Chapter 1

Logan

I’d never been nervous in my entire goddamned life.

My nerves were iron. My resolve steel. My bank card platinum.

Shit, it didn’t matter who was at this meeting, or what type of weapon he had strapped to his side. Fucker could have a twelve-gauge shoved down the leg of his pants and it wouldn’t make a difference to me.

“Where is he?” I asked into my phone, voice calm, as I stepped through the front door of the El Toro Bar. A rustic affair, lights swinging low over pool tables, booths in dark corners, and a dusty TV flickering images above the bar. “I’m here.”

Jessica, my assistant, stammered wordlessly for a second. “Just a moment, Mr. Wright.”

“Take your time,” I replied, softly. “It’s not like the fate of my business hangs in the balance here.” Or my life.

Jess managed a tense giggle in reply, followed by the frantic shuffling of papers, the click of keys. “Outside on the balcony. He’ll be wearing a poncho and a peak cap.”

There was an image.

I strode across the creaky boards, the gazes of alcohol-soaked patrons, men, and women in various states of undress, following me.

This was the last place I wanted to be – on the ‘wrong’ side of a tiny paradise island out in the Caribbean, known for its resorts and white sands ringed by turquoise waters. I belonged in New York, making deals, selling luxury jets or hotels. But desperate times called for walking into darkened, rundown bars, apparently.

I halted in the doorway to the balcony, placed my hand on the jamb and surveyed the place.

An outdoor bar overlooked a set of sticky tables and chairs of dark wood to disguise the stains. The place was just about empty. Three men hovered near the bar, all wearing dirty jeans and shirts that were either beige or hadn’t been washed in an eternity.

I kept a scowl from my lips – hated grime – and continued my study.

“Where? At the bar?”

“The bar, yes, sir,” Jessica said.

Except there was no one in a poncho at the bar. What there was, was a young woman, blonde hair falling in waves to her bare shoulders, sapphire eyes focused on the TV overhead as she idly swished a straw through a fruity pink drink.

She didn’t fit in.

She shouldn’t have been here.

Christ, she shouldn’t have existed in this universe, let alone this shitty bar on Nowhere Island. The woman had dropped right out of the sky, in a strapless cocktail dress which matched the color of her eyes. She was slender with a tattoo etched delicately on her ankle beneath the strap of her high heel.

Fuck, I was a sucker for ink – hearkened back to those rebellious teenage years. The ones I never thought about.

“Mr. Wright?” Jessica’s voice screeched in my ear. “Are you all right? Oh my god, are you okay? Is he there? Mr. Wright, do you need me to make the call?”

“I’m fine, Jessica,” I said, slowly, still wrapped up in her. What a woman. What a distraction. I tugged my gaze from her collarbones, her milky white throat, the curve of her delicate chin. “The emissary isn’t here, so this is what we’re gonna do. You’re going to call Marino’s people and inform them that I am done playing games. He’ll come to meet me himself, and we’ll settle this issue once and for all. He has seven days. You got that? Seven days and he meets me on this island.”

Jessica whimpered. “Mr. Wright—”

“Write it down and repeat it over the phone word for word.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And Jessica? Call me the minute you’ve spoken to them. I want this handled. I’m done playing nice, now. If Marino doesn’t—” I cut off, and zeroed in on the woman at the bar again. No, not her, someone else. One of the jeans and dirty sweatshirt gang had sidled over and leaned on the worn surface.

He grinned at her, showing off two rows of yellowing teeth, and murmured something.

She shook her head once, firmly, and formed the word “no.”

“Sir? Sir, are you there?”

“Do it,” I said, and hung up. I slipped the cell into my pocket and focused on the scene in front of me, side-stepped into the shadows next to the end of the bar. The skin on the back of my neck prickled.

Another of the men approached, and as he did, the bartender backed away. It was subtle, him moving to the other side of the space and turning his back, but it was enough. My muscles tensed up, but I didn’t move just yet.

I waited it out.

The guy chatting up Dream Girl leaned in and brushed her hair back from her cheek. She stiffened and steadied herself on the bar, narrowed her eyes, and opened her mouth to berate him. That was when the second asswipe stepped up and dropped a small, white pill into her drink.

“Fuck,” I muttered. Come to the bar for a meeting with death—find a woman in trouble instead. Sounds about right.

The second man stepped back, the first did too, shrugging as if he’d finally given up the game and the bartender cast a cautious glance over his shoulder at them. What was his deal in this? Money? Or something worse?

I strode across the space just as the woman lifted her drink from the bar top.

Blood rushed in my ears, heat, anger mixing with adrenaline.

She raised those blue eyes and met mine, lips touched the rim, pink fluid tipped toward her mouth.

“Sorry,” I said, then knocked the drink out of her hand. The glass shattered on the boards, ice cubes rolled under the stool.

“– the hell?!” She jerked off her stool, crunching glass underfoot.

“Logan Wright,” I said, and took her hand, dragged her closer to me, quick about it.

The jackals at the end of the bar eyed us, weighed whether they could take me now, while I was distracted. Did they work for Marino? Probably not. He wasn’t that connected.

I held her close, gripped her by the wrists and studied those features.

Her full lips parted ever so slightly, the red gloss on them shimmering. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” she asked, and jerked against my grip. I tightened it.

“Saving your ass,” I replied. “And it’s customary to offer your name when one’s given to you.”

“Customary where?”

“Earth,” I replied. “Forget it. We’ve gotta move.”

She searched my face, licked her bottom lip and sent my thoughts to a place I hardly ever let them go. Too many distractions. Too little time. “Why?” She asked.

“Because if we don’t, those fucks are going to try something, and this time, I don’t think it will be spiking your drink.” I nodded toward the men who’d now pushed off from their seats and leered at us, spoke under their breaths in Spanish. “Let’s go.”

We made it to the archway. “I don’t even know you,” she said and tugged at my grip again.

“Take your chances, them or me,” I replied, though I had no intention of waiting for the answer. I guided her out of the door and toward the exit, ignoring the scrape of chairs across the room. Christ, how many of them were there? How much had they seen? Whether this was a setup or not, I couldn’t risk pissing off any of the locals.

If it got back to the authorities on this island, I’d be extradited before I could say ‘money talks.’ Didn’t matter how much I owned here. I’d already called in too many favors. I was under watch, which was why this woman and breaking that glass, was the opposite of what I needed.

But maybe it’s what you want.

I barreled her out into the street and she wrenched herself free of me. She spun on the spot, poked a finger to my chest and wrinkled up her nose in a manner which could only be described as adorable. “Look, mister, I don’t know who you think you are, but you can’t go around dragging people out of their chairs. I had an appointment in there.”

“Yeah, with the undertaker. Come on, those dicks aren’t going to give up easy.”

“What? Why?”

“With all due respect, ma’am, have you seen yourself?” I blocked the entrance in case they came out, spread my arms to stop her from going back in. “You’re not exactly a wallflower.”

“I’m not exactly patient, either,” she replied. “Look, I was supposed to meet a—” She broke off and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “What did you say your name was?”

“Logan Wright,” I replied. Fuck it, here we go. She’d recognize it and the illusion of her strength and confidence would be broken. I’d learned too many times, the hard way, that the type of women I drew to me were the ones interested in anything but who I was and rather what I could do for them.

“Logan,” she said and gulped as if I’d just handed down her death sentence. “I’m Katie,” she said. “But you can call me Jinx.”

“Why the hell would I call you Jinx?”

“I dunno, I was trying something,” she said and crossed her arms beneath ample breasts. They swelled and threatened to fall out of that dress. I tore my gaze from them, shook images of nakedness and sweat from my mind.

“Trying something? Try running, how about that?” I glanced back at the bar. Those men slunk down the stairs toward us.

“You ever tried running in heels?” Katie asked.

“We can discuss kink later,” I replied, and instantly regretted my sense of humor. “Right now, we gotta get lost.”

Katie didn’t complain this time – her eyes had gone round at the sight of the trio approaching. She tottered off toward the end of the road and I followed her. “Where to?” she asked, jogging admirably in heels in spite of the complaints.

“I know a place, but look, this will be quicker if I carry you,” I replied, and swept her off her feet before she could protest.

I carried her into the night, away from the bar, toward safety, and closer to my doom.