When One Door Opens (16 page)

F
OSTER
had been prattling at him for close to ten minutes. Logan only needed to work three hours today before he could head over to Caleb’s, but the shift seemed endless. The redhead’s attempt at flirting wasn’t making it go by any faster. He couldn’t help wondering what game she was playing. On the surface, a guy with a record seemed like the right person to approach if she really did need new recruits. If Logan thought about ratting her out, she could get him fired or make a complaint to Dabb. The best thing to do was to avoid pissing her off, but he lacked patience today.

He’d tried calling Caleb several times over the weekend, getting a busy signal every time. He remembered their first meeting when Caleb said he sometimes had trouble with the phone when upset. Considering their last phone call, it wasn’t surprising he’d disabled the phone. That didn’t mean Logan wasn’t going to give him shit about it. What if there was an emergency? Caleb could screen his calls instead of taking the phone off the hook.

“You haven’t heard a word I’ve said,” Foster said, dragging Logan back to the conversation.

Hoping to avoid antagonizing her, Logan said, “Sorry, I’ve got a lot on my mind and I’ve got work to do before I head out.”

“Right,” she said, her face twisted in an ugly smirk. “Today’s the day you play nursemaid to the boss’s nephew. Do you get a thrill out of sponge-bathing the little freak?”

Logan gritted his teeth. “He ain’t no freak.”

“Temper, temper,” she said, running a finger down his chest. “You’ll be nice to me, if you know what’s good for you.”

“Fuck off, sweetheart,” Logan said, moving past her and pulling out his cell phone. His gut churned when once again he got a busy signal.
Why the fuck isn’t he answering?
He hit the End button on the phone and headed for the exit.

Two steps out of the warehouse, the phone rang and Logan nearly dropped it. He looked at the display before answering. “Michael,” he said, his voice sounding frazzled to his own ears.

“Are you okay?”

Hell, no. “I need to check on Caleb. He’s not answering the phone.”

“Sorry to call like this. I found out some info on your supervisor I thought you should know. Do you want to call me back later?”

Whatever Michael had discovered, it had to be big. He’d found the info fast. “Go ahead and tell me what you found out.”
It’ll keep me from going crazy on the ride over.

“The file wasn’t officially closed. I’m guessing the investigators hoped Klass would change his mind about going forward with an investigation.”

A cab pulled to the curb in front of Logan and stopped. He climbed in the backseat and barked the address to the cabbie. Leaning back against the squeaky vinyl upholstery, he asked, “What were you able to find out?”

“In forensic accounting, there are red flags that we look for when trying to ferret out employee theft and fraud. Karen Foster hits every one. Company dissatisfaction, which you mentioned when they changed her shift. I also learned her live-in boyfriend was fired at the same time when he refused a transfer to another facility. One of the security improvements my firm suggested was a policy forbidding dating or relationships between supervisors and hourly employees.”

She has plenty of other boyfriends to fill the gap
.

“A credit check showed she is in deep financial trouble.”

“Then why’s she paying to have her kitchen redone if she’s so tight on cash?” In a flash, the answer came to Logan. “She keeps making the contractor redo shit because she can’t pay for it when the job’s done.”

“I’m guessing she’s short on cash because of a misdemeanor charge she got six months ago. She was arrested for public drunkenness at the riverboat casino. Booze and bets are two big red flags.”

Logan had been around her enough to see signs of his former self in her, as much as he hated to admit it. Craving tequila at nine in the morning was a hell of a tip off. Adding gambling to the mix would only make her sink that much faster. “So what do I do next?”

“Stay the hell away from her or better yet, start looking for a new job. Eventually, greed will get the better of her and you don’t want to be anywhere near her when it does.”

“Why not go to Klass and get him to call the police?”

“Most of our investigations into employee theft don’t end in criminal charges even when we’ve got solid evidence.”

“Why the hell not?”

“Because it’s about business and not justice. Companies believe it is better to keep it quiet—avoiding media attention—than to prosecute.”

“Let me get this straight. They catch the employee stealing and all they do is fire the guy? That’s just asking for someone else to try it.”

“I tend to agree, but the alternative isn’t much better. It’s harder to convict than fire, and civil suits are expensive and the company rarely ends up recouping losses.”

Finally understanding, Logan said, “And even if you caught the guy with a box of iPods, you couldn’t prove all the other shit he likely stole before then.”

“Exactly, and that’s when there’s proof. Everything I’ve found out about Foster is circumstantial. It shows she has the profile of a typical employee that steals, but it doesn’t prove anything.”

Logan rubbed his aching forehead. “I can’t just quit, Michael. A steady job is a condition of my parole and my PO was the one who got me this job. There aren’t many options with a felony conviction for assault on my record.”

“If you need—”

“Don’t. Just don’t, man. I don’t want your money.”

There was a long pause and then Michael said, “How about my friendship, Logan? Do you want that?”

Logan knew the answer he should say, but he couldn’t get the word “no” past his lips. Instead, he found himself saying, “They have Al-Anon meetings at the center where I go. Would you be willing to try going to one?”

“Isn’t that for family members of alcoholics?”

“Friends, too. But you’re more family to me than my old man ever was.”

His voice sounding a bit strangled, Michael said, “Just let me know where and when.”

Grateful, Logan ended the call with a promise to call back with the information.
When he reached Caleb’s building, he found himself heading up the stairs, three at a time. Once at the door, he knocked, louder than usual. When he tried again and got no response, he pulled out Klass’s spare key. He hesitated a moment before putting the key in the slot and unlocking it. He tried to open the door, but the security chain was actually in place this time.

“Hey, Caleb. It’s Logan. Get off your ass and unchain the door.” He listened, trying to hear any sign of movement from within the apartment, but heard nothing. “Open the door or you’ll be paying a locksmith to fix it.” When he got no response, he turned to the side, butting his shoulder against the door. He grabbed the doorknob and shoved against it with all his weight. The metal snapped under the strain, sending wooden splinters flying. He quickly scanned the main room and kitchen. Finding no sign of Caleb, he headed for the bedroom.

He’d never been in Caleb’s bedroom before. To the right, he spotted a doorway that presumably led to the master bathroom. A treadmill sat on the left side of the room and a king-sized bed in the middle. Logan spotted a motionless lump buried under a mound of dark blankets. His heart made an appearance in his throat, and he forgot how to breathe. He rushed over to the side of the bed, but hesitated for a moment before touching what he thought was Caleb’s shoulder. After an incredibly long three seconds, Logan heard Caleb groan in his sleep, his body rocking back and forth slightly. Logan dropped to his knees and rested his forehead against the comforter, trying to calm his racing heart. Looking down, he realized the damp towel he knelt on was clicking. He pushed back the towel, revealing the phone off the hook. “Caleb,” he said, peeling back the blanket from Caleb’s head.

Caleb was lying on his side with his arms crossed like a mummy, looking every bit as pale as the walking undead. Logan noticed how pronounced the bags were under Caleb’s eyes and how sallow his skin appeared. Logan blinked and then squinted in the dim light, pulling the blanket back further to get a better look.
Duct tape? Why would he have tape wrapped around his wrist and hand?
“Aw, hell.” Caleb’s fingers had swollen to twice their normal size and the skin looked red and angry.

Logan flinched when Caleb’s eyes snapped open, pupils blown wide. For the span of two ragged breaths, no one moved. Then adrenaline kicked in. One minute Caleb was buried under the covers and in the next, he was across the room, scrambling on his hands and knees with no regard to his likely broken wrist. Logan imagined he could hear the bones grinding as Caleb moved toward the other side of the room.
Jesus
. He needed to stop him before he caused permanent damage.

“Let me help you,” Logan said, kind of loud, and Caleb jerked back, scrunching himself into the corner, his head bowed on his knees, cradling his injured arm to his chest at an awkward angle.

When he got no response, Logan tried again, willing his voice to sound calm. “Everything’s going to be okay.” He held out his arms the way one would when pacifying a frightened horse. He moved sideways, not approaching Caleb yet, to position himself in front of the bedroom door. Caleb might be frantic enough to make a break for it. “You need to go to the doctor and get that wrist fixed,” Logan said, moving closer and ignoring Caleb’s flinch from either his words or his sudden nearness.

“Please don’t make me,” Caleb whispered, lifting his head to look at Logan.

Logan swallowed hard. The pain and misery in Caleb’s eyes was difficult to witness. “You gotta let me help you.”

Caleb’s whole body seemed to wither as his shoulders slumped even further and his chin dropped to his chest. His voice sounded like a ragged plea. “Let me stay here. My wrist is fine.” Logan could hear the tears in Caleb’s voice even though his cheeks were dry. Caleb kept repeating the word
fine
over and over again as if he could wish it so.

Logan wanted a drink so badly, but the booze would never make it past the lump in his throat. Part of him wanted to agree, to let Caleb stay home just to stop his voice from sounding so goddamn broken. But Caleb needed help and hiding under the covers wouldn’t magically reset bone. Logan pulled out his cell phone and texted a message to Klass:
Need help. C hurt
. He hoped the old man was wearing his cell phone. He didn’t want to risk talking to Klass on the phone in front of Caleb, and he couldn’t bring himself to leave the room. Caleb had spent far too much time alone and in pain.
My fault.
Guilt threatened to rise up and take hold of Logan, but he pushed it down. Caleb needed him now.

His cell phone beeped, and Logan fumbled to turn off the sound as Caleb started hyperventilating. Logan read the one word message:
ambulance?
He looked at Caleb trembling against the wall as he gulped in huge breaths. He texted
Y
and hit the Send button. He was so focused on the button, he nearly missed Caleb’s escape attempt. Caleb darted to the side pushing off the wall in an effort to get around Logan. Logan grabbed him around the middle, and lifted him in the air before settling the frightened man in his lap. He made shushing noises against the back of Caleb’s neck as Caleb whimpered and struggled against the hold, trying to pry Logan’s hands from his waist. The pungent smell of sweat and the faint odor of vomit made Logan’s nose itch, but he didn’t dare loosen his grip. “I’m so sorry, Caleb. I shouldn’t have waited. I shoulda made Klass hand over the key on Friday.”

Caleb sobbed into his hand, refusing to look at Logan. The sight of his tears tugged strings Logan didn’t know he had. “You’re okay,” Logan said into the side of Caleb’s throat, kissing his warm skin.

A few minutes later, Logan heard loud knocking and the sound of voices from the main room.
The paramedics move fast in this neighborhood.
He could hear Klass’s voice, likely explaining about the panic attacks.

Logan felt faintly embarrassed when the paramedics and Klass stopped in the doorway, eyes wide as they took in the sight of Caleb cradled in his lap. His glare compelled the guys to get moving. He slid Caleb to the ground, but stayed close by. The paramedics traded info back and forth that meant nothing to Logan as they assessed Caleb’s condition. Heart rate one-fifty. Blood pressure one-forty over ninety. Sweating but not diaphoretic. “We’re here to help you, sir,” said the paramedic on blood pressure duty. “I need you to tell me what happened, Caleb.”

The other paramedic turned to Logan. “Can you get us some more light?”

Logan leaped to his feet, glad to have something to do. He took two steps toward the window before Caleb made a low keening sound. Turning, Logan saw the paramedics scramble to keep Caleb from moving.

“You’re hurting him,” Logan said, and it came out in a snarl that surprised even him. Caleb twitched violently and the paramedic holding his arms looked warily over his shoulder. Logan sighed and made an effort to lower his voice again. “His wrist looks broken.” Something caught his eye and he angled his head to see into the bathroom. “The shower curtain’s been torn off the rod.”

The paramedic’s expression changed, looking chagrined and then crossing over into concerned. “If he fell, there’s a possibility he hit his head as well. He could be suffering from a head injury in addition to the anxiety.” He shared a look with his partner, and Logan’s gut rolled. “Sir, when you fell in the shower, did you hit your head?” the paramedic asked as his partner rose and walked to the bathroom. “Did you lose consciousness?” He moved his hand slowly over Caleb’s scalp.

Caleb froze, and his eyes grew distant. “It hurt and then time got all slippery like the soap.”

The partner came back into the room, looking grim. “There’s some blood and vomit on the floor.” Looking behind Logan, the man said, “We need to prep him for transport.”

Logan had forgotten Klass was in the room until he spoke. “Are you sure that’s necessary?”

Logan valiantly resisted the urge to strangle the man.