“They're not all from The Elites. Some are from Remo's wards. Some from the Bad Boy Team.”
His eyes darkened for a moment, his nostrils flared. “Not helping here.”
“I'm not an easy person to keep safe. I don't blame you for any of what's happened to me.”
“I'm responsible for you, for your safety. I blame myself,” he growled.
I gave a brief nod, unable to come up with a suitable response to that.
He lowered his head, touching his forehead to mine. I stiffened. “God, don't be afraid of me. I'm not going to hurt you or touch you if you don't want me to.”
My eyes went briefly to the king-sized bed, and of course, he caught it.
“I can't stay up on guard all night long and function a hundred percent. This way if you so much as move, I wake up. That's all. I swear there is no double purpose there. I won't ever touch you if you don't want me to,” he repeated earnestly.
“Then let go.” My voice was not as steady as I'd have liked it to be.
“Ok.” But he didn't let go immediately. He took a long, shuddering breath, exhaled slowly, blowing warm air on my face.
Then he took a step back, let go of my arms and turned away.
I watched his back for a moment, gripping my hands together to keep them from shaking, then I turned and sat down because my legs weren't steady either. I could still hear Logan there, and my back was rigid with tension. Then I heard him take a step, hesitate a moment, then another couple of steps, then a door closing and locking. I sagged and exhaled slowly, playing in my mind what had just happened. Did I overreact? I heard the shower in the bathroom start and, after a couple of minutes, began to relax, little by little, muscle by muscle.
Chapter Thirty-One
He took a long time in the bathroom. By the time he decided to make an appearance, I had already composed myself and was ready for action. It was dark outside. It had been dark for some time. We should have been checking those addresses. But no, I thought sarcastically, Logan had to go and sulk the time away. As if I had been the one molesting him. I shuddered and sent the memory away, back to a dark corner. But that didn't mean I'd let my guard down or fear freeze me again. If he tried anything again, I was ready.
In case he decided I wasn't worth the trouble and decided to just go on solo, I snooped around his still-running laptop. Most files were secured but not the one with my name. I memorized the addresses there and noted one more file titled “Fosch/Roxanne”. Before I could click on it, I heard the lock on the bathroom door turn, and hurried away.
He came out of the bathroom and stopped just outside the door. I could see regret along with something else in his eyes. Pity? Sympathy? He remained standing by the bathroom door, wearing the bathrobe with the Hilton logo, somehow conveying a very masculine, appealing image while he waited for me to make the first move, or say something.
His hair was dripping wet, his face was clean shaven. His stance was easy, relaxed. A placating stance. Probably afraid I'd bolt or scream for help if he moved. But I had more important things to consider, more pressing matters at hand.
Like the fact that if we didn't find my mother in any of the addresses, I should conclude our bargain and let him go find his friend. I had a vivid image of what the PSS was doing to him. There was no reason I couldn't search for her on my own.
I'd give Logan the information he needed, take whatever payment he gave me, then part ways and keep trying to survive on my own.
I was annoyed when I felt regret for messing up what could have been something nice, if we hadn't misunderstood each other so completely.
Still, there was nothing to do about it now.
“It's late. Do you think we can still go?” I asked. His eyes flickered between relief and annoyance—for what, I didn't know. “Yeah, I guess we can. Give me a couple of minutes.”
* * *
We went to the Midtown address first. It was a townhouse in Washington Park Village at 17th and D. We passed straight by it, not slowing down and, per Logan's instructions, didn't turn to look at the house. We were searching for a stakeout, a nondescript car with someone inside or anything out of place.
Yeah, I know how that sounds. Especially since I wasn't supposed to openly search for something out of the ordinary. It was cold, but the weather didn't deter people from going out—teenagers hanging around in groups, couples strolling hand in hand, or a guy walking his dog.
Logan had gotten me a blonde wig and round, transparent glasses and himself a mustache, blonde toupee, and green contact lenses to prevent immediate recognition. We passed the house in question and I tried looking for something inconspicuous or out of place, but Midtown was not a place where you can sort weird things out. There was a white sedan parked at the slot belonging to the house in question and a light on in the second-floor window. We didn't try looking for anything else, and we didn't find any PSS watching the house. It didn't mean that they weren't there though. We circled around for almost an hour with the same result. We would be returning in the morning.
We went to Hollywood Park after that. My old neighborhood looked familiar. I devoured the scene with hungry eyes. We passed St. Roberts School, where I had played many a times as a kid. When we passed Tommy's parents' house, I saw the lights were all on and the house looked somehow smaller. The Santanas could certainly afford a better home in a wealthier area, but they'd lived in that house forever, passing it down from generation to generation. A couple of houses down we passed Vicky's home and, in contrast with Tommy's glowing house, Vicky's was cast in shadows and darkness. When we passed the house I had lived in, the lights were on and there were toys on the porch. The single swing was still there, red instead of yellow.
I turned my head away.
A couple of houses down was the second address in our list. Right before we passed, the door opened, and a man and a woman stepped out, the man holding the woman's hand. She was short, African American and the man was tall and just as dark.
“Not this one.” I told Logan, looking straight ahead.
We had just narrowed our choices to two—but hadn't I figured as much from Tommy's words earlier? If my mother was still around, Tommy would have told me.
Sierra Oaks Vista was one of the finest parts of Sacramento. The houses were fancy, big estate-like and far apart. The house we were looking for sat on a corner lot, surrounded by a ten-foot wall. I bet it was one of the most coveted lots in the area. There were big ancient oak and sycamore trees like sentinel watchers, standing tall and proud, providing the house with lots of shadows and privacy and, through the thick iron-barred gate, I could see that the driveway wound around the two-story house and to the back. The street was narrow with no sidewalks and empty of cars, making it seem pretty obvious that the PSS wasn't around. Still, there were plenty of trees and dark, shadowy spots surrounded by thick tree trunks a guard or three could hide behind and watch anyone coming in and out.
Yes, it was autumn, and some of the trees were almost completely bare, but others still had enough leaves to hide a determined person, especially the trees near the oaks, which were evergreens and stayed full all year round.
Besides, the PSS had enough clout in the government to get permission to invade one of the neighboring houses and set up an operation room to observe the comings and goings from there. “For the good of our nation…”
Although, I noted, the ten-foot wall surrounding the property, combined with the trees, would all but make spying from the neighboring house impossible. They needed to be closer. If they couldn't just park on the street and watch, where would they be? Assuming, of course, they were actually there.
This was probably a big waste of time.
I should be focusing my energy on disappearing. Mother probably knew nothing about my other nature and wrote me off the moment I was taken. Or she knew and was glad I was gone. In which case, I needed to know what she knew.
God, I was tired. I sagged in my seat and closed my eyes, fighting off the we
ariness. I hadn't been sleeping or eating well lately, and that, combined with the emotional and physical stress I've been through, was finally getting to me. We drove past the property, and every few yards I'd feel Logan's heavy gaze on me.
I touched the letter opener I had put in my pocket after the incident in the hotel for reassurance.
A full circle, Roxy. Just another full circle.
I clenched the letter opener once, hard enough for it to dig into the palm of my hand, but not enough to break skin. It was made of hard plastic, but I was sure it would cause as much damage as a metal one. I didn't want to be forced to use it, but I would if necessary. Even though I wasn't sensing any violent vibes from the driver's side, I didn't relax my guard.
“We'll find a way,” Logan assured me.
“Sure.” My skepticism came loud and clear. I didn't think we'd be able to tell which house belonged to my mother unless we triggered the PSS's radar. She could even be living in another state for all we knew.
We went to a McDonald's drive-thru, and, while we waited, I felt Logan's eyes on me. Again, I ignored him.
“I've been thinking…” he said, and I felt a sarcastic comeback bubbling inside me but held back. It wasn't his fault I was in a bad mood.
I shifted, looking directly at him for the first time in a long while. His green-grey eyes and blonde mustache didn't do him justice. The toupee was a little long and it looked weird on him, but maybe I felt this way because I liked the previous look better.
“You see, there's this thing that keeps nagging at me. I recollect events I've seen in the past and compare them to what happened today, and no matter how I look at it, I keep coming back to face the same wall.” he paused, and
I raised my eyebrows and indicated he should continue.
He kept both his hands on the steering and, somehow, I felt the gesture was deliberate, significant. He searched my face a moment longer before continuing, “I have never in my whole life frightened a woman to the point of terror. Hell, I don't remember ever frightening a woman before, period.” He took a long breath, exhaled noisily. I didn't like where this was going. He was too observant, too intuitive for my own good. “In the shower I thought about what I could have possibly done to give you such a wrong impression and I couldn't, no matter how I looked at it, find what triggered—”
“I can refresh your memory for you if you're having trouble remembering,” I interrupted. My sarcasm bounced right off him.
“I kissed you to prove a point—”
“That you are stronger, superior, faster—”
“Let me speak!” he snapped, and I could hear the tiny vibrations of a growl. I shut up.
He took a long breath and expelled it loudly. “I kissed you to prove that I wasn't repulsed and to shut you up long enough for me to say what I needed to. I had nothing else in mind. Nothing else,” he emphasized, his eyes never wavering. “So, it baffled and confused me when I realized how terrified you were. Only later did I realize the reason, the conclusion you had drawn for yourself.”
“Anyone would have drawn that same conclusion,” I replied hotly.
“No. Forcing a kiss on you hardly broadcasts rape signals. You were terrified to the point of paralysis.”
“Forcing a kiss is how it begins,” I snapped angrily.
“Perhaps, for someone with rape in mind. However, you don't think about a demon when looking at a pumpkin unless you've watched the movie before. Forcing a kiss implies forcing a kiss,” he raised a hand when I opened my mouth to interrupt and hurried on, “unless a person has already been abused. Otherwise, it takes more than just a kiss for someone to come to that kind of conclusion.”
I opened my mouth, then closed it again. My sarcasm died, and I looked away. This man's perception unnerved me. He could read me so well that I wondered if I had been fooling the PSS with my poker face at all these years. It made me… uneasy, I guess, instead of understood.
“Like I thought,” he murmured. I could feel the intense heat of his gaze burning the back of my head as he watched me.
I glanced at him, at the pity and sympathy in his eyes—along with something else—and had to make an effort to keep my expression blank. “I don't know what convoluted illusion you carry inside that box, but I assure you, Logan, you're way out of it,” I said with conviction.
He didn't even blink.
Damn it, I used to be a very good liar.
“I'd never have forced myself on you. I've never mistreated a woman before, I've never even thought about it. It shocked me when I played the event over in my mind, the way the blood drained from your face, the way you were shaking, your eyes…”
“I said you're wrong,” I said through gritted teeth, my hand closing tightly around the letter opener.
He just kept going on as if I hadn't interrupted him. “…That you thought I would, and when I realized the conclusion you had drawn, I was insulted at first, then baffled, then I wondered why you hadn't tried to attack me.”
“I'd have killed you if you tried,” I snapped, and my voice held just the right tone of conviction to carry out the threat.
“Perhaps,” he conceded, waving his left arm briefly in dismissal before returning it to rest back on the steering. “After you were over the shock. Anyone else would have struggled first and then gone into shock later.”
“I don't want to talk about it,” I finally said, more because I didn't want to argue all night long than out of defeat.
“Was it someone back in the Society?” he persisted.
I didn't answer. Instead, I turned and stared blindly outside.
“Tell me. I want to know,” he said vehemently.
“Why?” I asked flatly, still looking out the window, but I wasn't seeing the drive-thru. My mind had gone back in time, back to those awful days of my life. I had no tears left, just anger. The gentle tone of his voice only enforced the tenor of my anger, making my flesh burn the way it did every time I thought about those days when I had been helpless. Defenseless.
“I want to know, so when I'm there, if I bump into him…” He shrugged, and I felt the slow tension and menace emanating from him. At that moment, when I felt the tightly-coiled anger oozing from him, I finally believed he wouldn't have tried anything on me. But he couldn't right any of the wrongs done to me simply because he couldn't rewind time and prevent things from happening. “I want to help.”
I laughed angrily. “Why? What's there for you? You don't strike me as the type who goes around avenging the honor of a woman you just met. Just let it go. It happened a long time ago. I hardly remember it,” I lied. I intended to get my revenge one day, and I had already visualized my plan and what I was going to do.
“How long ago?” he asked tightly.
“Damn it. Let it go,” I growled and punched the dashboard.
“How long?” he pushed.
“You're not going to let it go, are you? Fine. I was seventeen.” I snarled. “And, before you ask, no one would have believed me even if I said something and, if someone did, they would just have turned a blind eye and denied it ever happened. On one of Kincaid's shifts, when he came to take my food away, he left a letter opener behind. I stabbed the bastard's cheek with it. I was punished, but no one ever tried anything again.”
“Kincaid's idea of help was a letter opener?”
“It did the job.”
There was nothing Kincaid could have done besides getting himself fired. He knew that, I knew that, and I'd rather have had him help me from the sidelines than have no one to help at all.
“Why didn't you defend yourself? Isn't the blocking bracelet useless?”
I bared him my teeth in a feral snarl. “Mild sedative.”
Logan shut up after that, although I noticed his jaws kept clenching, his knuckles white when he gripped the steering too hard. The seething anger I could feel from him kept spiking in intensity. I opened my window to let the cold and drizzling rain keep me from reaching out and tasting the refreshing flavor of
his anger again.
Chapter Thirty-Two
I found that despite being physically exhausted, I was too keyed up and couldn't sleep. We had gone for another round by the Midtown and the Sierra Oak addresses with the same result. The only difference was the tension inside the car and the fact that there were no lights on at the Midtown address this time around. By the time we returned to the hotel, it was past midnight. For someone who had been awake since before dawn, I shouldn't have had any trouble sleeping. Especially with all the crap I'd been through.
But no, the part of my brain that commanded my body to sleep had decided I wasn't ready for it, so I flipped and flopped like a beached fish and watched and envied Logan's easy sleep beside me.
For a long hour, while Logan breathed softly on his side of the bed, I tossed and turned and punched my pillow. Fair? Such a foreign word, a non-existing sentiment in my life this past decade.
Was he faking it?
He looked peaceful, relaxed. His breathing was soft and even. Would he open his eyes if I got up and walked away? Did it matter if he was faking? I wasn't going to give him the slip.
It all boiled down to trust.
Or the lack thereof.
In the end, I got up and took a long, hot shower, which only served to freshen me up. I was still too keyed up to rest so I went to the desk, adjusted the lamp to a soft glow, and finished drawing Logan the blueprints.
Halfway through the sub-levels in Building C, Logan stirred and came to stand beside me.
“Hey,” he said, glancing down at the drawing. “You don't need to do this now. Aren't you tired?”
I shrugged. “Can't sleep,” I said and connected the lab with another square lab, dotting the four corners with red dots.
“What's that?”
“Cage lab. C-4 level.”
There was a pause before he touched his fingertip to one of the red dots. “And this?”
Heir of Ashes Page 18
