Lethal in a Kilt

by Anna Durand

  Serena bowed her head, gazing down at her lap where she'd placed her hands. "Chase is going alone."

  "Why?" The better question was why I kept pushing for an explanation. "Do you not get along with your parents?"

  "He's not visiting my parents. Chase is going to stay with Rob's parents."

  "Rob?"

  She grabbed her glass and downed the rest of the water in one large gulp. "Rob was my husband. He passed away eleven years ago, killed in the line of duty in Iraq."

  Everything inside me froze. I stared at her blankly, having no bloody idea what to say. I'd heard her husband had died, but no one had mentioned his military service. Why would they? I wasn't in a relationship with Serena. Neither she nor her friends had any reason to share that fact with me. At least now I had an idea of why she'd been upset earlier.

  She raised her face to me, looking remarkably composed considering what she'd shared with me. "Rob's parents invited me to go with Chase for the summer. I can't do it. I mean, I have a job here. But I know Evan would give me the time off, so mostly, I can't face them right now. They have visited me and Chase here, but lately they keep talking about the anniversary of Rob's passing, and how we should do something to commemorate it. They wanted to do that last year, the tenth anniversary, but I couldn't. Still can't. The last thing I need is to relive losing him with his grief-stricken parents standing beside me."

  I still had no idea what to say. Anything I spouted would sound hollow and pathetic.

  "Don't get me wrong," she said. "They're wonderful people. I love them. But it's too much right now."

  "Why do you keep saying 'right now'? Has something changed lately?"

  She stopped blinking again. Her jaw fell open, but she clapped it shut. "No, nothing has changed. It's the same old stuff."

  It hadn't sounded that way. But then, what did I know about these things? She must have loved her husband very much, and that was why she had trouble talking about what happened to him. Rob Carpenter must've been the love of her life. Aye, there was a subject I knew nothing about—love, the romantic and everlasting kind described in books and films. No woman ever had or ever would feel that way about me. I understood that, and I'd accepted it.

  My sisters never would.

  Serena wolfed down three more large bites of cake while studying me. After finishing her third mouthful of dessert, she pointed her fork at me. "What was all that bullshit earlier about you being confused and lost?"

  "What do you mean?" I could feign innocence rather well when the situation called for it, but based on the way she squinted her eyes, I was failing miserably with Serena. None of my usual tricks seemed to work with her. Either I became a daft moron in her presence, or she was exceedingly perceptive. It had to be the latter.

  She jabbed her fork in the air in my direction. "Come off it, Logan. There's no way you are helpless. So why were you pretending to be?"

  I sat back in my chair, suddenly uninterested in my dessert. "To tease you. I've been bored out of my skull with this job."

  "Not enough excitement for you?" She set down her fork. "Or is it the danger you miss?"

  "What are you talking about?" I knew damn well what she was talking about, but evasion seemed like the best option. Discussing my covert past impressed some lasses, but Serena wasn't like any other woman.

  Her lips thinned into a sharp line. "Don't get coy with me. Considering we've had sex twice, the least you can do is tell me the truth. I don't like secrets."

  Then you're with the wrong man, lass.

  We weren't together, though, not in the traditional sense. Maybe it didn't matter that I was exactly the wrong sort of bloke for a woman like her, because what we shared was purely physical. She didn't need to know my life was a tangled mess of secrets and lies.

  She tilted her head, studying me with more intensity. "How long ago did you quit being a spy?"

  "Intelligence officer. I resigned three years ago."

  "And then you started working in construction. For your cousin Aidan, right?"

  What was this, the bloody American Inquisition? "Aye, for Aidan. I'm—I was a bricklayer."

  "Now you work for Evan."

  "You know that already. What is it you're really trying to ask me?"

  She picked up her fork, tapping it on her plate. "The question you wouldn't answer before. Do you miss the danger and the excitement of being a spy?"

  "Intelligence officer," I all but snarled. What was wrong with me? No one got under my skin. No one except Serena Carpenter.

  "A few minutes ago, you called yourself a spy. Now it's an insult?" She made a noise best described as a huffing pig snort. "You're full of shit, Logan. Either you start telling me the truth, no evasion, or you will never have a poke at me again."

  Not even the daftest dafty could've missed the sarcasm in her voice when she said the phrase "have a poke."

  I slumped against my chair and rubbed my eyes with my thumb and forefinger.

  "What's wrong with you?" she asked. "Is telling the truth so painful? Normal people have no trouble with it."

  That was total bollocks, and I was sure she knew it, but her hostile reaction to my evasions was beginning to rankle. Other men must've lied to her before, about stupid things, but I kept secrets for a damn good reason.

  Mostly.

  I dug my wallet out of my pocket and slapped several bills on the table, more than enough to cover our meal and the waiter's tip.

  "Those are British pounds, not American dollars," Serena pointed out.

  Cursing under my breath, I rooted through my wallet until I found American money. I'd exchanged my pounds for dollars when I arrived in the US, but clearly, I'd overlooked a few.

  "Some of those pounds look funny," Serena said, peering at the money on the table.

  "They're Scottish notes, and the others are Bank of England notes." I slapped the dollars on the table and swiped the pound notes off it. "Lunch is over. We need to get back to work."

  "Fine." She jerked her chair away from the table and got up, lifting her chin and squaring her shoulders. "Trying to be friendly with you was a mistake, anyway. You are—"

  "Disgusting, vile, loathsome, obnoxious, et cetera. I'm aware of your opinion of me."

  I jumped up, clamped my hand around her elbow, and all but shoved her in the direction of the exit.

  We went back to the office—our separate offices, on separate floors—and ignored each other for the rest of the day. After work, I sequestered myself in my hotel room with a bottle of whisky I'd bought from a store down the street. Slouched in a chair by the windows, I propped my feet on a table and sipped my whisky. The American brand wasn't as good as Ben Nevis or Talisker, but it would do.

  Why had I let Serena get to me? I rarely lost my temper, and never with a woman. She seemed to know exactly where to dig her nails into me for maximum discomfort. Other women had called me much worse things than disgusting or loathsome, but I didn't let it fash me. It must've been the new job, the new life in a new country, getting to me.

  For the hundredth time today, I wondered why I'd accepted Evan's job offer.

  My mobile phone rang.

  I snagged it off the table and answered.

  "Logan, mate, how's it going?" said a cheerful British voice. "Are you really in America? I heard the rumor from a friend of a friend of the MacTaggarts."

  "Friend of a friend?" I chuckled halfheartedly, in no mood for this call, or any call. "Alex Thorne, is that you? I'm surprised even a distant acquaintance of the MacTaggarts would speak to you after the way you threw Catriona over."

  "The throwing over was mutual. But if I'm still persona non grata in the Highlands, why haven't you hung up yet?"

  "I've always formed my own opinions." I swallowed the last of my whisky and set the glass on the table. "Why are you calling me, Alex? We haven't spoken in years."

  "Need a favor, of the Logan MacTaggart variety. You were quite helpful l
ast time."

  "Sorry, I don't do that anymore."

  "This is an emergency."

  "I've heard that before. You like to exaggerate the severity of a problem to get me to do what you want." I glanced at the whisky bottle, three quarters empty, afflicted with a sudden urge to pour the entire contents down my throat. "Not interested in whatever trouble you've gotten yourself into this time. Besides, if I helped you, Catriona would not be pleased."

  "And you always do what your cousins tell you."

  "Cat is a sweet lass, and you hurt her badly. I may not have been there when it happened"—and I hadn't been close to Catriona until recently, a fact Alex didn't need to know—"but I heard about it. Helping you would mean betraying someone I care about."

  Alex fell silent for a moment. His tone was more serious when he spoke again. "I know you don't want to hurt Catriona, and I respect that. But you helped me with a problem after Cat and I parted ways, so I'm guessing you don't hold a grudge."

  "Doesn't mean I trust you." I fingered the whisky bottle, considering whether to pour another dram into my glass. Maybe several drams. "Last time, you told me it was a simple little job. It turned into a right mess."

  "Everything worked out in the end, though. And I paid you extra for the trouble."

  "Not interested, Alex."

  "You haven't even heard the details. Let me explain before you say no."

  I let my head fall back, my gaze landing on the ceiling where the intersecting lines of white tiles laid out a geometric pattern. "Not interested."

  "Let me text you the details. You can decide later."

  Alex had not mellowed in the three years since I'd last seen him. He still had the doggedness of a bloodhound. I'd admired his determination back then. Tonight, it irritated the hell out of me. If I could've shoved my arm through the phone to strangle him, I might have done it.

  Too tired to argue, I said, "Fine. Text it to me. No promises."

  "Of course not," Alex said in a tone that implied he was certain I'd say yes eventually.

  My curiosity got the better of me, and I asked, "Are you still in America?"

  "Yes, I've been here for fifteen years, since before I met Catriona."

  "Still teaching?"

  He said nothing for so long I wondered if we'd gotten disconnected. "These days, I'm the curator of a museum at a modest-size institution of higher learning."

  Ah yes, I remembered how cagey Alex could be. He didn't want to tell me where precisely he worked, not yet, so he gave me vague clues that might lead me to the wrong conclusion, the conclusion he wanted me to reach because it benefited him. Alex Thorne was no con artist, but he did know how to maneuver people to end up exactly where he wanted them. The term modest size could have meant almost anything. Did he want me to believe he worked at a well-known, but not large, university? Or did he hope I'd assume he worked for a wee college attended by students of lesser academic talents? I could've searched for him online, and perhaps found out where he worked, but I wouldn't bother.

  Where he worked didn't matter. I was not taking the job.

  "Tell me, Logan, how long have you been over here on this side of the pond?"

  Alex's words pulled me out of my contemplation of his previous statement. "Slightly more than a week."

  "You must be knackered from the time change. I'll say good night."

  I wasn't tired, but I was ready for this call to end. "Good night, Alex."

  We hung up, and I permitted myself one more dram of whisky. As the liquor slid down my throat, I wondered about Alex. I still had contacts inside various government agencies, both in the UK and here in America, as well as some shadier acquaintances. He must've realized I would check up on him in my own, very thorough way. Maybe he wanted me to do it. I couldn't decide if that was good or bad.

  Didn't matter. I would not get entangled with Alex Thorne again.

  Chapter Twelve

  Serena

  The day after my lunch with Logan, I still couldn't figure out what to make of him. After months and months of speaking to me only when he made lewd advances, he'd finally shown me what I took for his human side. Wrong. It must've been a scam, all that niceness and hand-kissing, because at lunch yesterday he'd turned back into Logan the obnoxious. Was telling the truth so difficult? Instead of trusting me, he treated me like the enemy.

  Maybe being a spy had trained him to mistrust everyone.

  No, I would not give him the benefit of the doubt. He needed to earn that.

  I was at my desk, poring over emails, when Logan walked up behind me. I knew it was Logan, though I couldn't see him. The scent of his cologne wafted over me before he reached my chair. Somehow, I thought I kind of maybe felt him approaching too. Which was crazy. I did not feel him. Sure, I liked to tell my son I had eyes in the back of my head, but that was strictly parental psycho-manipulation.

  Logan bent forward, but I still couldn't see him, what with his head several feet above mine. His shadow fell over me, alerting me to his position.

  "What do you want?" I asked.

  He lowered his head until it hovered beside mine and swung his arm in front me, a bouquet of pink roses in his hand. "I need to apologize."

  "For what? You've done so many rude things, it's hard to keep track."

  "Yesterday, I behaved like a bod ceann. I'm sorry." He set the bouquet on my desk, right in front of me. "I feel awful about it. Will you accept my apology?"

  He felt awful? That meant guilty. Guilt was something I'd never dreamed I would hear Logan admit to experiencing.

  I examined the roses, tracing the delicate lines of their petals with one finger while I tried to figure out what on earth to say to him. "Uh, fine. I forgive you."

  A sigh rushed out of him, almost like he'd been holding his breath. "Thank you, Serena."

  "Sure, whatever." I squirmed in my chair. "I have work to do."

  "Of course. I'll let you get back to it." He kissed my cheek. "I won't pester you for sex anymore. If you don't want to speak to me again, I'll understand. I'm sure you'll be glad to have me out of your hair, not fashing you on a regular basis anymore."

  Logan walked away.

  I twisted in my chair to watch him vanish around the corner. He hadn't pestered me for sex in days, so he had no reason to tell me he wouldn't do it anymore. I, not Logan, had initiated our liaison at the brunch on Saturday. Everything he'd said and done a minute ago seemed an awful lot like a goodbye. He had mentioned being bored out of his mind here. Maybe he found another spy job.

  Did I care if he left? Absolutely not.

  I punched the intercom button.

  Evan answered right away. "Yes, Serena?"

  The words I'd been about to say got stuck somewhere between my brain and my mouth. "Uhhhh..."

  "Should I call an ambulance for you? Sounds like you might be having a stroke."

  His sarcasm snapped me out of my mental freeze. "I'm fine, thank you very much. Is your cousin quitting?"

  "Quitting what?"

  "His job here."

  "Not that I know of," Evan said carefully. "Did he say something to you about resigning?"

  "Not exactly."

  The intercom clicked off, and the door to Evan's office swung open.

  He walked up to my desk. "I'll speak to Logan."

  "Why did you come out here to tell me that?"

  "I'm going to speak to him in person." Evan smiled and touched my hand. "Don't worry. I'm sure he's staying here with us."

  "Not worried. Confused." I fiddled with the papers and pens on my desk. "Your cousin is a very strange and confusing man."

  "That he is. But so am I, and you've gotten used to me."

  Before I could say anything, he hustled off toward the elevator.

  I got back to work. Or pretended to get back to work. What Logan had said shouldn't bother me. I had trouble concentrating on my job because...I was tired. Yeah, that was it. I hadn't slept well
last night, and I was wiped out. Nothing more going on here.

  Oh great. I was making excuses for why I didn't care what Logan did, exactly the way Keely had done with Evan last year. She'd tried her damnedest to not fall in love with him. I slumped back in my chair. Maybe I was making excuses, but not because I felt in danger of developing romantic feelings for Logan. No way in hell would I ever fall for him.

  And that was exactly what Keely had said about Evan.

  I growled under my breath and grabbed a pen, gripping it tightly like I was about to write something of world-shattering importance. What had I intended to write down? I slid a small yellow notepad into position and tapped the tip of my pen on it. Something incredibly vital. I'd been about to write...

  "Ugh," I grunted, tossing the pen onto my desk. "You're too damn old to be acting this way."

  "What am I too old to act like?"

  Evan's voice made me jump and yelp. A tiny yelp. Hardly a yelp at all, really.

  I spun my chair around to see Evan standing ten feet away. Sitting up straighter, I smoothed my blouse. "Nothing. I was talking to myself."

  He gave me an odd look, almost like he thought I might turn into a ravening vampire at any moment. "Maybe you should talk to Keely."

  "Relax, Evan, I'm not going to attack you. Talking to myself is not a sign of raving insanity."

  "I know. But your conversations with Logan seem to upset you, and Keely is your best friend."

  That was true, and normally I would discuss the Logan thing with Keely. Not that there was a Logan thing. Sheesh, I was doing it again. Deny, deny, deny. Nobody seemed to buy my denials. Maybe I'd avoided talking to my best friend about Logan because I knew what she'd say. Maybe I was afraid she was right. But I barely knew Logan, and I could not have feelings for a man I'd had a few brief conversations with and screwed twice.

  "Did you talk to Logan?" I inquired, having no frigging idea why I asked.

  "No, he wasn't in his office. I'll see him later." Evan headed for his office but stopped at the threshold. "Talk to Keely."

  He disappeared into his office, shutting the door.