At the front lobby, Logan handed me a magazine from the table next to the receptionist’s desk and asked me to wait while he and Rafe disappeared into a nearby conference room. “I need to bring Rafe up to speed on a few things,” he’d said before leaving me alone.
I set the magazine down without opening it. It was about computers, something I had very little interest in reading about at the moment. Instead of reading, I wandered around the lobby, looking down hallways. Across from the conference room was the CEO’s office. At least, that’s what the name plate tacked to the door read in gold letters: Ben Thacker, CEO.
Although I knew I should mind my own business and wait where Logan had left me, curiosity won out. I wanted to know what kind of business Logan had gotten himself involved in. Since I suspected he had no plans of telling me the truth about his job or the reason he was at Global Tech under an assumed name, I figured a little snooping couldn’t hurt.
I wiggled the doorknob to the CEO’s office. It was unlocked.
The office was large. At the center sat an oak desk that rivaled the long tables at the library where I worked. I wandered around the desk, glancing at the papers strewn across its surface.
Nothing too interesting. Mostly employee payment statements.
I don’t know what I’d expected to find on the desk. A hand-written confession? A manifesto detailing the company’s myriad of crimes?
Although it was late on a Friday afternoon, the cleaning crew hadn’t emptied the garbage yet. A half-crumpled piece of paper in the trash can caught my eye. Not because it contained anything nefarious, but because it had the name of one of my favorite designers handwritten across the top.
I reached down and pulled out the paper. I then smoothed it out. The names of several top designers were listed on it. At the bottom was a long list of numbers.
That was odd.
I glanced around the office again. This time looking for a reason the CEO of a security firm would be interested in many of my favorite designers. Did the organization’s next caper involve stealing runway designs?
The answer came on the enormous bookcase opposite its matching desk. A lone book stood out among photos and awards and technical tomes. I recognized the book from the reference section of my library. It was one my favorites: A History of Fashion in the Modern World. I slid the thick book from the shelf, ran my hand over its glossy cover, and flipped through a few of the colorful pages before carefully returning it to the shelf. The heavy tome cost more than my monthly rent. Illicit hacking must pay well, I thought to myself. Very well, indeed.
There were dozens of framed photos surrounding the book, all of a lovely woman with long, auburn hair. In every picture the woman was draped in the most luxurious and current high-end clothes. The list of designers on the discarded note was probably her shopping list. The numbers at the bottom of the page might have been prices—the figures were large enough.
Was the woman in the photos the CEO’s daughter? Wife?
His mistress?
“What are you doing?” Logan demanded from the doorway.
“Nothing.” I tossed the paper back into the trashcan. I felt like a kid who’d been caught cheating on a test. My cheeks flamed again. “J-just waiting for you.”
He stood there silently for a moment. His lips tightened into a hard frown. “Okay,” he said. “Let’s go.”
To my surprise, Rafe followed us through the lobby and into the marble lined elevator. When the elevator opened up into a small first floor garage, I had to pull on my broken high heel shoe and its still perfect twin. I limped along, certain I looked absolutely pathetic with my lopsided gait and hopelessly wrinkled dress.
“Wow.” I couldn’t stop myself from giving a long whistle when I saw Logan’s car. It was a two-door sports coupe. Black. Sleek. The badge marked it as a Jaguar. I didn’t know cars well enough to know the make or the price. But I could tell that this was a high-end luxury car. “I mean, wow. Now I know the saying is true. Crime does pay.”
“Sam,” Logan scolded.
Rafe moved closer to me. His hand never strayed far from the gun in his holster.
“Sorry.” I held up my hands.
“It’s not what you think,” Logan said. He hurried in front of me so he could open the passenger door.
“Sure it’s not.” And here I was driving a ten-year-old sedan that coughed and sputtered if I went over thirty miles per hour. Of course, that was all about to change in eight days.
Everything was about to change with the wedding. For one thing, I’d finally be able to give my mother the life she’d lost when I was born with a diseased heart.
“I think I should go with you.” Rafe pushed Logan aside before he could get the door open. The three of us stood by the car. There were only two seats. Rafe still eyed me as if he expected me to pull out a knife and start stabbing people. If he got his way, I’m sure he’d try and stuff me into the Jag’s tiny trunk.
“No, you stay here,” Logan said. “She’s my problem.”
“Thanks a lot. That’s every girl’s wish in the world, to be called a ‘problem’.”
Logan smiled sheepishly. “You shouldn’t have followed me into Global Tech, Sam.”
“She shouldn’t have been able to find you in the first place,” Rafe said. “I don’t—”
“I know, I know. You don’t trust her. I do, Rafe. And I’ll call once we get settled.”
“You have a secure phone?” Rafe asked, still not moving away from the car.
Logan tapped the breast pocket of his ugly blazer. “You know it. If you can find out how Jason has reacted to my...um...excursion into his offices, that’d be helpful.”
“I’ll make some phone calls.” Rafe leaned against the shiny black door. “You know you’ll be lucky if he doesn’t send the feds after you.”
Logan shot a nervous look in my direction before answering. “I did what needed to be done.”
“You acted too soon.” Rafe slashed a hand through the air. “You should have—”
“Now isn’t the time.” Logan must have known I was silently keeping track of the unanswered questions that were piling up at a record pace. He nudged his partner out of the way and finally got the door open for me.
He drove across the Manhattan Bridge and into a section of Brooklyn I’d never ventured into before. The neighborhood was apparently in the beginning stages of revitalization. The very beginning stages.
The building he parked in front of didn’t match his expensive Jaguar. It must have been constructed sometime in the sixties. The 1960s modern style with its colorful metal panels and tiny metal balconies looked worn out and tired. The paint was peeling off the panels. And the metal had started to rust.
Small piles of garbage lined the cracked sidewalk in front of the apartment. In the neighboring lots, tall grasses and weeds grew up around the rubble left from the former buildings.
“Really, Logan? This is where you live? I think you need to review your spending priorities. I mean, I’m sure you could afford an upscale apartment if you hadn’t wasted all of your money on this car.”
He grunted a non-answer as he parked at the curb.
I decided to hold my tongue as we walked—well, he walked, I limped in my broken shoe—up five stories in a dimly lit stairwell that stank of urine. I bit my tongue even harder as he fiddled with the lock on a door that had a gang symbol painted on it.
The key finally turned in the sticky lock. He gave me a pained look before swinging the creaky door open.
I hesitated in the hallway, afraid what I might find in his apartment. Logan hadn’t been a part of my life for the past fifteen years, but that didn’t mean I’d never thought about him. Truth be told, I’d thought about him almost daily.
Of course, I’d assumed he’d died.
Even if I’d known he was still living, I would never have imagined the courageous boy who’d bucked against hospital rules would grow up to be a criminal. Granted, now that I thought about his
rebellious behavior back then, it kind of made sense that he’d develop into a man who didn’t know how to follow the rules. Still, I couldn’t stop myself from wishing he had a better life. He’d suffered so much. Literally survived hell with those treatments the doctors had subjected him to. A few of the experimental drugs had made him so sick that some days he could barely lift his head from the hospital pillow.
Fancy car or not, a boy who’d lived through such an illness and God-awful cure should have a better life. He should not be living in squalor.
I drew a deep breath and limped into the apartment, expecting to find cockroaches crawling across dirty dishes in the sink. Or worse.
Rats.
What I found on the other side of the graffiti-stained door shocked me. I stood in the living room, my mouth gaping open.
The hardwood floors gleamed. The cream-colored living room chairs and sofa, carefully arranged in a cozy configuration, were oversized and apparently new. They begged to have someone curl up on one of them.
The kitchen had top-of-the-line maple cabinets. The dark blue granite countertops gleamed in the soft light enveloping the workspace. And yet, there wasn’t one personal item in the entire space. Not a picture on an end table. Not a tchotchky, like a plastic snow globe from a past vacation. Not even a misplaced personal item like a sock on the floor. There was nothing in the place that gave me a clue about what kind of man Logan had become.
“Nice place,” I said with a frown. “Could use some art...or photographs though.”
“I don’t live here.” He was busy locking the door behind us and driving the deadbolt home. “It’s one of Hart Security’s safe houses.”
“Oh,” I mouthed. My roaming gaze had caught sight of something truly amazing.
A glass door in the living room led to the small, rusty balcony that I’d disparaged when I’d first set eyes on the outside of the building. But oh, the view. With the other buildings knocked down, the balcony offered a partial view of the Hudson River with the towering buildings in Manhattan in the distance. The setting sun sent slashes of reds and deep oranges streaking across the dark blue sky. Lights on the far-off buildings started to twinkle and wink as they were turned on.
I might have stood there transfixed by that view forever if not for the rustling behind me. I turned in time to see Logan toss off those hideous glasses. Next, he ripped off the blazer, dropping it carelessly on the sofa. He walked toward me as he peeled the Clark Kent button-up shirt from his body and the white undershirt underneath, letting the shirts fall on the hardwood floor.
My mouth went suddenly dry at the sight of his bare chest. It appeared wider without the geek-gear. And his muscles. Heavens, though they didn’t bulge like a weightlifter’s, they gave his upper body a sculpted look—like a Greek statue. A light sprinkling of soft brown hair covered his chest and disappeared into his pants waistband. My fingers ached to reach out and touch his chest.
“Oh, Sam.” His voice sounded gravelly and sexy as hell as he continued toward me.
I gasped as his arms went around me. Logan stood silently, holding me close to his warm body, not saying a word.
My heart, my traitorous heart that wasn’t really mine, skipped several beats in response. When I should have been pushing him away, I let my head press against his bare chest. In the silence, I enjoyed the simple feeling of his chest rising and falling with his breath. Nothing had ever felt as right as standing there in the circle of his arms.
He shifted, and I looked up to find him watching me. His eyes smoldered a dark shade of blue. His lips parted slightly. I raised my head higher, reaching for him, hungering for a taste of what I’d never had fifteen years ago. We’d been too young and too wrapped up in our own personal battles to go any further than play kisses. I’d been far too young to understand or respond to the attraction I’d felt for him. But it came surging back to me now, and packed quite a wicked punch, filling me close to bursting simply by the way he was staring at me.
Like he was hungry.
Like he was a man who wouldn’t be denied.
I still didn’t know anything about what kind of man Logan had become. And at the moment, I didn’t care. I closed my eyes. My lips quivered in anticipation of what would come next. Oh, sweet Jesus, he was going to kiss me.
“I can’t tell you how happy I am to know you are alive,” he whispered. His arms tightened around me, giving me a brief squeeze before letting me go.
My lips...
Hell, my entire body shuddered from the sudden chill I felt when he stepped away.
That was it? He was glad I hadn’t died?
I didn’t know what to say. I wasn’t even sure my voice would work.
Why hadn’t he kissed me? The heat pouring off him felt so scalding hot I’d been afraid I might go up in flames.
I wanted to pull him back to me.
I wanted to kiss those utterly sexy lips of his until the both of us were gasping for air.
I wanted to follow his soft chest hair down into his pants.
Didn’t he know what standing there half-naked was doing to me? Couldn’t he tell?
Then I glanced down at myself, at my broken shoe, at my ruined dress. All the blood drained from my head as I realized my mistake. Who would want to kiss someone who looked like I did? My beauty had been all an illusion. Wipe it away, and I was simply a shapeless children’s librarian without an ounce of sex appeal.
“T-the bathroom?” I stammered, feeling suddenly embarrassed and terribly self-conscious.
With a frown, he pointed the way down the hall.
My face burned with embarrassment as I limped away on my broken shoes. I’d wanted one thing, just one thing other than his signature on the paperwork. I’d wanted to look drop-dead sexy for my soon to be ex. Instead I’d ended up showing him that the sickly girl he’d married hadn’t improved much in the ensuing fifteen years.
Without the makeup and without the designer clothes to mask my flaws, I was simply a pathetic woman no man would want to kiss.
Chapter 6
The bathroom in the hall, like the living room and kitchen, had been tastefully decorated and fitted with luxurious bronze fixtures for the marble sink. The only thing that looked out of place in the lavish room was the wide-eyed, harried figure staring back at me in the vanity mirror.
I was a mess. The tangles in my hair made it look as if a family of rats had made a nest on the top of my head. My dress was not only wrinkled, it was stained with some kind of black goop and ripped at the shoulder. My shoes were ruined. And my makeup was no longer making my skin glow. Instead, it had smeared. I resembled a demented clown.
There was nothing I could do about the dress. I didn’t have a brush in my purse, so I couldn’t tackle my hair. All I could do was kick off my shoes and try my best to fix my makeup.
I turned on the tap and started splashing cold water on my face, scrubbing with my hands until the smeared makeup was gone. Now I looked pale and pasty. Not much of an improvement.
I’d just started digging around in my hobo purse for my makeup when Logan knocked sharply on the door.
“You okay in there?” He sounded worried.
I recognized his nervous tone. People who knew me before my recovery from the heart transplant often spoke to me in that same manner. Like they thought I might fall down and die at their feet at any given moment. I loathed that tone.
When I didn’t answer right away, he knocked again. “You aren’t having any trouble with...” His voice trailed off.
“I’m fine,” I called.
“You sure?”
Shoot. He wasn’t going to leave me alone until I opened the door. But if I opened the door, he’d see me in all my plain Jane glory. I’d spent hours this morning getting ready before setting out to find him just so he wouldn’t see me like this.
I flung open the door so quickly Logan jumped back. “I’m fine. Really. There’s nothing wrong with me.”
Logan’s eyes widened probably from the
shock of seeing how ugly I looked when the luster had been wiped off.
“Yes, this is how I look.” I nudged past him and his naked chest and marched into the living room. Why bother with makeup now that he’d seen I was nothing more than a skinny girl with very little to entice a man? At least the pushup dress and Wonderbra were still doing their part. Thank goodness for small favors.
I fumbled in my purse again, this time in search of my cell phone.
“What do you mean this is how you look?” he asked. He’d followed me to the kitchen and was watching me so intently, my cheeks burned with a fresh wave of embarrassment.
“You know...” My questing fingers finally found my phone.
“No, I don’t know.” He leaned his hip against the granite countertop. “Why are you upset with me?”
I huffed a breath. “It doesn’t matter. Once I get another copy of the divorce papers, you’ll never have to be bothered by me again.”
“Bothered by you, what are you—?”
With a spurt of frustration, I yanked the phone out of my purse. Everything else in the purse came out with it and clattered to the hardwood floor at my feet.
The words that spilled out of my mouth weren’t pretty.
Logan chuckled. “Let me help you with that.”
The first thing he grabbed was the phone. Right out of my hands.
“Hey! I need that to call my lawyer. And I should call my mom. She wants daily updates to the wedding planning. And my roommates will start worrying about me. I should have been home a couple of hours ago.”
“You can’t use your phone.” He held down the power button, causing the phone to completely turn off. “It’s not secure.”
“Not secure? I don’t know what you’re talking about. Give me my phone back.” I reached for it, but he kept it out of reach.
“I can’t.” He turned away and tucked my phone into his pants pocket.
I wasn’t going to search for it in there. With a look of triumph, he knelt on the floor and started scooping up the rest of the detritus that had fallen out of my purse.
Ms. Starr’s Most Inconvenient Change of Heart (A Raven's Run Romantic Mystery Book 1) Page 4
