Playing Love's Odds (A Classic Sexy Romantic Suspense) (18 page)

A shudder ran through him and he drew in a steadying breath. "One of the partners in the software firm asked if I'd mind doing a job for his brother-in-law. Expenses paid, of course. The guy owned half of an electronics store that couldn't get outta the red. He was the electronics wiz. His partner made the sales and kept the books."

"And you kept tabs on the partner."

"Exactly. A piece of cake case to make. The guy was up to his runny nose in coke. Not just using the stuff but making deals. I don't know if he sold because of greed or a desperate attempt to funnel back some of the company dough he'd snorted."

Logan shook his head. "He had the worst habit I'd seen. It's amazing he managed to think straight enough to cover his ass. When I turned in my initial report, the client wanted me to set up a scam to catch his partner. Red-nosed, so to speak."

"Do you do a lot of that type of thing?"

"Not generally. But sitting on your butt weeks on end tends to congeal the juices."
Unless there's someone like you to watch.
"And I was in a can-do-no-wrong phase, so I agreed."

Coming to his feet, he waded ankle deep into the water. The warm foam hypnotized him. Maybe if he could get zombied enough he could make it through the next part.

Maybe if he didn't have to see her and could pretend he was talking to himself everything would be okay. Maybe if a great white shark swam up and invited him for dinner he'd accept. It'd be the easiest way out.

But then she was behind him, her shadow almost the same length as his. She didn't come any closer, like she was letting him know she was there without invading his space. He moved, merging their silhouettes into one.

"The partner was getting careless or thinking with his nose instead of his head. So my client marked some fifties headed for deposit. I followed his partner to the bank. He stopped on several street corners instead. The bills slid from one hand to another faster than I could blink. But not faster than Nikon. Still, it was circumstantial. He could've cashed a personal check at the shop and taken the bills in exchange."

"But highly unlikely," Hannah said.

He answered with a snort. "Yeah, highly unlikely. I followed him from drop to drop. The money disappeared like smoke." Logan stuffed his hands in his pockets; his shadow broadened with the movement.

He frowned as he thought. "It was a strange scenario. I don't know if he actually used that much or was making every contact he could for future reference. Finally, he drove into a rundown section north of downtown. Crumbling high-rise apartments, the whole bit. Following him became tougher because of my car."

"The Mustang or the T-bird?"

"The Corvette. A bitchin' black 67 'Vette. Not the car to cruise that neighborhood without raising a couple of eyebrows. Or itchy fingers. Anyway, the guy stopped in an empty parking lot on the corner. Not fifteen minutes later another half dozen cars pulled in. It looked like something out of a movie. They conducted business right there on the hood of his car."

"What did you do?"

"I'd stopped about four blocks back in front of an apartment building. Some kids were playing kickball on the basketball court and two or three women were hanging out wash. I watched from a gutted-out building across the street and filmed the entire meeting. Every handshake, every passed bill, every shared snort. Everything."

An eerie cold swirled around his feet. It penetrated his bones, settling in with a chill of painful memories. He crossed his arms over his chest, the gesture one of self-preservation as much as warmth. "Then the tone of the meeting switched. I felt the tension shift. It was in their eyes and the way the other guys stiffened and started pointing fingers at my client's partner.

"The meeting broke up, and it couldn't have come soon enough for me. I had this spooky feeling," he leaned to the side, making sure Hannah's shadow was still there and a strange realization set in. His voice dropped to a whisper. "Probably much like you felt when you realized someone was following you."

He squeezed his eyes shut, chalking up one more sin to his list. "I crouched in the darkness for what must've been an hour, until I finally smelled the rotting garbage instead of my own sweat. When I stepped outside, I stopped because the sun blinded me. That brief hesitation probably saved my neck."

The water around his feet grew icy, the same as the cold in his heart. The temperature burned, the salt licked at his wounds, and he welcomed the pain. It was easier to handle than the guilt. "I squinted across the street and saw one of the kids kick the ball into my car. The little girl closest ran to get it at the same time tires squealed around the corner. I glanced up, gauged the distance from the speeding car to the girl and yelled at her to stay put."

His voice cracked, stuck behind the lump in his throat. He raised a hand and clawed at his chest, the pain there cutting his heart to ribbons. He dragged in a jagged breath, cleared his throat and spit, determined to finish. "It was a nightmare, a slow motion bad dream. Before I could move, the car whizzed by. A Molotov cocktail arced from the open window into the back of my car."

"Oh, Logan."

He heard tears in the breathless catch in her voice, in the way she struggled not to sob. He couldn't look at her eyes. Not until he'd said it all. "I barely remember anything concrete after that except running like a bat outta hell. The bomb exploded like a case of dynamite. The heat scorched my hair from twenty feet away. I can still hear everything. The screeching tires and breaking glass. And the screams."

His voice broke on a sob and a renegade tear burst its three year dam. Looking into the crashing surf, he relived it all, every shattering minute. "She didn't die right away. She suffered. She'd been crawling out the open top. The blast threw her back across the parking lot like a spinning ball of fire. I've never seen anything like it.

"It took the ambulance fifteen minutes to get there. It seemed like fifteen lifetimes. A crowd gathered to watch the paramedics and answer questions from the cops. Then they walked away. It was like they saw tragedy so often it was just routine. "

"What did you do?" she whispered.

"I wanted to walk away and never look back. My car was obliterated. I doubt they'd have found enough of the registration or license to track me down. But I couldn't. I made my way to the police station and told them what I'd seen, gave them all the evidence I had on my client's partner. I hung around the hospital for the next few days, waiting to hear about the girl.

"When she died, I left. Cut my ties with every company I worked for and hit the road. Lived out of the Mustang. When I was sufficiently numb and sufficiently broke to have no choice, I came back and became who I am."

This was the part he wanted her to know. The only reason he'd picked up this dull knife and carved a hunk out of the bottom of his soul. He turned to face her, letting her see the worthless creature he'd become. And would remain.

"I do what I have to do to stay alive. I work enough to make ends meet but keep my cases strictly business. I'm the best, but I don't get involved. I don't want to know the reasons why I'm being asked to do a job. I only want to know enough to get it done."

"Except with me."

"Yeah. Another big mistake on my part," he admitted regretfully, not sure if he regretted knowing her or having to send her away without knowing her as well as he wanted to.

It was the thrashing that woke her. The sound of bedsprings creaking under violent strain. The gut-twisting shout. The slam of the front door. The pounding of feet down the stairs. This time she knew the cause. This time she knew where to find him.

Without a second thought for anything but Logan, Hannah threw back the covers and jumped from the bed. She paused only long enough to jerk off her nightshirt and scramble into his shirt and shorts she'd worn during the day.

Like she'd been there a thousand times before, like she'd been driven there as many times as Logan, she hurried to the beach, wondering about the countless footsteps, the innumerable strokes he'd taken trying to forget.

She followed his path, remembering the last time she'd found him here. That time had been different. She hadn't known of his nightmares or his demons. This time she did and wanted to ease his terror.

By the time she hit the water's edge, the moon had slid behind a thin cloud. All she heard was the quiet lap of water against water, against her knees, against her thighs, against her waist as she waded deeper. She held her breath, listening again.

Dammit, where was he?

He should be somewhere near here. He had been the last time. The last time. What had brought on the nightmare then? A chilling shudder rippled through her. Though the water temperature hovered near eighty degrees and the air outside close to it, she hugged her arms tight to her chest.

This time she knew where the dreams came from. Haunting recollections. Soul cleansing confessions. Words pouring through the jagged slash to his soul and spoken without taking the time to weigh their import or anticipate the physical reactions brought to the surface.

Words she'd begged him to speak.

Dammit, where was he?

The moon crept out from its shadowed lair, the weak light giving the water the sheen of black oil. The incoming tide hinted at the barest suggestion of movement, like an evil ripple creeping closer and closer.

Hysterical laughter bubbled in her throat. Her concussion must be worse than she thought. She ran her fingers through her hair, one hand glancing off the bandage on her forehead, then made two tight fists as if to hold onto her sanity.

The eerie half-light, that one single tortured scream torn from Logan's throat, the feeling of total isolation ate at her reason.

Dammit, where was he?

She took a step back, collided with something slippery and hard, and screamed. Like a porpoise, Logan shot up behind her, showering what few dry parts she had left. She turned to face him. He shook his head then speared his hands through his tangled hair to slick it back from his face.

She watched the flex of biceps and pectorals, diamond drops of water twinkling on his skin under the spectral moon. The waves settled to lap at her waist, at Logan's lower belly, each incoming swell pushing her closer to him, tugging at her legs, urging her forward.

She took a single step, her bare foot sinking into the swirling muck below, the undertow much the same as the magnetic pull from his body. She took another, her hands floating on the lazily pulsing water, the throbbing low in her core increasing with each stroke of water.

She took one more, her legs moving with the demanding current, the caressing warmth of the water reaching her inner thighs and higher.

The reason for seeking him out suddenly became more vital, more personal, than merely soothing his nightmares away. She reached up and laid her palm against his face. Hands braced at his waist, he let her stroke her thumb over his cheek. His eyes glittered and his jaw clenched under her palm.

A drop of water hung suspended from his eyelashes. She moved to wipe it away. His hand shot out to grasp her wrist. Her blood pooled heavily. She wanted to ask about his dreams, to know if the swim had helped. She couldn't find the words. She couldn't find her voice. His eyes were menacing, a tiger assessing his feast. She ached to be devoured.

The moon disappeared, breaking the bewitching spell. Pitched into darkness, Hannah again heard the lap of the waves. And Logan's breathing, hoarse and uneven. She took a final step. Their bodies aligned perfectly. He fit against her curves. She melded into his angles.

Her left hand slid around his waist. He guided her right around to meet, then cupped her head with a shaking hand. He lowered his head and took her mouth with a sweetly simple kiss, brushing his lips over hers. Once.

After that she was lost. He groaned deep in his chest; the vibration quivered down to her toes. Holding her head, he nibbled at her lips, sliding his tongue over the ridges of her teeth then beyond, deep into her mouth, coaxing her own into his.

With a swift ferocity, his nightmare took second place to her own. How would she ever get enough of him? She'd been so empty without him, vacantly existing. This was what she'd been missing. This ... feeling.

Wanting more she moved closer. He untangled a hand from her hair, wrapped it around her waist and drew her in. While he learned the secrets of her mouth, she explored his back, running her hands from the ridges of his shoulder blades to the smooth swells of his buttocks.

He was naked. Head to toe naked. Pressing himself harder against her even as she bid him to do so with her hands. She shifted her legs to accommodate the part of him prodding against her belly. The next groan she heard was her own as she squeezed her thighs together, feeling him thick and hard between.

He moved his mouth to her neck and she shivered, then responded in kind, tasting the salty tang left on his skin. He lifted his head and let her explore. Her heart kicked hard against her chest, sending a surge of heated blood through her body. With her cheek against his skin, she kissed a frantic line down his chest, finding his nipple and flicking at it with her tongue. His chest heaved, his breathing as ragged as her own.

His mouth found hers again in one ferocious swoop; his right arm tightened around her waist, his left eased between their bodies. Hannah felt he'd never get there fast enough. While his mouth demanded surrender, his hand teased, creeping over the bare skin of her midriff to the underside of her breast. While his mouth told of his loss of control, his hand caressed, soothing the bruised flesh covering her ribs.

He cupped her fully and groaned in relief. One hand fondled her breast, the other slid inside her shorts and kneaded her bottom. His fingers slipped intimately between her legs.

Oh God, she loved him.
She loved him.

And she wanted him. All of him. She moved her hand to his thigh, to his erection, her fingers closing around his hardness.

He jerked back. His hands gripped her upper arms with a bruising force. She pushed against him to break his hold.