Fiancé at Her Fingertips (27 page)

She drove to her parents’ home. Her father met her at the door and took her in his arms.

“Suzi called us,” he said. “She thought we should know.”

Debra laid her head on her father’s chest and listened to the reassuring beat of his heart. In that moment she realized her father would never have agreed to be involved in any practical joke that featured his little girl as its target. She looked up at him and wondered how she could ever have missed the worry and anguish etched there, worry that was so evident to her now.

“There never was a practical joke. Was there?” she whispered.

Her father shook his head.

“No trick? No scam? No payback? No Logan.”

Her words hung there. He didn’t answer. He didn’t have to.

No, Logan Tyler Alexander didn’t know her. It seemed he had never known her.

While she had vivid, colorful memories of the man known as Logan Tyler Alexander, and recalled every detail of every encounter, every embrace, every word, every kiss, to Logan Alexander she did not exist. Not as Snickers. Not even as Debra Josephine Daniels. To him she was Jane Bond, psycho stalker and phantom of the fairway. Where Debra had page upon page of memories of Logan Alexander, complete with dates, times, places, smells, sounds, and tastes, Logan’s memories were blank sheets. And restraining orders.

She let her daddy’s arms rock her back and forth and tried to sort out how something like this could have resulted from the harmless purchase of a twenty-dollar gag gift.

She sniffled. That was when it had all started, she reminded herself. With one inconspicuous little box lying on a dusty shelf along with cans of edible underwear and personalized license plates with names like Wilma and Herman and Claude. How could she begin to explain to her parents the bizarre, unbelievable story of this fictional fiancé come to life? She could hear her pitiful attempt.

I’m not making this up, Dad. Oh, I know, in the beginning I
was as skeptical as you. I couldn’t for the life of me understand how
the man in a kit I purchased could come to life. Put yourself in my
shoes. One day you purchase a retail novelty featuring an Adonis
of an attorney, and the next,
wham,
he appears before your eyes,
acting as if he is part of your life—the part that had been missing
for so long
.

You can’t explain him. You can’t shake him, although you try
like the very devil. How ironic. You do such a good job of convincing
everyone you’ve found Mr. Right but when he shows up alive
and gorgeous and in your life, you find yourself trying with equal
ferocity to convince everyone he couldn’t be there at all. Then,
somehow, over time, the rationale behind his miraculous appearance
in your life begins to take a backseat to the reality and rightness
of having him there. And then one day, just like that, you become
a stranger to him
….”

Oh, yes. That would ease her parents’ fears and anxieties concerning their daughter’s mental state.

Her father squeezed her hand. “I feel some responsibility here, Debra,” he said. “Have we put so much pressure on you to find someone that you’ve embellished a chance meeting into a romantic relationship?”

Debra linked her fingers through her father’s. “There are no easy, comfortable answers here, Dad. In fact, I don’t have any answers at all. The one thing I do know, do feel, way down deep inside me, is that somehow, somewhere, someone knew Logan was the man for me long before I before I even suspected it. He may not be real to you or Mother or Tom or Gee Gee. You may not know him. But I know him. I remember him. And what I feel for him is real, Dad—very, very real. He may not remember anything of me before last week, but I’ll be damned if I’ll let him forget me now.” She laid her head on her dad’s shoulder once again.

Fiancé-at-Your-Fingertips, she thought. That was where it all began—with a box filled with phone messages, cards, facts, and pictures.

It hit her then like a belly flop into the pool: pictures. The picture! The picture she had ripped up and tossed at Logan in Chicago. The one she’d psycho-shredded into Catrina confetti. Fragments of conversations came back to her: Logan in the bar with Catrina after the bar association banquet. He’d acted then as though he hadn’t known Debra. She’d assumed he was giving her the cold shoulder after her despicable performance at the awards dinner. But now? Now that indifference took on a whole new dimension—and astonishing meaning.

Suzi in the car on the ride home and her reaction to the Chicago events at the Oriental restaurant. Her parents’ faulty memory where Lawyer Logan was concerned. Their denials when it came to knowing Lawyer Logan. Logan’s own
behavior the last week. What Debra had mistaken for some grand conspiracy was in actuality some whacked out mass memory cleansing. When Debra tore Logan’s picture up and tossed it in his face, she’d erased him—or memory of him—from her family and friend’s lives. And she’d erased herself from his own befuddled memory banks. Like erasing a rewritable CD, or wiping clean a dry-erase board. Debra was the only one who remembered the last few months. Remembered Lawyer Logan.

Missed him.

It all began to make perfect, if mind-boggling, sense. The discovery left her weak and shaken, and she was glad for the support of her father’s arms.

The very moment she had torn Lawyer Logan’s picture to shreds, she’d also ripped him right out of her life.

Even as she was trying to come to terms with that astonishing discovery, her mind raced to come up with something, anything, that would reverse the effects of her rash and careless action.

Fiancé-at-Your-Fingertips. A supernatural
gag
gift. But could Debra resurrect the magic? It was time, she decided, to take that leap of faith and try.

Debra eyed the apartment key Logan had slipped back in her pocket on the way to Chicago a week earlier, the one she’d first lifted from his Suburban that fateful day Lawyer Logan appeared on her folks’ doorstep. She’d kept it on a chain around her neck to remind her that she wasn’t insane. She now slipped it into his door lock and turned it, grateful she’d been able to give the ancient but ever vigilant doorman, Eddie, the slip.

She spent no time snooping. Considering the court order now in effect, she was risking much being here. But for some ridiculous reason, she’d been compelled to try this one last-ditch, desperate attempt to regain all that she’d lost. To risk much for much in return. To take a chance. To live in the moment.

She walked to Logan’s bedroom. It took only a minute to finish her business. She left as quickly and quietly as she’d come. Heading for the elevator, she hit the button and ner vously waited for it to arrive on the sixth floor. When the door finally opened, she hurried in, taken aback by the presence of two women there. She cringed when she recognized one of the women as the aerobically-inclined apartment resident she’d ridden the elevator with on her earlier fact-finding mission. Fearful the woman might recognize her, Debra slowly faced the wall.

“Can you believe it?” Ms. Fitness exclaimed. “Catrina
Travers has gone public with the fact that mega-millionaire businessman Daniel Travers is a wife batterer! It’s on the front page of the paper. She’s got pictures and everything.”

“I saw that!” the other female occupant of the elevator responded. “And did you see where she credits our very own Logan Alexander for giving her the courage to step forward? What a wonderful friend. You just never know about people, do you?”

Debra’s breath came in fits and starts. She had to reach out and prop a hand against the elevator wall in order to keep from toppling over. Catrina had been an abused wife? Logan had convinced her to step forward and tell the truth? He’d been her friend? Oh god, she’d been so blind. A fool in love.

Well, no longer, she decided. She had come here to deliver a message—a message she now knew was best delivered in person.

The elevator hit the ground floor and the bell sounded. The elevator door opened and the two women prepared to exit.

“Good day, good ladies!” Debra heard Eddie greet the women. She reached over to hit the sixth floor button when Eddie stepped to the door of the elevator. His eyes grew large and his body began to spasm. He pointed at Debra.

“You!” he said, and he reached for a black cylinder attached to his belt. “Stop right there!”

The sting of chemical spray pelted Debra.

She crumpled to the floor of the elevator, her boggled brain trying to pro cess data but coming up with only one inane thought: Damn. She should have taken the stairs.

“Good morning, Crime Victims Assistance. This is Tanya. How may I help you?”

Logan glanced at his watch, holding the phone cradled between his ear and his neck. It was five till eight, a tad early to be calling, but when he’d been unable to get ahold of anything except Debra’s answering machine the previous evening, he had become concerned. Not that he had expected
her to sit by the phone and wait for him to call. He grunted. Okay, so that was exactly what he had expected her to do. That was what he had done, in reverse.

“Debra Daniels, please.”

There was a hesitation on the other end of the line.

“Who may I tell her is calling, please?” The tone had changed from friendly and businesslike to, he would swear, suspicious.

“Logan Alexander,” he responded.

A very loud noise at the other end of the line forced Logan to hold the receiver away from his ear. It sounded almost as if the person had started to bang the phone on a table or desk.

Warily, Logan brought the phone back to his ear. “Hello?” he said. “Hello? Is someone there?”

The woman came back on the phone. “How dare you call here?” she asked. “What kind of sick bastard are you? I cannot believe you have the gall to do this.”

Logan stared at the receiver in his hand. He knew state workers were sometimes accused of being rude and unhelpful, but this was ridiculous. “Excuse me?” He tried to get a word in.

“I’ll have you know Debra Daniels is a wonderful human being. She is one of the hardest workers I know. She is caring and sensitive and goes way beyond the call of duty for her clients. Oh, sure, sometimes she can be bossy, and yes, she’s been known to be a bit of a stick-in-the-mud at times. And it’s true that her office area always looks like it’s been inhabited by a poltergeist, but when you dig a little deeper, I mean really get in there and get your fingernails dirty and move that hard, tough shell aside that she wears like a suit of armor, you find a totally awesome individual.”

Logan was confused. His intercom buzzed. “Listen, if you could just leave her a message—”

“She got the message loud and clear yesterday, buster,” the woman said. “And I’ve got a message for you.”

“You do?”

“Yeah. Screw you and the horse you rode in on, jerk face.”

The line went dead. Logan continued to stare at the phone when his intercom buzzed again. He punched the lit button.

“What is it?” he snapped, as his office door burst open and slammed against the wall. “What the hell…?”

A short brown blur flew across the room at him. “Stand up, you bastard, so I can knock you on your ass.”

Logan couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Pocket-size Suzi Stratford had assumed a pugilist position, prepared to inflict serious pain on his person, if he wasn’t mistaken. It hit him then that, in the last ninety seconds or so, he’d been called a bastard by two different women, one he’d never even met.

Mickey stuck her head around the corner of the doorway. “I tried to stop her.” That was becoming a recurrent theme, too.

“Never mind, Mickey,” he said and stood. “I’ll take care of this.”

Mickey nodded and disappeared.

“Oh, and how are you going to take care of me, Lawyer Logan? File another restraining order? Ha. I’ll tell you what you can use your restraining order for.” Suzi advanced on him, and Logan was absurdly thankful for the big, wide desk that separated them.

“What are you talking about, Suzi?”

“What about all those promises you made the other night at Cataldo’s when you left me with Clay the Corporate Jackass Sinclair? Now, the political appointment I was flexible on, and my third cousin Sherman took law courses through a correspondence school, so I could have let you fudge on the legal services. As far as your firstborn, well, I’m not exactly mother material, but that happy-ending promise? Now, that one was ironclad. Etched in stone.” She shook a fist at him. “Non-negotiable.”

Logan made his way around his desk, careful to stay outside the limited arm and leg span of this compact but volatile
ball of fire. “You’re going to have to slow down and let me catch up, Suzi,” he said, using skills he had acquired to calm down anxious clients. “Just take a deep, steadying breath and relax.”

“Don’t try that ‘find your safe and happy place’ crap on me, Logan Alexander. You’re the one who needs the safe place. I’m out for blood!” A gasp came from just outside Logan’s office.

“My blood, I assume,” Logan said. “But why? What were you talking about earlier? Something about a restraining order?”

“Oh, so now you’re going to pretend you don’t know what
I’m
talking about?” she said. She lunged forward and slapped Logan’s face. She had a longer reach than he’d estimated.

“That’s for having my friend served with a restraining order.” She swatted his other cheek. “And that’s for having her served at work in front of all her friends and coworkers.” She gave him a hard shove that landed him in his executive office chair. “And
that
one? That one is just for the hell of it.” She stepped away from him before he could react. It took a few seconds for him to process her words.

“Debra was served with a restraining order?” he asked, stunned by Suzi’s assertion. “Impossible. I never filed that order. I left it right here yesterday.” Not sure whether it was safe to turn his back on Debra’s friend, Logan got up and sidestepped his way around the desk and began searching through the files for the order he had left there. It was gone. “I-I don’t understand. I left it right here.”

“How could you do something like that? After what you said the other night, I thought you were going to give her a chance. How could you turn on her so quickly?”

“I didn’t!” Logan argued. “I did not file a restraining order against Debra.”

“But you were just looking for a restraining order. Why would you draft one if you didn’t mean to file it?”

Logan recalled the noise he had heard outside in the hall. He rushed to the door, but Mickey had vanished.

“Dammit.”

“What’s the matter, Logan?” Anson Brown stepped out of his office.

Logan moved out and closer to his partner. “I need to talk to Mickey about a restraining order that was on my desk.”

Anson nodded, walking forward. “Messy business, that,” he said. “Unfortunate that it had to get to that point, but with all the weirdoes running around, a person can’t be too careful.”

“You saw the order I drafted?” Logan asked, a sobering realization beginning to form. Suzi Stratford had stepped to the door of his office and was listening in.

The senior partner nodded. “Certainly. I looked it over before I had the judge sign it,” he said. “It appeared to be in order.”

Logan could not believe what he was hearing. “
You
filed it?”

“It was no big deal. I had to be in court anyway. Mickey told me how the situation was affecting your work and showed me the order. Hope this solves the problem,” Anson said. He reentered his office seconds before Suzi could go for his throat.

“
He
filed it?” Suzi yelled, and made to go after the senior partner.

Logan waylaid her. He picked her up and carried her back to his office. “Don’t blame him,” he muttered. “He thought he was doing me a favor. But there is someone I have a few questions for.” He hit the intercom button and buzzed Mickey’s desk, just as an outside phone line lit up. He could hear it ringing at Mickey’s desk. “Damn, where is that woman?” He punched the button for the incoming call. “Hello?” he yelled. “What do you want? Yes, this is Logan Alexander. Yes. Yes, Mr. Daniels, I’m the bastard who filed the restraining order against your daughter.” He paused. “My God. When? Are you sure? I’m leaving right now. And thank you, Mr. Daniels, thank you for calling me.” Logan hung up the phone. Debra’s best friend watched him like a cat ready to pounce on a big, fat rat.

“What did Debra’s dad want?” she asked. “What’s happened?”

“I have to go,” Logan said, and grabbed his briefcase.

Suzi cornered him between his chair and computer. “Where do you have to go?” she asked, the gleam in her eye increasing in intensity.

Logan calculated the most direct route to the door. “To jail,” he said. “To bail your best friend out.” He hurdled the chair and hauled ass out of his office, locking the door between himself and Suzi as he went.

At his apartment building Logan took the stairs up to his floor, too filled with nervous energy to wait for the elevator. He’d come here to get details of Debra’s arrest from the staff, and to ascertain how they had even known about the restraining order in the first place. As he suspected, his ever-efficient and soon-to-be-unemployed secretary had forwarded copies to the apartment manager and general staff via the fax machine.

The apartment manager informed Logan that the police requested he check out his apartment to make sure nothing had been taken, tampered with, or damaged. While he wasn’t concerned with that, Logan wondered why she would have gone to his apartment after she became aware a restraining order was filed.

Once inside his apartment, Logan threw his keys on the table near the door and made a cursory search. Nothing appeared out of place. He continued his search. He flipped on the light to his bedroom, and his eyes were drawn to a brightly wrapped package with a big blue bow propped against his pillows. He walked across the room and picked it up. It wasn’t ticking. He shook his head. Of course it wasn’t. The tag, written in neat calligraphic script, read,
Lawyer Logan
. Stuck to the package with tape was an Alexander Chevrolet key ring with a key. The spare key to his apartment. How the devil had she gotten his key?

He shook the box. He turned it over, slid his finger along the taped crease, and pulled the paper back. He flipped the
box back over. On the front of the box in a cutout circle was a picture of Debra. Above it in big bold letters was written,
Girlfriend at a Glance
. Below the picture was the caption,
Devoted
Debra
.

Intrigued, Logan opened the box. Inside he found pink While You Were Out messages. Each one was signed, with a different message.
Debra called. Thinking of you,
and
Lunch,
JRBean’s, 12:30 sharp—no khakis. Sorry I missed your call
.

There were cards, each with handwritten notes, as well. Funny ones like,
I heard you were accosted by a strange woman
in the elevator the other day. Maybe the next time you should take
the stairs?
Or,
Ours is a strange and wonderful relationship. Let’s
get together and find out who’s strange and who’s wonderful
. There were others with a more serious tone.
Had a terrific
time last night. Thank you for being in my life. I treasure our moments
together
. And one that hit him right in the gut. A huge pink heart had the initials
LL
+
DD
. Inside was written,
I love
Lawyer Logan; signed, Devoted Debra
.

Logan stared at the card, and a depth of feeling he’d never experienced tore at his heart, bringing tears to eyes that hadn’t seen tears in years. Emotions washed over him, feelings he had never come close to experiencing in all his thirty-four years. Love? She loved him?