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

by Elise Noble

  Emmy and Ana had improvised with the cable from the vacuum cleaner and Sloane’s upstairs bannister, but Jerry still looked pretty uncomfortable. Silent, though, because they’d duct-taped his mouth closed.

  And now Emmy was sitting on the floor folding a paper aeroplane while Ana leaned against the wall and poured out a shot of vodka.

  “Mr. Olson here isn’t so keen on talking, so we need to persuade him.” Emmy turned back to the little fucker, whose black eye had swollen up nicely now. “Shall we have another try?”

  She ran the wing of the plane down Olson’s exposed left arm, once, twice, three times, then Ana stepped forward and poured the vodka over the paper cuts.

  Okay, now Logan understood the need for the duct tape. Olson’s howl came out as a strangled moan, he turned bright red, and his eyes bugged out. Sloane tried to peer around Logan, but he covered her eyes.

  “Don’t look, kitten. Let’s get Nickel to the veterinarian.”

  “What are they doing?”

  “Come on, let’s go.”

  Luckily, the cat raised his head and let out a quiet whimper that drew Sloane’s attention as they hurried through the hallway. At least Emmy and Ana weren’t making too much mess.

  And whatever Olson had to say, Logan knew he’d talk.

  Logan’s only pet had been a hamster purchased by his mom to teach the Barnes kids about the concept of death, which had duly obliged by kicking the bucket. He liked animals, but being in the military and then working at Blackwood made owning one impractical. Still, he wouldn’t mind spending more time with Nickel. And his owner.

  Sloane was curled into his side at the moment, quiet, still a little tearful as they waited in the empty reception area of the animal hospital. Logan couldn’t blame her. The emergency veterinarian on duty had taken Nickel straight into surgery to pin his broken leg, and although the prognosis was good, it was obvious Sloane was still beating herself up over it. Logan too, if he was honest. He should have insisted on staying this evening, even if he’d sat in his truck outside, but instead, he’d driven to the Brotherhood to drown his sorrows after Sloane knocked him back. Thank fuck he’d only been halfway through his first beer when the alarm went off.

  And thank fuck Emmy and Ana had barged through the front door when they did, otherwise he’d have been burying a body and grovelling to Sloane to forgive him for all the bloodstains.

  Logan’s phone vibrated with a message, and he shielded the screen from Sloane as he read what Emmy had to say. They’d had one brief conversation earlier, on the phone just after Nickel went into surgery. Logan had filled her in on recent events, from Kenneth’s selfishness to Leah’s idiocy with the online dating site to the fight at the Brotherhood.

  EB: Done here. Someone’s coming to clear up the mess.

  Logan: Olson?

  EB: On his way back to West Virginia in the back of Ryder’s truck. But there’s a bigger problem, and that means Sloane mustn’t be left on her own tonight.

  Logan: I’ll stay with her. What problem?

  EB: Will explain tomorrow. Mack’s looking into things right now, and we should know more in the morning. My office at 9.

  Logan: With Sloane?

  EB: Best not.

  Shit. That meant the news wasn’t good. Was it too late to book plane tickets to Europe? The South of France was nice at this time of year. Or Lake Como in Italy. One of the guys at work had a house there they could borrow, and—

  “Is that Emmy?” Sloane asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “What’s happening?”

  “Everything’s fine.”

  “Fine?” Sloane rounded on him, bristling. “How can you possibly say that? A man tried to rape me, my cat’s on the operating table, and there might well be a body in my house.”

  Logan only heard one word in all of that, and it made him see red. “Shoulda killed that fucker when I had the chance.”

  Perhaps he could call Ryder and ask for a favour? There were plenty of remote spots between Richmond and West Virginia.

  But Sloane uncurled his fists and slid one hand into his. “Thank you for coming. I’m sorry—I shouldn’t have snapped. Uh, is there a body in my house?”

  “No. Emmy and Ana got whatever answers they were looking for, and Olson’s on his way back to the swamp he came from.”

  Was Logan worried about the man returning? Not really. No one who’d faced off against that pair would willingly set foot in the same state again.

  The veterinarian came out, still wearing a pair of blood-covered scrubs, but he was smiling, which Logan took as a good sign. Sloane gripped his hand tighter, and Logan gave hers a reassuring squeeze.

  “Miss Mullins? The operation went well. Nickel’s awake now if you’d like to see him.”

  “Yes, please.”

  The little cat was groggy, but he managed a weak purr when Sloane petted him. She’d told Logan what he’d done while they waited, how he’d attacked Olson then raised the alarm, albeit by accident, and Logan owed Nickel a whole truckload of catnip. He’d never grumble about the mouse episode ever again.

  The veterinarian yawned, and when Logan checked his watch, he saw it was almost two in the morning.

  “Time to go home?” he asked Sloane.

  She managed a shake of the head. “More like time for me to get in my car and drive to Florida. I’m so, so sick of this month.”

  Logan was only half-sure she was joking. “We can go to Florida if you want.”

  “We?”

  He steered her out of hearing range of the hospital staff. “Wherever you are, I’m gonna be sitting outside your bedroom door with a gun, kitten.”

  “Really?”

  “Nobody’s getting near you. Trust me. Do you want to stay in a hotel? Or at Emmy’s place?”

  “Yes.”

  Logan sensed a “but” coming.

  “But…” See? He hadn’t spent years watching Sloane for nothing. “But then he’ll have won, won’t he? If that psycho scares me out of my home, he’ll have won.”

  “I don’t think anyone would judge you if you spent one night elsewhere.”

  “Emmy wouldn’t run.”

  “You’re not Emmy.”

  Fuck, wrong thing to say. Sloane’s face crumpled as Logan grabbed a virtual spade and attempted to dig himself out of the hole he’d made.

  “And that’s a good thing, kitten. Emmy has to lock herself in her fuckin’ bedroom so she doesn’t kill people in her sleep. But if you want to go home, then I’ll take you.” He tried to make her decision seem rational. “It’s probably not a bad idea to stay close to the veterinarian.” Shit, that made it sound as if the cat was gonna die. “So we can pick Nickel up as soon as they call.”

  She seemed to consider that for a few seconds. “Logan?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Could you sit inside my bedroom? There’s a window, and…”

  “I’ll stay anywhere you want, kitten. Anywhere.”

  Back at Sloane’s place, Logan started off in an old armchair, watching her outline as she lay in bed. His Colt .45 sat in his lap, and if anyone decided to pay a nocturnal visit, they’d feel its wrath. He’d kept many silent vigils over the years, but never over a woman he was in love with. Because if he cared to admit it, he’d more than liked Sloane for a long time, and this last week had only cemented his feelings. He might not deserve her, but he wanted her.

  And when he heard her sobbing quietly at four a.m., he slid off the chair and lay down beside her, one hand tentatively placed on her hip over the quilt to see if she’d react. And she did react. She dragged his arm tight around her chest, close to her pounding heart, and nestled back against his stomach.

  After the events of the previous evening, Logan shouldn’t have smiled in the darkness, but smile he did. With Sloane in his arms, he just couldn’t help it.

  CHAPTER 19 - LOGAN

  LOGAN SKIPPED HIS morning workout in favour of taking Sloane for breakfast on the way to the office. She only pi
cked at her New York cheesecake pancakes, and he couldn’t help noticing the way she glanced at his knuckles every ten seconds. He should have worn gloves.

  “Nothing’s broken, kitten.”

  “Me. I’m broken. Everything I touch turns to shit.” She pushed the plate away. “And I’m not even meant to be eating cheesecake.”

  Sloane rarely swore, so that was a strong statement from her.

  “It’s been a bad few weeks, I’ll give you that, but things’ll get better. We’ll make sure they do. Blackwood’s a team, and we always have each other’s backs.”

  “But I’m only a secretary, not one of you guys.”

  Logan dropped his fork, and it bounced off the plate and fell onto the floor. The waitress rushed over with another, but he ignored her hand as it brushed his and focused on Sloane.

  “Don’t ever belittle yourself like that. Everyone in the company’s important, from Emmy and Black to the guy who refills the damn toilet paper. Because I may be pretty good in combat, but…” Okay, perhaps this was a bad analogy. “But I also need to wipe my ass.”

  Sloane burst out laughing, and for the first time since yesterday afternoon, her sweet smile came back. Not such a bad analogy, after all. Logan reached across the table and took her hands in his.

  “And you’re not just important to Blackwood, you’re important to me.”

  “Can I get you anything else, sir?”

  Damn that perky waitress with her flirtatious glances and fuck-awful sense of timing.

  “Just the check.”

  Her face fell at Logan’s sharp tone, and she backed away, apologising with her eyes. But the moment was lost. Sloane had pulled her hands away and was already halfway out of her seat, blushing.

  “We should get to the office.”

  “Kitten…”

  “I can’t be late for work.”

  “You got attacked in your own home last night. I think they’ll understand if you take a personal day.”

  “Would Emmy take a personal day?”

  “No, but Emmy’s half-cyborg.”

  And the other half was pure bitch.

  “I don’t want to be at home, okay?”

  “I’ve got one meeting at nine, and then I’ll take you out somewhere. Didn’t you say you wanted to go to Florida?”

  He tried for light-hearted, but Sloane wasn’t buying it.

  “Meeting? What meeting? You don’t have a meeting on your calendar.”

  “You’ve been checking my calendar again?”

  Sloane turned from pink to red. “Maybe just the occasional glance.” She folded her arms across her chest, which did everything for her cleavage. “That’s my job.”

  “I check your calendar all the time, but mainly because I’m nosy.” And if Logan knew where she was every hour of every day, he could accidentally run into her more often.

  She still wasn’t buying it. “What meeting?”

  “Just a last-minute thing with Emmy.”

  “About Jerry Olson?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Why wasn’t I invited?”

  “The discussions may not be pleasant.”

  “I’m living in the middle of this, Logan. I want to know what’s going on.”

  He didn’t want her getting nightmares, but last night’s bad dreams had come with favourable side effects. Logan could still feel Sloane wrapped around him as he desperately willed his cock not to harden this morning. Forget it, Barnes. No, he wouldn’t use dirty tricks to get her into bed. But he would do everything in his power to shelter her from the nastiness in the world.

  “I promise I’ll tell you what we discuss. How about over lunch? We can go to Claude’s.” Women raved about that ridiculously expensive French place. “I bet they serve fancy cheesecake.”

  “Okay.”

  Okay? Logan was a little surprised when she gave in so easily, but he’d take the win. And the filet mignon that came with it.

  “I’ll make a reservation.”

  At Blackwood’s headquarters, Logan walked into the office Emmy shared with her husband just as Black slammed the phone down.

  “Everything okay?”

  “You remember Miriam?”

  Nobody who’d met Black’s aunt could forget her. She got raging drunk at every party she showed up to, and someone usually had to carry her out to a cab.

  “I thought you told her not to contact you?”

  “I did, but either she got too drunk to remember or she just ignored me.” He glared at the phone. “There are ninety-five billion nerves in the human body, and that woman manages to get on every single fucking one of them.”

  “Do you want me to get rid of her?” Ana’s voice came from the doorway. “I could make it look like an accident.”

  “Honestly? I can’t be bothered to deal with the paperwork right now. It’s easier to keep hanging up on her.”

  Ana shrugged. “Whatever you prefer.”

  Emmy walked in behind her, followed by Mack with her laptop and Sloane with a tray of coffee. One, two, three, four, five cups. Who else were they expecting?

  Logan realised when Sloane sat herself down on the leather couch in the corner and picked up a cappuccino.

  “What are you doing?” he asked, even though he already knew the answer. He should have realised she’d pull a stunt like this when she’d gone quiet earlier. Lust played havoc with his intelligence. But at the same time, he had to be impressed by her devious side.

  “I want to know what’s happening. I’ve got a right.”

  Emmy crouched beside her. “We just don’t want to see you upset.”

  “Upset? I’m already upset,” she shrieked. “I couldn’t get any more freaking upset.”

  People in the office beyond turned to stare at them, and Ana took a seat beside Sloane.

  “Tell her. She might as well find out sooner rather than later.”

  “Thanks, I think.” Sloane looked more sick than anything else.

  Black glanced at his watch. “Fine, but we need to hurry this up. I’ve got another meeting in half an hour.”

  Mack hooked her laptop up to the larger monitor on Black’s desk, and a minute later, photos of Sloane filled the screen. Logan recognised most of them from her Facebook albums. Not that he’d been studying them or anything. More of an occasional glance. Okay, so he might have saved a couple of them to his phone, but it wasn’t as if he’d used them as his screen saver. Mostly because he thought she might notice.

  He sat on the arm of the couch beside her, and she chewed her lip as she watched. Logan wanted to carry her out of the room caveman-style so she wouldn’t have to go through this, but firstly, the others would ask questions, and secondly, Sloane would probably kick him in the nuts.

  “Mr. Olson had some interesting things to say last night,” Emmy started. “It seems he first met Sloane, who he knew as Marilyn, on a dating site aimed at blue-collar workers from the southern states. This was seven months ago. They got talking online, and he wanted to meet up in person, but Marilyn kept coming up with excuses. Her car needed repairs, so he sent her money, but then she claimed she was too nervous to drive such a long way alone. He offered to come to her, even took time off work, but she cancelled at the last minute. Sick cat, apparently. Finally, she said she’d fly in to meet him, so he paid for a ticket and she never showed up. When he checked with the airline, he found she’d spun a convincing tale and got the ticket refunded to her.”

  “I didn’t do any of that, I swear.”

  Emmy managed a smile that was sympathetic rather than cunning. A minor miracle. “We know you didn’t, honey, but somebody using your picture did.”

  Mack took over, clicking through various other screenshots. “Somebody’s been using your photos to catfish men. They strike up an online relationship, then convince their marks to send money with various sob stories.”

  Sloane’s jaw dropped. “They what? But why me?”

  “Because you’re pretty, honey,” Emmy said. “And in a g
irl-next-door sort of way, not a ‘this chick’s gonna be high-maintenance’ way. Men go for that. Right, Logan?”

  “Right.”

  Logan answered automatically, and Black’s lip flickered up at one corner. Those assholes had to be running a pool on him and Sloane by now, surely? Which week did Black have?

  Sloane just looked dazed as Mack continued.

  “We’ve found ‘Marilyn’ on six sites so far, smaller ones, all targeted at a particular geographical area or demographic. Clever, really. It helps whoever’s doing this to stay under the radar. But when Leah signed Sloane up on DateMe, it seems some of the previous victims spotted her, which explains the problems of the last few weeks.”

  “Jerry Olson?” Logan asked.

  Emmy nodded. “He saw the photo, recognised her, and then used her real name and photo to find her on Facebook.”

  “And paid her a visit,” Logan growled.

  “Indeed. He’d been planning it for over a week. Of the six sites, one’s where she met Jerry, and we think another might relate to Laurence. Christian gave us the security camera footage from the bar, and Desmond, or whatever the dude’s real name is, doesn’t appear to be on any of the other four, so we’re missing at least one. Assuming someone took the bait on each, we’re potentially looking at seven pissed-off dudes as a minimum.”

  Mack’s phone pinged, and she glanced at the screen. “Make that eight. Agatha just found another site.”

  “What about the source?” Black asked. “Whoever’s doing this is close enough to Sloane to know her middle name.”

  “Perhaps not. It’s on her Facebook page. Remember Bradley’s silver-screen-themed fancy-dress party? The one where Sloane went as Marilyn Monroe? Someone made a joke out of it. And the post was set to public, so…”

  Black’s eyes rolled halfway around before he caught Logan glaring at him and stopped.

  “Tell me that fucking account’s been sanitised now.”

  “I did it myself,” Mack told him. “But unfortunately, the damage is done. Whoever’s running this scam is posting from behind a proxy server. We’ll find them, but it may take time.”