Nickel: A Romantic Suspense Novel (Blackwood Elements Book 9)

by Elise Noble

  What had I been thinking? Had Kenneth destroyed every last one of my brain cells?

  The courier had picked up Fantasia’s gift at six thirty, and as the clock ticked closer and closer to seven o’clock, I’d berated myself for being such a coward. The part of me that wanted to be more like Emmy told me to woman up and face him, but Sloane the scaredy-cat refused to move from her desk. To appease my conscience, I’d come up with the fabulous idea of doing something even worse than facing my cheating ex so I wouldn’t feel guilty.

  Which was how I’d ended up at a yoga class.

  Yes, all of those subtle jibes from Kenneth had finally got to me. The way he always requested low-fat salad dressing for me in restaurants. The exercise infomercials he left playing in the background while we ate dinner at his apartment. That little black dress he’d given me for my last birthday—the one that was two sizes too small so I’d “have something to aim for.”

  I might have owned twenty pairs of yoga pants, but I rarely wore them out of the house, and until this evening, I’d never heard of downward-facing dog. Leah always talked about the benefits of yoga, but she’d never mentioned the drawbacks. Such as the complete and utter embarrassment.

  While I prided myself on my flexibility at work, that skill didn’t extend to the physical, and I’d been the only girl in the class who shopped in the plus-size section. Probably even the entire building. But that wasn’t the worst of it. I’d huffed and puffed my way through several warrior poses and a dozen sun salutations when it happened. The teacher told us to bend forward, my sweaty hands slipped, and one boob popped out.

  And everyone saw.

  Probably because I shrieked.

  Emmy always told me I should stay positive, and I tried. I really did try. On the plus side, I suppose, I’d never known I could run so fast until I sprinted out of Wanda’s Workout World this evening.

  The salad was my punishment.

  The salad was also disgusting. Even Nickel’s cat food looked more appetising, and probably tasted better than the limp lettuce, tomato, and carrot too. There wasn’t even any dressing. Ugh. I’d forked half of it down when somebody knocked on my door, and I didn’t know whether to cheer at the interruption or grab my pepper spray. Apart from Edna who lived next door and Kenneth, I never got visitors. He’d shown up sixteen times since we split, and I always hid behind the couch.

  Tonight, I shuffled over to the window on my hands and knees and moved one corner of the drapes aside, only for my eyes to bug out all of their own accord. Logan? What the hell was Logan doing at my house? He’d only been there once before, when he dropped me off after a staff get-together, and he’d never been inside.

  Should I pretend I was out?

  That would be kind of rude, but I was still wearing yoga pants and the stretchy top of doom. Perhaps if I crawled, I could make it upstairs and leap into the shower? I wouldn’t feel so bad about fibbing then. Yes, that was an excellent plan.

  An excellent plan with one tiny glitch. I forgot I was dealing with Logan.

  Thirty seconds later, the front door opened, and he got a perfect view of my oversized ass, barely constrained by pale-pink Lycra as it headed for the stairs.

  “What are you doing down there?”

  Oh, heckety heck.

  “Uh… I lost something.”

  “What did you lose?”

  Quick, Sloane. Think!

  “My…my cat.”

  “You mean this cat?”

  Too late, I realised Nickel was looking at me from the living room doorway.

  “Yes! That’s him.” I scrambled to my feet, heat spreading up my cheeks. “What are you doing here?” Hold on, Logan had broken into my freaking house. Anger would be appropriate. “And how dare you just walk in? What did you do, pick the lock?”

  Stupid question, of course he picked the lock. Logan worked in the Special Projects department at Blackwood. He’d probably learned to pick locks in kindergarten, right after he got his first gun.

  “I thought you were in the shower or something.”

  “How does that make it better?”

  He pointed behind himself at a box on my front porch. “Well, I figured I’d just leave this stuff in the hallway.”

  “What stuff?”

  “Your stuff. From Kenneth.”

  “Back up. Back up. Why did Kenneth give you my stuff?”

  Did the two of them know each other? Oh, hell, did Logan know about Sherilyn?

  “He didn’t give it to me, exactly. We went over and collected it.”

  “What? Why? Who’s ‘we’?”

  “Me, Slater, Evan, Jax, Nate, and Ana.”

  “Ana?” I sank to the floor, visions of Kenneth’s bloody corpse floating before my eyes. “How bad is the damage?”

  “Don’t worry; we were nice.”

  Nice? Nice? Logan didn’t know how to do nice. He knew how to do sexy and he knew how to do scary, but nice was far, far removed from his repertoire. What should I do? Did my mom know yet? I really didn’t want another lecture on how violence was never the answer. Like the talk she gave when ten-year-old me got sent home from school in disgrace for pushing one of my bullies into a wall—Mom had made me take the little witch cream cakes the next day to apologise, and I’d ended up wearing them.

  Logan dropped down beside me. “Don’t worry, kitten. There’s not a mark on him.”

  “How did you even know Kenneth had my stuff?”

  “Heard a rumour.” He draped an arm over my shoulders in a stiff hug. “Picking your shit up was the least I could do after you dug me out of a hole with Fantasia’s gift.”

  “I got a jewellery-making kit and a doll on ice skates. And a card. I signed it from you.”

  “See? I owed you big.”

  Slowly, it started to sink in what he’d done. Logan had rescued my stuff, and if he really hadn’t hurt Kenneth, that meant my nightmare was over. I didn’t have to face my asshat of an ex again. A little of the tension that had been building up inside me for the past few weeks seeped away, but in hindsight, I should have held onto it because a tear escaped too.

  “Hey, don’t cry.”

  Logan wiped my cheek with his thumb, but I couldn’t stop more from coming, a veritable waterfall of embarrassment. Humiliation: complete.

  “Sloane? What did I say? Look, we left Kenneth on the sofa watching TV. Ana only glared at him.”

  “I’m f-f-fine.”

  “Oh, shit.”

  I sniffled loudly as Logan got to his feet in one graceful movement and backed towards the door, muttering into his phone. Who was he calling? The asylum?

  “I’m s-s-sorry.” I struggled to my knees. “Please don’t go.”

  Great. Now I sounded desperate too, and the tears fell harder. Mom always said I got too emotional, and I tried to hold everything back, really I did. More than anything, I wished I could be like Emmy. People called her the ice queen, and she’d mastered that perfectly blank mask so nobody knew what she was thinking. Me? I was an open book. Well, more of a magazine—easy to read and unmemorable.

  “I’ll be back, okay?”

  Logan dragged the box in through the door, gave me an awkward pat on the head, and practically ran to his truck. Ten seconds later, I heard the engine growl into life, and he floored it down the street.

  Congratulations, Sloane. First a conversation with Kenneth, then boobgate, and now I’d freaked out the guy I’d secretly crushed on for years so badly that he literally ran from my house. Today was officially the worst day of my life.

  Nickel rubbed along my leg, purring, and I reached out to scritch his head. At least I still had my cat. He didn’t care that I was socially awkward and twenty pounds overweight. Okay, thirty. As long as he got his dinner in the evenings and fresh litter in his tray, he liked me just fine.

  CHAPTER 5 - LOGAN

  LOGAN HAD THOUGHT that Sloane would be happy to have her belongings back, but then she’d started crying and he’d panicked. Terrorists, cold-blooded
killers, and knife-wielding maniacs didn’t faze him, but tears scared him stupid.

  He’d called Trey in desperation. His wife had gone through a crying phase last time she was pregnant, and according to Trey, he’d cured the problem with cheesecake and pickles. Logan wasn’t sure about the pickles, though, so he figured he’d try wine instead.

  At the 7-Eleven, he leapt out of his pickup and ran inside. Desserts…where were the desserts?

  “Cheesecake. I need cheesecake,” he blurted at the cashier.

  “Aisle three, sweetheart.”

  “And the wine?”

  “Aisle five.”

  Lemon cheesecake, chocolate chip cookie dough cheesecake, strawberry cheesecake, peanut butter cup cheesecake. Logan grabbed one of each and speed-walked to the wine section. Did Sloane drink red or white? He had no idea, so he grabbed a Merlot and a Sauvignon Blanc plus a bottle of rosé for good measure.

  At the checkout, the lady gave him a sympathetic look. “Celebration, apology, or the wrong time of the month?”

  “Honestly? I have no idea.”

  She gave him a look that said, Really?

  “So I dropped some stuff off at her house, and she started crying. I’m just trying to make her stop.”

  “Four different kinds of cheesecake should work.”

  Logan handed over his credit card. “Should I get candy too? Or ice cream?”

  “It wouldn’t hurt.”

  Five minutes later, he was speeding back to Sloane’s duplex with an overflowing grocery bag on the seat beside him. But where was she? Logan picked the lock in double-quick time, only to find an empty hallway. No Sloane, no cat, just the box he’d abandoned earlier. He paused, holding his breath, and in the silence, he heard a quiet sniffle from the back of the house.

  “Sloane?”

  Nothing.

  Her house wasn’t huge. No, it was cosy, stuffed with too much furniture for the small rooms. What Laverne, the last model he’d dated, had called shabby-chic, only Sloane’s decor tended towards the shabby side. Not a lack of money, surely? Blackwood paid well. More likely a lack of time. Sloane worked all hours, and Logan bet Kenneth had never lifted a finger to help her at home.

  Logan went past a tiny dining room and through the door at the far end of the hallway. The kitchen had seen better days too, but Logan only had eyes for the woman sitting at the counter, staring at a bowl of salad. Sloane had changed her V-neck top for a sweater that buttoned up to her chin, but she still looked utterly miserable.

  “Hey,” he said.

  She stared at him through red-rimmed eyes. “Why did you come back? Didn’t I embarrass myself enough the first time?”

  “Huh? I just hate seeing you upset.” He slid the salad away and replaced it with a cheesecake. “You don’t really want lettuce, do you?”

  “Yes.” She grabbed the bowl and pulled it back again. “It’s h-h-healthy.”

  Oh, shit. That little stutter didn’t sound good. Had Trey got things totally wrong and Sloane didn’t like cheesecake? Women needed to come with an instruction manual, one written in really, really basic language rather than the riddles they tended to speak in.

  “Hey, let’s forget the food altogether. Where do you want all the boxes? I’ve got a truck full of your stuff.”

  “Boxes, plural? There’s more than the one you brought in earlier?”

  “Sure. We brought clothes and bathroom shit and those little tray things you make cakes in.”

  “My bakeware?”

  “Yeah, that.”

  Oh, thank goodness: a smile. Sloane got off her stool with an ungainly hop and clutched at the counter to steady herself. Low blood sugar? She really needed to eat something, but Logan would broach that subject again later. If bakeware made her happy, he’d stick with that for now.

  “You must think I’m such a mess,” Sloane muttered as they walked through to the hallway.

  Honestly? Yeah. Sloane was always so put-together at work, the queen of executive assistants who somehow managed to juggle Black’s and Emmy’s schedules as well as training the newbies and ensuring the office never ran out of anything. When she’d taken a vacation the year before last—with her tree-hugging ex—they’d had to borrow three people from other Blackwood branches to cover for her.

  But right now, Sloane was absolutely a mess. In a way, Logan liked that better because it made her more human, but he also wanted to know why. Had Kenneth done that bad of a number on her head?

  “Forget about that. Let’s get these boxes. I’ll carry; you decide where you want me to put them.”

  Logan schlepped in the crap they’d liberated, and Sloane peered into the top of each carton like a kid on Christmas morning, which made Logan even more pissed at Kenneth. His ex-girl shouldn’t have been so excited to get her own stuff back.

  “Hey, it’s my casserole dish! My grandma gave me this. Can you put it in the kitchen?”

  Forget cheesecake—household goods were definitely the way to go. Logan learned something new every day. He thought he’d cracked the code, at least until they got to the last box.

  “What’s this?” She pulled out a laptop charger. “This isn’t mine.”

  “No, it’s Kenneth’s.”

  Plus all of his dress socks, his razor blades, the lightbulb from his bathroom, the batteries from his remotes, the fuse from his toaster, his scissors, a single Salvatore Ferragamo shoe, and a dozen odd cufflinks. It had taken Logan ages to go through the boxes and pick out one from each pair.

  “You stole Kenneth’s stuff?”

  “He said to take whatever we wanted.”

  Sloane’s face crumpled, and Logan’s heart seized for a moment, but then she burst out laughing.

  “I can’t believe you took his socks. He’s gonna freak.”

  “Call it karma. Do you want any of this stuff, or should I throw it straight into the trash?”

  “Better not. He’ll want it back.”

  “And you’ll give it to him?”

  “Well… Uh… I guess.”

  This girl was far too soft. Had she learned nothing from working with Emmy for all those years?

  “Burn it. Not the batteries because they’ll explode, but the rest. Want me to help?”

  “I’m not sure…”

  “Have a glass of wine and think about it, okay?” Logan slung an arm over Sloane’s shoulders and steered her back towards the kitchen. “Red, white, or pink?”

  She gave that shy smile that always made Logan’s cock harden. “Pink.”

  The same colour as her cheeks.

  Sloane sat on a stool while Logan uncorked the bottle of rosé. Evan was right. The multitools Bradley had put in last year’s Christmas crackers were surprisingly versatile.

  “Where are your wine glasses?”

  The tabby cat leapt onto the counter as Sloane pointed to the cupboard next to the stove.

  “Top shelf.”

  Except Logan never even got the door open. Sloane shrieked, and he turned in time to see a mouse take a running leap from the countertop into her lap.

  “Get it off! Get it off! Get it off!”

  Logan didn’t know whether to laugh or dive for the rodent or get his gun out. The thing was fast, he’d give it that. It ran down Sloane’s leg and dashed into an open cupboard while the asshole of a cat just stood there watching.

  Sloane clambered on top of the stool. “Where did it go?”

  “You don’t like mice?”

  “Last time Nickel caught one, the darn thing bit me and I had to get a tetanus shot, so no, I’m not very keen on mice. Or spiders. Or snakes. And now I’m babbling.”

  Yes, she was, and she’d gone all flushed and breathless and… Stop it, Barnes. Now is not the time.

  “Hey, it’s okay. Sit down here…” Logan helped Sloane to perch on the counter with her feet on the stool. “And I’ll hunt for Mickey.”

  The mouse may have run into a cupboard, but when Logan emptied the dishes out and piled them next to the sink
, all he found was a loose panel at the back and no mouse.

  “Is it in there? Tell me it’s in there.”

  “No, kitten, but I’ll find it.” Logan got to his feet and leaned against the counter, one hand each side of Sloane’s knees. His thumbs itched to caress her thighs, but he gripped the Formica instead. “Just relax and have a glass of wine.”

  “I’m so, so sorry about this.”

  “What did you do last time the cat brought you a gift?”

  “Uh, stayed at Kenneth’s for five days while a pest-control guy pulled the house apart. Fifteen hundred dollars, he charged, and he didn’t even find the darn mouse. I had nightmares for weeks afterwards. Even now, I swear I can still hear tiny feet pitter-pattering when I’m lying awake in the dark.”

  “Well, Mickey can’t have got far.” Logan filled the wine glass to the brim and slid half a cheesecake onto a plate. “Relax.”

  He couldn’t resist brushing one hand across her hip, and she jumped as though he’d electrocuted her.

  “Sorry. Hand slipped.”

  Office Sloane and off-duty Sloane were two completely different people, weren’t they? At Blackwood, Sloane was unflappable, always composed even in the worst crisis. This new Sloane was skittish, nervous, and cute as hell.

  Logan gave his head a little shake to dislodge his dirty thoughts and dropped to his knees for all the wrong reasons. Time to find this tiny four-legged fiend.

  An hour later, Sloane had eaten a whole cheesecake and the wine had done its job. She giggled as he removed another panel and stacked it with the others. Yes, it turned out one multitool could dismantle an entire kitchen.

  “This looks worse than the office after Bradley decided to refit the break area last year,” she said. “My landlady’s gonna go crazy if she sees it like this.”

  So far, Sloane had stuck to safe topics, work mainly, but Logan wanted to change that.

  “Does she share your fear of mice?”

  “I doubt it. She used to be a bit fierce, but then her husband died three years ago and she lost her fire. Until then, I’d been planning to move out, but I realised Edna needed me around to help.”