Playing Love's Odds (A Classic Sexy Romantic Suspense)

by Alison Kent

  "Shhh," Logan soothed, knowing all the while she was right. Knowing, too, it was his fault.

  Telling himself he hadn't known what Harrington would do with the evidence didn't salve the wound in his conscience. Because deep down, he had known. The control of the corporate world would never change hands. The little guy didn't stand a snowball's chance on an asphalt race track.

  The powers in ViOPet knew Hannah was onto them. They weren't going to let her use that knowledge against them. From here on in, things would only get more complicated.

  So how long did he really think he could keep her safe? Judging by his track record, time had about run out. She had maybe, oh, fifteen seconds left, give or take a lifetime.

  She stopped him from further self-deprecating recriminations by climbing from the car. "Guess I'm as ready as I'll ever be," she remarked, slamming the door with a show of bravado. "And I hate to admit it, but I'm glad you're here."

  He walked around to her side, dropped the keys in her hand and curled her fingers around them. "I think I'm offended," he teased, pulling her into the crook of his arm.

  They walked across the parking area and she sorted through the keys. Fitting one in the lock, she opened the gate, stopping at the front door. "I don't mind having to clean up this mess." She rapped her knuckles against the door. "But the adrenaline seems to have worn off. I don't want to be in there alone. At least not now."

  She stabbed at the lock three times before making contact. Wanting to assure her she wasn't alone, Logan reached out, laced his fingers through hers and pulled her into the room.

  "Is it as bad as I remember?" she asked, one step inside.

  He glanced down to find her eyes skewed shut. A quick look around the room was all he needed. "Yup. Do you want to do this by Braille or are you going to look?"

  She pried one eye open. The second followed suit. Mumbling to herself she kicked the door shut and navigated her way through the war-torn living area. "I'm going to take a shower first," she called from down the hall.

  He knew she was feeling dirty, violated by the man with the gun. And knew, that too, was his fault. "Whaddaya want me to do?"

  She peeked around the corner as she pinned up her hair. "Make yourself at home," she answered, her voice a touch glib and equally sarcastic. A quick salute and she vanished.

  A door slammed in the back of the apartment and he headed for the kitchen. Bypassing Hannah's sparkling water, he grabbed a carton of orange juice and an apple from the fridge. Standing in the kitchen he consumed both; the sound of running water poured down the hall.

  Jaw full of apple he stopped chewing, finding it impossible to swallow for the lump in his throat. She was in the shower. Less than fifty feet away. Wet. Warm. And naked.

  Feeling like slime for thinking as he was, he shoved the apple core down the disposal and tossed the juice carton in the garbage. The water continued to run, the soap-scented steam drifted his way. He dragged a hand through his hair and turned a circle where he stood.

  Knowing hers was a case like any other didn't ease his tension, especially since it was a lie. Attraction pulsed between them. He'd seen it in her eyes, felt it in her touch, sensed it in the crackling air. He felt like a volcano waiting to explode.

  Hearing the running water and smelling wet, soapy woman was about to do him in. He grabbed up the phone, stepped into the pantry and pulled the door shut behind him.

  Gideon Burke answered on the third ring. "Burke's Body—"

  "—ain't much to brag about," Logan ribbed his brother.

  "Hey, Logan. What's up?"

  "Nothing that shouldn't be."

  "And even when it is, it ain't much to brag about." Gideon returned the taunt.

  Logan chuckled then turned serious. "Gid, I need a favor."

  "Shoot."

  "A ride, for one thing."

  "Tell me where and I'm on my way."

  "No, wait. Let me think." Logan glanced at his watch. "Make it about six." He gave his brother Hannah's address.

  "I'll be there."

  "There's something else," Logan added.

  "I know. No questions." Gideon sounded exasperated. "C'mon, Logan. I've been through enough of this stuff with you to know that's a given."

  "Right, but that's not all. You got my water pump?"

  "Yeah."

  "Great. Bring it. And your shop vac." Logan grimaced, thinking about the seats in his Mustang. "And some towels."

  "That'll cost extra."

  "How much?"

  "One question at least."

  "You got it."

  "See ya at six."

  "Oh, Gid ..."

  "What else?"

  "Whatever you do, don't say a word about my Mustang."

  "What Mustang?"

  "Thanks."

  Logan severed the connection and dialed a second number.

  "Homicide," a gruff voice barked.

  "Get me McCandliss," Logan said.

  "Yeah. Hold a sec."

  The frenzied activity of precinct headquarters buzzed in the background. He picked a can of asparagus off the shelf, grimaced and shoved it back next to the apricots. He snitched a handful of wheat crackers from a near empty package and shoved them in his mouth just as Detective Jess McCandliss came on the line.

  "McCandliss."

  "Logan Burke," he mumbled around the mouthful of crumbs.

  "Hey, Burke. Where you been keepin' your mangy hide? Station's not the same without you nosin' around."

  "Admit it, Jess. You miss, no, you need my leads and my contacts. I've been keeping track, you know. You're slippin'."

  "The hell you say," Jess responded. Logan heard him swallow what he knew to be a mouthful of black-as-tar cold coffee. "What's up with you?"

  "I need a favor."

  "It'll cost you."

  "Everybody's out to make a buck today,," Logan answered, rubbing a hand over his forehead.

  "Okay, where's the body and how deeply are you involved?"

  "It's not exactly a homicide." Not yet anyway, he thought, hoping he was taking the right route here. Hoping he could avert any further mishaps while keeping his nose above water.

  "Then what exactly is it, Burke? I can't be doling out free advice or wastin' company time, considerin' the murder rate around here."

  In quick, precise terms Logan laid out the facts as he knew them, keeping his own involvement out of the picture and ending with a recap of the morning's attack against Hannah.

  "Look, Jess, it's not your department and the assault occurred out of your jurisdiction, but we're in your precinct now. I wanted you to know in case something happens again."

  "You expect it to?" McCandliss asked with patient interest.

  "You know the type, Jess. Some people will do just about anything to keep a secret. This could be a big one."

  Jess sighed. "And you know how things work, Logan. I'll do my best but without an actual case to tie this into I can't spend a lot of time chasing false leads."

  "I realize that. Thanks."

  "Hey, Burke. Keep in touch. I'll see what I can turn up."

  The phone went dead. Logan pressed the disconnect and leaned back against the pantry wall. Eyes closed, he held the receiver against his forehead, gathering the strength to move. Finally, he opened the door.

  Wrapped in a white terry cloth robe, hair slicked back and dripping into the material, Hannah stood less than ten feet away, one shoulder propped against the kitchen door frame. "I guess you were looking for something to eat?"

  He looked from Hannah to the phone in his hand and back. "I was using the phone," he offered in redundant explanation, setting the receiver back in the wall cradle.

  "Top secret investigator type calls?"

  "Actually, my brother. He's picking me up at six," he told her, feeling like the jerk he looked.

  "Makes perfect sense to me." Hannah pushed off the wall. "I was hoping you were calling for a pizza. I'm starved," she called from down the hall.

  "Good
idea." He jerked the receiver up and rapped it against his forehead. Several times. Hard. "Stupid, stupid," he whispered to himself. "Gonna hang yourself yet, Burke."

  Punching out information for the number of the nearest pizza place, he ordered one, large, smothered in the works. That task accomplished he made his way back down the hall. Reaching Hannah's bedroom doorway he asked, "Where do you want me to start?", before stopping dead in his tracks.

  She'd pulled her hair back and changed into a white tuxedo shirt and skinny black pants, more second skin than anything. He watched her tug the mattress back on the bedsprings with heart-stopping interest. She scooted side to side, dragging it an inch at a time. The material of her pants did great things to her very fine ass.

  Finally she straightened, ran the back of her hand across her forehead, and fist pressed to the small of her spine, arched in a cat-like stretch. She caught sight of him in the bureau mirror. "Are you just gonna stand there or are you gonna help?"

  He shifted and shoved his fingers in his pockets trying to appear more interested in her progress than her backside. "I ordered the pizza," he offered.

  "Well, that's a start." She brushed past him and bent to dig through the linens scattered along the hallway.

  His blood pressure shot up another thirty points. "Don't you own any casual clothes?" he asked a bit too gruffly.

  She straightened, clutching sheets and pillowcases to her chest, and glanced down at her attire. A frown creased her brow. "What's wrong with these?"

  "Nothing. They just look ... uncomfortable. Don't you have anything loose and baggy?"

  With a roll of her eyes, she dodged him and dropped the sheets on the floral lounger in the corner. "I doubt I'll ever make sense of this chaos." She snapped the fitted sheet and it settled on the bed. "At least this jerk didn't have a slashing complex. I'd never be able to afford to replace this stuff." She waved her arm over the tangle of clothes on the floor.

  "Like I said, they were looking for something definite."

  "Which they've definitely found." Hannah stopped in the act of smoothing down the top sheet and stared at the watercolor of tulips and daffodils above the bed. "Now that they know I know, what happens?" She glanced over. Fear snaked slowly through her eyes; worry followed quickly behind. "Will they leave me alone?"

  A knot of nerves coiled hard in Logan's stomach. She was no quitter, but had the right to know things wouldn't be easy. He stared at the mess of linens on the hall floor, finding that disorder easier to face than the one stalking Hannah.

  "Logan?" she prompted.

  "Like I said, depends on the stakes and how much risk these guys are in since you've stumbled onto whatever it is you've stumbled onto." He grabbed the door frame overhead. "Big boys play for big stakes. The pay-out negates the risk of the gamble. If the stakes are high enough, nothing will stand in their way."

  Hannah gave the quilted comforter a final pat and tossed four lace-covered throw pillows and a white-furred teddy bear on top. "Especially not a lowly lab tech."

  Logan stared hard into her eyes. "Does that scare you?"

  "Should it?" she challenged.

  "Depends. How much risk are you willing to take?"

  She picked up a bureau drawer. "Right now, I'm not sure."

  "Then we wait. Let them make the first move." She pitched a bundle of slinky lingerie from the floor to the bed. One by one she folded the underthings and stacked them in the drawer. Each piece furthered his inability to think beyond the erotic.

  "Chances are I'll still be followed?" she asked and Logan swallowed hard before he found his voice.

  "Probably. But I'll be right behind." He couldn't take it any more—watching the silky garments slipping and sliding between her fingers, imagining the satin of her skin slipping and sliding over his.

  With one remaining strand of control, he walked into the hallway and forced his breathing back to normal, forced his heart into a less frantic pace, forced his arousal out of his mind. He picked up a towel and wrestled it into a square.

  "Do you like following people around?" she called from her room.

  "It's a living." Though not much of one lately, he mused.

  "How'd you get into it?"

  "Long story." He slapped a second towel down on the first.

  "I've got nothing but time," Hannah countered.

  He grinned to himself. "It was one of those incidents you mentioned this morning. Only my dream was football. Played tight end my senior year and went to state play-offs."

  A giggle drifted down the hall to tickle his ears. "Tight end, huh? Did you win?"

  Logan thought back seventeen years, heard the loud-speakers blare, the band burst into spirited song, the cheerleaders egg on the roaring crowd. He dropped to the floor and draped his wrists over his bent knees.

  A forgotten washcloth dangled in his hand. "The team did. I never played."

  Hannah peered around the corner and found him there, staring at the blank wall three feet in front of him. "What happened?"

  He jerked his head, startled, his eyes glazed, misty, as if this were a wound he'd rather not reopen. "You don't have to talk about it if you don't want."

  "No. It's okay." He folded the rag and grabbed another. "By the time I reached high school we'd moved away from Houston. My dad bought a small ranch in south Texas. The school district barely met class 2A enrollment requirements."

  "I hear high school football is big in Texas."

  "Yeah. Nothing like those Friday nights. Holds the small communities together. Holds some families together."

  "Did your father push you to play?"

  Logan shook his head. "He wanted what I wanted, football or not. It was always my choice."

  "And you chose football," Hannah remarked.

  "I chose the notoriety and fame. Football brought great perks. Especially the girls," he admitted, his grin lecherous.

  "For some reason, that doesn't surprise me about you." She picked up a sheet and squared it in precise corners. "What happened with the big game?"

  "My dad had a heart attack that afternoon."

  Hannah sucked in a sharp breath. "So you missed the game to be with him."

  "Not exactly," he replied, scooping the rest of the unfolded rags into a pile between his legs. "I'd gone to the stadium early and was in the locker room when my mother called. She told me to stay, that Dad would want me to play."

  "She probably thought it would keep your mind off things," Hannah offered, feeling a cutting stab of Logan's hurt.

  "She thought wrong. I headed straight for the hospital." He surged to his feet and hands on hips, paced the short hall. "He looked so bad, so ... deathly bad. They said he was stable, that it'd take time, the usual mumbo jumbo."

  Hannah hugged her arms to her chest and watched him tread back and forth, his steps heavy, tortured. Her wealth of stored emotions longed to offer comfort. Gently, she asked, "Did they know what caused it?"

  He shook his head. "That's the weird part. He'd been fine, or so we thought. A month or two before, my folks received a positive lead on my brother, Simon. It didn't pan out. Guess the disappointment was just too much."

  Hannah thought back to her own teen years, comparing the tragedy of hers to Logan's, so full of love and caring. Envy pricked her and she fought it down, knowing the selfish emotion had no place here and now. "What happened with the game?"

  "I left the hospital. Decided to win this one for dad. Instead I found a liquor store where the proprietor was more concerned with making a buck than selling to a minor. I drove the two hundred miles home without stopping, got drunk on my ass, and never picked up a football again."

  "But your father recovered?"

  "Yeah. Pulled through like the trooper we knew him to be."

  "Yet you never picked up a football again."

  "Nope. Enlisted in the Army."

  Hannah's eyes widened. "How'd your father take that?"

  "Better than I expected. Even with Simon's history, Dad knew why
I did it."

  "Why did you?"

  Logan smiled, a faraway look in his eyes. "Part of the same reason you bought a banana car. I wanted to know Logan Burke. Not the football star, or the middle child, or the brother. Just Logan."

  "And you found him?"

  "I think so," Logan answered, his mouth quirking whimsically.

  Feeling brave from half a hallway away, she ventured further. "Do you like him?"

  He looked at her, then one slow step at a time, he approached. "Do you?"

  Hannah backed into the corner, tiny pinpoints of expectation pricking low on her spine. "I think so."

  He stopped in front of her, reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. "Just goes to show—"

  "What?" she whispered, having trouble finding her voice and holding back her hands. She wanted to touch his face more than she wanted to breathe.

  "We've both got exceptional taste," he answered and leaned forward, his mouth so close to hers only a shadow could have passed between. Or the sound of the doorbell.

  "Pizza," he breathed into her mouth, then spun and jogged to the front door.

  Hannah rolled her head back. Her nerves settled into a web of spiders in the hollow pit of her stomach. What was going on here? What was he doing to her, and why wasn't she stopping him? She knew nothing about him except that his past haunted him.

  Nothing, except that everything about him, from appearance to bearing, was stoked in irreverence. Nothing, except that she longed to wrap herself around him, absorb his reckless daring, his easy disregard of the system. Nothing, except that she was rapidly becoming addicted to everything about him.

  "Come and get it," he called.

  She blinked and shrugged the tension from her shoulders. "On my way."

  With one foot tucked beneath her, she leaned back in her chair and bit into the end of a slice, using her tongue to reel in the threads of cheese dangling between mouth and hand. Together they devoured the pizza, Logan eating two slices to her one.

  Finally, her stomach on the verge of exploding, she broke the companionable silence and said, "I found something missing in the bedroom."