Nancy Warren - Aftershocks

“I believe in telling the truth, too,” she said softly. “But sometimes people can make mistakes. I think if a person does that, they should speak up and rectify the situation, don’t you?” Her eyes burned with a significance he couldn’t interpret.

He nodded, wondering what she was getting at.

“If a person’s hurt another person, they should admit that, even if it’s difficult at the time,” she elaborated.

She wasn’t speaking rhetorically here. He felt quite sure she was sending him a message.

Suddenly he felt as though the building might be experiencing another aftershock. The world didn’t seem stable beneath his feet.

“Did I hurt you?” he asked urgently. He’d been so eager last night, so lost in lust and, frankly, so out of practice that maybe he’d done something to hurt her. If so, he’d never forgive himself.

Her cheeks flamed. “No. Of course you didn’t hurt me.”

“Then what are you talking about?”

“Nothing. Forget I spoke. I was speaking in general terms.” She pulled away from the desk and would have moved on to the next item of business, of which he knew there was plenty, but he stopped her.

“Briana, we can’t pretend nothing happened last night. I think we should talk about it.”

Amusement flickered across her face and caused her eyes to twinkle. “We should talk about it is supposed to be the woman’s line.”

“Well, based on the way you’ve reverted to all business, I’m guessing I’d wait a long time for you to open the subject.”

She huffed out a breath and he saw for a moment the vulnerability and sadness behind the external efficiency.

“I don’t think this is the appropriate time or place for such a discussion.” He opened his mouth to argue, but she went on. “What happened was-”

“Incredible.”

Warmth lit her eyes as she gazed at him briefly, before returning her attention to the printed schedule in her hand. “Yes. It was. But it was also-”

“Inappropriate. I know that, Briana. But the thing is, it happened, and all the pretending in the world won’t make it un-happen.”

“No.”

“I want to see you again,” he said urgently.

She looked at him as though that was bad news for some reason. “You do.”

“Damn right I do. Maybe nights like that happen all the time for you, but they don’t for me.” He might be out of practice sexually, but he knew damn well that it wasn’t just the sex but the intimacy, the…something special between them that had made it such a stand-out experience. He doubted very much that she’d ever had a night like that any more than he had.

“No-”

“I didn’t think so. The thing is-”

His phone began to shrill. Even as he told her to leave it, she was leaning over him to pick up the receiver. “Mayor’s office.”

He watched, frustrated, as she said, “Right. Yes. Of course. I’ll tell him.”

But her next words pushed all thoughts of his personal life out of his head. Briana looked sad and troubled. “Patty Reese, the woman from the basement suite fire, died in hospital this morning.”

“Shit.”

“Yes.”

For now, Patrick realized, he and Briana were going to have to put their personal lives aside and concentrate on running this town.

Briana left and he spent the next hour returning calls, making a statement for the paper, and going over his notes for the ribbon-cutting ceremony. But he was thinking of his sister Shannon ’s exhausted expression the night before. Of the valiant and ultimately futile effort to save Patty Reese.

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WHILE PATRICK was busy in his office, Briana received a call from her uncle Cecil.

“I heard about what happened last night,” he said as soon as he’d identified himself.

Her heart sank. Somehow, she’d hoped no one would find out about her forced confinement with her boss. If Uncle Cecil knew, he was no doubt wondering if she’d made good use of her time and obtained evidence to incriminate her boss.

Well, she wasn’t going to tell anyone what had happened last night. She’d been crazy to tape their lovemaking, crazier still to think she could make love with a man and then betray him.

“Look, Uncle-”

“Your aunt and I have been worried sick. Are you all right? I phoned your home first. I can’t believe you’re at work. You should go to the hospital and get checked out. I’ll come and get you.”

She smiled into the phone. He wasn’t even thinking about her mission. He was worried about her. It was nice to be fussed over, even if it was unnecessary. “I’m fine, really. I should have phoned you this morning to let you know I was all right. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you’d worry.”

“Of course we worry about you, honey. You’re the closest to a daughter we’ve got.”

“I know. Thanks. But I wasn’t hurt at all in the elevator.” Well, not physically anyway. She suspected her heart might be in danger, though.

“Why don’t you come for dinner tonight. Irene will look after you. You can stay over in the guest room if you like.”

So far, she’d been careful not to be seen too much in her aunt and uncle’s company, since no one was to know about their relationship. They must really be worried about her. She was touched by their love. “I’d love to come for dinner. I’ll stay at my own place, though.”

“Whatever you say. But at least go to your doctor and make sure everything’s fine.” He blew out a breath. “When I think of what could have happened if that cable had snapped…”

“It didn’t, though. I’m fine. How about you? Were you both all right?”

“Oh, yes. We were watching TV and everything shook for a few seconds. That was it.”

“I’m glad to hear it. Well, thanks for calling. I’m sorry you and Aunt Irene were worried. See you tonight.”

She sat for a couple of minutes simply staring at her computer screen but not seeing it.

The tape was like an unexploded land mine sitting there in her purse. She’d been crazy to record what had happened last night. Not only crazy, but devious. She’d destroy the tape today and try to talk to her uncle at dinner about the possibility that Patrick wasn’t the one who’d set him up. In two months, she hadn’t seen him act with anything but integrity. Even last night, it had been Patrick who’d tried to call a halt to their lovemaking. She’d been the aggressor in the end. That tape was history.

She listened carefully for a minute. She could hear Patrick on the phone and knew she had time to take out the tape and destroy it.

Grabbing her bag, she dug into it. Where was the damn tape recorder?

Looking inside the bag didn’t help. Had the recorder somehow become wedged at the bottom? A flutter of panic started in her chest. She dumped her bag upside down on her desktop and shook it. A small avalanche of keys, wallet, cell phone, half a roll of mints, lip gloss and makeup bag tumbled out, along with the small silk bag that had come in so handy last night, a quarter and two pennies.

Frantic, she scrambled through the stuff. The tape recorder had to be here. She hadn’t touched it since last night.

Biting her lip, she decided it must have fallen out in her car or at home.

Her intercom buzzed. “Briana? Can you come in here for a moment?”

“Sure.” She shoved everything back into her bag and tucked it out of sight, then took her notebook and entered the adjoining office. Patrick was behind the desk, working up some notes in his angular handwriting.

“Can you organize an emergency council meeting for tonight?”

“Tonight?” she asked. After stonewalling Patrick’s efforts to increase the emergency team’s budget, council might be more receptive after this latest disaster. But calling a meeting the day after was almost unheard of.