Bad Boy Heroes Boxed Set

by Patricia Ryan

  Like a child who’d been dismissed, Margo just stood there watching Jane’s back. For a moment, she didn’t know what to do. Then, she turned and headed for Linc’s bedroom, closing the door tightly once she was inside.

  She went to the bed and tugged up the covers he must have left mussed the last time he was here. Plumping his pillows, she threw herself on the bed, but that was a mistake. His musky, unique scent was on the linen. So she sat up and scanned the room. There was a cross on the wall. Pictures of Bethy, Ron, Annie and her kids occupied space on the top of an old and scarred dresser.

  None of Margo. The notion hurt her heart.

  On the nightstand was an empty beer can, a phone and a book. She picked it up. It was called The Reluctant Atheist. Hrrmph.

  Casually she opened the nightstand drawer. Inside was a Bible. A beautiful leather-bound one that had obviously been given to him by someone. Without thinking, she fished it out. Opened it. And caught her breath. Tucked inside was a five-by-seven picture of her. She had no idea when it had been taken, but her face shone with love and need for the cameraman. It must have been taken by Linc.

  She stared at the photo nestled comfortably inside the book of God. Linc the psychologist was just full of symbolism. She closed her eyes and sighed heavily. Well, it was all wishful thinking. No way in hell was she ever going to change her mind about religion and its role in her life. Not for Ronny. Not for Linc. Not for God himself.

  Clutching the bible and picture to her chest, she started to doze when she thought she heard, Don’t bet on it, Margo baby. But she fell into a deep sleep before she could analyze it.

  *

  DRESSED IN A pair of Linc’s sweatpants and one of his flannel shirts, wearing the canvas sneakers she’d bought at Killian’s, Margo let herself into her co-op late Sunday night. The weekend had been unbelievable. Her shoulders ached with fatigue, worry and the tension of Linc’s accident.

  Dropping her raincoat and bag of clothes she’d worn to Glen Oaks Thursday on the chair in the foyer—God, was it just a few days ago that she’d left work?—she longed for a bath and bed. She particularly didn’t want to deal with her feelings, which were galloping through her like an emotional posse looking for its prey.

  The phone on the stand in the living room distracted her. Its red message light was blinking. She could ignore it, but there might be news about Linc, so she pressed the button.

  “Margo, it’s Philip.” His deep voice was cold. “It’s Saturday. I’m worried about you. I guess you stayed in Glen Oaks with the minister.” A pause. “You know, I can’t fathom what he’s got that attracts you so much.” Philip’s tone softened. “I have to admit, I don’t like it. But I hope he’s all right. Call me at this number when you get back. I’ve got news on the Brubeck order.”

  Disturbed by his comments, she said to the phone, “It can wait until tomorrow at work.”

  A beep. “Hi, babe. It’s me.” Linc. Just the sound of his voice warmed her. She pictured him as she’d left him at his apartment, tucked into bed, eyes slumberous from the pain medication, his hand clasping hers as if he’d never let her go. “Call and tell me that you got home safely. Oh, and I thought you’d like to know, Ronny’s teacher’s gonna be all right. He’ll be in the hospital a while, and out of school until the end of the year, but they swear he’s gonna walk again.” He waited. “Thanks for hanging around here. I know it’s not your style, but it meant a lot to me.” Another pause. “We’re gonna make it, honey, I promise.”

  “Yeah, sure,” she said aloud again.

  Ignoring the rest of the messages, Margo headed for her bedroom, thinking of the weekend. On Friday, there had been an emotional scene with Ron, who’d begged her to stay in Glen Oaks.

  God’s not so bad, Margo.

  Then, she’d gone back to the hospital. Linc had had visitors and more tests, so she hadn’t gotten to talk to him much. Her emotions had been a jumbled mass, and she wasn’t even sure why she’d stayed, after planning to leave Glen Oaks right after she found out he was going to be all right. Something had driven her to stay, though.

  In her own familiar surroundings, while she drew bathwater, poured in sinfully expensive bath oil and shed her clothes, she thought about the little surprise waiting for her when she’d gone to Linc’s garage apartment.

  Jane Meachum’s words, Let him go or claim him, haunted her. Was there even a choice? she wondered as she climbed into the tub. She closed her eyes and leaned back on the terry-cloth pillow. The hot water soothed her.

  You have a choice, Margo, I told you that.

  Margo sat up straight, sloshing soapsuds and water over the side.

  Oh no you don’t. Don’t talk to me again. You got me so screwed up Thursday I stayed in Glen Oaks all weekend. And it didn’t help. It just makes me miss him more.

  It’s good to miss the people we love. It makes us appreciate them.

  She slid down into the water. Please, go away.

  Never.

  Why are you doing this to me?

  Because it’s time to push you. I’ve waited years for you to do this on your own and you haven’t. So now I’m helping.

  You can help me by leaving me alone.

  She thought she heard an exasperated sigh, like a parent trying to be patient with his child.

  Margo, what your mother did was wrong. All atrocities committed in my name are wrong.

  Before she could stop, she found herself asking, Then why do you allow it?

  It’s called free will. People have to have it or life is meaningless.

  It hurt so much.

  I know it did. I tried to help you through it.

  How? How did you try?

  By giving you Linc.

  She felt her eyes tear. You took him away. When you made him become a minister, he left me.

  No, I didn’t do that either.

  Well, I didn’t make him leave me. She waited a minute. Did I?

  What do you think?

  Oh, no…

  The phone ringing in the bedroom brought Margo back to reality. Geez, she was losing it. This was nuts. She couldn’t be talking to God. That was Linc’s thing. To ward off the notion, she stood and stepped out of the tub. “No more. Just don’t do it anymore,” she told herself. “You’ll be fine.”

  Dressing hurriedly in red silk lounging pajamas, she was on her way to listen to the rest of her messages when the front-door buzzer rang. She snagged a matching robe and hurried to the foyer.

  She was utterly dismayed to hear Philip ask to come in over the intercom. Just what she needed. Could she say no? That was cowardly. So she rang him in and opened her door a few moments later. “Hello, Philip.”

  He stuck his hands in the pockets of his expensive, pressed jeans and whistled softly. “Wow.”

  She angled her head, then realized he meant how she was dressed. Ignoring the reaction, she tightened the belt of her robe. “What are you doing here?”

  “I was worried about you. Why didn’t you call me when you got in?”

  “I just got back.”

  With practiced ease, he edged inside. She had no choice but to close the door. “Is everything all right in Glen Oaks?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Is the minister going to recover?” His tone was odd—little boyish, almost whiny like Ronny had seemed that weekend.

  “His name is Linc, and yes, he’s fine. He has a broken arm, though, and it’s going to be tough for a few weeks.”

  Uninvited, Philip wandered into the living room. Margo followed him, assaulted by the distinct smell of alcohol in his wake. “I hope this doesn’t mean you’ll be running back there every weekend to…help him dress, and things like that.” Without even asking, he headed for her bar and poured himself a few fingers of scotch. Facing her, he finished, “I hear it’s tough to zip up your pants when you have a broken arm.”

  Margo crossed her arms over her chest. “What’s going on, Philip?”

  “Can’t you tell?”

>   She shook her head.

  “I’m jealous.” He sipped his drink. “Did you sleep with him this weekend? I know you can still do that with a broken arm.”

  “You’ve no right to ask that question.”

  Philip slammed the drink down on the glass table, splashing its contents onto the surface. A primitive man emerged from his civilized exterior. “I have every right to ask that. And you know I do. Or at least you would if you’d give me half a chance to convince you.”

  “I think you’d better go.”

  “No.

  “Philip, I have no intention of getting personally involved with you. I’ve made that clear.”

  He fisted his hands on his hips, his shirt stylishly rumpled, the sleeves pushed up to reveal bare forearms. Even angry, he looked like an ad from GQ. “There’s no, Margo, and then there’s no.”

  Outraged, she asked, “What does that mean?”

  “Let’s just say your actions speak louder than your words.”

  “You’d better go,” she repeated, her tone icy.

  “I’d think twice about rejecting my offer if I were you.”

  “Why?”

  He picked up his drink and downed it. “It’s not in your best interest, sweetheart.”

  Her pulse beat fast. “Personally, Philip, or professionally?”

  His eyebrows shot up. “Why, both, of course.” He set down the drink. “The gloves are off, Margo.” With that comment, he crossed the room, grabbed her arms in a painful vise and gave her a bruising kiss. Letting her go, he said only, “Think about it,” and left Margo staring after him.

  “Oh my God,” she said as the door slammed.

  *

  THE GROUP ASSISTANT, Joanie, popped into Margo’s office the following Thursday and smiled warmly at her. “Margo, Jack called down when you were on the phone. He’d like to see you.”

  “When?”

  “As soon as you’re available.”

  “I’m free now.”

  “He said if you were, to give him fifteen minutes to make a phone call and come on up. I’ll confirm it.”

  “Thanks, Joanie. Close the door, would you?”

  Fifteen minutes.

  To decide what to do.

  Unlocking her bottom drawer, Margo pulled out a manila folder and opened it. Paltry proof of what Philip had been up to. But the lawyer specializing in sexual harassment, whom she’d called bright and early Monday morning, had told her to start compiling any paper trail, recording any discussions or events, though the woman’s schedule precluded meeting until the following Tuesday.

  As Margo stared at the memos from Brubeck and Laufler, she shook her head. Had she really been such a fool? On the Monday after Philip’s visit and his ominous words, she’d found the second memo on her desk. I called Brubeck to discuss the product delivery. Tom Newman said we had different dates recorded. I planned to straighten this out over the phone, but Brubeck was out of town. Will call back in a couple of days. P.

  A few other meager memos were included, but the file was primarily composed of a record of her suspicions, and a listing of the events that led to them. She’d feel better when she got to talk to the lawyer. She was thankful that Philip was out of the office on business the rest of the week. With any luck she could avoid him, as she’d done since Sunday, until her meeting with the lawyer.

  A wave of sadness enveloped Margo as she stood to meet with Jack; she remembered when she’d first come to work here, how excited she’d been, how sure she’d been that CompuQuest was a liberal place, with their aggressive recruitment of women and their extensive promotion policy. Philip’s warm smile, his easygoing manner and his generosity with his time had made her feel right at home. And over the years, she’d thought he’d become her friend. It was hard to believe he was the enemy now.

  Smoothing down her navy jacket, she thought about how everything was a mess. Work. Personal life.

  What personal life? You have none.

  Refusing to think about that, she made her way to Jack’s office. In the elevator, she caught sight of herself in the aluminum reflection—looking back at her was a sleek, sophisticated executive and a grim-faced, lonely woman. Margo turned her back to the image, and gathered her thoughts until she reached the executive floor.

  Outside Jack’s office, Geraldine greeted her. “Hello, Margo. You can go right in.”

  No smile. No usual pleasantries.

  “Is everything all right with you, Gerry?” Margo asked.

  Geraldine raised her chin; her face was tight, reminding Margo of the women at the commune when she’d done something to displease them. “Of course everything’s all right. Jack’s expecting you.”

  Margo nodded and knocked on Jack’s door. “Come in.”

  She entered the office. Jack was seated behind his desk, his glasses perched on his nose, reading a file. Ever the gentleman, he stood when she came closer. “Sit down, Margo.”

  Like the last time she’d been there with Philip, she took a leather chair across from the CEO. The May sunlight filtered through open blinds, creating little beams of sunlight that danced on the desk’s surface.

  Jack held her gaze. “I’ll cut right to the quick. I received this fax a few hours ago.” He handed her a paper.

  As Margo scanned it, she could feel her heartbeat speed up. Through sheer force of will she kept her hands from shaking. “I don’t understand. Philip told me this was taken care of.”

  Jack eyed her carefully. “I recall asking you to deal with it.”

  “I did. Or at least I tried to. I called Tom Newman and set up a meeting with him for Thursday afternoon.”

  “Which you didn’t keep.”

  “No, I had a family emergency.” She shifted uneasily in her seat. “I had to go to Glen Oaks right away. Philip met with Tom, then tried to reach Brubeck, but he was out of town. Philip was going to speak with Brubeck as soon as he got back.”

  “Were you out of the office all week?”

  “No, I was back Monday. I was gone Thursday and Friday of last week.”

  Jack tapped a gold pen on his desk. “Well, once again, with Brubeck, there was some miscommunication. As you can see from the terse but clear memo, he’s not happy with us, and we may not be getting any more business from them.”

  “I don’t know what to say. I’m sorry I was gone last week.”

  “You can’t help being out for emergencies. But I’m not sure why you didn’t deal with this when you got back.”

  “Philip said he would.”

  “Did you follow up on that with him?”

  “No.”

  A long pause from Jack, then a scowl. “Why?”

  Because I was avoiding him. “He went out of town before I thought of it again.”

  “Margo, Philip didn’t leave town until Wednesday.”

  “I don’t know what to say.”

  Sitting back, Jack steepled his hands. He stared at her with kind brown eyes. “Ordinarily, I wouldn’t jump on this because you have an impeccable eight-year record. But with the Laufler out-sourcing, this Brubeck thing, and then a new development, I’m forced to.”

  “A new development?” Margo threaded back her hair. “What?”

  “Another firm called Philip before he left. They complained about your inattention to them, too.”

  “Who?”

  “Compton’s.”

  Margo stilled. In that second, everything clicked. It was like finding the piece of a jigsaw puzzle that allowed you to put the rest together quickly. Eric Compton, owner of Compton Electronics, was Philip’s old frat buddy and good friend. Margo gulped back the smothering feeling that came over her. “I see.”

  “Do you? Then tell me, because I’m in the dark, here. Up until recently, your work has been stellar. Suddenly, it’s filled with missed deadlines and unhappy customers.”

  Thinking fast, Margo smoothed down her skirt. She watched her foot bob up and down as she mentally reviewed her choices. It became crystal clear to her that
she was in trouble. She should have said something before.

  “Margo?” Jack’s voice softened. “Is it personal problems? I know they can affect your work.”

  Swallowing hard, she made a split-second decision. One she should have made before. Oh, God, Linc had been right.

  “No, Jack, it’s not personal problems. Not like you mean. I’m afraid it’s worse than that.”

  “How so?”

  “I think something’s going on here that you should know about. Something I’ve kept from you for several weeks because I didn’t want to recognize that it was really happening.” Holding up the memos, she said, “I have no choice, now.”

  All CEO, Jack straightened. “Then tell me, Margo.”

  Carefully, and logically, which was her forte, she outlined the events of the previous months: Philip’s come-on in Boston, his apologies, his pushing to remain friends. The all-male weekend, the out-sourcing of Laufler’s product, the dinners and coffee to discuss his marital problems, the innuendo that mixing personal and professional was a good idea for her, and finally his visit Sunday and what he’d said.

  As she told him her suspicions, Jack’s face reddened and his eyes became troubled. When she finished, he said, “Give me a minute, will you?” Pushing back his chair, he rose and crossed to stare out the window. She’d always appreciated his thoughtfulness, how he never said or did anything capriciously. Finally he faced her and drew in a deep breath. “I’m sure you realize the seriousness of this charge.”

  “Yes, I do. I didn’t make it lightly.”

  “Needless to say I’m shocked.”

  “I know you and Philip are friends.”

  “It’s more than that.”

  “I’m sure it is.”

  Jack sat back down at the desk and clasped his hands in front of him. “First off, I asked you last week if everything was all right. Why didn’t you tell me this then?”

  “I was still debating if there was a problem, and what I should do about it. I wanted to give Philip the benefit of the doubt.” She frowned. “Truthfully, I think I didn’t want to admit the reality of it all to myself, Jack.”