BAD Beginnings (4 page)

What kind of mother doesn’t like to be called mom by the only person in the world who can?

The crash of glass and food utensils reverbed behind them and the room shifted gazes toward a waitress that had dropped her load. Food, drink, and cutlery scattered the floor. The woman with the tray stared for a second at Logan, then dropped to her knees and began clearing the mess. She voiced a string of apologies while swiping the food and drink onto the tray. One more glance their direction and she disappeared into the kitchen. Had she recognized Logan?

Gemma analyzed his face—which was still the color of thin glue—and cocked her head sideways. “You know that woman?”

He ignored her and turned back to Sharon. “Mom, you remember Gemma, my assistant?” Had he just intentionally defied her desire to be called by her name? She swallowed a giggle.

“Charmed, dear. Good to see you’re cleaning him up a bit. Our table is this way.” Sharon Indiris turned and sidestepped through the crowd in the blue satin that shimmered over her shoulders and slid across her hips.

Oops, was her name still Indiris? Gemma had no idea. There had been other husbands since Logan’s dad. What the hell was the biddy’s name?

“Why are you shaking your head?”

“Nothing. I—what’s her last name again?”

He bent and whispered in her ear, “You tell me and we’ll both know.”

Another giggle threatened to erupt but she frowned it away, realizing the wrong in laughing at such a sad family.

Sharon chose that moment to whirl around a table and pat a chair. “You, here. Logan, here. We’ll take the other two.” She had completely ignored the nametags on the table that clearly put Logan facing the room and dropped into his place. He had officially been demoted from one of the honorees—to—what? By his own mother, who hadn’t seen him in years, no less?

Logan cleared his throat and remained standing. He pulled Gemma from her seat. “Sorry, Mommy dearest but you’re in our chairs. Normally, I wouldn’t care but…” he swept a hand at the room, “I’d hate to have my back to this crowd when I speak.” He leaned over and tapped the microphone that sat conspicuously above her plate. “Unless, of course, you’d like to do the honors?”

Gemma watched an icy chill cross Sharon What’s-her-name’s face and her stomach churned. A pasted smile did nothing to hide the underlying fury. The woman patted Logan on the cheek, leaned forward and whispered something, then moved around the table.

Shock crossed Logan’s features briefly before he reached for Gemma and pulled her with him to their seats. She glanced from one to the other, wondering where the resemblance was. What the hell just happened?

C
hapter Five

B
aden stared over the sea
of unfamiliar faces. How could these people not see through this act? I’m nothing like the man. I used only one of the three forks by my plate, drank the wine in two gulps as Mommy Dearest stared in shock, and I can’t possibly give a speech.

Gemma slipped a paper into his palm, and he focused on it, then blinked. “I’m supposed to read this? Out loud?” In front of this room full of people who hobnobbed with Logan on a daily basis and were sure to know?

She smiled and his shoulders relaxed. “Yeah. What’s wrong?”

“I’m just not prepared to—I, um, I can’t.” His throat closed up. His head spun. He wanted to slide from the chair and bolt out of the room. Forever.

Gemma dropped a hand to his thigh and squeezed. The warmth in her touch seeped through and calmed his quaking nerves. “Is this another example of your new-found humor? Go on. You love this stuff. You know you do.”

No I don’t.

She nodded. He stood and waited a full two minutes before the room quieted. Enough time to read through her words. Holy crap, she could write. He hoped to hell he could read it well enough to do justice. The lights dimmed around them and a spotlight focused with its glow bathing her hair in a golden pink sheen. Gulp.

Where the words came from, he had no idea. Bullshit, he knew exactly where they came from and that’s probably why it had been an out-of-body experience to voice them. He hadn’t focused on any of the faces there—yet he’d connected with all of them. Through the words. Her words. Words of passion for a cause that was so close to home it hurt. He was speaking at a fundraiser for a program for troubled youth called Reconnect.

Damn, why hadn’t there been something like this when I needed it?

Only he hadn’t really needed it, because he wasn’t a troubled youth. He had been a normal, every-day teenager with a girlfriend. And some other troubled teen took it all away.

The cold wetness of a tear on his cheek jolted him back to reality, then her breath whispered against his neck. “Are you okay?”

Baden sniffed and smiled at the silent and tearful crowd. He had completely zoned out, entranced in her words, her cause. “I wish there had been programs like this when I was younger. Don’t you?”

Two more beats of silence passed before the screech of chairs pushed against the floor, and the whistling, and surge followed.

Baden’s heart chugged like a freight train, roaring along with the thunder of the claps of hundreds of hands. He had given a speech to a room of filthy rich sophisticates—and received a standing ovation. He couldn’t remember a fucking word he’d said. It’s a damn good thing he had it on paper.

He leaned back to Gemma and spoke for her ears only. “God, that was painful. I’m shaking like a leaf. Is it time to leave yet?”

“Before you hand over the check? That was a hell-of-a speech, but they’d lock the doors if you tried to jet before you doled out the money.” She drew a paper out of her purse and put it in his hands, then nodded over his shoulder. “Here they come.”

The number on the check was surreal. He turned and his knees gave out. He grabbed for a chair. For the table. For anything that would keep him from falling flat on his face in front of the very man who had sent him to jail years ago. The man who was hell bent on getting into the prosecutor’s chair and didn’t care who he trod over to do so. Nor how many innocent kids he sentenced to waste their youth in a flawed justice system.

“I’ve got you now, you son of a bitch.” Hell, even the voice was the same. “You don’t have me fooled for one damn minute.” The man charged forward, sweat splattered across his forehead. The pit in Baden’s stomach rolled and dug in with a healthy sting that made him twinge. The vile taste of food resurfacing resonated against his tongue—God, don’t let me vomit here in front of this room of thousands. Not in front of Gemma. The world went dark.

He realized he had to be dreaming because his face was nestled exactly where he’d hoped. Right against Gemma’s perfect body. When she swiped a wet cloth over his head, he remembered what happened. He’d passed out. Hit the floor loud and hard. Great.

He swallowed back the vile in his throat and spoke only to her. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to do it. I was just…” In the wrong place at the right time like always.

A sea of curious faces hovered over them. They were pushed aside by a man in a white shirt with a blazing red cross stitched on the pocket and a stethoscope hanging. “Move aside everyone, let the man have air.”

Gemma released the comforting grip and, rather than lie down, Baden lifted to sit. He pulled a leg up and dropped a hand over it, not recognizing his own skin in the fancy clothes. She smiled, but the look in her eyes held concern—and perhaps a touch of fear. “You okay, boss? You dropped like a dove in hunting season.”

When the stethoscope pressed against his cold chest, he realized his shirt buttons had loosened. He glanced around. His mother—correction, Logan’s mother stood in the background. Her eyes were riveted to the open neck of the starched white cotton/silk blend. He shoved the metal from his chest and drew the buttons closed. “I’m fine. I’m fine. Just got a little queasy with all the excitement. Leave me alone.”

Gemma frowned. “You need to go to the hospital and get that checked.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I passed out. That’s what I get for skipping the meal and working like a fool.”

“All the more reason to get it checked out.”

No. That wasn’t happening. No one was going to “check him over”. Especially not anyone at a hospital. He picked himself off the floor and brushed the concerned hands away.

“I’m fine and I’m not going anywhere. Take this bozo in the nurse suit out of here and let’s get this party going.” He raised a hand and waved. “Sorry, folks. Pretty lame of me to take the limelight away from these fine folks, isn’t it? Still, there’s food on the tables and lots of drink at the bar. Please help yourself. Me, I’m going to grab a dance with my fine-looking assistant here before someone else steals her away.”

He grasped Gemma’s hand and strode toward the dance floor keenly aware that Sharon’s eyes bored holes into his back. Along with the District Attorney and a few others. Who cares? They probably all wished they were in his shoes at the moment.

The music was slow and he hoped she wouldn’t expect him to do something fancy because he doubted he was up to that. His head still oozed with the loss of blood. It was only a matter of minutes before they grabbed him, tossed handcuffs over his wrists, and hauled him away. Until they did, he’d keep going—keep pretending long enough to have something he could remember the rest of his life. This is what it feels like to be that guy. The everyday guy who made good.

“I thought you hated dancing.”

“What made you think that?”

“You’ve said it a thousand times. Every time you have to attend one of these things, in fact. You normally leave the minute someone tries to get you on the floor.”

“Not me. I wouldn’t do that.” Basically, that was true. He’d always loved to dance with the ladies and considered it mean to say no if someone asked. For some reason, they always asked. He wasn’t all that fancy and sophisticated but he had a little rhythm in him.

Gemma rolled her eyes. “No, not you.”

He searched the crowd for the very man that was sure to end his charade but couldn’t find him. “On second thought, let’s get out of here.”

“What? No. We can’t.” Her feet skipped a step and the heel of her shoe stabbed his toe.

Baden winced. “Sure we can. We are. Let’s go.” Without waiting for an answer or caring about Sharon and her new hubby, he pushed Gemma toward the side exit. A few steps down a quiet hall, they found an exterior door, and escaped into the darkness.

C
hapter Six

G
emma followed him because she
hadn’t a clue what else should be done. Everything smelled wrong. Sharon wasn’t what she had expected…contrary, she was a cold woman with little to no mothering instincts. The woman hadn’t even hugged him more than the once for the crowd, nor wanted to know a single thing he’d done. Though she was more than willing to take over his role as chair for the fundraiser.

The look on Sharon’s face when they arrived wasn’t a welcome—more shock and fear. An unexpected and odd combination. Was the woman afraid of her own son?

She struggled to remember the details of his family from his profile—there had been a sister when he was a child. She died young. His father disappeared soon after. Other than the many marriages his mother scurried through, she knew little about the woman. For all appearances, Sharon was a desperate woman seeking a man to keep her in Prada shoes and Escada dresses.

Not a single sign of love for a son showed in her features. Sharon was afraid of her own child.

“There’s the car.” Logan’s soft voice cut through her thoughts. For the oddest of reasons, it also cut through the coldness of the evening. She shivered. “Here, it’s a little chilly for a dress like that.” Logan slipped off his Armani suit coat and draped it over her shoulders. She stared at the fabric for a second before pulling it tight. It likely cost more than two month’s salary for her and it smelled—as if it had been hugging his neck for the past two hours. Mmmm.

Knock that thought right out of your head, girl, and replace it with something that makes sense. And mattered. Could she pull DNA from the fibers if she managed to hold onto it long enough to get it to the lab this time? He’d been too careful in the past. Had the vacation loosened him up? He was beginning to grow on her for the first time in two years. Unfortunately, in all the wrong ways.

“Thanks, Logan. Do you mind if I take a cab? It’s been a long day and I need to get home.” She reached for her cell to make the call.

“We can drop you.” He frowned and she realized she’d disappointed him. Again. Would he revert back to old ways and close up?

“I’m fine. Just go ahead…but I’ll hang onto this if you don’t mind. At least until tomorrow.” She flashed a weak smile as she held up the jacket lapel. Would he fall for it?

Nope. He shoved the door wide before the driver could reach them. “Get in. I’m not leaving you here in the middle of the night alone. Not looking like that.”

Gemma squelched the tingle that surged down her back—a mixture of disappointment and excitement. She blinked and glanced at the plunge in her neckline. “What’s wrong with the way I look?”

“Nothing. That’s the problem. Shove over.” He slid a leg against her thigh and used his weight to shift her aside.

“There’s a thousand people here. I don’t see what the—” She growled in frustration when her bag vibrated and the tone rang from within. Who would call at this time of night? She fumbled around for it then answered. The voice on the phone dismayed her further. Her boss—the real one.

“You want to tell me where the two of you are going?” Deep innuendo in his tone made her dart a glance at the profile next to her as they pulled from the lot into the street. They’re watching me? What, they don’t think I can handle this?

“Hi, Dad.” She forced a steady tone into her voice, knowing that her real father would likely not approve of the man at her side. Or would he? Wealthy, successful, and definitely easy on the eyes. A little too easy if she were honest. Not that her father would care about the looks. The tattoos might be a drawback.

“Don’t tell me you’re getting involved with our suspect, Gemma. You know how stupid that would be? Especially considering the fact that he’s probably not our suspect anyway—or is that why you’ve wasted two years on this case?”

Gulp. The hairs on her neck stood at attention and the flush of anger surged through her skin. He was watching. How long had that gone on?

“Come on now, Dad. You know I never waste my time on anything but work. Haven’t you said yourself I need to get out once in a while? Enjoy myself? How can I do that when you call me at the worst possible times? For all you know—”

“For all I know, you’re screwing Logan Indiris, which is why your case is stalled and you can’t seem to find one solid piece of evidence.”

A cloudy mist covered her vision, her eyes ached, and she put a thumb and forefinger to them and pressed back the need to scream…or cry. “Look, Dad. I appreciate your concern but I’m doing exactly what you wanted me to do. Really. And you calling me at this time of night isn’t exactly helping. Tell Mom and the rest Hi. Gotta go now. Love you.” She clicked the end button on the phone and dropped it back into the sequined bag, not before she heard the echo of her boss’ order to appear in his office Monday morning.

She balled her fists in her lap, the only thing she could do at the moment, and stared at the glitter of streetlights and cars that flashed past. There was noise and excitement in the night outside but inside the car—suffocating silence. Yet, if she spoke, she’d likely unload. Control, baby. Control. You’ve lasted this long. Now that he’s finally loosening his control, don’t give up. Or screw up. No, she’d somehow manage to convince her superiors to keep her on the case and by Monday, she’d find hard evidence that supported the suspicions she’d raised.

Logan’s rumbling voice broke the silence. “So, Daddy checks up on you regularly?”

“Yeah. Sorry.”

He snickered. “He’s just looking out for you. Nothing to be sorry about. We all need someone to do that.”

There was a hint of sarcasm in his voice, and she thought back to Sharon and the new hubby. Had she never looked out for his best interests? Doubtful, judging by the way she’d trounced in and taken over without his consent. Was his dad like that? Uh, obviously. Idiot. He erased himself from their lives when Logan was a teenager.

The fleeting light from the streetlights did nothing to display his expression. Would he lower the barricades that had kept her at bay? “Yeah, I guess we do. What about you? Tell me about your parents?”

He let out a low whistle. “You saw my mother. That pretty much says it all, doesn’t it?”

“You’re avoiding the question. Too close for comfort? It’s okay to ask about my life but yours is off-limits? What is that—a boss’ prerogative? One of those ‘it’s okay for me to pry into your life but don’t touch mine’ thing?” His months of crazy, awkward silence pissed her off. The new found personality or whatever it was he’d turned on also made her angry. Why now? What had changed? Recovery surely hadn’t been the come to Jesus that made him human. No one changed their spots that much.

He shifted and threw an arm behind her on the seat, his palm resting on the jacket he’d provided earlier. Awkward. His voice held a measure of threat…or admonishment, “You know as well as I do, everything about Logan Indiris’ family is a matter of public record. All you have to do is read the paper or search the internet, and you’ll know pretty much all you need. So, don’t act like I’m keeping secrets or that you don’t know me. Everyone does.” He glanced at the driver.

Do they really?

“Something tells me there’s a lot more than just what the public has seen, Logan. You’re hiding. Maybe you want people to think you’re an asshole just to keep the real you protected. Or maybe the real you isn’t something people should see?”

“So, now you’re a psychiatrist? Take a look at your own inner workings, honey. There’s nothing to see here. Besides why are you getting so defensive and combative just because I asked about your dad? I thought it was nice he called. What’s wrong with calling your daughter to make sure she’s okay?”

Nothing, if that’s what it truly was. She sighed. “I’m just…edgy. I guess. It’s been a stressful week.” She ran a hand across the back of her neck and yanked it down when he covered her fingers with his. When the feel of strong knuckles massaging her neck made her want to groan, she tried to salvage that control she had searched for earlier. “Stop that.”

“Why? You’re tense.”

“And you’re my damn boss. That is totally inappropriate.” When his fingers stilled, she wasn’t sure whether to apologize or get some distance between them. Her stomach churned. This man was kneading her neck muscles. God, if her real boss saw that through the window, she’d be fired for sure. She reminded herself that he was the same boss she hung up on seconds earlier. Yep, her job was in serious jeopardy.

“Well, I certainly don’t want to be inappropriate, so it’s a good thing we’re home.”

She looked out the window. His home. “I am not going in, Logan.”

“That’s good because I wasn’t asking you to.” He tapped on the glass that had kept them separated from the driver. “Can you please drop Gemma home?”

A car passed them and slowed into a driveway down the street. It was very likely someone from her precinct. She hesitated—would they expect her to go in or leave? Dammit all. Was she supposed to stick to him like glue for evidence purposes, or get the hell out in case they thought she was personally involved? Her head ached with the seesaw of priorities. How dare they think she would be interested in this guy! She watched Logan’s profile as he disappeared toward the door. Who was she kidding?

“Wait!”

He was almost to the door when she stepped out of the car. Now what? She had no idea.

“Don’t you want your jacket back?”

Okay, that was stupid. She had intended to keep the jacket and turn it over to the lab. As she watched him, she realized that maybe she should go for even better evidence. She should attempt to find something inside that would make her case. Support her efforts. Prove that the past two years hadn’t been a waste of time. Prove that the internal rumblings of her feminine side were just a fluke—a mechanism to save her career.

Logan shrugged and slipped his hands into the pockets of designer slacks that hugged his hips a bit tighter than she remembered. Had he gained weight during the short time away? “Since I have about a dozen jackets just like that, I doubt I’ll miss one. You said you were cold.”

“I did say that.” She knew she’d regret it but she pulled the jacket from her shoulders and walked to meet him. She held up the coat for him to take. “The car has a heater, I’ll be fine.”

He glanced down the street. Had he seen the car watching them? “I like to drink a hot cup of tea when I’m cold.”

He did? No kidding. “Me, too.” Uh, oh. What if he—

“This is probably inappropriate, too, but…want some?”

Shit.

“Um, yeah?”