Thank God!
Back in the lobby, Logan grinned at her. “The guy even comped our rooms. Not bad for an afternoon’s work. You were terrific.”
“Not bad at all.” She squeezed his hand. “Thanks.”
“Hey, I didn’t do anything.”
“You were there for me. I figured if he decided to break somebody’s knees, he’d have to go through you to get to me.”
His eyebrows shot up in surprise.
As she laughed, her gaze slid toward the car rental counter, and the blonde sitting behind it. Her throat tightened.
“Logan, there’s something else I have to do. Why don’t you go to the bar, order us some drinks, and I’ll be there in a minute?”
He followed her gaze. “Just leave it, Jan. Nothing’s going to change.”
“I know. This is something I have to do alone. It won’t take me long.”
“I’ll go with you.”
“No, this is between me and that woman. Just the two of us.” When she saw the concern in his gentle hazel eyes, she smiled. “I promise I won’t make a scene. I might pull out a few clumps of hair,” she conceded, “but I won’t spill a single drop of blood.”
“Okay, but if anything goes wrong, I’ll be there to bail you out of the slammer.”
Taking a deep breath, she turned and walked across the wide lobby, past ornate marble columns and potted plants, noisy slot machines clicking and clacking, people laughing.
It was one of the longest walks she’d taken in her life. This was going to be much more difficult than dealing with something as impersonal as a gambling debt. This was the heart and soul of who she had been as a woman.
She stopped in front of the car rental counter. The woman’s name tag read Christie Greene and her golden-blonde hair was pulled back into a sophisticated chignon.
Hate and jealousy mingled with the bile in Janice’s throat and the desperate sense of betrayal.
The woman looked up, a practiced smile on her face but no recognition in her eyes. “May I help you?”
“I’m Janice Gainer, Ray’s wife.”
The woman’s expression crumbled, and a blush bloomed on her cheeks. Her gaze darted around the lobby as though in search of help.
“I’m not going to create a scene. It’s just that I—” Janice faltered. What did she want from this woman? An apology? Or to humble her as she’d humbled Janice? Not exactly a noble goal.
“I’m so sorry,” Christie whispered, her voice velvet soft.
“Because you had an affair with my husband?”
“Yes. At first I didn’t—” Her chin trembled. “Ray didn’t wear a wedding ring.”
He’d always told Janice a ring would be dangerous on the job. Now she suspected that was only an excuse so he could philander with other women. Oh, God, how that hurt!
“But when you found out he was married, you didn’t do anything about it, did you?” she said, her accusation sharp and cutting.
“No, I didn’t. I tried not to see him again, but I couldn’t seem to stay away. By then, I—” She broke off and tears filled her eyes. “I know it’s no excuse, but by then I loved him.”
To Janice’s dismay, she found herself sympathizing with Christie. That wasn’t fair. She had every right to hate the woman. At some level, she did. Bitterly. But now, with Ray gone, it seemed like a wasted emotion.
“But I’m sorry for more than just our affair.”
Slowly, Janice raised her brows. “What could be worse than carrying on with a married man?”
Behind the counter, Christie straightened some of the car rental brochures and set them aside as though trying to organize her thoughts. “Before he died, he’d lost a lot of money at the tables and he kept falling deeper and deeper in debt.”
“I’m aware of that—now.”
“He kept trying to find a way out, to get even, doubling his bets when he lost, which only made things worse.”
“He could have stopped altogether.”
“I know. I suggested that, but he wouldn’t listen. He kept talking about the hole he’d dug for himself and how that was going to hurt you and your children.”
Janice’s jaw went slack. “Ray talked about us?”
“Often—once he’d let it slip that he had a family. He was so worried.” Rearranging another stack of brochures, Christie’s hands began to tremble so badly she dropped them, scattering them behind the counter. She bent down to scoop them up, then appeared to give up the effort altogether. “One night I mentioned that the casino often wiped out the debts of someone who died, if it was a special case, if the family—” She covered her mouth with her hand. “Oh, God, I never should have told him.”
An uneasiness crept along Janice’s spine. “What are you saying?”
“A week after I told him that, he came back. He was wild that night, trying to recoup his losses. He tried roulette, which wasn’t his usual game, and he only lost more. It was like he’d gone mad. He played every table, took huge risks. It didn’t make any sense to me until—” Pursing her lips together, she closed her eyes. A single tear edged down her cheek. “Until I heard the next day that a firefighter in Paseo del Real had died on the job. Then I knew that Ray had—”
“Killed himself?” Janice said with a gasp.
“I felt so guilty. If he hadn’t thought the casino would forgive his gambling debts…” She sobbed, tried to catch her breath. “I’m so, so sorry—about everything.”
Janice didn’t know how to react. She’d never considered that Ray might have wanted to die in that fire, or that he’d been concerned about her and the children at all.
Tears of confusion and grief brimmed in her eyes. Her throat felt tight, making it impossible for her to speak. Tentatively she covered Christie’s hand and squeezed gently. She didn’t want to absolve the woman of her guilt, but they’d both suffered a loss. Their mutual grief could be shared.
HE’D WAITED at the bar so long, Logan figured he’d have to order a second beer or go looking for Janice. He opted for the second choice.
Tossing a few bucks on the counter, he stood just as Janice came into the cocktail lounge. He couldn’t read her expression, but she didn’t look happy.
“We need to talk,” she said without preamble.
“Talk?”
“You and me. I want to know what happened the day Ray died, and I want to know the truth.”
Logan took a step back as though he’d taken a punch to the solar plexus. He’d never wanted Janice to know the details of that morning. Couldn’t imagine what the blonde had said to make Janice so insistent upon knowing the truth. But she was Ray’s wife. He couldn’t lie to her, not in the face of her determined questioning.
He glanced around. The lounge hadn’t filled up yet. That would come later for the dinner show. Now there were only a few customers taking a break from the slots and assorted other games designed to separate them from their money.
He motioned toward an empty table in the shadows away from any other tables. What he had to say, he didn’t want the world to hear. Then he gestured to the bartender to send a couple of beers to that table.
By the time they were seated, the waitress showed up with the beers. Janice silently acknowledged the drinks and took a sip from the glass the waitress had half filled from the bottle.
“Tell me,” she said.
Logan took his time pouring the rest of his beer into his glass, watching the head form as he gathered his thoughts.
“Ray got to the station late that morning,” he began. “That wasn’t unusual for him, but it plays havoc with the guy on the prior shift. He can’t leave till he passes off his assignment to the next guy, one-on-one, which means maybe he can’t get home for breakfast in time to see his wife off to work. Or see his kids before they go to school.”
“What about Ray?”
Mentally Logan tried to focus on that morning. Every detail he’d been trying so hard to forget.
“He hadn’t been in the station fiv
e minutes when we got the run. That old warehouse down on Broadway. We’d been there before. Vagrants used it as a hangout. It should have been torn down years ago.”
“It’s still there, what’s left of it,” she commented.
“Yeah, and still a fire trap waiting to happen.” Instead of the city tearing it down themselves, they’d been arguing with the owners about liability. Nobody wanted to foot the bill, but somebody would eventually. Logan could only hope it wouldn’t be at the cost of another firefighter’s life.
“We were first on the scene but the fire was going pretty good when we got there,” he said, his memories returning to that morning. “While we were rolling, Ray acted like he was hungover. He said he’d been up all night.” Logan glanced out toward the lobby where the blonde worked. “He’d driven back from Vegas.”
Janice’s eyes lowered to her beer, and she used her fingertip to draw a line down the frosted glass. “Yes. She told me. She said—” Her voice cracked, and she looked away. “Go on, please.”
“He seemed punchy, sort of out of it. Not at top form, you know?”
She raised her head. “Depressed?”
Logan considered the question as he sipped his beer, trying to wash away the bitter memories that had been taunting him for the past two months.
“I thought—I thought he was still drunk. I should have—” His hand closed around his glass so tightly, he thought it might shatter. “When the battalion chief sent us up to vent the roof, I should have stopped Ray from even going up the ladder. He was in no condition to—”
“What happened on the roof?”
“I’m not sure. It seemed so routine until—” The images rose in his memory. “It was like he was moving in slow motion. Ray hesitated a second before he walked across the roof, his ax in hand, something determined about the way he held himself. He didn’t look side to side, checking for hot spots, nothing like he should. I thought he just didn’t give a damn. I thought he was still drunk out of his skull.”
Logan looked up when he felt Janice’s hand cover his. Only then did he realize there were tears running down his cheeks. Janice, who had lost her husband, was comforting him, the man who hadn’t done enough to save him.
“When I spotted the bubbling tar, I yelled at him. I swear I did. He didn’t stop. He just kept on walking. He should have realized—” Logan nearly strangled on a sob, the nightmare images so vivid in his mind. “The roof gave out from under his feet.”
With incredible sadness, so softly Logan could barely hear her, Janice said, “It wasn’t your fault. I think he wanted to die.”
He sat in stunned silence unable to take in her meaning. “Not that way. No one wants to die—”
“Christie thinks it’s her fault.”
“Christie? Christie who? I don’t get it.”
Sitting in stunned disbelief, Logan listened to what the blonde had told Janice. About Ray’s mounting debts. His worry about Janice and the kids. And his escape route.
“That’s why Christie came to the funeral,” Janice concluded. “Out of love…and guilt.”
Logan swore under his breath.
“We’ve all been accepting the guilt for Ray’s death and we shouldn’t have,” Janice said. “He was responsible. And his addiction to gambling, if that’s what it was.”
And his addiction to another woman, Logan suspected, but he wouldn’t voice that opinion. “I still should have stopped him.”
“If you’d had a tank up there on the roof, I doubt you could have stopped him. He thought he’d found a way out, one that wouldn’t hurt me or the children too much. He simply didn’t understand….” Her voice hitched again.
Logan couldn’t stand it. The bar was beginning to fill and this was no place for Janice, not when she was dealing with such powerful emotions.
“Come on, let’s get out of here. I’ll take you upstairs. You can rest—”
“No.” She lifted her chin to what he recognized as a stubborn angle. “Ray’s last thoughts were of his family. Whatever his faults—and they were obviously many—he didn’t want me to spend the rest of my life in misery. I need to celebrate that, Logan. I need to validate that life, however difficult, is a better choice than death.”
He wasn’t quite sure he understood, but he had to give Janice credit. He couldn’t imagine, even after facing a thousand fires, how much more courage it took for her to face the reality of her husband’s death and make a conscious decision to move on. To make a life for herself and her children.
“Would dinner with champagne do it?” he asked softly.
“Perfect,” she said, her chin trembling.
THE FIRST GLASS of champagne went right to her head. The second one made her feel giddy. Having once made the decision to look forward, not back, to rid herself of guilt over Ray’s death, the sense of relief was like a rebirth.
Apparently rebirth as an adolescent because she felt like she’d been sipping an aphrodisiac.
Although Logan had offered to take her to a dinner show, even if he had to bribe someone for tickets, she opted to eat in the restaurant where they could talk. She didn’t want the distraction of a stand-up comic or a chorus of beautiful, half-naked women.
She simply wanted to cherish the exhilarating sense of freedom—freedom from overwhelming debt and, temporarily, freedom from the responsibilities of being a mother.
But even more than that, she wanted to steal a few hours alone with Logan, to be a woman with a man she held as dear. A man she loved.
She forced herself to stifle a sigh. Logan was such a perfect gentleman, her love was likely to go unrequited despite the romantic candlelight and mood music being played by a small combo. Only a few courageous couples had ventured onto the tiny dance floor.
Too bad she’d forgotten—or had never learned—how to be seductive.
Logan lifted the bottle of champagne from the bucket. “More?” A gentle smile played at the corners of his lips, and flame from the candle reflected in his eyes, turning them from hazel to a deeper brown.
She covered her glass with her hand. “I think I’ve probably had enough. I’d hate for you to have to carry me up to my room because I wasn’t capable of walking.”
His smile turned amused. “We firefighters are trained for that. Carrying you seven floors would be a snap.”
“But don’t you generally carry fire victims down the stairs rather than up?”
“In this case, though I’m sure I could manage, I’d consider using the elevator.”
She laughed. He seemed more relaxed now than he had since Ray’s death, as if revealing what had happened that dreadful morning had been as cathartic for him as it had been freeing for her.
All along she’d been afraid that he blamed himself, his concern for her a result of guilt.
Now she knew that was the case.
What she didn’t know was if he had any other feelings for her.
The waiter arrived to remove their plates. She hadn’t done her coq au vin justice; Logan had demolished every bit of his roast duck with orange sauce, the whole time wondering aloud if he could replicate the seasonings.
“May I bring you the dessert tray?” the waiter inquired with deference.
She met Logan’s gaze. “Not for me. I couldn’t eat another bite.”
“Coffee?” he asked, and she nodded, wanting to linger with him.
When the waiter left, he said, “We could dance while we wait for the coffee.”
Her eyes widened in surprise. “Oh, no, I couldn’t. I haven’t danced in years. I’d probably trample all over your toes.”
“Neither have I.” He stood, extending his hand. “Which means your toes will be at greater risk than mine. I’m willing to take the chance if you are.”
Despite her hesitancy, Janice allowed herself to be drawn to her feet. She doubted Logan would be awkward at any activity, including dancing. She couldn’t say the same for herself.
But before she knew it, she was in his arms, moving effor
tlessly as he led her around the small dance floor, her right hand tucked into his left, nearly invisible when his fingers closed around hers. At the small of her back, his broad palm heated through her dress to warm her flesh.
And her heart.
She breathed in his scent. The familiar fragrance of his spicy aftershave, the sun-fresh smell of detergent on the collar of his shirt. The elemental essence of a man. In the same primal way, she responded as a woman.
A tiny shudder rippled through her, and she rested her head on his shoulder, closing her eyes. But she wasn’t relaxed. If anything she was hyper-alert as his hand slid lower on her back to her hips, pressing her closer, nestling her more firmly into the cradle of his hips where she felt—
Her feet tangled.
The telling bulge against her midsection jolted her. Her spirits soared, and for the first time in many years she felt the power of being a woman. She felt the owner of the moment, a co-conspirator with a long feminine line that led back to Eve. She rejoiced in the knowledge that Logan wanted her in the same way she wanted him, and she was humbled by the realization.
And afraid. Afraid he wouldn’t want to take this feeling to the next step. That if he did, she wouldn’t be able to please him.
The band segued into another slow number. It didn’t matter. They didn’t seem to be moving around the dance floor any longer but only swaying to a beat that thrummed low in her body, echoing his heavy heartbeat she felt where her palm rested against his chest. In counterpoint, a riot of sensations sped through her. The heat that surrounded her. The building tension. The ache of wanting that filled every cell, every atom of her existence.
The music stopped, the band leader announcing the combo was taking a break.
Logan didn’t let her go but continued to hold her close, there on the empty dance floor. Vaguely, she wondered if anyone noticed. But she didn’t really care. It simply felt too good to be this close to Logan.
“Maybe we should skip the coffee,” he whispered in her ear.
Between Honor and Duty Page 14