rachel interrupted. “This is Sonoma, with a winery on every corner. It’s entirely possible it was a car full of tourists who were imbibing a little too much.”

“This early in the morning? Most wineries don’t open until 10:00 a.m.”

Rachel opened her mouth, then closed it again. With her usual candor, she relented, “You’re right. I don’t think it was drunk tourists, either. But I also don’t think I need the kind of protection you’re suggesting.”

“Protection?” Augustus asked.

“All these things happening makes me think someone is after Rachel’s research…and maybe her life,” Edward said.

Augustus nodded. “Although I’m not sure why they tried to hurt her. All they have is a basil plant, not the scar-reduction cream itself or the formulation for it.”

A shadow crossed Rachel’s face, and Edward thought he could read her mind—Except that they might have the formulation, in which case they don’t need me.

“If they were only trying to injure me, not kill me, it would set back development enough for a rival company to release their own scar-reduction cream,” Rachel said.