While the Fire Rages

by Joan Hohl

  “Damn!”

  His very long, deceptively lean looking frame taut with frustration and anger, Brett snatched the empty whisky glass and walked out of the room with his habitual long stride.

  He rinsed the glass under steaming hot water and placed it in the draining rack beside the sink, his mind examining the ways in which to handle this new, unsavory development.

  He strode back into his brother’s study, his eyes, cold as the North Atlantic, fastening on the cause of his anger.

  Crossing to the desk, he extended a hand to pluck the envelope up, then, turning abruptly, he walked out of the room. After activating the computerized alarm system to secure the house for the night, he left the house and loped to the low sports car shimmering like liquid silver in the moonlight.

  The weightless document lay heavy in Brett’s breast pocket as he backed the vehicle out of the driveway. Instead of making the turn that would take him back to the center of town, he spun the leather-covered wheel and headed toward the bay.

  Now, in early evening, the streets were even more deserted than they’d been when he left the motel. The uncanny sensation of being the only living being in a dark, abandoned ghost town was even more pronounced.

  Parking at the base of a street that dead-ended at the bay, Brett uncoiled his considerable length from behind the wheel and strolled to stand on the wide, oily-looking wood pilings.

  The moonlight struck a glittering path across the ever-shifting water, dancing in time to the muted swish as wavelets wound themselves around the spindly legs supporting long, narrow docking piers. Empty now, the berthing slips had a forsaken look that would vanish with the return of spring and the water craft of all sizes, both motorized and those with the tall masts.

  To the lone man, standing with hands thrust deep into the pockets of hand-tailored pants, the scene was more conducive to contemplation than depression.

  Because of the frantic mental state his sister-in-law had been in, Brett had found it relatively easy to convince Micki of Wolf’s fidelity.

  Without shame or misgiving, he had lied through his teeth.

  The memory was strong, fanning the anger seething in him to a full, outraged blaze.

  * * * *

  “I must know,” Micki had whispered brokenly. “Brett, please, you must find out if it’s true.”

  Suspicion aroused is not guilt proven. Brett would have preferred living with the doubt.

  “To what purpose now, honey?” he’d soothed, attempting to dissuade her, knowing too well the hell in facing the truth. “You’ve been through so much, and you’ve got to get through a lot more. Why put yourself through the agony of—”

  “You don’t understand,” she’d interrupted fiercely, grasping his hand tightly. “I don’t want to know for myself.” Her lids dropped over eyes sparkling like blue jewels from their glaze of tears, and she swallowed with obvious difficulty. “I’d just as soon not know, but you have got to go to New York and find out if it’s true.”

  “You’re right, I don’t understand,” Brett exploded, if softly. “If you would rather not know, then, dammit, why...?”

  “For him!” Again she’d not let him finish. “I think—I thought I knew him, and the man I thought I knew would not enter lightly into infidelity. He must love her very much.”

  Brett had actually felt the pain that had scored her face. In that instant the rage had been born deep inside him.

  “Go to New York, Brett.” Micki’s eyes pleaded as effectively as her quivering voice. “And, if you find it’s true, bring her back with you.”

  “What!” Mindful of the other patrons scattered around the dimly lighted lounge, Brett had managed to keep his tone low, but it was all the more intense for the incredulity lacing it.

  “If”—a spasm fleetingly distorted her lovely features and she bit her lips before correcting herself harshly— “when he comes around, he will need the strength of the woman he loves.”

  Her slender hand grasping his tightened, oval nails digging into his palm. Brett felt the pain, not in his hand but in his heart. The rage spread fiery fingers into his mind with her next impassioned words.

  “I hate it, Brett. I hate the very thought of it.” Two tears escaped their blinking bounds to slide slowly down her cheeks. “But I want him to live. Oh, dear God, I want him to live, and I will use anyone, suffer anything, if it will help him.” Staring directly into his eyes, she’d begged, “Don’t think of me, Brett, think of him. Go to New York.”

  Of course he’d given in to her. How could he not? The affection and respect he’d felt for her from the beginning blossomed into pure filial love. He would do anything, perform any task she charged him with.

  After escorting her to her room, he had gone to his own long enough to pick up a few things. One of those things was the phone, over which he informed his mother of his intentions—but not his motives. Another of those things was Wolf’s briefcase, which he’d taken possession of on arrival but not as yet opened.

  During the short flight from Boston to New York, he’d perused the contents of Wolf’s case. Most of the papers inside were directly related to the reason Wolf had gone to Boston in the first place—that of the feasibility of renovating a rather run-down, old hotel into modern condominiums and the company’s acquisition of same if the resultant figures proved out that feasibility.

  One slim folder stood out glaringly in its difference.

  The data confined between the covers of the cream-colored folder had come from the personnel manager directly to Wolf. One quick glance over the four sheets of pristine white paper and Brett had a crawling suspicion he was closer to knowing the answer to Micki’s question.

  During the cab ride from Kennedy to Wolf’s spacious apartment with its panoramic view of Central Park, Brett came very close to hating the formerly adored one.

  It had been a long day. In truth, it had been three very long days, each one riddled with fear as Brett, his mother, Eric, and Micki, so brave, so vulnerable, waited, waited, waited.

  Brett had been tired, and disillusioned, and bitter, yet, before dropping onto Wolf’s over-oversized bed, he had more thoroughly studied the four sheets of paper. Each paper contained a detailed account of the professional performance of four company employees—three men and one woman.

  The information had been gathered, at Wolf’s request, for the purpose of choosing a replacement for a retiring senior executive of the East Coast branch of Renninger Corporation.

  The lone female under consideration for the coveted position was JoAnne Lawrence.

  The following morning, feeling charged with restless energy after days spent in the confines of hospital waiting rooms and corridors, Brett politely declined the apartment doorman’s respectful offer of a cab.

  Had he wanted to ride, there would have been no need to do it in the back of a world-famous—infamous?—New York City cab. All that would have been required were a few words spoken into a telephone and a limousine, plush, comfortable, fitted out to the nines, would have been waiting at the curb for him. When the occasion warranted, Brett was not averse to using his name, position, power, or wealth. This particular morning, Mr. Renninger chose to walk.

  His brother’s briefcase firmly in hand, he strode off, appearing, at least to the casual glance, much like hundreds of other young executives en route to the city’s amalgam of offices. The more discerning eye would have noted the supple leather of handmade shoes, the fine material of perfectly tailored charcoal gray suit, the real silk of pearl gray shirt. The discerning female eye would appreciate the long, toned torso, the thick crop of sun-streaked, loose waves caressing a beautifully sculpted head, features so sharply etched as to appear austere in their masculine beauty, lips that promised heaven in their pleasure, hell in their disfavor. At the moment the tightness of those lips proclaimed extreme disfavor with someone.

  Brett’s strides ate up the sidewalk. Seeming so self-absorbed as to be aware of nothing around him, he was, in fact, full
y conscious of everything within the radius of his near-perfect vision. Eyes dull steel, flat in contemplation of what may await at destination’s end, he strode on, his mind alive with his sister-in-law’s charge:

  “Go to New York, Brett, and, if you find it’s true, bring her back with you.”

  Now, as he approached the tall glass-and-steel building that housed the offices of East Coast Region—Renninger Corporation, his mind repeated the same silent reply as the night before.

  No way in hell!

  Stepping out of the elevator at the twenty-third floor, Brett walked briskly down the carpeted hall to the office of the personnel manager. When he walked out of the office, fifteen minutes later, the retiring senior executive’s replacement had been chosen. The choice was not a female.

  From personnel, Brett took the elevator up three more floors. His body taut with purpose, he strode to a solid, unmarked door, twisted the handle, and, eyes narrowing with intent, stepped inside.

  “May I help you?”

  The query was directed at him from a frowning woman seated behind an open laptop. Her confused expression made a demand: Who the hell are you? And how did you get up here unannounced?

  A sardonic smile teased Brett’s tightly compressed mouth. It had been a long time since his last foray into New York.

  “Is Ms. Lawrence in?” Brett asked quietly, the smile tugging harder at his lips as he observed the confusion deepen in the woman’s eyes. Her expressive face telegraphed her mental self-questioning: Should I know this man? Is he someone important?

  “Yes.” The woman nodded. “But she is very busy. She asked not to be disturbed.”

  “She’ll see me.” His cool, deliberately arrogant tone brought out the backbone in the woman who, at any other time, Brett would have found more than passably attractive.

  “Really?” she replied with matching coolness. “I doubt it. She was very busy.”

  “Use your intercom,” he instructed patiently, “and inform your boss that ACT-boss is waiting.”

  “Her boss?” The woman’s brows drew together. “I don’t understand.”

  Brett sighed. Of course she didn’t understand. How could she? Hanging on to his patience, he smiled benignly.

  ‘Tell Ms. Lawrence Brett Renninger wants to see her.”

  Suddenly, a door three feet to their right was thrust open and a melodious but impatient voice demanded:

  “Reni! Who are you socializing with? I need that report you’re working on.”

  “Ms. Lawrence, I... I... he ...”

  The attempted explanation died on her lips as JoAnne Lawrence followed her voice into the room.

  At first sight of her something that had died inside Brett made its first faint stirrings toward resurrection.

  Beautiful?

  Brett was hard put not to laugh aloud. As a descriptive adjective, beautiful, in regard to the tall woman glaring at him seemed woefully inadequate.

  “Who are you? And what are you doing in here?”

  Brett had been thankful for her imperious tone; it reminded him of exactly who this woman was.

  “Oh, Ms. Lawrence,” Reni began, “he’s. .. he’s . ..”

  “Reni! Will you please finish that report!”JoAnne’s eyes sliced a quelling glance to Reni then shot back to him. “Answer me”

  “With pleasure.” Brett felt a curl of satisfaction when her impossibly long lashes flickered at his too-smooth, too-soft tone. Experiencing a sensation quite like joy, he let her have it with both barrels.

  “Brett Renninger,” he introduced himself silkily, feeling the curl of satisfaction spreading at the stillness that gripped her. “And I am here in the capacity of your employer for the duration.”

  In retrospect, Brett had to admit her aplomb was magnificent. There was a split second of appalled hesitation, then she stepped toward him gracefully, slim right hand extended.

  “I’m sorry, Brett,” she apologized in a soft, clear voice. “Come right in.”

  * * * *

  A cool breeze skipped across the water, ruffling its inky-dark surface. Brett shivered inside the insufficient protection of his field jacket. Chilled out of his reverie, he moved his shoulders in a tension-relieving shrug, a vague hollowness inside bringing awareness of how long it had been since he’d eaten.

  At least he attributed the empty feeling to hunger.

  Turning abruptly, he frowned as his ear caught the faint crackle of the envelope nestled inside his breast pocket. The hole in his middle grew to a mini chasm.

  Cold all over, Brett strode to the low-slung car, repressing a shudder as he slid behind the wheel. Punishing the ignition once again for his own conflicting emotions, he slammed his palm against the gear stick and backed the car the length of the street

  It had been so ridiculously easy to reassure Micki of Wolf’s fidelity.

  Cruising along the deserted street, a grimace broke the tight line of Brett’s lips. He had simply relayed almost verbatim JoAnne’s—rehearsed?—response to his interrogation in her office that morning.

  Yes, she had been with Wolf in Boston.

  No, the original arrangements had not been for her to accompany him.

  Wolf had called her late in the afternoon the day after his arrival in Boston.

  “I don’t like the setup.”JoAnne had quoted Wolf. “I think they believe they’re dealing with a lightweight here. They should know better. But then, so should I. I failed to run a routine check. Get research on it now. I want a full report by tomorrow noon, hand delivered, by you.”

  Yes, she had delivered the report to him the following afternoon. They had gone over it together during dinner.

  Yes, he had booked a room for her at the hotel but, as she had scheduled a meeting with his staff for the following morning, he drove her to the airport sometime around eleven that night. She had flown back to New York on the same company plane that had carried her to Boston.

  Yes, he must have been on the way back to the hotel when the accident occurred.

  Micki had gratefully, tearfully swallowed it whole; hook, line, and sinker.

  Brett was a different type of fish. Keeping his own council, he had decided to search out the true depth of JoAnne’s seemingly still waters.

  Depth indeed!

  Brett’s entire body felt icy except for that one rectangular spot on his chest. The envelope crackled again as he mounted the steps in the silent motel.

  Unlocking the apartment door, he strode angrily inside and stopped dead. Assuming she’d have gone to her own room by now, he had not expected to find her waiting for him. Brett voiced the first thought that came to his mind.

  “Trouble?”

  “No.” Her sleek, dark hair moved sharply in the negative. “I just now decided to call it a day.” An odd, sad smile brushed her soft, moist lips. “Possibly because I also just realized I haven’t eaten since breakfast. Let’s grab some dinner.”

  * * *

  Chapter 2

  Absently unaware of the sensuousness of her actions, Jo toyed with her tulip-shaped wineglass, the fingers of her left hand caressing the stem with long, evocative strokes, the tip of her right forefinger slowly circling the rim.

  Oblivious to the gray gaze following her finger play, she sighed with the unwilling realization that for the last several hours her thought pattern had mirrored the movement of her fingertips—round and round.

  Why does he dislike me so?

  After three weeks of regular repetition, the question was a familiar, if painful, refrain. She had repeatedly scoured her mind for reasons for his antipathy, and she came up blank time after time. Other than that first regretful morning in her office, she had scrupulously shown him all due respect. Surely the man had more intelligence than to carry a grudge for so slight an infraction! He had barged unannounced into her office! Her reaction to his sudden appearance had been completely normal.

  Yet, since that first morning, uncomfortable waves of tension simmered between them whenever they were in t
he same room together, regardless of the number of feet that measured the distance between them.

  It was more than unnerving; it was disheartening, because her initial reaction to him had been very positive, deeply favorable. In effect, Jo didn’t even have to be in the same room with him to reexperience her initial reaction; all she had to do was think of him and tiny little physical devils began a game of touch and run with her libido. It was enough to make a fully mature, intelligent, reasonably level-headed woman weep with longing!

  Though Jo was unconscious of the yearning sigh that whispered through her lips, Brett, very obviously, was not.

  “Tired?”

  Blinking herself out of the fruitless introspection, Jo donned a mask of nonchalance before raising her eyes to his.

  “Yes.” Her reply was blunt for two reasons; First, it was nothing but the plain truth; second, his taunting tone had instilled a chill. Was it her imagination, or did he continually use that exact tone with her for some reason she was too dim to decipher? Keeping a rigid harness on her own tongue—which did itch to lash a bit—she added tonelessly, “It’s been a long three weeks.”

  For some obscure reason her statement seemed to anger him. Jo’s carefully constructed mask slipped to reveal bafflement when Brett stiffened abruptly.

  “I imagine it has been,” he drawled icily. ‘Time has a tendency to drag when you’re missing someone.”

  Jo’s bafflement retreated at the advance of sheer incredulity. What the hell was he talking about? Missing someone? Whoever could he ... good grief, he couldn’t possibly be referring to Gary? How had he even heard of that ill-fated involvement? Though she wasn’t aware of any gossip about her breakup with Gary Devlin, there was always the chance he had heard through the company grapevine. This man would surely demand to know all there was to know about an assistant he had no voice in choosing. All there was to know officially, and unofficially. But why would he think she was missing Gary? It was almost a year and a half since…

  “If you’re ready to leave?”

  Brett’s cold query put an end to her conjecturing. Employing fierce determination to keep her eyebrows from joining in a frown, Jo let a cool nod suffice for an answer. Inside, she seethed to tell him to go take a flying leap into the bay. Who the hell was he to think he could speak so condescendingly to her!