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Since that was obviously a rhetorical question, she didn’t answer directly. Instead, she reached out, touching his arm in a comforting gesture.
He wasn’t acting this way because he wanted to be rid of her now they’d had sex. Patrick was a single dad. A fact that she’d allowed herself to forget. He had responsibilities, children who needed him home.
She hung her head, knowing he couldn’t see her guilty face in the dark. Inside her bag was her cell phone—a fact she hadn’t bothered sharing with him because she’d been so busy trying to lure him into indiscretion.
She had a choice.
She could continue to pretend there was no phone in her bag.
Or she could admit to the phone, hoping her acting abilities were good enough that he’d believe she’d forgotten the stupid thing or simply assumed it wouldn’t work.
A long, silent minute ensued. She felt his urgency and her own conflicted feelings.
But most of all, she found herself remembering how it felt to be parentless. That sense of utter desolation—that you didn’t belong to anyone anymore. That the place where you were safest and most special was gone forever, along with those who’d loved you best.
Patrick’s son, Dylan, was nine, little Fiona five. She’d met them a couple of times at the office and she’d liked them. They were quiet, well-behaved kids. Both times they’d come with their Aunt Shannon, Patrick’s firefighter sister, and the four of them had gone out for lunch. She could see that lunch with Dad was a big treat.
They must have been so young when their mother died.
She took a deep breath. He was never going to believe she’d forgotten she had her phone. She’d have to go with the brainless angle, which irked her.
“Is there a chance my cell phone would work?” she asked simply.
The silence thickened. “You have a cell phone on you?”
“In my bag. Yes.”
“Why didn’t you say so earlier?”
Because I wanted you to seduce me so I could ruin your political career. She couldn’t say that, so she stuck with dumb. “But surely all the phone lines will be affected by the aftershock.”
“Briana, cell phones work by satellite. It might not work in an elevator, but let’s give it a try.”
She dug into her bag, pulled out her cell and handed it to him.
She felt his haste and then saw the eerie green glow as he flipped open the phone.
As he punched numbers and the call went through, she felt more and more like an evil woman keeping a single father from the children who needed him.
“Mrs. Simpson? It’s Patrick. How’s everyone? Are the kids safe? Did the earthquake scare them?”
He must have liked the answers he was getting because she felt him relax, and his tone became less urgent.
“Look, I’m going to be late. I’m stuck in an elevator at work. That’s right. No. I’m fine. Can you stay? It could be morning before we get out of here. Depends what the damage is like.”
She heard him give a sigh of relief. “Are Fiona and Dylan asleep? Good. Please go ahead and sleep in the guest room. I’m sorry about this. Right. I’ll see you then.”
He hung up and blew out a long breath. “The baby-sitter can stay,” he said, handing her back the phone. “Thank God everyone’s all right.”
Then he sank back against the elevator wall.
She chuckled. She couldn’t stop herself.
“What’s funny?”
“I’m thinking, since the cell phone works, maybe we should make a second call. Like to 911, to get us out of here.”
He laughed right along with her, a deep, rich sound, as though she’d made the funniest joke he’d ever heard. “Sorry, I got so caught up in my kids I wasn’t thinking straight.” And that, she thought, ought to let her off the hook for not telling him about her cell phone earlier. After an earthquake, not thinking straight seemed a perfectly acceptable excuse. For a lot of things.
Thank goodness it was dark, so Patrick couldn’t see her smile. Once he knew his kids were fine, he was obviously so happy to stay stuck here with her that it didn’t matter to him when they were rescued. Truth was, she was just as happy.
Right now, her body still pulsing with its own aftershocks of remembered pleasure, she could simply enjoy her new lover’s closeness, reach out and touch him if she liked, lean into him and inhale the all male scent of his skin.
She heard Patrick’s voice on the phone to the 911 operator. He called her by name. Dorothy. Of course, he probably knew all the 911 operators from his days as fire chief. Whatever he’d done to get the job, he was a good mayor. He asked about the damage elsewhere in the city.
She heard his tone change, and he uttered a sharp-edged curse.
“No, Dorothy,” he said. “We’re fine. Put us on lowest priority. I don’t care. I want the full crew on that basement suite fire. Any idea how many people are inside?”
Briana’s warm and fuzzy postcoital glow faded fast. She’d been so caught up with her own predicament, she hadn’t considered that there were other people in town who hadn’t fared as well as she had.
“What else is going on, Dorothy? Come on. No BS. I need to know.”
She didn’t even think, but reached out to grab his free hand, knowing he was hearing bad news and was powerless to do anything to help.
“Oh, no,” he said. “I take my kids to that corner store for Saturday afternoon treats after Dylan’s baseball games. Is the fatality confirmed?”
He sighed deeply and she knew the answer. “Just the one?”
Here she and Patrick had been celebrating their own escape from disaster, and someone had been killed.
“No…just a minute.” He turned to Briana. “There are some fires and a collapsed building in town. Okay with you if we go to the bottom of the list? We’ll be rescued by morning, but I’m not sure exactly when.”
Well, her bladder would start complaining at some point, and she could use a meal, but she wasn’t all that uncomfortable, and it was tough to ask for priority treatment when people were in a lot more desperate straits than she was. So Briana squeezed his hand as a thank-you for asking. “Of course, I’m fine.”
He squeezed back. “You’re one in a million,” he said, then turned back to the phone. “We’re fine, Dorothy. I’ll give you the cell phone number here. We’ll call again if anything changes, but so far we’re stable.”
He ended the call and handed Briana her phone. She felt as though a huge weight had been lifted off her chest. Even if she’d owned up to her phone earlier, nothing would have changed. She knew Patrick would have made the same decision then that he’d made now. The people of Courage Bay came first.
She sighed, and leaned into him. “How bad is it?”
“One confirmed fatality. The convenience store near my house collapsed tonight. A woman died when a falling beam hit her. She’s unidentified so far. Probably the cashier.”
She touched his shoulder in comfort. If the convenience store was near his home, chances were that Patrick knew the woman.
“And you said something about a fire?”
“Yes. House fire. Looks to be contained in a basement suite over on Eighth. The fire crew’s still working on it. No idea yet if there was anyone inside.” He cursed, softly and viciously. “If council hadn’t vetoed my motions to add to the emergency forces, maybe we could have responded quicker.”
Briana swallowed an unpleasant lump in her throat. She knew as well as anyone that it was her uncle Cecil who was leading the pack that kept vetoing Patrick’s proposals. Uncle Cecil referred to the new mayor as a hothead, and Patrick was just young enough, and passionate enough, that the notion took with the primarily older, established members of council. They had voted with her uncle against Patrick.
“None of the councilors have ever gone through anything like this before,” she said hesitantly, instinctively defending her uncle’s actions, even though Patrick had no notion of her close relationship to his bitter enemy.
“Well, it’s time they dragged their heads out of their asses and took a look around. People have died needlessly because we couldn’t respond effectively when they needed help.”
She noticed he said “we” when he referred to the rescue teams, and Briana realized that even though he was mayor now, Patrick still identified with the emergency personnel.
Following her train of thought, she asked, “Why did you give up being fire chief to go for the mayor’s job?” Even to her own ears, she sounded wistful. For a moment she daydreamed that he hadn’t ever done such a thing. Then her uncle would be mayor and she would undoubtedly have come to Courage Bay for a visit, or to work for Uncle Cecil, as he’d planned.
In a city of eighty-five thousand, she might easily have met Patrick O’Shea the fire chief, and how different everything would have been. She was single; he was single. There would have been no reason for them to deny the instant and powerful attraction that had sprung up between them.
“I was mad as hell,” he said. “The former mayor made a joke out of our town. I got on my high horse and told anyone who wanted to listen my ideas for how to improve Courage Bay.”
He laughed softly. “Some of my friends got together and raised a few bucks for a campaign and put my name forward. I was already a declared candidate before I’d even made up my mind.”
“Do you miss being a firefighter?” she asked.
“I miss the action. I miss being able to do something right now that’s going to save a life. I’d rather face a twenty-foot wall of fire than some of the council meetings I’ve been stuck in lately. But I’ve got kids and…”
He didn’t finish the sentence, but she immediately guessed the real reason behind the switch. Once his wife had died, he didn’t want to continue in a dangerous job and risk orphaning his kids. Good for him.
“How about you?” he asked her. “You know as well as I do that you’re overqualified for this job. In fact, you almost didn’t get it because of that fact.”
“Really? Who wanted to pass on me, you or Archie?” Archie Weld, the communications manager for the city, had interviewed her first. Only the final candidates had gone on to interviews with Patrick.
“Don’t hit me, but I was the one with concerns.”
Smart guy.
“Archie talked me into hiring you. He said the way things were going in our city this past year with the mudslides, the fires, the earthquakes and murders that I’d be crazy not to jump on you.” He cleared his throat and said, with a touch of humor, “Figuratively speaking of course.”
“Of course.”
“I assumed you were taking the job to get a foot in the door, and then you’d start applying for more challenging positions. But I was wrong, wasn’t I? I still can’t figure out why you took the job.”
She was on shaky ground, but she wanted to be as honest as she could with the man she’d just made love with. “I wanted a change from the Midwest. I’ve always loved California. So, you’re right in one way. But I won’t start looking for another job right away. That wouldn’t be fair to you.”
“I don’t want to argue with you, but based on what—”
“Then don’t argue,” she said, cutting him off with a kiss. It took her a few times to find his mouth. First she kissed his cheek, the bump of his nose and finally his lips. When she finally pulled back, she said, “Looks like we’re stuck here for a while longer.” Her voice dropped to a sexy whisper. “Just the two of us, in the dark.” She ran her index finger up his arm. “I can think of one way to help pass the time.”
Even as she tipped her head toward him, his hand was cradling the back of her head and his lips covered hers. Give the man credit, he wasn’t slow on the uptake.
“PATRICK? BRIANA? You okay?” The strong clear female voice jerked Briana awake. She heard the welcome whirr of the generator and then the sound of thumping and banging.
As she lifted her head from Patrick’s shoulder, which she’d used as a pillow, a sharp crick in her neck had her stifling a howl of pain. She rubbed her neck while Patrick squeezed her shoulder, then rose to his feet and moved toward the front of the elevator.
“Hey, Shannon!” he yelled. “Hope we didn’t haul you out of bed for this.”
“For that crack, you get to buy the coffee.”
“Get us out of here and I’ll buy you breakfast. Anything you want.” He turned to Briana. “My sister, Shannon,” he said, overly cheerful. “She’s a truckie on Engine One. She’s the best.”
“Great,” Briana said, equally hearty as she struggled to her feet.
Already the real world was close and awkwardness crowded in as they stood together listening to the noises indicating imminent rescue.
Suddenly Patrick pulled her to him and kissed her hot and hard.
He took her hands and held them loosely. She wished she could see his face, but even though the generator was thrumming, the elevator was still in darkness. “I’m going to have to give you your job back now. Are you sure you want it?”
Silence pressed against her chest. She understood what he was saying. The minute she accepted her job back, the affair ended.
She could leave the mayor’s staff now that she had the tape, of course. But after tonight, she knew she’d never use it. No. What had happened between them had been as unexpected and bizarre as the aftershock that had trapped them in the elevator.
There’d been a lot of time in the night to think. She’d intended to tape Patrick making an inappropriate pass. She would say no, loud and clear, then record him trying to talk her into having sex. The reality was pretty much the opposite. Patrick had tried to say no and Briana had thrown herself at him. She knew her uncle believed Patrick had faked the evidence that destroyed Cecil’s chances of ever becoming mayor. She’d believed it, too. Who else had anything to gain by publishing a doctored picture and leaking a bogus story? Now, however, she was beginning to wonder if Patrick actually had anything to do with leaking false evidence against his rival Maybe someone on his campaign team had done the deed. Possibly, they hadn’t even told him.
Okay, it was a slim chance, but she’d just made love with the man. She wanted him to be as decent as he’d seemed in the two months she’d worked for him.
One way or another, she’d find out who had blackened her uncle’s name. If that person was Patrick, then she’d do what she had to do.
She owed her uncle her loyalty.
But after tonight, she felt she owed Patrick some, too.
“I can’t stay fired,” she told him with real regret. “You need me.”
He touched her face, and she felt tenderness in his fingertips. “You have no idea how much,” he said.
CHAPTER FOUR
THE SOUNDS OF their approaching rescuers had Briana and Patrick pulling reluctantly apart.
“Okay, guys, stand back now,” Shannon’s voice came through the metal door, and before Briana could take a step backward, Patrick was reaching for her hand. Not that she was scared anymore, but it was nice to have the comfort of his warm hand in hers. A loud bang sounded, then a creak, followed by the screech of metal pulling against metal.
As light flooded the elevator, Briana freed her hand from Patrick’s and shaded her eyes.
“Good to see you, kid,” Patrick said to his sister. Anyone could tell they were related, Briana thought every time she saw the siblings together. Both were tall, athletic, black-haired and blue-eyed. They shared the trademark O’Shea grin she’d also seen in his children.
The grin on both faces was particularly broad this time. Briana knew that not all Shannon’s rescues turned out this well, yet she risked her life day after day, as her brother had done in his previous career.
In full uniform, Shannon seemed tough, and she was, but Briana knew she had a soft heart under all the protective gear.
The elevator had come to a stop about three feet above the main floor, so they had to bend down and jump to get out. Patrick naturally gestured for Briana to go first. She did, pulling off her high-heeled shoes and clutching the hands of Shannon and another firefighter. She managed to land on her feet without any injury, other than to her pride.
“I think you lost a button in there,” Shannon said in an undertone just after Briana landed.
A quick glance down showed her blouse gaping open to display a good bit of cleavage and the ice-blue silk of her bra. Briana grabbed the front of her blouse to cover the gap, forcing back the blush that threatened. It didn’t help that she caught one of the male firefighters checking her out with an interested expression on his face. She gave him the ice-queen don’t-even-think-about-it look she’d perfected in high school and turned back to Patrick’s sister.
