Of course, there was still the option of us packing up and moving away.
Possibly starting over somewhere new.
Never thought I'd say that because I love New York and it's my home.
But the time I spent in Wyoming has given me new perspective. Maybe because I was with a man who showed me I could have a really amazing life somewhere else? Well, at least until things went to shit really fast.
And my heart got broken in the process.
I mean, really broken.
"You okay, darlin'?" my dad asks.
I tilt my face away from the street to look at him. He has no idea the things I went through to save him. I could never tell him the level to which I stooped, not only because he'd be devastated to know what I'd done for him, but also because while Mickey Foster is a non-violent man, he'd never give up a quest to kill Magnus for the type of con he involved me in. My father may not have had qualms with me cheating, lying, and stealing to make a living, but he'd never forgive the injustice of Magnus forcing me to essentially prostitute myself if he knew the real truth. As it were, I'm just thankful my dad accepted me at face value when I told him that the con was a bust and that our only option was to help the police bring him down.
"I'm fine, Daddy," I say softly. "Just... worried."
"Looks like more than worry on that sad face of yours," he observes.
I take in my dad's kind face with his laugh lines, and even smile to myself over the inherent sparkle of deviousness in his eyes that is the telltale sign of a lifelong con artist. I love him for his faults and despite them, and when all is said and done, I can never regret my actions to save the one man in my life who loves me unconditionally and holds nothing of himself back.
"Ever think about leaving New York?" I ask him in an effort to not only change the subject away from my sad thoughts about Logan, but also to actually put some thought into the best way to keep us safe until Magnus is put in prison. That was not going to happen overnight, and I was not looking forward to sleeping the next several months with one eye open. "We could start over somewhere. Maybe southern California where it's always sunny and warm?"
"Hate to leave our home, baby girl," he says morosely. "But like you... I'm worried about what Magnus is going to do. At the very least, you should leave."
"I'm not going anywhere without you," I rebuke. "We're a team."
"Always a team," he says and holds his beer up in salute to me. "So maybe California isn't a bad idea."
I give him a lukewarm smile and wonder what it would take to start over. Dad has no job skills, but he can grift anywhere. I could help out... maybe still go to school. I give a mirthless internal giggle over that. The College Grifter. I bet I'd be one of a kind.
A knock on the door has me freezing in place, my eyes the only things moving toward my father. He lowers the recliner slowly, wincing as it creaks a little, and sets his beer on the table. Reaching down to the side of his chair, he picks up the baseball bat he keeps there. Like I said, he's generally a non-violent type and doesn't believe in guns, but living the type of life we do... you have got to have some protection.
I swing my legs off the windowsill, placing them on the floor to stand up, but my dad shakes his head at me in silent admonishment. With a jerk of his chin, he motions me to go to my bedroom.
I shake my head in denial, considering the large butcher knife in the kitchen.
"Get in your room now," he whispers at me with that stern father look that's not to be disobeyed.
My pulse spikes in fear, but I refuse his order, instead darting into the kitchen and grabbing the knife out of the wooden block. I creep back into the living room, my father giving me a harsh glare before moving to the door.
I pad silently behind him on bare feet and watch as Dad puts his eye to the peephole. He stares a minute and turns to face me, giving me a silent shrug to indicate he doesn't recognize who's at the door.
This relieves me slightly because it's clearly not Magnus, but it doesn't mean he wouldn't send a messenger over to find out if I was here. There's no way he knows about our involvement with the police yet, but I'm sure he's more than pissed he couldn't find me in Wyoming.
I push past my father and put my eye up to the peephole, perhaps able to recognize one of Magnus' henchman or even better yet, the apartment manager who might be here to collect our rent, which always seems to be overdue.
Instead, I see Logan's beautiful face staring at the door and I jerk backward, knocking into my dad.
"Who is it?" he whispers to me.
"Logan," I whisper back involuntarily. I look back through the peephole and take note of the swell of joy and anger that sweeps through me.
Without another thought, I pull the chain free of the lock and swing the door open, fashioning my most malevolent stare at the man who managed to drive me higher than I've ever been in my life, only to drop me from the stratosphere to crash back down to earth.
"What do you want?" I ask, my tone appropriately icy.
Logan's eyes roam briefly over my face before looking down to the butcher knife in my hand, and he winces. And because I apparently have some sort of mystical connection to his emotions, I read his guilt loud and clear.
I put you in danger, and now you have to carry a butcher knife around your apartment.
But he quickly schools his features and says, "I came to check on you. Make sure you're okay."
I can't help the sarcasm. It comes pouring out. I hold the knife up and say, "I'm just peachy, Logan. Just waiting for Magnus to come bust into my apartment and whack my father and me."
I open the door up a little so he can see my dad standing there with the baseball bat and jerk my chin toward him. "See. Dad's got a bat. I got a knife. We're fine. So you can just mosey on out of here and head back to Wyoming."
"You're clearly not fine," he grits out as he pushes his way past me into the apartment.
"Well, make yourself at home," I mutter as I step back and then close the door behind him.
"Don't mind if I do," he snipes back.
I roll my eyes at his back before asking with resignation, "Seriously, Logan... what are you doing here?"
I pretend not to notice how damned good he looks in faded jeans, his hiking boots, and a long-sleeved dark blue Henley, even as I feel my skin tightening all over just from his presence.
Logan spins on me, scrubs a frustrated hand through his hair, and admits, "I was worried about you."
I throw my hands out, one still clutching the knife, and say with exasperation, "Well, as you can see... I'm fine. So you can just go."
"I'm sorry I got you into this mess," he blurts out, his face lined with guilt and worry.
"He got you into this mess?" my dad asks from behind me.
I wince, because I'd forgotten my dad was witnessing this painful exchange. I also cringe because my dad has no clue who Logan is or that he played a part in our current predicament. All I told my father when I came home was that I couldn't continue on with the con because I felt it was too dangerous, and that I met someone in Wyoming--that would be Bridger--who had a way to help us out of this mess.
To my dad's credit, he tried to question me on what type of danger Magnus had put me in, but I'd stubbornly refused the details and said he'd just have to trust me. There was no way I could ever tell my father the sordid details of the con, much less how I fell for a man who was trying to help me out but put me in a worse pickle than I already was. I certainly couldn't tell him that now, or else he'd take that bat to Logan, and I liked his face all pretty the way it was.
With a sigh, I say, "Dad... this is Logan. A friend. He had my back in Wyoming... like my friend Bridger."
This was not a blatant lie, because if I were to look at it solely from Logan's perspective, he did have my back. He just went about it the wrong way.
Logan cocks an eyebrow at me, clearly surprised I'd reference him as a friend or that I'd even dare to say he had my back. And then he goes on to make matters w
orse, when he asks me dryly, "A friend? I think I was more than that."
"Seriously?" I ask in exasperation. "You want to lay that innuendo out like that right in front of my father? Who you just met and who is also holding a baseball bat that he is not afraid to use?"
And he did not just quirk his lips up in amusement at me...?
Before I can slap the smirk off his face, he steps past me and holds his hand out to my father. "Mr. Foster... I'm Logan McKay. As Auralie said, I'm a friend of hers. And I hope I'm more than that."
I growl low in my chest as my dad's eyes cut to me with surprise before he looks back to Logan and offers his non-bat-bearing hand to shake. "Pleased to meet you."
Logan nods at my dad before turning back to me. "Bridger told me you met with the federal prosecutor."
"Yes. My dad gave enough information and proof that they're going to issue an arrest warrant for Magnus," I tell him grudgingly. "No clue when they'll serve it though."
"He's going to come after you," Logan states a simple fact I already know. "First and foremost because you ditched him in Wyoming."
"This I know," I say, sarcastically waving the knife in front of my face again, which is really a childish maneuver but whatever. "Hence the reason we're armed."
Logan snorts at our pitiful defense system and walks back to my door. I'm stunned for a moment, thinking my sarcasm has driven him off before I can really look at him and get my fill of all his magnificence before he leaves me again. I almost call him back once he opens the door, but he halts there and sticks his head out into the hallway, looking down to the left.
"You guys can come in," he says to someone in the hall.
Logan steps back and admits two burly men in their early thirties. Both dressed in street clothes... jeans, t-shirts, and jackets. Fairly non-descript except for the air of menace they both carry about their personas.
Logan turns to me. "This is Wade and Wilson. They're going to be your shadows until Magnus is behind bars."
My eyebrows shoot sky high as I look at the men standing there before me, both with their hands clasped behind their backs as they stand at almost military attention.
"Come again?" I ask Logan in shock.
"They're protection for you and your dad," Logan says briskly. "They'll switch out with another team for the night shift, but they're on you until Magnus is taken care of."
"Protection?" I mutter, still not able to comprehend what Logan is doing.
Logan's eyes slide to the knife I'm still clutching. "Yeah... they're much better than knives and bats."
"I don't understand. You what... hired bodyguards?"
"No," Logan says sarcastically, but it's a sarcasm laced with amusement. "I went to St. Margaret's School for Wayward Children and hired mercenaries."
"Huh?" I ask, completely lost in the conversation, not because it's confusing as hell, but mostly because my brain has been pure mush since Logan walked into my apartment.
"Didn't you see Deadpool?" he asks me.
"No, I didn't," I murmur.
"Well, never mind... you're going to have twenty-four-hour protection," he says confidently. "They'll stay out in the hallway, but if you need to leave, they'll go with you. I've also hired someone from their agency to track Magnus down to deliver a very strong message that you are under protection and that orders are shoot to kill if someone comes after you."
I blink in astonishment, and my dad mutters, "Holy shit."
Logan turns to Wade and Wilson, nodding toward the door, "You guys can go ahead outside. You're officially on the clock."
"Yes, sir," one of them says in response, and I'm not sure if it's Wade or Wilson, but then they both turn and walk out the door. In a daze, I bend over and place the knife on the coffee table, clearly not needing it right now.
When I look back to Logan, I ask with narrowed eyes, "We can't afford this. And I know you can't afford it, so who's paying for this protection?"
"I actually can afford it," Logan says. With apologetic eyes, he adds on, "It's the least I can do for you."
I do not like that at all, because now I know he's here only because he's driven by guilt for putting me in this situation to begin with. It was stupid to think he'd come all this way because he wanted a relationship with me.
"Well, thank you," I snap at him. "I appreciate the offer, and we'll accept it. So now that you have that burden off your shoulders, you can go ahead and go now."
Logan stares at me for a moment, and it's the only time I've not really been able to read what his silence says. Finally, he nods at me and then turns to my father. "It was nice to meet you, Mr. Foster."
"You too," my dad says, sounding every bit as shell shocked as I feel.
Logan turns to the door. My heart cracks as he turns the knob and pulls it open. Before he steps through though, he turns to me and says, "I also came to tell you my story. Who I was two years ago and why it's led me to do the things I've done."
My jaw drops open wide and my heart squeezes even more painfully.
He gives me a wink. "When you want to hear it, I'm staying at the Marriott on Adams Street. Room 4319."
Then he walks out the door and shuts it softly behind him.
Chapter 23
Logan
Auralie arrives at my hotel room a mere forty minutes after I do. I estimate she took a shower because her hair is still damp and she's wearing different clothes. The subtle smell of jasmine hits me as I open the door, and I have to suppress the urge to jerk her inside, strip her naked, and feast on her for hours.
Hopefully, that will come later.
I step aside and Auralie walks in without comment, taking in the small, cramped room that's typical of New York hotels as the need to cram as many people in as possible eats up the usable square footage. I shut the door and follow her in, shoving my hands in my pockets.
It's a nervous gesture, and I'm not going to lie... my pulse is out of control with fear and dread over what I'm getting ready to lay at her feet. I'm going to tell her the basis for my nightmares. I'm divulging to this woman the part of me that's a monster and not nearly good enough for the likes of her.
But it's what Auralie wants.
It's what she needs.
And I want to give her the world, even if I have to crush myself and possibly her in the process.
She's nervous too, I can tell as she turns around to sit on the edge of the king-sized mattress covered in a blanket done in browns, tans, and lime-green geometric designs. It's all too contemporary and modern for my taste, but then again... I've been happy living in a tin trailer for the last two years with a ratty old blanket I'd picked up at Target when I started my travels.
"Want something to drink?" I ask, only to buy time. I haven't quite figured out how I'm going to start my tale.
Auralie shakes her head. "No. I want to hear your story."
"I won't stop you from running once you hear it," I tell her, already preparing myself for the end of something that really never got off the ground in a good way.
"I'm not going anywhere," she says quietly.
Confidently.
It should bolster me, but it doesn't because she's naive to think I can be good for her.
But still, I give a resolute sigh and walk past her to look out the window at the Brooklyn Bridge. I can't bear to look at her as I start to deliver the speech I must have practiced a hundred times on the plane once I made the decision to fly to New York for her.
The minute I walked out of Bridger's office last night, I knew I was going to open myself up to her, because I had nothing to lose at this point. Auralie was something I didn't expect in my life, but once I got a taste of her and then subsequently lost it, I figured... what the fuck do I really have to lose at this point?
"I was married once," I start off saying, and she gives a small gasp of surprise. "I was also a doctor."
Another gasp, this one deeper, and she blurts out, "A doctor?"
I look over my shoulder at her and give
a wry smile. "Hard to believe, right?"
"Actually, not really," she says quietly. "I mean... I think you're brilliant so why wouldn't you be a doctor? But I do have to wonder how you went from doctor to fly-fishing guide."
I turn away from her, looking blankly out the window. "I was a general surgeon in Chicago, where I was born and raised. Returned there after med school and my residency. Joined a prominent practice. Got married while I was early in my residency--her name was Donna--and we lived a pretty fucking charmed life."
"A doctor," Auralie says in awe.
"I was a jackass," I say with no small amount of bitterness in my voice. "I was young but had a God complex. Thought I was hot shit because I graduated top of my med school and was head and shoulders above everyone else in residency. Didn't think there was a problem I couldn't cure or fix. I had an ego the size of the universe and the track record to back it up. I was just fool enough to think nothing could bring me down."
"What happened?" she whispers fearfully.
I swallow hard, fight back the nausea, and tell her, "A little girl was brought into the emergency room when I was on call. Just five years old. She took a bad fall off some schoolyard equipment and landed on a railroad tie, causing a crush injury to her ribs."
"Oh, no," Auralie breathes out from behind me.
"A CT scan showed her spleen was ruptured, but no other major injuries. It was a simple enough surgical fix--quick in and out with a laparoscope to remove it. A procedure I'd done many, many times."
She waits silently as I barrel forward with my story, the words getting harder and harder to get out. My heart thunders, echoing through my brain so I almost can't hear myself when I admit with crushing defeat, "The other surgeon on call... he told me not to take the case. That he'd handle it, but I wouldn't listen. God complex and all. I thought I was the best man for the job, despite knowing deep down I should stay away."
"I don't understand," she murmurs in confusion.
I finally turn toward Auralie, because I need to look her in the eye when I tell her the very worst thing about myself. "It was my daughter... Carrie."
Wicked Ride Page 19
