Who I Am With You (24 page)

O
livia frantically pawed through the pantry, hair still dripping from her shower. Flour. Why was there never enough? Ah-ha. She reached in and retrieved the bag of rice flour and swiveled to pour it into the mixing bowl. Her movements were jerky, her breathing shallow. Duncan had only been gone an hour and a half—an hour and a half where she had managed little more than a cold, bracing shower. Some of the flour dribbled over the side of the bowl, dusting the granite counter white. Her hands paused, the galloping in her heard stilled, and she licked her lips. Closing her eyes, she felt the hot flash of cocaine rushing through her veins, brightening the colors around her, sharpening her muddled brain. All she had to do was walk outside and find a baggie on any corner of this city. Easy. Leaving the half-completed pound cake, she snatched her purse and rushed to the elevator.

The humid night air greeted her, punctuated by the scent of flowers and bread from the bistro up the block. Running on instinct, her eyes scanned the street, looking for anyone who may be holding. She swore under her breath. Wrong neighborhood. Nothing here but a man in skinny jeans walking his tiny fluffy dog, a woman stepping out of a limo, and a twenty-something man leaning against a building messing with this iPhone and illuminated by the streetlight. Granted, one of them probably knew where to score some coke, or heroin. All she had to do was ask. She set off in the direction of the hipster on his cell, an ache pounding in her temples and her tongue practically drooling for the chemical aftertaste that came with getting high.

The heat from the day lingered and sweat trickled down Olivia’s back. Memories of dirty alleys and dirtier men surfaced, of waking up sore and confused. The young guy looked up and furrowed his brows.

“Are you okay, ma’am?”

“F-fine.” She shook her head, finally breaking free of the spell she’d been under the last ten minutes. Shaken, she spun and sank onto an iron bench and covered her face with her hands.

What had she almost done?

Swallowing her tears, she fumbled for her phone, barely able to type in the commands to find an NA meeting. Nothing, dammit. Not for another hour and thirty-nine minutes. Olivia bit her lip, thinking. Baking obviously hadn’t helped. She sure as hell didn’t want Catherine or Natalie to see her so weak. Simon? No, no way would she ever let him witness this side of her. The office. She’d go to VDB and bury herself in paperwork, maybe seek refuge in her dad’s office. It was her only option. She did not trust herself to be alone in the apartment right now.

During the cab ride, still mired in the past, she recalled the time she drove into the heart of Compton looking for a hit. She’d talked to a guy, followed him into his house, and woke up hours later in an abandoned park, bruised and battered, sore between her legs. Chills erupted across her body and she buried the nightmare where it belonged. She was not going back there, no matter how bad the hunger got.

Before she knew it, the car arrived at VDB and she signed in with security. The executive floor appeared empty as she exited the elevator and bypassed her office for her father’s. Opening the doors, she entered the dark space, catching a whiff of his cologne and sinking to her knees. Her fingers dug into the thick carpet and she gasped for air, trying to stave off her pity party. Despite the strength she’d showed Duncan, he rattled her to the core. Begging her to give in and join him broke her heart and awakened her addiction. She refused to cry about it, moving past it was what mattered.

A loud bang brought her upright and she pushed to her feet. At the door to her father’s office, she heard more thuds, softer this time. Only the hall lights were on, casting shadows into the dark, open spaces flanking the corridors.

“Sue?” Olivia called out, fully expecting the cleaning lady and her husband to appear. “Randy?”

No answer. Uneasiness crawled down her spine and she tiptoed into the hall. Pausing at the intersection, she peered around the corner.

“Hello?”

Still nothing. Her heart skipped a beat. There. A light. Fear turned her skin clammy until she realized where it was coming from. Simon’s office.

“Oh, thank God.”

Suddenly she was anxious to see Simon, to bathe in the comfort of his friendship. After Duncan, she realized she needed Simon. His easiness and humor would chase away the oily film of her near catastrophic mistake. Olivia was already talking as she walked through his door.

“You scared the crap out of me, Greene.”

She froze. Thomas straightened guiltily from Simon’s desk and shoved his hands in his pockets.

“Thomas, what are you doing?” she asked, disappointed and suspicious.

“Leaving a contract for Simon to sign, but I can’t find a sticky note.” He paused, frowning. “I have every right to be here.”

His defensive tone startled her and the expression he wore did nothing to relieve her mistrust. He resembled a kid pilfering cookies before dinner.

“You surprised me is all. It’s almost ten o’clock.”

“What are you doing here?”

“It’s kind of a long story,” she hedged, not wanting to share her personal problems so she danced around the truth. “Went for a walk. Ended up in the vicinity.”

Thomas nodded. “It’s been a rough couple of weeks.”

“I can’t begin to imagine what you and Simon are going through.”

He ran a hand over his face, looking twenty years older than his actual age. “Don’t know about Mr. Happy-Go-Lucky, but the pressure is starting to get to me. I can’t sleep. I’m here twelve hours a day, sometimes more. It’s important to me to make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

“Simon’s dealing with the same things, plus he’s got the board breathing down his neck and the public demanding answers. I know you hate it, but you and he are on the same side here.”

“Glad to see you’re so protective of him,” Thomas grumbled.

“That’s not it, and I’m not taking sides.” Although the visit from Detective Schulte may have skewed her conclusions towards Thomas’s motives, she still desperately wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt.

“You have, though. I see how chummy the two of you are. Always joking.”

Olivia stifled a weary sigh. Men were so stubborn, a lesson she’d learned more than once. “Compared to the screaming fits you and Simon had last week? It looks bad for not only the both of you, but for the company on a whole. Word gets around and it shines an even brighter spotlight on us. One we don’t need.”

“You sound like your grandmother.”

“Then I’ll also add that you and Simon are good for VDB separately, but together, you can make us unstoppable. Think about it.”

“I can’t change who I am overnight,” Thomas said. “I’ll never trust him.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know!” He shoved his hands on his hips. “He’s arrogant. Sarcastic. Lazy. I worry he’s spreading our resources too thin. Simon Greene does not belong here.”

Olivia sighed. No matter what she said, it wouldn’t change Thomas’s opinion. She only hoped Simon’s actions did it. Instead, she switched gears. “A detective came to see me, asking about you.” He didn’t answer, the slight reddening of his face the only indication he heard her. “Why didn’t you tell me about Cassandra, about the divorce?”

“Old news.” He shrugged. “How is Catherine?”

“Why are you changing the subject? Doesn’t it bother you the police are investigating you?”

“You make it seem like I’m the only one. They’re looking at Simon, too. And Doug. Even Phil, from Finance, got a visit from some puffed up cop. It’s their job.” He narrowed his eyes. “Now who’s avoiding questions? I asked about Catherine.”

Olivia sighed. Fine. “It’s touch and go. I took this afternoon off to talk with her doctor. He said this is the downturn, to be prepared. I thought I’d have more time.”

Thomas drew her into a hug, stroking her back. “You’re here. I’m sure that matters most to her.”

“Thank you.” She separated from him and smiled sadly. “I’m sure she’d love to see you.”

“I’ll stop in.” He pecked her cheek before ambling out of Simon’s office. Olivia stopped him with one more question.

“Thomas, why did you handle the Warren Street project without any help? It seems uncharacteristic.”

The man her father called his best friend turned, regarding her with remorse. “Let it go, Olivia.”

Then he was gone, leaving her more confused than ever. He hardly made an effort to deny anything. And why not? Curious, she moved behind Simon’s desk, looking at the neat surface and catching a trace of his clean, cottony scent. Stacks of files and pens were lined up perfectly side by side. Olivia grinned, not expecting him to be so meticulous about his space. She’d have to tease him about it. Then her lips dropped. No contract waiting for a signature as Thomas had claimed. So what was he doing in here?

Olivia found her phone and called Natalie.

“Hey, Liv. What’s up?”

“I have a work favor to ask you. You remember Thomas Fillini, right?”

“Yeah, Anderson’s best friend, worked at VDB forever, the cops asked you about him, right?”

“Right. I need you to look into it. Find out why the police are focusing on him. They said he’s broke and divorcing, but I can’t get a straight answer from him. Search for anything suspicious.”

“You think he might be behind the accidents? Why didn’t you mention it before?” Natalie’s inquisitive nature kicked in.

“I do not think he’s involved.” Olivia sighed. “That said, he handled every aspect of the Warren Street project on his own, did not delegate any of it like he’s always done. Why keep it under such tight control? I can’t let it go and doubt the NYPD will tell me, so ease my worries, Nat.”

“I’m on it. I’ll do some digging tonight and stop by tomorrow. Will you be at the office or at Catherine’s?”

“I plan to see Catherine first thing in the morning, when she is most lucid, so I’ll let you know when I get to the office.”

After they hung up, Olivia switched the light off in Simon’s office and made her way to the lobby. Her heart wanted Natalie to find nothing, but her head already warned that might not be the case. Unbidden her thoughts turned to Duncan and her fingers itched to call him. She resisted. The wounds he reopened and the resulting actions she almost took were still too raw.

D
uncan sat in his truck outside the firehouse, heavy with failure and putting off the inevitable. He’d never walked off a shift before, as he had yesterday, and there was going to be hell to pay. In reality, he should call in sick. He was certainly in no shape to fight fires, not after his epic meltdown, which had continued long after leaving Olivia’s the previous night.

Above, the sky peeked through the buildings, a clear brilliant blue. The world beyond his window looked fresh, clean, and unattainable. All the smiling people on the sidewalk, basking in the afternoon sunshine, enjoying the longer days, served as a reminder of how utterly messed up he was.

As his buzz mellowed, the memory of what he’d done swept over him. His actions yesterday were uncalled for, he had no excuse for marching into Olivia’s apartment like a buffoon. Tunnel vision, worried about his own damn self, looking for a fight, God, he said so many unforgivable things.

Duncan ran a trembling hand through his hair.

Every single time he felt peace or started climbing from his hole, he screwed it up. Why? There had to be a fundamental malfunction inside him. He was incapable of letting anything good into his life. Had it always been there, even before? Who could he talk to about it? He needed to get help, no one would do it for him, but he stared at the shattered screen of his phone at a loss of who he could reach out to. Olivia had been right. He did this, all on his own. It was up to him to fix it.

Sweat dotted his forehead. Him. Fix it. What a joke.

The despair inside the truck weighed him down, made it impossible to move, to breathe. It suffocated him. His throat closed and he gasped for air. Rubbing fists into his annoyingly wet eyes, Duncan glanced at the floor and the two empty bottles of whiskey there. Finally, unable to look at them any longer, he fumbled open the door, ignoring the possibility he might still be drunk. He crossed the street, his body stiff and sore from sleeping in the truck. Better to face the music. Not like the day could get any worse.

Slip in and keep a low profile, he cautioned himself. As he entered, the familiar scent of smoke and diesel fuel hit him, irritating his stomach, and to avoid seeing the pity in anyone’s faces, he kept his gaze straight ahead as he headed for his locker. He felt the stare of Bruce at the dispatch desk, though, and did his best not to snarl.

“McMurray! Get your ass over here!” Captain Blankard shouted.

“Shit,” Duncan muttered as he changed direction. He just wanted a damn cup of coffee first, but he obeyed, stopping in front of the captain who had his hands on his hips and his bushy gray eyebrows knitted together.

“Where do you get off walking out in the middle of a shift?” he demanded. “It’s been over twenty-four hours!”

“Had something to do.” He swayed and, of course, the old man caught it.

“Are you drunk?”

“Ahhh, um.” Duncan couldn’t form two freaking words.

“You’re a real piece of work, McMurray. You think you can waltz in here like you’re king of the roost and the rules don’t apply?”

“Don’t pretend this is the first time.”

“No, you’re right, it isn’t, but you’re on a whole other level right now. I ignore a lot from you, against my better judgment, because you are a damn good fireman, but it’s starting to affect the crew, and attract attention from headquarters.”

This wasn’t the time to get into a pissing match with his senior officer, but between the leftover alcohol coursing through his veins and his attack on Olivia, Duncan was on fire. He stepped closer, inching up to the thin ledge he teetered on.

“I make more saves than anyone in this house,” he half-shouted. “That’s why you put up with me. Without me, this place would fall into the crapper.”

The captain was a smart man, one Duncan respected, and he chose not to meet Duncan’s challenge. “Go home and sleep it off. I expect you here tomorrow, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, ready for your punishment.”

He strode away, leaving Duncan standing alone, blood pounding in his head. His fists clenched and unclenched, hungry for a target.

“What the hell?” Frank demanded, stalking out of the kitchen. Duncan squinted. Were there two of him? He leaned against a pillar in the vehicle bay and realized his buddy was still talking. “You gotta lot of nerve walking off like that. Why?”

“None of your business,” he growled.

“We all felt it, Dunc. That kid, it was bad.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking out.”

“Sure I don’t.” Frank ventured close enough to get a whiff and his dark eyes narrowed. “Jesus, Dunc. You go swimming in a distillery? And did you drink before or after you went to see Olivia?” Pausing, he waited for an answer. “You forget I know you pretty damn well and when you’re like this, you go after the good things.”

“Leave it alone.” Duncan’s body vibrated with tension, threatening to overflow.

“Before or after?”

“Before,” he yelled. “What does it matter anyway? I went and the result is the same. I screwed it up. What I do best.”

Frank didn’t look all that surprised. Like he said, he knows me, Duncan thought.

“Just when I think I’ve seen you at your lowest,” he muttered. “You’re a piece of work you know that? The last thing Olivia needs is you showing up high as a kite, making an ass of yourself. Let me guess, you were your normal, charming self?” The answer became trapped on his tongue and Frank swore. “You’re such an insensitive prick.”

The pressure inside cracked and he swung a fist at Frank. He enjoyed a moment of satisfaction when it connected with his cheek bone, but his success was short lived. Frank came right back at him.

Perfect. Exactly what he wanted.

Duncan realized too late that he was supremely unsteady on his feet in his current state, probably not the best time for a tussle. Frank landed a right hook to his jaw and stars exploded in his vision. His already murky head swam, distracting him long enough for his friend to serve up the final blow, a powerful jab to the temple.

No longer in control of his body, Duncan dropped to the hard concrete floor and rolled onto his back, stunned. What the hell? Nausea welled and he forced it down, refusing to get sick on top of being laid out like a pussy.

Frank bent and got in his face, nostrils flared in rage. “Next time you pick a fight, make sure you do it sober. Otherwise, it’s sad and pathetic. You wanna feel sorry for yourself, do it on your own time. Stop trying to hurt those of us who care about you.”

He kicked Duncan’s foot, emphasizing his point, and left him in a puddle of shame. The only thing keeping Duncan from lying there all day was the possibility of the other guys coming in and seeing him in such an abysmal state. Dragging himself to his feet, he fled the firehouse and nearly tripped on the curb.

In the truck, he cranked the air conditioning in hopes the chill sobered him. Then he hung his head. Same as before, his eyes overflowed, only this time, a moan escaped. As hard as he tried, he could not hold his pain in anymore, it had gotten too big. Disappointing his kids, Leslie, his brothers, and, oh God, Olivia. It all escaped in gut-wrenching sobs.

A sharp memory of Olivia mentioning her grandmother taking a turn for the worse cut through his haze, causing more agony. Perfect timing, jackass, he cursed silently.

Duncan wasn’t sure how long he sat there, but by the time he put the truck in drive, he’d convinced himself he didn’t deserve any of the decent things in his life. Pulling away from the curb, he doubted if rebuilding from the pile of ashes his life had become was worth it. He was better off alone. And broken.