Playing Love's Odds (A Classic Sexy Romantic Suspense) (24 page)

"Things like banned chemicals," she whispered.

"They may be banned here. Not in his country. I'd say we're doing our own ecology a favor by getting rid of the stuff," Elliot rationalized with a snort of contempt.

"It's the world's ecology, Graham. Not ours. Whatever he's planning to do with that herbicide can't be good."

"Good is a relative term, Hannah. He needs to get rid of the rain forest bordering his grazing land. I need money. What's good for him is good for me."

"So you had me followed."

"That was Neil's doing. Both times. The first time we wanted to find out what exactly you were going to do with your new found knowledge. The second time we sent one of our guys." He jerked his thumb over his shoulder toward one of the men loading the truck. "Peterson here was supposed to scare you off and get rid of any evidence."

"My apartment and my car."

"Exactly." Elliot shook his head. "You didn't have much, Hannah. Not much at all."

"I had enough, Graham." She backed up a step and pointed a finger at Elliot then Harrington. "You screwed up. Both of you. First dealing in illegal chemicals and now kidnapping. You'll never get away with it."

One part of Logan admired her gumption. Another part wanted to throttle her for her lack of caution. He'd taught her the game well and, if she got hurt, the backlash was gonna take a mighty strip out of his hide. Knowing a move made too soon was as stupid as no move at all, he resigned himself to tough it out.

"Never get away with what, Hannah?" Graham Elliot's voice slid out with a silky smooth warning.

"With holding me against my will. Or with that." Hannah nodded toward the other side of the warehouse where Peterson and another man, both in heavy slickers, gloves and masks, loaded the chemical barrels into the back of a second truck.

"As far as that goes—" Elliot glanced over his shoulder toward the truck then back at Hannah. "I think I'll get away with it just fine. I've overcome every obstacle so far. Including meddling lab technicians."

"I'm not so sure, Graham," Hannah began, crossing her arms defensively. "You and your cohorts left a few too many loose ends. I filed a police report in regard to both my apartment and my stolen briefcase. I gave them a statement in the hospital and they assured me the accident scene would be thoroughly investigated."

"Coincidences," Elliot scoffed.

"Maybe so. But I hired a private investigator when the coincidences became a bit too dangerous. Any pieces the police may be missing, he'll find and put together nicely."

Like a slap to the face, reality hit Logan with exacting purpose. She trusted him. Even with everything she'd suffered at his hands, everything she'd been through because of his poor choices, she expected him to come to her rescue.

Her die-hard faith astounded him. Made him ache to prove himself worthy of that trust. Worthy of her love.

She'd said she loved him. Her unflagging confidence proved it to be fact better than any words she could've said. No other emotion could rise above the bad stuff. And he'd given her plenty of bad stuff to rise above. It made his choices simple.

He came to his feet in time to see Elliot close one hand around Hannah's throat. "Take a good look around, lady. Enjoy your last few minutes of freedom. You just bought yourself a flight to South America. And I wouldn't consider it a vacation. Any man who has no scruples about buying illegal chemicals won't blink twice about buying himself a woman."

"You can't mean to take her with you," Harrington protested, his hands fluttering uselessly at his waist.

"What would you have me do, Neil?" Elliot asked, backing him into the warehouse wall, leaning over him, one fist braced inches from Harrington's head. "Shoot her and be done with it? You plan to hang around and answer questions once her body's found?"

"No," he whined in answer. "But Torres was specific in his instructions. You make the delivery and I tie up the loose ends here. He didn't say anything about taking hostages."

"Torres wants the chemicals, he can deal with the consequences. Miss Evans happens to be an unexpected consequence."

Logan watched the expressions, horror, denial, and acceptance, flit across Hannah's face. His gaze darted around the room, landing on the wall phone next to the door. In two strides he was there, punching in the number he knew better than his own.

"Homicide. McCandliss."

Logan kept his voice a low whisper. "Jess. Logan Burke."

"Look, Burke, I told you ..."

"Shut up, Jess and listen." He shoved his fingers through his hair. "I'm at ViOPet. Warehouse B. It's coming down now." He filled Jess in on the specifics. "If you don't get someone here in the next ten minutes you're case load's gonna increase by four bodies. I'm not letting them out of here with Hannah."

"You packing a piece, Burke?"

Knowing Jess couldn't see it, Logan shook his head anyway, flexing his gun hand around the empty air. "I don't need a gun, Jess. I've got my bare hands. And they've got my woman."

"I'll be there in five. Personally."

The phone clicked dead in his ear.

"Toss her in the back with the barrels," Elliot ordered.

Logan cradled the receiver, his gaze once again searching the room.
Think, Burke. Think.

"No!" Hannah demanded, advancing on her former supervisor. "Closing me in that truck with those chemicals is murder just as sure as pulling a trigger, Graham, and you know it." Elliot hesitated a fraction of a second and Hannah took full advantage. "I won't put up a fight about going along if you put me in the other truck. Just don't put me in with the barrels."

Logan finally found what he wanted. He flipped the switch on the microphone and the warehouse floodlights at the same time.

"Evening, folks. Nice night for a crime, don't you think?"

"That was a really stupid thing to do."

"I don't know," Logan responded, one shoulder hitched upward in a shrug. He managed it fairly well for a man with both hands tied behind his back. Literally. "I thought it was one of my more spectacular moves."

"Spectacularly stupid, you mean." Hannah struggled against her bonds, wincing as her head smacked the interior wall of the truck. The driver braked to a jolting stop then gunned the engine to life. Hannah felt like a ping-pong ball gone berserk.

His back against the opposite wall, Logan looked incredibly cool, disgustingly relaxed, invincible. "Don't fight the motion," he advised. "Move with it. Like riding a horse."

"Like riding a horse," she mimicked under her breath. The truck jerked again. She banged her head again and wanted nothing more than to rub the soreness from the bump. Unless it was to slap that smooth expression of control off Logan's face. "I guess considering the horse metaphor, not to mention your amazing sense of calm, the cavalry must be right behind."

"Don't have the faintest."

"What do you mean you don't have the faintest?" Her voice caught in her throat. She coughed and swallowed and tried again. "Logan, tell me."

His calm in place, he met her frustrated gaze, his eyes clear as honey in the grey light. "I made a call from the control room. Elliot reacted quicker than I expected. I don't know if our trail will be too cold to follow."

"Just great," she mumbled. "Now what?" She collapsed against the wall and shut her eyes. Some things were better dealt with in the dark.

Things like this new Logan, this steely-eyed warrior. The cocky glint she'd grown used to in his eyes was gone. In its place shone a protective measure of resolve, a stark conviction, hard and undeniable. The realization should have comforted, but she was weary to the bone, too tired to deal with the here and now, to terrified to think beyond it.

Exhaustion slumped over her, a new kind of defeat. The past week had crept by in a harrowing mixture of sleepless nights and days without end. Minutes blended into hours until time meant nothing.

Nothing gave her too many opportunities to think about Logan. She'd thought of little else. Even now she sensed his gaze sweep over her, compelling, seeking answers to unasked questions, searching for what? Forgiveness?

The pull continued, a force too strong to counter with stubbornness. Slowly, she opened her eyes and met his gaze. Nothing had changed. Denying past secrets and lies, intimacy sparked between them.

His eyes raked over her possessively, sweeping over her lips, her breasts, the juncture of her thighs. His mouth opened, begging for her kiss. She caught her lower lip with her teeth, caught a growing moan in the back of her throat.

The pulse beating at the base of his neck matched the one throbbing deep inside her belly, the one she knew he could touch from just the right angle, with just the right stroke. She brought her knees to her chest, backing her heels into her buttocks, wishing she could curl into a ball and rock away this craving. The long, hot, sizzling rush of awareness rose the truck's temperature to a scalding ferocity. Her heart thumped wildly, a solid lump in her throat.

Unable to swallow, she met his gaze, probing for the origin of the fire. This man had betrayed her trust in the cruelest fashion and all she could remember was the way he tasted on her tongue.

He'd dashed her dreams to the ground, crushed her faith beneath his version of right and wrong and she only wanted to nestle her cheek against his belly and inhale the strong sweat of his male satisfaction. His deception still stung in a tender part of her heart. But it was nothing like the raw empty ache inside where instinctively she knew he belonged.

She loved him. Plain and simple and seemingly irreversible. That fact didn't make the betrayal smart any less or reduce the terrifying panic. It didn't guarantee she'd ever forget. It only made her want to understand why.

He'd changed. Oh, how he'd changed. This new Logan, watchful and wary, had made peace with himself. The demons were gone from his eyes. That haunted look now blazed with ravenous fury. He'd exorcised the devils. Now he would make them pay. At any price, one step at a time, his past would be purged.

She turned her head to the side, no longer able to meet his look that spoke of fierce obligation. Had he come back only out of duty? To free himself from his past? Once he'd wanted her. Once he'd needed her. Once he'd taken her with an elemental need, a man's coarse, unchained passion.

But that was a lifetime ago. Before the secrets and the lies. Before he'd become this mercenary soldier, this man she didn't know.

This was not the time or the place to dredge up the memory of their days together. And she was no longer sure if he was the same man who'd taken her to those unexpected heights. Yet she couldn't help but turn to him again. His eyes demanded it and, as she met his gaze, the fire softened to a caring glow.

It gave her courage. And hope.

"What happened?" His simple question brought her back to the here and now.

Pulling herself together, she answered with an unusual measure of calm, her outward composure strangely at odds with the unresolved feelings tightly coiled inside. "After you dropped me off that morning, I realized I didn't have my keys."

"My fault," Logan explained. "I stuffed them in my pocket after I packed your bag. Sorry."

"It doesn't matter. I have a spare."

"Under the ficus tree."

"How ..."

"Miss Tiny."

Hannah gave him a lopsided smile. "Figures," she said. Then another realization hit. She fixed a curious gaze on him. "You went to my apartment?"

His nod was quick and direct. When he remained silent, she prodded him with a whispered, "Why?"

He shook his head. "Later. I want to know what happened."

"Not much. I let myself in and unpacked." Frowning down at her lap, she mentally put the events in order.

"I saw the red dress on the floor." He spoke the words so quietly Hannah glanced up. A sharp slash of pain flashed through his eyes only to vanish behind that mask of control. But not before she'd seen the hurt, a wound that mirrored her own.

They'd shared the rarest of closeness. A physical joining more powerful than words. A soft telling of secrets in the dark, passion-breathed promises, sweetly whispered desires, needy pleas that would take a lifetime to fill.

He remembered. And he still hurt. Just as she did.

Resisting the urge to shut her eyes and hide in that small way, she stared at the streak of grease on her knee. "The dress has to be dry-cleaned." She fought to keep her voice from cracking. "To get out the salt."
From the sea air and from the tears.

Logan cleared his throat, the sound strangely sad over the whine of the wheels on the road. "What then?"

She thought a moment. "I started to make a salad."

"Yeah. The broccoli."

Scrunching up her nose, she said, "Yuck. It must be rancid by now."

"It was pretty bad," Logan answered, his mouth slanting into a wry smile. "But it told me what I needed to know. You hadn't left of your own free will."

"I think it was that goon up there." She motioned in the direction of the driver's seat. "He convinced me it would be in my best interest to accompany him. Since he had a gun I decided not to argue."

Logan's curse sliced through the air. Hannah shivered, thinking again how much he'd changed. Something in him had shifted, grown cruel. His voice revealed nothing when he asked, "Where did he take you?"

"To the warehouse."

His eyes widened with incredulous shock. "You've been there all week?"

Her smile turned inward at a critical angle. "Can't you tell? The warehouse office has a cot and a john with a tiny shower stall. I did the best I could with brown paper towels, liquid hand soap, a thirteen-inch black and white, and unlimited access to the vending machine.

"Right now I'm in the mood for a hairbrush and a hamburger." She closed her eyes and let her head fall back, finding the brave facade hard to maintain. The fright pricking in pinpoints over her skin began to squeeze with a paralyzing grip. "Looks like I might just have to settle for a lifetime of tacos if I have a life left after today."