A low shout from the front room drew their attention. Edith’s eyes shifted nervously down the hall. Logan, holding a finger to his lips, slunk out of the office and edged his way to the golden curtains.
In the middle of the foyer, a large-shouldered thug pinned Earl’s throat against the wall with a beefy forearm, making the older man’s face turn multiple shades of purple. Off to the side, a second goon pointed a Colt at his head.
Too many people. Too many ways this entire situation could go FUBAR—fucked up beyond all recognition.
Logan glanced over his shoulder to a worried Edith and Rachel. “Lock yourselves in the office and don’t come out until you hear me on the other side of it.”
Rachel wrapped a protective arm around the older woman, but looked hesitant to leave. “What are you going to do?”
“Take out the garbage. Go.” Logan waited until Rachel’s concerned eyes disappeared behind the office door, and then he easily slipped into Alpha mode. Forcing his face blank, he cracked his neck and pushed through the curtain. “Hey, Uncle E. You didn’t tell me what you wanted me to do with those ukuleles.”
Thug Two whipped his Colt at Logan.
He lifted his hands in mock surrender and skidded to a stop. “Hey. Whoa. What’s…?”
Maintaining his grip on Earl’s throat, the slenderer of the two men growled, “Who the fuck are you?”
“I-I-I’m the nephew.” Logan amped up the airhead routine, bouncing his eyes around the room before settling them on Earl. “Shit, Unc. You said you paid those gambling debts. Aunt Pris is going to shit kittens when she finds out you freakin’ lied to her, man.”
“How long have you been here?” Thug One demanded.
“A hell of a lot longer than I’d like. I was supposed to go out with a smokin’-hot card clerk from over at the Luxor, but I got roped into doing inventory—and by roped, I mean guilted into doing it.”
“You see a couple come strolling through here?”
“Through here?” Logan snorted, slowing lowering his hands. “Nah. This place hasn’t seen any action in over a month—which is why Uncle E needs to chill on the spending spree. Look, I don’t know how much he owes this time, but we’ll make a payment by the end of the week. Let him go. Christ, you’re going to give him a heart attack or something, and we definitely don’t have enough money to pay off you guys and medical bills.”
The Colt’s owner bored his calculating glare into Logan.
Logan glimpsed an image of his past self deep in the recesses of the guy’s gaze, one from eight years ago who’d earned the title Crack Shot: The Man Who Doesn’t Miss.
That Logan had closed himself to everything except his orders, wind direction, resistance, and speed. He’d executed the job flawlessly, no questions asked or second-guesses allowed. Forget a conscience. That shit got turned off on an assignment because survival meant forgetting that your job description was killer.
There wasn’t a doubt in Logan’s mind. The man aiming a gun at his head was the bastard sniper who’d taken those shots at Rachel outside the police station.
White-hot fury burned its way through Logan’s veins. At his sides his fists clenched until his knuckles popped. It took everything in him not to whip out and disarm the asshole, and then beat him senseless.
The guy had nearly taken Rachel out of his life when she’d just walked into it—even if it had only been for twelve hours. As soon as the shit-storm hovering over their heads—and Carly’s—dissipated, Logan would be remedying her lack of presence.
Rachel just didn’t know it yet.
Logan ripped his gaze away from the sniper before he registered Logan as a kindred spirit, and played it cool. He fidgeted on purpose, shifting his weight from leg to leg. “Seriously, man. We’ll get a payment to you by the end of the week. Hell, we’ll come up with something in two days. I swear.”
The thug working up Earl released his hold with a curse. The older man clutched his throat, gasping as he doubled over.
Thug One barked an order to his friend, “Let’s get the fuck out of here.”
“I think we should make sure they don’t know anything.” Logan’s admirer studied him carefully.
“You don’t get paid to fucking think. Every second we stay here with our thumbs up our asses, they’re getting further away.”
Logan held his breath as the two men stalked toward the exit as if they hadn’t nearly strangled a man for information. At the door, the sniper threw back an unnerving glare and followed his buddy back onto the street.
Logan quickly reached Earl, who was finally returning to a normal color. “Are you okay?”
“What—?” Earl gasped.
“Don’t try to talk. Your throat’s going to be sore for a while. I’m sorry about all of this. I really am.” Logan guided him into the back of the chapel, where he knocked on the office door. “Rachel. It’s me.”
The door flung open. Rachel’s pale complexion rivaled Earl’s still-tomato-red one. “Is everything okay? What happened?”
“They’re gone for now. Pretty sure I just met friends of your friends.” Logan released Earl as Edith rushed to her husband, helping ease him into a chair. Regret gnawed at his insides. “I’m sorry for not putting an immediate stop to that, but if I had, there’d be no telling what those guys would’ve done to you two once Rachel and I left. They needed to think they’d sniffed the wrong trail.”
Earl cleared his throat, wincing. “Don’t worry about me, son. I’ve taken on bigger bullies in my heyday.”
“I’m so sorry for bringing this to your doorstep. They have my friend and I can’t…” Rachel’s voice trembled as she apologized to the older couple.
“Oh, honey. Don’t apologize,” Edith gushed. “Earl’s right. We’ve handled a lot worse. I’m just worried about you two. Those guys obviously meant business.”
Logan cradled the back of Rachel’s head and drew her against his chest. Her body trembled against his, and unlike the last time he’d held her this close, it wasn’t from desire. What had started as a desperate need to protect her eighteen months ago had morphed into something else without his even knowing.
He still wanted to protect Rachel more than he wanted to take his next breath.
He also wanted her—and she wouldn’t make it easy.
Hell, both their pasts wouldn’t make a relationship between them a walk in the park, but the more time he spent with her, the more he realized it was worth the risk.
“So do we.” Logan gently tilted Rachel’s face up to his. Tears welled in her eyes, nearly gutting him, but nothing had fallen. She’d latched on to that internal strength of which he’d grown proud. “You hear me, darlin’? We’re not giving up. I promised you that we’d get Carly out of this and I meant every damn word. You believe me?”
She nodded, easing from his embrace. Logan wanted to haul her back, but to make good on his promise, they needed to keep moving.
He turned to the older couple. “Do you guys have a rear exit to this place?”
“Of course.” Edith led them through a back storeroom, where Logan swapped out his pineapple shirt for a black one on which the Thug Squad hadn’t laid eyes, and to a fire exit. “It lets you out in the alley. Go left and you hit the street parallel to the Boulevard. There’s an electronics store about a block down. They’re not the friendliest of sorts, and I’m pretty sure they do some shady deals in the back room, but they’ll do in a pinch.”
Rachel wrapped the older woman in a firm hug before doing the same to Earl. “I don’t know to thank you both.”
Edith patted her back, smiling. “Thank us by coming back when you’re ready and letting us give the two of you the wedding of your dreams—on the house.”
Rachel’s cheeks reddened. “Oh, no. We’re not—”
Edith flashed a wink. “Honey, take it from a woman who tried running away from a man with a mission. All you’re doing by denying the inevitable is wasting time that can be put to better—and a lot more fun—use.”
Logan kept his grin to its minimum. He slipped into the alley, making sure it was all clear before easing back into the chapel. “We got to make tracks. The more distance we put between us and here, the better off everyone will be.”
With one last round of thank-yous, Logan’s hand found Rachel’s—the ease with which they linked only fueled his determination for them to have that talk later—and they stepped back out into the dry Vegas heat.
Compared to the tourist hustle of Las Vegas Boulevard, the street running parallel could’ve served as the filming location for a postapocalyptic movie. A small group of barely legal-looking kids braved the mostly deserted sidewalks, lost and out of place as they hovered over their cell phones, Googling their position. Locals, perched outside rundown pawn shops and cash-quick storefronts, eyed them warily as they walked the street.
Sparky’s Electronics sat a block and a half from the chapel’s rear exit, nestled between two gentlemen’s clubs. The main entrance chimed as they entered, causing the two older men standing at the counter to look their way.
“We’re closed.” Crag faced and glowering, the clerk behind the counter jiggled the toothpick dangling from his mouth.
“Really?” Logan kept his voice light. “The window brags that you’re open round the clock.”
“Needs updating.”
“I see. Here’s a little something to stay open a few extra minutes.” Logan tossed a couple hundred-dollar bills in front of him. “We want a pair of those phones you have in the case, and we’ll do the rest.”
The clerk grumbled, but grabbed the money and dug out two boxes, then dropped them in front of Logan. “I’m keeping the change as an inconvenience fee.”
“Suit yourself.” Logan yanked the phones out of their boxes. He booted them up and went directly to the carrier’s server screen and activated them. Once finished, he stuffed one into his cargo shorts and handed the second to Rachel. “We’ll set these up further when we get to where we’re going. I want this on you at all times, and make sure you put it somewhere it’s always within easy reach.”
“And where exactly would that happen to be?” Rachel challenged.
Logan couldn’t tell if she’d meant it to sound like a dare, but that’s how he took it. Having temporarily forgotten about their wardrobe change, he scooted his attention down her legs and up to where the dress cupped her breasts, revealing a tantalizing amount of cleavage.
“Seems like you’ve got a perfect spot.” Logan expected a smack, or at least a muttered curse. Instead she sent her pretty green eyes on a dramatic roll and stuffed the phone into one cup of her bra—her pink, lacy, and somewhat sheer bra.
“Good enough for you?” Rachel pulled her mouth up into a sexy half smirk.
His mouth went dry. Now they both had a small bulge beneath their clothes, except his made it a hell of a lot more difficult to run.
He cleared his throat, wincing at the razor-like pain, and channeled his go-to method for covering discomfort. “Let me know when you need help getting that back out. I’d be more than honored to lend you my services.”
Rachel snorted. “Of course you would.”
“I’d do that and a hell of a lot more for you, gorgeous.”
Fuck-a-rump—that was the truth. He’d do anything to keep her safe and happy, or make her life even a little less shit-tastic. Keeping both an emotional and a physical distance from her should be the first step in making sure that happened, but he couldn’t do it. Even after their secret sniper had jogged a few unpleasant memories.
Because when he peered into Rachel’s emerald-green eyes, he didn’t see the million pieces of his blown-apart soul.
He saw hope—and healing.
He saw them.
* * *
Logan’s broad shoulders tensed. His mouth, usually twisted into a permanent half smirk, tightened. He looked less like the carefree Alpha operative and more like a tiger prepped to pounce. A woman could get whiplash trying to figure out which Logan she was walking with.
“Why are you looking at me like that, darlin’?” Logan, with one hand on the small of her back, didn’t even glance her way as he ushered her forward.
“Just trying to figure out the inner workings of Logan Callahan,” she replied honestly.
Logan guffawed. “Don’t waste the energy. A good many specialists have tried and failed. I’m a black hole.”
Rachel didn’t like the adamancy in his statement—or his case-closed tone. Before she could dig deeper, Logan muttered a curse. He gripped her elbow and spun her around, gently pushing her back against the nearest building.
“What was…”—Rachel’s protest died on her lips as Logan crowded into her personal space as though such a thing didn’t exist—“that?”
Guiding her head to the side with a touch of his finger, he trailed his mouth along her jaw. From her chin to her ear, the faint caress caused an eruption of goose bumps and made her heart thump wildly—but this time, it wasn’t a need for space that created the breathing difficulties. What Penny called the quirky aftereffects of her abduction ceased to exist around Logan.
Rachel tightened her fingers into his shirt and brought him closer. For close to a year and a half, she’d fought both her fears and her addiction to Freedom, and now that she considered herself strong enough to stand on her own, she had a new one.
Logan.
Logan Callahan, six and a half feet of brazen, sultry Texas man, was her current drug of choice. One addiction for another.
Unable to wrap her head around its meaning, Rachel shifted to pull away.
“Do not move.” Logan propped an arm alongside her head and banded the other tightly around her waist.
Two men stepped out of a pawn shop ten yards away. Logan’s body immediately tensed, then tightened more as they approached.
The slenderer of the two barely spared them a glance as he glared at his friend. “No way in hell am I going down with you when the boss finds out that you fucked up. You’re supposed to be some kind of hotshot and you fucking miss?”
“I’ll remedy the situation.” Cold and unemotional, the bulkier man didn’t look the least bit frazzled.
“Yeah, you damn well better remedy it, because the boss pays good money for your services. He’s not going to tolerate any fuck-ups.”
As the two men rounded the corner and moved out of sight, Rachel released the breath she hadn’t known she’d been holding. “That was a little too close for my comfort…especially since I’m guessing those are the men from the chapel.”
“Two and the same. You didn’t recognize either one of them? Maybe they’d made use of the brothel earlier tonight?”
“No. That doesn’t mean they weren’t there, but I didn’t have any run-ins with either one of them. And trust me, I would’ve remembered—especially the bigger one. He gives me the willies.”
“Then we still have to figure out how they know you.” Logan threaded his fingers through hers and led the way down the street. After carefully checking the intersection where their two new friends had gone, he hustled her onward at a fast clip.
They passed no fewer than ten pawn shops and a dozen little chapels, each bragging about exclusive packages.
Rachel pumped her legs, working hard to keep up with Logan’s fast pace. “I get that you want to be surrounded by a roof and four walls, but do you have a particular destination in mind?”
“Ideally, I’d like to get back to the conference hotel where there’s practically an entire fucking army of cops and former military, but I want to get you the hell off the street, so I’ll take what I can get.”
“You were really here for a conference?”
He tossed her a small smirk. “Mil-Tech, where grown-ass boys come to talk about guns and shit. It was supposed to be a working vacation—my first in two years. And then your sweet self blew that out of the water with a single phone call.”
Rachel mulled that over a second when the realization struck her. If they weren’t hustling at a pace to put a professional speed walker to shame, she would’ve skewered him with her best teacher’s glare. “You already had plans to head off to Vegas after we…Are you serious? You have an issue with me ducking out on you this morning when you were going to do the same thing to me? Talk about double freaking standard.”
“Not even close to the same thing.”
Rachel mentally berated herself for feeling guilty for leaving without so much as a note. “How do you figure?”
“Because before I left, I planned on waking you with my mouth between your legs and once you came, sliding into your delicious body until we both blew our tops. Slinking out on tiptoe hadn’t even come across my mind.”
Heat rushed to her cheeks. He sounded dead serious. “Must be nice not to have a self-conscious or unsure bone in your body.”
Logan glanced her way.
Crap. She hadn’t realized she’d said that aloud.
Logan brushed his thumb along the back of her hand. “During our sit-down conversation, we’re tacking on a reply to that comment. Hope you’re not prone to developing bedsores, sweetheart, because this chat is getting longer by the minute.”
Rachel clamped her mouth shut, growing more and more uncertain about how she was going to survive this mega, all-revealing conversation.
Logan came to a sudden stop. Ten yards ahead, their two new friends stood outside a strip club, talking with the guy manning the door. The shorter of the two flashed what looked to be a picture—probably of her. The bouncer shook his head.
“Fuckin’-A,” Logan murmured. “I owe Penny an apology. I’ve always thought that she was the Kline most likely to piss someone off enough that they’d put a hit out on her.”
“Technically she’s an Ortega now.”
“Semantics.” Logan took the next right, steering them closer to the Vegas strip.
They stepped onto the Boulevard and were immediately swept up by a large wedding party. Rachel clung to Logan’s hand as they went with the flow of pedestrian traffic.
“We’re not making it to the Bellagio. This way.” Logan’s arm wrapped around her waist and they stepped off to the side, nearly face-planting into a window to avoid getting trampled.
This time, Rachel eyed the sign on the business door before they stepped through.
FANTASTICAL SUITES: THE BEST FANTASY HOTEL IN VEGAS.