One Man's Family

One Man’s Family

Brenda Harlen

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Special thanks and acknowledgment

are given to Brenda Harlen for her contribution to the LOGAN’S LEGACY REVISITED miniseries.

To my Dad—

because every little girl needs a hero,

and because you’ll always be mine.

I love you.

Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Coming Next Month

Prologue

“In the matter of the State of Oregon versus Joseph Elonzo Juarez…”

Alicia held her breath, straining to hear the words over the pounding of her heart. The jury had been deliberating less than twenty minutes, and she couldn’t help but feel reassured by the quick decision. Clearly the jurors had seen beyond the flimsy and circumstantial evidence and knew that her brother hadn’t committed any crime.

“…we find the defendant…”

Her grip tightened on the railing in front of her, her short fingernails biting into the lacquered wood, her attention fixed on the jury fore person.

This was it. Finally. The end of a seemingly endless four-day trial, and the beginning of a return to normalcy for her family.

“…guilty.”

She couldn’t hold back her shocked gasp as her gaze flew across the courtroom to where her brother was standing beside his attorney at the defendant’s table.

Joe’s shoulders were slumped with the weight of the world upon them, but he looked more resigned than surprised by the announcement. She, on the other hand, had to fight the urge to yell at him, to scream at the judge and rail at the jury for this blatant miscarriage of justice. Except that nothing she could say or do would make a difference now.

She felt a gentle tug on her sleeve and looked down into the wide, trusting eyes of her eight-year-old niece.

“Is Daddy coming home now?” Lia asked.

Before Alicia could say anything, Joe Jr. responded with all the disdain a twelve-year-old boy could muster for his little sister. “He’s not ever coming home, dummy. ‘Guilty’ means he stays in jail.”

Alicia shot her nephew a warning glare over the top of Lia’s head before kneeling beside her niece. The little girl’s eyes were filled with tears and confusion. Alicia knew just how she felt, but she couldn’t give in to the emotions that battled inside her. She was the only one these children had to look out for them right now.

“But he didn’t do it.” Lia’s bottom lip quivered as she spoke.

“I know, honey,” she said, trusting with all of her heart that it was true. “The jury just made a mistake.”

“Tell them,” Lia pleaded. “Tell them they were wrong, Aunt Alicia.”

The child’s fervent pleading broke her heart, but it was too late to tell the jurors anything. Having been thanked and dismissed by the judge, they were already filing out of the courtroom.

And it wasn’t Alicia’s job to convince them of Joe’s innocence. That was something he should have done. But her brother had chosen not to take the stand, had refused—for reasons he didn’t even try to explain and that she couldn’t begin to imagine—to defend himself.

“Tell them,” Lia said again.

Alicia only wished it were that easy.

She would do anything for these children, give them anything. But what they needed most of all was their father, and his fate had been sealed by the jury’s announcement.

Or had it?

Chapter One

Scott Logan had things on his mind and a crick in his neck, both courtesy of having spent the better part of three days hunkered down in the front seat of an aging Ford Escort on an insurance fraud investigation. Despite the mental preoccupation and physical discomfort, he felt good about the successful completion of another assignment and satisfied that he’d done his job well.

His former colleagues couldn’t understand why he’d walked away from the police force for this kind of work, and Scott didn’t know how to explain that the job that had once meant everything to him had meant nothing after Freddie was killed.

His family, who had never comprehended his wanting to be a cop in the first place, understood his new job even less. Not that they criticized his choices so much as they were clearly baffled by them. In a family comprised of mostly white-collar professionals, Scott had always been the odd man out.

You can do anything you want to do was Lawrence Logan’s favorite mantra, and one which he repeated at every opportunity to each of his four sons. It was the kind of positive and nurturing approach he’d advocated in the self-help books that had brought him so much fame and fortune. His encouragement and support were genuine, his pride in his sons’accomplishments sincere.

He’d flown to NewYork to help LJ settle into his new apartment when his eldest son had accepted a position with a prestigious public relations firm, had been sitting in the front row when Ryan graduated with his architectural degree, and cried tears of joy when Jake was accepted to medical school. But when Scott announced his intention to go to the police academy, the renowned psychologist had just shaken his head—as he’d done frequently over the thirty years of his youngest son’s life.

Scott hadn’t been deterred by his father’s lack of support because there had been no other options for him. He’d wanted only to be a cop—to uphold the laws, put the bad guys in jail and help make the world a safer place. Of course, when his partner was killed—gunned down in pursuit of an armed suspect who was later acquitted on a technicality—Scott’s faith in the system was shaken.

He banished these disquieting memories to the back of his mind as he pushed open the door to Darlene’s Diner. The bell tinkled, announcing his arrival, and Darlene herself glanced up from the counter she’d been wiping down to greet him with a smile.

“Morning, stranger.”

“How are you, Darlene?”

“Hanging in,” she told him. “How about you?”

“Desperately needing my daily dose of caffeine.”

She was already reaching for a large foam cup. “You haven’t been in the last few days.”

“Assignment,” he said simply.

She glanced up at him again as she filled the cup. “You been sleeping in your car again? You look like hell.”

“I haven’t been getting much sleep,” he admitted. “Regardless of where I spend my nights.”

“You need a good woman, sugar. A reason to go home at night.” She set the coffeepot back on the element and winked at him. “And lots of steamy hot sex that wears you out so good you can’t help but sleep.”

“Is that an invitation?”

Darlene threw back her head and laughed. “Sugar, you wouldn’t know what to do with me if I said yes.”

“How will we ever know, if you don’t give me a chance?”

She snapped a lid onto the cup and slid it across the counter to him as the bell tinkled over the door again and another customer entered.

“Because despite your broad shoulders and tough-cop scowl,” she told him, “you’ve got a heart softer than the yolks of sunny-side up eggs, and I eat guys like you for breakfast.”

He frowned at that. “You must be confusing me with someone else.”

“Actually, I was thinkin’ it was an appropriate—if somewhat bizarre—analogy,” another female voice piped in from behind him.

Scott turned to see Aster Cooney, proprietor of the local salon and spa, slide onto a stool at the counter. Her hair, pink and purple today, was sticking out in tufts around her face, her eyelids were covered in glittery lime-green shadow and her lips were painted orange. In a denim miniskirt that hugged her round hips and a lime green T-shirt, she should have looked ridiculous. But somehow she managed to appear almost stylish, if a little flamboyant.

“Good morning, Aster,” he said, inwardly cursing himself for lingering to flirt with Darlene.

Not that he didn’t like Aster. On the contrary, she was one of his favorite people in the world—open and honest and incredibly gutsy. And he usually enjoyed her company, but he felt at a distinct disadvantage now, knowing that she and Darlene would gang up on him over some issue or another.

“You’re gettin’an early start today,” Aster said. Then she turned to Darlene. “Decaf vanilla latte and a toasted cinnamon raisin bagel with cream cheese, please.”

“I’ve been out of the office for the last three,” he told her, as Darlene turned away to take care of the new order. “Lots of paperwork to catch up on.”

“You look tense,” she said, not unsympathetically. “I could squeeze you in for a massage around three, if you want.”

“I’m fine,” he said.

“I was just telling Scott how he needs a woman’s hands on him,” Darlene told Aster, then grinned. “Only I wasn’t talking about a back massage.”

Aster nodded her agreement. “That might be just what he needs—but only if it’s the right woman.”

Today, the topic of their interest was his personal life—or rather his lack of one. He admittedly hadn’t dated much since breaking up with his long-time girlfriend a couple years earlier, but that was his own choice. And he had no intention of sticking around for their diagnosis of his dating problems because he was perfectly content with his life.

“Thanks for the insights, ladies,” he said, tossing a couple of bills onto the counter. “But I’m already behind schedule and really need to run.”

“You should do that,” Aster surprised him by agreeing. “Because the way she kept glancin’ at her watch, I doubt she’ll wait much longer.”

“She—who?” Darlene asked the question before he could.

“The gorgeous dark-haired woman who’s standin’ outside the door of his office buildin’.”

Scott frowned. “She isn’t waiting for me.”

Aster shrugged. “Even if she isn’t, she just might be the one you’ve been waitin’ for.”

“Aster,” he said warningly.

“Go on. You can tell me later that I was wrong—” she grinned “—or not.”

Scott left the diner certain that Aster was wrong.

He knew he didn’t have any appointments this morning because he’d asked his secretary to clear his schedule for the entire week, not sure how long he’d be tied up with the insurance investigation. His only pressing concern now, and the reason for his early arrival at the office, was dealing with the paperwork and e-mails and telephone messages that would have piled up during his absence. But maybe one of the other investigators—

The thought fizzled abruptly when he rounded the corner of the building and saw her standing there. And in the back of his mind came the assurance that Aster wasn’t wrong about one thing: the woman was gorgeous.

His police training kicked in to make a more detailed assessment: Hispanic, five feet four inches tall, a hundred and twenty pounds, approximately twenty-five to thirty years of age. Long, dark hair tied into a braid that fell to the middle of her back, darker eyes, wide full lips, and dressed in hospital scrubs with white running shoes on her feet. It was an impartial and professional appraisal, but what came next was a purely involuntary and completely male evaluation: sensual, seductive, sexy.

She was petite, and he usually liked his women taller—long and leggy. But she had curves that would make any man’s mouth water and lips that promised a taste of paradise. Though the punch of arousal that hit low in his belly was unexpected, it wasn’t unwelcome. It was always good to know that he was alive and well, that his body wasn’t dead even if his heart had long ago been buried beneath the unforgivable weight of grief and guilt.

“Scott Logan?” she asked, when he stepped closer.

“Yes.”

His hesitant response was immediately rewarded with a warm smile, and he felt a quick rush of heat through his veins.

She really wasn’t his type. But there was something about her that called to him on a primal level—or maybe it was just that Darlene and Aster’s teasing remarks in the diner had reminded him that it had been a very long time since he’d been with a woman.

“I was afraid you wouldn’t get here before I had to leave for work,” the woman said.

Her voice was as soft and seductive as her smile, and he almost didn’t hear the words he was so caught up in the enjoyment of the sounds rolling off of her tongue. Then he realized she was waiting for him to say something, and he forced his brain to wrestle control away from his suddenly overactive hormones to respond to her statement.

“Do we have an appointment?” he asked, starting to question his earlier conviction that they did not. Maybe Caroline had booked it after he’d called yesterday afternoon to tell her that he’d be in the office this morning.

“No,” she admitted. “But I was hoping you could squeeze me in, anyway.”

He glanced at his watch, as if he were considering the request. But the truth was, he was intrigued enough by the woman to want to listen to whatever she had to say. Especially if she continued to speak in that smoothly melodic tone that made him think of steamy nights and steamier sex.

Whoa. He immediately reined in the shockingly un-professional thought, surprised—and a little ashamed—at the purely visceral reaction he was having to this woman. It was Darlene’s fault, he rationalized again. He wouldn’t be having such inappropriate ideas if she hadn’t started him thinking about how long it had been since he’d had a woman in his bed.

“Why don’t you come in?” he offered, inserting his key into the lock.

She waited until he’d punched in the code to disarm the security system before she followed him through the door. He flipped on lights as he made his way toward his office at the end of the hall, conscious of her presence behind him, wondering what had brought her here so early in the morning.

Did she want him to check up on a spouse whom she suspected was unfaithful? He hadn’t seen a ring on her finger, but he knew that wasn’t conclusive evidence of anything. And while securing evidence of infidelity wasn’t one of his favorite assignments, it was, regrettably, a regular one. Still, he had to wonder at the stupidity of a man who could have a woman like this one in his bed and still look elsewhere for pleasure. Of course, it wasn’t his place to speculate or judge, only to do the job he was hired to do.

He settled in behind his desk and pushed the stack of unopened mail aside.

“I’d offer you coffee, but this—” he held up his foam cup “—is all I’ve got until my secretary gets in. Caroline’s very proprietary about the coffeepot.”

She lowered herself onto the edge of one of the visitor chairs facing his desk and folded her hands in her lap. “I’m fine, thanks.”

Scott took a long sip from his cup, hoping the infusion of caffeine would jump-start his brain and help keep it one step ahead of his hormones. “Why did you want to see me?”

“I need you to get my brother out of prison.”

The unexpected statement jolted him even more than her presence, followed quickly by a pang of disappointment.

“I’m sorry, Miss—”

“Juarez,” she said. “Alicia Juarez.”

He paused, wondering why the name sounded vaguely familiar even though he was certain he’d never met this woman before. He had no doubt that he would have remembered.

“Yes, well, Miss Juarez, you’re obviously at the wrong place. If you’re looking for a bail bondsman—”

“I’m not,” she insisted. “I need you.”

He wanted to smile. Unfortunately, as much as he enjoyed hearing those words come from her lush lips, he was sure she didn’t mean them the way he wanted her to mean them.

She huffed out an exasperated breath when he didn’t respond to her announcement. “I thought Mr. Hall was going to talk to you about this.”

Mr. Hall—now that name was definitely familiar. “Jordan sent you here?”

“He recommended you to me—” and it was clear from her tone now that she was wondering why “—and promised he would give you the background on Joe’s case.”

“I apologize for not making the connection sooner,” he said, as the scattered pieces finally clicked into place in his mind. “I only talked to Jordan last night and while he did mention you would be contacting me, I didn’t expect it would be first thing this morning before I’ve even had my first cup of coffee.”

“I did intend to make an appointment,” she told him. “But when I called yesterday, your secretary said you’d been out of the office and I should call back today. I thought, instead, I’d try to catch you in person on my way to work this morning.”

“And you did.”

She nodded. “Did Mr. Hall tell you about my brother?”

“Joe Juarez,” he said. “Convicted of stealing an engine prototype and its design plans from the racing team he worked for and sentenced to five years in prison.”

“He was set up.”

“Whether he was or wasn’t…” Scott said—and he had his doubts “…what do you think I can do?”

“Prove his innocence,” she responded immediately.

“The police already investigated the case, your brother had a trial, and the jury convicted on the evidence presented.”

“But he didn’t do it,” she insisted.

“I appreciate your loyalty—”

“It’s more than loyalty,” she interrupted. “It’s the truth. I know my brother. He simply isn’t capable of doing something like this. And even if he was, he wouldn’t do anything that would even risk taking him away from his kids.”

Scott couldn’t deny that she was convinced of the fact. Unfortunately, his experience in law enforcement suggested an entirely different scenario: if Joe Juarez was in prison, that was most likely where he deserved to be.

“You don’t believe me,” she said softly.

“It’s not my job to believe or disbelieve,” he told her.

“How can you do your job if you don’t believe in your client?”

“Actually, I don’t do a lot of investigating anymore. Most of what I do is surveillance.”

“Oh.” She frowned. “But Mr. Hall said that you were the best person for the job.”

Scott bit back a sigh as he realized that whatever Jordan had said to this woman, she’d believed it—probably as easily and completely as she believed in her brother’s innocence. He silently cursed his cousin’s wife’s brother for dragging his name into this mess. And then he cursed himself, knowing that he wouldn’t be able to say no to this woman with the big, dark eyes that so clearly projected the hope and faith she was placing in him.

Still, he tried, because he really didn’t want to be responsible for dimming the light in those eyes. “I’m not sure I am the best person for the job.”

Her chin lifted, just a fraction, and her mouth set. “Are you saying you won’t help me?”

“I’m saying, I’m not sure that I can help you,” he corrected gently. “What if the only evidence to be found proves that your brother should be in jail?”

“I don’t believe that,” she said stubbornly.

“It’s a possibility you have to consider.”

“Then you have to consider the possibility that he was wrongly convicted.”

He had to respect her persistence. “Touché, Miss Juarez.”

“Will you help me, Mr. Logan?”

Damn, he really wished he could say no. The business was successful enough that he could mostly pick and choose his assignments these days, and he usually chose to work with big, faceless corporations, where the only thing at stake was money. He certainly wouldn’t have chosen a client who looked at him with such trust and vulnerability in her eyes and her brother’s liberty at stake.

But she had chosen him, and he found that he couldn’t turn her away.

“I’ll try,” he finally responded to her question.

And the smile she gave him was so full of warmth and pleasure, it would have knocked him off his feet if he hadn’t already been sitting down.

“Mr. Hall said you would need a retainer,” she said, already pulling a checkbook out of her purse, as if she was determined to finalize their agreement before he changed his mind.

Scott nodded.

The firm’s standard contract asked for a retainer of ten thousand dollars, but he knew that Jordan had handled Joe Juarez’s case through Advocate Aid, which meant there was no way she had that kind of money at her disposal. He would have to severely slash his usual hourly rate and work fast to get this job done on a budget this woman could afford. “Is fifteen hundred agreeable?”

Her surprise was obvious and followed quickly by relief. She nodded. “That would be fine.”

Scott pulled up the contract on his computer, changing the retainer fee and hourly rate on the form with a few quick keystrokes while she wrote out the check.

“You know I can’t guarantee you the results you’re looking for,” he said, as he passed her the contract to review.

She nodded again. “I’m only asking you to do your job, Mr. Logan. The results will speak for themselves.”

He would do his job, and he knew that he would sincerely regret it if the results of his investigation destroyed her hopes for her brother’s freedom.

Alicia left the Children’s Connection at the end of her shift with a much lighter step than she’d started the day with. Her spirits had taken a decidedly upward turn when Scott Logan agreed to look into her brother’s conviction. Despite his initial reluctance, she instinctively trusted that he could find the necessary evidence to exonerate Joe.

For the first time in weeks, she felt as if there was hope, and Scott Logan was responsible for that.

Unfortunately, the P.I. was responsible for stirring other feelings inside her, too. Like the unmistakable warmth of sexual attraction that spread heat through her veins when he looked at her with deep brown eyes that reminded her of the sinful temptation of dark melted chocolate. Or maybe it was the obvious strength in his broad shoulders that appealed to her at this time in her life when she so desperately needed someone to lean on.

The thought brought a rueful smile to her lips as she pulled into the designated parking space outside her apartment building and shut off her engine.

She didn’t like to lean on anyone and wasn’t in the habit of doing so. But she could imagine herself leaning on Scott Logan—and enjoying it, despite a track record with men that was both pathetically short and sad.

She hadn’t been involved with anyone since her disastrous relationship with Ross Harmon more than three years earlier. And, truth be told, she hadn’t felt as if she was missing out on anything. Or maybe she’d been so devastated by Ross’s betrayal, and so angry with herself, that she’d accepted the denial of her own wants and needs as punishment for her error in judgment.

But no matter how attractive Scott Logan was—and he was, undoubtedly, very attractive—there were toomany other things going on in her life to even contemplate a relationship. And right now, she needed to pack up more of her clothes and personal effects to take to her brother’s house.