Aftershocks

Since that was obviously a rhetorical question, she didn’t answer directly. Instead, she reached out, touching his arm in a comforting gesture.

He wasn’t acting this way because he wanted to be rid of her now they’d had sex. Patrick was a single dad. A fact that she’d allowed herself to forget. He had responsibilities, children who needed him home.

She hung her head, knowing he couldn’t see her guilty face in the dark. Inside her bag was her cell phone—a fact she hadn’t bothered sharing with him because she’d been so busy trying to lure him into indiscretion.

She had a choice.

She could continue to pretend there was no phone in her bag.

Or she could admit to the phone, hoping her acting abilities were good enough that he’d believe she’d forgotten the stupid thing or simply assumed it wouldn’t work.

A long, silent minute ensued. She felt his urgency and her own conflicted feelings.

But most of all, she found herself remembering how it felt to be parentless. That sense of utter desolation—that you didn’t belong to anyone anymore. That the place where you were safest and most special was gone forever, along with those who’d loved you best.

Patrick’s son, Dylan, was nine, little Fiona five. She’d met them a couple of times at the office and she’d liked them. They were quiet, well-behaved kids. Both times they’d come with their Aunt Shannon, Patrick’s firefighter sister, and the four of them had gone out for lunch. She could see that lunch with Dad was a big treat.

They must have been so young when their mother died.

She took a deep breath. He was never going to believe she’d forgotten she had her phone. She’d have to go with the brainless angle, which irked her.

“Is there a chance my cell phone would work?” she asked simply.

The silence thickened. “You have a cell phone on you?”

“In my bag. Yes.”

“Why didn’t you say so earlier?”

Because I wanted you to seduce me so I could ruin your political career. She couldn’t say that, so she stuck with dumb. “But surely all the phone lines will be affected by the aftershock.”

“Briana, cell phones work by satellite. It might not work in an elevator, but let’s give it a try.”

She dug into her bag, pulled out her cell and handed it to him.

She felt his haste and then saw the eerie green glow as he flipped open the phone.

As he punched numbers and the call went through, she felt more and more like an evil woman keeping a single father from the children who needed him.

“Mrs. Simpson? It’s Patrick. How’s everyone? Are the kids safe? Did the earthquake scare them?”

He must have liked the answers he was getting because she felt him relax, and his tone became less urgent.

“Look, I’m going to be late. I’m stuck in an elevator at work. That’s right. No. I’m fine. Can you stay? It could be morning before we get out of here. Depends what the damage is like.”

She heard him give a sigh of relief. “Are Fiona and Dylan asleep? Good. Please go ahead and sleep in the guest room. I’m sorry about this. Right. I’ll see you then.”

He hung up and blew out a long breath. “The baby-sitter can stay,” he said, handing her back the phone. “Thank God everyone’s all right.”

Then he sank back against the elevator wall.

She chuckled. She couldn’t stop herself.

“What’s funny?”

“I’m thinking, since the cell phone works, maybe we should make a second call. Like to 911, to get us out of here.”

He laughed right along with her, a deep, rich sound, as though she’d made the funniest joke he’d ever heard. “Sorry, I got so caught up in my kids I wasn’t thinking straight.” And that, she thought, ought to let her off the hook for not telling him about her cell phone earlier. After an earthquake, not thinking straight seemed a perfectly acceptable excuse. For a lot of things.

Thank goodness it was dark, so Patrick couldn’t see her smile. Once he knew his kids were fine, he was obviously so happy to stay stuck here with her that it didn’t matter to him when they were rescued. Truth was, she was just as happy.

Right now, her body still pulsing with its own aftershocks of remembered pleasure, she could simply enjoy her new lover’s closeness, reach out and touch him if she liked, lean into him and inhale the all male scent of his skin.

She heard Patrick’s voice on the phone to the 911 operator. He called her by name. Dorothy. Of course, he probably knew all the 911 operators from his days as fire chief. Whatever he’d done to get the job, he was a good mayor. He asked about the damage elsewhere in the city.

She heard his tone change, and he uttered a sharp-edged curse.

“No, Dorothy,” he said. “We’re fine. Put us on lowest priority. I don’t care. I want the full crew on that basement suite fire. Any idea how many people are inside?”

Briana’s warm and fuzzy postcoital glow faded fast. She’d been so caught up with her own predicament, she hadn’t considered that there were other people in town who hadn’t fared as well as she had.

“What else is going on, Dorothy? Come on. No BS. I need to know.”

She didn’t even think, but reached out to grab his free hand, knowing he was hearing bad news and was powerless to do anything to help.

“Oh, no,” he said. “I take my kids to that corner store for Saturday afternoon treats after Dylan’s baseball games. Is the fatality confirmed?”

He sighed deeply and she knew the answer. “Just the one?”

Here she and Patrick had been celebrating their own escape from disaster, and someone had been killed.

“No…just a minute.” He turned to Briana. “There are some fires and a collapsed building in town. Okay with you if we go to the bottom of the list? We’ll be rescued by morning, but I’m not sure exactly when.”

Well, her bladder would start complaining at some point, and she could use a meal, but she wasn’t all that uncomfortable, and it was tough to ask for priority treatment when people were in a lot more desperate straits than she was. So Briana squeezed his hand as a thank-you for asking. “Of course, I’m fine.”

He squeezed back. “You’re one in a million,” he said, then turned back to the phone. “We’re fine, Dorothy. I’ll give you the cell phone number here. We’ll call again if anything changes, but so far we’re stable.”

He ended the call and handed Briana her phone. She felt as though a huge weight had been lifted off her chest. Even if she’d owned up to her phone earlier, nothing would have changed. She knew Patrick would have made the same decision then that he’d made now. The people of Courage Bay came first.

She sighed, and leaned into him. “How bad is it?”

“One confirmed fatality. The convenience store near my house collapsed tonight. A woman died when a falling beam hit her. She’s unidentified so far. Probably the cashier.”

She touched his shoulder in comfort. If the convenience store was near his home, chances were that Patrick knew the woman.

“And you said something about a fire?”

“Yes. House fire. Looks to be contained in a basement suite over on Eighth. The fire crew’s still working on it. No idea yet if there was anyone inside.” He cursed, softly and viciously. “If council hadn’t vetoed my motions to add to the emergency forces, maybe we could have responded quicker.”