BRAVE, Episode Three - the Color of Danger (3 page)

“Logan.” Her spirit soared on the wings of joy. There was an air of hope, castles in the air, unicorns and fairies, rosy pipe dreams. She let it show on her face. Subtlety, thy name is not Chloe. “You plan on taking up with me?”

The sorcerer’s green eyes cast their spell, crinkling with mischief. “Oh, lady, I—yeah, Chloe. I definitely plan on takin’ up with you. Any objections?”

“No, I can’t—think of any.” She continued with hesitance, “Logan, once again I’ve done the talking. And you’ve told me absolutely nothing about yourself. Can’t it be your turn now?”

He raised their joined hands and touched the inside of her wrist against his lips, long and deep, as if quaffing from a well of purest water. Chloe, quivered like a butterfly’s wing, and closed her eyes in delight. She drowned under the sweet assault. Who knew a simple kiss could be velvety and do this much damage to her self-restraint. She wanted him. Understatement of the century.

At last, he released her and stood up, pulling the loose robe more tightly about his middle. “Another time, Bella Mia, I promise. Right now I gotta shower and head off to work. Would you mind pourin’ me another cup of coffee, to get me on my way?”

She managed to a dazed nod.

Then he paused, looking down at her with an unidentifiable emotion. His words had almost the sound of a final farewell. “Chloe? Thanks. This mornin’—our bein’ together like this—has meant a lot to me.”

* * * *

CHAPTER TWO

“Okay, so here’s my cell number.”
Logan peeled a sticky note off the pad and stuck it next to the land line phone. “And an extra set of house keys, in case you need ’em for some reason.”
Jingle jingle as a key ring landed beside the note. “And another bottle of ibuprofen.”
That dropped anchor on the coffee table.

Chloe, snuggled into the couch with an extra pillow and the afghan, glanced up. “What, no Uzi or jungle machete?”

He gave an impatient snort. “Just tryin’ to get you set up here before I leave. You’ve got the ice pack, the TV remote, the full coffeepot, and a mug. Don’t let anybody in. Don’t do anything strenuous. Sleep. Rest. Take it easy. There’s food in the fridge—I don’t know, sandwich stuff, whatever… I won’t be back till late this afternoon, but you can call if you need anything. And, how about you make up a list of things you need, and I’ll pick ’em up for you? Just don’t—”

“Logan.”

His eyes were clouded by a mental list of instructions, but they focused laser-bright on her when she prompted him. “Huh?”

“It’s all right, I’ll be fine. Just go already.”

“Oh. Yeah. Got it. Listen, I mean this, call me if anything comes up. I can be back here in—”

“Logan.” She giggled. He was too cute.
 

“Huh?”

“Go on. You don’t want to be late for work.”

“Oh. No, you’re right. Gotta head out.” He turned away, grabbed his jacket off the back of a kitchen chair and slithered into its sleeves.

“Logan.”

“Huh?”

“Come here.” She dropped the tone of her voice into a seductive low range, furry with promise. He retraced his steps to the couch. She reached up, took hold of his coat pocket and pulled him down towards her. She kissed the corner of his mouth and part of his smooth-shaven cheek. “I’m sorry you have to go out in such awful weather, Logan,” she whispered.

Little Irish leprechauns danced a jig in his eyes. “What awful weather?” he whispered back. “The sun is shinin’ and the skies are blue.”

Chloe spent a lazy day lounging on the couch, watching television, dozing, perusing the morning newspaper, idly putting together the list he’d requested. She moved to reach for whatever supplies he’d provided for her on the coffee table and that was basically it.

Random thoughts skittered in and out like fairy lights, regardless of her sleepy subconscious. Utter relief that she had finally been able to open up to someone about her past. Deep appreciation she’d opened up to Logan – and that he’d understood. Overwhelming gratitude that some Supreme Being had seen fit to cross her path with this remarkable man. Something good had come out of her fear and pain.

Coincidence? Or fate?

What would Logan have done had she invaded his bathroom, while he was naked and dripping under the shower’s hot spray? She blinked and swallowed, warming all over. He would’ve opened the vinyl curtain and welcomed her into the tub, just as he had opened himself and welcomed her into his life.

She felt as safe in his presence and in his apartment. She glanced at the bolted door with a small smile – so many instructions. He really did care.

Sweet daydreams pervaded her. This was still too soon, too fast. Her emotions were in an uproar, her life was in turmoil, and she was too damn sore to get it on with him, no matter how much she really wanted to.

But there would come a time. If she had anything to do with it, there would come a time…

Partway through the day, she hobbled into the bathroom for a slow, careful sponge bath and a change into the fresh pair of pjs Logan had laid out—brand-new and never worn, by the looks of them. Where had these come from? Hey, how many pairs of new pjs did this guy have, anyway?

She finished up, brushed her wet hair and pottered back into the living room to make a call.

“I knew it,” snarled Camille. “I knew that oozing salamander was behind your disappearance. Are you going to press charges? Do you have pictures? Are you safe? How soon are you coming home?”

Chloe managed a small laugh at the barrage of questions. “Yes, Cam, I am definitely planning to press charges. Yes, I—there have been some photos snapped, a little while ago, so all my injuries are on record. My face is a mess, so are my ribs. But I’m safe and I’m being well taken care of. As to the coming home…”

“Oh, hell, I knew it!” Camille wailed. “The bastard has scared you off forever. What’s going on, Chloe? “

“Sssshh, calm down please. I’m trying to tell you and you’re at work where anyone can hear. Jonathan is the least of my problems right now. There’s someone else after me; he’s been hunting me for two years and he’s finally tracked me down. I won’t be able to—”

“The P.I.,” Camille guessed, clicking her tongue. “That’s it, isn’t it?”

“That’s it. And my life is at risk. And I can’t tell you anymore, because I don’t want yours put at risk too. I won’t even tell you where I am right now or who I’m with. If anyone contacts you, you can honestly say you don’t know anything about me. Okay?”

Camille sobbed into the receiver and Chloe’s heart broke open a little – of the two of them, Camille was the strong one. To hear here cry was torture. “Oh Chloe, I never dreamed it would come to this!”

Chloe sighed. “Me neither. I hoped it never would. But in the back of my mind, I guess I always knew. Anyway, I can’t come home for a while, Cam. Not for a long time. I have to work out what I’ll do from here on.”

“Don’t run,” Camille ordered sternly around a small sob. “Don’t you dare run, girl. There has to be a better alternative than that!”

“But you should be all right,” Chloe went on doggedly, despite the interruption. “I bought the apartment in a different name and you’re to stay there as long as you want. Understand?”

Sniffling from the hard-headed, independent Miss Miranti? That, more than anything else, sent a knife straight through Chloe’s heart. Her choices were so narrow and her future might be uncompromising. Broken. She wouldn’t let that be Cam’s future.

“I won’t say goodbye,” Camille whispered from the depths of her own unhappiness. “I want you to call me back in a week and let me know if you’ve completely recovered and what you’re planning. Will you promise to do that?”

Chloe shifted position to accommodate the ache in her ribs. “Yes, Cam, I can promise to do that. I will do that.”

“Good. Then I have your word and I’ll hold you to it. Besides, your clothes and personal things are here, waiting for you. All those damned bloody peep-toes staring at me from your closet floor. You won’t be able to survive without those.” Camille essayed a shaky laugh. “Now, how can I get in touch with you if I need to?”

“Until I can buy a disposable phone, go ahead and put an ad in the personals of your newspaper,” Chloe answered promptly, she’d given this a lot of thought already. “Attention Veronica. I’ll call you immediately.”

Heavy silence. Finally a tiny, defeated voice came across,“I miss you already, my friend. Be good to yourself.”

Tears stung Chloe’s eyes and she whispered, “You, too, Cam. Love you.”

She wasn’t a drinker, but the conversation certainly put her on edge. Pity there wasn’t a stiff whisky around. She cried for a while, already mourning the loyal and devoted connections she’d torn apart. And it was all Halterman’s fault.

* * * *

CHAPTER THREE

Logan returned home late in the rainy afternoon, tired and sweaty and wet to the ears. Chloe buried the urge to herd him into the bedroom to change out of the wet clothes, and gave him her list instead. She couldn’t get sidetracked!

Still, it was a pity he had to run out so soon after he’d arrived back. She recounted the list to him as he read it.

Various kinds of toiletries, three pairs of jeans and several simple tops, one pair of flats, serviceable bulky running shoes and socks, a plain black tote, underwear.

He bustled in two hours later and piled everything on the kitchen table.

Oddly enough, Chloe was more excited by the prospect of rooting through what Logan had bought than she had been by the prospect of any shopping excursion to New York’s finest boutiques. What kind of shopper was he?

“Doesn’t take much to make you happy, does it?” Logan lounged on the couch, chomping noisily on an apple. He watched with an indulgent smile.

“Not when you’re having to live on someone’s charity,” she retorted. “Oh, toothbrush and paste all my own, how wonderful to see you. Lotion, just the brand I asked for, thank you. And shampoo, conditioner, lovely lovely bath gel. Logan, you got me a blow dryer. That wasn’t on my list, was it?”

He shrugged. “Nope. But I don’t have one. And with your long hair, I figured you’d need it.”

“Bless you, Mr. Farrow,” she exulted. “You are a man in a million. And jammies, too; pretty blue ones, with flowers. Another item not on my list. You really do notice a lot, don’t you?”

“I try,” he said modestly.

“Okay—” She delved into the bags once more. “Jeans, tops, shoes. Perfect. This is—”

She rooted around in the bottom of the bag and hauled out a rainbow-colored pile of lingerie: sheer bits of lace and ribbon whose hot pink, black, steamy turquoise, even leopard print, each matched a tee he’d added to the collection. She picked up a pair of panties and the matching bra and dangled it from her hand. The embellishment of tiny satin bows and a rhinestone glimmered under his gaze and she sent him a speculative glance.

“What, no serviceable plain old white cotton?”

“Boooor-ring. And you don’t strike me as the plain old white cotton sort of girl, anyway. Besides, browsin’ through that aisle of women’s undies was the best part of my shoppin’ trip, even if I did get some strange looks.”

“I can read tags as well as anyone. You didn’t buy these at a discount store,” she rebuked him.

“Well, no. Found some kinda fancy uptown place. And y’know, I coulda bought you some thongs.”

Chloe sniffed. “Those silly things. I wouldn’t wear them on a bet.”

“No? I must say, this was sure a new experience. So you gotta give me some leeway somewhere.”

“I have,” she said in a small voice. “I allowed you to spend your own money on outfitting this worthless body of mine.”

He lifted the half-eaten apple in tribute. “It was an honor, my lady. One I figure to get back with interest at some point in time.” And his green eyes glinted then darkened. “You call your body worthless again and I’m going to get upset.”

A rosy flush mounted into Chloe’s cheeks. Not for the first time did she silently berate the quirk which allowed emotion to show through. A successful poker player she would never be.

“Well, anyway,” she finished up lamely, “thank you, Logan. Now that I have something to wear, I’ll be happy when I can shower and get dressed again.”

“About that shower—how about later tonight? I wanta get that tape taken off, to give you some relief. Then, when you’re ready for bed, I’ll use some athletic wrap this time.”

“Oh, Logan, more thanks. A shower and shampoo will feel soooo wonderful.”

“Yep. Figured. You’re still takin’ the ibuprofen, right? ’Cause you need the anti-inflammatory, to heal. And still breathin’ deep, so you don’t get pneumonia? And gettin’ plenty of rest?”

She held up her right hand as if she were testifying in court. “Yes, yes, and yes. I’ve been nothing but a sloth all day, Doctor Farrow. Truly.”

“Good to hear. That’s the best thing for you. So whaddya say to some supper; maybe Steak Diane, salad with vinaigrette dressing, and some raspberry chocolate cheesecake?”

“It sounds marvelous, Logan. And I’m starving. Do you mean to say you’re going to whip up those delicacies in your kitchen?”

Eyes closed, afghan heaped up under his head like a pillow, he was sprawled on the couch, with one leg stretched out onto the floor and the other taking up the whole space of three cushions. He murmured around a yawn, “I
could
. If I were so inclined. And if I had the ingredients.” He yawned again. “I am a Sous Chef, after all.”