Burning for You (19 page)

“I’ll be fine. Despite his issues, I don’t think Owen’s going to be lurking around the corner with a gun.”

“Taylor—” Marci began.

“Seriously.” Taylor used the tone that indicated “drop it,” which Marci thankfully did. “My bigger problem is getting Joe to agree to be photographed. How do I even bring that up without it seeming like I have that right since we had sex?”

“You could get him naked again and then ask.”

Taylor sighed. “You are impossible.”

“Which is why you love me,” Marci teased. “Seriously, though, I’m not too good with my ideas today. Maybe it’s the lack of sex. Maybe I should have jumped him. But I want to be respectable.”

“You’re trying, isn’t that what counts?”

“I guess,” Marci said.

“I’ll talk to Susie. She got me into this. I should see her Wednesday for a shoot. I’ve actually got a busy week. I’m cramming in a family photo for Ginger Redmond. Did you meet her last night?”

Marci shook her head. “I got distracted. And there were a lot of people there.”

“True.” By the time Taylor and Joe had left, the suite had been at capacity because Virginia never did anything by half. “Well, her mother is in town this week from Arizona and she wants to get portraits done while everyone is together. So I worked her in.”

“At least everything sounds like it’s coming together photo-wise.”

“Except for Joe. I can’t just text him and ask, and I don’t know when I’ll see him next. We didn’t make any plans.”

“But you’re working together.”

“Yes, but still, no plans. It sounds like I’m in the when-will-he-call bind too.”

The doorbell rang, and Taylor opened it and paid for the pizza delivery: Cecil Whittaker’s green pepper and onion, dinner of the gods. “What are we watching tonight?” she asked, pointing to the Redbox container Marci had brought.

“The latest in the
Avengers
series. Man candy.”

Taylor grinned. “That works. I can use a man candy break, especially if it involves Tom Hiddleston and Chris Hemsworth.”

“Me too.” Marci lifted her water glass in a toast and clinked it to Taylor’s. “Me too.”

Taylor picked up the DVD and put it in the machine. “Let’s do this.”

*  *  *

Tuesday morning at eight a.m., Joe walked out of the firehouse tired but strangely invigorated. While he’d been too busy to call Taylor, they’d exchanged a few texts. He’d agreed to attend the next photo session, today at five.

He’d planned on having Susie supervise this shoot, but given what had happened between him and Taylor over the weekend, he’d told his sister he’d be there. He’d let Susie read into it whatever she wanted. He didn’t care. For once, he had hope. Joy. He hadn’t seen revulsion in Taylor’s eyes, but rather desire and lust and maybe a little glimmer of something else.

The photo shoot was at Forest Park, for Taylor planned on putting the subject, a sixty-year-old architect, against the stone arches of the World’s Fair Pavilion that had inspired his career. Word was his favorite movie was
Meet Me in St. Louis
.

Joe climbed into his truck and checked the dashboard clock. He’d actually gotten off on time, giving him plenty of time to go home and get in a long run and a good hard climb before he had to meet both Taylor and Dalton Palenske. Joe sang off key all the way home, until his phone rang. He didn’t recognize the caller, and let it go to voice mail. Upon exiting his truck, he retrieved the message.

“Joe? This is Marci. Taylor doesn’t know I’m calling, because I swiped your number while she was in the bathroom the other night. It’s urgent that I speak with you. She said you were off today. This is my cell. I’m working until two, but you can reach me after that. Please don’t tell her I called. I’ll explain when we talk.”

What the heck?

For a nanosecond Joe stared at his phone, as if somehow the answer would magically appear. He replayed the call, listening to the nuances of Marci’s voice. He went through the message one more time, hearing guilt mixed with worry mixed with a need to not be discovered. Mostly, though, he heard worry, and Joe didn’t like that one bit.

He went inside, deliberately stopping his mind from racing through all the various scenarios that threatened, scenarios that ranged from everything like Taylor was hiding a contagious or communicable disease to that she was already married or had committed some crime. The last two were silly, which is why he fed the cat, grabbed a G2, and headed to the gym. His problem-solving brain needed to be diverted, and there was nothing like hanging forty-two feet in the air to clear one’s brain.

But by two p.m., even after getting in a ten-mile run, he hadn’t achieved a true sense of calm. He’d been able to escape his racing thoughts, but he hadn’t been able to push them far enough away. They’d lurked like a shadow:
What did Marci need to tell him?

His early morning glow had long faded, replaced by agitation. Maybe it wasn’t about Taylor at all. But Joe’s gut said otherwise for, if it wasn’t about her, why would it have to be secret? Maybe it was happier news, like perhaps Marci was throwing Taylor a birthday party. Joe frowned. He had no idea when her birthday was. Why did those things always seem so irrelevant? Or Facebook dependent, something Taylor wasn’t even on.

Once home, he dialed Marci a minute after two. His fingers tightened as the phone kept ringing. He was going to get her voice mail, but at the last second she answered. “Hello?”

“It’s Joe Marino.”

He heard the relief in her voice. “Joe. Thank God.”

Years of training kept his adrenaline in check and his voice casual. He knew instinctively this was not going to be about a happy birthday party. “What’s up?”

“It’s Taylor. She’s …” She hesitated. He waited. She’d speak when ready, and his job had taught him to keep silent until that occurred. “Has Taylor ever mentioned Owen?”

“The ex? The one there the night of the Pink Out charity server event?”

“So you saw him?” Marci’s voice rose a notch, and more agitation powered through Joe.

He somehow remained calm. “Yeah. Table of four. Two guys and two girls. He seemed pretty tight with one of the girls. Marci, what’s going on?”

“Well, she and Owen ended badly.”

“She told me that. Said she was shocked seeing him.”

“That’s an understatement. When it ended, she had to get a restraining order against him. It expired a year ago.”

Joe was flabbergasted. No wonder Taylor had hidden from Owen that night, ditched the table. He wished she’d told him. How could he help if he didn’t know the full story?

He checked his anger. “She didn’t tell me that part.”

“That’s Taylor. She hates asking for help. The breakup was two years ago, and she thought she’d never see him again. She changed apartments. Changed phone numbers. She’s not even on any social media and doesn’t have a website. But he’s contacting her again. She’s ignoring it. She can’t believe he’d hurt her. We had to push her to get the order, she’s so damn stubborn.”

That Joe knew firsthand. Marci continued. “He stalked her. He was crazy obsessive.” She paused, and he could imagine her chewing her lip. “She’ll kill me if she knew I’m telling you this, but I’m worried about her. I was there earlier today when he sent her a text message asking her to get in touch, telling her it’s urgent.”

A wave of pure protectiveness roared over Joe. He took a deep breath, worked to stay in control so his words didn’t sound angry. “She didn’t tell me.”

“You can’t let her know I told you. She wants to handle it on her own, but he’s texted her at least once since Sunday when I saw her, and whatever she says, I don’t think he’s going to leave her alone.”

He loosened his grip, his hand a solid vise. “I’m glad you told me.”

“I probably shouldn’t have. You two are … well, I don’t know exactly what you are, but I hoped perhaps you had a friend who’s a cop and can warn him off or something? I don’t want to see her hurt again.”

“You did the right thing. She shouldn’t handle this by herself.” He omitted the part of how Taylor was being a stubborn fool, for that’s what she was.

“You’ll take care of it?” Marci sounded hopeful.

“I’m trained to help. It’s what I do. And, if nothing else, Taylor is my friend, and I take care of my friends.”

“Thanks.”

Joe hung up. Now, Taylor’s reaction that night made sense. Brutus wove between his legs. He had less than three hours before he saw her again, time enough to work out how to bring up the sensitive subject. He wanted her to tell him. For her to ask for his help. He didn’t want to go behind her back, didn’t want secrets between them. However, he would do just that if necessary.

*  *  *

Dalton Palenske was a character. A real hoot, actually, Taylor thought as she finished his pictures. As an architect specializing in preserving historic buildings, he’d worn a blue and white pinstripe seersucker suit and a white bowler hat reminiscent of something from the 1904 St. Louis World’s Fair.

That was if people dressed that way during the fair. Taylor wasn’t a historical fashion expert. But by the end of the shoot, she definitely was a Dalton fan. He’d cracked bad jokes nonstop, stretching the skin on his burned face into a wide smile. He waved his white cane, the one with the brass knob on top. “Can’t wait to see these. Missus always said I’d need a good picture for the obit.”

“That’s cold,” Joe returned with a chuckle.

“You don’t know my wife,” Dalton parried, that warped grin stretching further. Taylor could tell he was joking, that he really loved his wife. “Marielle will talk your ear off.” He touched his left ear. “Good thing I’m hard of hearing.”

“Well, you have plenty of good years left,” Taylor said as she handed Joe the camera. “I have a way of knowing these things. Not to worry, you’ll be listening to Marielle for eons to come.”

He waved his left forefinger, the one that was missing a tip after having been removed post-burn. “Lucky for you she had garden club today, or she’d be telling you how to do your job.”

“Speaking of my job, mind if I let Joe try a few? He’s learning.”

“Trying to teach an old dog new tricks? With this guy? Don’t hold your breath.” Dalton laughed. “Get it? He’s a firefighter. Smoke? Holding your breath? … Ah, tough crowd.”

Dalton didn’t seem too upset about his flat joke; he shifted his weight, his white patent wingtips shined to a high gloss. “You ever gonna be ready, Joe?”

“You don’t want to look bad, do you?”

“Crossed that bridge years ago. No photo you take can hurt me now.” He patted the stone archway. “Love this place. She’s been a good shoulder all these years. Used to come and sit here, look out over the grass and the fountain, and remember that I was alive and that was all that mattered. Thanks for letting me do these here.”

Taylor watched the hand that had seen many reconstructive surgeries lovingly caress the stone. “No problem,” she told Dalton. “Making you happy is what makes me happy.”

While the original intent had been a series of studio portraits, she’d quickly realized that each of the survivors had a unique story, and allowing them input into their backgrounds had calmed nerves and made for a better overall experience.

“No, try holding the camera vertically.” She touched Joe’s hand, and he turned it as she indicated. She stepped back, giving him space. One brief touch put her body on a sexual high alert. After a marathon bout of lovemaking a few days ago, her body had missed his. Craved his touch. Being near him stirred all sorts of feelings. Desires.

“Okay, Dalton, tilt your chin to the right. A little more. There. Perfect.” The shutter clicked as Joe took the shots.

He’d become better with the camera, she noted; he’d become more confident. “You look fabulous.”

“Of course I do,” Dalton returned, with a smile Joe captured before he lowered the camera.

“We’re good.”

“No, I’m great,” Dalton returned with a laugh. “I’m your best subject.”

“You’re my only subject.”

“See?” He strolled over, as if without a care in the world. “By the way, we’re getting a major motion picture coming through that will be looking for runners to be part of a marathon race. You interested? I’ve got some pull with the casting.” He winked at Taylor. “My wife.”

Joe shrugged. “If my schedule allows.”

“Won’t pay much, but as soon as Marielle begins casting for extras, I’ll shoot you an e-mail. Could be fun if you can do it. I’ll be in touch with you, too, missy. Can’t wait to see my shots.”

“You mean I don’t get to be in a movie?” she teased.

He winked. “Okay. Twist my arm. I’ll see what I can do, but it’s up to the missus.”

“I’ll have your proofs in about six or seven days,” Taylor told him.

“Call my wife and she’ll set something up. She knows where I am more than I do.”

Taylor laughed, shook his hand. “Will do.”

“Good to see you,” Joe said, taking Dalton’s outstretched hand.

Dalton reached around and clasped Joe’s hand in both of his. “Thanks for doing this, son. Talk soon.”

With that he strolled off toward his BMW, swinging his cane the entire way.

“He’s a funny guy,” Taylor observed.

“Don’t let the deadpan fool you. He’s sharp as a tack, and his wife is a saint. He’s responsible for a lot of the South Side’s redevelopment projects. He has a heart of gold.”

“He told me his burns were from a fire.”

“House fire when he was ten. Started when a kerosene heater malfunctioned. He saved his younger brother. He’ll tell you his burns were a small price to pay.”

She’d found the opening she’d needed. “What about you?”

“Me what?” He frowned.

“Well, you saved Susie.” She put her camera in the bag. She hesitated. Blurted it all out in a rush. “Look, I don’t know how to say this, but I think you should be in the book.”

“No.” His answer came swift and fast.

“You need to tell your story.” Taylor swung her camera bag onto her shoulder.

“No.” He strode off, held out his hand, and indicated she should take it. She caught up, and he guided her down the walkway toward the fountain.

“Are you going to give me a reason?” Taylor asked, his hand firm in hers.