Breakaway

“It all depends on what you want to prepare,” she said.

Gavin went completely still when the woman with a profusion of black curls grazing the nape of her neck turned to face him. Her small round face reminded him of a doll with her large dark eyes, pert nose and a temptingly curved mouth. He knew it was impolite to stare, but he couldn’t pull his gaze away from her flawless face, which was the color of brown velvet. Even her voice matched her face. It was low and very sexy.

He blinked. “What did you say?”

Celia smiled, dimples dotting her cheeks like thumb-prints. “I said it all depends on what you want to make.”

“Slaw—it’s a spicy Thai slaw.” Gavin couldn’t believe he was stammering like an awkward adolescent.

“Perhaps you should try the Savoy or Napa cabbage.” Leaning over, she tried reading what was written on Gavin’s index card. “What does your recipe call for?”

Gavin gave her a sheepish grin, revealing a mouth filled with straight white teeth. “I guess I forgot to write down the type of cabbage.”

“You can’t go wrong with the Savoy or Napa.”

“You must be a fabulous cook.”

Her eyebrows flickered. “Why would you say that?”

“You know right off the top of your head which type of cabbage I should use.”

Celia wanted to tell him that if it hadn’t been for Rania she wouldn’t have been able to boil an egg. “It’s just common sense. Asian dishes call for Asian ingredients.”

“Sometimes common sense isn’t that common,” he quipped. “Do you shop here often?”

Eyes narrowing in suspicion, Celia asked, “Not really. Why?” Whenever she’d come to Waynesville for more than a week, she would visit the supermarket to restock her pantry. However, if she’d planned to stay for an extended weekend, then she shopped at the smaller downtown markets and variety stores.

“I need soba noodles, and I’d hoped you would know which aisle they were in.”

“If they do carry them, then you’ll probably find them in the aisle with the other imported products.”

Gavin shook his head. “Why didn’t I think of that?”

Celia wanted to tell the gorgeous stranger that either he truly lacked common sense or he’d embarked on a cooking project that exceeded his culinary expertise. “Good luck with your spicy Thai slaw.”

“Thank you for your invaluable assistance.”

Turning back to her shopping cart, she glanced at its contents. She’d selected seasonal fruits, fresh herbs and vegetables. All she needed was dairy and then she would head home.

She pushed her cart away from the produce section slowly, glancing over her shoulder at the delicious-looking man. Her pulse quickened when she saw him standing motionless, staring at her. Raising her hand, she waved, and then turned down another aisle.

Twenty minutes later, she pushed her cart out to the parking lot and transferred her groceries from the cart to the cargo area of the vehicle. As soon as she sat behind the wheel, her eyelids felt heavy. She’d been on the road more than twelve hours. Her plan to clean the house would have to wait. After all, she had tomorrow and the day after tomorrow and the rest of the summer to do all she needed to do before returning to Miami. She hoped when she did return to Miami that she wouldn’t be the same woman who’d left.

Celia unlocked the door to the house she regarded as her sanctuary, a place to heal. What she didn’t want to do was relive the last time she’d come with Yale. Miraculously, they had been able to coordinate four days of vacation and they’d traveled to North Carolina to unwind. Four days stretched into six when a freak snowstorm blanketed the Blue Ridge and Great Smoky Mountains, and they were trapped inside until the roads were cleared. It would be the last time she and Yale would spend time together in what he’d always referred to as “the mountains.”

She deactivated the security system and walked in, wrinkling her nose when she encountered a buildup of heat and muskiness. Within minutes she flicked on lights and opened windows. Clean mountain air swept into the rooms through the screens, quickly dispelling the stale odor. The imprint from the bottom of her running shoes was clearly outlined in the layer of dust covering the wood floors. Yale had chided her for covering the furniture with dustcovers, but the diligence then now saved her hours of housework.

Her intent to clean the house tomorrow had changed when Celia realized the daunting task she couldn’t put off until the next day. It took four trips to her car to bring in her luggage and groceries. She discovered a spurt of energy when she cleaned the refrigerator, vacuumed the floors, dusted furniture, cleaned the bathrooms and made her bed.

The sun had set behind the mountains, taking with it the warmth of the day when Celia sat on the wraparound deck outside her second-floor bedroom, sipping from a mug of steaming coffee. She’d showered, changed into a pair of cotton pajamas and then added a thick cotton pullover and socks to ward off the cooler night air.

Without the bright lights from hotels, towering office and high-rise apartment buildings the stars in the nighttime sky appeared brighter, closer. Closing her eyes, Celia felt a gentle peace sweep over her body. It was as if she’d come to her own private world where she didn’t want for anything. All she had to do was wake up, eat, drink, walk, read, watch television, go to bed and then get up to do it all over again.

Now she understood why people dropped out of society to become recluses. It took too much effort to make it through each day. She’d been trained to save lives. And yet, she’d stood by and watched a boy take the lives of her patient, fiancé and another doctor before he was shot by another boy. What Celia hadn’t been able to grasp was that all of the gang members were sixteen and younger. Instead of hanging out at the mall, flirting with girls or tinkering with cars, they’d carried guns not to protect themselves, but to savagely and arbitrarily take the lives of other human beings.

Now, Celia, don’t get maudlin. The inner voice, the one she called her voice of reason, pulled her back to center and helped her maintain a modicum of stability. She took another deep swallow of coffee and placed the mug on a low table before settling deeper into the cushioned chaise.

She closed her eyes again and moments later succumbed to a dreamless slumber where there were no screams, bullets or tears.

Gavin felt restlessness akin to an itch he wasn’t able to scratch. He’d prepared the slaw, and the results were even better than he’d expected. He’d also prepared a three-bean salad, grilled chicken and sweet tea.

Leaving the government-registered SUV parked in the garage, he’d set out on foot to familiarize himself with the surrounding countryside. His brother was out there, hiding in the mountains and/or forest from a group of ruthless men and women who were ordered to kill him on sight.

Gavin hadn’t seen or spoken to his brother in more than two years. Raymond Prentice had been so deep undercover that if he hadn’t recognized his eyes, Gavin wouldn’t have known who he was. Ray could change his appearance by losing or gaining copious amounts of weight. He would shave his head, grow his hair, beard and affect different accents. Although the wounded gun-shop owner had given law enforcement officials an accurate description of Raymond Prentice, the technicians at the Bureau had subtly altered the mug shot to disguise the undercover agent’s features.

Born Orlando Wells, he’d become Gavin’s foster brother when Gavin’s mother took him in after he’d been placed in her care by a fellow social worker. Orlando didn’t remember his drug-addicted parents, and at nine hadn’t shed a tear when told of their deaths from an overdose of crack cocaine. Malvina Faulkner legally adopted Orlando and after college and a stint as a Navy SEAL, he was recruited by the ATF. Orlando Wells Faulkner had become Raymond Prentice and anyone they wanted him to be.

His younger brother had always been a risk taker, and if Orlando survived this undercover mission, Gavin would do everything within his power to convince him to leave the ATF. Their mother’s greatest fear was that after burying her husband, who’d died in the line of duty, she would also bury one or both of her sons. The elder Faulkner, a former Vietnam War Green Beret, joined the Bureau as an undercover agent. He’d infiltrated a radical group in the early 1980s, but lost his life during a confrontation between group members and the police.

Gavin continued walking along the shoulder of a narrow two-lane road. He’d estimated he’d walked half a mile and a total of eight cars had passed going in either direction. The population of Waynesville was about ten thousand, and that meant most long-time residents were familiar with one another. However, during the summer the number of tourists visiting the mountain region swelled the numbers appreciably.

Being on the run during the summer months and attempting to hide out in a tourist area was advantageous for the undercover agent, but would prove to be the opposite for Gavin because it would make his search more difficult.

His orders dictated that he work alone, without the assistance of regional agents or local law enforcement. The members of the joint task force did not want anything or anyone to compromise their attempt to eradicate a gun-trafficking network spanning more than twenty states.

Gavin knew what lay ahead was a daunting task, but he had to cover acres of virgin forests, mountain caves and miles of streams to rescue the FBI’s Most Wanted before the gun traffickers found him.

Chapter 3

Gavin decelerated when he spotted a dark shape in the middle of the road. He’d spent most of the morning driving along Route 44l, which led into the Great Smoky Mountains National Park. He’d walked the trails, searching for Orlando Faulkner. After more than six hours, he’d decided to head back to Waynesville.

He’d gotten up before sunrise to plan his strategy. He’d gone over a map detailing western North Carolina, highlighting the many cities he’d planned to visit ranging as far east as Black Mountain. His travels would take him south to Hendersonville and Flat Rock, then northwest to Asheville and as far west as the Great Smoky Mountains, and if necessary, into Tennessee.

Slowing and pulling off onto the shoulder, he got out of the truck, his right hand pressed to the automatic tucked into his waistband under his T-shirt. Going to one knee, he saw a small dog. Each time it attempted to move, it let out a small whimper.

He rested a hand lightly on the canine’s back. “What happened to you, buddy?” Gavin’s head popped up when he heard the sound of tires on the roadway. A car was coming closer. Standing, he waved his arms over his head, motioning for the motorist to stop. Fortunately, there was still enough daylight for whoever was driving the vehicle to see him.

Celia saw the figure of a man standing in the middle of the road, waving frantically. She pushed a button on the steering wheel, raising the driver’s-side window. Slowing, she stopped within feet of the man she recognized as the one who’d asked her about cabbages two days before.

She lowered the window with his approach. “What’s the matter?”

Gavin smiled, despite the seriousness of the situation. He’d grown up around pets, but it was dogs that were his personal favorite. Orlando liked cats because he claimed they were silent and unpredictable. His brother would pretend to be a cat and try and sneak up on Gavin before he detected his presence. Eight out of ten times he was successful.

He leaned into the window. “There’s an injured dog in the road.”

Celia pushed open the door, but Gavin wouldn’t let her get out. “Let go of the door.”

He shook his head. “You don’t need to see it.”

Her eyes grew wider. “Is it dead?”

“No.”

“Then, let me see it.”

“No,” Gavin repeated.

“I’m a doctor,” she finally said.

Gavin froze. “You’re a vet?”

“No! I’m a medical doctor. Now, get away from the door so I can look at the poor creature.”

He took a step back, opening the door and reaching for her hand to assist her. As his gaze swept over the woman who claimed she was a doctor, a slow smile tilted the corners of his mouth. The other day she’d worn a pair of jeans, a baggy T-shirt and running shoes. Today she looked softer, more feminine in a white tank top she’d paired with a pair of black cropped pants and leather sandals. The delicate pink polish on her bare toes matched her fingernails. A black-and-white striped headband held a profusion of curls off her face.

His gaze lingered on her profile when she knelt to examine the whimpering canine. “What’s wrong with him?”

Celia glanced up at the man towering over her. “He has a laceration near his belly. And judging from the swelling, it’s infected.” She stood up. “I need for you to pick him up and place him on the rear seat of my truck, while I call to find a number for the nearest vet.”

“I’m going to put him in my truck, while you pull yours off the road,” Gavin countered.

Celia rolled her eyes at him. “Whatever. Just be careful with him.”

“How do you know he’s a male?”

“I know he’s a he because I checked. And, he’s also a puppy. He still has his milk teeth.” When she’d opened his mouth, two tiny rice-like particles fell into her palm.

She returned to her vehicle, maneuvering it over to the shoulder behind the black GMC Yukon hybrid. Reaching for her BlackBerry, Celia called information, pen and paper ready to jot down the number. Her heart sank when the operator gave her numbers of veterinary hospitals more than twenty miles away. She called each one only to find they were closed. The only one with evening hours was in Asheville.

Getting out, she approached the man wearing a pair of khaki walking shorts, thick white cotton socks, Doc Martens, a black tee and matching baseball cap. She didn’t know his name or anything about him, but he was the most virile-looking man she’d ever seen.

“Where am I taking him?” Gavin asked.

“You’re going to take him to my house. All of the vets in the area are closed and the nearest one with evening hours is in Asheville.”

Gavin shot her a suspicious look. “What are you going to do?”

“Clean his wound. Now, stop jawing and follow me. Please drive slowly. He’s already in enough pain without you jostling him further.”

“Ma’am, yes, ma’am.”

“The name is Celia Cole-Thomas.”

“What’s your husband going to say when you bring home a strange man and injured dog?”

“I don’t have a husband, Mr.—”

Gavin was hard-pressed not to smile. He didn’t know why, but he’d hoped the tall, slender woman with the infectious dimpled smile wasn’t married. “It’s Faulkner. Gavin Faulkner.”

“Let’s go, Mr. Faulkner. Every minute that puppy doesn’t get medical attention gives the infection the advantage.”

Celia slipped behind the wheel, maneuvering around the Yukon with North Carolina plates, and drove in the direction of her house. She didn’t want to get stopped for speeding although she’d wanted to get home to set up a mock operating room before Gavin Faulkner arrived.

Her parents had given her a genuine alligator medical bag stamped with her monogram the day she’d graduated medical school. She could still recall the joy of filling the bag with bandages, scissors, forceps, scalpels, syringes, gauze and medication she replaced whenever they passed their expiration date.

She parked in the driveway rather than in the two-car garage. Moving quickly, she got out, unlocked the door and disengaged the alarm, while leaving the front door open.

She retrieved her bag, spread a stack of towels on the table in the kitchen’s dining area and turned a hanging light fixture to the brightest setting. She’d placed two pairs of latex gloves and the instruments needed to clean and suture the wound in the dog’s side on a folded pillowcase when Gavin walked into the kitchen, cradling the puppy to his chest.

“Put him down on his uninjured side,” Celia ordered Gavin. “After I wash up I want you to do the same.”

His eyebrows lifted a fraction. “Why?”

She gave him a dimpled smile. “You’re going to be my assistant.”

“Oh, hell, no,” Gavin protested.

“Oh, hell, yes, Gavin Faulkner! If you didn’t care about this animal you never would’ve stopped. Now, stop sniveling and do as I tell you.”

Gavin glared at Celia. He wasn’t sniveling. In fact, he’d never sniveled about anything in his life. He wanted to tell her only girls sniveled but didn’t want her to think he was a sexist.

Celia took his silence as acquiescence. “Please watch him while I go and wash up.”

Taking off his cap, Gavin tossed it on one of the four chairs at the oaken round table. His gaze shifted between the motionless puppy and Celia’s retreating back. He hadn’t realized how slim Celia was until he saw her from the back. She was taller and much slimmer than women who usually garnered his attention. At six-four and two hundred twenty pounds, he liked women who were a bit more substantial than the sharp-tongued doctor.

He’d only mentioned the possibility of her being married because of her hyphenated last name. There were many professional women who’d elected to keep their maiden names.

Exchanging places with Celia, Gavin went into the half bath off the kitchen to wash his hands and forearms. He felt like an actor stepping into a fictional role as a surgeon when using a nail brush and antibacterial soap to scrub his fingers. Shaking off the excess water, he returned to the kitchen. Standing only inches from Dr. Celia Cole-Thomas, he smiled down at her head when she dabbed his arms and hands with a towel before holding a pair of latex gloves for him to slip on.

“Damn, Doc, they’re too tight.”

Celia shot him a frown. “Stop whining, Gavin. They won’t be on long enough to cut off your circulation.” He tried flexing his fingers. “Stop that or you’ll rip them,” she added, this time in a softer tone as she slipped her hands into a pair of gloves.

“Why do I have to wear them if you’re going to perform the procedure?”

“I’m operating in what is a non-sterile environment. I’m going to put Terry under, and I’m going to need you to hold him steady.”

Gavin gave her a sidelong glance. “When did he become Terry?”

“He’s a fox terrier, therefore, he’s Terry.”

“You can’t name someone else’s dog, Doc.”

“Stop calling me that. And I doubt if he’s anyone’s pet. He’s filthy and undernourished, which means he’s probably a stray.”

Celia ripped open a package with a sterile syringe and inserted it into a bottle of morphine, filling the syringe with a small amount of clear liquid. “Please hold him, Gavin. He’s going to feel a little prick.”

Gavin held the puppy’s head between his palms. “How do you know how much to give him?”

“It’s based on body weight. I doubt if this little guy weighs more than seven pounds. You, on the other hand, would have to be injected with the entire bottle before you’d go out.”

His eyes narrowed. “What are you trying to say?”

Celia swabbed an area on the puppy’s hip, wiping away dirt and debris. If she’d had the time, or if the wound hadn’t been infected, she would have given the dog a bath. She gave Gavin a quick glance. “You’re at least six-four or five, and I’m willing to bet you weigh about two-twenty or thirty, and that translates into injecting you with a lot more morphine to put you down than what I’m going to give Terry.”

Gavin exhaled an audible breath. “I really don’t like the term put down.”

Terry let out a small yelp with a prick of the needle. Seconds later he lay completely still. His ribs were clearly visible under a sparse coat of grimy, light-colored wiry fur.

Celia winked at Gavin, her gaze lingering on his cropped black hair. “Not to worry, Mr. Faulkner, I promise not to put you down. You can let go of his head now.”

Concentrating intently, she shaved the area around the wound and cleaned the infected flesh. She applied a topical antibiotic then closed the laceration with small, even sutures.

Gavin leaned over to survey her surgical skill. “You do very nice work, Dr. Thomas.”

“Thank you. You can take your gloves off now.”

“When is he going to wake up?”

“He’ll probably sleep for the next two to three hours. I’m going to call the animal hospital in Asheville to let them know I want to bring him tomorrow for an observation. After that, I’m going to try and clean him up.”

“I’ll do that,” Gavin volunteered as he gently lifted the puppy off the table.

Celia gave him a skeptical look. “Are you sure?”

He nodded. “Yes, I’m very sure. Where are you going to wash him?”

“We’ll use the mudroom.”

She led the way across the kitchen to a side door that led to an unheated mudroom. It was where she stored garden equipment and did her laundry. She filled two plastic basins: one with warm water and a mild shampoo and the other with lukewarm water for rinsing. Reaching for cleaning cloths from a stack in a canvas basket, she spread them out on the utility table attached to a wall.

“Gavin, please try and not wet the sutures.”

“I’ll be careful,” he said as she turned and walked out.

He dipped a cloth into the soapy water, wringing out most of the moisture, then began the task of washing and rinsing the grime covering the puppy’s fur. Gavin poured out the water, refilling each bin before he was able to discern the white coat with a faint tan patch of color on the back of the neck, back and above the tiny tail. Wrapping a fluffy towel around the canine, he picked him up and dropped a kiss on the top of his head.

Celia stopped in the doorway to the mudroom, smiling when she saw the tender moment between Gavin and the dog. There was something about him that enthralled her. The longer she remained in his presence, the more she knew it had nothing to do with his face or body.

Even as an adolescent, she’d never been one to find herself attracted to a boy because he was cute. For Celia, it was always deeper than that. With Yale, it had been his passion for medicine, yet with Gavin she hadn’t been able to identify what it was. For all she knew he could be married with half a dozen children.

When his head came up, he saw her staring at him. “He smells wonderful.”

She smiled. “He looks adorable. I spoke to a veterinarian at the animal hospital, and he’s set up an appointment to see Terry at eleven.”

“I’ll go with you.”

Celia shook her head. “Don’t bother. I can take him.”

“Are you going to be able to hold him while you drive?”

“Maybe I’ll ask my neighbor to go with me if she’s not busy.” Children’s book illustrator Hannah Walsh was also a stay-at-home mother. She was now in her last trimester with her second child.

“I’m on vacation which means I have a lot of free time,” Gavin countered. He wasn’t on vacation, but on assignment. Accompanying Celia to Asheville would fit nicely into his plans. He had to present himself as a tourist or garner unwarranted attention.

Crossing her arms under her breasts, Celia angled her head. “I’m also on vacation. But wouldn’t you rather spend your free time vacationing with your family than babysitting an injured puppy?”

She didn’t tell Gavin that she’d been on vacation for the past year. Somehow, she couldn’t bring herself to return to the hospital and relive the horror of the minute that had changed her and her life forever.

A beat passed. “No.”

“Why not, Gavin?”

“Because other than my mother, brother and some cousins, I don’t have much of a family. I’m going with you because I’m concerned about my dog.”

“Your dog? I save his life and you say he’s your dog?”

“Why don’t we compromise?” Gavin suggested.

“How?”

“Since we’re both on vacation, we can share Terry.”

“I’ll agree. But he stays with me until he’s fully recovered.”