The Logan Brothers - Books 1-4: (EXPOSURE, CRASH, TWIN PASSIONS, and ADDICTED TO YOU)

by Shorter, L. A.

  “So what do you do? Are you full time?”

  “I'm here most days yeah. I work evenings mainly so I have a monthly subscription here where I can go to any class. Private tuition is extra though.”

  “Of course. Who should I talk to about joining?”

  “Err, Madame West runs the whole school, so I guess if you're serious about things she's the person to see.”

  “Thanks a lot...” I left it open for her to finish the sentence with her name.

  She didn't quite pick up on it at first, before realizing what I was doing and laughing in a sweet way.

  “Lexi, my names Lexi.”

  “Nice to meet you Lexi, I'm Elle. So, Madame West - is she this way?” I nodded my head down the corridor.

  “Err, yeah her office is that way, but she's not around right now. She has Thursdays off I think.”

  “Ah, OK, well thanks for your help. Maybe I'll see you around here sometime?”

  She smiled again and nodded before prancing off down the corridor, not a care in the world. I swear there must be something in the water round here. Half the people seemed to be high all the time.

  ....

  Half an hour later I was lying on my bed back in my dorm, Alice working away diligently at her desk. It was about a week since I'd moved now, and her mood had picked up since the morning she trundled in, half dead with exhaustion and concern.

  I hadn't asked her about it, or at least she didn't tell me much if ever I did. I guess I wasn't quite into her inner circle of trust yet. That said, Alice seemed like the sort of girl who had a very small inner circle.

  Like, super small.

  Like, only herself.

  I wasn't even sure that Tess was privy to everything.

  Not that she wasn't popular. No, people seemed to like her, especially the guys. Any time I stepped out with her there were eyes literally locked on her every step. She was like this magnet for drooling men, not that she even seemed to notice.

  I guess she liked to keep her own council, sort through problems herself. She told me she didn't have any siblings, that her mom was dead and she didn't really have a relationship with her dad. It kinda made sense, then, that she'd learned to keep her emotions close to her chest.

  The experience of starting at this college, though, could hardly have been more different from my last, failed, effort. Then I'd fallen for Brad straight up, too shy and scared to branch out and develop my own social circle until way into the first year.

  Here, I'd gone at it with no fear. I mean, part of that had been forced, you know, by having a room-mate and all that. But the rest was all me. I'd already met a few people in my Literature class who I'd been to coffee with, and now there was the promise of joining dance class outside of college hours.

  A smile spread from ear to ear at the thought as I lay on the bed staring up at the ceiling.

  Alice must have picked up on it as her voice broke me from my daydream.

  “What are you grinning so widely about,” she asked, half speaking, half laughing. “You look like the fucking joker.”

  I laughed spontaneously.

  “I dunno, I guess I'm just happy to be here. You have no idea how much better this start has been to my last effort at college in California. Like, black and white, I'm not kidding.”

  She laughed at my drollness.

  “So what's so different this time?” she asked, her tone so light and breezy. She sounded genuinely interested, not a hint of scepticism in her voice.

  “It's just different. I'm not burdened by a nightmare boyfriend for one thing. Literally, the guy was the Freddie Krueger of boyfriends, haunting my dreams.”

  We both laughed together. God it was nice to laugh about it.

  “It's just nice to be free of him, you know. Have you ever just had a boyfriend who would not let go when you broke up?”

  She shook her head, still giggling.

  “Well, this guy latched on like a bear trap. I had to move here to get away from him, God's honest truth.”

  Her laughter suddenly dried up.

  “Are you serious? It was that bad?”

  “Worse. You have no idea.”

  “Jesus babe. I wondered why anyone would move to a new college mid-year. Now I know.”

  “Yeah, I'm well shot. I'm so glad you're my room-mate though Alice. It could have been totally different if I'd moved in with some weirdo or something. I had a friend at my last college whose room-mate constantly brought guys back and slept with them in front of her.”

  “EW!”

  “I know, right! I was so worried the same would happen to me. So glad its you hun.”

  She smiled genuinely. “Well, I'm happy to have you. Just quit it with the snoring and we'll be fine.” She giggled again at my hurt and shocked expression. “Just teasing, you don't snore. You do talk in your sleep though.”

  “I do not!”

  “You do! You were mumbling something about a savior the other day. You kept saying 'my savior, my savior' in this lusty voice. It kinda freaked me out actually, it was only the second night you were here! I literally thought you were mad!”

  “Really? My savior? Weird.”

  But it wasn't weird. I knew who, and what, I would have been talking about.

  “Have I said anything else?” I said casually.

  “Nah, not that I've noticed. Thank God.” She laughed again.

  Good. I don't wanna be spilling my darkest secrets in my sleep now do I. Not that I really have any dark secrets. Not yet anyway.

  “Well, tell me if I say anything else. It was probably the nerves of just arriving or something, you know.”

  “Yeah sure. I've got a nutter as a new room-mate! Although can't be as bad as the last.” She hushed herself, as if she'd said too much.

  “Ooooo, gossip. What was she like?” I said, sitting up, my eyes opening wide.

  “No, I'm just messing. She was pretty normal actually.” I got the impression that she was closing the door on something. None of my business really though. More confirmation that Alice really did keep her cards close to her chest.

  “So are you making friends in class,” she asked, changing the subject. “You're doing Literature, right? Have you met a girl called Lilly?”

  “Err, no, why?”

  “No reason. She's just the only girl I know doing that subject.”

  “Ah. Yeah, I've met some people, they're really nice. Everyone seems to be nice round here. I went to that dance school, West's School of Dance, after lectures today to look into classes, and this random girl just started chatting to me. She was really nice and helpful."

  “Oh yeah, what was her name?”

  “Um, Lexi I think.”

  “Lexi?” She seemed to recognize the name. “At West's?”

  “Yeah. You know her?”

  “Yeah, she's the sweetest girl. So friendly, so bubbly. Gorgeous. Small, right? Like tiny, and blonde? Kinda looks like you actually!”

  “That's the one. And thanks, if I look anything like her that's a major compliment! So, do you dance? Is that how you know her?”

  “Oh, sort of. I used to work with her.” Her voice lost some of its vibrancy, suddenly going a bit closeted again.

  Seriously, this girl and her secrets.

  “Ah, right. Like what, bar work or something?”

  “Something like that.” She had this half grin on her face, a look of remembrance, of forgotten pleasure, her eyes glancing off to the side.

  I knew not to probe. If she wanted to let me in on the truth, that was her deal.

  Right now, I was just happy to be there. For the first time in a while I actually lay there looking forward to the next day.

  I think they call that optimism.

  Chapter 7

  Crash

  I sat in a q
uiet office, maps and lists and pictures of various people pinned all over the walls. There was a desk in front of me, files and papers scattered all over it, and a man sitting behind, cigarette in mouth, glass of whiskey in hand.

  He had a clean cut disposition, despite his obvious vices, his face clean shaven, his hair neatly cut and swept to the back of his head. He wore a suit, black, with a white shirt and black tie. To any onlooker he looked like he might have been going to a funeral.

  But he wasn't. He dealt in death sometimes, but in a very different way.

  “Some things have come to light,” he said, his tone ominous. “You knew the sort of thing your father was involved in?”

  This man had worked for my father many times before. He was well aware of the circles he moved in. Jones, that was his name, the only name I knew him by.

  I nodded. “Intimately.”

  “Good. Do you recall the murder of Michael Cooper, not long before your father's death?”

  Michael Cooper was a heavyweight in the financial industry, his personal wealth stretching into the low billions. He'd had dealings with my father for many years, things I wasn't privy to as a younger man.

  Only a few weeks before the death of my father he'd been found murdered in similar circumstances. He was found in the Globe Hotel, room 640, a knife cut through his heart. Details were sketchy at first about his death, people speculating over what had happened. Yet with such a high profile case, someone was always likely to let the truth slip for an envelope full of money.

  Eventually, someone had been seduced by the press. From there, the sordid details of his murder became public knowledge, shattering his image.

  He'd been a regular at the Globe Hotel whenever he came into town for business. Yet he wouldn't stay there. No, he'd only use the hotel for specific purposes.

  He'd arrive under a fake name - Mr White it was revealed to be - and always used room 640. He'd arrange for a single stripper to come to his room, performing for him in privacy. He'd sit in a chair in the center of his suite, shrouded in darkness, a spotlight ahead of him where the stripper would dance.

  Anonymity was critical to him, so he never showed his face to any stripper, or so I read.

  Then further details came out that he'd also pay those same strippers for sex. He'd let them dance for him, size them up, and then take things a step further during their next encounter. He was truly methodical in everything he did, even determining which hookers were right for his needs.

  On the night of his murder, two girls were seen going towards his room. They looked of similar build, similar age, but no direct matches were made with the hotel's security cameras. It was a mystery that the press speculated on for weeks, suggesting that a disgruntled prostitute had taken matters into her own hands and knifed him as he sat there.

  Yet now, sitting here with Jones, my private investigator, I felt that another truth was about to be revealed. It was one that I'd suspected from the start.

  “I have uncovered evidence that your father ordered the hit on Michael Cooper,” Jones said to me, his voice totally matter-of-fact.

  “He owned a strip club, did he not?” he continued, pen in hand, still jotting notes for his files. “And he hired his best girls out for prostitution as well?”

  “He had the club yeah, but I wasn't aware that prostitution was part of the set up?”

  “Turns out it was. It's a higher ticket item, Crash, a natural step up.”

  It didn't surprise me to hear that that was the case. My father's club only attracted high end clients, clients with plenty of money. Surrounded by the most beautiful girls in the city, it was only natural that their appetites would begin to grow deeper. My father was a man of rules and discipline, but he had no problem exploiting any vice for money.

  “So he supplied the girls for Cooper?”

  “Yes. He'd been doing so for many years, as part of their arrangement.”

  “And he ordered one of them to kill him? Why? Couldn't that be traced back to him?”

  “The reasons why escape me, but suffice to say they'd grown apart over the years. I would imagine it was some disagreement over a business transaction or some other matter. I will continue to look into that.” He jotted another note down on his pad.

  “To your second question I say no. I have looked over your father's files and there appears to be no link between the girls who visited Mr Cooper that night and your father's club.”

  “So how do you know he was involved?”

  “Because I found the girl who committed the murder.”

  The words hung in the air for a moment. He said it so matter-of-factly.

  “You found her? How?”

  “A hunch. She was a girl struck off, a girl who betrayed your father. I was interested to hear what she had to say, and she was only too happy to spill the beans after a little coaxing.”

  “Coaxing?”

  He smiled coldly. “Don't ask.”

  “So let me get this straight. An ex stripper or prostitute of my father killed Michael Cooper under his command? Am I right on that?”

  Jones nodded in his own completely detached way. He was so used to such things that that sentence seemed like nothing to him. Just another day at the office.

  “What was her name?”

  “Jenny. Beautiful girl, although a little run down now. The last few months haven't been kind to her.” There was no caring whatsoever in his voice.

  “OK, so how the fuck does all of this relate to my father's death.”

  He took a sip of whiskey and a puff of his cigarette, the smoke now clouding the room.

  “It is only conjecture at this point, but it may be a revenge hit. The circumstances of your father's death would suggest that.”

  I sat back in my seat, the pain still fresh, the wound reopening.

  My father had been found shot to death in a hotel room. Hotel Carson, room 801. The details will be forever etched in my memory.

  The circumstances had been a mystery, and the fucking cops were doing a piss-poor job of getting to the bottom of it. He was found alone, two gunshot wounds in his chest. They'd both punctured his heart, and it looked to be a professional hit.

  But no one knew why he was there. Most interestingly, the cameras were faulty that night at the hotel, so there were no images of anyone entering his room. Once more, that only served to make the police believe that the hit was professional and planned.

  The one piece of evidence they did have was a camera from outside, positioned on a building opposite, that looked over the hotel entrance. The coroner was pretty clear on the time of death, and roughly 10 minutes before then a car was seen to pull up outside and a woman get out.

  The image was grainy, but she was well dressed in black, and looked to be young and attractive. The number plate for the vehicle was traced back to a car hire company in the city. When approached about it, they said a young woman, dark hair, very beautiful, had booked the car in cash under the name of Grey.

  Most interesting of all was that the same girl was seen to be leaving the hotel a mere 20 minutes after arriving. This time, however, she wasn't alone. A young man, dark hair, roughly 6' 1” was seen leaving with her, disappearing out of view down the street.

  It could only have been a hit. The girl must have been bait and the guy the killer.

  “I believe,” Jones said, continuing, “that your father partook in certain pleasures just as Mr Cooper did. And, just like him, he wanted to keep it a secret. It would appear that his murder was a set up, and I can only assume that it was a reaction to the Cooper killing.

  “Assume,” I said, my tone growing colder, my anger simmering. “I don't fucking pay you to assume. I want evidence Jones, clear fucking evidence. Get me proof.”

  His eyes never showed any sign of intimidation. He simply nodded and took a
nother sip of his whiskey. “Yes Mr Logan, I'll do just that.”

  Chapter 8

  Elle

  The excitement in Tess' body was palpable. I'd realized, in the short time I'd known her, that she wore her heart on her sleeve. She was like a kid at Christmas, her smile infectious.

  I was sat on her bed as she paraded around in a beautiful new dress.

  “What do you think, do you think he'll like it?”

  “Tess you look stunning, you always do. He'd have to be gay not to like it.”

  The door opened and Alice walked in, herself wearing a gorgeous dress that showed off the curve of her body. She had a bottle of champagne in hand, much like the first night I'd moved in. Like that night, I was about to see the Logan brothers once again.

  “Gimme that,” said Tess, bouncing over and snatching the bottle from her hands. “I don't want you spilling that on my floor!”

  Alice looked at her with a feigned face of thunder, mumbling under her breath as Tess took the bottle away.

  “She may look like a Princess, Elle, but she grew up a pauper!” Tess laughed. “She's a true life Cinderella! Unfortunately, though, she hasn't quite learned how to open a champagne bottle without spilling half the contents quite yet!”

  She laughed to herself as she walked over to her desk and popped the cork, sending Alice a knowing look as the top of the bottle issued a wisp of mist. “You see, that's the way to do it, no frothing foam on the floor!”

  “God she's insufferable sometimes,” said Alice, sitting down next to me on the bed as Tess filled the glasses. “I don't know how I've put up with her for so long.”

  Had I just moved in I'd probably have thought she was serious. But I'd spent enough time around the two of them by now to realize that this was just their relationship. Tess was the playful one, Alice the serious one. It made for some amusing comedy from an onlookers perspective.

  “So, you look hot,” Alice continued, eyeing me up and down. “Your hair looks amazing, did you get it done?”