Controlled Burn (Scarred Hearts) (5 page)

“I only have a few questions.” Schneider’s voice changed, lowered the slightest bit, but Logan didn’t care to figure out if the sympathy was real or an investigator’s ploy. “I’ll be brief.”

Logan stared. The man could ask whatever he wanted. It didn’t mean Logan had to answer.

“There are indicators the fire wasn’t accidental.”

Indicators? How long did it take to figure out how a fire started?

“How’s business?”

“In the toilet.” Indicators were as useless as questions.

“You in a lot of debt?”

“Now.” Medical bills, unpaid mortgage payments and a loss of clients who couldn’t be without an accountant while he recovered ensured his pile of debt was a mountain. It would have been a mountain range if Ashley’s fiancé, Cameron, hadn’t taken care of the funeral costs. The funeral Logan had been unable to attend.

Hoping for an intelligent question, Logan pointed at his face where scars reached from the middle of the back of his head to the middle of his cheek and all along the side. He hadn’t thought he cared about his looks before, but facing a future of ugliness revealed his thoughts in a different light. People would never consider him good-looking again and that bothered him. Hell, it pissed him off.

“You suggesting I’d do this to myself?”

“It’s an angle I have to explore.”

Logan could suggest a plethora of things for Schneider to explore. None of them included himself and Ashley. “Explore another one.”

Schneider nodded. “Are you aware Ashley sustained injuries beyond the fire?”

“Yes.” Though he didn’t know the specifics. He’d tried calling Cameron, but had been ignored. After that he’d been unable to make himself seek more answers.

His heart slammed in his chest and more than ever he wanted to get up and pace. Confinement had his need for action buzzing in his head. He didn’t move.

“Do you know anyone who might have wanted to hurt your sister?”

Hurt? More like killed.
He swallowed the lump that solidified in his throat as the idea did the same in his mind. If it found a firm hold, and he expected it would, he wouldn’t be able to shake it.

“The autopsy report,” Schneider continued, “says she suffered blunt force trauma to her temple. She was dead before the fire started.”

Logan swallowed again. Avoidance became a best friend he could spend days with. Ashley hadn’t been hurt. She’d been killed. Murdered.

He still said nothing, giving Schneider every opportunity to fill the silence. “Did either of you have any enemies? Maybe unhappy clients? Maybe she fought with her fiancé?”

“No.” Ashley was—had been—the embodiment of kindness and love. She couldn’t have had an enemy. No one could have set out to hurt her, let alone kill her. Especially not Cameron.

Schneider tapped his pencil on the edge of his notepad, looking more and more like he was sucking on a rotten lemon. “What about you? Any issues with your sister?”

If he could stand quickly he would, and he’d not-so-gently show the inspector to the door. The best he could do was a verbal dismissal and to point at the door. “We’re done.”

“One more question.”

Logan stared. His jaw tightened with each breath.

“There was space for eight offices in that building. Aside from your office there was only one partially occupied space. Why? Where were the other tenants?”

“It was a new renovation. You’d have to ask the landlord about other tenants.”

“Will you be available if I have more questions?”

“Only if they’re helpful.”

When the door closed behind Schneider, Logan fisted his burned hand and embraced the pain instead of trying to drive it away. Losing Ashley sucked. His burns sucked. Being a suspect… The accusation reverberated in his soul with a destitute truth and it elevated his life from sucked to a new level of shitty.

Chapter Five

“Brian.” Delancey smiled at her current patient who was rebuilding his shoulder after a rotator cuff surgery. He was amiable enough during their appointments, but the designated hitter for the Rangers was holding himself back. “If you don’t start doing these exercises at least every other day, you’re not going to make a full recovery. Though every day would be best.”

“They hurt.”

“Oh, they’re miserable inventions of sadistic hell spawns.” She handed him the tension band they’d been using. “But the better you follow instructions, the quicker you’ll be done with me.”

“Exercises aren’t going to get me reinstated to the team.”

Brian would argue more if she didn’t cut him off. She could tell him there were people suffering far greater challenges than a messed-up shoulder, but it would serve no purpose. One, it was nothing new for him.

“Then by all means take your time. Give them a reason to replace you on a permanent basis. Sideline yourself and maybe you can get a job as a sportscaster. I hear the local high school is hiring.” Two, it wouldn’t help him move past the fear of being rejected. Instead of avoiding the sore spot, she dug right into it.

“You’re a sadist.”

“Realist. Do your exercises.” She picked up his chart to make her notes. “I’ll see you in two days.”

He nodded and lingered for a moment longer than normal. After a brief hesitation and silent survey of her, he said, “Be careful on shift.”

“Always.”

It didn’t escape Delancey that Brian was considering hitting on her. He’d towed the line of professional distance a few times, but had backed off every time. If he’d moved ahead and asked her out she’d have had no problem turning him down. She didn’t think she could’ve claimed the same if she’d been given the chance to spend any real time with Logan.

And just that easily he lodged himself in her mind again. Unlike the times before, she didn’t dislodge him. Truth be told, she never dislodged him for long.

On shift days, she spent time between calls honing her skills and reaction times through extra drills. On non-shift days, when she wasn’t working with patients or taking extra shifts for other therapists, she went home and cooked. She wanted badly to go to the burn unit and check on Logan, but she made herself honor his request. Cooking centered her; she’d cooked a lot since leaving Logan’s room that last time.

Had he gotten his bandages off? Would he be going home soon? Had the anguish that had been in his voice lessened?

Her heart ached with the idea that he was facing everything on his own, that he didn’t allow people close. The isolation could easily hinder his recovery. It would definitely challenge his ability to reacclimatize himself to life after discharge.

She scoured the Internet, especially Pinterest, which had become a weakness, for new recipes. Neither drills nor patients nor cooking would be enough to distract her this time. She had to know how he was doing.

After returning the files to the main desk and getting her bag, Delancey left the therapy center and headed toward the main building and the burn unit. The walk took less than five minutes, but each step landed with a stronger certainty.

His dismissal was a defense mechanism and she’d allowed him to use it.

She wouldn’t force him to see her, but she couldn’t allow him to go another day without knowing he was thought of. She’d been on the burn unit before, but every time she opened the thick glass doors that separated the unit from the rest of the hospital she was struck in the heart.

Screams shook the air while the heavy and sour odor of charcoaled flesh filled it with a tang of smoke. As much as the aftereffects of a burn motivated Lexi to work the unit, they motivated Delancey to go a different route. She’d rather try to prevent the burns than be a healer of them.

“Delancey.” Lexi greeted her from behind the nurse’s station. “You making another delivery?”

“Pardon?”

“Try playing ignorant with someone who doesn’t know you.”

“Who says I’m playing?” She smiled and shook her head.

“Sure. You’re clueless.” Lexi nodded toward Logan’s room as she rounded the desk. “And the man who never gets visitors has someone other than you to cook for him.”

Looking around to make sure no one was within earshot, Delancey asked, “Does he know it comes from me?”

“Probably on some level, but I’m pretty sure he’s a master of avoidance. He doesn’t seem to allow himself to think too much.”

Avoidance was a normal coping method that too easily became a hindrance if not properly managed. Indulging in it herself wasn’t a distasteful thought, but it felt lazy. Delancey was not lazy.

“How’s he doing?”

“Trying to pass a couple of Doc’s tests so he can go home.”

“He’s recovering well?”

“His scars are most likely going to be permanent, but his muscles and tissues are doing well. Emotionally…” Lexi shrugged rather than go into specifics that blatantly betrayed HIPAA laws.

Other nurses and a doctor moved in and out of rooms, carrying charts and talking in low tones. Patients screamed and moaned. Visitors cried. Some rooms were completely silent. Logan’s was a silent one.

“Emotional wounds are always the hardest to overcome.”

“Inspector Schneider was here to see him earlier.” Lexi shrugged. “Logan’s sister Ashley was killed by a blow to the head, not the fire. Schneider asked Logan if he had any issues with her.”

That was an emotional weight no one needed to face. He’d been violently burned in the process of losing the person he loved most. To be a suspect in the fire, in his sister’s death, was a definite brutality.

Delancey pointed to the door. “Do you think he’d…?”

Lexi’s shrug was no more assuring than her offered “I can ask.”

“Please.”

With a brief nod, Lexi turned and went into Logan’s room. Every minute she was gone felt like five, as old insecurities became new ones. As a need for acceptance became a fire-breathing dragon and the only way to tame it would be for Logan to see her. His willingness to talk to her was a validation she craved, though it wasn’t one that sat well with her.

It was selfish, and she needed to be selfless when facing someone who’d lost so much.

She was tapping her fingers against her thigh when Logan’s door opened again and Lexi’s face, an unreadable mask she wore almost exclusively at work, gave away no secrets. Ever.

Delancey swallowed. “Will he see me?” she asked when she could wait no longer.

“He’s hesitant,” Lexi said. “Today’s the first day without his bandages. His first time to really see his injuries.”

“All the more reason he should have someone with him.”

“That was one of my arguments.” Lexi winked. “I also told him that as a physical therapist you might be able to help him get out of here.”

Delancey took Lexi’s hand and squeezed. “Thank you.”

“Don’t think this comes without a cost.” Lexi’s wide mouth and thin lips curved in a smile of smug delight. “You like this man. Very soon I expect answers.”

Lexi was one of her best friends, and though she kept some potentially large secrets to herself, Delancey had no trouble opening up. About some things.

“I wish I knew why he intrigues me so strongly.” Curiosity wouldn’t end after today’s visit. She did like him, though she couldn’t say why. He’d intrigued her from that first look in the fire and she’d spent no real time with him since. She’d only seen a few glimpses of who she thought he might be as a person. “Fact is, I felt drawn to him even in the fire when he was barely conscious. I don’t think there’s going to be a logical answer.”

“Well, if you’re going to be coming to see him, you’ll need an explanation for your mother, because you know she’ll start asking questions.”

“She already is. And making judgments.” Mother’s habits were well known and easily predicted by anyone who’d known her more than five minutes. “I’ve gotten pretty good at avoiding her when she’s here.”

“The secret to every successful mother-daughter relationship.”

“When the mother’s like mine anyway.” Delancey would rather be a naked indigent in an ice storm than live the kind of life her mother wanted for her.

“It sucks to think you’ll never measure up.”

In one sentence Lexi revealed more about her past than she had in almost a year. Delancey would definitely have to explore that. Later. First she needed to explore why she was drawn to Logan.

Delancey’s heart beat steadily as she approached Logan’s door, placed her hand on the handle and pushed it open. She expected to see him in the bed, but he instead sat in a chair with his burned side facing away from her.

She quickly scanned Logan from his bare feet up. Angling his burned side away from the door wasn’t enough to hide the fire’s extensive damage. Indulging his obvious desire to not dwell on his situation, she could ask how it was possible for a man to look sexy in a hospital gown. And he was sexy. Scars and all. Maybe even more so because of the scars.

Instead of that, she went for what she hoped he’d take as a casual approach.

“I hear you may get to go home soon.”

“Maybe.”

Pulling up a second chair, she sat on his non-scarred side, giving him the chance to relax, at least about her seeing the burns. “They give you a long list of things you have to do on your own?”

“Longer than I’d prefer.” His voice was smoother than the last time she’d visited, but he was no more conversational. She couldn’t decide if that was his nature or the situation.

“Anything I can do to help?”

“Reverse time.”

“What else would you change if I could do that?” She certainly had a list of things she’d change.

He laughed, if a single puff of exhaled air could be defined as a laugh. “That list is a considerably long one.”

“Life been sucky at times?”

“Sucky?” He did the single puff of air laugh again. “Try shitty. And not just at times.”

“This is likely the last place you want to be.” Taking a chance, she turned the chair a little, facing him more directly. He stiffened, but he didn’t turn away from her. “So how can I help you get out?”

He turned his head and faced her. “Why do you want to help me?”

Meeting his gaze, she considered her answer. The connection that had sparked during the fire flared up. She hoped he had an appreciation for the truth.

“I felt drawn to you that day, at the fire. Then I saw you, and you looked into my eyes. Then, like now, I recognized the agony of what you were facing. Because I’ve faced it myself.”

Disbelief hardened his stare.

“I don’t expect you to believe me.” She could prove it, but she wouldn’t. “I know that while some people will flinch at the sight of you and say they can’t imagine what you’ve faced—” she relaxed deeper into the chair, “—others will look you in the face and claim to know. Then they’ll give you advice.”

“Like you are now.”

“I’m not offering you advice.”

“You’re claiming to know what I’ve faced. Is that because you’ve seen it as a therapist? Or because you really know?”

Smiling the tiniest bit, she dropped her head at a slight angle and asked, “Which do you think is the truth?”

“Nurse Lexi says you’re a physical therapist.”

“I am,” she answered, allowing him his avoidance. “Did she also suggest I could help you get out of here earlier?”

“It might have come up. Are you any good?”

“Damn good. You think you want my help?”

“No.” A swallow and then a shaking breath betrayed his nerves. He cleared his throat before speaking again. “I
need
your help.”

His hesitance was endearing in an odd way. It seemed wrong to smile, but her lips curled of their own accord. “What do you have to do before they’ll release you?”

“Get dressed on my own and walk to the nurse’s station without help.”

“How far can you go now?”

“I can get out of the bed, I can take a couple of steps, or I can unsnap the top two buttons of this damn gown.” His tone soured on the word “gown”, which made her want to smile again. “I can’t do all three.”

“I assume you’ve been working with a therapist?”

“Chloe Bauer.” That sour note hit his tone again, and it wasn’t a case of hating the agony she caused. He didn’t like her, and an intense dislike of a therapist often proved detrimental to recovery.

“She’s tough.” Chloe had a reputation for being difficult to get along with, which was nothing more than a kind way of saying she had the personality of concrete. It worked with the patients who were more hardass to begin with, but anyone with a soul feeding their personality was doomed to clash with her.

“She’s cold and robotic.”

“Not a love match?”

The strength of his glare gave him a comical look. When she smiled he glared more fiercely. She couldn’t restrain her chuckle.

“You look miserable at the thought of her,” Delancey said. “And I’m not thinking it’s because of her therapy tips.”

“Are you going to help me or not?”

She winked. “When you growl like that, how can I refuse you?”

His nose wrinkled, and damn if it didn’t make him cuter than his resistance. “Do you have clothes to change into?”

A sigh shouldn’t be able to say as much as his did. “No.”

“The hospital can provide you some.” She continued when he frowned. “Or I could go to your house and pack you a bag?”

Silence and reddening cheeks was his only response for several moments. What he didn’t say, what his silences and hesitations said for him, stated with complete certainty that he hated asking for help. Hated needing help. Hated trusting her. Hated trusting anyone.

“I’d appreciate that.”

Restraining her smile this time came more easily, because Delancey knew a little something about trust issues and preferring to do everything herself. She’d even taken charge of her own physical therapy when she should have worked with a therapist.

Because she knew the pain he felt, because she knew the loneliness he faced, because she knew the loss he grieved, she knew the struggle he overcame to ask for help.

“How will you get in? My keys were in the office.”

“I’m a firefighter. We have tools.”