by Lee Taylor
Logan studied the smug man for a moment, then shrugged dismissively. “Just as your experiences managing the fortune that you inherited has played a role in your current largess, my experiences have shaped me. As for my business success, I ascribe to the wisdom of that renowned philosopher Bear Bryant, who insisted when he led the Crimson Tide to its sixth national championship, ‘I only hire people who are brighter than I am. If they’re not smarter than me, I don’t need them.’ ”
Elliott laughed, then shook his head. “Brilliant quote, Logan, but I can’t let you get by with it. Not only are you smartest guy I know but—and this is a compliment, buddy—you are also the most ruthless.”
Stewart’s eyes had widened and then hardened at Logan’s disdainful reference to his inherited wealth. Making an obvious effort to respond in kind, he said with a forced smile, “I understand why you might think disparagingly of men like me who inherited their wealth. Contrary to popular opinion, may I say that it can be as much of a curse as a blessing? However, in my case, I take pleasure in the fact that I have grown my wealth exponentially, dramatically outdoing my grandfather and father’s acquisition of capital.”
At Logan’s raised brow and dismissive shrug, the equivalent of him saying, “bully for you,” Paul Davis joined the fray with a boisterous chuckle. “Now, now, gentlemen. Not to intrude on your dick contest, let’s just say that you both are lucky as hell to be as rich as you are.” Glancing at Gia, he chortled. “Although I gotta tell you, as sweet-smelling as that filthy lucre is, there are things that outshine the biggest piles of gold. The best example is the woman standing next to our entrepreneurial upstart. Tell me, Logan, how did you do it? Not how you made your millions. Elliott answered that, and from everything I’ve seen, he is more than on-target regarding both your intellect and your ruthlessness. No, I’m more interested in how you captured this lissome lass who has stolen the hearts of every man in the county since she was preteen kid.”
Before Logan could answer, a loud voice interrupted their conversation. In addition to their volume ensuring that the gathered attendees heard them, Gus’s words were slurred, underscoring the drunken underpinnings of his ugly query. “Yeah, Logan. I mean, Mr. ‘ever-so-proper defender of women’ Fowler. Tell us! How did you get the sweetest little ass that every one of us has spent a lifetime lusting over to spread her legs for you? Hell, it’s a given every man here would give several inches of his randy prick for one night with the oh so hard-to-get Gia Tremaine. From what I hear, it cost you a fortune.”
Chapter 25
The stunned hush ricocheting across the room lasted a full ten seconds. Logan’s dangerously cool voice sliced through the shocked silence. Turning to Stewart Reed, he said, “Clearly, your candidate started his cocktail hour before breakfast. Please, Mr. Reed, do us all a favor and see that Gus gets a chance to sober up before he embarrasses himself and his supporters further.” He added in a voice that could have shattered galvanized steel, “If you are unwilling or unable to remove him, I’m more than pleased to do so.”
Reed jumped forward, his face flushing a purplish hue. Signaling to two beefy-looking men, who to Logan’s expert eye were armed, he muttered to a glassy-eyed Gus, “Don’t say another word.” Turning to the bodyguards, Reed said carefully but loud enough to be heard, “Please take Congressman Underwood to a quiet place and then, if you will, call a physician. It’s clear someone doctored his aperitif.”
Gia was surprised that she could breathe. In the immediate aftermath of the shocking interruption, she couldn’t have drawn a deep breath if she’d tried. But then, without Logan’s strong grip, she might have fallen to the floor. As it was, she was sure she would have a nasty bruise on her upper arm where Logan was grasping it, anchoring her next to him. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw an ashen-faced Ben rushing toward them. She’d known that he was here, but Logan had specifically indicated that he wanted to accompany Gia to the auspicious event. Meeting Logan’s smoldering gaze, Ben nodded and moved toward them, shoring up her other side with his presence.
As shocked as she was at Gus’s ugly words, Gia was more startled at Logan’s reaction. Of course he was furious, how could he not be? But it was more than his dangerously cool response echoing over the astonished room that had caught her off guard. She’d always known that Logan was formidable. But when everyone in the room stepped back, she acknowledged she wasn’t the only one clearly stunned by the iron-eyed man holding her next to him. A fusillade of danger radiated off him as he led her over to the head table in the center of the room. She wondered if anyone beside her and Ben heard his cryptic murmur into what she realized must be a concealed communication device. “Follow them. Don’t let them out of your sight.”
Grasping her chin, he forced her to meet his gaze. “Can you sit?” When she nodded, he pulled out her chair and helped her into it. Pointing to the chair next to her, he indicated that Ben was to take a seat. Standing beside her, his hand firmly on her shoulder, he spoke to Paul and Elliott, who had charged to their side. “Please join us, if you will.”
Paul spoke first, his expression strained with emotion. “Jesus fucking Christ, Logan, Gia. I . . . I . . . fucking God. I don’t know what to say. I cannot apologize enough. I . . . I am incoherent with anger.”
Elliott’s face could have been carved out of granite. The waves of fury radiating off him mirrored those emanating from Logan. Before he could speak, they were joined by the flustered governor, who had been scheduled to give the luncheon address. The rotund, clearly shaken politico was distraught as he reached for Gia’s hands. “Oh my God, Gia, I don’t know what to say. Or to you, Mr. Fowler. I am horrified, sick with embarrassment. Stewart Reed must be right. As boisterous, even uncouth as Gus can be, something must have happened.” Glancing around the buzzing room, he explained, “They . . . Stewart and his team are saying that someone must have put something in Gus’s drink.”
At Logan and Elliott’s stony silence, he shook his head and said helplessly, “At least that’s what they are saying. I . . . I understand Reed is insisting that they take Gus to the emergency room.” Seemingly aware that he wasn’t doing a good job of excusing Gus’s reprehensible behavior, he blew out a hard sigh. “But, Gia, my dear girl, no matter how it happened, all I can say is that Gus Underwood is lucky your pappy is behind bars. I’m confident Gus would be pissing blood for a week after Big Bart was through with him.”
If the clueless governor hadn’t been trying so hard to explain what must have happened, he might have seen the look that Logan and Elliott exchanged, the heated glance that neither Gia nor Ben missed. It was an ominously silent agreement between two dangerous men that Gus Underwood could only wish that Big Bart, not the two rigid-jawed men, would mete out his punishment. At that moment, Stewart Reed strode to their table. He glanced from Logan to Elliott and stepped back in the face of the potent anger that the hapless governor had missed.
Clearing his throat, he made an obvious effort to speak calmly. Including Paul, Ben, and Gia in his gaze, he said, “I trust you all know that something untoward happened to Gus. His drink was obviously doctored. Please know that I will not rest until I get to the bottom of the dastardly deed that someone or some group visited on my friend and candidate.”
Apparently deciding that of the glowering group, Gia was the most approachable, he reached for her hand and murmured, “My apologies, my dear. I . . . I know you were embarrassed. For that, I am sorry. On Gus’s behalf and my own, I apologize for the embarrassment his unfortunate words caused.”
Snatching her hand away from him, Gia clung to Logan’s arm as she rose to her feet. Pinning a scathing gaze on the surprised man, she tossed her head. “To the contrary, Mr. Reed. I was neither embarrassed nor surprised by the disgusting things that your candidate said about me. I have come to expect them—as do any of the women who have the misfortune to be acquainted with him. I can also assure you that Gus is no more drunk than he usually is. Although, I concede a morning binge is a tad out o
f the ordinary.”
Drawing himself up to his full height, ignoring the two glaring men who were towering over him, Stewart sniffed. “Apparently, you intend to make this unfortunate incident a campaign issue. Which in my mind, Ms. Tremaine, is regrettable.”
Gia fought the smile curving her lips. “Hmm. I trust we agree that the purpose of any campaign is to give voters the opportunity to decide what kind of a man or woman they want to elect. And yes, Mr. Reed, you can be sure that I will ask the voters in our district if they want a misogynistic drunk to represent them in the Congress of the United States.”
Reed’s voice was strained with anger, but he managed to speak relatively coolly. “I advise you to be careful, Ms. Tremaine. It would be wise for you to remember that descriptive adage, ‘People in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones.’ ”
Gia’s smile widened to a wicked grin. “Don’t worry, Mr. Reed. I won’t be throwing stones at your candidate. To the contrary. I’m going to give Gus Underwood free rein to do and say anything he wishes about me. Why should I waste my time trying to convince the public what a disgraceful man he is? We both know that Gus can do that better than anyone can, including me.”
When Reed’s face flushed a color surprisingly close to mauve, Logan moved closer to Gia and confronted the angry man. “I recommend you leave, Reed. Now. No doubt you will want to gin up the money it will take to convince your physician of choice to get his story straight. What’s it going to be? Gus ingested a rare herb a nefarious operator deposited in his Raisin Bran? Or perhaps his political enemies laced his organic tea with a particularly potent toxin.” Stepping within inches of the pale, now trembling man, Logan’s voice was rife with danger, all the more so given how eerily calm his words were. “Whatever you and your lackeys come up with, Reed, please know that you are in the crosshairs of this formidable woman. And more portentously, you are in mine.”
****
Gia was grateful for the bottles of Macallan that Logan put in the middle of the table. Of course he’d insisted that an array of fruit, vegetables, and sandwiches were also available, along with soft drinks and craft beers. It wasn’t surprising that Syl and his grungy cohorts chose the Sierra Nevada Stout and Stone IPA beers that Logan had bought for them, but everyone else was drinking the Macallan. Gia smiled to herself, wondering what her young staff would do when the campaign was over and they went back to drinking Jim Beam or Four Roses or, maybe on special occasions, Cutty Sark.
Taking a hefty draught of the powerful libation, Gia was grateful for its numbing effects. But she admitted it was going to take a lot more than alcohol to calm her overwrought nerves. Seeing the Arturo Fuentes cigar resting between Logan’s fingers, she realized that the only times she’d seen him smoking the pricey cigars was when he was particularly agitated, make that angry, with her. She wasn’t surprised that Ben nodded affirmatively when Logan offered him one of the costly treasures. Having given up smoking, she was glad that the two most important men in her life were able to find yet another way to bond. Not for the first time, she acknowledged how grateful she was that Logan had befriended Ben. Obviously, Ben was smitten with the impressive man. Logan returned the favor, making it clear that as much as he valued Ben’s loyalty to Gia, he also respected Ben’s quiet leadership of the riotous campaign.
Logan glanced at one of the many screens banking the walls of what they were now calling the war room. Tapping the ash of the odiferous cigar against the ashtray, he pointed the glowing stalk at the television screen. He’d happened to land on a national channel but could have singled out any of the local stations. The story playing out in gory detail on all the networks was the same. He shrugged and allowed an ironic smile to curve his lips as he winked at Gia. “I guess that’s one way to ensure that we are news on every goddamned channel in the country.”
Ben grunted in agreement. “Heck, Logan, we might be able to reduce our media budget. You two are national news, make that breaking national news, and we didn’t have to spend a goddamned cent.”
Logan snorted. “Right as usual, Ben. And at least so far, we seem to have the upper hand in the coverage. All the outlets are portraying this as a nasty attack by an inebriated man attacking his young female opponent. Of course, it doesn’t hurt that said female candidate happens to be the gorgeous woman upending what was supposed to be a runaway win for her opponent.”
Surprisingly, a narrow-eyed Sly spoke up. “I need to ask you, Logan. Did Gus really say what Ben told us he said about you and Gia?” When Logan shrugged and nodded, Syl’s face reddened dramatically. Visibly trying to contain his upset, he glared at Logan. “Then . . . then why are you sitting here, Logan, drinking with us? Why aren’t you chasing him down and beating the crap out of him?”
Not missing the tears flooding the young man’s eyes, Logan frowned, then blew out a hard sigh. He rubbed out his cigar in the ashtray and met Syl’s agitated gaze. He was quiet for a moment and then said carefully, “I appreciate your reaction, Syl, especially your anger. You are articulating what every one of us is feeling. But it’s important that you understand. The issue that Gus is raising—that Gia and I are inappropriately involved—is one of the primary ways his campaign intends to hit us. To put it crassly, the Underwood gang intends to portray me as Gia’s ‘sugar daddy’ and her as my ‘whore.’ ”
At the shocked gasps from the stunned group, Logan rose to his feet and turned to Syl. “As for your question to why I’m not beating the crap out of that asshole, just know, my friend, the night is young.” Shrugging into his leather bomber jacket, he leaned down and kissed Gia’s cheek. “Ben is going to see that you get to the condo tonight, princess. As you might expect, I have a few stops to make.”
****
On the way to meet with Elliott, a meeting he’d insisted they schedule, Logan made an important detour. Leaning close to the grilled partition, he was struck that not only were the storm-filled eyes meeting his brilliantly green, but the fury he saw in them was also familiar. But then, it should be. Logan managed to keep his voice low. It wouldn’t do either of them any good if his potent threats were overheard. Gazing at the striking, dark-haired, emerald-eyed man, he murmured, “In answer to your question, yes, I have the resources to ensure that they are appropriately punished.” Allowing his lips to curve in a malicious smile, he added, “You might be surprised, sir, that I have as many, if not significantly more resources at my ready, than you did at the height of your reign.” He added with a chuckle, “And unlike your resources, for the most part, mine are on the right side of the law.” He ignored the dismissive snort that answered his cocky claim. “But don’t worry, sir. Even a man as powerful as you were might be surprised at the hell a cadre of D-Boys can unleash.”
Chapter 26
What the hell, Logan? Make that what . . . the . . . fuck?”
Logan shrugged, then waved Elliott into the conference room of his office. He wasn’t surprised that his longtime friend continued to hover in the doorway, shock emblazoning his wide-eyed façade. When Logan had called him, he’d responded, “Hell, man, did you really think that I wouldn’t be on your ass figuring out how we’re going to respond to that drunken asshole? I’ll be there at eight o’clock sharp.”
Logan rounded the table and moved toward his astounded friend. Reaching for his hand, he said casually, “Thanks for coming, Elliott, and yes, as I told you, we have urgent business to discuss. Make that urgent action to consider.” Not able to quash his grin, he acknowledged the four men seated at the table, all staring intently at Elliott. “Which is why I thought it might be a good idea to bring in the cavalry.” As the men rose to their feet, he added, “Or at least, a quartet of D-Boys to flesh out our ranks.”
Raising his hands in disbelief, Elliott stammered, “Jesus, is that really you, Cleon Ray?”
The towering guy wearing blue jeans, a checked shirt, and a James Harden beard chortled. “Well if I ain’t, you can butter my butt and call me a biscuit, Major Lockhart.”
Sh
aking his head, Elliott murmured, “And you, Sergeant Major Webb?” When the slender, sandy-haired man with the piercing azure eyes nodded and held out his hand, Elliott grasped it and then turned in disbelief to the men striding toward him. Overcome with emotion, Elliott shook his head as he grasped Clint Drobny’s arm and pulled him into a one-armed hug. With the other arm, he yanked in Jamal Toure. His voice crackled with emotion as he clung to the big Czech and the grinning dark-skinned looker. His voice gruff, Elliott turned to Logan. “Jesus fucking Christ, Logan, I’m also mad at Gus Underwood and planned to cut his balls off before the night was over. But hell, man, did you need to bring in the whole goddamned Delta Force to take out that worthless piece of shit?”
Logan stepped back, allowing the four former team members to capture a clearly shaken Elliott in one embrace after another. Logan had commanded the five men on multiple special operative missions in his twelve years of undercover active duty. While Logan had kept up with his former squad members over the years, this was the first time that he’d been with this five-member group in person. Seeing them all together, he wasn’t surprised they all had tears in their eyes, his included. Allowing the glad-handing and good-natured insults to carry the raucous conversation for several long minutes, he picked up one of the bottles of Macallan on the table and rapped it sharply. Getting the attention of the group, he said, “Really, gentlemen, as much as I appreciate that you all accepted my invitation to come to my dominion, if you want to begin to attack what is close to three thousand dollars of the finest booze you’ve ever drunk, you need to get your asses over here.” As each of the men took a seat at the table, he handed them a tumbler of the expensive libation. Pointing to the four additional bottles in the middle of the table, making it clear that there were no limits, he raised his glass to the group.
