Dark Knight: A Loveswept Romance Classic

by Donna Kauffman

  All the confusing questions and concerns that had plagued her two nights before rose again like a haunting specter. That’s what this was about, she decided, grasping desperately at the explanation. It was all that moody, uncharacteristic introspection before Del’s call that was making her react to him this way.

  She didn’t have to face it.

  It had nothing to do with strength or cowardice, and she didn’t give a damn what he thought. Liar, her mind whispered. Scottie ignored it, scrambled backward, and pushed to a stand, brushing off her pants. Logan didn’t move. Logan was now in the supplicant position.

  Funny, but she didn’t feel even remotely that she controlled him, much less dominated him. Even chained, he hadn’t let her do that.

  He shifted up onto his knees and looked up at her. “Don’t run, Scottie.”

  She stood there, frozen in indecision. It was a unique and terrifying sensation she’d like never to repeat. Her instincts told her to run. If she couldn’t trust them, what could she trust?

  “Will you answer one question?”

  She simply stared at him.

  He waited a beat, then said, “I’ll take that as a yes.” His humor didn’t shake her from her almost trancelike state. She felt as if she were at a crossroads of some kind, and it was critical to the rest of her life to choose the right path. Wrong decisions couldn’t be taken back.

  “What are you really afraid of, Scottie?”

  She looked at him, really looked at him, and spoke the words that had immediately come to mind. Words not born of instinct, but from her heart. “I’m afraid I’ll make the wrong choice.”

  The moment she spoke she wished she hadn’t. Hearts couldn’t be trusted. That was the first thing she’d learned in life, the initial lesson taught by her father. Jim had been her graduate course in the subject.

  “And what are you afraid is going to happen to you if you do?”

  “I’ll lose control.” Again, the words were out before she could stop them, as if a strange compulsion had overtaken her, one she couldn’t deny.

  Logan reached out his hands. He’d rolled up the sleeves of his shirt so they wouldn’t rub the abrasions and cuts around his wrists. Scottie fixated on those newly forming scars. Causing them was what had led her to this discussion, brought her to the actual crossroads. He was the compulsion. He was the one giving a voice to her heart.

  And she knew why. He was the first person to understand she had one. She’d never been more terrified in her entire life.

  “I don’t want to do this,” she said.

  “Oh, I think you’re dying to do this.” He continued before she could protest. “I think you’ve hit the point where you can’t not do this.”

  “What makes you the expert on what I need to do or not do?”

  “Experience,” he said simply. But they both knew it was so very complicated. “I’ve been right where you are. Different decisions, different reasons for making them, but the same fear motivating them. Loss of control. In other words, trust.”

  She didn’t know how to respond. His assessment wasn’t just uncomfortably close to home, it was a direct hit. It made her want to run fast and hide deep. That was the easy part. She’d done that many times. There was comfort in that routine. Safety.

  At least that was what she’d always thought before.

  He also made her want to open up, to spill all the anger and confusion and pain she’d kept locked up inside, release herself from the bonds of anguish she’d thought she’d been successful at dominating, when in fact those bonds had dominated every aspect of her life all along. He’d understand. She could tell him.

  There she could find the possibility of real comfort. Of true peace. Safely delivered once and for all from the demons of her past.

  “How long have you been in your present job?”

  The question took her by surprise, jerking her from her thoughts. She answered without thinking. “Ten years.”

  He made a quick visual assessment. “Then you must have gone right from the force, or soon thereafter.”

  “What does that have to do with anything?”

  “Why did you leave the force, Scottie?”

  And like the snap of two fingers, the haze of confusion abruptly cleared. Righteous anger took its place. So much easier this way, her mind taunted. Shut up.

  She glared at him. “You’re good, Blackstone. Damn good.”

  Now it was his turn to look confused. His hands dropped back to his sides as he stood. “What in the hell are you talking about?”

  She folded her arms. “Where did you learn that interrogation technique, certainly not with the Detroit PD?”

  Now his face clouded with anger. He planted his hands on his hips. “Is there anything you don’t know about me? Why is my past so damn important to you? What does it have to do with Lucas?”

  Scottie dipped her chin and bit her bottom lip. She hated the sense of betrayal she felt. It was another emotion he shouldn’t have been able to rouse in her. It was her own damn fault, trusting her heart. She knew better, dammit. She knew better.

  Logan closed the distance between them and gripped her shoulders. “Answer me!”

  Acting purely on reflex, Scottie whipped the Glock from her waistband and pressed the barrel under his chin. When rational thought kicked in, she decided to leave it there.

  “Isn’t that what you wanted anyway? Answers?” She nudged the barrel, forcing his chin up. “Wasn’t that the point of that whole ‘let’s help Scottie with her fears’ psychobabble exercise?”

  “I’m not the one babbling here,” he said with annoying equanimity.

  With a sigh of disgust, she jerked the gun away and holstered it again in the back of her waistband. “Men. Can’t talk to ’em, can’t shoot ’em.” She started to stalk off, but he grabbed her arm, swinging her back to him. Caught off balance, she moved heavily against him. She pressed her hands against his chest, only to be caught in a tight embrace.

  “I don’t know what set you off running again, but I wasn’t pulling some elaborate scam on you to get information.”

  She tried to push away but his arms only banded tighter around her. She refused to admit, even to herself—especially to herself—that being held in his arms, even in a restrictive manner, was better than she’d imagined. She pushed harder.

  He didn’t budge an inch. “Look at me.”

  Scottie mutinously stared at his chest.

  “What, you can’t even meet that challenge?”

  Her gaze flew to his. “Don’t even start!”

  He smiled. “Worked, didn’t it?”

  “Go to hell.”

  “I think I’m the one being conned here.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You go to some pretty amazing extremes to convince yourself you’re right to run.”

  She pointedly turned her head away, refusing to look at him. “I’m not going there again.”

  He shifted her against him and freed a hand. Still holding her snug to his side, he cupped the back of her neck. “You’ll tell me about Lucas.” His voice was quiet, but there was steely determination in his eyes. “But not until we finish the conversation we started here a minute ago.”

  SEVEN

  Logan had finally lost his mind. It was the only rational explanation for what he was doing. Of course, if he was insane, it would be impossible for him to know what was rational and what wasn’t.

  Scottie had his mind running in so many directions, he hardly knew which lead to follow anymore.

  “You want to talk about Lucas,” she said stubbornly. “Then let’s sit down and talk.”

  Logan switched tactics. “What’s your hurry all of a sudden? You’re the one who said we can’t go anywhere? We have plenty of time for both.”

  “Well, you’ll have to excuse me then, I’m not in the mood for a psychotherapy session right now. Perhaps later.”

  He wanted to smile, but knew it would be a big mistake. This whole t
hing was a big mistake. He did want to know about Lucas. Problem was, he was just as tantalized by finding out about Scottie. She’d drugged him, chained him, shot at him, tied him naked to a bed, refused to tell him why, then kissed him as if she’d never known what a kiss was before his. She fascinated him, monopolized his thoughts, skewed his perspective, and made him want her. Badly. He’d never been so intrigued and captivated by one woman. There was a twinge near his heart. Not even by Sarah.

  As part of his mind insisted he drop it and focus on finding out about Lucas, another part had him saying, “You and I both know damn well there won’t be a later.”

  She leveled a deadly look at him. “Oh well. Deal with it.”

  Didn’t she know that the more she resisted, the more determined he became? And then it hit him, why he was being so doggedly persistent, why he couldn’t shake this fascination he had with her. It went far beyond matching wits and mind-blowing kisses. In her, he sensed a kindred soul.

  Hadn’t he just told her he understood her need to run because of the years he’d spent running? His wanting to make her open up and face things wasn’t an entirely altruistic gesture. Had something inside him sensed that if he could prod her down that path, he could follow? Join her? Finally face his own demons? Then neither of them would have to do it alone.

  Alone. The word rang in his head like a death knell.

  Isn’t that what he’d really been running from in his tenacious search for his brother? His single-minded pursuit had been fueled by far more than a deathbed confession. It had been fueled by fear. Fear of being finally and eternally alone.

  Logan felt himself getting pulled deeper and deeper into the dark morass of his own troubled mind. The urge was strong to turn away, to shelve it … to run.

  He looked down at Scottie’s stubborn countenance. Oh yes, they were kindred souls all right.

  She didn’t want to face her demons, neither did he. Who was he to push her?

  He dropped his arms and stepped away. “Fine, okay.” He walked over and sat down on the small, beat-up couch. The springs gave easily, even the throw cover tossed over it was worn and faded. He gestured to their surroundings. “Wonderful ambience, don’t you think? Why is it that hunters feel they have to live like Spartans? Does it make them feel more predatory or something? Me, I prefer all the amenities when I travel, otherwise, what’s the point?” He looked back to Scottie, careful to keep his expression open and sincere. “What do you think?”

  She still stood by the ruins of the decimated table, facing half away from him, exactly as he’d left her. He settled back into the couch.

  To her credit she didn’t look at him as if he were a complete lunatic. She looked at him as if she were completely aware of what he was doing.

  “Why the sudden change of heart?” she asked.

  “For someone who is so doggedly determined not to talk about herself, why are you looking a gift horse in the month?”

  She cocked one brow. “Oh, is that the part of the horse I’m looking at?”

  He laughed. “Sharp. Very sharp.” He clapped his hands together. “So, you want to talk shop first or get something to eat?”

  She eyed him warily. “I told you. I don’t cook.”

  “I think I figured that out.” He stood.

  She watched him walk past her to the tiny kitchen. He felt her studying him, trying to figure out what he was pulling now. He could almost hear the wheels turning in her mind as she sorted, analyzed, filed, and planned. She was as relieved as he was to let the conversation change course, but she didn’t like it that he had been the one to steer it in that direction. It made her suspicious, distrusting.

  He smiled to himself. He understood her too well. As well as he understood himself.

  “You want eggs, bacon, and toast?” He lifted one from the array of boxes she’d lined up on the counter. “Or another one of these yummy power bars?” He turned the box over and pretended to read the ingredients. “Just what I thought. Compressed sawdust and tree bark, mixed with healthy, wholesome chemical additives. Mmmm.”

  He looked up just in time to catch her stifling a smile of her own. A little buzz lit over his skin. He discovered he really liked making her smile.

  He nodded toward the cache of boxes. “What, you own stock in the company or something? Don’t you get tired of the same old thing?”

  She stepped closer and took the box from his hand. “They’re easy, efficient.”

  “Just the way you like things to be.”

  She didn’t rise to the bait. He discovered he enjoyed that too. No easy scores with Scottie.

  She moved past him and stored the box back on the counter. “I happen to like them.”

  “So, no eggs for you?”

  She turned and shot him a fast grin that would have blown his socks off, had he been wearing any. “If someone else is cooking, that seems pretty easy and efficient to me.” She grabbed her gear bag and headed toward the only bathroom. “I take mine scrambled. With a little cheese, if you have it. Butter on the toast, no jelly. Two pieces.”

  Logan grinned broadly at her back, but soberly asked, “What, no bacon?”

  She paused at the door, eyebrows raised in mock horror. “And ingest all those nasty chemical preservatives?” She went in and closed the door. A moment later, he heard, “Three pieces. Crispy, not burned.”

  He shook his head, chuckling. To himself, he said, “You are a piece of work, Scottie whatever-your-last-name-is.” That, he decided right then and there, would be the first thing he’d find out. “Are you always so bossy?” he said so she could hear him.

  Over running water, he heard, “That’s why they pay me the big bucks.”

  “And who would ‘they’ be?”

  “You never quit, do you, Blackstone?”

  “That’s why they don’t pay me the big bucks.”

  He heard her chuckle.

  He discovered he liked making her laugh too. It spurred his mind down the path of all the other things he might enjoy making her do. Grinning, he started breakfast, lighting the propane cookstove he’d brought with him. The cabin had electricity which ran from a generator, but he’d learned the hard way that it wasn’t always reliable. He didn’t push his luck past relying on it to keep the refrigerator cold and his brief showers hot. He had the bacon on and the bread on the rack toasting when he realized he was humming. Actually humming.

  He paused in his work. Logan Blackstone was not a hummer.

  He thought about it for a moment, cast a glance at the closed bathroom door, found himself spontaneously grinning at the thought of going the next round with the woman who was presently behind it, then turned back to his work … and his humming.

  The tune his subconscious had picked out amused him. “Anticipation.”

  Scottie sat on the closed lid of the toilet. She could hear Logan moving around the cabin, her stomach was responding noisily to the delectable scents that curled under the closed door. If the food tasted a fraction as good as it smelled, she’d have to find a way to insure he cooked all their meals.

  Well, isn’t this cozy, she thought, with a self-deprecating smile. Not fifteen minutes earlier she’d had the barrel of a gun jammed beneath the guy’s chin and now, there she was, happily fantasizing about his cooking skills. Before she knew it, he’d have her wanting to make curtains from old bedspreads and put dried flowers on the table.

  Except they’d broken the table. Right before he’d kissed her. Right before she’d kissed him back.

  She dropped her forehead into the palm of her hand. “God, what a mess I’ve made of this.” Del would be checking in by noon. He would know something was up. She had to have the situation under control before she gave her report, or there was no telling what the repercussions would be.

  She gave a humorless laugh even as her stomach growled again. Repercussions to what? Her career? Now that Del had revealed his continued involvement with the team, she had no idea exactly what her role was anymore. Would she
still run the team? Would he expect her to return to the field? Did that idea bother her?

  “What the hell difference will it make if it bothers me or not,” she grumbled. “After this debacle, I may not have to worry about making that choice.”

  A sudden rapping on the door had her leaping off the seat, hand immediately on her weapon.

  “Who you talking to in there? If it’s just yourself, then come out and talk to me. Sounds like I’m in a better mood.”

  Heart pounding, she silently growled at the door as she relaxed and let her hand drop back to her side.

  “Back off, Blackstone.”

  “Boy, good thing I made coffee.”

  “I hate coffee.” She didn’t, but she felt like fighting. She wanted to be mad at him, but she wasn’t. She wanted to think of him as a citizen under her protection, even a subject under interrogation, or better yet a criminal in her detention. None of those scenarios would stick. What she kept coming back to was the unavoidable natural instinct to think of him as a partner, a teammate. She could not allow that to happen. She was an avowed loner, both professionally and personally.

  “If my scintillating personality doesn’t tempt you, perhaps breakfast will. It’s ready when you are.”

  That was the crux of the whole problem. She would never be ready where Logan Blackstone was concerned.

  She wished she’d worked more closely with Lucas. Perhaps it would have given her a better insight into Logan. She and Lucas had occasionally been on the same assignment, but rarely in the same capacity. Her specialty was mission control, his was infiltration, usually undercover. Not that identical twins were identical in thought as well as appearance, but right now she’d appreciate any help in dealing with Logan.

  She opened the door and walked past him without looking at him. Avoidance was impossible in such a small cabin, but she needed any barrier she could erect. She carried her bag back and, for lack of a better place, stored it on top of the fridge.

  There was no food on the counter. She turned as she said, “Where are we going to …?” Her question died as she spied the faded throw from the couch. Logan had spread it on the floor between the couch and the woodstove. Their breakfast was laid out on a mismatched set of old plastic plates, framed by ancient flatware, slightly crinkled paper napkins, and recycled jelly jars posing as juice glasses. “Quite the spread,” she managed, her throat strangely tight.