Fiancé at Her Fingertips (26 page)

“Nothing,” she said. “Nothing is funny. Nothing at all.”

Inside the house, McGruff began to bark. Debra opened the door to let him out before he woke the entire neighborhood, but McGruff wasn’t interested in relieving himself at the moment. Instead he headed straight for Logan and jumped up, his paws reaching Logan’s chest.

“What have we here?” Logan scratched McGruff behind the ears. “Don’t tell me they let you keep ponies in this neighborhood, Debra,” he teased.

“I’ll have you know McGruff here is a very competent watchdog.”

Logan gave a short chuckle. “Oh, yes. I saw the way he defended you against the strange man on your front porch.”

“That’s not fair,” Debra began. “He knows you—” She stopped, hesitant to refer to their shared past and unsure why anymore. “He knows you won’t hurt me,” she said instead. “He’s very perceptive.”

“He seems to like me, so he must be,” Logan joked.

“Would you, uh, like to come in?” Debra asked, unclear where this thing with Logan was going, but determined not to miss the opportunity to set things right.

“I’d better not,” he said, and gathered her in his arms.

“Why not?” Debra asked, startled at the sudden huskiness of her voice.

“Because if I do, I won’t leave until morning.”

“Oh,” she said. “Oh!” she repeated, at once thrilled and scared to death. She twined her arms around Logan’s neck. “Then I guess I’d better give you one for the road,” she said, and pressed her lips to his.

They embraced. Each kiss became more heated, each caress more intimate. Debra felt herself being seduced by his hold over her, helpless to stem the tide of feeling for him that had brought her to this moment. She gave herself over to his tender assault and, in turn, gave to him a part of herself she had never given any man, would never give any other man.

Logan dragged his lips from hers. He put his forehead against hers and let out a ragged breath. “I’m going to need your help, Debra,” he said, a rough edge to his voice. “I’m new to this happy-ending stuff, but the mere thought of going back on a deal with Suzi Stratford gives me heart palpitations.”

Debra pulled back and looked at him. She smoothed a lock of dark hair that had fallen over his forehead. “I’m afraid I won’t be much help in that respect,” she said. “I haven’t had a whole lot of experience myself in the happy-ending department.”

They looked at each other for a long time. Logan shook his head. “I guess there’s no choice, then,” he said, a serious
set to his mouth, and Debra held her breath. “We’ll just have to feel our way,” he finished, and took her in his arms once more.

Debra hadn’t the slightest idea where their feverish kisses and foraying caresses would have taken them had not Mc-Gruff chosen that moment to intervene. The huge retriever proceeded to plant himself at Logan’s feet, lift his leg, and relieve himself on Logan’s khaki slacks.

“What the hell?” Logan tore his mouth from hers. “That pitiful excuse for a watchdog peed on me!” He bellowed and shook the dog away from his leg, where McGruff gave every indication he was about to bear hug Logan’s leg and go at it.

Debra grabbed McGruff. “I can’t imagine what’s gotten into him! He’s never done anything like that before. Ever.”

“I guess this is truly good night,” Logan said, and gave her a hard, swift kiss before shaking McGruff off and racing to his four-by-four.

“Bad dog!” Debra snarled at her pet lying at her feet, his tail thumping against the porch. “You are such a bad dog!”

Logan tossed his pencil on his cluttered desk and shuffled through the piles of paper requiring his attention. He propped his elbows on the desk in front of him and put his head in his hands, unable to conduct business as usual. He hadn’t slept well.
Hell
. He hadn’t slept at all in the past two nights. He’d tossed and turned all night in his big, lonely bed, his body in a constant state of arousal fueled by memories of passionate embraces, deep, wet, searching kisses, and frantic caresses. Logan shifted in his black padded chair, his pants uncomfortably tight.

He flipped through the paperwork in front of him and stopped when he came to a document he had drafted over a week ago. He picked it up. It was temporary restraining order ready for a judge’s signature—the one he’d prepared after Debra Daniels had descended on him with her tale of a relationship in crisis where no relationship existed, of shared experiences he had no recollection of, of feelings with no credible reasons for them to exist at all.

He’d drafted the order in a moment of extreme annoyance, frustration, and, hell yes, he’d admit it, even fear. Who could blame him? Who would ever forget John Hinckley Jr. and the violent direction his obsession had taken him? The young actress killed by the obsessed fan, or the up-and-coming Latina singer gunned down by her own fan club president? Who wouldn’t be put off by a strange woman’s sudden appearance
in their life, a woman who knew too much for mere guesswork, right down to the kind of underwear he wore?

But now, after having spent a significant amount of time with Debra Daniels this week—albeit much of it against his will—Logan was amazed to have discovered she was not some flake out to murder and maim. On the contrary, she was down-to-earth, very well informed, well educated, and articulate. She had a wonderful sense of humor, with a childlike freshness and exuberance about her that added to her tremendous appeal. She held down a respectable and important job, owned her own home, and appeared to have a normal family and friends. Okay, quasi-normal friends. And in record time she’d captivated him.

And the other night? Well, if her pooch hadn’t done a number on his khakis, they would have been in a heap at the foot of her bed the next morning.

Given all that, how could he request a restraining order against her? How could you legally restrain a person whose smile left you slack-jawed? Whose voice at once soothed and stimulated? Whose kisses left you aching for more, and whose scent drew you like a train wreck drew ambulance chasers? Who even now, in absentia, was shooting his billable hours all to hell?

He tossed the order aside. How could he go to court and have a judge order her to stay away from him, when he could think of nothing but getting her back in his arms at the first opportunity?

He swiveled to stare out the window and rubbed his stomach. He groaned. He had it bad, and he was fairly certain there was only one cure: a steady diet of Snickers.

A rap sounded at his door. He almost suffered whiplash when he jerked his head around and yelled, “Come in,” hoping against hope that Debra would walk through the door and again say,
Take me, I’m yours
. This time he would accept her offer. In record time.

He sprang to his feet. His fantasy dissipated and receded to a corner of his subconscious when his secretary strolled in.

“So, you
are
in here,” she said. “I haven’t seen hide nor hair of you all morning. You must be getting a lot accomplished. Have you finished dictating the Connor affidavit?” she asked.

Logan shook his head. “I haven’t gotten to it quite yet,” he admitted.

“The Chrissman petition, then?”

“Jerry worked that one up for me.”

“The Thomas interrogatories?”

Logan was starting to become annoyed. “Have you been attending law school at night, Mickey?” he said. “Because this sure sounds like the third degree.” Logan moved to the window and looked down on the bustling street below. Everyone was in a hurry. Places to go. People to see. Like him.

“This is
her
fault, isn’t it?” Mickey’s voice came from behind Logan’s right shoulder. She placed a hand on his arm. “That woman who barged in here with that absurd name, Jane Bond. This is her doing. You’ve been jumpy and on edge ever since she showed up. I’ve noticed the change in you, and so have others.”

Logan smiled. “She
has
become somewhat of a distraction,” he admitted, and rubbed the back of his neck. “I confess, I find myself thinking about her, wondering about her, even worrying about her—and yes, even during regular business hours. A first for me, huh, Mick?”

Mickey pursed her lips. “She is not a good influence, Logan,” she said, “barreling her way in here like that. I was frightened, although I didn’t let on at the time.”

Logan chuckled. “She sure doesn’t like to take no for an answer,” he agreed.

Disapproval seeped from his staffer. Once upon a time Mickey had hoped for something more than an employer-employee relationship with Logan. Although he’d made it plain he wasn’t an advocate of office romances, Logan suspected she’d never given up hope that he would change his mind. He hadn’t had the heart to tell her he wasn’t interested.

“She’s affecting your work, your productivity,” she told
him. “You do remember your twelve fifteen lunch date with Senator Stokes’s people?” she asked. “And you have a motion to suppress at two thirty in Judge Peterson’s chambers.”

Logan tossed a legal pad into his briefcase and closed it. “I’m not that far gone, Mickey,” he said. “Yet. I’ve decided to head straight home from the courthouse after the hearing on my motion. If you need me, you can reach me there.”

“You aren’t coming back?” His receptionist had good cause to be shocked. Logan seldom played hooky.

Logan shook his head. “My heart’s not in it today,” he said, and snagged his briefcase off the desk. “See you in the morning, Mick.”

“But your desk. It’s a mess. All these papers.”

“Leave everything where it is,” he said. “I’ll wade through it all tomorrow.”

His secretary ignored him and began to tidy his desk anyway. Logan watched for a moment, shrugged, and left.

Debra hummed and finished typing up the notes she’d taken during the staff meeting that morning. The day seemed endless, filled with client meetings, phone calls, and reports to prepare for the court. She’d counseled an assault victim she was working with, and had located a child-care provider for a mother with two small children and newly separated from an abusive husband. But despite the hectic tempo of her workday, Debra’s thoughts kept wandering to Saturday evening— or, rather, to the man she’d spent Saturday evening with.

They had gone a very long way toward rebuilding their relationship and reconnecting with each other. She could still feel the heat of his body against hers, the thrill of his lips on her quivering flesh, his hands on her body. She could see the intensity in his expression illuminated by the streetlight, see her dog whizzing on his leg.

Debra grimaced. How could McGruff do something like that? After she had scolded him, he’d tucked his tail between his legs and crawled under the wicker love seat on the front porch, and refused to come into the house for the night. She
sighed. He deserved to be in the dog house. If he hadn’t taken a sudden fancy to khaki…

On impulse, Debra picked up the phone and called Logan’s office. She was not, she told herself, one of those silly women who would call and say,
I just had to hear your voice
. However, since she’d agreed to take Gram to visit an old friend out of town Sunday and hadn’t gotten home until late, she supposed it was okay to check in. She’d say a quick “Hello, how are you,” maybe, “Interested in a nooner?” She giggled.

“Brown, Craig, Alexander, and Hughes.”

“Yes, Logan Alexander, please.”

There was a slight pause, then: “Who’s calling, please?”

Uh-
oh
. The perky receptionist with zilch sense of humor. “This is Debra Daniels.”

Another short pause. “I’m sorry, Ms. Daniels, but Mr. Alexander will be out of the office for the rest of the day. He has some urgent business at the courthouse to conduct and won’t be returning.”

Debra frowned at the chill in the secretary’s voice. Gee, she hadn’t given her that much of a hard time, had she? “Thank you, I’ll try him later,” she said, and hung up. Tiny pinpricks of foreboding poked at her happy-ending bubble.

She shook off the sense of disquiet and worked through her lunch. At a little after two she grabbed her purse and, on impulse, decided to do something very much out of character, something she hadn’t done in a long time: She would wash her car. See, Logan was a good influence on her!

She hurried to the reception area to check out. A stout, barrel-chested man with thick arms, no neck, and a suspicious bulge suggesting a shoulder holster was talking to Tanya. She looked up at Debra. Her expressive face showed definite signs of strain.

“Is there something wrong, Tanya?” Debra asked, her eyes on the holstered weapon.

Tanya nodded and squeaked a response. “No, ma’am. You go ahead and hurry off to wherever you were going.” Tanya
rolled her eyes toward the armed man at the counter. “Now.”

Ma’am?
What was going on? “Tanya, are you sure—”

“I’m positive,” she snapped. “Good-bye, ma’am. And thank you for, uh, for servicing our copy machine. Yes, I was getting very tired hand-stapling everything. Thank you so much. Good-bye now.”

Debra opened her mouth, but couldn’t think of an appropriate response to Tanya’s confusing remarks, and closed it. She opened it to try again, but nothing came out. She gave up and turned to the man at the counter. “Could I help you, sir?” she asked, ignoring Tanya’s wild head shaking and the way she was sliding her index finger across her throat with her tongue hanging out.

“I sure hope someone around here can,” he said. “As I told this…this…as I told
her
”—he nodded at Tanya, who was now banging her head up and down on her typewriter— “I’m from the bailiff’s office. I’m attempting to serve papers on someone who works here.”

“Papers? What kind of papers?” Debra inquired, her earlier sense of unease returning, not as pinpricks, but big, gaping, deer slug–sized fears.

“I’m not at liberty to say, ma’am,” he said. “But I would appreciate it if you could direct me to Ms. Debra Daniels.”

Tanya’s head beating had morphed into a “Hail Mary, Mother of Grace,” complete with the signs of the cross. “Thanks again, Ms. Xerox Repairwoman.”

Debra ignored Tanya’s strangled, last-ditch attempt to offer Debra an escape. “I’m Debra Daniels,” she said. “What is this all about?”

The burly bailiff picked up a large white envelope from the counter in front of him. “Is there somewhere we can speak in private?” he asked.

Debra nodded. Her heart began to hammer against her rib cage. “My office is down the hall.” She walked in front of him to her little cubicle, which offered less privacy than a public restroom. She motioned to a chair. “Have a seat, Mr.—”

“No, thanks.” His manner was brusque and businesslike as he handed her the envelope. “That’s a copy of an order now on file in Sangamon County District Court,” he said.

Debra’s shaking hand took the proffered envelope. “I don’t understand,” she said. “What does this order have to do with me?”

“If you’ll let me finish, please, ma’am. That restraining order was filed this morning, and it enjoins one Debra Josephine Daniels from coming within a hundred yards of one Logan Tyler Alexander, personally, or within a hundred yards of his place of business or residence. Would you please sign here that you have received service?” He held a card out to her.

Debra stared at it, her heart now a heavy weight in her chest.

“Are you going to sign, or do I write ‘refused’ on the card?” The bailiff thrust the document and a pen at her.

Debra scratched her name on the line indicated, and the process server turned to leave. He ran headlong into Tanya, who was delinting the carpet in front of Debra’s door. “Next time withhold information or try to kamikaze district court business and I’ll have you hauled in for interference with official acts.” The officer of the court wagged his finger at Tanya and walked away.

Tanya’s middle finger came up in response. “Screw you, you pork,” she hissed, and turned back to Debra. “I bet he was too fat to be a real cop and had to settle for serving papers.”

Debra couldn’t take her eyes off the envelope in her unsteady hands.

“Aren’t you going to read it?” Tanya asked. “It might be a mistake, you know. There are probably scads of Debra Josephine Danielses in the Springfield area. Tons of them. I’m sure it’s all a horrible mistake,” she said.

Debra nodded and turned to go into her cubicle. “A mistake,” she repeated. “A horrible mistake.” After several minutes Debra read the order. She reread it and hoped the next
read-through would dim the pain and spark some anger or outrage, but she couldn’t get past the searing hurt and deep disappointment.

She recalled Logan’s secretary’s words:
He’s in court on extremely
urgent business. Mr. Alexander will not be returning to
the office today
.

He was always ducking out using words other than his own.
Coward
.

Debra tried to whip up some molten anger or red-hot rage by stirring the embers of her indignant annoyance regarding her abused rights. She knew she should be feeling outrage, but couldn’t manage more than a flicker of sadness linked to loss. Later, she promised herself. Later, when she was able to feel anything again, then the anger would come.

She managed to appear busy for the remainder of the day, but at four thirty sharp she locked up her files and tidied her desk. Not ready to face Suzi with this most recent development, she sent her friend a short e-mail to fill her in and then left for the day. She made her way to her car. At least she hadn’t wasted money washing it; a drizzle was beginning to fall. She let herself in and her eyes filled with tears. Disgusted, she wiped them away.