Beneath The Surface

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“Then they didn’t do a very good one,” the bartender retorted. “It’s not like this guy was raiding his wife’s closet and parading around the house in her clothes. He’s going out in public! And if he’ll do this, what else is he doing? He works with kids, for heaven’s sake!”

Logan could understand his worries, but just because the man liked wearing female clothes didn’t mean he was a threat to the bartender’s kids or anyone else. “I’ll check it out and get back to you,” he promised. “Thanks for the lead.”

Excusing himself to question other witnesses about the robbery, Logan had to fight back a grin of anticipation. He couldn’t wait to see Nick’s face when he told him he’d gotten not one story tonight, but two. His boss would be shocked, and Logan couldn’t blame him. He’d shown little interest in work over the last year.

That was about to change, he silently acknowledged as he headed back to the office. He didn’t know what had happened to spark the change, but over the last couple of days, he’d found himself more interested in work, more interested in life. When his family heard about the change in him, they would say that he was finally getting over Faith’s death and would thank God for it, but nothing could have been further from the truth. He missed his wife more every day and had never been lonelier. Maybe he was just coming to accept the fact that he would feel that way the rest of his life.

Thankful that he had work to distract him from that thought, he grabbed his notes on the bar robbery, booted up his computer and threw himself into the story. He wasn’t one of those writers who had to sit and think and wait for the muse to strike. As a reporter, he just didn’t have time for that. The second his fingers touched the keyboard, they were flying.

Lost in his story, he didn’t realize he was no longer alone until Josh Garrison drawled, “Well, look who’s busy burning the midnight oil. Not that it’s midnight yet,” he added, “but you don’t strike me as a man who works overtime. I thought you left hours ago.”

Logan barely bit back a curse. What the devil was he doing there? Tomorrow’s deadline had come and gone, and the newspaper offices were practically deserted. Oh, Nick was still there—he always stayed after hours just in case a late story broke—but he was holed up in his office. Everyone else had either gone home or was out working on a piece for tomorrow’s deadline…which was why Logan often came in after the paper had been put to bed. The phones were silent, and he had the place to himself. Or at least he usually did.

Wanting to tell Garrison to take a long walk off a short pier, he growled, “I could say the same thing about you, Garrison. What do you want?”

He made no effort to be nice to the guy. He hadn’t liked him from day one, though he’d tried to be civil. Garrison, however, hadn’t made it easy. He made snide remarks whenever he thought he could get away with it, then smiled like a politician and said all the right things whenever Nick was around. As far as Logan was concerned, the man was nothing but a two-faced brownnoser, and he wanted nothing to do with him.

Garrison, however, seemed to enjoy goading him. Far from being offended by his curtness, he only smiled smugly. “I’m here for the same reason you are—to work. Or didn’t Nick tell you? He called me in to give me the Terry Saenz story. You do know who Saenz is, don’t you?”

Logan didn’t bother to answer. Of course he knew who Saenz was. The story had just broken an hour ago and was all over the airways. Saenz was an award-winning cop who’d taken a bullet for his partner last year when they’d been ambushed by a south-side gang. He’d nearly died from being shot in the chest. Once he recovered from his injury, he’d made it his mission in life to visit every school in town and warn the kids of the dangers of belonging to a gang.

The man was a bona fide hero—or at least he had been until he was arrested earlier in the evening for dealing drugs. According to the radio report, the shooting last year hadn’t been just a random act of violence, as first thought. Saenz had been dealing drugs to the gang member who’d shot him.

“Congratulations,” Logan told Josh sardonically. “It looks like you hit the jackpot.”

“It’s a hell of a story. You should have seen Nick—though I guess you know how gleeful he gets when a good story comes in. He’s already called down to production and told them to save room for the piece on tomorrow’s front page. And the story that broke today is only the tip of the iceberg. Once the police investigate Saenz further, there’s no telling what they’ll come up with. So you can expect to see my byline a hell of a lot over the next few months. Then there’ll be the trial, of course. You can bet that’s going to be heavily covered. I’m sure the news services will pick it up. Before this is over, I may be as well-known as you used to be.”

He was deliberately trying to rile him, but Logan didn’t even flinch. What did old man Porter’s granddaughter see in this jerk? Headlines and bylines weren’t always a testament of how well someone did his job. Granted, before Faith died, he was the one who’d gotten the top assignments and whose stories regularly made the front page, but he’d never once taunted other reporters about it. That wasn’t his way. Writing was personal for him—all he’d cared about was doing the best job he could. He didn’t keep track of what his co-workers were doing. He didn’t care because it had nothing to do with him.

In the world of print journalism, however, he knew he was the exception rather than the rule. Most reporters would do anything to get a front page story, and the competition was fierce. From what Logan had seen of Garrison so far, it was obvious the man would sell his own mother to get ahead. He thought he was hot stuff and it showed.

Idiot. Let him have the headlines and his fifteen minutes in the spotlight, Logan thought in disgust. He wasn’t worried about Garrison or threatened by him. Logan was well-known in the city and had connections at the police department and informants who called him on a regular basis. He had plenty of stories to write, stories that Garrison wouldn’t even know where to go to get.

So if the jackass expected him to be gnashing his teeth in jealousy over his big coup, he could think again.

“It sounds like you’re going to be damn busy,” he said dryly. “You’d better get started on tomorrow’s story or you’re going to have Nick breathing down your neck. If he gets it in his head that you can’t meet your deadlines, he won’t hesitate to assign someone else to the job.”

“I guess you would know that better than anyone, wouldn’t you?”

Disliking him more than ever, but refusing to be goaded, Logan growled, “You’re damn straight. I haven’t been as dependable as I should have been over the last year—which is why you’re here. If you don’t want to meet your replacement, I suggest you don’t miss your deadlines.”

His point made, he turned back to his computer. A few long seconds later, Garrison stalked past him to his own desk. Logan never spared him a glance. His eyes trained on his computer screen, he cleared his head of all thoughts except the facts of the bar robbery, and focused on his opening sentence. Once he had that, it was easy. His fingers again flew over the keys, and just that quickly, he was caught up in his writing.

Later, he couldn’t have said when Garrison finished his own story and left. Logan’s eyes were glued on his computer monitor. Reading over what he’d written, he was, for the most part, more than satisfied. The last paragraph needed some work, but he wasn’t worried about that. For the first time in a long time, the old edge that had been the trademark of his writing before Faith died was back. Nick would be pleased. Hell, Logan was pleased! He’d almost forgotten what it was like to write something he was proud of.

“Logan? I didn’t know you were coming back tonight.”

Glancing up from his writing, he found his sister-in-law, Samantha, walking toward him with a smile as big as Texas on her face. Amused, he had to admit that he’d always had a special place in his heart for Sam. It was through her that he’d met Faith at a high-school football game. Sam had arranged their first date without discussing it with either one of them, and when Faith died, the two of them grieved together over the woman they’d both loved. He’d helped Sam get a job in payroll at the paper several years ago, and every two weeks or so, they went out to dinner to catch up on each other’s lives. She was family and always would be.

“Hey, Sam, what are you doing here? You’re not usually around this late.”

“There was a computer glitch,” she said with a grimace. “And payroll had to go out tonight. We just finished.” Glancing at his computer, she said, “What are you working on? I thought you were done for the day.”

“I was…until I followed up on something I heard on the police scanner. I wanted to get it down on paper while the details were still fresh.”

“Are you almost done? We could go to dinner…if you don’t have any plans, of course.”

She made the suggestion casually, but there was nothing casual about the emotions churning inside her. Logan was hers—he just didn’t know it yet. She’d loved him since she was ten years old, but she was the younger sister and she’d never stood a chance once he met Faith. But Faith was dead and gone and in spite of his claims to the contrary, he wouldn’t grieve for her sister forever. There would come a time when he would decide that he didn’t want to go through the rest of his life alone.

And when he did, she intended to be there, waiting for him. Over the course of the last year, she’d played her cards carefully and she and Logan had become closer then ever. He trusted her. Once he finally got over Faith’s death, she’d do whatever she had to to make him fall in love with her. It was just a matter of time.

His gaze drifting back to his computer screen, he said absently, “No, I don’t have any plans. I was just going to go home and have a frozen pizza. Give me a minute here…” Frowning, he typed a few sentences, then quickly reread what he’d written. When he finally looked up, he smiled. “There! All done. So where do you want to go? What are you in the mood for?”

“It doesn’t matter,” she said with a shrug as he shut down his computer and rose to his feet. “I just didn’t want to eat alone.”

Frowning, he lifted a dark brow. “Don’t tell me—you broke up with Wyatt, didn’t you? Dammit, Sam, you two were so good together. What happened?”

She’d only been using Wyatt to try to make Logan see her as a woman. When it hadn’t worked, she’d dumped him. “He was too controlling. The longer we dated, the more he wanted to take over my life. I couldn’t take it anymore.”

“No kidding? I would never have thought he was the controlling type. That’s too bad.”

Heading downstairs with her, he escorted her across the street to the Front Page Diner. Not surprisingly, the place was virtually deserted after the newspaper was put to bed. They took a corner booth and gave their orders to the waitress without having to look at the menu.

“It seems like ages since we’ve had dinner together,” Samantha said after the waitress set glasses of iced tea in front of them. “So…what have you been doing? You look great. In fact, you look better than you have in a long time. What’s going on?”

Sitting back, he grinned. “Patty and Carter signed me up for a dating service.”

“What?”

He chuckled. “Yeah, that’s what I said. They were worried about me. They felt like I needed to get out in the world more.”

“Out in the world!” she said sharply. “What are they talking about? When you’re working, you go all over the city, talking to all kinds of people. If that’s not getting out, I don’t know what is.”

“They meant dating, Sam. They don’t want me to spend the rest of my life alone.”

“But you’re not going to date anyone from a dating service!” When he didn’t reply, she frowned. “You’re not, are you? You didn’t already go out with someone, did you?”

“No, of course not. Though I did call someone,” he admitted. “Patty and Carter spent a lot of money to sign me up for this and I couldn’t just let them throw that away.”

The waitress arrived with their food then, but Samantha didn’t even look at hers. Logan didn’t notice. “So?” she asked when he dug into his chicken as if he hadn’t eaten in a week. “How did it go?”

“Fine,” he replied. “She was nice. Believe it or not, I even asked her out.”

“I thought you said you didn’t go out with anyone.”

Even to her own ears, she sounded like a jealous girlfriend, and she wasn’t surprised when Logan’s eyes narrowed. But all he said was, “I didn’t. She turned me down.”

Startled, Samantha nearly choked on a sip of tea. “Are you serious? Why?”

He shrugged. “It wasn’t anything personal. She doesn’t have a lot of confidence in herself. She just wants to talk on the phone. I’m calling her Friday.”

Samantha almost laughed. Let him talk to her. She didn’t need to fear a woman who was afraid to even go out with a guy. Talk about a loser! Logan would never be interested in a woman like that. And he was going to be hers, she silently vowed. She already knew that he cared for her. Now all she had to do was wait until he was open to loving someone again, and she would have the inside track on winning his heart. As for the loser who paid for a dating service, then was too much of a chicken to actually go out with someone, she could call someone else. Logan St. John was Sam’s. It was just a matter of time.

Smiling confidently, she relaxed and dug into her meal as heartily as he was.

From there, the conversation drifted to politics and news stories and what various family members were doing. Samantha could have sat there and talked to him all night, but not long after they both finished their meal, he called the waitress over for their bill. “I hate to break this up,” he told Samantha as he pulled out his wallet, “but it’s getting late, and I want to work on my screenplay some before I go to bed.”

“Of course,” she said, and reached for her purse.

They’d always gone dutch whenever they went out, and this time was no different. Leaving their payment on the table for the waitress to collect later, they naturally fell in step as they crossed the street to the Gazette’s employee parking lot. Twilight was falling, but it wasn’t completely dark yet. Still, Logan escorted Samantha to her car.

“You know, you don’t have to do this,” she told him with twinkling eyes as she unlocked her door. “The parking lot’s well lit and your car’s only three aisles over from mine. I’m perfectly safe.”

“If you don’t like it, take it up with my mother,” he said with a grin. “She raised all of us boys to walk a lady to her car. Anyway, you can’t be too safe, so indulge me. It’s a man’s job to protect his family.”

Her smile never wavered, but deep inside, she winced. She wasn’t family dammit! Rising up on tiptoe, she pressed a kiss to his cheek. Ever since Faith had died, she’d started kissing him on the cheek whenever they parted. And his response this time, as always, was the same. He ruffled her hair as if she were a four-year-old and growled, “Call me if you need anything.”

What she needed was for him to hold her and kiss her like she was the love of his life. Unfortunately, her dead sister still held that position.

Fighting the need to throw herself into his arms, Samantha told herself he had to feel the chemistry between them. He just wasn’t ready to acknowledge it. He would, though, she promised herself grimly. She just had to give him more time.

“Let’s go to the movies next week instead of going out to dinner,” she said. “I’ll call you.”

Giving him a quick hug, she slipped into her car and drove away. Watching her disappear down the street Logan frowned. He hadn’t missed the anger in her eyes or her sharp comments. Obviously, she was more upset about breaking up with Wyatt than she’d let on. And that was a damm shame. She was a good kid, he thought affectionately. She always had been. But losing Faith had been as hard on her as it had on him. She and Faith had been best friends, and her death had left a huge hole in Sam’s life. Over the last year, she’d lost a lot of weight. And there was a sadness in her eyes that broke Logan’s heart.

He’d thought she was getting better—ever since she’d started dating Wyatt Christian, she’d seemed so happy. Logan had thought they were perfect for each other, but obviously, he’d been wrong. And that was too damn bad. She deserved someone special. Maybe he’d ask some of his friends if they knew someone she might be interested in. She’d be horrified when she found out about it, but she’d just have to live with it. That was what family was for.

Chapter 4

“Hi, Logan. This is Abby Saunders…”

Grabbing a cold soda from his refrigerator as his answering machine rattled off his messages, Logan found himself smiling as Abby’s voice, wry with amusement, filled his kitchen. So she’d called some of the other men on her list of possible dates, had she? he thought with a grin. Considering her shyness, he was surprised she’d worked up the nerve. From the sound of it, her calls hadn’t gone any better than his.

At least she could laugh about it, he thought, as he listened to the rest of her message. He wondered if she realized how special that made her. Probably not. From what he’d been able to tell, she didn’t appear to think that she was the least bit remarkable, which was a crying shame. She was upbeat and positive…and flat-out nice! The only negative thing he’d heard her say had been about herself. She didn’t seem to have a clue how rare that was. Why was she so insecure? Who had made her doubt herself? Her parents? Her first boyfriend? Whoever it was, Logan hoped he got the chance to one day tell them off. It was no less than they deserved.

Her message ended and the next one started. Not even listening to the reminder that he a dental checkup scheduled for the following day, he quickly looked through some papers on the kitchen table and found Abby’s phone number. It wasn’t until he’d placed the call that he realized that it was nearly ten o’clock at night. She was probably getting ready for bed—

“Hello?”

He recognized the lilting softness of her voice immediately and felt something shift inside him that he couldn’t put a name to. Frowning, he didn’t give himself time to analyze it. Instead, he told himself it was just his imagination, then proceeded to ignore it. “Hi, Abby. I hope I’m not calling too late.”

“Logan! Oh, no, not at all,” she said in a pleased tone. “I was just—Buster, no!”

When she gasped, then giggled, Logan grinned. “Why do I have a feeling I caught you in the middle of something? Buster’s not one of the men on your date list, is he?”

She chuckled. “Not hardly. He’s my dog. I’m giving him a bath and he decided this was a good time to shake.”

Even though he didn’t have a clue what she looked like, Logan could picture her on her knees next to the bathtub as a big shaggy dog shook water all over her and her bathroom. Most of the women he knew wouldn’t dream of bathing their dogs themselves, and they certainly wouldn’t laugh when they got soaked, but Abby couldn’t stop giggling even as she warned Buster to behave.

“It sounds like you’ve got your hands full. I can call back later, if you prefer.”

“Oh, no!” she protested quickly. “Now that this mangy mutt of mine has soaked me and the bathroom, he’s curled up on the bath mat, cleaning his paws. Let me throw a towel over him and we can talk.”

A few seconds later, she sighed in relief. “There! What a workout! I hadn’t planned to bathe him tonight, but he loves water, and I forgot to shut the door when I was filling the tub for a bath.”

Moving into the living room, Logan sank down into his favorite chair, a recliner Faith had bought for him on his thirtieth birthday, and popped his feet up in one smooth motion. “When I was a kid, we had a German shepherd that used to do that. He drove my mother nuts. So what kind of dog is Buster?”