Beneath The Surface. Linda Turner

he would be the first to admit that his work had suffered some during the last year. He and Nick had talked about it, and he’d done his best to be more focused. What had he missed? “I’ll be right there,” he promised.

      Nick usually exchanged a few pleasantries with anyone he called to his office, but he didn’t this time. Instead, he nodded toward the chair angled in front of his desk. “Sit down,” he growled.

      Logan preferred to stand and take whatever bad news Nick had for him, but he only had to glance at his boss’s stern face to know this wasn’t the time to push him. Without a word, he dropped into the chair. “If this is about the story on the poker games in the break room at the police department, I don’t care what Chief Hawkins said, I’ve got proof.”

      Nick waved him off with a grimace. “If I thought you couldn’t back up your stories, you wouldn’t be on the crime beat. That’s not the problem.”

      “Then what is?”

      Leaning back in his chair, Nick looked at him over the top of his black-rimmed reading glasses. “I know the last year has been hard for you,” he said gruffly. “And to be perfectly honest, I don’t know if I’d have been able to hold myself together as well as you have if I’d lost Jackie the way you did Faith. Losing someone you love to cancer or some kind of health problem is one thing—you can understand it even though you can’t accept it. But a drunk driver who’s done this before? The jackass should have been shot!”

      “I thought about it,” Logan admitted honestly, “but killing him wasn’t going to bring Faith back. Nothing will.”

      “So you have to move on,” he said. “And that’s the problem. Oh, you’ve been showing up for work, hitting your deadlines, keeping track of your assignments, but we both know you’ve only been going through the motions. Don’t get me wrong,” he added quickly. “I sympathize with you and everything you’ve been through, but that doesn’t change the fact that I’ve got a paper to publish, and my number one reporter hasn’t been writing up to par for nearly a year.”

      “You know I’ve been trying, Nick.”

      “Yes, I do, but unfortunately, trying isn’t good enough. Sales are down, ad revenue has been dropping steadily for the last few months, and all departments have been ordered to tighten their belts and weed out the chafe.”

      “You’re firing me?”

      “No, of course not.” He scowled. “Everyone knows you’re the best damn writer I’ve got, but I’m getting pressure from upstairs. Porter isn’t happy with the quality of the stories we’ve been putting out. He left me no choice but to hire his granddaughter’s boyfriend to pick up the slack. He’s right out of school—”

      “Oh, c’mon, Nick! A college kid? You can’t be serious!”

      “I know,” he said with a grimace. “I felt the same way when Porter told me about the kid. But then I read some of his stuff. He’s good, Logan. Damn good. In fact, his writing reminds me of the way yours used to be. It’s got an edge to it—”

      “He’s a kid, Nick! He’s not me.”

      “No, he’s not,” he agreed. “But right now, you’re MIA, and he’s the best I’ve got. I hope the two of you get along, but whether you do or don’t doesn’t change anything. Porter says he’s here to stay.”

      Picking up the phone on his desk, he pressed a button and growled, “I need to see you in my office.” When he hung up, he told Logan, “You came here right out of college yourself, so remember that. He’s no threat to you. In fact, he may be just what you need to get out of the rut you’re in. A little competition never hurt anyone.”

      Logan sincerely doubted that a kid who was still wet behind the ears could compete with an experienced reporter, but he himself didn’t plan to compete with him or anyone else. He was handling his grief, and even though he’d lost interest in his writing after Faith died, he was still a damn good writer. And with time, he knew he would regain the sharpness he’d been famous for in the past.

      A knock at the door distracted him from his thoughts, and he looked up to see a tall blond man walk in. He didn’t look old enough to shave, let alone be out of college, and if Logan hadn’t known better, he would have sworn he was a California beach bum who spent all his time surfing. Logan could almost smell the scent of the ocean as the younger man stepped into the office.

      This was the crackerjack reporter with a sharp edge? Logan thought cynically. Yeah, right!

      “You rang, boss?”

      His tone was far from respectful, his stance slouched. Nick scowled. “I don’t answer to boss. You can call me Nick or Mr. Whitiker.”

      The younger man only shrugged. “Sure. Whatever.” Turning to Logan, he didn’t bother to hold out his hand. “You must be Logan St. John. I’m Josh Garrison. I heard you were having some problems. Don’t worry. I’ll pick up the slack.”

      Logan liked to think he was fairly thick-skinned and didn’t get insulted easily, but there was something about Josh Garrison’s cocky tone and the look in his eye that irritated the hell out of him. “I don’t need you or anyone else to pick up the slack where I’m concerned,” he said coolly. “I’m quite capable of doing my job.”

      “Hey, man, don’t get offended,” Josh retorted. “I’m just repeating what Porter told me. The paper’s in a slump and he brought me in to pull it out. If you’ve got a beef, take it up with the old man. I just do what I’m told.”

      He turned and strode out without another word. In the silence left behind, Nick swore softly. “Well, that went well. Dammit, Logan, you didn’t have to get your back up!”

      “The hell I didn’t,” he muttered. “You heard him. I heard you were having some problems. I’ll pick up the slack. Smart-ass. I don’t care what the ‘old man’ told him, I don’t need him to do my job for me. I was winning awards for this paper when he was still playing tag on the playground in elementary school.”

      “Okay, so he wouldn’t know tact if he tripped on it,” Nick conceded. “He sets my teeth on edge, too. But like it or not, we’re both going to have to live with him, Logan. He’s the golden boy…and practically family to Porter. That gives him a get-out-of-jail-free card, so don’t hold out hope that he’ll wear out his welcome anytime soon. He’s too good a writer, and you know how Porter is when he gets a bee in his bonnet that the paper’s not pulling in enough money. He’d hire Attila the Hun if he thought it would bring in dollars.”

      “I don’t care. The kid’s arrogant.”

      Nick shrugged. “He’s young. You were the same way at his age.”

      “I was never disrespectful,” Logan said flatly. Staring at the door through which Josh had walked out, he scowled. “There’s something about him I don’t like.”

      “Just do your job and don’t worry about him,” Nick advised. “He’ll show his true colors soon enough.”

      Logan had never been one to go out and look for trouble, but he also wasn’t one to sit and wait for trouble to come to him without taking steps to ward it off. He intended to watch Josh Garrison very, very carefully.

      Doing some much-needed filing at work, Abby should have rushed through the job, then started printing address labels for the fund-raising-campaign letter Martin wanted mailed by Wednesday. But as she completed the familiar task, she found her thoughts drifting to Logan. She still couldn’t believe how understanding he’d been yesterday when he’d called her—or what a coward she’d been when he’d asked her to have a drink with him!

      He probably thought she was scared of her own shadow, she thought with a silent groan. And she really wasn’t. Granted, she had no confidence in herself when it came to men, but she wasn’t afraid of them. The person she was afraid of was herself. And with good reason. She was a lousy judge of men. She’d proved it time and time