“We’re both professionals.” At her raised brow, he added, “We’ve both been cops at one point in our lives. We know this drill, both of us.”
“Which is precisely why you should know better than to ask me to let you go.”
“Scottie, I—”
She cut him off by turning her back to him and began searching his duffel bag. “There’s more than one way to hurt a person,” she said quietly.
Logan started to shoot off a reply, then stopped himself. Something about those softly spoken words caught at him. He thought back over their conversation. He’d promised no physical violence. He’d also propositioned her with personal pleasure.
The quick conclusion he made bothered him. He also had a strong suspicion his instincts were on target. In his hunt for Lucas he’d discovered he hadn’t lost any of what had made him a good detective. Good detective. He stifled a self-deprecating snort, squashed the sharp dagger of guilt that accompanied it.
Good detectives didn’t get their witnesses killed. They didn’t fall in love with them either.
He stared hard at Scottie. She fascinated the hell out of him. And yes, he desired to know her more intimately. It had been a very, very long time since he’d felt both for the same person. In fact, not since Sarah had he—
He shut down. What in the hell was he doing? Wasn’t it bad enough that he’d somehow drawn the attention of another private government agency? Obviously Lucas was into something a lot deeper than selling daisies at airports. Even with the information he had access to, Logan had come up hard against an impenetrable wall when trying to dig into the Brethren. He knew next to nothing about them. He’d tracked Lucas to their door, so to speak, then poof! Nothing.
Scottie had information he needed, he’d bank on it. She was no lackey sent to guard the intruder. Instead of playing games and looking at her as a hormonal diversion while he waited for the snow to melt, he should be doing whatever was necessary to make her talk. If that meant hurting her or seducing her, so be it. After all, she hadn’t exactly been too concerned about his rights, civil or otherwise.
He continued to watch her. He didn’t want to hurt her. He did want to seduce her. Sarah’s face loomed before him again. Only this time she wasn’t smiling. Her face was frozen in an eternal mask of surprised pain, her eyes open but unseeing.
Logan closed his eyes. Damn. Too many ghosts in his life.
He opened his eyes. Scottie was systematically going through every inch of his bag, stacking up clothes on one side, hardware on the other. No, he didn’t want to hurt her. Which was precisely why he wouldn’t seduce her.
He would get the information out of her, though. One way or the other. To that end, his strategy of annoying her into talking to him had actually been fairly effective.
But even that path was denied him when she said, “It’s been a long day. You have ten minutes in the bathroom, then you can take the bed.”
“It’s barely seven o’clock.”
“Ten minutes,” she replied. She turned her attention to stowing his clothes back in his bag. She kept the hardware.
He started to balk, but recalling the urgency of how he’d spent his morning hours, Logan moved off the couch to the bathroom. When he emerged exactly ten minutes later, she was standing beside the couch.
He opened his mouth, intending to say something, anything, to goad her, but there was an almost hollow look around her eyes, a weary pull at the corners of her mouth. Now was the time to pummel away at her, wear her down, force her to make a mistake. Then he could make his move, though no matter the extent of her exhaustion, he knew it would never be an easy battle. There were a thousand questions to be answered.
Yet he found himself asking none of them. “I’ll take the couch,” he said.
She eyed him warily. Apparently fatigue hadn’t dulled her instincts. “I appreciate the gallant gesture,” she said dryly, “but the bed is yours.” She raised a hand to forestall his response. “I realize the couch might be more comfortable in your present condition, but I can guard you more effectively if you take the bed.”
Logan spent several long seconds debating his own instincts, eventually quashing them before moving to the bedroom doorway. He would get his answers. First thing tomorrow morning.
He paused before going inside, several pointed comments rising to the tip of his tongue. At the last minute, he swallowed them and simply said, “Good night.”
As he settled himself on the bed, feeling her gaze on him every second, he told himself he’d called a truce because he knew it would drive her crazy, making her unable to rest for wondering why he’d given in so easily. He was surprised at the sleepiness that immediately tugged at him the moment his head nestled into the pillow. An image of Scottie, lines of fatigue etching her face, a slight slump to her broad shoulders, her spine overly stiff to compensate for it, swam before his closed eyes. And he knew why he’d really called a truce.
As sleep seduced him under her spell, he released a long sigh. She was watching over him. And for this once, he knew his dreams would be pleasant ones.
When he woke up, the sun was well over the horizon. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept so deeply, much less for so long. In that waking realization, he had immediate and full cognizance of where he was and why … and what condition he was in. It was then he noticed the heavy blanket lying smoothly over him. Chained and shackled, yet he’d slept like the dead. He raised his gaze and spotted Scottie standing beside the couch. She was up and dressed, either in the same clothes she had had on yesterday or ones just like them. Black was definitely her color.
He felt an immediate tug. That it was more an emotional one than a purely physical one, had him climbing awkwardly from the bed without asking permission. Truce time was over.
“You’re up,” she said, as he came into the main room.
Hearing her smoky voice had an odd, unexpected effect on him. She sounded warm, cozy … inviting. It was a voice he decided he could easily wake up to every morning. He looked at her, then simply nodded and headed, chains rattling, to the bathroom. He needed a few more minutes to wake up.
She was at the kitchen counter when he came out. A quick glance around told him where she’d slept. The couch had been shifted slightly to give her visual access to the bedroom.
He pictured her, curled up on the couch, watching him as he slept. It didn’t bother him the way it should have. No, the thought of her falling asleep while watching him didn’t seem to bother him at all.
Then he noticed a blanket balled up in one corner and a pillow that looked as if it had been used for punching practice. Apparently she hadn’t fallen asleep watching him. But a long, sleepless night for her was a good thing for him. Funny, but he had a hard time reconciling himself to that fact.
It was a bit easier when he realized what she was doing. She was cleaning a gun. His gun.
“Scottie?”
“What?” she said, sparing him a brief glance.
“What is that short for anyway?”
She snapped the magazine into his Glock and chambered a bullet. She aimed across the room and sighted down the barrel. “Anunsciata.”
She’d surprised him again by answering. And what an answer. He whistled. “Hell of a moniker, princess.”
She scowled at him. “Scottie. You asked. Use it.”
Oh, I plan to, he said silently. I plan to. “Your family Catholic, huh?”
“My mother was.”
“Your father must have loved her to let her hang that on you. I’m almost afraid to ask what your last name is.”
“The only thing my father loved was the force. It was his life, his mistress, his wife, and his religion.” She laid the gun down and faced him. Her expression was as blank and empty as her tone had been. “You got a permit for this thing?”
“Uncle Sam is sending out field agents to track down unregistered handguns now?” She didn’t so much as blink. He sighed, wishing she weren’t such a compelling puzzle
. She kept giving him pieces but none of them seemed to fit together. He hated puzzles. Until he solved them. She folded her arms, waiting. “Yes,” he said finally, “I have a permit. It’s in my wallet.”
“Which is where?”
He shrugged. “I don’t feel a real warm sense of sharing here.”
She shrugged. “It’s a cruel world, Blackstone.”
“Not even a simple trade?”
“I doubt there is anything in your wallet that will give me information I don’t already have, so your bargaining power is slim to none.”
“Can you tell me why the government is suddenly so interested in a guy hanging out in an old cabin in Montana?”
“Who says I work for the government? I thought I was a cop?”
He lifted his hands, palms up. The chains clanked together. “Listen, why don’t we cut the bull, okay?”
She smiled. “I don’t recall being the one shoveling it.”
“You know a lot about me. You’re not local. I think I have you pegged pretty well. And I also think we both know what the common bond is here, so I’ll stop the wordplay and treat you like the highly trained pro you are, if you’ll give me the same courtesy.”
“A highly trained pro doesn’t relay information without good reason. You haven’t given me one of those.”
“Yet.”
She folded her arms. “What is this common bond? Put that on the table.”
Logan didn’t answer right away. He knew damn well she was there because of Lucas. But until he knew more about why they wanted to keep him “protected,” he wasn’t about to offer his brother’s name up on a platter.
She shifted away from the table. “I guess we’re at a standstill then.”
Logan took a different tack. “Why a week? What happens in a week?”
“I walk out of here, and we never see each other again.”
“Did it occur to you that as a U.S. citizen I have rights that are being seriously abused?”
“So sue me.”
“I just might do that.”
“I should tell you, I’m not in the phone book. But if you can track me down and tell me what courtroom to be in, I’ll be there.”
Impatience reared its fiery head, with frustration fanning the flames. It brought back all the low points of his former career in a vivid recollection. He hadn’t dealt well with those emotions then. He’d done slightly better since Sarah’s death.
Yeah, quitting the force before he was thrown off was a hell of a way to manage stress.
Well, he wasn’t on the force now. He didn’t have to play by the rules.
Logan pulled his shackled feet under him and rose. She had the gun cocked and aimed before he’d fully straightened.
“Take these off of me.” He once again held out his wrists.
“I thought we weren’t playing games anymore.”
“Exactly.” He walked toward her.
She raised the aim from his chest to his forehead. “Stop right where you are.”
He continued to walk toward her. “I’m done. Either take these damn chains off or shoot me.”
“A stupid thing to die over, Blackstone. Stop now and you won’t be harmed.”
There was less than five feet between them. She had braced her legs and held the gun in a two-handed grip. The table was at the back of her thighs. One more step, and she’d have no choice but to give it up or shoot him.
He took another step.
She fired the gun.
FIVE
The bullet whizzed just over the top of Logan’s head and embedded itself in the cabin wall with a loud pop.
“Are you sure you were the range instructor?”
Scottie blinked at him, the gun still held in front of her. The idiot had actually made her shoot at him twice now! That stunned moment of thought cost her.
Without warning, Logan swung his chained fists up and knocked her hands to the side. The gun went flying across the room, landing with a clatter by the bedroom door. Scottie lunged sideways onto the table, trying to avoid his attack and reach for the other gun. Logan came right after her. The table splintered under the force of their joined weight, and they went down in a heap. The broken pieces stabbed at her back and shoulders. Logan landed on his side in a sprawl atop her torso and legs, knocking the wind out of her. His chains and cuffs banged heavily against her, bruising and scraping her skin.
“Get off me!” she managed, gasping and grunting. She tried to twist her ankle around his for leverage, but her foot got tangled in the chains running from his wrists to his ankle.
“I’m getting real tired of this,” Logan said, breathing heavily.
“Then stop buying problems for yourself. All you had to do was sit on the couch and stay out of my way.”
Logan rolled over and glared down at her. “Maybe I didn’t want to sit.”
The chains bit into her skin, his weight cut off most of her air. Her arms were pinned, one beneath her, one between. His hands were held low at his waist by the ankle chain pulled taut between their legs. Unless he moved, she was going nowhere.
“It beats getting shot, doesn’t it?” She blew her hair out of her eyes. “I could have killed you.”
A smile split his face. It was more feral than charming. “Yeah, but you didn’t, did you?” He leaned closer. She bit down on a groan of pain. “I’m growing on you, aren’t I?”
“Like a cancer,” she bit out through clenched teeth.
“Where are the keys?”
She glared at him.
His smile faded. “Considering your current position, I’d say this now qualifies as ‘need to know’ information. I think I’ve made it clear what lengths I’m willing to go to.”
Scottie opened her mouth to shoot a reply, then stopped. He had, in fact, made it clear, but not in the way he thought he had.
“You knew I wouldn’t shoot you,” she said. His stony stare confirmed it. “What kind of ‘lengths’ is that then?”
“Because you don’t know that I won’t shoot you.”
“All the more reason for me not to give up the keys.”
“I don’t think you understand the situation here.”
“Oh, I’m real clear on the situation. You’re the deluded one.” She pushed a bit at his weight, grunting with the effort. “Damn, but you weigh a ton.”
“It’s the chains,” he said pointedly.
No, it wasn’t, she thought, remembering how he’d felt on top of her the previous day in the bedroom. She’d remembered that and many other moments, in excruciating detail, throughout a long, sleepless night. But when he’d settled between her legs that time, she’d—She switched off that mental rerun.
“Then I guess we’re at a standstill,” he said, tossing her words literally back in her face.
“You won’t win this one, Logan.”
“I’ve done pretty damn good so far.”
She tilted her head just enough to run a pointed gaze over his chains, then back at him. “Oh yeah, you’ve done real well.”
“I’m on top, aren’t I?”
“For now.”
“Face it, princess, you’re having a hard time containing me.” He grinned when she glowered at him. “Why don’t we call it a draw now, before it gets embarrassing?”
She forced a saccharine smile, ignoring the sharp jabs of pain poking into her at every angle. “For who?”
He heaved an exaggerated sigh and settled his weight more heavily against her, cutting off all but a tiny fraction of what air she had left. “Well, I’m comfortable right here.” He swung his head close, until his breath mingled with hers. “How ’bout you?”
Scottie swiftly reviewed her options. There weren’t many, but it was difficult all the same. She tried to convince herself it was lack of oxygen to the brain, but the fact that she diverted her gaze from his told her otherwise. The man didn’t fill space, he consumed it.
She pulled in what little air she could, adopted her best wounded pride expression, and
lifted her gaze back to his. “Uncle.” Her voice was a hoarse whisper. Nice touch, she thought.
“As in The Man From?”
Her palms itched to smack the smug smile from his face, but she maintained her strategically planned demeanor. “As in you win.” Her scowl wasn’t altogether feigned. “Bullies always do, right?”
His gaze narrowed. He studied her closely with obvious distrust. He was good. She was better. “No tricks,” she lied. “I know a lost cause when I see one.” She looked pointedly at him. “I gave it my best shot.” She tried a shrug.
His wary expression remained. She waited, wondering if she’d overplayed it.
“What are you proposing?” he finally asked.
She tried to keep the victorious gleam from her eyes. “I’ll unlock the damn chains.”
“Just like that?”
“I wouldn’t say having”—she struggled fruitlessly against him again, adding a pained gasp—“the life squeezed out of me by two tons of chained male is ‘just like that.’ I simply decided that you’re right.”
He raised his eyebrows.
She grunted and pushed at him again with her knees. “And like you said, chained or not, with all this snow, you can’t go anywhere. You’re still where I need you to be.”
“All true.”
“So I’m not exactly losing. I consider it a compromise.”
“If it makes you feel better, sure. It’s a compromise.”
“So, let me up and I’ll get the keys.”
Understanding dawned immediately on his face. He flashed a grin that was downright wicked. Her pulse rate responded accordingly.
“Ah, princess, you overestimate yourself. And you underestimate me.”
“Believe what you want,” she said blithely, hiding her concern. What in the devil could he have planned? “But if you want those chains off, you’re going to have to let me go.”
“Not necessarily.”
Now it was her turn to be wary. Just who had laid the trap for whom? “What does that mean?”
“Well, as I see it, we have two options.”
“Two?”
“Yep. One, we can crawl to wherever you stashed those keys together.”
Dark Knight: A Loveswept Romance Classic Page 6
