I walk out of Logan’s office with all the answers I need.

But as I walk up the stairs and make my way into the guest bedroom, I can’t help feeling like I’m still missing something.

He wants me gone.

Somehow, knowing he wants me to leave feels like a stab right in the heart.

I mean, of course he wants me to leave. He didn’t want me to come in the first place. It’s not like he invited me into his home, and now he has changed his mind.

I came in here myself, uninvited. I even had to stealthily follow him to find out where he lives. I was lucky he even let me in. Even luckier he let me stay for this long—even though it was because things were too dangerous out there.

But why should I care?

I got what I came here for. I know now that Logan is Mark’s twin brother even though they’ve never met each other. Mystery solved. The end . . . right?

Their birthdays line up. They would be the same age if Mark were still alive.

The fact that Logan grew up in an orphanage and in foster homes meant that both he and Mark were probably put up for adoption at some point, but only Mark found a permanent family to take him in.

Logan was even kind enough to let me use his computer so he could glance through the digital version of Mark’s case file that I got from the cop and stored in the cloud. He confirmed that they had the same blood type and other markers that meant they were related.

There’s no doubt they’re twin brothers. Mark’s siblings look a lot like one another except for him. His family used to explain it away by telling him he got his looks from a distant relative, but now I know the truth. He was the only one who was adopted.

Damn it. I got what I came here for, so why do I feel so unfulfilled? If anything, I feel more restless now than I did when I first got here.

Maybe . . .

Oh, God.

This isn’t something I want to admit, even to myself, but I’m finding it harder and harder to deny it.

Maybe, somewhere along the line, this has stopped being about Mark. Maybe now this is about Logan.

I drop my body onto the bed and close my eyes as the springy mattress makes me bounce.

What is happening to me?

Sure, I should move on. Even the cemetery caretaker is so sick of seeing me he tells me that every single time we meet.

But does it count as moving on when the new guy is the old guy’s long-lost twin brother?

Do I really want Logan, or do I simply want a replacement for Mark?

Having gotten to know Logan, I’m aware now of all the ways they’re different. It’s no surprise that I still love Mark despite him being gone, but I think I’m starting to fall for Logan, too.

All those times I met up with some guy at the insistence of my friends, it never worked out because I always compared them to Mark. I was looking for Mark in all those guys. And I never found him there, of course. Nobody was as good as Mark at being Mark.

So, now that I find myself with these confusing feelings about Logan . . . Is it because he and Mark are so much alike? Or is it because I can finally appreciate a guy for who he is, without comparing him to Mark?

I chuckle to myself. Sometimes in life, you can either laugh or cry.

How can I not compare him to Mark? For God’s sake, I just spent more than an hour in Logan’s office, asking question after question, comparing him to Mark.

Or could it be that the opposite thing is happening? Is it possible that I’m developing feelings for Logan, but my loyalty toward Mark is keeping me from realizing that?

I like how protective Logan is toward me. Mark was a caring guy, but he was never as comfortable with danger and violence as Logan seems to be. With Logan, I feel safe. Like anything can happen, and I know I’ll be okay as long as Logan is with me.

I like how honest Logan is. Mark was too sweet to tell me the truth sometimes, but Logan talks straight, and he doesn’t care if he hurts my feelings with the facts.

I even like it when Logan is grumpy. As big and tough as he is, I know he won’t hurt me—not really. It’s going to annoy him if he knows, but I find it cute when he knits those thick, dark eyebrows together and stares at me.

And of course, I like, like, like the way Logan fucks me. He’s forceful, violent, brutal. But at the same time, he’s not selfish. He gets off when I get off. He takes satisfaction from the sight of me squirming and writhing at his touch, from the sounds I make when he manipulates my body with his skillful hands, his delicious mouth, and his thick, hard cock.

I let out a big sigh. It’s way too late to be thinking about this. I should get to sleep. Tomorrow is a new day. There’s no use thinking about the way I feel when Logan sending me home tomorrow regardless. He doesn’t even want to see me again, so what’s the point in me agonizing over this?

As I stand up and walk toward the light switch, something leaks out of me. More wetness? Jesus, my own body is mocking me for trying to avoid thinking about him.

The hot liquid pooling in my panties reminds me of the moment when Logan came inside me. I felt something then. Something binding us together.

I’m sure it was just chemicals in my body going crazy after the orgasms I’d just experienced, but I can’t shake the feeling that it was something more.

Ah, that’s probably just wishful thinking. Whatever connection I feel is only in my head. If it wasn’t, Logan wouldn’t have asked me to leave.

* * *

“Are you sure you won’t be lonely, all by yourself here in the mountains?” I stand by Logan’s back door with a smile, looking at him and wishing he’d change his mind even though I know that’s impossible.

“I’ll be fine,” he says calmly in that deep, smooth voice I’ll miss forever.

Maybe I should’ve gotten a recording of him saying something. I’d have been able to listen to it when I miss him. And, I should’ve stolen a piece of his clothing when I had the chance to so I’d have been able to remember the way he smells.

Jesus, Harper, stop it, I tell myself. I’m starting to act like a creepy stalker.

“Maybe I’ll be lonely, all by myself in the city,” I say, a drop of hope still left in my heart, even as I follow Logan out the back door and toward the garage.

“Isn’t your family there?” he asks, showing some interest in my life for once. To be fair, he has been busy dodging my questions about his life until now.

“Well, yeah, I guess.” I pause. “But they . . . Well, after my mom died, my dad got so stressed out he was drinking himself into a stupor every day. He was violent sometimes so I ran away from home when I was sixteen.”

“Jesus. I guess having family isn’t always a good thing.” Logan pulls out a key fob and presses a button, making the lights on his BMW sedan flash.

I take the passenger seat and draw in a deep breath. This is the smell of Logan’s car. I’ll never get to experience this again.

As Logan steps inside, the car dips briefly from his weight.

During the drive to the city, I tell Logan all about my family—about my idyllic childhood, my mom’s sudden illness and death, my dad’s alcohol addiction and violent tendencies.

I told him how I met Mark not long after I left home. I was working at some burger joint, and he was the friend of a co-worker.

We immediately hit it off but Mark was always cautious around me because I was so young. It was only two years later, when I was nineteen, that we had our first kiss.

“He was all I had,” I say.

Logan glances at me as the car glides down the highway. “Have I helped you get over your grief in some way?”

“Yeah. Thank you.” I turn to look at him. I should say what I really want to say. There won’t be any more opportunities in the future. I open my mouth. “Logan . . .”

“Yeah?”

“Is it . . . Can’t we . . .” I take a deep breath and blurt it out in one breath, “Can’t we see each other again?”

Logan sighs. “We’ve talked about this. I’m not the kind of person you want to hang around, Harper. You know who I work with. I can’t . . . You don’t want to put yourself in danger just for me.”

“Maybe I do.”

Logan glances at me again, his eyebrows twitching into a frown. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. The thing that happened the other day? I didn’t even do anything to deserve that. Stupid shit happens when you deal with the people I deal with.”

“So tell me. Make me understand,” I say. “I already know you work with Mr. Foster and everyone knows he’s got his hands in all kinds of shady deals in town. But doesn’t he provide you with protection?”

“Why do you think we’re still alive?”

“So it’s not as dangerous as you’ve been telling me,” I insist.

“Harper. People die for no reason in my world. You don’t want to get involved,” he says.

“Why did you get involved? You said you used to work in a hospital. That sounds like a stable, well-paying job. So why did you leave that to work for the mafia?”

“Because hospitals aren’t any better than the mafia, okay?” Logan sounds agitated. Is it because of my incessant questions? Or does he hate his old workplace that much?

“What do you mean by that? As far as I know, unlike the mafia, hospitals don’t go around hurting and killing people.”

Logan laughs. “They do. What do you think happens to people without insurance? Or even people with excellent insurance who are terminally ill?

“Doctors only care about their bottom line, too. They’d push their patients to go through unnecessary and painful procedures just to get an extra buck.

“Hospitals don’t care about people, and neither do doctors. At least the mafia is honest about their intentions.”

I fall silent as I listen to Logan’s rant. Obviously, this is something that matters a lot to him, so much so that he let go of a secure career path in exchange for a dangerous one.

“And the pay is better, too,” Logan adds, laughing.

He doesn’t have to tell me that. I can deduce that myself from his elegant home and his fancy car.

As the car enters the city, my heart races. I really won’t see Logan ever again and there’s nothing I can do about it.

In desperation, I ask, “Logan, can I at least get a phone number? You don’t have to see me again, but maybe we can talk sometimes?”

“No,” he says simply, not bothering to offer an explanation as usual.

“I won’t ask you for anything more, I swear. I just want to hear your voice every once in a while.”

“Do I sound that much like your dead boyfriend?” Logan asks.

Maybe I’m imagining it, but there’s a hint of venom in his question, like he’s angry . . .

Is he angry because I won’t stop asking, or because he thinks I’m only using him to remind myself of Mark?

“It’s not that, Logan. I just . . . I want to talk to you sometimes. You. Not Mark.” My heart pounds as I watch him for a reaction. Is my guess right?

Logan remains silent for a few seconds. He looks like he’s deep in thought.

“It doesn’t matter,” he says finally. “There’s no reason why we should speak to each other again.”

“Logan, please,” I beg, shedding my pride.

I don’t know why I’m so distressed. I’ve only known Logan for a few days. But the thought of never even speaking to him again slays me.

“There’s nothing to discuss, Harper.” Logan turns to me as he stops the car. “We’re here. You should go home. Go back to your life.”

I want to scream at him. Ball my hands into fists and hit him. It’s not like he’d feel the pain—he’s so much bigger and stronger than me.

But that would be crazy. And I’m not crazy, despite the fact that I followed a stranger to his home and happily lived there while he held me hostage.

Maybe this is just Stockholm syndrome. Maybe as soon as I walk inside my apartment, I’ll feel different.

I take a few deep breaths, blink away the tears pricking my eyes, and put on a smile as I turn to meet Logan’s gaze for the last time.

“Okay,” I say. “Thank you for the ride. And for everything else.”

I wait for a reaction. A hug. A kiss goodbye. A sigh. A few parting words.

But he gives me nothing. He simply nods to acknowledge my gratitude.

“Okay, then. Bye.” I turn around as fast as I can so he won’t see the tears welling up in my eyes as I pull on the door handle.

And just like that, I find myself walking along the sidewalk just outside my apartment building.

I should feel relieved. I got home safe and I got all my questions answered. I finished my quest, and it was a success.

I should feel like I’m home. But I don’t.

Instead, I yearn to be somewhere else, somewhere in the mountains, alone with a cold, unfriendly stranger.