by Aleah Barley
His jaw clenched slightly, biting back a full account. The captain trusted him to tell the truth, to report everything he knew in a clear, concise manner.
But Jack couldn’t see that pain in Honey’s eyes again. Not because of something he’d said.
“I don’t know.” He sucked in a deep breath, trying to settle his stomach. “Let’s get this over with.”
Shoulders back, legs straight, deep breaths. Don’t let them see you flinch. That was the advice his mother had given him on his first day of elementary school. She’d repeated the advice before he ran for student body president in high school and a few minutes prior to his college interview. Shoulders back, legs straight, deep breaths. Don’t let them see you flinch.
“You.” Clay frowned, watching Jack approach. “I know you, don’t I? You’re someone.”
“Not much of someone.”
Logan sniffed. “Amelia Ogden’s boy, right? Jack Ogden. Glad to see they finally called out someone with a brain. You going to get things done?”
“I’m here to ask you a few questions.” Logan leaned forward on the balls of his feet. “I understand the fire wasn’t the only trouble you’ve had recently. Someone stole your car? A blue Volvo?”
“Humph.” Logan’s eyes narrowed. He crossed his arms. “Neighborhood gossip. You hear that from your mother, boy?”
His mother. That stung.
Fine. If Logan wanted to play rough, it was about time Jack threw a real punch. Something he knew would land.
“If Mr. Parsons could excuse us.”
“Anything you want to say to Logan, you can say in front of me.” Clay Parsons drew himself up to his full height, still a few inches shorter than Jack. “I’m his lawyer. His family—”
“Get lost,” Logan ordered.
Parsons’s face colored a bright red, and his mouth fell open. He couldn’t have been more surprised if the older man had physically attacked him.
“Go on, Parsons, you’ve had enough excitement for today. I’m sure I can handle Amelia Ogden’s boy all by myself.”
Jack could taste blood. He’d bitten his lip.
Logan Burrows was a jerk, a real bastard who’d managed to drag Honey into his world and put her life in danger, but he wasn’t an idiot. The man was smart, capable, and a master negotiator. As a businessman, he’d been feared and reviled in boardrooms across the country, and he hadn’t grown soft in his old age.
Jack waited until they were alone on the front stoop before he took a deep breath and continued. “Mr. Burrows—”
“Call me Logan.”
“Logan, someone doesn’t like you very much.” A few soft words, some conciliatory remarks, and Logan would come around. All witnesses eventually came around, no matter how disgruntled they were to start with.
“I’m a real estate developer. If people like me, I’m not doing my job right.”
“Sure, but there’s a difference between picketing your latest project and setting your house on fire.”
“Is there? I hadn’t noticed.”
Okay, clearly things weren’t going the way that Jack had hoped. He took a deep breath and tried to start over again. “You were at home when the fire started. That must have been terrifying. How are you doing? How’s your housekeeper?”
“I haven’t had a housekeeper in ten years. I have a girl who cleans once a week.” The old man’s eyes were a pale blue, filmy white around the edges. Every breath he took was slow, ragged, and audible. But Jack would be foolish to underestimate him. Logan’s lips twisted into a thin smile. “Is there something you actually want to talk about? Because if it’s just going to be this touchy-feely nonsense, I have better things to do.”
Jack’s nostrils flared. He turned slowly, staring into the crowd, searching until he found exactly what he was looking for. A gleaming head of red-gold hair, curling and dancing in the light.
“I want to talk about Honey Moore.”
“I don’t know her,” Logan said. But his breath came faster, and Jack took note of his tense shoulders, his stiff jaw. A million tiny micro expressions, each one signaling a shift in Burrows’s mood.
“You’re kidding.” Jack’s hands curled into fists. “You’re saying you don’t know Honey?”
“Honey Moore.” He snorted. “Silly name.”
The old man kept talking, and every word out of his mouth was a lie.
There was no way Jack would be able to prove any of it. People didn’t get to be as rich and powerful as Logan without breaking a few rules along the way. The old man had a problem, and he’d obviously decided to deal with it by himself.
Jack could almost understand it. Strength, confidence, problem solving—those were all qualities he valued, too. Still, it pissed him off that Logan insisted he didn’t know anyone named Honey Moore while blood rushed to his face, turning his cheeks a bright red.
“Honey Moore,” Jack said, his voice grim. “You hired her to find your car. You put her life in danger. Someone burned her damn house down. She’s standing right over there.”
…
“Hell.”
Honey knew the exact moment Jack lost control.
Everything was going fine, and then his back straightened. His arm swung wide. For one brief moment, she thought he’d be able to swallow his anger, get everything under control, and then his mouth formed an angry snarl.
She couldn’t hear what he was saying, but she could see the rage on his face.
So could everyone else. Cops, criminalists, and reporters all turned in Jack’s direction to watch the virile young detective rip into Logan, his broad shoulders looming over the older man’s crumpled form. Watching as Jack reached out to snag Logan’s arm and turn him forcibly toward the crowd.
“There.” Jack was shouting loud enough for her to hear now. He extended a hand in Honey’s direction. “That’s who I’m talking about.”
Honey’s purloined donut slipped out of her hand, smashing awkwardly into her shirt. The cup of coffee she’d been holding hit the ground, hot liquid burning her knees.
Why the hell was he pointing at her? Her heart pounded. If she felt any smaller, she’d disappear. Invisibility was a good superpower. Unfortunately, she didn’t have it.
Luckily, no one was turning to stare at her. They were all too focused on Jack and Logan.
Jack kept shouting, yelling about truth, honesty, and other things Honey didn’t really believe in.
A dozen cops rushed toward him. The suited man he’d been talking with earlier grabbed his arms, pulling him off Logan. Two uniformed officers led Logan quietly away, getting him out of the danger zone.
And then the uniformed man was the one shouting, yelling about “standards of behavior” and “professionalism.”
Jack ignored the man, starting toward Honey instead. Descending on her like some antique warrior, righteous in his anger.
“Come on.” He kept walking, passing her by on his way toward the car.
“What’s going on?” Honey spun, hurrying to catch up. “What happened?”
The crowd parted in front of them. People hurried to get out of Jack’s way.
“I’ll tell you what happened.” It took Honey a moment to realize the speaker was the suited man who’d greeted Jack on his way in. “Your boyfriend made a big mistake.”
“A mistake?” Jack turned back, eyes flashing. “I’m the one who made a mistake? Like hell. Logan’s the one lying to a police officer. I’ll arrest him for impeding an investigation.”
“You got proof?” the stranger asked.
“Sort of.” Jack glanced at Honey, his gaze guarded. “Probably.”
“Whatever you think he’s lying about—whatever ‘impediment’—it won’t matter without proof.”
“I don’t care. The man lied.”
Honey cleared her throat nervously. “I’m sure it’s not that bad.” She stepped forward, reaching out to lay a hand on Jack’s arm, trying to still him with a reassuring gesture, a soft touch. “What did he say?�
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“Logan Burrows claims never to have met you.” Jack’s nostrils flared. A bead of sweat ran down one cheek. “According to him, he’s never seen you, never spoken to you, and never heard of you.”
Logan had never heard of her, but he was leaving her a fancy house and a “collection of fine automobiles.” Honey shook her head in disbelief. “He’s lying.”
“Through his teeth.” Jack snorted. “He definitely knows you. He definitely—”
“Ogden,” his captain interrupted. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about Logan,” Jack raged. “He knows Honey. He’s the reason her damn house burned down!”
“Another arson?” There was a slight pause. “And you think they’re related?”
“Of course.”
“And when were you planning to tell me about it?” His voice was low, angry, with an edge of an East Coast accent. “You need to give me a full statement at the station house. Along with your badge and your gun.”
“Excuse me, captain?”
“Damn it, Ogden. You know I have to suspend you. A bar fight. Threatening a suspect. Withholding information. You’re out of control, detective. Internal Affairs is going to have to be called in. You’ll be lucky if you’re just suspended.”
Suspended. Honey’s breath caught in her throat. Cold realization suddenly washed over her. This was all her fault.
Whatever was going on, whatever was happening, it was because of her. The blame was hers.
So was the responsibility.
Fleeing her house the night before, she’d been desperate to find somewhere safe to hide. A place where she wouldn’t be in danger, and—just as important—a place where she wouldn’t put anyone else in danger. The idea that one of her family members might get in trouble because of her, that one of her uncles or cousins might get hurt, was enough to make her feel genuinely ill.
Jack’s place had seemed like the perfect solution. No one would think to look for her there, and even if they did, Jack was a cop, with a badge, a gun, and the ability to handle himself against any threat that came his way.
She hadn’t realized how much her presence would threaten Jack’s way of life. Suspension was bad enough, but if she stuck around, something worse could happen. An Internal Affairs investigation could end with him being fired or—worse—arrested. If anything happened to him…
Honey suddenly felt drained, tired, ready to collapse into a puddle at the slightest opportunity. But that couldn’t happen until she’d left Black Palm Park. There was an arsonist gunning for her. The smart thing to do was get out of town.
It was what she should have done years earlier, but she’d never had the guts.
“Can I borrow a couple of dollars for the bus?” she asked, not caring that she was interrupting the police captain’s tirade.
“The bus?” Jack frowned. “What are you talking about? Where are you going?”
“There are some things I need to do.”
Packing wouldn’t take long. The fire had destroyed most of her things. She could stop at a thrift store on the way out of town and grab a few changes of clothes. All she needed was her backpack and a map of the West Coast. She could finally go to San Francisco. The Bay Area was famous for its ability to swallow strangers whole.
No one would be able to find her there.
“I’ll take you,” he said.
“Like hell,” the police captain snarled. “I need that statement.”
“Honey, you’re coming—”
“You’re kidding, right?” Honey sucked in a breath, forcing a smile onto her face. “I’m not going to the police station. Don’t ask me.”
“Fine.” Jack dug into his pocket. “You can take the Super Bee.”
Honey’s eyes went wide. She was going to object, but he was already pressing the keys into her hand.
They were heavy and solid, the metal cool against her skin even after so much time in Jack’s pocket. Surprise made her fingers numb, clumsy. The keys almost dropped from her hand before she managed to get a real grip on them.
The entire time they’d known each other, Jack had never trusted her with any car in his possession. It made sense. She’d been a car thief. A gasoline junkie with a need for speed.
Back at the Ogden house, she’d thought he would never talk to her again. With her dark secret revealed, he’d kick her out into the cold. But he’d brought her with him to the crime scene instead—even though it meant putting his job in danger.
Now, he was trusting her in a way she never could have imagined. She couldn’t have been more surprised if he’d gotten down on his hands and knees to declare his love in front of Logan Burrows and his boss.
Too bad she couldn’t return the gesture. She was going to take the car and run. It was the only way she could be sure he would stay safe. Look at what she’d done already. In the day and a half they’d spent with each other, Jack had fought with his family and yelled at a witness. He’d lied to his boss. He’d been suspended. Removed from the job he loved.
If she stayed another day—another hour—she’d really ruin his life. Then he’d start to resent her. Whatever trust they’d built together—whatever love—would be ripped apart by bitter anger.
“There’s a coffee shop across the street from the station. You’ll be safe there,” Jack said. “I’ll get you when I’m done making my statement. It shouldn’t take long.”
“Sounds great,” Honey lied.
She pushed herself up onto her tiptoes and kissed his cheek, savoring the affectionate motion and knowing it might be the last chance she had to touch him.
Slipping the keys into her front pocket, she headed for the car. As she wrenched the heavy metal door open, the weight of her situation suddenly came crashing down.
Logan Burrows was leaving her his house in Black Palm Park and the money to take care of it. She’d heard somewhere that the man was a billionaire, and she knew it didn’t take as much as a billion dollars to get people riled up. Men would fight over the last cold beer as easily as they’d war over a multi-million-dollar inheritance. The game was the same. Only the stakes had changed.
If she ran away now, she’d always be running. She’d never be able to settle down and build a home like the one her grandfather had made, or find another man who knew all her secrets and still trusted her with his keys.
But if she wanted to keep Jack safe, running away was her only choice.
Chapter Twelve
After the fire, Logan Burrows did what any smart man would do in his position. He ran and hid like a vampire at sunrise.
Someone with connections might have been able to find him in a day, or maybe a few hours. Honey’s only connections were a friend from down the block who cleaned rooms at the Beverly Hilton and a second cousin who’d been lucky enough to get his hands on a master key at the Sunset Tower. Neither was much help.
It took her an entire week to find out there was a man holed up in the penthouse suite at the Chateau Marmont who wasn’t a rock god or a movie star. That meant an entire week spent sleeping on the cement floor of her garage—stretched out next to the Super Bee with a tire iron in one hand—terrified that the arsonist would surprise her in the night.
An entire week spent missing Jack.
She knocked on the door to the suite. Once, twice.
This was a mistake. Her head was pounding, and Logan wasn’t answering. Her plan had been to cut and run, but she just hadn’t been able to bring herself to leave Los Angeles—the city where she’d been born and raised. Still, if this didn’t work, she’d have to get out of town. That thought hurt more than anything else. Her entire life, she’d only run from one thing, and that had been a mistake. Jack would never forgive her for giving up on him so many years earlier or for lying to him the week before.
The door opened.
“Hello?”
It had only been a week, but Logan Burrows looked smaller than the last time she’d seen him. The events of recent day
s had shrunk him, turning him from a legend of epic proportions into an elderly man with gray hair, wrinkles, and bright eyes that reminded her of her grandfather’s.
“Honey Moore. Do you take your coffee with cream and sugar?”
“Excuse me?” She stepped forward. “My house burned down because of you. Someone chased me across the city. I’ve been living out of a car for a week. Jack— You’re the reason Jack’s suspended, and you want to know how I take my coffee?”
“I thought it might be a place to start.”
“Oh.” Honey shifted backward. Her stomach flopped back and forth.
She’d give anything to hear Jack’s voice, reassuring her that everything was going to be okay. Telling her that no matter what happened with Logan, she was still going to be the same person. That nothing could change that. The events of the past week were a short detour on the road to true happiness.
When Jack was done comforting her, his hand would drift down to rest on her waist, the motion at once possessive and intimate.
“Cream and sugar are for kids,” Honey said. “I take my coffee black. Unless you’re ordering from room service, in which case I’ll take a large double mocha with extra whipped cream.”
“Of course.” Logan stepped backward, giving her room to enter the penthouse. “Why don’t you come in and sit down? Make yourself at home. I’ll call down to room service, and then we can talk. Do you want anything else while I’m at it? Some pasta? Maybe a salad? This is one of the few places in town where they still put anchovies on their Caesar salad. It really has much to recommend it.”
Anchovies. Honey was ready to tear him to pieces, and he was talking about anchovies. Surreal.
On the other hand, she hadn’t had any lunch. “A salad sounds good.”
“I’ll go order that.” Logan disappeared into the mammoth suite.
Honey crossed the threshold and moved gingerly into a large living room with a fabulous view. If the hallway had been opulent, the living room was pure decadence. Dark wood furniture and bottle green velvet. She wanted to bury her toes in the thick Oriental rug. The art on the walls was beautiful stuff, museum-quality originals in gold frames.
