Logan's Redemption (27 page)

“How, Logan? How can I help you?”  She narrowed her eyes and studied him. “You’re just a temp. Why are you so interested in what goes on around here?”

Logan smiled and pretended to relax. Candi was clever. He’d have to be more careful not to tip his hand. “I want to help. Tell me where to find the guy who’s beating up on you. I promise he won’t bother you again.”

“Are you going to kill him?” she asked.

He shook his head. “Nothing like that.”

“Too bad.” She leaned back in her chair and thrust out her large, high breasts. The gesture was natural. Logan suspected she’d learned early on to show off her assets to the highest bidder. He tamped down pity. Candi didn’t need pity, but she needed more help than he could give. Maybe once this whole sordid assignment was over, he’d talk her into seeking professional help. But right now he needed her trust and her information.

“If I tell you certain things,” she said, “my life isn’t worth much more than these chairs we’re sitting in.”

“There are people who can hide you where he won’t find you,” Logan said.

She shook her head, making her long blonde hair swirl around her face. “They’ll find me. You don’t know these people he’s involved with.”

“What people?”

She stood up. “I have to get back to work. I may be the boss’s whore, but I still have to work for a living.”

Logan grabbed her arm. “Will you at least consider what I said?”

Candi nodded and walked away. Her rounded hips swayed suggestively under her tight skirt. Several of the male cafeteria workers watched her and snickered.

Logan followed her out, pity making him wonder if anyone could ever get past the shell Candi built around herself.

He’d call his contact at police headquarters. Get someone to watch Candi’s house. Grove would have to show up sooner or later. The most he could hope for was that they would arrest the thug for parole violation. It wasn’t enough but it would get the scumbag off the street for a while. He’d do whatever it took to get the bastard off the street for a long time.

When he got back to his office, he found a smiling Doriana waiting for him. Her bright eyes reminded him of the young girl who’d stolen his heart so many years ago. Was that vivacious girl still inside the gorgeous woman who stood before him now? He hoped so.

“Get your jacket, Logan. You and I are going out.”

He glanced at his watch. “A little early for lunch, isn’t it?”

She grinned. “But not too early for a surprise.”

“What are we doing here?” Logan asked thirty minutes later. He and Doriana sat at a red light in one of the city’s worst districts.

Memories crushed Logan, making his chest tighten. He’d grown up two blocks away. The harsh, unyielding neighborhood had gotten worse in the years since he’d left. Despair and hopelessness reeked from every corner like the garbage piled up in the streets. Even the city seemed to have forgotten the miserable wretches who lived here.

Doriana pulled up in front of a sorry-looking building with a crooked sign proclaiming it a nursing home for the old and sick.

“What is this?” he asked.

She cut the engine and turned to him. “This is your Christmas present.” Excitement colored her voice. “I hired a private eye to find him.”

“Find who?”

Doriana grabbed his hand where it lay on the console between them. “Your father. He’s here. In this place. It’s my gift to you.”

He struggled to breathe over the roaring in his ears. His father. The sorry bastard who made his life hell. He could rot for all he cared. “Oh, God, Doriana. You don’t know what you’ve done.”         

~~~~

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

“What’s wrong, Logan?”

“You found my father. That’s what’s wrong.”

“But he’s your father. You told me you didn’t know where he was.”   

“I told you I didn’t care if he was dead or alive. I didn’t ask you to find him.”

Doriana paled. Logan took a calming breath, hating himself for hurting her. Hating himself for the trembling that churned his stomach at the thought of seeing his father again.

“I’m sorry, Doriana.” He cupped her face between his hands, needing her touch and her spirit to chase the ghosts that damned his soul.

His head pounded with ugly memories. The beatings that left him bruised and worse. The verbal abuse heaped on him day after day for years.

“Logan?” Doriana grasped his wrist. Her huge chocolate eyes glistened with unshed tears.

He kissed her then, taking her full lips with a savagery he couldn’t control. Only Doriana could exorcise the demons that plagued him. She resisted at first. Then her body softened against his and her mouth opened to him, giving him her trust.

And he was using her. He pulled away. Their heavy breathing mingled with the traffic noises on the busy street.

“What was that all about?” she asked in a shaky voice.

“I didn’t mean to take it out on you.”

“Take what out on me? What’s wrong?”  Her lower lip trembled. “I wanted to give you something for Christmas that would make you happy. But I’ve hurt you instead.”

“Sweet Doriana. You didn’t know.” He gathered her into his arms. The wood console dug into his thighs. He welcomed the pain as atonement for the shame and guilt he’d carried for so many years.

She hugged him close, then pushed away to stroke a slim finger along his cheekbone. “You need to see him. He’s dying. Cancer.”

Her dark eyes seemed to dig into his very heart. He couldn’t let her down. And he couldn’t ignore the perverted curiosity that made him want to see what had become of the old man. Maybe it was time to banish the devil from his soul.

“I’ll go see him,” he said. “For you.”

“No, do this for you.”

He released a breath and looked around at the menacing surroundings. “You can’t stay alone in the car. Wait for me inside.”

They got out of the car and Doriana locked it, making sure to set the car’s alarm. Logan held onto her elbow, guiding her up the steep steps into the dreary-looking nursing home. The odor of urine and disinfectant and death assaulted them. Logan wanted to retch. Bored-looking staff milled around the reception desk. Even the workers’ uniforms were yellowed and grungy.

“Stay here,” he said, motioning Doriana to a cracked leather chair.

A middle-aged woman who reeked of cigarette smoke watched him approach the desk.

“Jerry Tanner’s room,” he said.

Giving him an annoyed look, she pulled out a small file box and thumbed through it. “Room 207. Elevators are down the hall on your left.”

The odor of human waste stung Logan’s eyes when he stepped out of the elevator on the second floor. He put a hand over his mouth. He’d been in worse conditions. He could handle it. But he’d rather face a desperate enemy than the man in room 207.

Logan trudged down the hall. His rubber-soled shoes squeaked on the linoleum like perverted music sending him to his own execution. When he reached the room where his father waited, he held onto the doorframe until the wave of nausea passed. Squaring his shoulders, he marched in.

A skeletal figure on the rumpled bed turned at the sound of Logan’s footsteps. Father and son stared at each other. The old man’s once-handsome face was shrunken and ravaged. The eyes that had glowed dark green were glassy with crusty deposits at the corners.

“You came,” the old man said in a raspy voice. “I prayed you would.”

“You prayed?” Logan said with a bitter laugh. “Why?” 

“I drove you away,” his father said.

“You did.” Logan fisted his hands at his sides and moved farther into the room.

The old man’s watery gaze locked with his. Logan resisted the impulse to look away.

“When I lost your mother I lost everything,” Jerry Tanner said.

“I lost both my parents when she died,” Logan said.

His father clutched the yellowed bed sheets with a bony hand. “I made a mess of things. Wish I could change it.”

“It’s too late now.” Sadness welled up in Logan. He wanted to hate this man, but a part of him cried for what might have been.

His father’s gaze raked over him. “You’ve done well. I can tell.”

“No thanks to you,” Logan said.

Tears wet the old man’s cheeks. “I deserved that.”

Some of the anger and pain that had plagued Logan since he’d fled the city all those years ago seeped out. “What happened to you?”

His father’s thin lips twisted. “Bad liquor and even badder women. Did you come to cheer my death?”  Dry, hacking coughs racked his fragile body. He motioned toward the glass of water that rested on the table next to his bed.

Logan grabbed the glass and stopped. The last time he’d touched his father he’d wanted to kill him. Had almost killed him. That night set off a chain of events that had come full circle today in this place with the stench of death all around them.

Shrugging off the painful memories, Logan bent to help his father sit up. Fighting the urge to recoil from the old man’s wretched body that smelled of decay, Logan held the glass while his father sipped. His father waved the glass away and slid back onto the pillow, turning a sly gaze on Logan.

“Got your revenge now, huh? Seeing me die. You should have killed me that night.”

“I thought I had,” Logan said.

“Would have been better if you did, boy. Can’t blame you for hating me. I made your mother suffer.”

“I don’t hate you. Not any more.” The words slipped out, but Logan couldn’t deny the truth. Some of his rage and need to strike back had dissipated into the choking atmosphere. He felt freer than he had in a long time. And all because of the woman who waited downstairs.

“Why did you come back?” his father asked.   

“Work,” Logan said. “And a woman.”

“There’s always a woman.” The old man’s eyelids drooped.

“You have a grandson,” Logan said.

His father opened his eyes. His face lit up and Logan saw a shadow of the man Jerry Tanner had once been. “Where?”  His father tried to pull himself up before falling back onto the dirty pillow.

“Here, in the city.”

“You do right by him.” His father’s eyes began to drift shut. “Want to meet him.” He closed his eyes. His shallow breathing and the whirr of the machines hooked up to his body were the only sounds in the room.

Logan stared down at his father. Hard to believe he’d spent most of his life consumed by hatred for the pathetic man lying before him. But he hadn’t turned out like his old man, or had he? Despite his success, Logan had no one, just like his father. It was too late for Jerry Tanner, but not for him. With one last glance at the bed, Logan walked out of the room.  

An attendant directed Logan to the manager’s office. Despite the living hell his father had put him through, he couldn’t let his own flesh and blood die in this rat’s nest. He’d make sure his father’s last weeks were comfortable. It was the least he could do.  

Doriana stood when Logan entered the reception area. Anxiety clouded her eyes. He touched her elbow and led her out.

“Are you okay, Logan?”

The concern in her voice made his heart trip. Maybe Doriana cared for him after all.

“Let’s get out of here,” he said, anxious to be free of the despair that clung to the building like mud. He’d arranged to have his father moved to the best nursing home in the city. He could afford it. And maybe the guilt he’d carried all these years would finally leave.

As Doriana eased the car out of the parking spot, Logan stared at her profile, the firm chin and proud Patrician nose. Her black hair swung free and loose around her face, as if begging for him to tangle his hands in the silken strands and bury his face in the smooth skin of her neck. Inviting him to taste the salvation she offered.

“Doriana, it’s okay.”

“I wasn’t sure.” She kept her attention on the narrow street as she maneuvered the car. But she couldn’t hide the slight shaking in her voice.

“Thank you,” he said. “I have a lot to think about.”

“Did your father have something to do with your leaving?”  Her hands tightened on the steering wheel and she kept her gaze straight ahead.

“Yes.”  

They’d come to a red light. She looked at him. “Do you want to talk about it?”

His gaze locked with hers. “I need to talk about it.”

“Let’s go home,” she said.

“What about work?” he asked.

“Don’t worry about it.”

* * * *

The afternoon quiet of the house helped settle Doriana’s pounding heart. “I’ll make tea.” Shrugging off her coat and tossing it onto a chair, she headed for the kitchen. Some instinct propelled her to keep busy, to keep her fears and insecurities at bay. Did she want the truth? What if Logan admitted he’d never loved her, that her memories of their time together were a myth?

“I don’t want anything,” he said, grabbing her arm and stopping her. “Sit down before I lose my nerve.”