Logan stood at the edge of the blanket. “Yeah, well, one works with what one has.”
It should have been nothing more than a warm meal on a makeshift table, a halfhearted picnic at best. But somehow Logan had managed to make it look charming and sweet. Thoughtful and … romantic.
Scottie’s gaze was drawn past the blanket, to the broken table, and the handcuffs and leg irons and chain that lay just beyond. She felt heat color her cheeks. There was nothing the least bit romantic about this, and she was more the fool for allowing even a moment’s fancy to color the scene otherwise.
“Thank you,” she said, her tone brief but sincere. She crossed quickly to the blanket, wanting to eat her food and get back on track with the business at hand. It was a simple matter to discern which plate was hers. He liked his eggs over easy.
A flash of the scene from the day before crossed her mind. Had it only been little more than twenty-four hours since she’d first encountered Logan’s naked, slumbering form, all twisted and tangled in those sheets? She heard his good-natured request for breakfast that morning echo again in her mind, coming after she’d drugged and restrained him to the bed. She let out a soft laugh of disbelief as she settled cross-legged in front of her plate. This was most definitely the last thing she had expected to be doing.
“What? You don’t want the Tweety Bird glass?”
She glanced up at him. “I see you kept Taz for yourself.”
“Typecasting?”
A raised eyebrow was her reply. His responding chuckle warmed her from the inside out. She grabbed the glass of orange juice and downed it as if that would extinguish the warm glow. So much for avoidance.
Small talk, she decided. They needed small talk to help establish some sort of base from which she could build a working relationship with this man. She searched for something inane to discuss, something to break the tug of tension that crept up between them at the oddest moments. Like discussing cartoon character jelly jars? She couldn’t get much more inane than that.
“You’re obviously not a hunter,” she said, pushing ahead until a better plan presented itself.
“And you came to this conclusion how?” He’d settled himself catty-corner to her on the blanket. He seemed to take up way more room than she and the food did.
She struggled not to shift away. He’d notice.
“Amenities,” she said, as if that explained everything. She realized she was staring when a slow smile spread across his face. She returned her attention to her plate. Small talk. “You like them, I mean. The conveniences. You don’t like roughing it.”
“And how did you come to that conclusion, Detective?”
She swallowed a bite of bacon before answering. She stifled a little moan of pleasure. “This is really good.”
“Thank you. Now, you were commenting on my materialistic needs?”
“You said you didn’t understand why hunters needed such Spartan living conditions. And you must be used to setting a better table than this, judging by your response to my compliment. So the obvious conclusion is you’re no hunter.” She scooped up another bite of eggs. How did he make them so fluffy on that little cookstove?
“Didn’t they teach you not to jump to conclusions, Scottie?”
The way he said her name had her lifting her gaze to meet his, just as she pulled the fork from her mouth.
“Not all hunters are satisfied with only providing themselves with the mere basics,” he said, his tone once again silky soft. “There are all sorts of prey to be had. Real predators don’t stop until they get it all.”
She paused in her chewing, her jaw locked, then worked to swallow the bit of eggs down her suddenly tight throat. He continued to look at her. He watched her chew, watched her swallow, then raised his intent look back to her eyes. The message seemed clear. He was marking his next prey.
Before she could make a decision on how to react, he shifted his attention back to his plate. When he glanced up again and caught her still staring, his easy smile had lost its predatory intensity.
She had really lost her edge, she decided. She was seeing things that weren’t there. Seeing what she wanted to see? There was no denying the hot thrill that had stolen over her during their brief, but intense exchange. Her body certainly hadn’t forgotten what it felt like to be pinned beneath his weight, her lips hadn’t forgotten the taste of his mouth. What would it be like to be stalked by him? To be captured?
She thought she detected a knowing glimmer in his eyes and finally jerked her gaze from his. She bought another few seconds by munching down part of her toast. It was crunchy around the edges and soft in the center, where the butter had soaked in. Just the way she liked it. Food. Food was a safe place to start.
“I’ll make you a deal.” The instant the words were out, she realized she’d given him the perfect opening if he chose to continue his … hunt. She hurried on, purposely keeping her attention on her food. “I’ll clean up and take care of the woodstove if you agree to take on permanent cooking duty. This is really incredible.” She popped the last bit of toast in her mouth, then closed her eyes briefly as she swallowed.
“It didn’t take much to seduce you away from those pieces of cardboard, did it?”
She smiled a bit dryly. “They’re fast and easy, but even I admit they aren’t the most delectable of meals. It wouldn’t take much to seduce me.” Seduce me. She caught the slight raising of one eyebrow out of the corner of her eye. Oh, yes he could seduce her. He didn’t even need to cook. All he had to do was talk to her. Look at her the way he was right now. She cleared her throat. “Why don’t we go ahead and get down to business.”
He chuckled. “Anything you say.”
She flushed. Freudian slip? She didn’t think she wanted to know. She looked him in the eyes. “Let’s talk about your brother.”
The woman did know how to change the subject, Logan decided. He’d been quite enjoying her increasing discomfort. He’d quite enjoyed being the cause of the discomfort. What he hadn’t anticipated was how much her reactions to his teasing would affect him. And she was affecting him. He was almost disappointed to change the subject—proof that he needed to jump off this train of thought right now.
Lucas. His brother. The only blood tie he had left. That was his purpose for being here. “You said you worked with him? When? For how long? For who?”
Scottie smiled. Logan thought she actually looked relieved. Don’t get too relaxed, he wanted to tell her. I’m not done with you yet.
“Actually, he works for me now,” she said. “We’ve been on the same team for ten years. The who is Uncle Sam.”
“I didn’t find any recent job description with Uncle Sam’s name on it,” Logan said, though he didn’t disbelieve her. What had bothered him most during his background investigation of his brother was lack of any job description after he’d left the military. He knew that just because they were twin brothers didn’t mean they’d have the same personalities or make similar career choices, but he’d still had a hard time accepting that his brother had gone from a stellar career in the army to a drifting globe-trotter with no apparent steady income.
Right now he’d be thrilled to death if she could prove that his brother was working for just about anybody else than a wacko cult group.
“My turn,” she said. “Why have you only now begun the search for your brother?”
“You seem to know a great deal about me, Ms.—”
She hesitated a second. “Giardi.”
He lifted a brow at the pause, but he was pretty certain she was telling the truth. She’d kept to her word so far. He’d expected he’d have to pull every bit of information out of her, but she was being surprisingly open. Of course, that, too, made him wary. “Ms. Giardi. Why don’t you tell me why I’m only now looking for Lucas?”
She held his challenging gaze with far more equanimity now that they were talking business. He wondered if her discomfort when things got personal had to do with him specifically, or whethe
r it was simply because she had a hard time dealing with anything that wasn’t strictly job related.
“He doesn’t know about you, Logan.”
“That’s not what I asked. But since you brought it up, how can you be certain?”
She finished off the last of her bacon with a decisive crunch. “It is imperative in our line of work to respect each other’s privacy, but as his current commander, I can say with pretty strong conviction that he has no idea you exist. We didn’t.”
“Who’s ‘we’ exactly?”
“My team,” she answered smoothly. This time it was a dodge. He let her get away with it.
“You obviously know about me now, or you wouldn’t be here interfering.”
“Protecting.”
“Yeah,” he said dryly, “we’ll get back to that in a moment. You said he doesn’t know. Is that still the case?”
“Yes, it is.”
Anger filtered back, mixing with all the other things she was making him feel. At least the anger was one emotion that didn’t confuse him. “And you didn’t think it was important to tell him about me?” He kept his tone steady, but he had no doubt she was reading his changing mood correctly. “Just how long were you going to wait? Or does it suit your imperative need to respect personal privacy to keep him in the dark?”
“Telling him hasn’t been an option at this point. We only just found out about you.”
“Well, ‘we’ must have been pretty damn disturbed by the information if they felt it necessary to send you out to climb a mountain after a heavy snowfall in order to ‘protect’ me.”
“Concerned, not disturbed. I think it’s wonderful that you want to reunite with your brother. I can’t speak for Lucas, I don’t know him all that well—”
“How in the hell can you work with a man for ten years and become his boss and not know him? Doesn’t speak well for your managerial skills, Detective Giardi.”
“Stop calling me that,” she exploded suddenly. “Don’t ever call me that!” Just as abruptly, she pulled herself together. He was as distracted by the sudden outburst as by her quick move to subvert it. He’d touched a nerve. A raw one from the looks of it.
“How our—my—team operates is something you couldn’t understand,” she said evenly. “Lucas spends most of his time in the field on assignments, some of them quite lengthy. I have no idea how he will react to discovering he has a brother, much less a twin. Even if we were the best of friends, it is unlikely I could categorically know that.”
She’d continued as if her outburst had never happened, her tone smooth, unruffled. Only the slightly pinched skin at the corners of her eyes gave away the measure of what her control was costing her.
“So you think it’s wonderful to see two long lost brothers reunited. Then why keep us apart? What is he really doing in that compound?”
There was another brief pause. He watched her wrestle with just how much to tell him. He hadn’t meant what he’d said about her ability. He’d bet she was a very good commander. There was a firm, unshakable core of strength in her regarding her job—whatever that might be. But something was bothering her. Either personally, professionally, or both. He wasn’t sure if her reaction to him earlier, to the kiss they’d shared, was the cause or just a symptom. And then there was the question of why the commander of the team had been sent and not another field agent like Lucas. He felt a rush of relief as he allowed himself to acknowledge that Lucas was apparently not a cult member, but an undercover agent for some covert government organization. His instincts about his twin had proved right after all.
“To protect you and Lucas, you have to stay apart for the time being,” she said finally.
“From what? Who? Why is he here, Scottie? You said earlier that lives, his included, were at stake? Is he really in danger of being killed?”
“How much do you know about your brother? What specifically did you discover that led you here?”
Now it was Logan’s turn to pause, to weigh his answer. She’d confirmed that his brother was really a government agent, but beyond that she hadn’t really given him anything solid. He’d been just as subversive with his responses. Maybe it was time to tell her everything he knew. It was likely she knew it all already anyway, so he was risking little.
“Listen, why don’t we cut the verbal Ping-Pong, here? You tell me everything you know about me, and I’ll fill in the blank spots. If you’re satisfied with that, then maybe you’ll give me some straight answers about Lucas.”
“I’m doing my best. I’ve already discussed more than I should have. I’ll tell you what I can. I can’t promise you more than that.”
“I’ve waited thirty-seven years to meet my twin brother, and I’m not in the mood to wait any longer, so you’ll have to give me a damn good reason to stay here for seven more days when I could be outta here in two or three.”
“Try this one on then,” she tossed back. “If you try and approach your brother before New Year’s Day, you will not only probably get him killed, but you might go right along with him.” She tossed her silverware on her plate, grabbed it and her juice glass, and stood. Glowering down at him, she added, “And if that’s not enough for you, there are also a number of young children involved in this whole thing. Innocent children who will also die if you go blundering into a situation you know nothing about.”
She made it to the small sink and had dumped the dishes in when she was spun around by a strong hand on her arm.
“Well, then why don’t you explain this situation so that I do understand.”
“I can’t.”
“Won’t.”
“The result is the same.” She didn’t shrink back from him, though he topped her above-average height by at least three inches. In fact, she braced her hands on his chest and pushed. “I’m sorry if you don’t like it. But that doesn’t change anything. You want to risk that I’m lying, then go right ahead. You’ll be responsible for Lucas’s death along with those sixteen children. Not that you’ll have to lose any sleep over it since you’ll likely get yourself killed in the process.”
“You’d let me walk out of here?”
“Not without a fight I won’t.” His hand closed over the butt of her gun at the same time she reached for it.
“No more gunplay, Scottie.” He yanked the gun loose, dismantled it, and tossed the parts on the counter where they landed with a clatter. She didn’t flinch, nor had she taken her eyes off of him during his little demonstration.
He squashed the burgeoning respect he felt toward her. He needed anger right now. “We’ll settle this, but not with bullets. More violence is not the answer.”
She didn’t soften either her stance or her tone of voice. “I’ll sacrifice one life to save eighteen others if that’s what you push me to. But I don’t have to kill you to stop you. I get the job done, Logan. One way or another. Don’t ever forget that.”
“Then you better start talking. I’m not a fool, Scottie. I’m not exactly expecting the Brethren to open the door and invite me in for tea. I realize now that Lucas is not a cult member, that he’s there for covert reasons. I’m thrilled as all hell to hear that, more than you can know, but if things are as dicey as you say, then I want to see my brother before he gets himself killed.”
“I’m doing my best to make sure that doesn’t happen, but you’ve got to play this my way. You’ve waited thirty-seven years, Logan. Give me five more days. You lose nothing but a little time. It’s a small price to pay if it means lives could be saved.”
He abruptly let go of her and stepped away. “Not true, Scottie. Sometimes a little more time can be the most priceless commodity in the world.”
EIGHT
Scottie watched Logan stalk over to the sliding doors.
“Where are you going?”
He dug wool socks out of his duffel bag, tugged them on, then pulled on his boots, his back to her the entire time.
“Where can I go?” It was a rhetorical question, not a request for per
mission.
She answered him anyway. “Not very far, but out of here, I guess.” Away from me.
He tightened his boot laces with a yank that should have snapped them off. “Pretty good deduction, Detective.”
“I asked you not to call me that.”
“Correction,” he said, efficiently knotting his other laces. “You ordered me not to.” He stood and faced her. “You should know something up front. I don’t take orders real well. Since you’ve obviously had your hands all over my personnel file from the Detroit PD, I would have thought you knew that. Getting a little sloppy, Detective? Or should I call you commander?”
Scottie gritted her teeth and watched him walk to the sliding doors. He pulled on a black thermal ski sweater, the edges of his long green shirt hung out below.
He slid open the door. A rush of cold air blasted her clear across the room. She shivered but made no move to rub her arms. “When will you return?”
He looked over his shoulder. “What, no threat of shooting me? Don’t you have tranq darts in your bag or something?”
“Like you said, where could you go?”
“You got up here.”
“I had help.”
“Which brings up another interesting question.” He leaned in the open doorway, apparently impervious to the freezing slices of wind cutting through the room. “Why did I rate the commander of the team herself? Why not send a field agent up here to detain me? Shouldn’t you be off somewhere running the show?”
It took considerable focus to stop shivering. However, now it was not only the cold wind threatening her. Logan was sharp. Scottie had given him far too much information, more than she’d realized, and he was putting it all together way too easily.
Dark Knight: A Loveswept Romance Classic Page 10
