Authors: Shelley Wall
“You want more coffee? Or maybe tea?”
He laughed and her eyes widened. He focused on her face, aware of the shock in her expression. “When’s the last time you ran one of these meetings yourself?”
Her mouth dropped. “What? Me?” Her hand trembled as she reached out and tugged the skirt in a failed attempt to cover her thighs. He liked those thighs so he was glad the skirt didn’t cooperate. “What are you trying to say, Mr. –”
“Stop being so formal. You know my name, use it. I’m saying that based on what you just told me, I think you’re better prepared to lead this discussion today. I’ll take the backseat and you let me know if you need me. Okay?” Had his bluff worked? Based on her stunned expression, he doubted it.
Seconds ticked away as she narrowed her eyes, appearing to question his motives. The car slowed to a stop in front of one of the largest, shiniest buildings in downtown. He looked up and coughed. Wow, he’d worked the garage of this building. The door whooshed open and he panicked. Would the man recognize him? They’d done this gig together several times. He stepped out, fully expecting to be outed.
Nothing. Nada. The man welcomed them, closed the door, and moved to the car that followed. Holy shit.
Later, Baden tried hard to keep his lids open as the voices on the speakerphone continued to impress Gemma with their corporate –crap. Based on the way they spoke, he assumed they’d seen her and while she ignored it, there was a shit-load of flirting going on. When he’d finally had enough of the conversation, he slammed a hand on the table decisively. “Okay, then. Guys, I guess that’s enough for the day. Gemma and I have plans and need to go. She’ll get in touch with you later.” He clicked the red button on the phone, hoping it was the hang up. It wasn’t.
“Yes sir?” a smooth, male voice questioned.
“Oh, sorry. Wrong button. Everything okay there?”
Silence. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
“Yes, sir.”
Gemma clicked another button opposite on the phone and turned to him. “So, what’d you think?”
Seriously, you’re asking me? I think they’re a bunch of blow-hard assholes who want to get in your pants and likely think if they impress you with all their overpaid brains, they just might get there. Question is, will they?
“I think they all want to date you.” He stood and stretched his arms above his head. He’d nearly dozed off several times and while it was a damn fine chair, sitting wasn’t something he did often. His legs tingled and his back hurt. “Let’s go for a walk.”
“A walk? You’re thirty minutes late for a meeting already. We don’t have time to walk.” Still, she scuttled after as he headed out the door they’d entered earlier and stepped onto the elevator. When the door slid shut, she turned. “Seriously, what did you think?”
Okay, he was pretty sure there was some sort of rule about touching employees, and he knew it wasn’t appropriate. Still, she’d had her hand on his chest earlier. In fact, she stroked his bicep with that dainty finger of hers and he’d felt it perk to attention despite his attempts to stop. If she had done that, why couldn’t he? He looked at her mouth, mesmerized. Nope, that was way too far. So, he put his fingers around her wrist, circling until his thumb spread over her pulse. He felt her pulse quicken.
“You were amazing. They were totally enthralled. They agreed with everything you said so I can see you did your homework well. Oh, and I still say they all want to date you.”
She rolled her eyes and balanced them on his—mouth. Which didn’t help the burn he’d experienced when she reached to her leg earlier. Geeze, he was in hormonal meltdown. It had to be all the fancy stuff around. He wasn’t used to it, the pampering. It was making him into a horny fool.
“I don’t care if they want to date you. Will they sign the contract? Come on, you’re good at these things? Did I totally blow the deal?”
She was asking him? That was rich. “I’m pretty sure they don’t want to date me and if they did, we’d have a problem. Except that one guy with the weird accent--he sounded like he might be interested, I don’t know.”
Her mouth fell and she stopped breathing. No words. She closed it, then opened again. Was she in shock? “Logan, did you just make a joke?”
The door slid open and he walked out with her still gaping.
“You have a problem with that? Did I offend you?”
The clatter of her heels told him she was short steps behind as they exited to the sidewalk with people rushing past. “You’ve never done it before.”
“Well, I’ll try not to if it bothers you.”
“No, it doesn’t bother me. It’s just—did you do something crazy while you were gone? Cliff diving? Bungee jumping? Hit your head falling? Some of that cheap cocaine maybe?”
He huffed. Drugs? This guy was into cocaine? He shuddered. No wonder he had been such an angry bastard. His head was fucked up.
Baden whipped around and furrowed his brows as the real Logan had done to him the night before. “I had a vacation, okay? Can’t a guy be relaxed? Do I have to have a stick up my ass all the time?”
Gemma sucked in air. “If I answer that honestly, you’ll fire me. Let’s just say—relaxed is good. Great actually. I’m glad you pulled the stick out, even if it is temporary. Tell me how to keep you that way.”
How to keep him this way? All sorts of ideas came to mind. Whoa, had she really said that? God, he wanted to answer. He wanted to give her a smartass retort like keep me up all night on those Egyptian cotton sheets back at the house. Or maybe just beer and hot tub suits me, how about you? She wasn’t the type to say those things to, so he kept his tongue tied securely in his mouth. Still, he cocked an eyebrow and lifted his lip slightly.
Ironically, she had talked nonstop for the past three hours and now was silent. He assumed grasping for a clever response. Without any, she simply stopped following and Baden slipped his hands in his pockets and whistled as he strode along the pavement.
For the first time since he’d entered the twilight zone of Logan Indiris’ life, he was free to leave. He should be elated. Or maybe relieved? Why was he dismayed to disappear back into his normal life and stop pretending? He glanced at the time on the bank across the street and realized that his normal life was once again--jobless. Nothing good about that.
His boss had warned him on the first day that absence, or tardiness without notice, was considered a cause for termination. Parking cars was all he’d done since his release from J. L. Jefferson Correctional Facility, a job his dad had arranged through an acquaintance. He had tried to find something without his father’s assistance but failed. It was the only place that hadn’t done a background check on him, mainly because his father had vouched. The entire world had turned on Baden and he’d been tried and convicted for someone else’s crime. And lost his girlfriend in the process. Not to mention that every time someone so much as sneezed, he got hauled in for questioning. So what did it matter to let the old man down? Again.
He rubbed a hand over the tattoo he’d burned into his left shoulder. It had been the first. Gemma--or Gem, as she apparently preferred--only noticed the changeling. Of course, it was the most dramatic. It was also the least significant.
When he’d been accused of his first crime, he was certain he’d be released. There wasn’t any evidence and he’d never been to the store the police said he’d robbed. It would have been impossible to believe he had any involvement. Until they found an eye witness that pointed him out in a lineup and a cop that confirmed it. He was stunned. Complete strangers had chosen him. Why would they do that?
The Truth Shan’t Set You Free
It was embedded on his skin in red, white, and blue like a banner. It had become a part of him when the realization that certain people’s words mattered more than the average guy. For some reason, they were more average. A cop, a business owner--they were the everyday guy on the street that people listened to--not a seventeen-year-old kid from a low income family that lived outside of town and kept to himself. They looked at him and wondered if he would rob them. He wasn’t the one that made it to the Ivy League schools or the corner office. People judged his potential to become those things and said, no way.
That had been an epiphany. He was the no-way guy, not the everyday guy. The realization forced him to accept that certain doctrines would never be his.
The sun glinted off the floor-to-ceiling glass of the ten-story building beside him. He squinted at the reflection in it. Three people waited for the light to turn and allow them to bustle forward to their busy day. A woman in a black business suit with a cell glued to her ear, a man in a tie and white dress shirt presumably headed to a meeting, and another man in a suit watched the woman. They all had a life that he would never see—one that didn’t depend on the whim of others.
Oh shit.
He shook his head and laughed. The reflection laughed too--when he recognized the man in the white shirt—was himself.
You could be this guy. You could be the everyday guy. How would that feel?
The light turned to a green glow shaped as a walking figure, his clue to move. It blinked and beeped as it counted down to zero, signaling him to hurry and cross. He pulled his hands to his sides, turned on his heels, and strode back to the building. Even if it was only for an hour or a day, he wanted to know. To hell with the consequences. Why couldn’t he get his chance?
C
hapter Three
G
emma Travis watched Logan stroll
away, stunned at the transformation. It had taken two years to get the bastard to let her accompany him to meetings, and she had tried everything. Still, he’d been reluctant to allow her to participate and often sent her away. Today, he let her in the house and had her run the meeting. What the hell?
She smiled at the bold way she had forced herself into his home. She hadn’t given him much choice when she waltzed in as if she owned it. With him out of town, she needed information and she had been able to do a quick reconnaissance. It had helped little and she was pissed. Nothing again.
It had taken the precinct less than ten days to set up the identity she had used the past couple of years—she had taken all this time to get what? One piece of DNA evidence that loosely matched an item found on a single victim? It wasn’t enough, not even close.
He had been meticulous about her job, allowing her to work yet keep a distance. Not just her, if she was honest. Logan never let a soul near him. Oh, he partied all right, and at those times he got pretty physical with some of the girls. They never showed twice and she presumed he had mastered the art of one-night stands. Or at least the art of dumping people before they became a hassle.
Distance was mandatory with Logan. So when he took off on a two-week vacation with less than a day’s notice, she had been more aggravated than surprised. The aggravation had transformed to shock today. Something wasn’t right. She had no idea what it was, but she could smell a rat a mile away. This tousled, rough guy he came back as was a world away from the tight-ass who kept his entire life under lock and key.
She tapped in some numbers on her cell. “I need to know what happened in Cozumel. Something’s not right.”
“So I gather he’s back.”
She rolled her eyes. “Sort of.”
“What’s wrong? He get even more paranoid? Don’t tell me he went back to making you drive separate and locking up his office?”
She shook her head. A dumb thing to do since the woman on the other end couldn’t see her denial. “No, he’s—nice. Too nice.”
The laugh on the other end annoyed her, so loud she had to pull the phone from her ear. She frowned. “Gemma, he had a vacation. If that was all it took to loosen him up, we should have figured out a way to force him on one a year ago. Maybe now, you’ll get this case moving. I heard the chief talking in our monthly meeting. You should know he wants to pull the plug.”
“On me or the entire investigation?”
“Both, I gathered. He thinks it’s a waste of time. Your case is cold—frozen and you’re wasting money and time. If you don’t come up with something soon, you’re toast.”
“As in fired?” The warmth of the morning sun did nothing to heat the chill that encompassed her. She had to get this guy. Not just because it would be impossible to find another precinct willing to take her on after a two-year dead end, but she owed it to them.
In a naïve burst of ego, she had visited every family with missing members who seemed a possible victim. Most of them she had ruled out after the visit, but a few still bugged her. So much so that she had let them know the cases might be linked. No names were shared and no details, but just showing up gave them hope. God knows they needed it.
After two years of following him, bugging his office and car, and wheedling her way into his trust—she was the one that had lost hope. Had she made a mistake? Until today she hadn’t thought so.
“Earth to Gemma. Hello?”
“Oh, sorry. I’m here.”
“There’s not a whole lot I can get for you on Cozumel. Since no one followed him, we have nothing but data available. Hotel receipts, flight plans, rental cars, credit card reports, phone data—that’s all I can get.”
She had known as much and rubbed her temple. Her boss had denied sending someone—too costly. Still, data was better than what she had now—nada. “That’s fine. Send it when you can.”
“You got it. Hey, listen, since he’s being nice now why don’t you try using your charm?”
“Excuse me?”
“Oh, that’s right—you don’t have any.” Another loud cackle burned Gemma’s ear. “Put on a fancy dress and show up at his house with a bottle of wine laced with a good kick-in-the-ass. Seduce him, get him drunk, or both. Once he’s passed out, call me and I’ll help you do the search.”
“He prefers to get his thrills up the nose.”
“Even better. Whatever you do, get to it. You don’t have much time.”
Gemma ended the call and tugged at the tight skirt. She hated dresses. Heels were even lower on her list. She missed the uniform and was embarrassed to admit such. Other girls loved designer clothes and had double digit numbers of shoes. She wasn’t one of those—until two years ago when she was offered this case. She should have question the assignment at the time or been frustrated by the blatant use of her gender, but she wasn’t. It was her shot and regardless of motive, she’d take it and ace it. Or at least that’s what she thought when it started. Her confidence had waned the last few months and she’d worked hard to gain Logan’s trust, something that wasn’t easy to achieve.
What she’d give to put on a hip holster instead of taping a tiny revolver to the inside of her leg. She had a permanent bruise. God forbid she came upon an incident that required her to chase down a suspect.
The door of the Starbucks flew open as she passed, a busy woman in a suit rushed past her with hands full. The aroma of coffee grabbed her attention. She glanced down the street in the direction Logan had gone then yanked the door open. She’d get a cup and perhaps wait to see what he did next. The line of three people moved lazily as each one purveyed the menu and struggled with their order.
Gemma shook her head. Why do people get such a kick out of these ridiculously worded and intentionally grandiose words for the obvious? A large latté somehow became a Vente Skinny Latté with a double shot and cinnamon. Seriously? She wished she had thought of that. This chain of basic coffee stores with minimal crappy food made a killing off the idea.
She refused to hop on the express train to yuppiedom though. When the woman at the counter asked for her order, she smiled. “Large coffee please.” Gemma noted the huff of aggravation as the woman rang up the order, took her money, and sent her to wait for her boring drink. Sorry to disappoint.
“So, the cat’s away and the mice took no time at all to play, huh?” Gemma whirled to see the crinkle at the corner of Logan’s eyes. Up close. Too close. And once more, she felt the overwhelming urge to touch him. She’d run a finger over the tattoo earlier, surprising herself. It had been totally out of character. Before he’d gone to Cozumel, she never wanted within five feet. Now, as much as she knew he had something to do with her case—the desire to stroke fingers against those creases was strong. It was crazy, because she’d never even noticed them before.
“Geez, Logan, don’t sneak up on me like that. You might end up with scalding coffee on that neat white shirt of yours. I thought you were going for a walk.” She tried to put distance between them but her back was wedged against the counter. She couldn’t shake the feeling something was different about him. He looked the same, albeit more scruffy. Before the vacation, he did nothing but bark orders. Standing this close would never have occurred. In fact, the moment she’d moved toward him—he normally turned away.
She stood looking into dark eyes with tiny golden flecks of color and the testosterone-laden smell of his cologne put all sorts of stupid ideas in her head. Ideas that involved unbuttoning the starched cotton and squeezing her fingers over the tattoo again while reading words she’d briefly glimpsed. She blinked and bit into her lip to stop from salivating. For crying out loud, he was her boss—and her suspect.
“Um, I was getting a cup of coffee before going back to the office. Want some?” As if to punctuate her words, a steaming cup was plopped on the counter behind her.
He shook his bushy hair and the bangs fell softly into the gold flecks. Another urge to reach up and brush them aside hit her. “I just needed a short breath of air. The walk is over, want to go back? You can show me what I missed while I was out—and maybe tell me what the schedule for the week is. I’ve completely lost all concept of time and work.”
She gnawed on her lip again and the slight taste of the coconut lip-gloss mixed with blood startled her. Not only had she lost complete focus and lacked progress on her case, now she was getting hormonal over the main suspect. It was stupid.
“Sure, let’s go.” Still, she might as well take advantage of the time while he allowed it. She didn’t know when he planned to crawl back into that shell and cut off communication. Maybe she’d find something worthwhile to move the case forward. Or see him out of that shirt again. She frowned—get a grip and stop thinking like that.
Logan whipped out a hand, reached toward the counter and snagged a napkin. “You’re bleeding.” For a second he leaned closer and looked at her mouth. She thought he was going to wipe the blood and dammit, she feared she’d lean her face into that hand if he tried.
Instead he put the napkin in her hand and backed away. The air between them had been suffocating and she was glad to breathe again. Was it possible to be disappointed and relieved at the same time? She sipped the hot coffee, not even noticing it burned on the way down. “I think we should get you to Chaco’s before we return. I know. I know. Don’t get mad, the hair looks good—but with your mom coming and the meetings later this week, you won’t have time later. Okay?”
She half-expected him to blow up—or just say no. He didn’t, he shrugged. “Whatever you say. You’re the boss.”
She snorted. “Yeah, right.”
“You’re a caffeine addict, you know. You should taper off, it’s not healthy. Judging by your muscle tone, I gather you care about that.”
She raised a brow. He was telling her about health? The man with addictions that made hers look like a kid’s fetish with candy? She kept silent, mainly because he wasn’t aware she knew. As much as he’d been careful to lock everything up and keep her at a distance, there had been one time he’d slipped. He was in a hurry or maybe too hyped up, she wasn’t sure. She said nothing—no need to start an argument that might get her fired. She had put too many hours in this case and needed progress. That tiny bit of information into his character was a start.
She’d been able to dig enough to find his source and from there had started looking for more information. Her mind jolted back to the present when he took her arm and pressed her toward the door. “Lead on. You obviously think I need cleaning up so let’s get to cleaning.” His voice was gruff, but his face glinted with—something she’d never seen before. She swore if she didn’t know better, she’d think he had been brainwashed while away.
“Was that another joke?”
“Uh-oh. Two in one day. Will the joke police come swooping in now? Are you going to have a heart attack?” His fingers burned against her arm—something that really pissed her off. She was an officer of the law and he was the lead suspect in a series of missing person cases. This was ridiculous and so completely unprofessional to want—those hands. But she did.
She swallowed, her adam’s apple surged painfully. “Okay, wisenheimer—I think the aliens kidnapped you in Cozumel. I don’t know who you are but you’re not my boss. He has no sense of humor at all, and couldn’t tell a joke to save his life. What happened to you?”
A flash of something crossed his eyes. Fear perhaps? Disappointment? A taxi whirred past and his gaze followed it before answering in the soft husky tone that was also a new addition from the vacation. “Let’s just say I don’t want to be that guy anymore. If that’s who you think I should be, just say so. If everyone else wants me to be that guy, well, it’s going to be tough but I’ll try. Me? I just thought change might be good. Interesting even.”
Next he was going to tell her he’d joined a convent and found religion. Or maybe he’d spent the entire time on the beach meditating and cleansing, which gave him a new perspective. His eyes were clear and bright void of spiny blood veins, which, if she was honest never happened. While his hair was shaggy, it smelled clean. It wasn’t oiled back as he normally did. The other look was more cosmopolitan but this one—definitely sexy. Sexi-er. Had he gone to rehab maybe? Was that why he’d disappeared?
She focused on his face for a second and frowned. Rehab. Well, that was a shocker. Would it last? What triggered it? Would it help solve the cases? She prayed that maybe he also had a desire to confess and give himself up.
She repeated his word, “Interesting,” then called Foster to bring the car around for them.