9½ Days

“Looks like you’ll have to slide in and get her, L.T.”

Danny carefully controlled his reaction, refusing to let it show on his face. “Me? I’m the senior here.”

“Yeah, but since L.T. stands for Lady Target as well as ‘lieutenant,’ you’re the man for the job.”

He’d always wanted to be a fireman. Always. But he’d never consider himself a hero, despite the media calling him one. He was just a guy who cared about doing his job. Right now, though, it required heroic effort to control the chill of dread seeping into his limbs.

“All right. Let’s get it done.”

Danny took off his helmet then helped Mike get the inner doors open and propped. He grabbed the flashlight, got down to floor level and leaned his head over the edge. He shone the light around inside the elevator car and saw the red clad figure huddled in the corner.

“Oh, thank God.”

The woman’s voice quavered as she choked out the words. The gleam of the flashlight revealed a tear-streaked face beneath the hand she used to shield her eyes. Her lush scarlet mouth tilted in a little smile of embarrassed relief. “I wasn’t panicking, though.”

Danny noticed that her voice still sounded weak and smiled a little himself. “I’m sure you weren’t, ma’am. Are you injured? Did you hit your head or anything?”

“No. I’m just a bit s-scared.”

“It’s going to be all right. The heat’s caused a rolling blackout. But I’m going to get you out.” He started to turn away when she called to him.

“Don’t leave!”

“I’m not leaving, ma’am. I was just talking to my partner. I’ll be right down to get you.”

“Oh, okay. Not that I panicked.”

“No, ma’am, of course not.” Danny had dealt with a lot of hysterics in his nine years on the job. People were often so relieved and grateful to be rescued that they simply broke down. He wasn’t about to make fun of her, since he didn’t feel that comfortable himself.

He looked up at Mike. “I’ll go down and give her a lift. You help her the rest of the way. She says she’s not hurt, but I’ll check her out just the same.”

“I’m sure you will, L.T.” Mike’s voice had an undercurrent of innuendo as he took the flashlight to hold.

Danny ignored him as he swung his legs into the elevator car, bearing his weight on his forearms. Since this wasn’t a life or death situation, he stole a second to get himself under control. None of the guys at Station 24 knew, not even Mike. A year had passed as if it were only a moment, but that moment was all too fresh in his mind.

Just as he was about to lower himself down, an elderly woman hurried out of one of the hotel rooms down the hall. “My husband! Please help us. He collapsed! He has chest pains and says it feels like another heart attack.”

“L.T.?”

Mike was training to become an FF4, a firefighter paramedic. He was already grabbing his first-aid kit while he waited for Danny’s response. With many of the city fire trucks assisting Baltimore Oil & Power, generators and manpower were spread thin.

“Go. I’ll handle this. Call for the nearest ambulance and wait for them to take over.”

“I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

Mike rushed off with the only flashlight, leaving Danny hanging. Literally. The idea of being stuck in the dark, cramped space for even a few minutes wasn’t doing much to alleviate his sweating. But a possible heart attack was more urgent than his problem. Inhaling quietly, he ducked his head to keep from banging it on the elevator ceiling and let himself drop. His stomach lurched as he fell.

Six feet might as well have been a sixty in the darkness…

After hitting the floor, Danny turned his head from side to side, straining his eyes and willing something to come into focus. Suddenly he heard a rustle of movement and the woman collided into him. Without the flashlight, he couldn’t see her. Or anything else.

Her disjointed sobs echoed in the small, hot space, further confusing senses that were denied the capacity of sight. His lungs clenched, struggling to drag breath into their shallow depths. The scar tissue on his back tightened. His pulse accelerated and he fought to steady his pounding heart…

Someone was crying. He could hear muffled weeping, but was too disoriented to identify where it came from. It was pitch-black and impossibly hot. He couldn’t breathe. Dense smoke and the acrid smell of burning fuel choked what little air was left.

He crawled through puddles of water, over jagged metal and broken concrete. The darkness seemed to cave in on him. Then more explosions rocked the floor beneath him, trapping him in what already resembled the lowest level of hell…

“I’m so glad you’re here.”

The woman’s mumbled words brought him back to the present. As she clung to him, Danny welcomed the contact with another living being and instinctively offered the comfort of his arms. Her soft lips nuzzled the side of his neck where she’d buried her face in the crook of his shoulder. He held her tightly, breathing in the floral scent of her hair.

He couldn’t have let her go if he wanted to.

He didn’t know how long they stood holding each other, his sense of time as confused as everything else. But slowly his attention sharpened and he became aware of her. He felt the warmth of her body seeping into him and driving away the chill of anxiety. Her full breasts were flattened against his chest, the hardened peaks jutting through his cotton T-shirt. Beneath his hands, he recognized the coarse texture of lace as he soothed his palms down her back.

A nightgown? In the middle of the day? She must be one of the underwear models.

She curled into him, drawing closer when she tightened her hold around his waist. He was extremely cognizant of each place their bodies touched. Her breath warmed his throat and her nearness heated his blood. In an instant, he was rock hard and more than willing to forget where they were.

The air around them pulsed with sexual energy and he knew exactly when she noticed the change. He heard the quick intake of breath. She raised her head, as if she were about to speak, but then her mouth brushed the edge of his and he was lost.

Acting on pure instinct, he captured her lips, coaxing his tongue between them. She tasted like cinnamon; she tasted like sin. His fingers sought to caress her hair, and in doing so released the clip that restrained it. The heavy mass tumbled down to flow around her shoulders. Sexy little moans and whimpers escaped her throat as he held the nape of her neck and deepened the kiss.

She trembled so hard he thought she might collapse in his arms, but instead she shimmied against him in an invitation as old as time. He ran his hands over her curvaceous hips and backside, pressing her forward to feel the effect she had on him. His hands glided up her generous body—he loved a woman he could hold on to—until they reached her silk-covered breasts.

At her gasp of surprise and pleasure, he slipped his fingers inside the nightgown to fondle the warm fullness of her flesh. She moaned as he gently rolled her hardened nipple between his thumb and index finger. Then he bent his head to take one delicate bud inside his mouth. He laved and suckled her breast in rhythm with her soft cries.

She grasped the sides of his face and drew him up until their lips met again. The feel of her tongue exploring the recesses of his mouth sent a wave of desire through his body that crested as an aching pressure in his groin. He stroked his right hand down her torso until he came across the deep split in her gown. He slid his fingers inside to touch the satiny skin beneath the silk. Her thighs parted to allow him greater access while her lips nibbled hungrily on his mouth.

She tugged at his T-shirt, pulling it free from his trousers before she drew her hands over his stomach and up to his chest. The feel of her sensual touch had his own nipples hardening in response. He moved his hand higher under the skirt of her nightgown, lifting the fabric until he could feel the edge of her panties.

He inched his fingers toward the apex of her thighs, felt the damp heat through the material as he rubbed her feminine mound. She rocked her hips back and forth over his hand while his tongue danced with hers. His erection throbbed against his zipper when her wiggling became frenzied. Seconds later, she shuddered, groaning against his shoulder as she climaxed.

Danny grinned into her hair as she tried to catch her breath. Of all the elevators in all the world, he found himself with the most intensely responsive woman he’d ever encountered. Under his shirt, her hands slid down his belly to grope for his belt buckle.

But just as she reached to unzip him, he heard Mike’s voice right above them. “Hey, L.T. I’m back.”

Startled, they jerked apart as if they’d been electrocuted. As the flashlight beam arced lower, Danny fumbled to tuck in his shirt and refasten his pants. The woman hastily adjusted the front of her nightgown and pulled the skirt part back into place.

He raised his voice to draw Mike’s attention. “How’s the guy with the chest pain?”

“The EMTs have him stabilized for transport.”

In the dim light, Danny noted that the woman’s back was toward him. Even without seeing her face, he sensed her embarrassment by the shielding curve of her posture and the low angle of her head. His whisper scarcely carried across the elevator. “Are you okay?”

She nodded but refused to look at him. Despite the lack of ventilation, he felt a distinct chill that was stunning after the heat they’d generated. He could understand it, though. They were strangers, and who knows how far things might have gone if Mike hadn’t returned when he did.

If he got lucky, however, later tonight they could finish what they’d started. Danny moved behind her, keeping his voice low and willing her to turn around. “When can I see you? Where can I find you?”

Her shoulders were hunched, her arms crossed tightly in front of her. She tilted her head and glanced up, as though wondering how close Mike was. She shook her head and didn’t speak.

“All right. Let’s get out of here and then we can talk.” Danny leaned his head back and called up to Mike. “Ready when you are, Stonewall.”

“Anytime, L.T.”

He placed his hands on the woman’s upper arms, ignoring the way she flinched as he guided her toward the front of the elevator car. “I’m going to lift you up so that Mike can catch your hands. Don’t let go of him until you’re all the way out to the floor. Okay?”

She angled her head away, but he heard her whispered acknowledgment. “Okay.”

He grasped her waist, bending his knees as she raised her arms to the light-filled opening. Flexing his thighs, he boosted her toward the ceiling. When he saw that Mike held her securely, he shifted his hands to her bottom, trying to ignore the intimate knowledge that his hands had been under that red silk gown only moments before. He gave a gentle push and waited for Mike to help her the rest of the way.

“I’ve got her, L.T.”

Danny balanced on the balls of his feet then lunged up to catch the edge of the eighth floor. Using sheer arm strength, he pulled himself to chest height before pivoting to swing his legs up as well. He got to his feet and saw Mike holding the flashlight, trying to check on the woman.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine. Really. I just need to go—”

“Wait a minute,” Danny protested. When she turned in his direction, his heart slammed to a stunned halt. He completely forgot whatever else he’d planned to say. The words caught in his throat as it tightened in dismay.

Gaze downcast, the woman still refused to look at him. But he didn’t need to see her eyes to know they were the golden brown color of maple syrup. Despite the gloom in the hallway, he knew that her hair had mahogany highlights and that her skin was the warm tone of caramel. He also knew he’d just made one of the biggest mistakes of his life.

Her voice sounded tight with embarrassment. “Thank you very much for helping me. I appreciate it.”

Mike started to speak. “If you’re sure…”

But she was already hurrying away down the dark corridor. Danny sensed his colleague turning to him, but his attention followed the elusive glimpse of red silk.

“Well, I see you managed to get some of her lipstick.” Mike’s voice held a note of jealous humor. Danny drew the back of his hand across his mouth and looked down to see a smear of color on his knuckles. “Did you get her name and phone number, too?”

“No, I didn’t get her number.”

“Too bad, L.T. She looked hot.”

Danny had no intention of getting the number now. And he already knew her name. Jordan Gregory.

His brother David’s girlfriend.

“KRISSY LYNN. What the hell kind of name is Krissy Lynn?”

Jordan leaned back in the conference room chair and watched her newest client, Susan Brandywine, pace the expensive wool carpeting. Her hands were jammed into the pockets of her palazzo pants, the kind Katherine Hepburn always wore in the late-night movies Jordan liked to watch.

“She’s blond and petite and just so gosh-darned eager.” Susan batted her eyelashes exaggeratedly. “And get this, she’s all of twenty-five years old. I’ve got sweaters older than this bubble-headed bimbo.”

Jordan didn’t look up from the note she jotted on a legal pad as she asked, “Aren’t you judging your replacement in the same manner you claim you’re being judged?”

Susan had been the female anchor on the WBNS nightly news team for ten years. After a messy and painful divorce, she began suffering from depression and put on some weight. At that point, she was shuffled from the prominent evening slot to a position reading the midday news.

The demotion fueled Susan’s depression, as did the comments of the news director and station manager, who suggested she lose weight, dress more femininely and grow out her “mannish” hairstyle. Then, just before her fortieth birthday, the station decided to “go with a more up-to-date look” for midday.

Susan stopped near the window overlooking the Camden Yards baseball stadium and sighed, running a strong hand through her short dark hair. “Yeah, damn it, I guess I am. But it hurts, Jordan. It really hurts.”

She made a sympathetic noise as her client continued to stare at the view. Jordan stood up and moved to the window. “I know exactly how you must feel.”

Susan eyed her up and down and scoffed. “Sure you do, honey.”

“You’re seeing me now. Not as the almost two-hundred-pound girl with bad skin and no friends I used to be.” She turned up the corners of her mouth, hoping it resembled a smile.

Susan nodded. “So as a former ‘fat girl’ yourself, you’re in the best position to defend me.”

Something inside of her twisted at the comparison, but Jordan focused on what was important. “I think we have a good chance with both the wrongful termination and the discrimination cases.”

“You know, I have a journalism degree from Columbia. I started out writing copy at a couple of newspapers. Journalism requires long hours, unbeatable dedication and street smarts as well as brain smarts.” Susan’s expression hardened. “It does not require looking like a Barbie doll. Especially not when my male co-anchors have gray hair, paunches and bags under their eyes. What does sex appeal have to do with my ability to tell an audience about a multiple rush-hour fatality on the Beltway?”

Susan was a very attractive woman: literate, funny, irreverent, and she had great personal style. And yet Jordan couldn’t suppress her reluctant aversion. It was like seeing herself the way she used to be, the way she’d worked so hard never to be again…

However, she wasn’t about to let her personal issues affect her zealous defense of a case. “In our favor, several successful lawsuits have set a precedent. For example, Connecticut anchorwoman Janet Peckinpaugh won her 1999 case against Post-News-week. You’re not too old, nor too fat, to do your job, Susan. And we’re going to prove it.”

From fifteen floors below, Jordan was distracted by the strident peal of a fire engine racing up Howard Street. The huge machine blared its horn at slow-moving cars until they pulled far enough toward the sidewalk for the engine to get by. She wondered if her elevator rescuer was onboard.

She also wondered what he looked like. Jordan had been too ashamed to look at him when he’d stood before her, too embarrassed to glance back as she fled. The firefighter from the elevator would never be more than a faceless memory.

3

JORDAN DOVE INTO the sea of bodies on the sidewalk and headed down Pratt Street past the Convention Center and the Garmatz Federal Courthouse. She’d conducted all of her meetings and handled her caseload on autopilot this morning, unable to concentrate.

She couldn’t stop thinking about…him. He was a complete mystery, this sensual stranger. And yet some air of familiarity had prompted her to let him kiss her, fondle and stroke her in the most intimate ways. Each time she closed her eyes, she experienced again the heat of his touch and the drugging taste of his kiss. Her lips actually tingled.

Jordan startled when someone jostled her elbow. Realizing she’d been lost in thought, again, she hurried to cross Charles Street before the traffic light changed. Downtown was teeming with tourists, many wearing Baltimore Orioles T-shirts in anticipation of tonight’s game. Exhaust fumes polluted the humid air while the sounds of crawling traffic echoed off the multistory buildings.

She waited through another red light by the Gallery mall on Light Street. She’d left her jacket at the office in deference to the heat, but the September sun seemed intent on burning a hole through her cotton shirtdress. Over the last few blocks, it felt as if her panty hose was melting and permanently adhering to her legs. Not to mention the way the waistband was strangling her. Queen-size? Yeah, right.

The early-autumn heat wave made everything hot and tight and sticky. Not unlike the heat she felt racing along her veins whenever she relived those mind-blowing moments at the St. Charles Hotel. Over the past two nights, the firefighter from the elevator had become the faceless lover of her dreams. In her midnight fantasies that first explosive orgasm was followed by several others as they made crazy, passionate love against the wood-paneled wall.

Jordan gave herself a mental shake as a truck horn blared impatiently. She had to stop this. There was probably a special area in purgatory for good girls gone bad. And she might as well get used to the idea because, if her daydreams were any indication, she was more than willing to be bad again.

She crossed the street with a determined stride, heading toward the Pratt Street Pavilion where she was meeting her college roommates, Sheris Smith and Melanie Walters, for their Monthly Monday lunch. In the tiny amphitheater between the two main buildings of the Harborplace complex, a crowd clapped and ignored the midday heat as a juggler tossed bowling pins in time to music.

The cool air inside the Pavilion was a welcome relief, and Jordan took a moment to let her body adjust and to check her watch. Five minutes early. Which meant Melanie would arrive at exactly twelve-thirty, and they should only have to wait another fifteen minutes after that for Sheris to show up.

She opened the door to the Cheesecake Factory restaurant, gave her name to the hostess and asked for an inside table. Once seated, she settled in with a raspberry iced tea, idly gazing out the tinted glass window.

Families and couples of all ages strolled along the red brick promenade on the harbor’s edge. Water taxis and duck boats carried tourists around the Patapsco River between the Inner Harbor and Fell’s Point. A line of people waited to tour the USS Constellation, a three-masted Civil War sloop anchored at Pier One.

Looking past the facade of the World Trade Center, Jordan could see the triangular glass roof of the National Aquarium. She’d been meaning to get over there and see the new Amazon River Forest exhibit…

“Hi!” Melanie bounced toward the table at twelve-thirty on the dot and waved to several people as she walked by. Mel was a diminutive dynamo and seemed to know everybody. With her petite figure and boy-short hairstyle, she looked like a happy pixie.

She dressed like one, too. Today she wore a bright yellow-and-white-striped pants set that complemented her coffee skin. Jordan smiled. You couldn’t help but smile at Melanie. She was like a walking dose of antidepressant. Her wide-set eyes always reflected her joy in life.

She stood up to trade hugs. No air kisses with Mel, who was genuine in everything she did. “I’m glad you could come today.”

“Of course, Jordan! I wouldn’t miss our monthly lunch! How have you been? Is that our waitress? I’m dying of thirst!”

“Try the raspberry tea. I think you’ll like it.” Jordan kept her voice carefully modulated since Melanie tended to make either a question or an exclamation of everything she said. “So, tell me what’s new.”

“Rochelle did so well in school! And can you believe it? Chris made the winning goal for his soccer team during the last game of the season! Guess what we’re doing? Bill and I are taking the kids to Disney!”

“That sounds great. But I thought you were planning a vacation without the kids.” Although Melanie treated her boyfriend’s children like her own, Jordan knew she often wished for more adults-only time.

Melanie reached for her tea and drank half of it before answering. “Oh, that’s our anniversary trip in November! Bill and I are going back to Costa Rica! I think he’s finally going to propose! Have you and David talked about where you’ll spend your honeymoon? You two would just love Costa Rica!”

She was saved from having to answer when she noticed heads near the restaurant entrance turning. “There’s Sheris.”

Sheris nodded in response to Melanie’s excited wave and sauntered across the dining room. She always moved as though she owned whatever place she was in. Given her family’s diversified investments, she might very well have part ownership of the restaurant.

Jordan stifled a pang of envy over her friend’s casual stylishness. Jordan spent hours meticulously planning her outfits and tending to her hair and makeup. Meanwhile, Sheris managed to look gorgeous in whatever she’d thrown on before casually running a brush through her hair and walking out the door. Her dark gypsy curls fell past her shoulders, which were bared by the white peasant blouse she wore with a short leather skirt and sandals. Only Sheris could wear leather in this heat and still look cool.

“Sorry I’m late,” she offered as she brushed a kiss near each of their cheeks. Sheris dropped her overstuffed Louis Vuitton bag on the floor and slid into the seat across from Jordan.

“You’re right on time, actually. Are you sick?”

Sheris laughed. “No, just depressed. I came downtown early to do some pity purchasing.”

Jordan glanced down but didn’t see even a small shopping bag. “You didn’t find anything you liked?”

“Actually I saw several things, but I restrained myself in case I’m still feeling blue tomorrow.” Sheris pulled back her hair to reveal a stunning pair of Ceylon sapphire earrings that exactly matched her deep-set eyes.

Melanie angled closer to get a better look. “Wow! Those are really blue! I take it you broke things off with Grant?”

“Yeah. It seemed best.” Sheris’s reply sounded offhand, but the expression on her face said otherwise. She paused while the waitress brought another glass of tea and three menus.

“You know, it was so great in the beginning. I thought maybe…well, you know how it goes. I got restless, he got defensive. He wanted to buy a place together, I suggested he find a place by himself.”

“I’m sorry, honey.” Jordan reached over to grasp her hand.

“Me, too.” Sheris offered a bright smile. “But, hey, they can’t all be Bill or David now, can they?”

“Or Logan.” Melanie threw out the comment while perusing the extensive lunch choices.