Blow (15 page)

Not bad.

Logan was fully dressed and on his phone, quietly talking over near the door that led to the back. As soon as he saw me, he hung up. I knew better than to ask.

My .22 was on the counter. He opened the chamber to check if it was loaded. I already knew it was.

My larger purse was beside me and I reached to take the gun.

That was not what he had in mind. Instead, he emptied the chamber. “Let me show you.”

“Logan, I know how—” I started to protest, but he wasn’t listening.

His long, lean body was behind me in a matter of moments and his hands were on mine, raising them. “Aim and shoot.” He squeezed my finger against the trigger, firing off dry rounds. “You don’t hesitate. You understand?”

I nodded and concentrated on the weapon in my hand, not the powerhouse of a man practically holding me.

His strong body pressed to mine. His competent hands were showing me how to take care of myself. He didn’t appear to be holding anything back—he knew what he was doing to me, to my body. The thought snapped me out of my haze. “Logan, I know how to use a gun.”

Moving to the side, he reloaded it. “I’m sure you do. It’s just that last night, you were aiming that gun at me but I knew you had no intention of pulling the trigger.” He set the gun on the counter and stepped into me. “If I were anyone else, you’d be dead.”

I bit my lip. “I . . . I wasn’t ever going to shoot you.”

“Why?” He didn’t even blink.

Because I want you madly. Because I can’t stop thinking about you. Because there’s just something about you.
I couldn’t say any of those things. Blinking those thoughts away, I said, “Because I knew you weren’t here to hurt me.”

He stepped even closer. “No, you didn’t.”

All I could do was shake my head. I did know it. I could feel it.

“Listen, if you don’t plan to pull the trigger, then you never aim. If you think even for a minute anyone is a threat to you, I want you to shoot first and think later. This isn’t a game. These people don’t dick around. Do you hear me?”

I nodded. I was a little freaked out, but I wasn’t going to admit to that. I wasn’t sure just how much danger I was in. Maybe he was a little paranoid. Either way, I needed to stay strong. “Yes.”

His voice softened and his demeanor changed. “I don’t mean to scare you, but these guys are professionals. They creep around in the dark, lurk around corners, hide in alleys. Don’t go anywhere alone.”

“Who are these people? Are they going to come into my store?”

He shook his head. “They won’t do anything out in the open and they may not even be after you.”

“Then why are you telling me these things?”

“I just want you to stay safe. Do you understand? Stay safe.”

“I understand,” I said, sounding a little breathy.

His hands gripped my hips and he pulled me to him.

I went more than willingly.

His lips hovered over mine. “You have to stay safe,” he repeated.

Just then my cell phone rang. I jerked back and reached for it. It was Peyton.

“I’m on my way,” I answered.

“I can’t believe you’re not here yet. Did you hook up with Mr. Big Dick?”

“Peyton!” I admonished. “I’m just running a bit behind. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

“Okay, but when you get here I want all the details.”

“’Bye,” I said, trying not to smile and wishing there were details to spill.

He took my phone and hit some buttons. “Here’s my number. Call me if you need anything. If you can’t reach me, I’m at the Four Seasons. I’ll leave your name at the desk.”

I took the phone back. As soon as I shoved it into my bigger purse, he handed me my gun. “This too.”

I put that in my purse as well, and grabbed the smaller purse. I’d switch everything else later. “I’m ready.”

He nodded toward the front door and grinned at me. “Come on, then, let’s get you to work.”

I should have been scared.

And I was.

I should have been worrying about why all of this was happening.

And I was.

But right now I just wanted to bask in how much that grin melted me.

LOGAN

T
he clock was ticking.

Seven minus one. Six days left. Six fucking days until Patrick makes his move.

Time had given me clarity. Whoever had been harassing Elle was doing just that. If Patrick were trying to strike, there would be no close encounters. And if it were Tommy . . .

With a shiver, I shook that thought away.

I’d know if it were him.

Lost in my thoughts, I glided into the parking lot of the garage where Elle’s car was towed last night. The place was more like a compound. There was a row of five bays on one side and five more bays directly opposite those, with an office connecting them. Once I parked, I looked toward the only open bay and saw O’Shea standing near Elle’s car. He had his kid in one arm and a piece of crumpled paper in his other hand.

Fuck.

I had hoped to beat him here and scope out the inside of Elle’s vehicle before he did. Whoever broke the window did so after I had seen the car—either on the way here or after it arrived. Still, my head was clearly not in the game last night. How the hell had I missed the piece of paper? Unless I hadn’t. When I checked the car last night, I know I looked around, including in the backseat, where I tossed some toys aside. It couldn’t have been there then.

Shoving my thoughts aside, I watched as O’Shea spoke briefly with someone near Elle’s car. The guy wore a blue quilted jacket but also had a tie on, so I assumed he was the manager. O’Shea seemed twitchy. He was bouncing the baby nervously on his hip. She was playing with the large silver rattle attached to a red ribbon that I moved off the seat last night. Despite the manager edging toward the door that must have led to the office, O’Shea seemed to have no interest in following him. The mechanic reached inside and pulled out a clipboard.

O’Shea turned and I put my hat on and slid down in my seat. I probably didn’t have to; my windows were pretty heavily tinted and he didn’t seem to be on alert. O’Shea had of out the bay when he stopped and turned back around. The manager was holding up the clipboard. O’Shea took it and scribbled something, his John Hancock more than likely, and then quickly walked out.

The manager wandered back toward the door and I watched as O’Shea shoved the paper he had been holding into his pocket and then loaded the baby in his own car. I needed to see what the hell was on that piece of paper. The way he was acting was shady at best, and instinct told me it wasn’t just a receipt for his dry cleaning. I wanted to follow him, but if Patrick was already tailing O’Shea, him finding out I was stalking O’Shea wasn’t going to be pretty.

His tires practically squealed as he pulled out of the compound. He was obviously in a hurry.

I couldn’t help but wonder why.

My greatest obstacle was time. As I was pondering my next move, I spotted the mechanic from last night getting ready to close the bay.

Bingo.

Moving quickly, I strode over to him. “Hey dude, remember me?”

He glanced up, rope in hand. Jerking his head toward Elle’s car he said, “Yeah, I talked to you about this Mercedes SUV last night.”

I nodded. “I just wanted to check on it. Make sure you were able to order the tire.”

He scratched his head. “Let me find out.”

As soon as he started walking over toward the office door, I darted for the Mercedes. I knew I wouldn’t find anything, but I wanted to have a look-see for myself. Sure enough, the window was completely busted and glass shards covered the seat and floor.

“Hey, there you are.” The mechanic looked me over like I’d been the one to bust out the window.

“Yeah, sorry. Just wanted to have a better look in the daylight. What’s the ten on the tire? Did you get it ordered?”

“You’re all good. It should be here soon,” he said, my explanation apparently not appeasing him. “Anything else I can do for you?”

“No,” I said walking backwards, edging away from him before he asked too many questions or called anyone else in. “Thanks again.”

“Sure, anytime.”

I hopped in my Rover and hightailed it out of there. As I drove, I prayed like hell O’Shea mentioned his stop at the garage to Elle and in turn she trusted me enough to tell me about it. I needed to know what was on that piece of paper. Was it a threat? A warning? From Patrick? From Tommy?

By the time I reached my suite at the Four Seasons, I was utterly wiped. I needed to catch a few z’s before heading to my father’s to discuss the best way to have a face-to-face with Patrick in order to find out what he had in mind for O’Shea.

The amount of effort Patrick was putting into this whole thing told me he wanted something more than just the net out of the five mil. I knew how he operated. He sent his associates first and then shortly after failure of delivery, Tommy would show up. And nothing good could happen then. Yet, Tommy had been sitting on this for almost three months. That alone told me there was something in it for him. A connection? A product? A pipeline? I didn’t know what, but I was going to find out. And if, by chance, it was about the money, I’d give Elle, who in turn would give O’Shea, what I had in my accounts; it wasn’t much, but it might buy some time.

That reminded me, I had to call my grandfather Ryan and tell him I wouldn’t be back in New York this week. There was no way I was leaving Boston.

I flopped on the couch and pulled out my phone to make the call, but then thought an email would be so much easier. Logan Ryan had already revoked my access to my restricted trust fund. It didn’t become legally mine until I turned thirty. My maternal grandfather was cutting me off until I severed all my ties with the Blue Hill Gang. Too dangerous to access that kind of cash, he reasoned. If I told him I wouldn’t be back this week, chances were good he’d put a hold on my paychecks, too.

I typed a simple email that said I had a case that could possibly detain me and hit send. It wasn’t entirely a lie.

There was a mixture of guilt and resignation in my mind as I headed for the Liberace-style bathroom. I sat beneath the heat lamps as I glanced around. The large Jacuzzi tub and black marble shower with six jets and rain head were way more than I needed on a daily basis. Sure, I’d grown up surrounded by luxury, but sometimes it was a little over the top.

Many months ago, after I received the call about my father’s arrest, I’d checked in here. I went for a standard room, but then Grandpa Ryan made an appearance, and before I knew it, I was upgraded to this suite. I scratched my head. How the hell had I agreed to that?
Right, you never said no to Grandpa Ryan.

At first, he covered the hotel bill. Then last week, he called me into his office after my weekend visit here and told me he’d been checking on my father’s progress. Since he appeared to be doing well, it was time for me to leave him on his own and concentrate on my own job. He wasn’t asking.

That was the first time I’d seen that side of him and I tried to bite my tongue at the audacity of that arrogant old man, but I didn’t do a great job and I knew my anger bled through my response. Although I was in no way disrespectful, when I returned to Boston, the front desk asked for a new credit card, since it seemed the one on file had been declined. I didn’t bother to call my grandfather; I knew it was his way of telling me he was in control. I also knew then where my mother got it. It obviously ran in the family.

Well, fuck him. I did have my own money.

Still, it was probably time to break down and move over to that shit hole my dad was living in, because the cost of this place together with my New York apartment was putting a huge dent in my funds. Although I had to say, last night my pop’s house looked in better shape than I’d seen it in years. Then again, maybe last night was just the first time I looked at it differently.

No matter how clean he tried to make it, though, nothing would ever erase what had happened there or the blood that had been spilled. What Tommy had done was an act of revenge that he never wanted me to forget.

He had succeeded in that.

I cranked the water as hot as I knew I could stand it and tried to wipe my mind clean of what he’d do to Elle if he saw her and worse, much worse, what he’d do to her if he saw her with me.

Fuck.

Stripping off my clothes, I stepped into the large glass expanse and let the water flow over me, welcoming the familiar burn that was never enough to really make me feel clean.

And thought of Elle.

Beautiful.

Natural.

Smart.

Tough.

Vulnerable.

Vulnerable enough that if I couldn’t have taken her when I dropped her off last night, I knew I could have when her body covered mine as she slept, or this morning when she stood next to me practically naked. Those visions of her made my cock throb so much it hurt. But I craved her for more than just a single fuck.

And that just wasn’t possible.

I was already hard just thinking about her again, her long, lean legs, her perfect body, her small, tight ass. The water ran onto my hair, down my face, and fell to the drain. Before I knew it, I wasn’t paying attention to the water. Instead I had my cock in one hand, my balls in the other.