Fiancé at Her Fingertips (10 page)

Another gasp from Debra allowed Logan to deepen the kiss. His careful, deliberate, and very thorough foray into her mouth made her knees buckle and her breathing labored and shallow.

“That’s enough, you two. Any more and my ticker will start racing,” her father teased.

Logan broke contact first, and Debra’s eyes flew open. She shook her head. She’d done it again—let him kiss her. She winced. Let him? That was a good one. Her lips had been willing accomplices, her tongue a traitorous coconspirator. She tried to step back, but Logan circled her waist with a big, dirty arm.

“Your daughter is quite the kisser, Stu,” Logan said.

“It runs in the family. Isn’t that right, Alva?”

Alva Shaw Daniels nodded. “The Shaws were always very oral people,” she said.

Debra coughed. “Mother. Dad. Would you please excuse us? I need to speak with Logan before he leaves,” Debra said, and yanked Lawyer Logan by the elbow and hauled him out of the examining room and down the hall near the ER admission desk, her golf shoes tapping a frenzied cadence on the shiny hospital floor.

“It’s a very fortunate thing that you’re in a hospital, Logan Alexander,” she said. “Fortunate indeed.”

“Why is that?” Lawyer Logan asked.

“Because I fully plan to throttle you.”

“Throttle me? What for? I thought we just kissed and made up back there.”

“You know very well I went along with you for my father’s sake. He doesn’t need to be worrying about me right now. He has to focus on his health.”

Logan nodded. “We’re in agreement there. But it sure didn’t feel like you were just going along in there a moment ago, Debra. You were into that kiss. You know it and I know it.”

“I was playing a part, you fool,” Debra hissed. “I was acting, pure and simple.”

“There was nothing pure or simple about that kiss, Snickers.”

“Don’t call me that!” Debra yelled, and noticed the speculative glances of bored or worried waiting room observers.
She grabbed Logan and pulled him out the revolving door and onto the sidewalk in front. “Listen, I don’t know what freaky force of nature or whose psychological cross-wiring caused you to appear in my life. However, for the time being, at least, I’m stuck with you. My father is very ill, and he may worry himself to death over me if I don’t do something to stop him. Well, believe me, greater love hath no daughter than one who is willing to tolerate the attentions of a cock-and-bull counselor rather than see her father fret himself into another cardiac incident. But be forewarned, Lawyer Logan. Before you try anything funny, anything at all, there are two words you should memorize and recite often. You know, like a mantra to ward off bad karma.”

Logan quirked a curious brow. “And those two words, Debra?”

Debra poked his chest with a finger. “Lorena Bobbitt.”

Lawyer Logan’s eyes grew wide, and he blinked. Then he started to laugh.

Debra tried to keep an annoyed look on her face, but was startled when Logan grabbed her in a big bear hug.

“Debra Josephine Daniels.” Logan laughed and gave her a quick kiss on the lips. “Anybody ever tell you you’re one hell of a of a sweet talker?”

And despite her best efforts to be outraged and disgusted, Debra Josephine Daniels giggled.

Debra wiped sweaty palms on her khaki slacks and checked her rearview mirror for the twenty-second time. Taking a deep breath, she grabbed her cell phone and dialed Logan Alexander’s office.

“Brown, Craig, Alexander, and Hughes. May I help you?”

“Logan Alexander, please,” Debra requested in a deep, husky voice.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Alexander is in court all morning. If you’d like to leave your name—”

Debra hit the end button.
Good
. Lawyer Logan would be tied up in court all morning. Everything was working out just as planned. She took out the Alexander Chevrolet key ring she’d pilfered from his glove box just days ago. This was her golden opportunity to check out Lawyer Logan’s digs and drawers. She gave a nervous little giggle. Man, she was losing it.

She went over the basics again step by step in her head. Technically speaking, she wasn’t breaking and entering. She had a key. She wasn’t planning to steal anything. She wouldn’t vandalize his apartment or stick, say, a horse’s head in his bed or a pet rabbit in a stew pot or anything. She merely wanted to undertake a bit of amateur sleuthing. Check the fellow out. Nothing illegal. Technically. She checked her watch again.

“Excuse me, ma’am.”

Debra let out a shriek and jumped. If she hadn’t still been
wearing her seat belt, she would have smacked her head on the car ceiling.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you, ma’am.” A uniformed traffic officer addressed her through the open car window. “If you’re going to park here, you gotta feed the meter.”

Debra slipped the stolen key ring into her pants pocket. “Oh, yes, of course, Officer. I’ll put some change in the meter right away. Thank you, Officer.” Debra grabbed her coin purse and jingled the change. “See? I’m getting that change out right now, Officer. You can depend on that, and thank you. Thank you for your diligence.” The officer gave her a puzzled look and walked toward his motorized cart. Debra opened the door to get out, only to be hauled back inside by her seat belt. The young officer turned. She unhooked the belt and scrambled out and began stuffing coins into the meter.

“See?” she yelled at the officer. “I’m feeding the meter!” She pointed and waved until the officer drove off, at which time she grabbed the parking meter with both hands and started choking it. Some cool operator she’d make. She couldn’t even remember to feed the freaking meter. And talk about little Ms. Cool? It wouldn’t surprise her if she looked in the mirror and saw
Guilty as Sin
written all over her forehead.

She shoved the last coin in the meter, stuck her sunglasses on her nose, and slammed a tan visor on her head. She was on a mission here, she reminded herself. A quest for answers to the complex riddle Lawyer Logan Alexander represented. Validation of her mental state. She must not be deterred. She patted her pants pocket. She was all set. Now, if she could just get her legs to stop shaking and her feet to start moving.

Feigning a confident, carefree air, Debra strode toward the brick luxury high-rise. An impressive grand hotel-type hunter green canopy identified the entrance. Debra’s steps faltered when she spotted a doorman on duty.
Great
. Just what she needed—another man in uniform.

With a determined squaring of her shoulders, she marched up to the entrance. “Good morning! Beautiful day!” she acknowledged, hoping to disarm the doorman with a warm greeting and a toothy smile. She frowned. Perhaps a healthy tip might be more effective. Or would that attract more suspicion? God, what was she doing here?

Debra blinked when she got a good look at the man in uniform. The doorman had to be seventy-five, easy, and so short and thin he looked like a good, stiff wind would blow him away. He hurried to open the door for her. She couldn’t help but think she ought to be opening the door for him.

“Well, lookie who we have here! Good morning! Long time, no see.”

Debra stopped dead in her tracks. The door slammed into her ankle. “Excuse me?”

“I was telling Mr. Alexander the other day that we’ve missed seeing you around. Mr. Alexander tells me your father has been ill. Sure sorry to hear that. Hope he’s on the mend. I was concerned about my own dear old dad last week when he had the sniffles.”

Debra stared at the little geezer. “Dear old dad?” she queried, wondering just how old his father was.

He seemed to read her mind. “Longevity runs in my family, you remember,” he explained. He doffed his cap at her and smiled.

Debra nodded, her mind a sieve. She started to enter the building again, remembered why she’d stopped in the first place, and halted again. The door smacked her in the butt this time. Some doorman.

“Excuse me, but what was that you just said?” she asked, certain she must have been mistaken.

“Said longevity is in my genes. My pop is ninety-five. Great-grandfather Osborne lived to the ripe old age of ninety-eight. Great-uncle Elbert hit one hundred three, and his twin, Great-aunt Tilly—”

“No, no. Before we started the geriatric discussion. You said something about missing me?”

He smiled. “You bet. Meant every word of it, too.”

Debra shook her head in frustration. “What did you mean by ‘long time, no see’? That we’ve met before?”

The diminutive doorman nodded. “Of course.”

“You’ve seen me before? Here?”

“Of course.”

Debra grabbed hold of the wee little man and pulled him toward the sidewalk and into the bright morning light.

“Are you sure? Take a good look.” She yanked her visor and sunglasses off. “Take a real good look.”

The doorman pursed his thin lips and shuffled his feet. A perplexed pucker wrinkled his brow. He looked her straight in the eye.

“Well?” Debra said.

“Well, what?”

“Do you know me?”

“Of course, Miss Daniels.”

Debra’s eyes grew wide. “You know my name?”

“Of course,” he said again. “Mr. Alexander introduced us when you first began visiting weeks ago.”

“Weeks ago?”

“Of course.”

Debra clenched her fists. If this old man said
of course
one more time, she wouldn’t take any bets he’d make the century mark, family footsteps or not.

“Let me get this straight: I’ve been here before. You know my name, and you’ve missed me. Am I right? Wait. Don’t answer that. I already know the answer. ‘Of course,’ right? Of course I’ve been here. Of course you’ve seen me. Of course you know my name. Of course you’ve missed me. Do I have that right?”

“Of course, Miss Daniels,” the little doorman responded before she could stop him.

“Okay, then, since I’ve been here before, there wouldn’t be anything wrong with me using this key to go up to Mr. Alexander’s apartment, now, would there?” She brandished Logan’s key ring.

“Of course not, Miss Daniels. Here, let me get the door for you. I’m only on till noon, you know, so in case I don’t see you when you leave, don’t be a stranger!”

Debra rolled her eyes skyward. “Good grief!”

“Vinnie comes on after me, the young whippersnapper. He’ll be tickled pink to see you. Keeps telling me, ‘Wish we’d see more of that cute Miss Daniels. She’s ‘da bomb’.’ Vinnie always did have a soft spot for the ladies.”

Debra gave a weak smile and entered the blue-carpeted lobby of the high-rise, grateful the lobby was deserted. She located the elevator and made a beeline for it. She punched the up arrow. The elevator dinged and the door opened. Debra stepped in, hit the close button, and checked the key again. Apartment 602. She pushed the sixth-floor button and replaced her disguise.

At the fourth floor the elevator stopped. Debra swore. She should have taken the stairs. The door opened and a woman got on. She was very tan and very fit. Tight black leggings over a striped black-and-hot-pink midriff tiny tee accentuated firm quads and abs to best advantage. Ten to one Debra was looking at an aerobics instructor, she decided.

She smiled at the woman, dismayed when the woman returned her smile with a glare and smacked the elevator lobby button with a fist.

Debra’s smile faltered. “Sorry,” Debra said. “I’m going up.”

“You don’t think I know that?” the woman snapped. “You don’t have to rub it in! Let’s get something straight. I’m fine with Logan and me going our separate ways. As a matter of fact, I was the one who suggested we end the relationship, regardless of what he may have said to the contrary.”

Debra stared at the woman. “Huh?”

“He seems very smitten with you, laughing and grinning like a lovesick schoolboy. Of course, we both know he’s no schoolboy.” She winked at Debra. “Don’t we, honey?”

The elevator bell rang and the door opened to the sixth floor. Debra hurried into the hallway.

“And remember, if Logan asks, I’m more than okay with
our parting company. Got it?” The fitness guru pounded the elevator door and it closed behind Debra. She shook her head and took a second to try to make sense of the puzzle her life had become. Giving up, she reminded herself that this little sojourn was a search for answers to that very same riddle. She made her way down the smartly decorated hall, checking out apartment numbers as she went. She stopped in front of 602.

Well away from the other doors, it seemed a much larger apartment. Debra had to steady her quivering hand to get the key in the lock. She turned it and held her breath until she heard the lock click. She rotated the doorknob a half inch and opened the door an inch. “Hello?” she called out. “Hello? Anybody home?”

Silence greeted her. She opened the door wider. “Hello? Is anybody there?”

“He’s not home!”

Debra jumped and whirled around, assuming her best defensive posture, only to be confronted by a little old white- haired matron wearing a teal-and-lilac floral house dress.

“He’s not there!” the woman yelled again.

Debra nodded. “I can see that. Thank you.”

“What’s that? You’ll have to speak up. I’m hard of hearing. Supposed to wear my hearing aids, but they give me the worst headache.”

“I see.” From the open door of an apartment down the hall, Debra could hear the blaring of a television commercial reminding people with bladder control problems that they had a lot of living to do.

“Logan there is the dearest man and the best neighbor, not like that old grouch Lucy Deaver in six-oh-six. She’s always calling the building super and complaining about my TV being too loud. Don’t know why she should complain. She’s deafer than I am. I think she does it out of pure orneriness. It started about the time Albert and I got together. She had her beady old eyes on Albert, but I nabbed him first. Albert was in banking, you know. Why, you should see his
portfolio. Among other things. Personally, I think old Lucy wants him to advise her on her investments. It’s shameful the way she flaunts herself during water aerobics. Just shameful. But, oh, what a kisser!”

“Lucy?”

“No, dear. Albert. Focus, please. Focus. Oh, commercial’s over. I’ve got to get back to my price is Right. Drew Carey is all right, though I miss that studly Bob Barker. Oh, I said a rosary for your poor papa the other evening at Mass, my dear. Bye now, sweetie.”

Debra gave another limp-wristed, halfhearted wave, which was fast becoming a trademark move for her of late. So much for stealth in her little covert operation; she was attracting more attention than a bald Britney Spears out on the town.

Debra pushed the door open and stepped into Lawyer Logan’s cool, dark domicile. She shut the door behind her and leaned against it, giving her heart a minute or two to recover. Her lip curled. She was no better than some two-bit cat burglar in a bad B movie.

Summoning her dwindling reserves of courage, she took several baby steps down the hall. To her right was a set of double doors, which, when swung open, revealed a to-die-for closet. She tore through the assorted jackets and coats. Discovering nothing out of the ordinary, she continued down the white ceramic-tiled hall until she came to the living room. Nice. Very nice. Unable to resist, she was drawn to the large windows. She pulled back the heavy draperies and proceeded to ooh and aah at the sight of the State Capitol Building framed in the large picture window. The teeniest twinge of envy pricked her. On a good day the view from her humble living room window was her neighbor’s unkempt, overgrown yard. On a bad one? Her unkempt, overgrown neighbor.

Debra dragged her gaze from the historic skyline and surveyed the simple but tasteful room surrounding her. She grimaced at the off-white leather sofa and love seat, imagining a shaggy, in-need-of-a-nail-trimming McGruff reclining on
the light-colored leather. The floors were the latest pricey hardwood product, and a magnificent and expensive Oriental rug in shades of forest green and maroon provided color. Heavy masculine oak end tables and a matching cocktail table were artfully arranged. Impressive built-in bookcases lined one entire wall. Debra perused the titles, finding an abundance of books on history, politics, and religion. Collector’s-edition wildlife prints by Iowa artist Maynard Reece adorned the white walls. She crossed to the magazine rack and went through the magazines.
US News & World Report,
Time, The Wall Street Journal, Field and Stream, Sports Illustrated
, and a Harley magazine. Nothing unusual here.

Debra passed a finger along the top of the glass-covered cocktail table, chagrined to see that, unlike her tiny abode, Lawyer Logan’s domicile passed the white-glove test with flying colors.
Maid service, of course
, she told herself.

Abandoning the living room, Debra checked out the half bath off the kitchen and a full bathroom down the hall toward the bedrooms. Debra examined the medicine cabinets, under the sinks, even inside the toilet tanks—she’d learned this tip from a TV cop show.
Nada
. Even the water in his toilet tank looked crystal clear. Nothing incriminating at all. In fact, everything here was very normal. Infuriatingly normal.
Ye gods
. Did the man have no vices?

Oh, yeah
. Now she remembered. Fraud.