by Nikki Chase
“You’ve had a lot to drink tonight,” I said, noting that she didn’t look twenty-one. “It’s probably best for us to end the night here. Like I said, it’s been a pleasure chatting with you.”
It was a lie, of course. I found her drivel absolutely boring. But I didn’t want to hurt her feelings.
Some good it has done me.
Now, I have to cut my trip short because of Rosa.
For future reference, I should stop trying to be polite or friendly. My attempts at being a decent human being have never gone very well at all.
“Good evening, Sir. I hope you’ve had a pleasant stay,” says the doorman as he glances at my duffel bag. “I hope the lady is feeling better.”
I give him a nod but ignore his comment about “the lady.”
Harper.
I shouldn’t have rescued her.
I could smell trouble on her from the moment I turned around and saw her walking toward me, rain dripping off her.
As much as I tell myself I was only trying to do my duty as a physician, I can’t believe my own lie.
There was no need to kiss her. There was certainly no need to kiss her like that.
To make things worse, just now in the hotel room, I wanted to kiss her again.
I’ve never experienced a kiss quite as intoxicating as the one we shared in the cemetery. And, to be honest, I wanted more. Maybe I still do.
Hell, if it wasn’t for that text coming right on time, I’d probably be giving her more than just a kiss by now.
I get into my car and close the door. There’s still a whiff of Harper’s scent inside. Wild jasmine.
The fragrance evokes memories of those hot, plump lips. Those small, naughty nibbles. That teasing tongue.
I wanted to swallow her whole. I wanted to claim not just her mouth, but all of her.
Sighing deeply, I turn on the ignition and start the long drive home.
I won’t ever see Harper again. And that’s for the best. Not just for me but also for her.
Getting involved with me would be way too dangerous for a nice girl like her, especially right now.
Harper
“Good to see you’re feeling better, Miss,” says the doorman as he holds the glass door open for me.
I don’t know how long I was out but it’s already dark outside, I realize with surprise.
This is a seriously swanky hotel. Probably the best in this small town. Marble floor. Designer furniture. A doorman wearing a pressed, wrinkle-free uniform and a pair of white gloves.
I’ve never seen the man in my life, but he seems to recognize me for some reason.
“Thank you,” I say.
Looking around, I can’t see Logan anywhere. But he must still be around here somewhere. I didn’t take that long to get dressed.
“Is anything wrong, miss? Do you want me to call someone for you?” the doorman asks. He’s young—probably in his early twenties—and skinny. His uniform looks at least two sizes too big for him.
He eyes my wet jeans, probably concluding that something has happened to me—or, more accurately, that Logan has done something to me.
“Did you see me when I entered the building?” I ask.
“Yes. You were with the gentleman who has just left.”
“You saw him?”
What kind of a question is that? He’s the doorman. He sees everyone who comes and goes.
“Yes, miss.” He repeats, “Do you want me to call someone for you?”
“No, I’m fine.” I shake my head. Today has been the strangest day of my life, but there’s no need to call the authorities on Logan. All he did was help me. “Did you see where he has gone?”
“Yes. He’s probably in the underground car park right now. If you wait here, maybe I can get him before he exits and tell him you need a ride.” The doorman looks like he’s ready to spring into action.
“There’s no need for that. Could you just help me get a taxi?”
“Of course, miss.”
The doorman keeps glancing back at me as he hits the street to find a cab. It’s not like in the city here, where taxis line up in front of big hotels.
I rummage around in my bag, looking for my wallet. I need to be quick, or else Logan might see me.
As I take out a two-dollar bill, I look up to see a yellow taxi rolling up the driveway.
The doorman runs along the car to open the door for me.
“Thank you,” I tell him as I stand by the taxi and hand him the note. “Do you remember what car he was driving, the man I was with?”
“It was a black sedan. Kind of flashy. A BMW,” he says. He looks straight into my eyes and asks, one more time, “Are you sure you don’t want me to call anyone for you, miss?”
“Yes. Thank you.” I step into the taxi and sit bolt upright on the backseat, glancing behind me to check for Logan’s car.
“Where are we going today, miss?” the taxi driver asks.
“Could we wait here for a moment?” I ask, not taking my eyes off the car park exit. “I want to follow a car that should be coming out of the underground car park any time now. It’s a black BMW.”
“Ooh, exciting,” he says. “I’ll tell you, when I first became a taxi driver, I thought something like this would happen all the time. The movies, you see, they gave me the wrong impression. I’ve been working for five years, and this is my first time tailing another car.”
I let the man talk but don’t respond. I don’t want to miss Logan and lose him forever. There’s no other way for me to find him again, after all.
“So, are we chasing a criminal today?” the driver asks again.
“It’s, uh, my boyfriend. I think he might be cheating on me,” I say, hoping he’ll buy the story I’m coming up with on the spot.
“Oh.” He pauses awkwardly. “I hope he’s not.”
“Thanks.”
For a peaceful minute, the car is silent. The driver doesn’t seem to know what to say to a jilted lover.
My heart races when I spot a black sedan. BMW. And, Logan is behind the wheel.
“That’s the car,” I tell the driver as I point at it. “Follow that car.”
“Yes,” he says simply as he steps on the gas.
As I turn to look forward, I notice all the driver’s hair has turned gray. He’s probably in his sixties. He may have only worked this job for five years, but it seems like he has had plenty of experience driving.
I hope he knows what he’s doing. Still, I remember his comment about never having done this before and I add, “Please leave some distance between us and him.”
“Of course,” he says.
As Logan drives onto the main road, we glide behind him, my heart thumping in my chest as I train my eyes on the back of his car.
I take out my phone and snap a quick picture of Logan’s car. It’s blurry because we’re moving, and small because of the distance, but at least I can make out his license plate.
If we lose him, this picture will be all the clue I have to find him again.
As the roads get smaller and smaller, I make a mental note in my head to give the taxi driver a big tip.
One good thing that has come out of my lack of social life is, I’ve been able to focus on my career. I’ve had more promotions than many of my older coworkers.
And because I never go out, I’ve saved up more money than I know what to do with. My downtown apartment, which I chose because it’s close to my office, is my only big expense. I live a pretty Spartan lifestyle.
The distance between my taxi and Logan’s car grows as our surroundings grow more deserted. I guess my driver has learned a useful thing or two from TV, after all.
“I think we’re here,” he says.
“Where?” I lean forward in my seat.
There’s nothing around us but dark woods on both sides of the road. Logan’s turning onto a narrow road just big enough for one car, but there are no buildings nearby.
“See that mailbox over there?” the dri
ver asks, pointing one pale, wrinkled hand at a black metal box supported by a wooden pole.
“Yeah.”
“This must be a residence,” he says.
I glance at the meter and hand the man twice the amount of money. That should cover his return trip. He probably won’t pick up any passengers in these back roads.
“Wow. Thank you so much,” he says. “Do you want me to wait here for you in case you want to go back into town right away?”
That’s . . . actually a great idea.
“Yeah,” I say. “Can I get your phone number? I’ll call you in a few minutes to let you know if I’m going back.”
After the driver jots down his number, I take the piece of paper, thank him, and step out of the car.
I inhale the fresh mountain air. As nice as it feels, it doesn’t help slow down my heartbeat.
I walk just a few feet off the path, hiding among the trees, my boots stepping over grasses and leaves crisped by winter.
After about fifty yards, a white building comes into view. Considering how long the driveway is, it’s relatively small. Only two stories, and probably two or three thousand square feet.
In the silence of nature, it’s easy to hear the hum of Logan’s sedan. I stand behind a large tree trunk and watch as the car enters the indoor garage.
This must be Logan’s home.
What do I do now?
If it weren’t this cold, it would probably take me much longer to decide on a course of action. But with my wet jeans and the cooler air up here in the mountains, I can’t stop shivering or grinding my teeth.
Besides, I feel bad about the taxi driver waiting for me.
So, I emerge from behind the tree and walk up to Logan’s front door. With my heart jumping in my chest, I press the doorbell.
I listen intently as footsteps get nearer. The peephole darkens, which means someone from inside is looking right at me.
Is it Logan? Or, does he live with someone else? A wife, a girlfriend, or a roommate?
The door swings open, fast as lightning. Warm air floods out, making me feel a little better.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” Logan asks.
He’s still wearing the same clothes as before, except without the leather jacket. Underneath, he’s wearing a black sweater that shows off his broad, hard chest. He’s got the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing greenish-black ink all over his forearms.
“You think you can just leave me at the hotel and be done with me? I still have questions I need you to—”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Logan grabs my arm, pulls me inside the house, and shuts the door with a loud bang.
I stumble inside, thankful for the heating but annoyed about the way he’s manhandling me. “What are you—”
“Two things,” Logan says, his sharp eyes boring into mine as he holds his index and middle fingers up. “You’re not leaving, and you’ll do everything I say.”
Logan
“What?” Harper asks, her green eyes blazing with anger. “What do you mean, I’m not leaving?”
“It’s dangerous.” I peek through the peephole to make sure nobody else is out there.
“I can take care of myself just fine.” She still doesn’t get it.
I turn around to look at her. As calmly as I can, I say, “I’m sure you can, under normal circumstances. But trust me, nothing about this is normal.”
“This is . . . This must be illegal,” she says in exasperation. “You’re holding me hostage.”
I snort. “I’m trying to keep you safe.”
“Who are you to tell me what to do?” she asks. “I have a job. I can’t stay here forever. People will be looking for me. In fact, I have someone waiting just outside. He’s coming here if I give him a sign.”
I let out a sigh as I lock the door. “If you have any compassion for the guy, tell him to leave. If he’s stopped far enough from this property, it might not be too late for him to just walk away. But you’re better off staying here.”
“Who are you to tell me what to do?” she repeats. “Wait. Who are you, full stop? You still haven’t explained that one.”
I hold my palms up. “Hey, you’re the one who followed me here. Do you make a habit out of following strange men into their houses? Do you do it for the thrills?”
“I . . .” Harper’s jaw hangs open. She’s angry, but she doesn’t know what to say. “Look, you can’t keep me here.”
“You just got here, and now you want to leave?” I chuckle as I head to the living room.
Harper can try unlocking the door and walking out, but I know she won’t. She has spent too much effort getting here. She won’t just walk away that easily.
Besides, if she does try to escape, I’ll catch up to her and overpower her in no time. Whoever is waiting for her won’t even get a chance to hear a yelp out of her.
I take my seat on the couch and pick my phone back up. No new messages. Good.
Harper stands awkwardly by my leather couch, her big, clear, green eyes glaring at me.
She’s also still wearing her damp jeans. That can’t be comfortable. That jacket is also probably too warm to wear inside.
“What do you want, Harper?” I ask, looking up at her.
“I have some questions for you.”
“What if I don’t have answers for you?”
“I need answers, and you’re the only one who can give them to me,” she says, her voice softening.
“But, you see, I don’t need to give those answers to you. As far as I’m concerned, there’s no need for further dealings between you and me.”
“You can choose not to answer some of them if you feel they’re too intrusive,” she says.
“You don’t deal with people much, do you?” I ask.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, generally if you want someone to do what you want, you tell them what’s in it for them. I still haven’t heard what the benefits to me will be if I answer these questions.” I cock an eyebrow as my lips form a lopsided smile. “Are you going to let me do more than kiss you?”
“I’m not joking.” Harper’s voice cracks. “Please, Logan. These questions will haunt me until the day I die.”
“That’s a little dramatic, isn’t it?”
Harper sounds all kinds of crazy, but there’s a sincerity in those green eyes that I can’t ignore.
Or, maybe the sight of her plump, juicy lips is making me weak. After all, the moment I lay my eyes on those long legs I can’t help but remember what they look like bare.
“Please, Logan. I’m serious.” Harper looks like she’s about to cry. She bites her bottom lip as her eyes fill with tears.
I let out a big sigh. Damn those sexy legs.
“Tell me your questions, and I’ll decide if I want to answer them,” I say.
“Oh, thank you!” A big grin breaks out on Harper’s face, and I swear she almost vibrates on the spot from her excitement.
“But first . . .” I look straight into her eyes. “You need to tell your guy to leave.”
“I will,” she says quickly. Taking out her cell phone, she taps on the screen for a few seconds. “Done.”
“Who is it, a boyfriend?” I ask.
It’s none of my business, but a girl with a boyfriend shouldn’t be doing what she has done today. I have a hard time believing a guy would help his girlfriend tail me all the way to my house, knowing we have just kissed.
Why do I care, though?
“Just . . . someone,” Harper says, to my annoyance.
She finally takes off her jacket and takes a seat on the couch opposite the coffee table from me.
Her body leans toward the fireplace by which we sit. Obviously, she’s still cold.
“You told me you’ve never had amnesia,” she says.
I laugh. “Yes. And the answer is still the same. I also don’t have a twin, and I wasn’t born in some lab like a rat. As far as I know, anyway.”
“What do
you mean by that?” she asks quickly, her eyes widening. “You don’t know where you were born?”
I shake my head. “No.”
“Why don’t you? Doesn’t your family tell you?”
I stare at her. “I just don’t. And I think I’ve answered all I want to answer today.”
“No, wait, you don’t have to answer that one if you don’t want to,” she says. “I have other questions. Maybe you won’t mind answering those ones.”
I run my fingers through my hair. This girl is really giving me a headache. And, her priorities are thoroughly fucked up.
“Don’t you want to know why I’m keeping you here instead? Isn’t that a more urgent question?” I ask.
“I’m not worried. You don’t seem like a bad guy to me.”
I chuckle. “You don’t know me.”
Jesus. If she knew the things I’ve done . . .
“That’s why I’m trying to get to know you.” Harper gives me a sweet smile.
My heart skips a beat. That smile . . . With those full lips . . . It makes me want to reach across the table, grab her, and claim her mouth again. And maybe do even more to her.
She wants to get to know me, huh? We have plenty of time to spend together, just the two of us. I’ll make sure she gets to know me, alright.
“Besides, you’re a doctor,” she says. “How dangerous can your life be?”
I can’t help but burst into laughter. Oh, if only she knew . . .
“Believe me, I’m not your regular doctor.”
“Because you have rich patients?” Surprisingly, her guess isn’t too far off the mark.
“How do you know that?”
“Well, this place can’t be cheap.” She looks around. “It’s not huge, but you’ve used expensive materials throughout.
“Marble tiles. Plush, exotic rugs. Chunky, solid-wood furniture. High ceilings. Everything’s clean and shiny, too, so you probably have someone regularly come and clean the place for you.”
“Not bad.” I nod, impressed.
“Besides, your car looks expensive, too.” Harper smiles, obviously pleased to hear my compliment.
“You’re pretty good. But, I could be a trust-fund baby. Maybe I’ve inherited everything.”