BRAVE, Episode Three - the Color of Danger

by Melissa Shaw

“A woman, you mean? Other than you? Nope. Stop stallin’, Chloe. Spill.”

  Logan took up her small hand in his. Thumb to thumb, length of finger to length of finger, lifeline to lifeline and palm to palm, he matched each part of the whole and folded them together, then stroked her. It was one of the most erotic non-sexual sensations, and a jolt of electricity charged from her belly to her breasts.

  Logan smiled. Not in a snide, know-it-all way, but with the upbeat candor, reveling making someone else happy.

  “Okay, you flatfooted interrogator. You win. I’ll talk.”

  “Attagirl.” He laced his fingers through hers again, then scrunched comfortably in place.

  She stared down at their linked hands, and gathered her thoughts. “There was so much about David that I could never tell anyone,” she murmured. “I guess it’s been bottled up since I ran away. You know that no matter how hard I tried to please him, I don’t think my father ever really approved of me. I know that David didn’t. He wanted me only because he couldn’t have me.”

  David loved just one woman. His mother. And that was exactly the way she liked it. She’d taught him to believe that no one else would ever be good enough to meet his impossibly high standards.

  “I didn’t realize all this until much later,” she confided.

  “No wonder he turned out so ugly,” Logan gave his blunt opinion. “What a sick relationship.”

  David knew, with the supreme confidence of an egomaniac, whatever he coveted would be his; if not, then it wasn’t worth having. By his sixteenth birthday, he was caught up in the net of excused by his parents as boyish behavior: boozing and using, carousing, games of chance, sex with loads of willing partners. He crashed the flashy Audi his father had bought him. His punishment? He survived the accident. The replacement model, purchased within a week, was a year older.

  His substance abuse and physical abuse went hand in hand. He left behind the wreckage of two more totaled cars, an early failed marriage, three discarded girlfriends (and the miscarriage of one), broken promises, and personal bankruptcy.

  To some, first on the college campus and then later in the surrounding community, the scandals clinging to his coattails only made him more exciting. To naïve Chloe, the rumors and aspersions had been spread by jealousy. No one was that heinous.

  Logan pursed his lips into a soundless whistle. “Geez. This guy’s a real piece of work, isn’t he? D’ja feel sorry for him, Chloe?”

  “Dumb ass,” she muttered. “I was such a total dumb ass.”

  “It’s allowed,” he told her gently. “We all get to make those mistakes. It’s called growin’ up and gettin’ mature.”

  “Pfffft. I believed every lie he told me. At least, until after we were married.”

  His infidelities started just after they returned from their honeymoon.

  “Actually, I think they started during our honeymoon,” she reflected. She didn’t let a hint of how that had devastated her as a new wife. She’d been so trusting, so ready for that life-long commitment with a gorgeous man. The man of her dreams. “Times he was gone for a while, leaving me alone in the room, or on Flamenco Beach, in Puerto Rico. When he returned, he always had this sort of a—I don’t know…smug look on his face, and I’d catch a whiff of some exotic perfume.”

  “Bastard,” Logan spat. “It’s tough enough thinkin’ that might be true; it’s a lot tougher havin’ to find out it is.”

  “Bet your bumpus it is. And so it went.”

  But the extramarital sex in his social circle couldn’t prevent David’s jealousy. He criticized the clothing she wore, the stores she shopped in, the friends she chose, even the charitable events she went to. He made her small so he could be big. Better than her. He read her emails, listened to her phone calls, ordered her secretary to report on her whereabouts any time she was away from the desk.

  He could do whatever he wanted and she couldn’t.

  “I felt so stifled. There wasn’t a chance for our marriage to grow. There wasn’t a chance for me to grow.”

  Logan’s left hand was still entwined with hers. He slipped his right arm around her shoulders. “Seems t’me the best thing anybody could hope for from their union is a partnership. This guy didn’t know what he was missin’ out on. Anything else from old macho superboy Halterman?”

  Her fingers tightened through his. She confessed in a low voice, “We never really made love, Logan. He took me without ever a care as to what I was feeling, or what I preferred, or whether he even satisfied me. I simply submitted, because that was the easiest. And the safest.”

  In the two years since her midday flight from the Chicago shores, there’d been no other man in her life. Or her bed. There was once the remote possibility of that. Jonathan Maynard had sure worked hard enough for it, but after that horrendous scene at the club, he’d been interrupted and completely extinguished by Camille. Now, that was a good friend if ever there was one.

  Jonathan’s touch revolted her.

  Did she really want to let on to Logan how inexperienced she was?

  Chloe worked her way through the maze of her matrimony, instead. Her past was a mine field littered with explosives and she was warrior armed only with wit – maybe not so much of that either. “I never understood why he’d even married me. There were plenty of other women available—beautiful, clever, charming women, with more money and political pull. When I asked him, he gave me the only reason he had: his mother had decided it was time he settled down, and I was at least presentable.”

  Logan muttered something under his breath. Something pungent and unflattering.

  “After a year of David’s drunkenness, and his rages, and his beatings,” she continued, lost in distant memory, “I asked him for a divorce. I begged him for a divorce.”

  “Men like that will never let a woman go.” He shifted position, glanced out at the pouring rain. “Especially if it’s your decision. Makes him look weak, less powerful, less in control. Shows a chink in his armor, y’know. Probably made him madder.”

  “You’re right. That was one of the worst attacks.” A shudder at remembered pain and fear, at remembered helplessness. “He didn’t want to cause any damage to himself that time, because he had a business luncheon to attend, so he didn’t use his fists. He used a tennis racquet. The broken arm and concussion sent me to the hospital.”

  Every muscle in Logan’s body went rigid at her dispassionate re-telling of old traumas.

  “He worked a lot,” Chloe went on, after a minute. “In fact, that was his saving grace—he worked hard. His father’s business had earned a good living, but David built it up even more and got to be very, rich. I think that’s been his only real goal.”

  Logan’s semi-smile twisted with irony. “Piss in the eye for his old man,” he suggested.

  “Oh, no doubt.” She sighed and leaned back. She loved the weight of his sturdy shoulder tight against hers, and the caress of his hand enclosing her fingers. “And there you have it, Logan. All the sordid details of my former life.”

  She was emptied out, from top to bottom, and ready to leave the loathsome past behind for a new beginning. She raised her shadowed eyes to his. Any sign of disgust or aversion? No. She should’ve known better. Logan Farrow was fresh ad uncomplicated, and she was drawn to him like refined metal to a lodestone.

  “Are you divorced now?” he asked quietly. Why did he want to know? She pressed hope down within – don’t be ridiculous!

  “Yes. My friend—remember Barbara?—she helped me with the paperwork, and all the details.”

  “Good. I wouldn’t want to be takin’ up with a married woman.”

  “Logan.” Her spirit soared on the wings of joy. There was an air of hope, castles in the air, unicorns and fairies, rosy pipe dreams. She let it show on her face. Subtlety, thy name is not Chloe. “You plan on taking up with me?”

  The sorcerer’s green eyes cast their spell, crinkling with mischief. “Oh, lady, I—yeah, Chloe. I definitely plan on takin’ up
with you. Any objections?”

  “No, I can’t—think of any.” She continued with hesitance, “Logan, once again I’ve done the talking. And you’ve told me absolutely nothing about yourself. Can’t it be your turn now?”

  He raised their joined hands and touched the inside of her wrist against his lips, long and deep, as if quaffing from a well of purest water. Chloe, quivered like a butterfly’s wing, and closed her eyes in delight. She drowned under the sweet assault. Who knew a simple kiss could be velvety and do this much damage to her self-restraint. She wanted him. Understatement of the century.

  At last, he released her and stood up, pulling the loose robe more tightly about his middle. “Another time, Bella Mia, I promise. Right now I gotta shower and head off to work. Would you mind pourin’ me another cup of coffee, to get me on my way?”

  She managed to a dazed nod.

  Then he paused, looking down at her with an unidentifiable emotion. His words had almost the sound of a final farewell. “Chloe? Thanks. This mornin’—our bein’ together like this—has meant a lot to me.”

  * * * *

  CHAPTER TWO

  “Okay, so here’s my cell number.” Logan peeled a sticky note off the pad and stuck it next to the land line phone. “And an extra set of house keys, in case you need ’em for some reason.” Jingle jingle as a key ring landed beside the note. “And another bottle of ibuprofen.” That dropped anchor on the coffee table.

  Chloe, snuggled into the couch with an extra pillow and the afghan, glanced up. “What, no Uzi or jungle machete?”

  He gave an impatient snort. “Just tryin’ to get you set up here before I leave. You’ve got the ice pack, the TV remote, the full coffeepot, and a mug. Don’t let anybody in. Don’t do anything strenuous. Sleep. Rest. Take it easy. There’s food in the fridge—I don’t know, sandwich stuff, whatever… I won’t be back till late this afternoon, but you can call if you need anything. And, how about you make up a list of things you need, and I’ll pick ’em up for you? Just don’t—”

  “Logan.”

  His eyes were clouded by a mental list of instructions, but they focused laser-bright on her when she prompted him. “Huh?”

  “It’s all right, I’ll be fine. Just go already.”

  “Oh. Yeah. Got it. Listen, I mean this, call me if anything comes up. I can be back here in—”

  “Logan.” She giggled. He was too cute.

  “Huh?”

  “Go on. You don’t want to be late for work.”

  “Oh. No, you’re right. Gotta head out.” He turned away, grabbed his jacket off the back of a kitchen chair and slithered into its sleeves.

  “Logan.”

  “Huh?”

  “Come here.” She dropped the tone of her voice into a seductive low range, furry with promise. He retraced his steps to the couch. She reached up, took hold of his coat pocket and pulled him down towards her. She kissed the corner of his mouth and part of his smooth-shaven cheek. “I’m sorry you have to go out in such awful weather, Logan,” she whispered.

  Little Irish leprechauns danced a jig in his eyes. “What awful weather?” he whispered back. “The sun is shinin’ and the skies are blue.”

  Chloe spent a lazy day lounging on the couch, watching television, dozing, perusing the morning newspaper, idly putting together the list he’d requested. She moved to reach for whatever supplies he’d provided for her on the coffee table and that was basically it.

  Random thoughts skittered in and out like fairy lights, regardless of her sleepy subconscious. Utter relief that she had finally been able to open up to someone about her past. Deep appreciation she’d opened up to Logan – and that he’d understood. Overwhelming gratitude that some Supreme Being had seen fit to cross her path with this remarkable man. Something good had come out of her fear and pain.

  Coincidence? Or fate?

  What would Logan have done had she invaded his bathroom, while he was naked and dripping under the shower’s hot spray? She blinked and swallowed, warming all over. He would’ve opened the vinyl curtain and welcomed her into the tub, just as he had opened himself and welcomed her into his life.

  She felt as safe in his presence and in his apartment. She glanced at the bolted door with a small smile – so many instructions. He really did care.

  Sweet daydreams pervaded her. This was still too soon, too fast. Her emotions were in an uproar, her life was in turmoil, and she was too damn sore to get it on with him, no matter how much she really wanted to.

  But there would come a time. If she had anything to do with it, there would come a time…

  Partway through the day, she hobbled into the bathroom for a slow, careful sponge bath and a change into the fresh pair of pjs Logan had laid out—brand-new and never worn, by the looks of them. Where had these come from? Hey, how many pairs of new pjs did this guy have, anyway?

  She finished up, brushed her wet hair and pottered back into the living room to make a call.

  “I knew it,” snarled Camille. “I knew that oozing salamander was behind your disappearance. Are you going to press charges? Do you have pictures? Are you safe? How soon are you coming home?”

  Chloe managed a small laugh at the barrage of questions. “Yes, Cam, I am definitely planning to press charges. Yes, I—there have been some photos snapped, a little while ago, so all my injuries are on record. My face is a mess, so are my ribs. But I’m safe and I’m being well taken care of. As to the coming home…”

  “Oh, hell, I knew it!” Camille wailed. “The bastard has scared you off forever. What’s going on, Chloe? “

  “Sssshh, calm down please. I’m trying to tell you and you’re at work where anyone can hear. Jonathan is the least of my problems right now. There’s someone else after me; he’s been hunting me for two years and he’s finally tracked me down. I won’t be able to—”

  “The P.I.,” Camille guessed, clicking her tongue. “That’s it, isn’t it?”

  “That’s it. And my life is at risk. And I can’t tell you anymore, because I don’t want yours put at risk too. I won’t even tell you where I am right now or who I’m with. If anyone contacts you, you can honestly say you don’t know anything about me. Okay?”

  Camille sobbed into the receiver and Chloe’s heart broke open a little – of the two of them, Camille was the strong one. To hear here cry was torture. “Oh Chloe, I never dreamed it would come to this!”

  Chloe sighed. “Me neither. I hoped it never would. But in the back of my mind, I guess I always knew. Anyway, I can’t come home for a while, Cam. Not for a long time. I have to work out what I’ll do from here on.”

  “Don’t run,” Camille ordered sternly around a small sob. “Don’t you dare run, girl. There has to be a better alternative than that!”

  “But you should be all right,” Chloe went on doggedly, despite the interruption. “I bought the apartment in a different name and you’re to stay there as long as you want. Understand?”

  Sniffling from the hard-headed, independent Miss Miranti? That, more than anything else, sent a knife straight through Chloe’s heart. Her choices were so narrow and her future might be uncompromising. Broken. She wouldn’t let that be Cam’s future.

  “I won’t say goodbye,” Camille whispered from the depths of her own unhappiness. “I want you to call me back in a week and let me know if you’ve completely recovered and what you’re planning. Will you promise to do that?”

  Chloe shifted position to accommodate the ache in her ribs. “Yes, Cam, I can promise to do that. I will do that.”

  “Good. Then I have your word and I’ll hold you to it. Besides, your clothes and personal things are here, waiting for you. All those damned bloody peep-toes staring at me from your closet floor. You won’t be able to survive without those.” Camille essayed a shaky laugh. “Now, how can I get in touch with you if I need to?”

  “Until I can buy a disposable phone, go ahead and put an ad in the personals of your newspaper,” Chloe answered promptly, she’d giv
en this a lot of thought already. “Attention Veronica. I’ll call you immediately.”

  Heavy silence. Finally a tiny, defeated voice came across,“I miss you already, my friend. Be good to yourself.”

  Tears stung Chloe’s eyes and she whispered, “You, too, Cam. Love you.”

  She wasn’t a drinker, but the conversation certainly put her on edge. Pity there wasn’t a stiff whisky around. She cried for a while, already mourning the loyal and devoted connections she’d torn apart. And it was all Halterman’s fault.

  * * * *

  CHAPTER THREE

  Logan returned home late in the rainy afternoon, tired and sweaty and wet to the ears. Chloe buried the urge to herd him into the bedroom to change out of the wet clothes, and gave him her list instead. She couldn’t get sidetracked!

  Still, it was a pity he had to run out so soon after he’d arrived back. She recounted the list to him as he read it.

  Various kinds of toiletries, three pairs of jeans and several simple tops, one pair of flats, serviceable bulky running shoes and socks, a plain black tote, underwear.

  He bustled in two hours later and piled everything on the kitchen table.

  Oddly enough, Chloe was more excited by the prospect of rooting through what Logan had bought than she had been by the prospect of any shopping excursion to New York’s finest boutiques. What kind of shopper was he?

  “Doesn’t take much to make you happy, does it?” Logan lounged on the couch, chomping noisily on an apple. He watched with an indulgent smile.

  “Not when you’re having to live on someone’s charity,” she retorted. “Oh, toothbrush and paste all my own, how wonderful to see you. Lotion, just the brand I asked for, thank you. And shampoo, conditioner, lovely lovely bath gel. Logan, you got me a blow dryer. That wasn’t on my list, was it?”

  He shrugged. “Nope. But I don’t have one. And with your long hair, I figured you’d need it.”