The Vines by Shelley Nolden (most motivational books .txt) 📗

“I knew you’d be back.”

Instinctively, his hands flew upward to shield his head, and he peered into the tree canopy, his visor limiting his field of vision. If he couldn’t see her, the scalpel taped to his glove would be useless, even as an empty threat. Rotating, he searched for her.

“You Gettlers don’t know when to quit, do you?”

The sound of his breathing roared in his ears. “I wanted to apologize.”

“Well, that’s a first.” She coughed. “I’m guessing that wasn’t in Daddy’s instructions.”

She had been watching them. “Do you ever sleep?”

“I siesta.”

“Of course you do,” he muttered, continuing to turn. “Can you please come down?” “Am I making you nervous?”

“Yes.”

An upper branch of a nearby tree bobbed, and a blue jay alighted on a pokeberry bush entwined in the tennis court fence.

If she’s as brutal as Rollie claims, why hasn’t she finished them off, too? Finn asked himself. His dad claimed that the sheer volume of her medical records, stored in his Upper East Side lab, kept them safe. Given all his family had done to her, data alone didn’t seem like a compelling reason for her to spare them. Or him. If the files were so important, why hadn’t she demanded they hand them over when she’d had Finn chained to the morgue roof?

There had to be another reason. Finn sensed that Rollie was withholding something. If Finn could gain Cora’s cooperation today, he would use his influence with her as leverage to get answers from his dad.

“How’s this?”

He whirled toward her voice.

In the middle of the ivy-covered street that led to the staff house, she was standing with her hands on her hips. His cheeks heated at the memory of her showering there. Today, in another pair of cargo pants and a tank top, she looked dangerously alluring. In the early morning light, filtered through the trees, he could just make out the faint scars that dotted her face. Again, her hair was braided and tied off with a vine.

“Much better.”

“At first, with that suit, I thought you were Kristian.” She examined the palm of her olive-green work glove. “But you’re taller than him. And thinner.”

“Better-looking, too.” He grinned to show he was joking.

She didn’t return the smile. “But not smarter.”

“Ouch. I thought you hated him.”

“‘Hate’ isn’t the right word. Is he with your father in the lightkeeper’s house?”

“Really? You missed our landing?” he asked, raising his hands in mock surprise.

“Just tell me.” Cora hugged herself. “Please.”

Finn lowered his arms. “No, he’s not.”

She really must be afraid of him, Finn thought. “Seriously, though, you should consider rigging those rocks so some hooligan from Brooklyn Heights doesn’t catch you by surprise.”

Her face crinkled into a smile. “Firstly, the herons are my alarm system at this end. And secondly, as it turned out, I arrived too early. I could have gone without seeing you in your drawers.”

He cringed. “You mean my Speedo. Totally different. By the way, these days the cool kids use a’s and b’s.”

Her smile winked out. “You think I’m old-fashioned.” She edged around a street curb, upended by the roots of a cottonwood. “It’s not like I’ve been completely cut off from the world. When people sneak onto this island, they think they’re alone. They’re not. I’m always listening from above. And I pay attention to their diction. Capiche?”

His ninth-grade math teacher had loved that word. “Sorry, that was thoughtless.” He sighed. “I’m sorry for a lot of things.”

“I know why you’re here, and the answer’s still no.” She reached for the lowest branch of the cottonwood, and Finn could tell he was about to lose her.

“You don’t know me as well as you think.” He patted his overstuffed backpack.

“I don’t need your charity,” she said, eyeing the bag.

“I get it. You don’t want to owe a Gettler.”

He unzipped the main compartment and located the encased dime magazine. Between two of its pages, he’d tucked an illustration of the Astor Hotel at the height of the Great White Way’s popularity in the early 1900s. If she contemplated the hours of billable time he’d forfeited to draw it, she wouldn’t accept the gesture. Not that it would matter; he planned to be long gone by the time she discovered it.

“The supplies are repayment for letting me borrow this.” He waved the booklet.

Cora dashed across the clearing and snatched it from him.

Before he’d fully registered her proximity, she’d returned to her original spot, the story clutched to her chest.

His pulse pounded in his temples. “The library would never let something that rare go into circulation.”

“This is nothing. I’ve got something here far more valuable. Follow me.” She tucked the booklet into her shoulder bag and darted into the foliage.

Wavering, Finn decided that if he wanted her to trust him, he first had to prove he was willing to do the same. At least this time he had backup.

With his gloved hands outstretched to ward off the branches that threatened to snag his suit, he followed her.

Ten yards ahead, she moved as lithely on the ground as she did within the trees. He struggled to keep her in sight while staying afoot.

A massive spider web, stretching between two trees, suddenly came into focus and he ducked to miss it.

Ahead, a two-story, utilitarian brick structure, which had to be the service building, appeared through the vegetation. Cora stopped at its front entrance.

She opened the door and motioned for him to enter.

He hesitated.

“Don’t worry, I’ve no intention of harming Lily’s soulmate.”

He knew she’d meant it to sound mocking, and that she didn’t want his pity, so he said nothing and stepped inside. His boots crunched on dried leaves and plaster. Poorly ventilated, the lobby had to be at least ten degrees warmer than outside. Given the greenhouse effect created by his suit, the temperature of the air trapped against his body would quickly rise.

She strode down a hallway, one of its walls skewed from the weight of the metal support beams.

He hustled to catch up.

They passed an open