Aftershocks by Nancy Warren Page B

somehow. Whatever it was, Briana lifted her head and their gazes caught and held. Patrick was tempted to put a hand on the warped oak door frame for support at the impact of her gaze on his nervous system.
    The emotions and events of the night before roared back and thickened the atmosphere between them. He felt the sexual tug that had been there from the beginning, only this time it was like a grappling hook.
    He knew that for as long as he lived, he’d never forget the expression of conflicted desire in the depths of her luminous eyes, or the struggle he waged with himself not to go over there and haul her into his arms, where she so obviously belonged.
    They stayed like that only a few seconds, but it felt like years. Then Briana blinked and said into the phone, “Yes, yes, I’m still here. I’m sorry, what time did you say?”
    Her voice was as calmly professional as always, and only the bloom of deeper apricot in her cheeks and her quickened breathing gave away her emotional response to him.
    Knowing he’d make a fool of himself—make that a bigger fool of himself—if he stayed there watching her with his tongue hanging out, he walked by her desk with his best imitation of a casual wave and entered his own office.
    Already a stack of pink message slips awaited him.Four of the five city councilors had called. Cecil Thomson was the only one who hadn’t bothered.
    Patrick’s mother, Mary O’Shea, had called. Damn. He’d meant to phone her this morning to let her know he and the kids were fine. She’d be checking in with all her family this morning if he knew his mom, reassuring herself that all her brood were safe. No doubt she’d heard about him being stuck in the elevator, and since the radio and television news had both reported on the damage in town, she’d have seen the collapsed convenience store and worried about its proximity to his home.
    He picked up the phone to call her, only to be interrupted. Briana buzzed him on the intercom to let him know that the building superintendent was here to see him.
    “Bert,” he said, rising and extending his hand. “How’s it going?”
    “Not too bad. I’ve done the postincident property inspection and we’re in pretty good shape.” Bert glanced down at his printed checklist. “The vibrating caused a short in the elevator, that’s why it stuck. The fire crew didn’t do much damage when they got you out, but the elevator company’s coming to fix the door-closure arms and reset the circuitry. They should be through by noon.”
    Patrick nodded. “That’s good then. No other damage?”
    “No,” Bert said. “City hall’s solidly built, no question. But we should consider seismic upgrades to the suspended ceiling and light fixtures on all floors. If we do it floor by floor, we can minimize the disruption.”
    “That’s a good idea, Bert. Put together a report and include a budget. Let’s see what we can do. I have to be honest, though. We’ve got more urgent expense itemsfor Courage Bay’s already overstretched budget. We’re probably looking at next year.”
    Bert didn’t seem surprised. “I’ll put together the report anyway.”
    Once he left, Briana brought in more message slips. Reporters from the Sentinel and the local TV and radio stations had called. They’d want to know about his stint in the trapped elevator, no doubt, and also, he suspected, how the municipal government was planning to support Courage Bay. He blew out a breath, dragged off his suit jacket, loosened the tie he’d put on not an hour ago, and picked up the phone. Before he had a chance to do more than hit the first number, his intercom buzzed. “Yeah.”
    “It’s Dan Egan on the phone,” she said. “He wants to see you today.”
    Who didn’t? He respected and liked the fire chief, but right now he didn’t have time for a diatribe. “Look, Briana, I know he’s shorthanded and I’m about to start calling an emergency council meeting. I’ll let him know the