Chapter Six
STELLA AWOKE FEELING refreshed, less stressed than she’d been in ages, and sore. So damn sore. The kind of achiness in her hips and the back of her thighs that only came from great sex and multiple orgasms. God, it had felt good to be with a man again. To be in Logan’s arms, to feel his strength and revel in his touch, to feel him stroking emotions and sensations she’d long ago forgotten. The way he’d claimed her lips with demand and passion—just thinking about being with him made her body hum. She’d been conflicted when he’d left in the wee hours of the morning. She’d felt herself warming to him and wanted to ask him to stay, but she was in no position to wake up in that man’s arms. She was a broken woman, on the run from a guy who would get out of jail in a few short days. No, leading Logan on was the last thing either of them needed.
She showered and dressed, then stripped her bed to wash her sheets before she had to leave for work. She had only one pillow, and last night Logan had used it and she’d rested her head in the crook of his arm. She brought the pillowcase to her nose and breathed in his fresh, masculine scent, allowing herself a rare moment of reflection. That’s it, babe. Come for me. Come for us. The look in his eyes when he’d said it—dark and sensual, with a hint of surprise—had turned her on and confused the hell out of her. She’d felt something between them that was definitely more than a quick hookup. She loved the way he’d taken control and the way he’d checked in with her before taking his mouth to her, before entering her, searching her eyes, making sure they were still on the same page. They were on the same page, all right. They were in the same damn novel.
Logan was nice, and she wasn’t used to nice.
Ugh. What on earth was she doing? Who had sex with a guy after being attacked by a psycho? Maybe she was really messed up after all. Maybe Kutcher had ruined all the normal things about her that she’d once relied on. She glanced up at the calendar hanging on the wall beside the pantry. Her stomach felt queasy as she lifted the red marker from the counter and x-ed out another day. Three more days until Kutcher was released.
Three more days until her veil of safety would be shredded to pieces. Survivor used to be a term that went along with television shows and hot alpha men in thick leather boots and fisherman type vests, or people who had fallen ill to disease and fought their way healthy again. Now survivor was a term Stella likened to herself. She was a survivor, and she had every intention of continuing to fit the definition.
She threw her sheets in the washer, then went into the kitchen to get a cup of coffee. Her kitchen was small, with one long counter, a small sink, and two hanging cabinets on either side of a small window. She liked small areas. There weren’t many places a person could hide, unlike her old house, where every room was like a burglar’s playground. Or rather, Kutcher’s playground. She shivered with the memory of stripping down for her shower and catching the closet door opening out of the corner of her eye. She’d been lucky he’d only stabbed her twice before a neighbor came over because he’d heard her screaming. Kutcher had escaped out the back, and the next afternoon, Stella had escaped Mystic for good.
It had taken her a solid six weeks to heal. She pushed the painful memories away, and her mind drifted to Heath. He’d been so kind to her, so gentle and professional when he was examining her. She thought about the questions he’d asked when he’d seen the scars. How did you get these scars? They look fairly recent. And her ridiculous answers. Car accident, a few months ago. She’d been shocked when he didn’t press her for more information, and now she wondered if he’d mentioned the scars to Logan.
She couldn’t worry about that. Not now. She had bigger things on her mind. With a deep inhalation, she focused on cleaning up the apartment.
An hour later, with the bed freshly made and a to-go cup in hand, Stella walked out of her apartment and locked the door behind her.
“Good morning, Stormy,” Mrs. Fairly called from the balcony above Stella’s door. She was a stout, kind woman in her late sixties who always greeted Stella with a smile. After spending so much time avoiding friendships, Stella found Mrs. Fairly to be a bright light in her otherwise lonely days.
“Good morning. It looks like another beautiful day.” Stella hoped she hadn’t heard her and Logan last night. She’d hated lying to her about her name, and she didn’t want to keep piling lies on top of that one, but if she asked about Logan, Stella would have to make something up. Having hot, loud sex was one thing, but admitting it to her sweet landlord was another.
“Yes, it does, and it looks like your handsome gentleman suitor is back.” She gazed over the railing of the balcony and pointed toward the street.
The hair on the back of Stella’s neck rose. Her mind raced back to the calendar. She had three more days! Ice ran through her veins as she turned, looking past the crooked metal fencing to the black car parked out by the curb.
No, no, no. Please God. I have three more days. She whipped around and looked up at Mrs. Fairly, her heart shattering in her chest. If Kutcher saw Mrs. Fairly, he could hurt her, too.
“Mrs. Fairly, you should go inside.” Fear strangled her words, and she wondered if Mrs. Fairly could hear her.
She heard footsteps behind her. She was not going down without a fight. No fucking way had she survived this long only to be killed in front of her sweet landlord in this rundown neighborhood. With trembling hands, she gripped her keys in her palm, the longest sticking out between her knuckles. It wasn’t much, but it was all she had. She clenched her eyes shut and spun around as she swung her arm back, ready to strike, and prayed that her brain wouldn’t go blank the way it had behind the bar.
“Whoa!”
A strong hand gripped her wrist as her knee came up and clipped him in the groin. Her eyes flew open as Logan doubled over in pain.
“Oh no. Logan!”
“Stormy? Why?” Mrs. Fairly peered down at her in horror.
“I’m sorry. I thought you were someone else. Oh God. I’m sorry.” Fear made her shake as she apologized to Logan repeatedly and tried to reassure Mrs. Fairly.
“He’s teaching me self-defense. It’s all in fun,” she said to Mrs. Fairly, hoping she’d buy the explanation.
Logan grimaced as he waved to Mrs. Fairly.
Mrs. Fairly shook her head. “You kids have strange ways of having fun.”
After Mrs. Fairly went inside, Logan turned pained eyes toward Stormy. “Why didn’t you do that to the attacker last night?”
“I don’t…I…” Tears stung her eyes as she tried to pull herself together.
The muscle in Logan’s jaw bunched. He drew her into his strong arms and held her tight.
“It’s okay. You did good,” he assured her through his obvious discomfort.
“Good? I probably broke something down there.”
“Well, there is one way to find out.”
She couldn’t help but smile at the tease. “What are you doing here? I thought you were Kutcher.” She cringed. She didn’t mean to say his name, and by the way Logan’s hand had stilled on her back, she knew he didn’t miss a beat.
Still a little shaky, she pushed from his arms and tried to distract him from what she’d said. “Why are you here? You scared the crap out of me.”
“I came to take you to work.” The pain in his eyes receded, giving way to the seductive pools of blue she’d fallen into last night.
She looked at his white button-down and cleanly pressed jeans. The cowboy boots he wore were curious, after his polished businessman image of the night before. Come for us. Her body heated with the memory. She couldn’t do this, couldn’t bring him into the nightmare that was her life.
“I can walk.”
“Stormy.” He followed her out front. “All right, then I’ll walk you to work. I want to talk to you.”
“We talked last night.” What was with him? Why was he zeroing in on her?
He moved closer, placed a hand on her back. “We did more than talk, darlin’. That’s not what I had in mind for the way to work, but now that you bring it up…”
“Tsk.” She bit the insides of her cheeks to keep from laughing and stopped short of the corner, planting her hands on her hips and staring at too-damn-handsome-for-his-own-good Logan. He really was beautiful. Her mother would call him a real panty-dropper. She’d be right about that. He hadn’t shaved, and the thick stubble that had abraded her thighs in the most delicious way last night had grown even thicker. She unleashed the insides of her cheeks and let her smile roll with the memory.
“What?” He cocked a brow, and she could tell he was enjoying teasing her just as much as she was enjoying being teased. When you’re hiding from the world, teasing didn’t come around often, and when it did, it was usually met with fear. His teasing was met with a fluttering in her stomach that she was trying hard to ignore.
“That was a onetime thing.” She was pleased that she sounded serious even though she didn’t feel it.
“Uh-huh.” He guided her across the street.
“What’s with the cowboy boots?” Did he really intend to walk her to work like a sixth grader carrying her books?
“Going back to my mama’s roots.” Mischief filled his baby blues.
When they reached the main road, the sidewalks were crowded. Stella scanned the crowd, looking for Kutcher. Would she ever be free from his threat? She stole a glance at Logan and realized he was scanning the crowd as closely as she was.
“So your mom is from out West?” His hand felt like it had seared his brand into her skin.
“Colorado. Where are you from?”
“Mysti—” She stopped herself from revealing the town she was from. Unfortunately, the glimmer in his eyes told her she wasn’t quick enough. She blew out a frustrated breath as they waited for the next light to change, and lowered her voice.
“Look, Logan, I’m not really a one-night-stand girl, but aren’t they supposed to be one night? I don’t get why you showed up at my house, or why you’re walking me to work. Shouldn’t you be out doing important PI stuff?”
They crossed with the crowd. “I am doing important PI stuff.”
“No, really. Why are you doing this? I’m fine. I’ve been walking to work since I moved here. I think I can handle it.”
“Oh, I know you can.” He slid her a serious look. “Stormy.” He stopped walking. “Listen, after what we did last night, don’t you think you can tell me your real name?”
So that’s what this was all about? “Why? Are you keeping a log of the women you’ve slept with?”
He stepped in close, their bodies grazing from knee to chest. Stella’s pulse quickened.
“I’m not keeping a log. I’m trying to keep you safe. That’s it. That and the fact that I like you. I feel a connection to you. You can deny it, but I saw it in your beautiful eyes last night.”
My beautiful eyes?
He ran his knuckle slowly down her cheek, and she felt her nipples harden at the intimate touch. She fought hard to push the desire to kiss him down deep, tried to avert her eyes so she wouldn’t be sucked into his, and was unable to do either. He stepped closer, and she breathed in his fresh, masculine scent. She needed to try even harder to push away the rush of emotions his scent evoked.
“Feel that? That’s not one-night-stand heat you’re feeling. Trust me. I’ve had enough of them to know. One-night stands end after one night. This is lingering, babe, in the best kind of way.” He pressed his cheek to hers. “Make no mistake. I want to linger inside of you, all day long.”
She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Felt herself go damp and her knees weaken, and grabbed ahold of him to keep from dropping to the sidewalk.
“And from your grip on my arm, you want to wrap those pretty long legs of yours around me. Me, Stormy. Not some other random guy.”
He pressed his lips to her cheek and guided her forward. She had no idea how her legs were carrying her. People pushed past in a blur of movement while she tried to get her brain to start firing again. He was right. She wanted Logan so badly that just the thought of him brought back memories of him perched above her, his muscles straining against the pleasure, holding back his release until she achieved hers. She could still feel every inch of him moving in and out of her, and if she thought hard enough she could remember the feel of his impressive girth in her mouth, taste the saltiness of his come as it covered her tongue and slid down her throat.
Oh God. What am I doing?
She had no place in her life for a guy like Logan. She cleared her throat and forced herself to focus.
“Logan.” Talk, talk, talk. Come on, Stella. You can say this.
She didn’t want to push him away. She wanted more of him.
His arm moved up and claimed her shoulder as they arrived at NightCaps. It was ten thirty, and for a moment she wondered how he knew when she was expected at work.
“Yes, Stormy?” He said Stormy with so much sarcasm that she couldn’t suppress a smile.
She needed to change the subject, because as much as she wanted him, she also knew it was selfish to give in and admit whatever was simmering between them felt like way more than a one-night stand. Logan didn’t need her life weighing him down.
“How did you know what time I had to be at work?”
“I saw it on the schedule when we were in the office.” He slid his free hand casually into his pocket.
“God, you’re like the worst kind of stalker.” She looked away knowing that wasn’t anywhere near the truth. Kutcher was the worst kind of stalker. Logan was a sexy, caring stalker.
He drew her chin back with his index finger.
“No.” His intense stare went warm and soft, drawing her in again. “I’m the best kind. I’ll keep you safe. Tell me about Kutcher.”
“How…?” She remembered how he knew his name. She’d let it slip. She didn’t know what his game was. He must want something, or maybe he just wanted to get laid again. She’d cut loose for one night. She wasn’t going there again—even if every step made the muscles she hadn’t remembered she’d had spike with the most exquisite reminders of their night together.
“Kutcher, Stormy. Where can I find him?”
“Oh no, Logan. You can’t do anything. This isn’t your problem. I can take care of myself.”
His arched brow said everything that was sailing through her mind.
“Let me rephrase that. I can handle it. I’ve got three days to figure it out.” Her heart raced at the realization that Kutcher’s time in jail was speeding to an end.
His eyes narrowed. “Three days to figure what out? Stormy, if some guy is looking for you, New York isn’t that big. If he’s good, he’ll find you.”
“He’s better than good,” she said in a hushed tone, hating to admit that Kutcher was good at anything. The bastard.
Logan stepped in closer and lifted her chin so she was forced to look at him. His eyes warmed again, the way they had last night. When he spoke, his tone was sweet, caring, and it tugged at all the places that made her want to go soft in his arms.
“Stormy, no one’s better at tracking than me. Let me keep you safe. Give me something to go on. Why three days? Why the timeline? Is he out of the country? In jail?”
Why did he have to make her feel so vulnerable? She needed to be strong, and with him she felt like strong wasn’t strong enough, like she needed him. After last night’s attack, she wasn’t so sure she didn’t.
“He’s found me everywhere I’ve ever gone. I barely escaped with my life, Logan. I…I’m afraid to tell you who I am, because I’m afraid he’ll make the connection somehow and then he’ll come after you.”
The muscles in his jaw tightened. “I felt the scar on the back of your left shoulder and the other just beside your spine.”
Stella’s blood ran cold. She turned out of his reach, breathing hard, feeling the pain of the knife as if it were entering her skin for the first time. Kutcher had gotten her bad that time. She should have turned him in, shouldn’t have lied about her attacker, but she’d been too scared that he’d avoid the police and come back and finish the job.
Logan’s arms snaked around her waist, his cheek met hers again, and she closed her eyes, willing her tears away.
“You’re not alone in this. Let me help. Just tell me this, is he a free man?”
She shook her head.
“Good. That’s good. Then I have three days to make sure he stays in the pen.”
She was trembling, and she didn’t know if it was from the memories, the threat of Kutcher’s release, or the strength of Logan’s grip. His heat seeped into her skin through her thin cotton shirt, and she imagined his strength finding its way in, too. She held on to that thought as she reached for the door. Logan got to it first and held it closed.
“I’ve got to get to work.” She hated herself for sounding so ungrateful, but she was scared, and she liked Logan more than she probably should, which she knew could put him in danger. And he was as relentless as Kutcher, only in a good way. She had no clue how to handle the emotions swirling within her. Should she throw herself into Logan’s arms and accept the help he was willing to provide and give in to the feelings that were developing at the speed of light, or run as fast and as far away as she could get before Kutcher came after her?
He slid a cell phone into her pocket. “That has my number in it. Promise me you’ll use it if anyone bothers you today, or if you’re scared, or if you get a bad feeling and need someone who’ll understand that you’re not just freaking out.”
“You bought me a phone?”
“I have several. That one can’t be tracked. Now give me yours. Let’s see how this guy is tracking you down.”
She rolled her eyes. “What does that mean?”
“It means that I can read you like a book and I’m tired of asking nicely. You’re on the run from a guy who’s getting out of jail in a few days. You’re scared shitless that he’ll find you in this hellhole of a city. That tells me that he’s found you before, maybe more than once. You’re not a stupid woman, so he found you when you were running. Am I right?”
“What? How can you…?”
He arched a brow again. The look suited him. It was snarky, and coupled with the ticking up of the right side of his mouth, it softened his serious edge. Knowing he wasn’t going to let it go, she dug into her purse and handed him the phone.
He scrolled through her settings. “You don’t use a password?”
She shrugged. “Why? Who’s going to look at my phone?”
“Where did you get your phone?” He took out the SIM card and the battery.
“My phone? Kutcher gave me the phone, but it’s my plan, so it’s not like he can track me with a find my phone app or anything. Besides, he’s in jail, so…”
He shook his head. “This is just one way he’s probably tracking you. People smuggle cell phones into jails all the time.”
She felt like she’d been punched in the stomach. How could she have been so stupid? “You mean…all this time I thought he had people tracking me, it was that stupid phone?” She fisted her hands and groaned.
“It’s okay. You didn’t know. Let’s focus on what we need to do. What else do you carry with you that you’ve had since you left Mystic?”
“What do you mean? Like my purse? My clothes? I feel like such an idiot.”
“Stormy, you’re not an idiot. You’re just not a drug-running bastard who knows all the tricks. Think of things you don’t wash. Suitcase? Wallet? I saw a picture next to your bed. Did you bring that from home or have it made since you left?”
Stella thought of the implications of what he was saying, and the pieces began to fall into place.
“You think he bugged my stuff?” She felt like she’d swallowed a brick. Why hadn’t she thought of that? “Oh God.”
She handed him her purse. “I took this and everything in it. My backpacks are in my closet.”
“I saw them. The photo beside your bed?”
“My mom.” The idea of Kutcher tracking her through a picture of the woman she loved most in the world made her feel sick. “I brought it.”
“I need two things, and you’re not going to like either.”
He sounded like her mother’s oncologist the day he told her and her mother that her mother had cancer. She clutched his arm, needing his strength once again.
“I need your permission to go into your apartment and check out those things, and I need your permission to take your picture.”
“Yes, you can go into my apartment. My keys are in my purse—but take my picture?”
He gave a single curt nod with a stone face.
If he was right about Kutcher, then she owed him a hell of a lot more than a picture.
“Fine. Why?”
He took out his cell phone before she could change her mind and snapped a picture. “Because if you won’t tell me who you are, I need to figure it out myself.”
“Is there anything you can’t figure out?”
“Let’s hope not.” His brows knitted together. “Stormy, if there’s anything else you can tell me that might help keep him in jail, please tell me.”
“He was a big coke dealer, but I don’t know much about how he did it except that he had other guys working for him and he sold to really wealthy clients.” Revealing the secret that had nearly gotten her killed made her feel lighter, like she’d been carrying around a bowling ball on her chest for the past few months and she could finally take a deep breath.
He cupped her cheek. “Thank you for trusting me.”
She did trust him. Completely. And as good as that felt, it also scared her, because even though she knew he wasn’t anything like Kutcher, once upon a time she’d trusted Kutcher, too.
He pulled the door open. “Shall we?”
“What are you going to do, sit and babysit me all day?”
“No.” He waved to Dylan behind the bar.
Dylan smiled. “Logan.” He shook his head, like he should have known Logan would show up with her. “How’re you doing, Stormy?”
“Fine.” She saw the look of approval Dylan gave Logan.
Was this all a big joke? They’d probably placed bets on whether he’d get laid last night. Dylan hadn’t struck her as that type of guy, and unless her judgment was way off base, Logan was anything but that kind of guy. If he were just out to get laid, he would have taken off last night and never shown his face again. Instead, he was going to try to help her with Kutcher. Not that she thought anyone could do a damn thing where Kutcher was concerned, but she liked feeling as if she wasn’t in this alone.
She went into the office to clock in. She turned and Logan was right there.
“Hi, darlin’,” he said quietly.
“H-hi. I…um…have to get to work.” Why did he have to be so good-looking? So kind? So in control and confident? So damn big? She sighed inside, adding a great lover to the most ridiculous list of woes she’d ever made. A big, protective, good-looking, great lover who took the time to walk her to work and beat the snot out of some drunk guy who was harassing her. Even now, when she wasn’t in imminent danger, she felt safe with him. That was why he was there, wasn’t it? The big broody soldier helping the damsel in distress?
God, she hated that idea almost as much as she hated Kutcher for making her feel that way.
“I’ll be back to take you home after your shift.”
“Logan.” She gave him a deadpan stare, sort of hoping it might dissuade him and sort of hoping it wouldn’t.
“Stormy.” He smiled, and she noticed a scar at the edge of his jaw that she hadn’t noticed before.
Without thinking, she reached up and touched the bare spot in his stubble.
“How did you get that?” She remembered the pain she’d seen in his eyes last night when she’d felt like he was opening his soul by sharing his secrets.
He shrugged. “Don’t remember.” He brought her fingers to his lips and kissed them. “I paid a visit to that guy from last night. He shouldn’t bother you anymore.”
“You…How? When?” The guy from last night? But Logan was gone only a few hours. How could he possibly have tracked the guy down so fast? And why would he?
He touched her elbow. “The best kind of stalker, remember? Only I’m not a stalker at all.” He leaned down and kissed her cheek, then turned to leave.
“Where are you going?” She didn’t want him to go. Even the few steps away that he’d just taken made her feel vulnerable. She was being stupid. She had handled life before him. Certainly one night of amazing sex and a few sweet gestures couldn’t make her into a needy girl.
“To do important PI stuff.” He blew her a kiss and disappeared, leaving her feeling like she’d just met the Lone Ranger.