by Ruskin, JD
“Why on earth would she do that?” his uncle asked weakly, as if the idea on top of everything else was too much to process. Caleb could relate.
“I think she picked that day for a reason,” Caleb said. “She wanted the opportunity to make you look bad.”
“This is ridiculous,” his uncle sputtered, bristling with indignation. “I’m to believe she terrorized you, conspired to get me fired, and Logan’s parole revoked in order to hide a petty theft ring. If the losses had been significant, the Loss Prevention Division would’ve flagged it years ago.”
Logan chimed in. “My guess is the thefts before were little more than power trips. She gets off on manipulating guys into doing her bidding and pulling one over on her boss. One of Marco’s pals told me that she latches on to new guys to the warehouse and they don’t end up working here long after she’s gotten a hold of them. They quit or she gets them fired.”
Picking up that train of thought, Caleb asked, “What’s changed?”
“My friend, Michael Miller, works for the security firm that was hired. According to him, six months ago, she was arrested for public drunkenness at a casino and she is swamped with debt.” Logan snorted. “Probably even more so recently since someone called the construction company working on her house and told them she’s jerking them around. I heard they’re threatening to take her to court.”
Caleb narrowed his eyes. They would be talking about Logan’s failure to share important information later. Logan had the decency to look chagrined.
“So she’s hard up for cash and looking for a way to get her hands on a bigger score.” Caleb remembered one of Marco’s many rants about Karen. “Logan wouldn’t play ball and she’s probably got someone lined up to take his place. But how does my uncle fit into all this?”
Logan turned toward Uncle Harrison. “Who’s replacing you?”
His uncle blinked several times. “Martin Randal. It’s an internal promotion.”
“He that slick-looking guy that toured the warehouse a few weeks back?”
“Yes,” Uncle Harrison said, clearly confused by the change in conversation.
Logan smiled smugly. “Foster is fucking him.”
His uncle’s face flushed so red Caleb worried about his blood pressure. They both listened in stunned silence as Logan relayed what he had seen in the break room. Randal had emerged from the break room still tucking his shirttails in. Logan didn’t doubt for a moment that Foster was responsible for his disheveled state.
His uncle rose abruptly. “I need to speak to my supervisor, Mr. Brady.” He hurried out of the office.
“She was at the apartment when you called, right?” Logan asked. “How did you get her to leave?”
Putting a hand to his chest dramatically, Caleb said, “C-can’t t-talk with you h-here.”
Logan snorted.
Caleb smiled sheepishly. “There’s at least one benefit for having a history of mental instability.”
Logan hauled Caleb over for a bone-crushing hug. Logan’s warmth seemed to fill his whole being. It felt so damn good to be in his arms. Running a hand over the damp T-shirt covering Logan’s back, Caleb breathed in Logan’s sweet musk, thinking that it wasn’t fair that the man could look and smell this good. He knew there were things they should be talking about, but he didn’t want to move. For now, he just wanted this moment. His uncle’s return ten minutes later had them separating like a pair of teens caught necking on the porch.
His uncle hovered in the doorway. “Martin is writing his resignation as we speak. And I’ve agreed to delay retirement for six months to aid in finding and training a suitable replacement.”
“Do you think he knew what she was planning to do?” Logan asked.
Sounding weary, his uncle said, “I don’t know. He admits to having an inappropriate relationship with a subordinate. He also said that he and Ms. Foster had talked about how they could rearrange personnel and schedules to make the warehouse more efficient, but he denies any knowledge of wrongdoing. I think he’s probably telling the truth. He seems more like a man of poor judgment than a criminal.”
Logan whistled. “I’m surprised he confessed so easily.”
“Martin’s ambitious. He’ll walk away with a letter of recommendation and no official company sanction. And when people ask him why he left the company, he can tell them I changed my mind about playing shuffleboard full time.”
Logan snorted, finally understanding. Randal had sold out Foster before she could pin it on him.
“What about Karen?” Caleb asked.
“She’s left for the day and is not answering her cell phone. She’ll be given the same offer or fired for violating company policy if she refuses.”
“That’s it?” Caleb’s voice sounded raspy even to himself, which wasn’t surprising because his throat had become a desert.
“It’s the best solution for the company,” his uncle said. He was still committed to the people who were ready to toss him out the door after thirty-plus years of service. His uncle could pretend all he wanted, but Caleb still believed Karen had had a hand in the request to retire. The idea of Karen not only walking away from this unscathed but with a glowing recommendation made Caleb physically ill.
“I need to go back upstairs and talk to Mr. Forrester about possible damage control if Ms. Foster chooses to sue civilly or file sexual harassment charges.”
Caleb swallowed his first response and then changed his mind. “You mean hush money, right? Give her a wad of cash to go away and be someone else’s problem.”
His uncle gave him a pained expression before leaving the office once again.
Logan didn’t seem surprised by the turn of events, and for some reason that pissed Caleb off even more. Where the hell was his righteous indignation? “None of this bothers you? She threatened to get you sent back to prison.”
Logan wrapped a strong arm around Caleb’s waist, dragging him close. “Baby, people like Foster don’t need nobody to take them down. They do the job all by themselves.”
Caleb understood what Logan was trying to tell him, and it pained him to think of any similarities between Logan and Karen. It did nothing to suppress the growing fire in his belly.
The buzzing sound of a phone set to vibrate filled the office. Logan pulled out his phone and answered it. “What’s up?”
Caleb listened to the one-sided conversation with growing interest when Logan said, “You’re shitting me?”
At Caleb’s silent inquiry, Logan mouthed the name “Dabb.”
“Why? Oh, come on, man. You gotta tell me,” Logan said, sounding like an enormous five-year-old. His eyes locked with Caleb’s, and he said to Dabb, “I’ll tell him,” before ending the call.
There could only be one reason for Dabb to call Logan. Karen must have gone straight to see him after her shift had ended. What if Dabb didn’t believe me? What if he believes her story? What if he’s on the way to arrest Logan right now?
Caleb’s heart rate picked up, the panic gaining strength as if it had been waiting all day for an opportunity to strike. He hadn’t realized he was stepping backward until his back slapped against the wall, sending one of his uncle’s awards crashing to the floor. The office seemed to shrink around him as if someone were pushing in the walls, closing him in.
“You don’t have to do it, baby.”
“Do what?”
“Are you back with me?”
When Caleb nodded, he continued. “I’ve never seen you pull back like that in the middle of a full-on attack.”
Caleb was embarrassed to admit the reason had something to do with the sight of Logan on his knees in front of him. “What did Dabb have to say?”
“We can talk about it later,” Logan said, rising to his feet.
Caleb let Logan hug him close for a few blissful moments, luxuriating in the warm smell of his body. Burying his face against Logan’s chest, he said, “Tell me what he said.”
Logan muttered, “Stubborn little shit,” befor
e he continued. “Foster’s been arrested for assaulting a police officer. She hauled off and slapped Dabb in front of a witness.”
Stunned, Caleb asked, “Why did she do it?”
“Bastard wouldn’t tell me what he said to her, but a breathalyzer test showed she was totally trashed.” Logan looked reluctant to continue, so Caleb gave him a “get on with it” look. “Dabb’s working with the theft division detectives to get a warrant to search her house. He needs you to come down to the station and make a statement about what happened last night and what you witnessed in the warehouse.”
“She never admitted to anything and it’s been too long. They can’t hope to prosecute her for what happened four years ago.”
Sounding far too patient, Logan said, “They just need to convince a judge to let them search and hopefully they’ll find evidence of stolen goods.”
Caleb was ashamed to admit he wouldn’t have cared if Karen continued to rip off the company if she hadn’t targeted Logan. Not very civic minded of him but true. Karen had made it personal, and he had no choice but to act. “Call him and let him know I’m on the way.”
Chapter 11
WHILE Logan had been in with Klass and Caleb, the flow of deliveries seemed to have quieted down somewhat, and from then on, the remaining hours dragged by. He worked out his shift hoping to be the guy to get sent home if the supervisor decided there were too many workers on the floor. Much as he needed the money, he wanted to get out of work.
Exhaustion pulled at Logan as he stared at Caleb’s apartment building, but he couldn’t go home without checking on Caleb first. John Dabb had insisted on taking Caleb to the police station, and Logan had been grateful for it. He couldn’t stand the idea of Caleb sitting alone in an interview room and having to explain about his panic attacks to two detectives that would likely look at him like he was a freak. They wouldn’t understand how brave Caleb was. He trusted Dabb to make sure they treated Caleb right.
After making his way upstairs, Logan rapped his knuckles against Caleb’s door. He heard the squeak of the floorboards under the thin carpet, but the door didn’t open. Placing his palm against the wood he said, “Caleb?” More squeaking. As he was digging his cell phone out of his pocket, he heard the scraping sound of the chain being unlocked. The door creaked open by itself, eerily similar to a horror movie. He half expected a monstrous cat to come flying at his head as he pushed the door open and entered.
“What the…?” At first glance, the living room looked like it had been ransacked. Couch cushions tossed on the floor. Books pulled from the bookcases and dumped in piles on the cream carpet. DVDs were stacked precariously on the coffee table in a crooked column. There seemed to be stuff heaped on every available surface. Looking carefully, he noticed that nothing appeared to be broken or damaged. It likely wasn’t vandalism then since the TV wasn’t smashed and they hadn’t made off with the stereo. It looked more as if someone had been searching for something. He spotted Caleb standing in the kitchen. A wave of déjà vu moved through him at the sight. Caleb’s arms were wrapped around himself as if his grip was the only thing holding him together. After everything that had happened today, Logan wouldn’t be surprised for it to end in a panic attack. He’d witnessed three attacks since Caleb had been getting treatment, and had read the literature the therapist gave him. But none of that explained the state of the apartment.
“What’s going on, Caleb?” Logan asked softly. The kitchen was in worse shape than the living room. Dishes, food storage containers, pots, and cooking paraphernalia he couldn’t begin to identify were stacked haphazardly on the countertop and floor. What looked like the contents of the pantry were in and around the sink.
Caleb looked at the clock on the stove that read 6:02 p.m. “You’re off work early,” he said, his voice sounding flat.
“Klass let me go home early,” Logan said, leaving the “so I could check on you” left unspoken. “Did you lose something?” he asked, gesturing to the chaos around them.
Caleb’s green eyes studied him for what seemed like hours, and then to Logan’s surprise his expression shifted, shedding the assessing gaze and edging into something that looked astonishingly like grief. “No, but I found something.”
“What di—” Logan started to say before his brain snatched the words from his mouth and smacked him over the head with them. He hadn’t thought about that bottle in weeks since he’d shoved it in the bathroom cabinet. He’d meant to go back and get rid of it once he had better control of himself. How could I have forgotten?
Caleb threw his arms up, fists balled. “Have you been drinking this whole time? Is that why you got together with me?” He grabbed the minibottle of scotch off the counter that Logan hadn’t noticed amongst all the other stuff. “So you’d have a convenient place to stash your booze that your PO can’t search?”
“You know that ain’t true.” Logan pointed at the bottle. “Check the seal. I never drank from that bottle or any other bottle.”
“I don’t know what to think, Logan.” Leaning against the fridge, he slid down until he was sitting on the linoleum floor. “Whether you drank it or not doesn’t change the fact that you’ve been hiding it from me. That you didn’t trust me enough to tell me what you were going through.”
Logan followed Caleb’s lead and sat on the floor. A wall of Tupperware and cooking pots stood between them. “I shoved the bottle in the cabinet to get it away from me because I didn’t trust myself not to drink it. And then I just put it out of my head.”
“Why not ask me to throw it out for you? Or talk to me about what you were going through?”
Caleb made a frustrated noise when Logan offered no explanation. “You know every humiliating detail about my panic attacks and you’ve shared almost nothing about your struggles with alcohol now or in the past. I’ve meet with your sponsor, Stacy, but she can only give me general information about alcoholics, nothing specific to you. And today was the first time I’d heard Michael’s name, let alone that you apparently have him investigating Karen.”
“It’s not the same damn thing,” Logan said. “You have trouble leaving your apartment and I nearly beat a man to death with my bare hands.” He paused, taking a deep breath. He’d seen the similarities between addiction and agoraphobia right from the beginning. On the surface, Caleb was more likely to hurt himself than others, but there were more ways to hurt than physical. Seeing Caleb look so still and lifeless on the bed had taken ten years off Logan’s life, bringing back memories he’d just as soon forget. He could remember hesitating before walking into his father’s bedroom each morning, wondering if today would be the day he’d find a corpse buried under the covers. Caleb had thrust him straight back to that hell by disabling the phone instead of calling for help. But that was a long way from the damage Logan could do to Caleb if he went back to drinking.
“I walked into this relationship with my eyes wide open. John Dabb made sure of that.” Dropping the bottle, he drew his knees tight against his chest. “So either you don’t think I could handle hearing about it or you don’t think I could help.”
Even though he knew it was true, Logan still couldn’t believe Caleb had seen the crime photos. How could he see those and not be afraid? Michael hadn’t been afraid to love him even when he should have been. Logan didn’t remember fracturing Michael’s wrist, but he’d heard the snap in his dreams too many times to count. “If you were smart, you’d have nothing to do with me, but that don’t stop me from lo… wanting you. I want to become the kind of man you deserve, but I’m not there yet.” He felt something in his jaw start to throb. “I don’t like reminding you of that.”
“I love you,” Caleb said, proving again how fucking brave he was. “But I’ve spent too much time feeling helpless, and I won’t go back to that life. You have to be able to talk to me and to let me help you. If you can’t, then there’s no point in us being together.”
Logan realized he’d asked the same thing of Caleb. It couldn’t have been eas
y for Caleb to talk about the panic attacks. Hell, Caleb had confessed to pissing in the kitchen sink the first day of his accident, because he was too afraid to go back into the bathroom. For a neat freak, that was right up there with causing an apocalypse. He’d solved the problem by not eating or drinking anything the rest of the weekend, adding dehydration and low blood sugar to his broken wrist and concussion. He’d trusted Logan not to mock or judge him when he talked about it.
“Michael has been my best friend since we were in the sixth grade. He and me always looked after each other, because our parents sure as hell weren’t going to do it. But the booze twisted that and made things worse. I’d blow my grocery money at the liquor store and he’d sneak food into my fridge or offer to pay for pizza. I’d call him up too drunk to remember my own address and he’d crawl out of bed to come pick me up. He’d threaten to never speak to me again if I didn’t get help, but in a couple of days he’d be back to sitting on that barstool next to me, feeling completely helpless. I hurt him in every way possible.”
“Do you regret hurting him?”
“Now? Hell, yes. But back then… I didn’t care, Caleb. The only thing I cared about was getting my next drink. He’d been like a brother to me for so long, but none of that mattered. If I go back to drinking, you won’t matter either.”
Caleb shook his head. “I don’t believe that. You’re not the same man you were a year ago. That man didn’t know what it felt like to lose everything and have to start over.”
Caleb looked at the single-serving bottle of scotch whiskey on the floor, forcing Logan to remember that his idea of a serving of booze used to be about the equivalent of ten of those minibottles.
“When did you buy it?”
“Weeks ago from a guy selling on the street.”
“You mean six weeks ago, right? When I broke my wrist?”
“I didn’t lie to you, Caleb. I didn’t get drunk because you didn’t answer the door or answer the phone when I called.”
Caleb nodded. “It’s one of the things I’ve been working on with my therapist. I can feel bad about making you worry or upsetting you, but I’m not responsible for how you choose to react to those emotions.” He shrugged. “It’s still a work in progress.” Uncurling his body, he crawled over the items on the floor and sat cross-legged in front of Logan. “Tell me what you were thinking when you bought it.”