Aftershocks (5 page)

Before he left, he called the building superintendent at home. “Sorry to bother you, Bert. I’m not sure if you heard, but the aftershock messed up the elevator at city hall.”

Bert Wilson sounded gravel-voiced with sleep. “I didn’t know about the elevator. I was planning to get in early anyway. I’ll do a post-incident property inspection before any of the employees arrive for the day.”

“Thanks, Bert. Give me a call if you find anything, will you?”

“You bet.”

Patrick would have made do with the leather couch in his outer office for a bed if it weren’t for the kids. But there was no way he could let them wake up without him being there when he hadn’t been able to tuck them in the night before.

Patrick never pretended to himself or anyone else that he was managing to be both father and mother to his kids, because it wasn’t true. He hoped he was doing his best, but with the string of disasters Courage Bay had faced, he’d been home less than he’d liked, even if Janie were still alive. Without her there, he had to rely on his housekeeper and sitters more than he wanted to. He always tried to be home to put Dylan and Fiona to bed, and not to leave for work before they woke. This morning, he was determined to eat breakfast with his children.

As he drove home through the dark, now quiet streets, he was conscious that he’d moved another step away from his wife. For the first time since she’d died, he’d made love to another woman. For all the euphoria that had pumped through his blood when he’d been with Briana, in the back of his mind and heart had been the knowledge that he was breaking another tie to the woman with whom he’d hoped to grow old.

“Oh, Janie,” he said into the silence of his car. “I hope I haven’t messed things up.”

When he’d finally seen Briana in the light after they’d been rescued, he wasn’t sure what she was feeling, but it was clear it wasn’t all champagne and roses. Of course, she’d looked a little shy when they’d first made eye contact after what they’d shared in the dark elevator, but she’d also looked…troubled.

She’d been as eager as he was in the elevator, though. Briana was the one who’d begged him to fire her temporarily so there’d be no sense of impropriety in what they were doing. Of course, her temporary dismissal was about as legal as a polygamous marriage, but right at that moment, neither of them had worried too much about
workplace ethics. She’d wanted him as fiercely as he’d wanted her. What bothered him was afterward. How doggedly she’d insisted on staying on his staff. She was as good as telling him they wouldn’t be sleeping together again in the near future.

Patrick was no expert on the subject, but he had a feeling that now that his body had enjoyed sex with a warm and wonderful woman again after three years of celibacy, that same body was going to remind him with annoying frequency that it wanted more—lots and lots more—sex.

If he weren’t such a responsible guy, he’d almost have considered quitting his job so he could take his relationship with Briana out into the light. That’s how strongly he felt that the two of them could make a future together.

Of course, Briana shouldn’t have to quit her job for the sake of their sex life. She’d made it clear that she felt committed to Courage Bay. A sense of duty was rare these days, and that kind of high-minded attitude only made him want her more.

Well, as soon as he got the extra staff and funding that the emergency teams so desperately needed, and as soon as natural disasters started happening somewhere else on the globe for a change, Patrick was going to make sure one of them started looking for a new job.

However, at the moment he couldn’t forget about the job he did hold. He drove home by way of the convenience store, his belly knotting when he saw the mess. The roof had caved in, one wall was mostly rubble, and the windows had blown out.

On impulse, he pulled over and stopped the car.

The physical damage didn’t worry him so much.
Walls and roofs and windows could be replaced. A human life never could.

He recalled the older woman who’d served him and his family. She always had a kind word for the children, and often a couple of lollipops would find their way from the jar she kept behind the till into two eager little fists.

God, the kids could have been there when the shaking began. Anyone’s kids could have. The corner store was a popular after-school hangout. If he could be grateful for anything, it would be that there weren’t more casualties.

It wasn’t much comfort, because even one death was a tragedy, but he’d have been less than human if he didn’t say a quick thanks that the children of Courage Bay, including his, were now sleeping peacefully at home.

He drove to his house, then entered as quietly as he could through the door that led from the garage into the laundry room. From there he crept into the kitchen. He headed for Fiona’s room first.

His heart squeezed as he gazed down at his little girl. She’d only been two when Janie died, and she didn’t remember her mother at all. In sleep she was angelic, her soft brown curls framing her round face, her lips opening and closing slightly as she breathed. She held her favorite stuffed hippo in her arms.

Patrick straightened the covers on her bed, kissed her forehead and went next door to his son’s room. Dylan wore baseball pyjamas and had kicked all his covers onto the floor. Patrick picked them up and replaced them, though he knew they’d be back on the floor by morning. He swore his son got more exercise when asleep than he did running around or playing sports.

He tousled the black hair that stuck out in tufts behind Dylan’s ears, just as Patrick’s had when he was a kid.

Returning to the kitchen, Patrick opened the fridge. Often the housekeeper left him a plate of dinner to microwave if he was late coming home, but since he’d planned to dine with Max Zirinsky, the police chief, there was nothing for him.

Most of the food in the fridge had been bought to appeal to people under the age of ten. Patrick passed on the hot dogs, the gelatin jigglers, the yogurt tubes, the peanut butter and the cheese strings. The mixed tropical fruit juice was no doubt healthy, but right now he didn’t want to drink anything quite that color.

Instead, he cracked open a beer, found some crackers and a block of cheddar. He made short work of all three, before taking himself off for the world’s quickest shower. In minutes he was falling into bed.

Tomorrow was going to be a hell of a day.

P
ATRICK WALKED
into his office next morning at nine, having taken the time to have breakfast with Dylan and Fiona, and to thank Mrs. Simpson for staying the night. She’d had to run home and feed her cat and change clothes before returning for the day.

He knew he could call his parents, or his brother, Sean, or Sean’s wife, Linda, to help out when these emergencies arose. They would be there in a flash, if he called. But all of them had their own lives, their own responsibilities. And from the way Dylan and Fiona had climbed all over him and talked his ear off in their excitement to have their father to themselves for a morning, Patrick knew that he was the one his children needed to have around.

Sure, Courage Bay needed him, too, but his kids came first. He pledged right there at the kitchen table over the Cheerios and milk and grapefruit sections that he was going to find more time for Fiona and Dylan.

In his fantasy world, he could work from eight to five and come home to enjoy a civilized family dinner. His job often required him to be out again in the evening for civic meetings, award presentations, any number of social and business functions, but he wanted to be a good father, as well as a good mayor.

In reality, with all the pressures of the past year, it was rare for him to see his kids for more than an hour or two a day, even during the weekends, and that lack of parental involvement was beginning to show in their behavior. The truth was, he could work twenty-four hours a day and still not get everything done either at work or at home.

If only Fiona and Dylan had a mother, he thought, and he had a partner with whom he could share the joys and trials of parenting.

Well, he didn’t. If the image of Briana rose to taunt him, he resolutely banished it. He realized now that if she wouldn’t leave her position as his admin assistant, there wasn’t much of a future for them.

Once Mrs. Simpson returned to the house, he dropped a kiss on Fiona’s head. The housekeeper would drop her at her kindergarten class later in the day. He and Dylan got into his car and headed for Dylan’s school. Patrick made sure to choose a route that wouldn’t take them past the ruined convenience store.

No doubt the collapsed store would be a big topic of discussion at school, but Patrick didn’t feel up to explaining to his son that the nice lady who worked at the store had died last night. He didn’t trust himself. He was too angry that the emergency response time had been slow. If the paramedics had reached Mrs. Harper sooner, maybe she would have been saved. He didn’t want Dylan to pick up on his anger and frustration. Later, when he got home, he’d answer all the questions he knew his kids would pepper him with.

When he arrived at his office, he noted the door was already open and the light on. He wasn’t surprised. He’d
told Briana to take the morning off, but deep down he’d known she’d ignore the offer. Her work ethic was one of the attributes that made her such a terrific assistant—along with her smarts, her initiative and her ideas.

If it weren’t for one big drawback, she’d be perfect for him—the fact he wanted to take their relationship beyond one night in a broken elevator.

Even though he’d known she’d be there, his breath caught in his chest when he entered the open door and saw her at her desk, a phone glued to her ear, and her fingers busily tapping away at a computer keyboard.

Her blond hair was drawn back in an elegant kind of ponytail, and her skin was lightly tanned with a hint of apricot at the cheekbones. She was staring at the screen in front of her, but even from here Patrick could see dark smudges under her eyes. From overwork and lack of sleep, no doubt.

Today she wore a pale green sleeveless cotton blouse that showed off her firm arms. The first button was undone, leaving a respectable vee at the neck, but his gaze traveled down lower, to where her breasts filled out the blouse, breasts he’d kissed so hungrily last night.

His mouth went dry as he stood there, and his mind was filled with remembered sensations. The sound of her helpless panting, the feel of her skin, like warm velvet, the taste of her nipples, hard beneath his tongue.

He’d touched her, inhaled her scent, tasted her—and had no idea what she’d looked like while he did. He was suddenly overcome with a gnawing urge to find out. Were her nipples the color of raspberries? Or apricot, like the blush on her cheeks? Mocha? Caramel? Peaches and cream?

What did the woman he’d so recently made love with look like naked?

He wondered if he’d ever find out.

Perhaps he made a sound, or maybe the intensity of his desire for her caught her attention somehow. Whatever it was, Briana lifted her head and their gazes caught and held. Patrick was tempted to put a hand on the warped oak door frame for support at the impact of her gaze on his nervous system.

The emotions and events of the night before roared back and thickened the atmosphere between them. He felt the sexual tug that had been there from the beginning, only this time it was like a grappling hook.

He knew that for as long as he lived, he’d never forget the expression of conflicted desire in the depths of her luminous eyes, or the struggle he waged with himself not to go over there and haul her into his arms, where she so obviously belonged.

They stayed like that only a few seconds, but it felt like years. Then Briana blinked and said into the phone, “Yes, yes, I’m still here. I’m sorry, what time did you say?”

Her voice was as calmly professional as always, and only the bloom of deeper apricot in her cheeks and her quickened breathing gave away her emotional response to him.

Knowing he’d make a fool of himself—make that a bigger fool of himself—if he stayed there watching her with his tongue hanging out, he walked by her desk with his best imitation of a casual wave and entered his own office.

Already a stack of pink message slips awaited him.
Four of the five city councilors had called. Cecil Thomson was the only one who hadn’t bothered.

Patrick’s mother, Mary O’Shea, had called. Damn. He’d meant to phone her this morning to let her know he and the kids were fine. She’d be checking in with all her family this morning if he knew his mom, reassuring herself that all her brood were safe. No doubt she’d heard about him being stuck in the elevator, and since the radio and television news had both reported on the damage in town, she’d have seen the collapsed convenience store and worried about its proximity to his home.

He picked up the phone to call her, only to be interrupted. Briana buzzed him on the intercom to let him know that the building superintendent was here to see him.

“Bert,” he said, rising and extending his hand. “How’s it going?”

“Not too bad. I’ve done the postincident property inspection and we’re in pretty good shape.” Bert glanced down at his printed checklist. “The vibrating caused a short in the elevator, that’s why it stuck. The fire crew didn’t do much damage when they got you out, but the elevator company’s coming to fix the door-closure arms and reset the circuitry. They should be through by noon.”

Patrick nodded. “That’s good then. No other damage?”

“No,” Bert said. “City hall’s solidly built, no question. But we should consider seismic upgrades to the suspended ceiling and light fixtures on all floors. If we do it floor by floor, we can minimize the disruption.”

“That’s a good idea, Bert. Put together a report and include a budget. Let’s see what we can do. I have to be honest, though. We’ve got more urgent expense items
for Courage Bay’s already overstretched budget. We’re probably looking at next year.”

Bert didn’t seem surprised. “I’ll put together the report anyway.”

Once he left, Briana brought in more message slips. Reporters from the
Sentinel
and the local TV and radio stations had called. They’d want to know about his stint in the trapped elevator, no doubt, and also, he suspected, how the municipal government was planning to support Courage Bay. He blew out a breath, dragged off his suit jacket, loosened the tie he’d put on not an hour ago, and picked up the phone. Before he had a chance to do more than hit the first number, his intercom buzzed. “Yeah.”

“It’s Dan Egan on the phone,” she said. “He wants to see you today.”

Who didn’t? He respected and liked the fire chief, but right now he didn’t have time for a diatribe. “Look, Briana, I know he’s shorthanded and I’m about to start calling an emergency council meeting. I’ll let him know the minute—”

“I don’t think he’s calling about funding,” she said, her voice sounding concerned even over the intercom. “He says it’s important, and he must know you of all people are aware of his staffing shortages.”

If there were two people in the world who wouldn’t waste his time, they were Briana and Dan Egan. If both of them thought he needed this meeting, he’d be there. “Okay. Set it up.”

He flicked through the messages once more. He’d pass the media ones on to Archie Weld and let him deal with them for now.

Then he called his mom to let her know he was
fine. He was secretly relieved to hear his dad’s recorded voice telling him to leave a message, which he did, knowing it was a lot quicker than talking to his mother in person.

While he checked his e-mail and made the few calls he needed to return, anger drummed dully behind his eyeballs. Courage Bay’s emergency services needed a funding boost and he needed council’s approval to give it to them.

Wondering how soon he could set up an emergency council meeting, he picked up his schedule, which sat in its usual place on the edge of his desk. Briana, as he’d known she would, had already rearranged things to give him some time in the office this morning.

His first function was a ribbon-cutting at a seniors’ residence that had been badly damaged during a recent fire.

For a second he contemplated canceling, then paused, as he imagined Briana must have done, and considered the importance of his presence. Patrick wasn’t any Roosevelt or Churchill; he was the mayor of a city of eighty-five thousand. However, he was still a politician and a community leader. He’d always admired men who set an example of integrity and cheer when times were tough.

And times in Courage Bay were tough indeed.

This seniors’ residence was symbolic of the city. It had been hurt, but like the people who lived here, it had come through the bad times. And Patrick needed to be there to help celebrate that fact. Besides, he’d given his word to the organizers that he’d attend, and he didn’t like going back on his word.

Other than that, Briana had managed to clear his
calendar. She’d penciled in a couple of suggestions, though. A rescheduled meeting with Max being one of them.

He nodded, even though there was no one in the room to see. One of the many things he liked about Briana was her initiative. She’d become more than an assistant to him in the past couple of months. She was more like a partner, and it bothered him that he was getting credit for a lot of her work.

Even if he didn’t have his own reasons for doing so, he’d be trying to help her move up to a position where she could shine and have a chance to use her talents to their fullest.

“Patrick?”

He glanced up sharply and there she was in the doorway. Her tone was almost hesitant as she stood there, and once more that arc of heat stretched between them when their gazes locked.

“Briana…” His own voice came out husky.

“I…um…” She made a motion to push her hair back behind her ear, obviously forgetting that her hair was tied back. He liked her uncertainty; it made him hope she’d been as deeply affected by last night as he had. She dropped her hand when she realized her hair was already neatly tied behind her head and said, “I scheduled a meeting with Dan Egan for ten-thirty this morning.”

He nodded and watched her walk forward and take his schedule, then write in the meeting and the location. Dan’s office. Good. It would give him a chance to check on Shannon, see how she was doing after last night’s fatal blaze.

Briana passed him his copy of his schedule, and he
thought the computer printout trembled slightly in her hands. As he took it from her, he caught a faint whiff of lavender.

“About your ribbon-cutting at noon,” she began.

“You were absolutely right to leave it scheduled. I’m damn sick and tired of putting off celebration in this town. Besides, I said I’d go and I stick to my word.”

She blinked at him and he grinned. “Sorry, I probably sound like my dad, but he always taught us never to lie, and never to go back on our word. I try to follow those rules.”

There was a crease between her brows as though she didn’t believe him. Or maybe she was worrying about him making both the meeting and the ribbon-cutting when things were so crazy.

“I believe in telling the truth, too,” she said softly. “But sometimes people can make mistakes. I think if a person does that, they should speak up and rectify the situation, don’t you?” Her eyes burned with a significance he couldn’t interpret.

He nodded, wondering what she was getting at.

“If a person’s hurt another person, they should admit that, even if it’s difficult at the time,” she elaborated.

She wasn’t speaking rhetorically here. He felt quite sure she was sending him a message.

Suddenly he felt as though the building might be experiencing another aftershock. The world didn’t seem stable beneath his feet.

“Did I hurt you?” he asked urgently. He’d been so eager last night, so lost in lust and, frankly, so out of practice that maybe he’d done something to hurt her. If so, he’d never forgive himself.

Her cheeks flamed. “No. Of course you didn’t hurt me.”

“Then what are you talking about?”

“Nothing. Forget I spoke. I was speaking in general terms.” She pulled away from the desk and would have moved on to the next item of business, of which he knew there was plenty, but he stopped her.

“Briana, we can’t pretend nothing happened last night. I think we should talk about it.”

Amusement flickered across her face and caused her eyes to twinkle.
“We should talk about it
is supposed to be the woman’s line.”