Blow(96)

Logan seemed to be thinking.

“And you, how many girlfriends have you had?”

Still lost in his thoughts, he mindlessly answered, “Just the two. But I’m not sure you could call them that. I never put a label on either relationship. I preferred not to.”

Interesting. Relationships were never his thing either.

I ran my finger up the scar that marred the inside of his thigh and then over the one under his eye. “These are from him. Both of them, aren’t they?”

He nodded.

Neither scar stole away from the beauty I saw in Logan, but I knew they must have been constant reminders to him. My fingers found his and I squeezed them tightly. “Logan, nothing is going to happen to me.”

He drew in a sharp breath as if he wasn’t so certain.

“Why can’t the police take care of Tommy? You could go to them and tell them what happened to you years ago. Couldn’t they use that for Peyton’s case and maybe arrest him?”

He bristled. “It doesn’t work like that. Not in our world. There is too much corruption in the BPD, and too many bad guys on the streets. Too often, innocent people end up getting hurt.”

It was all a little surreal.

Logan’s real world was like a TV drama.

The thought saddened me. I kissed the scar under his eye. It was a part of him. Who he was. And no matter the healing, the scar left behind, the depth of the wound was deep. I knew that now.

It was late when his phone rang. Without hesitation he reached for it. “Yeah,” he answered.

Silence.

“I’ll leave now.”

Logan tossed his phone aside and kissed me sweetly. “I have to go out for a bit.”

I grabbed for his wrist before he was fully out of bed. “Who was that?”

Opening a drawer, he pulled out a pair of jeans and answered while slipping them on. “Declan. He has a possible lead on your sister.”

I hopped out of bed and started to dress too.

Logan eyed me carefully as he pulled a long-sleeved shirt over his head. “What are you doing?”

Fastening my bra, I told him, “Getting dressed.”

Sitting on the bed, he shoved on a pair of Converse sneakers that had seen better days and asked, “Why?”

“I’m coming with you.”

Tying his second sneaker, he stood up.

I had my white shirt on now and was looking for my panties.

“Elle.” He was right in front of me, crouching down to meet my eyes. “No, you’re not.”

“She’s my sister.” My voice pulsed with anger.

“And I’ll tell you what I find out as soon as I know anything. This is a fishing expedition. I have no idea if the girl Tommy was seen with was even your sister. And I have no idea who is hanging around waiting for her. I don’t want anyone to suspect you are even looking for her. As far as the world knows, you believe she’s in rehab. Leave it that way.”

Not that he didn’t have a point, because he did. I just didn’t like it. “You’ll call me as soon as you know anything.”

He kissed me in that sweet way he had a few times now. “Yes,” he whispered, and then he tugged me toward him by the front seam of my shirt. “And keep this on. You look sexy as hell in it.”

My blood ran warm like a shot of tequila going down after the third one.

Opening a drawer, he pulled some money out, then grabbed his phone and started for the doorway. I followed him into the suite and watched as he checked his gun before tucking it behind him.

Logan looked at me one last time and then he was out the door.

I glanced around at the vanilla-colored walls and heard a pelting of sorts. When I turned my head toward the massive bank of windows, I noticed the doors were still open and I could see hail as it hit the terrace. My sister always said when it hailed that God was shooting bullets from the sky.

I hoped that wasn’t a sign.





DAY 5





LOGAN


The legend of Killian “the Killer” McPherson was like a shadow over me.

Mostly it was dark and looming, but sometimes it was a blessing in disguise.

Everywhere I went, if people knew me, they moved out of my way. If I asked a question, they answered. If I needed something, they gave it to me.

Tonight wouldn’t be any different.

I was certain of that.

Still, there was a taut awareness in every muscle of my body. I felt confident. Ready to do what I had to in order to find out what the f*ck was going on.

Declan was sitting in the lobby of the Seaport Hotel. He couldn’t look more out of place in the regal yet stuffy hotel that screamed aristocratic affiliations. Not that I looked like I fit in much more tonight.

“What’s going on?” I asked him, slipping into the plush beige club chair beside him.

He wiped his hands on his worn jeans. “Miles Murphy, my buddy who works security, said he’s seen someone matching Tommy’s description coming in and out of here with a redhead as little as three or four days ago.”

My brows rose in confusion. “Days or months?” I asked in clarification.

Declan’s silver hoop earrings glinted off the light of the chandeliers that flanked the room.

It made me a little jumpy.

“Days.”