Don't Breathe a Word: Includes a bonus novella (Texas Justice Book 2)

by Christie Craig

  “We need to have a long talk about your underlying Cupid complex,” Rachel warned her meddling friend.

  “Will do, but in order for that conversation to happen, you need to do whatever Logan says.” At her prolonged pause, Charlie added, “I’m dead bloody serious, Rach.”

  “I’ll listen—as long as it has nothing to do with leaving Vegas without Carly.”

  As she said the words, she locked gazes with Logan, making sure he understood that she meant every word.

  He leaned against Earl and Edith’s desk, folding his arms across his chest. He didn’t look happy, his jaw flexing wildly as if he was clenching his teeth. But he didn’t argue.

  On the other end of the phone line, Charlie sighed. “I already broke that news to Logan because I knew that was going to be your response. It’s the Kline stubborn gene rearing its head. He was deluding himself into thinking he could talk some sense into you.”

  “And the reason he’s glaring at me as if he’s swallowed a cup of rusty nails is because you cleared him of that notion?”

  “Only regular rusty nails? That’s actually an improvement. Every curse that came out of his mouth earlier sounded like those nails were doused in gasoline and set on fire.” Charlie’s husky laugh brought a grin to Rachel’s face. “He doesn’t like the idea of you sticking around, and he’s going to gripe about it in true Alpha-male fashion, but he gets it.”

  “Could’ve fooled me.”

  As if hearing both sides of their conversation, Logan lifted a single questioning eyebrow. Rachel looked away and tried to collect her thoughts—something that didn’t happen easily when she stared at him too long.

  “I don’t have my cell,” Rachel informed Charlie. “I must have dropped it during the commotion at the raid. What if Carly tries to contact me? How are we going to find her?”

  “That’s why you and Logan are about to go phone shopping. We’ll link the new phone to your old number, and when she contacts you, I’ll ping her location. You just have to keep her on the line long enough for me to lock on to a decent radius.”

  That sounded too easy—and hopeful. Rachel’s stomach twisted into a knot as she worried about the worst-case scenario. “And what if she can’t call? When she left that last message, she was really scared about something.”

  “We’re going to remain hopeful, okay?” Charlie gentled her voice. “But in the meantime, I’ll be working the brothel angle.”

  Rachel snorted, pinching the bridge of her nose as her head throbbed. “Good luck getting any of them to talk. They’re not exactly a forthcoming bunch.”

  “That’s why I’m letting surveillance talk for me. I’m putting traces on your little jailbird friends, backtracking their movement prior to the raid, and following the ones that are slowly being released. As soon as I get a hit, I’ll give you and Logan a heads-up.”

  “Stella,” Rachel blurted the name of the bleach blonde who’d gotten in her face.

  Computer keys clacked on the other line. “Stella.”

  “I don’t know her last name, or even if that’s her real first name, but it’s what the others called her. She didn’t hide the fact that she didn’t like me asking questions, or that I didn’t belong. If she knew I wasn’t supposed to be there…”

  “Maybe she’d have recognized Carly too. I’ll make that a starting point.”

  Guilty desperation clawed away at Rachel’s insides. “Charlie, I know Stone doesn’t approve of some of your fact-finding methods, but—”

  Charlie chuckled. Rachel pictured the other woman’s face lighting up with a mischievous smirk. “Don’t you worry about the big growly boss man. Penny’s keeping Stone preoccupied by practicing her mother-smothering skills. I don’t even think she’s allowed him to push a button on the telly remote, much less settle in front of a computer. But that’s what he gets for acting like a big baby because of a little flesh wound.”

  Rachel shook her head, amused at the level of teasing among the operatives. During their latest mission, in Miami, Alpha’s leader had gotten a little more than a flesh wound. A few surgeries on his shoulder and a torturous round of physical therapy and he was still a bear to be around.

  “Do me a favor,” Charlie added. “Be careful out there, and I know Logan can be a narcissistic pain in the ass, but he knows what he’s doing. Listen to him. And make sure you check in with me when you get to a safe location. Hopefully I’ll have some more information for you.”

  Rachel listened to the dial tone for a few seconds before returning the phone to its cradle and facing Logan. His intense stare nearly backed her up a step, but she stopped herself. There was no better time to jump out of her comfort zone than that moment.

  Masking the slight tremble of her hands, Rachel propped her palms on her hips. “You’re not going to try talking me into going back to Pennsylvania?”

  “Would it do me any good, or would I be wasting my breath?” Logan asked pointedly.

  “I think we both know the answer to that question.”

  He released a noncommittal grunt. “Yeah, we do.”

  “So…cell phones? Are we really going to be able to get anything this late at night? It’s nearing midnight.”

  “This is Vegas.” Logan rubbed his palm over his face, looking tired. “There’s a twenty-four-hour shop a few blocks down. Once we have a communication channel set with Charlie, we’ll find someplace to lie low until she gets us the information we need to track down Carly.”

  Rachel narrowed her eyes on him in a fixed stare. “Lying low sounds an awful lot like waiting and doing nothing.”

  “How has not waiting worked out for you so far, darlin’?” Logan pushed off the desk and closed the distance between them. He stopped when the front of his shirt brushed against her dress, making the postage-stamp-size office feel ten times smaller. Cupping her chin between his fingers, he directed her gaze to his. “We’re going to find Carly. I promise you that much. But I’m not dragging you around this city with a target on your back and no damned idea where we’re headed.”

  “So what do we do between lying low and planning our next move?” Rachel regretted the question the instant Logan’s gray eyes darkened.

  “We’re going to figure out who the fuck you pissed off enough that they sent a goddamned sniper to wait you out at the police station. And then we’re having a talk—a nice long, answer-revealing conversation about everything that’s been going on in that pretty little head of yours for the last twenty-four hours. And you best believe I’m not taking nothing for an answer.”

  Registering his determined expression, Rachel swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat. “Maybe I’m not ready to talk, Logan,” she whispered.

  “Didn’t ask if you were, sweetheart. Just warning you that it’s going to happen, so you best get ready.”

  The office door flew open, crashing against the wall. Logan blocked Rachel from the new arrival, spinning toward the threat, his gun raised.

  “Oh my.” Edith’s mouth dropped open. Her face paled as she glanced nervously from the handgun to their faces, only regaining a bit of color when Logan tucked his weapon back into the holster beneath his shirt. “I wanted to let you know that we have some not-very-hospitable company out front, and they’re not looking for a wedding package either.”

  Chapter Three

  A low shout from the front room drew their attention. Edith’s eyes shifted nervously down the hall. Logan, holding a finger to his lips, slunk out of the office and edged his way to the golden curtains.

  In the middle of the foyer, a large-shouldered thug pinned Earl’s throat against the wall with a beefy forearm, making the older man’s face turn multiple shades of purple. Off to the side, a second goon pointed a Colt at his head.

  Too many people. Too many ways this entire situation could go FUBAR—fucked up beyond all recognition.

  Logan glanced over his shoulder to a worried Edith and Rachel. “Lock yourselves in the office and don’t come out until you hear me o
n the other side of it.”

  Rachel wrapped a protective arm around the older woman, but looked hesitant to leave. “What are you going to do?”

  “Take out the garbage. Go.” Logan waited until Rachel’s concerned eyes disappeared behind the office door, and then he easily slipped into Alpha mode. Forcing his face blank, he cracked his neck and pushed through the curtain. “Hey, Uncle E. You didn’t tell me what you wanted me to do with those ukuleles.”

  Thug Two whipped his Colt at Logan.

  He lifted his hands in mock surrender and skidded to a stop. “Hey. Whoa. What’s…?”

  Maintaining his grip on Earl’s throat, the slenderer of the two men growled, “Who the fuck are you?”

  “I-I-I’m the nephew.” Logan amped up the airhead routine, bouncing his eyes around the room before settling them on Earl. “Shit, Unc. You said you paid those gambling debts. Aunt Pris is going to shit kittens when she finds out you freakin’ lied to her, man.”

  “How long have you been here?” Thug One demanded.

  “A hell of a lot longer than I’d like. I was supposed to go out with a smokin’-hot card clerk from over at the Luxor, but I got roped into doing inventory—and by roped, I mean guilted into doing it.”

  “You see a couple come strolling through here?”

  “Through here?” Logan snorted, slowing lowering his hands. “Nah. This place hasn’t seen any action in over a month—which is why Uncle E needs to chill on the spending spree. Look, I don’t know how much he owes this time, but we’ll make a payment by the end of the week. Let him go. Christ, you’re going to give him a heart attack or something, and we definitely don’t have enough money to pay off you guys and medical bills.”

  The Colt’s owner bored his calculating glare into Logan.

  Logan glimpsed an image of his past self deep in the recesses of the guy’s gaze, one from eight years ago who’d earned the title Crack Shot: The Man Who Doesn’t Miss.

  That Logan had closed himself to everything except his orders, wind direction, resistance, and speed. He’d executed the job flawlessly, no questions asked or second-guesses allowed. Forget a conscience. That shit got turned off on an assignment because survival meant forgetting that your job description was killer.

  There wasn’t a doubt in Logan’s mind. The man aiming a gun at his head was the bastard sniper who’d taken those shots at Rachel outside the police station.

  White-hot fury burned its way through Logan’s veins. At his sides his fists clenched until his knuckles popped. It took everything in him not to whip out and disarm the asshole, and then beat him senseless.

  The guy had nearly taken Rachel out of his life when she’d just walked into it—even if it had only been for twelve hours. As soon as the shit-storm hovering over their heads—and Carly’s—dissipated, Logan would be remedying her lack of presence.

  Rachel just didn’t know it yet.

  Logan ripped his gaze away from the sniper before he registered Logan as a kindred spirit, and played it cool. He fidgeted on purpose, shifting his weight from leg to leg. “Seriously, man. We’ll get a payment to you by the end of the week. Hell, we’ll come up with something in two days. I swear.”

  The thug working up Earl released his hold with a curse. The older man clutched his throat, gasping as he doubled over.

  Thug One barked an order to his friend, “Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

  “I think we should make sure they don’t know anything.” Logan’s admirer studied him carefully.

  “You don’t get paid to fucking think. Every second we stay here with our thumbs up our asses, they’re getting further away.”

  Logan held his breath as the two men stalked toward the exit as if they hadn’t nearly strangled a man for information. At the door, the sniper threw back an unnerving glare and followed his buddy back onto the street.

  Logan quickly reached Earl, who was finally returning to a normal color. “Are you okay?”

  “What—?” Earl gasped.

  “Don’t try to talk. Your throat’s going to be sore for a while. I’m sorry about all of this. I really am.” Logan guided him into the back of the chapel, where he knocked on the office door. “Rachel. It’s me.”

  The door flung open. Rachel’s pale complexion rivaled Earl’s still-tomato-red one. “Is everything okay? What happened?”

  “They’re gone for now. Pretty sure I just met friends of your friends.” Logan released Earl as Edith rushed to her husband, helping ease him into a chair. Regret gnawed at his insides. “I’m sorry for not putting an immediate stop to that, but if I had, there’d be no telling what those guys would’ve done to you two once Rachel and I left. They needed to think they’d sniffed the wrong trail.”

  Earl cleared his throat, wincing. “Don’t worry about me, son. I’ve taken on bigger bullies in my heyday.”

  “I’m so sorry for bringing this to your doorstep. They have my friend and I can’t…” Rachel’s voice trembled as she apologized to the older couple.

  “Oh, honey. Don’t apologize,” Edith gushed. “Earl’s right. We’ve handled a lot worse. I’m just worried about you two. Those guys obviously meant business.”

  Logan cradled the back of Rachel’s head and drew her against his chest. Her body trembled against his, and unlike the last time he’d held her this close, it wasn’t from desire. What had started as a desperate need to protect her eighteen months ago had morphed into something else without his even knowing.

  He still wanted to protect Rachel more than he wanted to take his next breath.

  He also wanted her—and she wouldn’t make it easy.

  Hell, both their pasts wouldn’t make a relationship between them a walk in the park, but the more time he spent with her, the more he realized it was worth the risk.

  “So do we.” Logan gently tilted Rachel’s face up to his. Tears welled in her eyes, nearly gutting him, but nothing had fallen. She’d latched on to that internal strength of which he’d grown proud. “You hear me, darlin’? We’re not giving up. I promised you that we’d get Carly out of this and I meant every damn word. You believe me?”

  She nodded, easing from his embrace. Logan wanted to haul her back, but to make good on his promise, they needed to keep moving.

  He turned to the older couple. “Do you guys have a rear exit to this place?”

  “Of course.” Edith led them through a back storeroom, where Logan swapped out his pineapple shirt for a black one on which the Thug Squad hadn’t laid eyes, and to a fire exit. “It lets you out in the alley. Go left and you hit the street parallel to the Boulevard. There’s an electronics store about a block down. They’re not the friendliest of sorts, and I’m pretty sure they do some shady deals in the back room, but they’ll do in a pinch.”

  Rachel wrapped the older woman in a firm hug before doing the same to Earl. “I don’t know to thank you both.”

  Edith patted her back, smiling. “Thank us by coming back when you’re ready and letting us give the two of you the wedding of your dreams—on the house.”

  Rachel’s cheeks reddened. “Oh, no. We’re not—”

  Edith flashed a wink. “Honey, take it from a woman who tried running away from a man with a mission. All you’re doing by denying the inevitable is wasting time that can be put to better—and a lot more fun—use.”

  Logan kept his grin to its minimum. He slipped into the alley, making sure it was all clear before easing back into the chapel. “We got to make tracks. The more distance we put between us and here, the better off everyone will be.”

  With one last round of thank-yous, Logan’s hand found Rachel’s—the ease with which they linked only fueled his determination for them to have that talk later—and they stepped back out into the dry Vegas heat.

  Compared to the tourist hustle of Las Vegas Boulevard, the street running parallel could’ve served as the filming location for a postapocalyptic movie. A small group of barely legal-looking kids braved the mostly deserted sidewalks, lost and
out of place as they hovered over their cell phones, Googling their position. Locals, perched outside rundown pawn shops and cash-quick storefronts, eyed them warily as they walked the street.

  Sparky’s Electronics sat a block and a half from the chapel’s rear exit, nestled between two gentlemen’s clubs. The main entrance chimed as they entered, causing the two older men standing at the counter to look their way.

  “We’re closed.” Crag faced and glowering, the clerk behind the counter jiggled the toothpick dangling from his mouth.

  “Really?” Logan kept his voice light. “The window brags that you’re open round the clock.”

  “Needs updating.”

  “I see. Here’s a little something to stay open a few extra minutes.” Logan tossed a couple hundred-dollar bills in front of him. “We want a pair of those phones you have in the case, and we’ll do the rest.”

  The clerk grumbled, but grabbed the money and dug out two boxes, then dropped them in front of Logan. “I’m keeping the change as an inconvenience fee.”

  “Suit yourself.” Logan yanked the phones out of their boxes. He booted them up and went directly to the carrier’s server screen and activated them. Once finished, he stuffed one into his cargo shorts and handed the second to Rachel. “We’ll set these up further when we get to where we’re going. I want this on you at all times, and make sure you put it somewhere it’s always within easy reach.”

  “And where exactly would that happen to be?” Rachel challenged.

  Logan couldn’t tell if she’d meant it to sound like a dare, but that’s how he took it. Having temporarily forgotten about their wardrobe change, he scooted his attention down her legs and up to where the dress cupped her breasts, revealing a tantalizing amount of cleavage.

  “Seems like you’ve got a perfect spot.” Logan expected a smack, or at least a muttered curse. Instead she sent her pretty green eyes on a dramatic roll and stuffed the phone into one cup of her bra—her pink, lacy, and somewhat sheer bra.