Logan

by Melissa Foster

  Oh God. What am I doing?

  She had no place in her life for a guy like Logan. She cleared her throat and forced herself to focus.

  “Logan.” Talk, talk, talk. Come on, Stella. You can say this.

  She didn’t want to push him away. She wanted more of him.

  His arm moved up and claimed her shoulder as they arrived at NightCaps. It was ten thirty, and for a moment she wondered how he knew when she was expected at work.

  “Yes, Stormy?” He said Stormy with so much sarcasm that she couldn’t suppress a smile.

  She needed to change the subject, because as much as she wanted him, she also knew it was selfish to give in and admit whatever was simmering between them felt like way more than a one-night stand. Logan didn’t need her life weighing him down.

  “How did you know what time I had to be at work?”

  “I saw it on the schedule when we were in the office.” He slid his free hand casually into his pocket.

  “God, you’re like the worst kind of stalker.” She looked away knowing that wasn’t anywhere near the truth. Kutcher was the worst kind of stalker. Logan was a sexy, caring stalker.

  He drew her chin back with his index finger.

  “No.” His intense stare went warm and soft, drawing her in again. “I’m the best kind. I’ll keep you safe. Tell me about Kutcher.”

  “How…?” She remembered how he knew his name. She’d let it slip. She didn’t know what his game was. He must want something, or maybe he just wanted to get laid again. She’d cut loose for one night. She wasn’t going there again—even if every step made the muscles she hadn’t remembered she’d had spike with the most exquisite reminders of their night together.

  “Kutcher, Stormy. Where can I find him?”

  “Oh no, Logan. You can’t do anything. This isn’t your problem. I can take care of myself.”

  His arched brow said everything that was sailing through her mind.

  “Let me rephrase that. I can handle it. I’ve got three days to figure it out.” Her heart raced at the realization that Kutcher’s time in jail was speeding to an end.

  His eyes narrowed. “Three days to figure what out? Stormy, if some guy is looking for you, New York isn’t that big. If he’s good, he’ll find you.”

  “He’s better than good,” she said in a hushed tone, hating to admit that Kutcher was good at anything. The bastard.

  Logan stepped in closer and lifted her chin so she was forced to look at him. His eyes warmed again, the way they had last night. When he spoke, his tone was sweet, caring, and it tugged at all the places that made her want to go soft in his arms.

  “Stormy, no one’s better at tracking than me. Let me keep you safe. Give me something to go on. Why three days? Why the timeline? Is he out of the country? In jail?”

  Why did he have to make her feel so vulnerable? She needed to be strong, and with him she felt like strong wasn’t strong enough, like she needed him. After last night’s attack, she wasn’t so sure she didn’t.

  “He’s found me everywhere I’ve ever gone. I barely escaped with my life, Logan. I…I’m afraid to tell you who I am, because I’m afraid he’ll make the connection somehow and then he’ll come after you.”

  The muscles in his jaw tightened. “I felt the scar on the back of your left shoulder and the other just beside your spine.”

  Stella’s blood ran cold. She turned out of his reach, breathing hard, feeling the pain of the knife as if it were entering her skin for the first time. Kutcher had gotten her bad that time. She should have turned him in, shouldn’t have lied about her attacker, but she’d been too scared that he’d avoid the police and come back and finish the job.

  Logan’s arms snaked around her waist, his cheek met hers again, and she closed her eyes, willing her tears away.

  “You’re not alone in this. Let me help. Just tell me this, is he a free man?”

  She shook her head.

  “Good. That’s good. Then I have three days to make sure he stays in the pen.”

  She was trembling, and she didn’t know if it was from the memories, the threat of Kutcher’s release, or the strength of Logan’s grip. His heat seeped into her skin through her thin cotton shirt, and she imagined his strength finding its way in, too. She held on to that thought as she reached for the door. Logan got to it first and held it closed.

  “I’ve got to get to work.” She hated herself for sounding so ungrateful, but she was scared, and she liked Logan more than she probably should, which she knew could put him in danger. And he was as relentless as Kutcher, only in a good way. She had no clue how to handle the emotions swirling within her. Should she throw herself into Logan’s arms and accept the help he was willing to provide and give in to the feelings that were developing at the speed of light, or run as fast and as far away as she could get before Kutcher came after her?

  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 apartme
nt 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.

  She went into the office to clock in. She turned and Logan was right there.

  “Hi, darlin’,” he said quietly.

  “H-hi. I…um…have to get to work.” Why did he have to be so good-looking? So kind? So in control and confident? So damn big? She sighed inside, adding a great lover to the most ridiculous list of woes she’d ever made. A big, protective, good-looking, great lover who took the time to walk her to work and beat the snot out of some drunk guy who was harassing her. Even now, when she wasn’t in imminent danger, she felt safe with him. That was why he was there, wasn’t it? The big broody soldier helping the damsel in distress?

  God, she hated that idea almost as much as she hated Kutcher for making her feel that way.

  “I’ll be back to take you home after your shift.”

  “Logan.” She gave him a deadpan stare, sort of hoping it might dissuade him and sort of hoping it wouldn’t.

  “Stormy.” He smiled, and she noticed a scar at the edge of his jaw that she hadn’t noticed before.

  Without thinking, she reached up and touched the bare spot in his stubble.

  “How did you get that?” She remembered the pain she’d seen in his eyes last night when she’d felt like he was opening his soul by sharing his secrets.

  He shrugged. “Don’t remember.” He brought her fingers to his lips and kissed them. “I paid a visit to that guy from last night. He shouldn’t bother you anymore.”

  “You…How? When?” The guy from last night? But Logan was gone only a few hours. How could he possibly have tracked the guy down so fast? And why would he?

  He touched her elbow. “The best kind of stalker, remember? Only I’m not a stalker at all.” He leaned down and kissed her cheek, then turned to leave.

  “Where are you going?” She didn’t want him to go. Even the few steps away that he’d just taken made her feel vulnerable. She was being stupid. She had handled life before him. Certainly one night of amazing sex and a few sweet gestures couldn’t make her into a needy girl.

  “To do important PI stuff.” He blew her a kiss and disappeared, leaving her feeling like she’d just met the Lone Ranger.

  Chapter Seven

  IT WASN’T HARD to track down Kutcher. There was only one inmate in Connecticut with that surname, Carl Kutcher. The trickier part was tracking down the people who had been associated with him on the outside. If Logan could prove that Kutcher was still dealing drugs while in jail, it would make keeping him behind bars much easier. It had been Logan’s experience that major dealers don’t stop dealing because they’re in the pen. They just get more creative.

  Using his sources, he was able to track down four possible drug connections, two outside Connecticut, two within an hour of Mystic. He jotted down the information on the connections and eyed his vibrating cell phone on the edge of his desk.

  Heath.

  He’d expected a call, especially after what his mother had said. Heath possessed all the qualities that were common of being the eldest child. He was overprotective of his very capable younger brothers, each of whom had bodies built for a brawl and sharp minds that didn’t need babysitting. He’d always gotten superior grades, and of all his siblings, Heath was the one who had gotten in the least amount of trouble over the years. He was prone to being just careful enough never to get caught, whereas Logan, Jackson, and Cooper had always been a little reckless.

  He answered the call while scrolling through the information on his computer.

  “Hey, bro. Thanks for helping out last night.”

  “Sure thing. Ma said you came by.”

  Logan heard voices and shuffling in the background and knew his brother was doing rounds at the hospital.

  “Yeah. I was out that way and just checking in.” He didn’t want to admit that the attack on Stormy had rustled up bad memories and driven him to check on his mother.

  “Good. She was glad to see you. I had coffee with her this morning before work.” Heath covered the mouthpiece and said something Logan couldn’t make out, then came back on the line. “Sorry, man. Listen, I’m just calling to see how Stormy is doing. Please tell me you got her real name before you took her home.”

  Logan was only half paying attention, as he had another hit for a connection to Kutcher, this one on the outskirts of Mystic.

  Bingo.

  He jotted down the information. “That would be a negative, but I’ll get it.”

  Heath didn’t respond.

  “What, Heath? Spit it out.”

  “Just…you know, Logan. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you look at someone like you were looking at her. Possessively.”

  “She was hurt. I had just nailed her attacker.” He’d deny whatever he was feeling to his brothers until he understood it himself. Hell, he didn’t even know why he was telling Stormy that he felt so much for her after one night. It wasn’t like him to latch on to anyone. He’d never had a serious girlfriend, and he sure as hell wasn’t looking for one.

  “Listen, she’s obviously got some shit going on. I’m just trying to find out what it is. It is my job, you know.”

  “Yeah, okay.” He could tell by Heath’s voice that he wasn’t buying it. “Well, dinner at Mom’s Sunday night. You’re on for the wine.”

  “I’ll be there.” Logan would never miss another dinner with their mother.

  After they ended the call, Logan called his buddy Marco.

  “Yo.” Marco Ortega was a mean son of a bitch with long black hair, tattoos on every inch of flesh save for his face and neck, and the kind of voice that made a man’s blood run cold. Marco had been in and out of jail for most of his twenties, which afforded him firsthand knowledge about the underworld of what goes on behind bars. He was one of those guys who were on the right side of the wrong side of the law, doing things tha
t skirted the legal line, but always for good purpose.

  “It’s me. I need a favor.” Logan filled Marco in on Mike Winters and hired him to tail Winters for the next four weeks. “I want to know everywhere he goes. Leave out no details. I wanna know when this guy takes a shit, got it?”

  “Got it, boss.” Marco was loyal to Logan for many reasons, the least of which was that Logan had cleared his brother of a felony by tracking down the real perp when no one else had given a damn. “And if he goes near the bar or the girl?”

  “Detain him until I can get there.”

  His next call was to Dylan at the bar. Logan didn’t expect Dylan to spill his guts. Like the rest of the Wilds and Bads, he was one loyal son of a bitch, and by his reaction to Stormy last night, Logan assumed that stretched to her now as well.

  “What took you so long?” Dylan knew him well.

  “Had a few things to take care of. You working all day?”

  “Yup. Don’t worry. I’ll keep my eyes open.”

  “You know anything about her past?” Logan trusted Dylan to give him enough to go on, even if he didn’t want to breach Stormy’s confidence.

  “Probably less than you know after the time you spent with her.”

  He heard the smile in Dylan’s voice.

  “One thing, Logan. I pay her in cash, and she mails half her earnings to someone back in Mystic.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I saw her doing it once and asked about it. She said she had a sick relative. That’s all I know.”

  “Dyl, why’d you hire her?” The minute the words were out, he knew the answer and regretted asking.

  “You know why.” Dylan’s family had had their own crisis long before Logan’s family had had theirs. Dylan had a younger sister who’d died when they were kids, and he had a soft spot for keeping women safe. “Logan, are you just messing with her? Because she’s been hurt enough.”

  “Have you ever seen me walk a woman to work?” Logan shifted in his seat, still uncomfortable with the way his stomach got funky when he thought of Stormy.

  Dylan laughed. “Didn’t want to call you on that.”