emitted a guttural groan that echoed his mood. “Great,” he muttered as a series of clicks punctuated the groan, “that’s just great.” Last thing he needed was a dead battery.
Logan grabbed his phone to call a tow truck.
Nothing. No ring tone. No bars. What were the odds of one guy having two dead batteries in the space of a minute? Slim to none, he thought, slamming the driver’s door.
He could follow the sidewalk around to the front of the building and ask to use the phone in the studio’s waiting room. Or he could go into the station the way he’d come out and borrow Bianca’s instead.
CHAPTER THREE
RESEARCHING THE GUESTS’ business and professional backgrounds was part of her job as assistant producer. Digging into their personal lives was not. Mild curiosity had prompted her to find out for herself if the media’s assessment of Logan Murray was fact or fiction. She hadn’t been surprised at—and quickly dismissed—the juicy tidbits about his romantic escapades. For one thing, her college minor had been PR. For another, common sense told her that if he’d dated as much as the entertainment mags claimed, he’d need forty-eight hours in every day.
Something about his message for the radio DJ echoed in her memory. “See you tonight at the meeting,” he’d said. She thumbed through his file, looking for articles that might validate her suspicions. When nothing turned up, she ran a Google search.
Nothing.
Bianca sighed, staring at the list of links. Page after page of photos, bios and academic and athletic awards, but not a word about alcoholism, drug addiction or rehab. If only she could find the article she’d read, months ago, about the time he’d spent in rehab. Well, she thought, they didn’t call it Alcoholics Anonymous for nothing.
Or she’d been dead wrong about him.
But why was it so important to find black-and-white evidence that he had skeletons in his closet? Because she needed reasons not to like him. Yeah, he’d said yes to her coffee offer, and yes, he’d invited her to talk autism at the café around the corner. That didn’t mean he was interested in her. His file was filled with full-color photographic evidence that he liked his women footloose and flashy, not exhausted and widowed. She tossed the file aside and caught sight of her reflection in the mirrorlike window of the microwave. “You look old enough to be your own mother,” she muttered, frowning.
“Talking to yourself again, eh?”
Bianca clapped a hand over her chest. “Good grief, Marty. You scared me half to death!”
“Sorry,” he said. “I whistled all the way down the hall so I wouldn’t startle you.” Then he nodded at Drew’s photograph. “How does he like the new school?”
“He’s holding his own, I suppose.”
“What’s that mean...you suppose?”
“Well, he’s talking a whole lot more and making eye contact most of the time. Best of all, he lets me hug him, and once in a while, he even hugs me back.” Bianca thought of all the years when Drew had turned his face and stiffened when she showed affection in any way. She held her breath to forestall tears. “I just...hoped he’d be further along by now.”
He gave her shoulder a friendly squeeze. “I don’t need to remind you, of all people, that these things take time, do I?”
She returned his smile. “No, guess not. And I don’t need to tell you that I’m not exactly the most patient mom on the planet, do I?”
“No, guess not,” Marty echoed.
“So what brings you all the way down the hall to my minuscule cubicle?”
“Would you believe I misplaced Logan Murray’s contact info? I forgot to thank him for inviting me to that golf outing last week.”
Bianca reopened the file, grabbed a Post-it and wrote Logan’s name and phone number on it.
Marty folded it in two and tucked it into the pocket of his crisp white shirt. “Want me to tell him anything for you?”
“Such as...?”
“Such as...you’re sorry you turned down his coffee invitation?”
“You were eavesdropping?” Bianca feigned surprise. “I can’t believe it!” Then, in a quieter, more serious tone, she added, “That is the last thing I want you to tell him.”
“So if saying no to his clumsy invite is the last thing, what’s the first?”
“I don’t want you to tell him anything. Except, maybe, thanks for appearing on the show.”
“Uh-huh. Are you forgetting how long we’ve known one another? I can see straight through you.”
Nearly six years. He and Jason had belonged to the same athletic club and often had played doubles tennis. Marty had been at her kitchen table sipping iced tea, waiting for Jason to get home from work, when she took the call from Kennedy Krieger, confirming that Drew indeed had autism. And prior to Jason’s cancer diagnosis, they’d been regular guests at Marty’s house.
“I’m lucky to call you a friend,” she admitted.
“Ditto, kiddo.” The note crinkled when he patted his pocket. “Well, I’d better call the guy before I lose this.” He rounded the corner, then ducked back in. “You’re sure you don’t want me to put in a good word for you?”
“Give it a rest, Marty. Even if I had time for a man in my life, you don’t seriously think it would be someone like Logan Murray.” As if to prove it, she clucked her tongue.
“I happen to know that he has a nephew just like Drew. So he knows all about autism.”
“I know. We talked about him. His name’s Sam.”
Marty paused and said with a frown, “Will you let an old friend give you some advice?”
“Something tells me I couldn’t stop you if I tried.” Grinning, she crossed both arms over her chest. “Lemme have it, old friend.”
“Logan and I have been pals for quite a while now, and—”
“Really. Then why did you need his contact information?”
“Because, Detective Wright, he got tired of the prank calls from crazy broads who want to become Mrs. Murray, so he changed his number. Again.” He bobbed his head. “Trust me...I’ve known him long enough to be able to tell when he’s interested in a gal, and when he’s really interested, if you get my drift.”
“Sorry to be so obtuse, but I don’t. Get your drift, that is.”
“The way he was lookin’ at you?” Marty whistled. “He’s into you, kid.”
“Marty...”
He held up both hands. “Okay, never let it be said I can’t take a hint.” He gave her a quick hug. “See ya!”
Bianca shook her head.
