While he’s moving backward down the steps, I lock the hook for the screen door. Though I didn’t have a reason to do it earlier, I have the sudden urge to secure everything in the house.
He reaches the bottom of the steps and then glances back up at me. “Nice to meet you, neighbor,” he says before disappearing into the darkness between our two houses.
I retreat to my room and wrap myself up beneath the covers. There isn’t a peep from next door all night, but I don’t sleep a wink.
I get into a good routine at the B&B. It’s easy, familiar work. When I left the travel agency to Chloe, I thought I’d miss being the one to give orders and be in control of everything. In fact, it’s nice not to be in charge all the time.
Two weeks pass, and I start to feel like maybe I can have the normal I’ve been craving. It didn’t seem like such a big deal to me a year ago, but now, as I watch happy families and lucky in love couples come and go, I’m reminded each day of what I’m missing.
I force a smile at one such couple as I check them out at the reception area. “Did you two have a great time?” I ask.
“The best,” the perky blonde gushes. “The absolute best. I told John here we have to come back this time next year.”
“We’ll see,” he says, but he indulges her with a quick kiss, and I can tell if I’m around next year that we’ll be seeing them again.
“We hope you do consider coming back,” I say by rote. “Fifteen percent off booking for return customers.”
The woman squeals and they walk off, already chattering about their next vacation together. I spend the next half hour straightening brochures and wiping down counters and table tops, wondering if we have any more customers checking in or out today. I don’t think we do, but I stay close to the front just in case anyone needs me.
It’s just after two when Diane comes through the back door with her arms full of grocery bags. I rush to the kitchen to help her, taking all the bags she has dangling from her right arm.
“Thanks. It was a madhouse!” she says, shaking out her now free arm. “An absolute madhouse. I don’t know why I keep going on Friday afternoon when I know it’ll be so busy.”
“You should let me come with you to help next time.”
She makes a shushing sound. “Please, you do enough around here, and I’m perfectly capable of going on my own. You are certainly welcome to help me unload and put them away, though.”
“I’m on it!”
I head around the large center island to the inside garage door. Already thinking about the delicious menu for the night, I don’t notice until I’m halfway across the garage that someone’s already standing by Diane’s car.
“What are you doing here?” I ask before I can think to stop it.
Logan straightens from the trunk with his arms full of dangling grocery bags. “I could ask you the same question.”
I take a tentative step toward Diane’s car. “I work here.”
“And I would tell you what I’m doing here, but I don’t even know your name,” he says and then passes by me and disappears inside.
It takes me a few seconds of frantic thinking before I remember I’m supposed to be helping. By the time I make it back inside, Logan’s helping Diane unload the bags and putting groceries away into cabinets. Wanting to question him about what he’s doing here but not wanting to invite questions, I decide to bite my lip to keep my interrogation from spilling out.
To distract myself, I make two more trips back to the car for the rest of Diane’s haul, set everything on the counter, and help unload. All the while, Diane and Logan chatter in the background.
“Have you met our new hire, Sienna Davenport?” I overhear Diane say. “You’ve been away training and may have missed her. She moved into the bungalow next to you.”
My shoulders stiffen, and I pause for a second, one hand outstretched as I put a can of diced tomatoes away. There’s a moment of heavy silence while I wait for Logan to answer, and then he says, “Sienna?” and I swear I can feel him glaring at me. “Yes, we met.”
When he doesn’t add to it, I set the can of tomatoes on the shelf, relaxing marginally.
“I don’t know what we’d do without her,” Diane continues. “I hope you don’t mind that I put her into the house next to yours. If we were further along with the renovations to the others, I wouldn’t have. I know you like your privacy.”
I hear Logan kiss her cheek and then say, “It’s no problem, Aunt Diane.”
Stifling a gasp, I take extra care setting the next few cans in an orderly line on the shelf in front of me. I never would have pegged them as related, but now that he’s mentioned it, I can’t help but see the resemblance. Well, hell, I went and insulted my boss’s nephew. I have to resist the urge to slap my forehead as I gather all the empty bags and put them in their storage container. God, I’m such an idiot.
They continue to chatter behind me, though I doubt chatter is a word many have used to describe any activity involving Logan’s deep, rumbling voice, and I pretend it doesn’t affect me at all by getting out all the ingredients Diane will need for tonight’s dinner. The kitchen seems much smaller with him in it, though.
“You know I just worry about you,” Diane says while I gather the spices from the top shelf over the commercial-grade range.
“So you’ve said,” Logan replies. “Many times.”
“I thought your deployments were hard—”
“Aunt Diane.” There’s no mistaking the warning tone in his voice.
I move to the fridge to grab the defrosted chicken, not because I’m somewhat intrigued and certainly not because I want to know more about him. When I look back at them, Diane is waving away Logan’s protests. “I don’t want to hear it. I’m allowed to worry about my favorite nephew.”
Logan smiles down at her, and it’s quite possibly the most perfect smile I have ever seen. I must have made some sort of strangled noise, because his eyes find mine. My. Good. God. He is beautiful—so much so that my whole body refuses to listen while my brain screams for me to turn away. Diane flutters about, unaware of the tension that suddenly fills the room. After a moment, he breaks the contact and pulls Diane into a hug.
“I just don’t like it. That’s all.” She pulls back to put a hand on his cheek. “You promise me you’re careful?”
He kisses her forehead. “I promise.”
“If your momma were alive, she’d have kittens. Still can’t believe you’ve been a cop for going on four years. A cop!” Diane exclaims. “After all the trouble you got into as a teenager. She’d never believe it.”
The heat growing in my belly extinguishes, and my whole body runs cold. Without looking back toward the pair of them, I cross the kitchen and set the chicken on the counter next to the other ingredients, hoping it doesn’t slip out of my now trembling hands.
Of all things, I never expected him to be a cop. A criminal maybe, but a cop?
I almost would rather he be the outlaw I thought he was. A cop asks too many questions, and I’d really prefer the past stays where it belongs. Already I can sense them ticking around in that brain of his.
I school my expression to a sunny smile and turn back, my attention on Diane. “Is there anything else you need before I take off?”
Diane turns to me, one arm still slung around Logan’s waist. “You don’t want to stay for dinner?”
“Thank you, but I have something at home and a good book calling my name.”
“All right,” she says. “I’ll make sure to save you a plate for lunch tomorrow.”
I give a silent prayer of thanks for Diane’s undemanding nature. “I’d love that.”
The hairs on the back of my neck prickle with awareness as I turn and stride out of the kitchen. Even though I can’t see him, I know Logan’s watching me all the way back to my house.
Keeping secrets is hard, but keeping them around a cop is going to be even harder. I should strangle Chloe for even recommending I move to Nassau.
My phone vibrates against my pocket on the short walk home, and I take it out, glancing at the screen.
Speak of the devil.
“I couldn’t wait for you to call me anymore. Are you settling in okay?” Chloe asks without preamble.
I harrumph into the phone. “Yeah, but you could have told me Diane’s nephew is a jerk.”
“Awe, honey, I’m sorry about that. The job is going all right, though, isn’t it?”
“Absolutely. I couldn’t be happier. Thank you again for referring me.”
“Thank God. I told Gabe you’d be fine. And it’s no problem at all, sweetie. You did the same for me. Now, tell me what Logan did to piss you off.”
I try not to let my sigh of disappointment turn the line to static. “It’s okay. I can handle him.”
I’ve been through worse things than having to ignore a gorgeous cop, right?
“Are you sure? I bet we can get Gabe to rough him up if he’s such a big pain in the ass.”
“No,” I rush to say. “No, please. You’ve done enough already. I’ll figure something out.”
“Are you sure?” she asks, concern softening her tone.
No.
“Yes, I’m sure. It’s not a big deal.”
“If you say so.” There is a beat of silence before she says, “Well, I’ll see you around sometime.”
“Hopefully soon. Maybe a hurricane will ruin business, and you’ll be able to take some time off,” I say then wince. “I didn’t mean it the way it sounded.”
Laughter bursts from her side of the line. “Sure you didn’t. I’ll let you know if something starts going around.”
“I’d appreciate it, thank you.”
“Bye, Sienna.”
“Later,” I say then tuck the phone in my pocket for the remainder of the walk.
Once upon a time, I had a thriving business and employees. Back then, I’d felt a modicum of safety. Now, I know better. Now, I take whatever job comes my way, keep my head down, and aim for simpler things—make sure my bills are paid and there is a roof over my head and food in my stomach.
Of course, none of that will take away my painful memories or protect me when my past catches up with me, but I’ll figure something out. Hopefully Phil, the journalist who’s followed me all over the country waiting on his next big scoop surrounding the murders, will take a hint and leave me the hell alone.
I can’t even comprehend what will happen if he doesn’t.
So, I force myself to think of happier things instead. As I near the drive of my new little bungalow, I remind myself that this is a new start.
The past can’t touch me here.
I think of how easily Phil found me and hope my new start isn’t just wishful thinking.
Logan
“Blackwell,” I say without looking at the caller ID.
“You sound tired.” I’m a little surprised it’s Aunt Diane, considering how late it is.
“Probably because I am.” I turn away from the speaker when I can’t suppress a yawn. All I want is a shower, my recliner, and a good action movie to turn off my brain. I could also use a beer so bad my hands nearly shake with the need.
“I wouldn’t call if I didn’t have to,” she says.
I hold back a groan as I watch my evening of relaxation circle the drain. “It’s okay, I’m just pulling up the drive. Do you need me to come by?”
“I take back all the unpleasant thoughts I’ve had about you. You’re a good boy.” I refrain from pointing out this boy is on the dark side of twenty. “Sienna called this morning to let us know the air conditioner is out in her unit. I tried to call the repairman, but he said he wouldn’t be able to get it until next week. I can’t let that poor girl die of a heat stroke!”
The temperature gauge on my dash says the temp is a cool seventy degrees, but I bite my tongue, mostly because arguing with Aunt Diane is futile. “I’ll stop by and see what I can do.”
“Just don’t pester her,” she reminds. “Do you hear me?”
“I hear you,” I say wearily.
I end the call and put my truck in park. All the lights in her house are on and most of the shades are up, allowing me to see right into her living room.
I’ve gotten into a sick, sad habit of just watching her. Though, it’s hard not to when the girl has every light on all the time and every blind in her house open. It’s practically an invitation. At first, it was out of habit and concern for Aunt Diane and Grandma Rose just hiring a stranger, even if Chloe knows her. When the most exciting thing she did was read books after work, I realized there had to be another reason why I always looked to her window before I went to sleep.
Through the living room window, I find her curled on the couch, an empty plate on the coffee table in front of her, and a half-full glass of wine to her side. She’s reading again, though this time from a tablet she has propped on her knees. She’s not very big to begin with, but in her curled up position, she looks tiny.
I turn away and open the door to my truck, shoving away all thoughts of what it would be like to curl up next to her. I’m going to go in, fix her air conditioning, and get out. Then I’ll take that shower, only now I think I’ll need to make it a cold one. I know she hears me walking up the porch steps, her whole body tenses, but she doesn’t look up until after I knock.
“Logan,” she says as she stands and moves to the other side of the screen door. She doesn’t open it.
“Aunt Diane said you were having trouble with the air conditioner.” Impatience roughens my voice.
Her lips purse, and she crosses her arms over her chest. “I’m fine. I tried to tell her I could fix it myself, but she wasn’t having it.”
I nearly roll my eyes, but manage to refrain. My aunt is one damn interfering woman. “Let me in, I’ll fix it, and then I’ll leave. It shouldn’t take more than fifteen minutes.”
An internal struggle wages across her face, and I wonder if she knows how transparent her expressions are. Frustration, anger, impatience all give way to acceptance. Finally, she takes a step back and allows me inside.
She’s barely been here a month, and already she’s put her stamp on the inside. Even if I could turn the cop off inside me, I’d still be able to get a sense of her from the house alone. It’s neat, almost meticulously so. When I close the door behind me, my eyes land on the top-of-the-line deadbolt and security chain. Those sure as hell didn’t come standard with the place. I have no doubt it will be the same for the back door. The shades are open, but a quick glance confirms all the windows are locked tight.
“It’s just through the back.” I nod and follow her down a dimly lit hallway to the small kitchen, which is identical to my own. Even the light in the small bathroom is turned on.
“I’ll let you know if I need anything,” I say as I unlock the door, smiling because I had been right about the lock situation, and head out to the back porch.
She flips on security lights—new—and they illuminate the entire backyard all the way to the tree line. Shaking my head, I get down on my knees and inspect the unit. Her footsteps retreat into the house, but I know she’ll be watching. Something tells me people being in her space makes her nervous. I can’t help but wonder why that is.
The air conditioner turns out to be an easy fix, and I’m done within the quarter hour like I told her. She’s waiting for me in the kitchen when I walk in. Her hands are free and loose by her sides, but she’s still radiating a nervous energy.
“You should be good to go,” I say. “Your condensation drain was clogged. Just had to shop-vac it out.”
She blinks her big blue eyes up at me. “That was fast,” she says after a few seconds.
I shrug, nodding to the roasting pan sitting on her stove. “What is that?”
“Dinner.” When I don’t move, she adds, “I had a pot roast on today while I was at work.”
“Smells good.”
She glances at me and then at the door, and I can tell she’s struggling not to t
ell me she wants me to leave, which only makes me want to stay. “I can make you some to take home,” she finally offers. “As a thank you. I know you just got off work. I didn’t mean to bother you.”
I gesture dismissively. “Not your fault. I help Aunt Diane out on occasion when I can. And I’d appreciate some pot roast. I was going to get down on my knees and beg, but you saved me the trouble.”
Laughter dances in her eyes for a second, and all I want to do is make her laugh again to see her face brighten with it. “I wouldn’t want to make you beg.”
“Thank you, I’d appreciate it.”
While she pulls out a Tupperware, I get my first close up study of her since she started making it a point to avoid me. Her frame is deceptively slight. Since she’s moved in, I’ve watched her moving around furniture at all hours, so I know she’s stronger than she looks. She tries to hide behind simple, dull colors and faded clothes, but her face is striking, her intelligent eyes too alluring to be forgotten.
I’m admiring the shape of her legs and the jeans that are almost painted on when I notice a familiar shape beneath her thick cardigan. My brows pull together as the two thoughts collide: her ass is altogether too good to be true, and she’s packing another dangerous weapon under those clothes.
The sight reminds me of the conversation she had with the suit on her porch and renews my interest. What is she doing carrying a gun?
I barely have time to control my expression before she turns back to me and holds out the container. I take it automatically, noting her own tense look.
“Thanks for coming by so late.”
“You’re welcome.”
I don’t want to make her uncomfortable or cause her to clam up, so I walk to the front door, considering my options. She opens it for me, and I walk through. I don’t know what happened to this girl, but it’s obvious that something did. The locks, the lights, the gun . . . my gut twists at the possibilities. Suddenly, the last thing I want to do is make her feel uncomfortable, but I have to know . . .
“I got a few things to say, and the way I figure it, you’ve got a couple options.”
First to Fight Box Set: Books 1-5 Page 62