Logan (Wild Boys After Dark, #1)(21)
He slid a cell phone into her pocket. “That has my number in it. Promise me you’ll use it if anyone bothers you today, or if you’re scared, or if you get a bad feeling and need someone who’ll understand that you’re not just freaking out.”
“You bought me a phone?”
“I have several. That one can’t be tracked. Now give me yours. Let’s see how this guy is tracking you down.”
She rolled her eyes. “What does that mean?”
“It means that I can read you like a book and I’m tired of asking nicely. You’re on the run from a guy who’s getting out of jail in a few days. You’re scared shitless that he’ll find you in this hellhole of a city. That tells me that he’s found you before, maybe more than once. You’re not a stupid woman, so he found you when you were running. Am I right?”
“What? How can you…?”
He arched a brow again. The look suited him. It was snarky, and coupled with the ticking up of the right side of his mouth, it softened his serious edge. Knowing he wasn’t going to let it go, she dug into her purse and handed him the phone.
He scrolled through her settings. “You don’t use a password?”
She shrugged. “Why? Who’s going to look at my phone?”
“Where did you get your phone?” He took out the SIM card and the battery.
“My phone? Kutcher gave me the phone, but it’s my plan, so it’s not like he can track me with a find my phone app or anything. Besides, he’s in jail, so…”
He shook his head. “This is just one way he’s probably tracking you. People smuggle cell phones into jails all the time.”
She felt like she’d been punched in the stomach. How could she have been so stupid? “You mean…all this time I thought he had people tracking me, it was that stupid phone?” She fisted her hands and groaned.
“It’s okay. You didn’t know. Let’s focus on what we need to do. What else do you carry with you that you’ve had since you left Mystic?”
“What do you mean? Like my purse? My clothes? I feel like such an idiot.”
“Stormy, you’re not an idiot. You’re just not a drug-running bastard who knows all the tricks. Think of things you don’t wash. Suitcase? Wallet? I saw a picture next to your bed. Did you bring that from home or have it made since you left?”
Stella thought of the implications of what he was saying, and the pieces began to fall into place.
“You think he bugged my stuff?” She felt like she’d swallowed a brick. Why hadn’t she thought of that? “Oh God.”
She handed him her purse. “I took this and everything in it. My backpacks are in my closet.”
“I saw them. The photo beside your bed?”
“My mom.” The idea of Kutcher tracking her through a picture of the woman she loved most in the world made her feel sick. “I brought it.”
“I need two things, and you’re not going to like either.”
He sounded like her mother’s oncologist the day he told her and her mother that her mother had cancer. She clutched his arm, needing his strength once again.
“I need your permission to go into your apartment and check out those things, and I need your permission to take your picture.”
“Yes, you can go into my apartment. My keys are in my purse—but take my picture?”
He gave a single curt nod with a stone face.
If he was right about Kutcher, then she owed him a hell of a lot more than a picture.
“Fine. Why?”
He took out his cell phone before she could change her mind and snapped a picture. “Because if you won’t tell me who you are, I need to figure it out myself.”
“Is there anything you can’t figure out?”
“Let’s hope not.” His brows knitted together. “Stormy, if there’s anything else you can tell me that might help keep him in jail, please tell me.”
“He was a big coke dealer, but I don’t know much about how he did it except that he had other guys working for him and he sold to really wealthy clients.” Revealing the secret that had nearly gotten her killed made her feel lighter, like she’d been carrying around a bowling ball on her chest for the past few months and she could finally take a deep breath.
He cupped her cheek. “Thank you for trusting me.”
She did trust him. Completely. And as good as that felt, it also scared her, because even though she knew he wasn’t anything like Kutcher, once upon a time she’d trusted Kutcher, too.
He pulled the door open. “Shall we?”
“What are you going to do, sit and babysit me all day?”
“No.” He waved to Dylan behind the bar.
Dylan smiled. “Logan.” He shook his head, like he should have known Logan would show up with her. “How’re you doing, Stormy?”
“Fine.” She saw the look of approval Dylan gave Logan.
Was this all a big joke? They’d probably placed bets on whether he’d get laid last night. Dylan hadn’t struck her as that type of guy, and unless her judgment was way off base, Logan was anything but that kind of guy. If he were just out to get laid, he would have taken off last night and never shown his face again. Instead, he was going to try to help her with Kutcher. Not that she thought anyone could do a damn thing where Kutcher was concerned, but she liked feeling as if she wasn’t in this alone.