Beneath The Surface

“So you have to move on,” he said. “And that’s the problem. Oh, you’ve been showing up for work, hitting your deadlines, keeping track of your assignments, but we both know you’ve only been going through the motions. Don’t get me wrong,” he added quickly. “I sympathize with you and everything you’ve been through, but that doesn’t change the fact that I’ve got a paper to publish, and my number one reporter hasn’t been writing up to par for nearly a year.”

“You know I’ve been trying, Nick.”

“Yes, I do, but unfortunately, trying isn’t good enough. Sales are down, ad revenue has been dropping steadily for the last few months, and all departments have been ordered to tighten their belts and weed out the chafe.”

“You’re firing me?”

“No, of course not.” He scowled. “Everyone knows you’re the best damn writer I’ve got, but I’m getting pressure from upstairs. Porter isn’t happy with the quality of the stories we’ve been putting out. He left me no choice but to hire his granddaughter’s boyfriend to pick up the slack. He’s right out of school—”

“Oh, c’mon, Nick! A college kid? You can’t be serious!”

“I know,” he said with a grimace. “I felt the same way when Porter told me about the kid. But then I read some of his stuff. He’s good, Logan. Damn good. In fact, his writing reminds me of the way yours used to be. It’s got an edge to it—”

“He’s a kid, Nick! He’s not me.”

“No, he’s not,” he agreed. “But right now, you’re MIA, and he’s the best I’ve got. I hope the two of you get along, but whether you do or don’t doesn’t change anything. Porter says he’s here to stay.”

Picking up the phone on his desk, he pressed a button and growled, “I need to see you in my office.” When he hung up, he told Logan, “You came here right out of college yourself, so remember that. He’s no threat to you. In fact, he may be just what you need to get out of the rut you’re in. A little competition never hurt anyone.”

Logan sincerely doubted that a kid who was still wet behind the ears could compete with an experienced reporter, but he himself didn’t plan to compete with him or anyone else. He was handling his grief, and even though he’d lost interest in his writing after Faith died, he was still a damn good writer. And with time, he knew he would regain the sharpness he’d been famous for in the past.

A knock at the door distracted him from his thoughts, and he looked up to see a tall blond man walk in. He didn’t look old enough to shave, let alone be out of college, and if Logan hadn’t known better, he would have sworn he was a California beach bum who spent all his time surfing. Logan could almost smell the scent of the ocean as the younger man stepped into the office.

This was the crackerjack reporter with a sharp edge? Logan thought cynically. Yeah, right!

“You rang, boss?”

His tone was far from respectful, his stance slouched. Nick scowled. “I don’t answer to boss. You can call me Nick or Mr. Whitiker.”

The younger man only shrugged. “Sure. Whatever.” Turning to Logan, he didn’t bother to hold out his hand. “You must be Logan St. John. I’m Josh Garrison. I heard you were having some problems. Don’t worry. I’ll pick up the slack.”

Logan liked to think he was fairly thick-skinned and didn’t get insulted easily, but there was something about Josh Garrison’s cocky tone and the look in his eye that irritated the hell out of him. “I don’t need you or anyone else to pick up the slack where I’m concerned,” he said coolly. “I’m quite capable of doing my job.”

“Hey, man, don’t get offended,” Josh retorted. “I’m just repeating what Porter told me. The paper’s in a slump and he brought me in to pull it out. If you’ve got a beef, take it up with the old man. I just do what I’m told.”

He turned and strode out without another word. In the silence left behind, Nick swore softly. “Well, that went well. Dammit, Logan, you didn’t have to get your back up!”

“The hell I didn’t,” he muttered. “You heard him. I heard you were having some problems. I’ll pick up the slack. Smart-ass. I don’t care what the ‘old man’ told him, I don’t need him to do my job for me. I was winning awards for this paper when he was still playing tag on the playground in elementary school.”

“Okay, so he wouldn’t know tact if he tripped on it,” Nick conceded. “He sets my teeth on edge, too. But like it or not, we’re both going to have to live with him, Logan. He’s the golden boy…and practically family to Porter. That gives him a get-out-of-jail-free card, so don’t hold out hope that he’ll wear out his welcome anytime soon. He’s too good a writer, and you know how Porter is when he gets a bee in his bonnet that the paper’s not pulling in enough money. He’d hire Attila the Hun if he thought it would bring in dollars.”

“I don’t care. The kid’s arrogant.”

Nick shrugged. “He’s young. You were the same way at his age.”

“I was never disrespectful,” Logan said flatly. Staring at the door through which Josh had walked out, he scowled. “There’s something about him I don’t like.”

“Just do your job and don’t worry about him,” Nick advised. “He’ll show his true colors soon enough.”

Logan had never been one to go out and look for trouble, but he also wasn’t one to sit and wait for trouble to come to him without taking steps to ward it off. He intended to watch Josh Garrison very, very carefully.

Doing some much-needed filing at work, Abby should have rushed through the job, then started printing address labels for the fund-raising-campaign letter Martin wanted mailed by Wednesday. But as she completed the familiar task, she found her thoughts drifting to Logan. She still couldn’t believe how understanding he’d been yesterday when he’d called her—or what a coward she’d been when he’d asked her to have a drink with him!

He probably thought she was scared of her own shadow, she thought with a silent groan. And she really wasn’t. Granted, she had no confidence in herself when it came to men, but she wasn’t afraid of them. The person she was afraid of was herself. And with good reason. She was a lousy judge of men. She’d proved it time and time again. She was thirty-three years old, for heaven’s sake, and she’d never dated a man she wanted to introduce to her family and friends, let alone marry.

Just thinking about it made her cringe. Had she been desperate? she wondered. Was that why she’d gone out with anyone who’d asked her? She’d never felt desperate, just lonely. And horribly insecure. And Dennis and the others like him who’d asked her out had seemed so sure of themselves. She realized now, of course, that nothing could have been further from the truth—they bragged because they were as insecure as she was and didn’t want the world to know it. But at the time, she hadn’t been able to see through their facade.

Never again, she promised herself. She wanted a man who knew what he could do without having to boast about it. A man she could introduce to her friends without having to apologize for his behavior. After only a short phone conversation with Logan St. John, she refused to do as she had in the past and jump to any conclusions about what kind of person he was. He didn’t seem to be insecure, but at this point, there was no way for her to know that for sure…which was why she intended to learn more about him before she decided if she really wanted to go out with him. If he turned out to be the type of person she thought he was, she would meet him for a drink and take it from there. If he wasn’t, she wouldn’t waste her time.

Satisfied that she was doing the right thing, she turned back to her desk to retrieve another stack of files that needed to be filed, only to spy a small piece of paper lying on the floor halfway between her desk and the filing cabinet. Scooping it up, she turned it over, thinking it was a piece of correspondence that must have fallen out of one of the files. She saw immediately, however, that it was a handwritten note to Martin.

“Martin, sorry I missed you. We need to talk about the deal. Meet me at the club at the usual time. J.N.”

Who was J.N.? Abby wondered, surprised. Martin was a popular city councilman who had a lot of friends and contacts. She thought she knew most of them, but she couldn’t think of any of his friends who went by the initials J.N.

Frowning, she stepped into his office after only a perfunctory knock. “Martin, do you know anything about this note? I found it on the floor. Was I supposed to file it?”

In the process of punching a number into his cell phone, he halted abruptly and put it away. “I don’t know. Who’s it from?”

Striding over to his desk, she handed the slip to him. “J.N., whoever that is.”

Sitting back in his chair, he studied the note and abruptly laughed. “It’s from John Nickels! We went to college together—he’s just moved back to town. He got a job with Barnes, Tucker, and Smith. He called me this morning to tell me he was going to stop by. Since he never showed up, I thought he’d changed his mind, but I guess he came by during lunch and slipped it under the door. Damn!”

“You could call him,” she suggested. “The afternoon’s pretty booked, but you could fit him into your schedule around three. You have a meeting with Mr. Hawks at two-thirty, but he won’t stay long—he never does. And you don’t have another appointment until four. That’ll give you plenty of time to visit.”

“It would if I could reach him,” her boss agreed. “But he hasn’t started work yet, and doesn’t have a cell phone.” When she lifted a brow in surprise, he said dryly, “You heard me. He doesn’t have one and doesn’t want one. You’ll have to meet John one of these days. He was born in the wrong century. He wouldn’t have a cell phone if you gave it to him.”

His tone was almost envious, and with good reason. His own cell phone rang all the time and was more of a curse than a convenience. “Maybe you can catch him at home.”

Martin smiled slightly. “He forgot to give me the number, but that’s okay. He’ll call back. He wants to buy my car.”

“The Corvette? You’re selling your ’58 ’Vette? You can’t be serious! You love that car!”

Grinning at her horrified tone, he shrugged. “Sonya says it’s time I grew up. She wants to get married, and she’s not going to be happy with anything less than a blowout.” Wadding up the note, he tossed it in the trash. “Big weddings don’t come cheap.”

“But your ’Vette, Martin. Surely there’s must be another way.”

“It’s just a car, Abby. I can get another one.”

He could, but Abby knew it wouldn’t mean nearly the same thing. The Corvette had literally been in pieces when he’d bought it right after he graduated from college and got his first job. He’d spent the last ten years restoring it, and just about everyone in town knew it was his pride and joy. He drove it in parades and car shows and had pictures of it all over his Web site. How could he sell something he loved so much for a wedding?

She almost asked him that, but she already knew the answer. He was a city councilman and always made an effort to keep up appearances. And his fiancée, Sonya, was just as bad as he was. She seemed to really enjoy being in the spotlight with him. Martin was right—she would want a fairy-tale wedding that would be splashed across the front pages of the paper and talked about for years.

Abby wrinkled her nose at the thought. A very public, impersonal wedding was the last thing she would want herself, but then again, she wasn’t the one who was getting married. Changing the subject, she said, “You wanted me to remind you about the next city council meeting. The preliminary discussions about awarding the tax collection contract are scheduled to begin.”

Straightening in his chair, he swore softly. “Damn. I forgot about that. Have we got anything in yet on the firms submitting bids?”

“I’ve been collecting it for the last three weeks,” she said, and retrieved a thick file from one of the cabinets near the door. “Ben Coffman called again this morning while you were in a conference to see if you needed anything else. That’s the third time this week.”

“I never did like Ben,” he said curtly. “He doesn’t know when to back off and give a man some space. If he calls again, tell him he’s going to lose any chance of getting my vote if he doesn’t quit harassing the hell out of me and my secretary.”

Abby would never be so rude to anyone, and Martin knew it. She would politely take a message, then pass it on to him. What he did about it was his business. “He’s not the only one calling,” she pointed out. “It’s going to be a feeding frenzy until the August twenty-first deadline.”

“I don’t care. No one should get rude.” His gray eyes hard with irritation, he growled, “The next time Ben calls, I’ll take care of him.”

Abby could handle Ben, but Martin was the boss. “No problem,” she said easily, and turned back to her own office.

“Oh, and if John Nickels phones, put him through immediately,” he called after her.

The words were hardly out of his mouth before the phone rang again. Abby stepped to her desk and had to smile when she recognized Ben Coffman’s gruff voice. “Please hold, Mr. Coffman. I’ll put you right through.”

With the door between her office and Martin’s open, she heard him mutter a curse at her words. Grinning, she stepped over and quietly shut it. She’d hardly returned to her filing when the phone rang again. Not surprisingly, the caller was from another firm that intended to make a bid to collect city taxes. She took a message, promised to relay it to Martin, then returned to her filing.

The pattern of her afternoon was set, and later, she couldn’t have said how many times the phone rang. She finished filing, then printed out the address labels for the fund-raising-campaign letter, and began stuffing the envelopes. Considering how busy she was, she shouldn’t have had time to do anything but concentrate on her job. Instead, she found herself once again thinking of Logan.

Troubled, she swore softly. “You have to stop doing this,” she muttered out loud as she added stamps to the letters. What did she know about Logan? He had a nice voice and appeared to be understanding. That was no reason to daydream about the man, for heaven’s sake! He was a reporter. For all she knew, he could be hard-nosed and pushy, and the type who didn’t take no for an answer. Was that the kind of man she wanted to date?

“No!” she said grimly. She’d made mistakes in the past because she was lonely and wanted a man in her life. But she’d learned the hard way that there were worse things than being alone—such as getting mixed up with the wrong type of man. She was going to take it slow and easy this time and give herself a chance. She was a good person and she deserved the best. This time, she was going to get it.

So why are you only talking to Logan St. John? an irritating voice in her head demanded. Why are you limiting yourself to just one man? The dating service gave you a list of five prospective dates. Call them. Then get another list and start the process all over again. That’s why you joined a dating service—to meet men! What are you waiting for?

Her heart pounded at the thought. She had never dated or been involved with more than one man at a time. Not that she’d had the chance, she thought wryly. Few men had shown an interest in her. There had been months, even years, when she hadn’t had a single date. While she’d sat at home, dreaming of Prince Charming and hating her solitude, every other woman she knew was having a full, active social life, getting to know any number of men before settling down with one. Wasn’t it time she did the same thing?

Captivated by the idea, Abby felt sudden, foolish tears sting her eyes and had to laugh at herself. “Silly, there’s no reason to cry. You can do this!” It wasn’t rocket science. All she had to do was gather her courage and make some phone calls after she got home from work. Maybe then she’d be too busy to think about Logan.

Chapter 3

When Abby stepped through her front door three hours later, however, and her dog, Buster, greeted her with a joyous bark from the backyard, she found any number of reasons not to pick up the phone and call some of the other men on her dating list. She had to look at her mail and check her answering machine and spend some time with Buster. And then, of course, she had laundry to do and dinner to cook. She’d call later, after she did the dishes and settled down for the evening….

Then she realized what she was doing and stiffened. No! she told herself, swearing softly. She wouldn’t do this. She would not act like a scared rabbit. Any bimbo could call a man. It didn’t require any brain power. All she had to do was pick up the phone and punch in the number. The sooner she got it over with, the easier it would be.

“Yeah, right,” she muttered as she pulled the list of prospective dates from the top drawer of her desk. “If it’s so easy, why are my palms sweating?”

Because you’re a coward.

She couldn’t argue with that irritating little voice in her head, especially when it was right. Her heart slamming against her ribs, she frowned down at the first name. Frank Gurenski. What kind of man was he? she wondered. There was only one way to find out. Throwing caution to the wind, she quickly punched in his phone number.

“Hello?”

Up until that moment, Abby would have sworn she was working hard at not jumping to conclusions about a person without getting to know them first. But with a single word, Frank Gurenski revealed himself to be stiff and cool and hard to get to know. Disappointed, Abby almost told him she had the wrong number, but then reasoned that he could have had a bad day. Maybe he had call waiting and she’d caught him in the middle of another phone call. A lot of people didn’t like to be interrupted.

So why would he have call waiting if he doesn’t like to be interrupted? How dumb is that?

Sternly ordering the voice in her head to behave, she grabbed on to her courage with both hands and said with forced cheerfulness, “Hi. I’m Abby Saunders. Is this Frank Gurenski?”

“Yes.”

“The Right One Dating Service gave me your name and number. I hope I’m not calling at a bad time.”

“No. This is fine.”

Whatever reaction Abby had been expecting, it wasn’t such a total lack of interest. “Have you met anyone yet or are you still looking?”

“I’m still looking,” he retorted. “It’s not easy to find someone.”

Especially if you don’t talk, she thought, but she wisely kept that thought to herself. Instead, she waited for him to take up the conversational ball and ask something about her, but he didn’t say a word. An awkward silence fell between them, and just that easily, all Abby’s fears about dating came rushing back. Was she the problem? Did he find her uninteresting? Was that why he wasn’t asking her anything?

Oh, please! At least you’re trying. The man’s a dud. Cut it short and put yourself out of your misery.

She didn’t need to be told twice. “Well,” she said brightly, “it was nice talking to you. I really just called to chat for a while to see if we had anything in common, but I really don’t think we do. I wish you luck finding someone, though. Bye.”

Yes! Now you’re getting the hang of it! If you have to work that hard to carry on a conversation with someone, you don’t want to date him. Cut your losses and move on.

Stunned, unable to believe that she’d hung up on the man, Abby stood in the sudden silence of her kitchen and didn’t know if she wanted to laugh or cry. In the past, she would have continued a conversation that was going nowhere simply because she would have felt guilty if she hadn’t. But not anymore, she thought, grinning. She didn’t have to waste time on someone who couldn’t string three or four words together just because she didn’t want to be alone. She had choices!

Pleased, she punched in the second name on the list. Luke Templeton. What kind of man was he? Hopefully, he could at least talk.

Fifteen minutes later, Abby was finally able to hang up, but she had little positive to say about Luke Templeton. The man could talk, all right. And talk and talk! And although he hadn’t boasted like Dennis had, he was definitely a man of strong opinions. He’d given her a laundry list on politics, religion, and money, and had given her little time to get a word in edgewise. He’d been so caught up in what he had to say that she doubted he’d even noticed when she hung up.

Amused, she wondered if Logan had run into the same type of problems with the women he’d called. Giving in to impulse, she quickly punched in his number and almost laughed aloud at her daring. Just days ago, she would never have dreamed of doing such a thing, but she truly felt as if she was getting the hang of using the dating service. She just had to keep her sense of humor and not take the situation too seriously.

“Hi. This is Logan. You missed me. Leave your name and number at the beep and I’ll call you back.”

Pulled from her thoughts at the sound of Logan’s voice on his answering machine, Abby found herself smiling. He really did have a nice voice. It was deep and husky, really sexy. Did he look as good as he sounded? she wondered, her heart thumping at the thought. Maybe one day she’d find out.

“Hi, Logan,” she said, suddenly feeling shy. “This is Abby Saunders. I just called a couple of the men on my list from the dating service and was wondering if you’d phoned anyone else. If you want to talk and share a laugh, give me a call.”

Hanging up, she headed for her room to change into her running clothes. She was the new, improved Abby, she reminded herself. She wasn’t going to wait by the phone for any man to call her back. Five minutes later, she locked the door to her apartment and went for a run with Buster.

The bar had been robbed less than fifteen minutes ago. Three police cruisers and an ambulance were parked out front, and customers were standing on the sidewalk in the weak glow of a nearby streetlight as detectives interviewed the witnesses. Finding a parking place across the street, Logan recognized Tim Bradly, one of the detectives, and headed straight for him.

Surprised to see him, Tim growled, “What are you doing here, St. John? You don’t usually cover the penny-ante stuff. Must be a slow night.”

“You would know that better than I, Bradly,” he retorted with a grin. “You’re the cop.”

Tim swore good-naturedly. “Don’t give me that bull. You’ve got the same scanner I do. Half the time, you beat me to a crime scene.”

“Just doing my job,” Logan chuckled, making no apology for the fact that he had a police scanner not only at work, but in his car. Tim understood that they both had a job to do and that they were both going to do it to the best of their abilities. “According to the report on the scanner, someone was shot during an attempted armed robbery. The robber was a woman?”

He nodded grimly. “It’s not the first time we’ve had a woman running around town with a gun, demanding money, but it’s not that common. From what we can tell, she was working alone.”

Logan lifted a brow in surprise. “No kidding? She drove her own getaway car?”

“At this point, we’re not even sure she had a car. She slipped out the back door and just seemed to disappear.”

“And no one saw or heard a vehicle?”

“Most of the customers are half-lit, Logan,” he said dryly. “The bartender was the only sober one in the joint, and when the robber started spraying the place with bullets, he ducked behind the bar. By the time it was safe to come out, there was no sign of the perp.” A police helicopter approached from the west and began scanning the area. “If she had a car stashed down the block, she’s probably long gone. If she’s on foot, though, that’s another matter.”

“Let me know if she’s spotted,” Logan told him. “Mind if I interview the witnesses?”

“No, go ahead. We’re still collecting evidence inside, but we’ve finished questioning everyone.”

Thanking him, Logan began working his way through the customers who still lingered, obviously waiting for the police to finish their work so that they could go back in and resume drinking. As Tim had warned him, the customers had had a little too much to drink to know for sure what had happened, but they were all clear on one thing. The perp was a big woman with a gun.