Chapter Five
LOGAN STOOD IN front of his mother’s house in the early hours of the morning. He didn’t like to think about his family’s tragedy, but sometimes thinking about it was all he could do. Memories crept up on him at strange times, and last night Stormy had stirred memories that made him want to go back and live parts of his life over. If only he’d been around when his parents had been attacked. He’d saved the lives of a woman and three children while he was out on a mission that very weekend in Afghanistan. He remembered the wide eyes of the little seven-year-old boy and the screams of his two- and three-year-old sisters, who were huddled against his frail body. He’d yelled at Logan in his native tongue, turning his back to him and shielding his baby sisters, ready to protect them with his life—at seven—while his mother lay bleeding two feet away. At that moment, as Logan sealed the room as best he could and then went back out to eliminate the remaining Taliban that had stormed the Pushkin village, Logan felt like he was doing the right thing. He was saving lives, protecting his country. What he hadn’t learned until later was that while he was saving strangers, his father lay dying in a pool of blood on his bedroom floor. Shot while trying to shield his wife from a burglar.
Logan shoved his hands into his pockets and bowed his head. When he’d left Stormy, he’d gone home and showered and tried to sleep, but sleep had evaded him. He couldn’t shake the fear he’d heard in her voice, or how similar she’d sounded to his own mother when she’d finally relayed that awful night to him.
He walked the perimeter of the old bungalow-style home. His mother had refused to move after the attack, which had driven him and his brothers nearly insane. They’d grown up in the small two-story home. Their parents’ bedroom was on the first floor in the back of the house. Logan and Heath had shared a small bedroom at the top of the stairs. They’d had bunk beds, like Jackson and Cooper had in the loft. That was all that would fit in the small bedroom. The closet served as their dresser, while Jackson and Coop kept their clothes in a pint-sized dresser in the loft. They had years of good memories in that old house—and now they were overshadowed by one terrible night.
Logan checked the locks on the windows as he made his way around to the back door. The old stairs leading to the door creaked, and he hoped his mother and her supersonic hearing didn’t wake from the noise. He checked the lock on that door and peered into the kitchen. Even blind, his mother somehow managed to keep the house spotless, as if she’d spent the thirty years she’d been living there before losing her sight memorizing every counter, every hallway, every nook and cranny of the place.
A light flicked on down the hall, and he knew he’d woken her. Damn. She still hit the lights when she woke up, a force of habit at this point. He hadn’t wanted to scare her. He waited until she shuffled out of the bedroom in her ancient housecoat to call out to her and unlock the door. He worried about frightening her, but Mary Lou Wild had a sixth sense when it came to her sons. She sensed each of them before they announced themselves. Logan would bet she’d known it was him standing on the porch before she’d left her bedroom, but he wasn’t taking any chances.
“It’s Logan, Ma.” He watched a smile form on her lips. Her hand trailed along the wall as she made her way into the kitchen. Logan unlocked the door and walked inside.
“Logan.” She never failed to sound happy to see him, even at five thirty in the morning.
He folded her in his arms and kissed her cheek. “I’m sorry to wake you, Ma. I was just…” He shrugged, knowing she couldn’t see it, but also knowing she’d somehow sense it. From what she’d told Logan, she’d sensed something ominous coming and had told their father she felt uneasy, though she didn’t know why. It wasn’t until hours later, when she awoke with a start and found the man entering their bedroom, that she understood her earlier apprehension. Her gasp had awoken her husband, Bill, and he’d leaped from the bed like a true hero, ready to take on whatever had scared the woman he adored. And adored he did, every minute of every day. The family hadn’t had much while the boys were growing up. Mary Lou had stayed home with them, taking on seamstress work from the dry cleaner’s down the road for extra income, and Bill had worked at a factory. But Logan and his brothers had never wanted for anything. They’d had loving parents who’d demanded they do well in school and pinched pennies to help pay for their college.
His father lost his life for some asshole’s selfish decision to burglarize their home. He’d gotten away with a small stash of jewelry, including his father’s family ring, an old DVD player, a television, a few pieces of silver—and their family’s heart and soul. Logan’s father’s life.
Logan would never forget that his father had given his all for his children. He only wished he’d been there to give his all for his father in return. He was making up for it now. He and his brothers took turns looking after their mother, stopping by each day to ensure she had groceries, to help her with meals, care for her lawn, and take her wherever she needed or wanted to go. And on Sundays they all got together at her house for a family dinner. Everything they did was out of love for their parents, not out of pity. Save for Logan, whose love was topped off with guilt.
“Sweetheart, what are you doing here so early? Are you okay?” She ran her fingers over his face, and Logan held his breath. His mother would know in seconds exactly where his mind was. There was no hiding from her. She might not be able to see, but her fingers had some kind of emotion sensors. They didn’t miss a damn thing.
“You’re tense.” She reached out beside her until she felt a chair, and she pulled it out from the table. “Sit, lovey. I’ll make you some tea.”
“Ma, you don’t have to do that.” He didn’t try to stop her because he knew it would do no good. She doled out love through tea and talks, always had. And right then, maybe he needed a little comfort more than he cared to admit.
“Tsk. Sit, baby.” She moved with the familiarity of sight, pulling mugs from the cabinets and setting the kettle on the stove. She must have heard Logan walking to the pantry to retrieve the tea, and she waved him off. “I’ve got it. Please, baby, sit.”
He smiled as he sank into a wooden chair. Baby, lovey, sweetie. She rarely used their given names. He’d long ago given up on claiming not to be a baby. He and his brothers knew that to her, no matter how big or how old they were, she’d always dote on them as if they were youngsters.
She set their tea on the table and settled into a chair beside him with a sigh.
“I’m sorry I woke you, Ma. I was just checking things out.”
“Logan, baby, you don’t have to do that at all hours. That was a crazy onetime thing. I’m fine. Lord knows you and your brothers make sure of that every day.” She patted her dark hair. She’d always been pretty, and even though she looked as though she’d aged ten years since his father’s death, she was still beautiful. The fine lines around her eyes told of her age, or maybe of her loss, but her olive complexion and once blue, now slate gray eyes gave her a Mediterranean look. Although Mary Lou was about as far from Mediterranean as a woman could get. His parents had met when his mother still lived in Weston, Colorado, where she’d grown up on her family’s ranch. His father had grown up in Trusty, Colorado, not far from Weston. He’d been working as a trucker and had stopped in at the diner in Weston where Mary Lou happened to be sitting at the counter alone, waiting for a girlfriend to meet her for lunch. His father had spent the next few months wooing her. Seven months after they met, they’d married and moved to New York, where Bill had been offered a more stable position with no travel. Logan’s mother always said that he had a little bit of his father’s Weston charm in him.
He sipped his tea. “How are you, Mom? Heath is coming by tonight to take you out to the market.”
“Yes, Heath’s a good boy. He told me about your friend.”
“Did he?”
“You know Heath. He likes to fill me in. He said he saw something in the way you looked at her.” She lifted her eyes to his, and even though he knew she couldn’t see him, he felt as though she saw right through him. He’d never been able to lie to her, not as a kid, when lying would have saved him from being grounded, and not as an adult, when it might have saved him from a lecture or two.
At least, he’d never been able to tell her an outright lie. He’d never told her that he’d killed the man who’d attacked her and killed his father, but he’d told her that she was safe and the guy had been taken care of. Had she asked if he’d killed him, Logan would have answered truthfully, but she never had.
He’d tracked the bastard down using the contacts he’d made as a private investigator and had tailed him until he had a chance to nail him. Logan had caught him casing a house and had reported it to the police, but the police weren’t all they were cracked up to be. They didn’t make it in time. The woman’s scream drew him into the house with one goal in mind—making sure that asshole never hurt another person. He’d completed that mission with a mixture of pride, guilt, and remorse, and that strange baggage had remained a constant companion ever since.
He pushed those thoughts away when his mother’s hand covered his.
“Lovey, what is it? You seem conflicted.”
“How do you do it, Ma? How do you know what’s in my head?” He’d asked her a hundred times before and knew he’d ask her a hundred more, because her non-answer was always the same.
“I’m your mother. Mothers know these things.”
He lifted her hand to his lips and pressed a soft kiss to it. “I love you, Mom.”
“I love you, too, dear, but you’re avoiding my question.”
He laughed, sipped his tea. “You never did let me off the hook easy.”
“What good would that have done? We own our feelings in this family, Logan, and it seems to me that it’s been ages since you had any feelings toward a woman to own.”
Logan shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “She’s running from a guy.”
“Oh, Logan.” She pressed her lips together and shook her head. “And that’s got your heart all tied up in knots. You’re a savior at heart, sweetheart. That’s why you fought your father so hard to join the navy. You always needed to be saving someone. He was so proud of you.”
Tears stung Logan’s eyes while guilt settled heavy and hard like lead in his gut. There was a time he wouldn’t have believed his father was proud of him because of the way he’d argued with Logan about his desire to join the military. But in his heart, and now a world away from his rebellious youth, Logan understood that his father hadn’t wanted to risk losing him. He knew now that his father had always been proud of him.
“Be careful, Logan.” She’d called him by his name several times, which meant she wanted him to listen carefully to what she was saying. “Some women are magnets for trouble. They thrive on drama, never really looking for an escape, but rather putting themselves in harm’s way. Damsels in distress and all that. While others find themselves in a bad situation and do everything within their power to find their way free from the nightmare. It’s the latter that are worthy of your love.”
“I’m not talking love, Ma.”
“Mm-hmm.” She sipped her tea with a soft nod.
He hated when she did this, acted as if she listened to what he said but knew better.
“Ma, really.”
She patted his hand again. “Okay, lovey. Where are you headed so early in the morning?”
He clenched his jaw. He was heading over to have a talk with the guy who’d attacked Stormy last night—Mike Winters—to ensure he’d never go near her, or near NightCaps again. He’d done a quick search on the guy when he’d gotten home. Married, two kids, stay-at-home wife. A little threat of exposure should nip him in the bud. But he wasn’t going to burden his mother with that knowledge. The minute she found out he was protecting Stormy, she’d say he was already stepping in too deep.
Maybe he was, but he didn’t have to admit it.
“Work.”
She raised her brows in that uh-huh way she had. “Okay, well, you be careful at work, and remember what I said. Metal to magnet is dangerous.”
Logan always felt lighter after seeing his mother, and today was no different, although the closer he got to his destination, the heavier the air became.
Driving the streets of New York was a little like riding the bumper cars at a carnival. Lanes ceased to exist, and there was no place for common courtesy. It was an adventure in every-man-for-himself, and this morning was no different. Logan found Mike Winters’s office and parked in the garage. He checked the collar of his white button-down in the rearview mirror, ran his fingers through his hair, and sank his father’s Stetson on his head. He’d look like a buddy in out of town having a chat with Mike. Not a threat. Not a threat at all.
The elevator was crowded with tired-eyed bankers holding steaming cups of caffeine and dark briefcases, and eyeing a sexy blonde in a red dress. The business world was a curious one to Logan. It seemed to be filled with wannabes. Wanna-be single, wanna-be rich, wanna-be anywhere else but here. Logan had never experienced the wanna-be scenario, except when he’d received the news of that attack on his parents. A burglary gone bad, that’s what they’d called it. Fucking police couldn’t track down his father’s killer. Logan had to do everything himself.
He followed two suits out of the elevator and eyed the brunette behind the large, curved reception desk that read METRO FINANCIAL across the front in big blue letters.
“Hey there, darlin’.” The Midwestern twang played out in Logan’s voice when he needed it. Though he wasn’t from the Midwest, he and his brothers had lived and worked at their parents’ friend Hal Braden’s ranch in Weston every summer from the time they were kids until they went away to college. His father insisted that working on a ranch for a few weeks each year would build character. Logan had enjoyed the work, and he’d enjoyed the friendships with Hal and his six children even more.
“Hi. Can I help you?” The pretty receptionist’s eyes grazed over Logan’s chiseled features to his broad chest.
Logan leaned in closer and lowered his voice. “I’m here to see an old buddy of mine, Mike Winters.”
She typed something into her computer and fluttered her thick lashes up at him. “And your name is?”
“I’d rather not be announced, if you don’t mind.” He lowered his voice again and lathered on his best country-boy twang. “We’re old college buddies and I’d like to surprise him, if it’s all the same to you. Of course, if a beautiful, important woman like yourself wants my name and number, well…” He threw in a wink for good measure.
“I…Um…”
“My, my. You are sexy when you’re flustered.”
She fluttered her lashes again and pointed to a set of double glass doors off to the right. “You can…um…find Mr. Winters through there, second door on the right.”
“Thank you, darlin’.” Logan tipped his hat with a nod and went in search of Mr. Winters. The interior offices were set up like a bullpen, with glass-walled offices lining the exterior walls and cubicles filling the remaining space. Logan found Mike Winters’s name on a plaque beside the second door. Logan watched Winters through the glass as he took a phone call. His hair was neatly combed, his suit finely pressed. To a stranger he’d look like a clean-cut businessman. Logan had seen the wolf behind the mask, and as he pushed through the glass door and Mike lifted his eyes, Logan counted the seconds until recognition hit. Mike’s eyes widened, and the blood drained from his face. He stood from his plush leather seat, taking a step back with the phone at his ear.
“I’ve…I’ve got to go. I’ll call you back.” He fumbled as he set the receiver on the cradle and held his hands up, palms out. He was going to need more than that if this talk didn’t go well. “What do you want?”
“Sit down,” Logan commanded, all traces of Midwestern hospitality gone.
Mike stood stock-still. Apparently he wanted to do this the hard way.
Logan took two determined steps around the side of his desk, and Mike sank into the chair.
“I’m sorry. I’m—”
“Shut your fucking mouth.”
Mike’s jaw snapped shut.
“Now…” Logan began in a calm voice with a threatening stare as he sat on the corner of the desk. To anyone looking through the glass wall, he’d appear to be an old friend, just as he’d planned.
“This is how we’re going to play this game. I visited your home this morning over on Garden Lane. Saw your sweet little blond wife and two towheaded adorable girls.”
Mike’s jaw clenched, but his trembling limbs gave away his weakness.
“Unless you want that lovely family of yours to find out all about your cheating, raping ways, you’re never going to go near NightCaps, or that waitress, again.”
“F…fine.”
Logan glanced over his shoulder, then slowly drew his gaze across Mike’s desk and picked up the picture of his family. “It would also be a damn shame if you visited any other bar, alley, or otherwise unfit environment for a husband and father of two, and threatened another woman.” He ran his finger over the image of Mike’s pretty young wife, then slid his suit coat to the side and flashed his gun.
Mike gasped, his eyes trained on the black metal handle.
“I’ll be watching you, Winters. I’d hate to have that wife of yours become a widow, but if you can’t keep your claws to yourself, I think I’d be doing a disservice to womankind by letting you roam the streets.” He set the picture down on the desk and leaned in so close he could smell fear on Mike’s breath. “You only get this one warning. The next time, my bullet will do the talking.”
Logan rose to his feet and smoothed his suit coat. “Oh, and if you contact the police and say I threatened you? Wifey will get a quick visit from the woman you attacked last night, along with the police. Your life will be over quicker than you can say, Oops.’”
He tipped his hat and left Mike to figure out how to leave his office with piss-wet pants.