With a sharp economy of movement, he locked up the cabinet, then followed her, locking the dungeon door behind him. In silence, they headed to the club’s common areas, and Tara couldn’t stop herself from looking around, wondering if the scum who’d murdered Logan’s mother—and wanted to kill her—was watching her even now. Around her, the music thumped and bodies gyrated on the floor in the distance as others played out scenes full of their favorite kink. Logan himself continually scanned the crowds, looking for trouble. Thorpe and Bocelli, along with Axel and Jason, had all fanned around the room and were scanning the guests.
“If he’s smart, he’s long gone,” she murmured over her shoulder.
Logan was right there with a hand at the small of her back. He bumped her side, and she felt the unmistakable outline of a gun. “If he’s not, I’m ready.”
Her FBI-issued piece was in her purse, tucked against her side. If there were danger, she’d be ready, too.
Quickly, Logan hustled her to the door. The anxiety that balled her stomach didn’t start to unravel until they were secure in his truck and were backing out of the parking lot.
“What will happen to my car?”
“I’ll ask Thorpe to bring it by my condo while you’re gone.”
So she’d have to retrieve it when they returned from the mission. “Why doesn’t he just take it to Adam’s house?”
“God damn it, Cherry.” He turned to her with not just anger on his harshly angled face, but hurt. “Why are you trying so hard to avoid talking or thinking about our future after this mission? You’re crazy if you think we don’t have feelings between us to hash out when all this is over. You told your boss that we were going our separate ways afterward. That’s bullshit.”
“You made a deal,” she objected, both thrilled and terrified that Logan seemed so determined to pursue her.
“Which you violated when you argued with me about your wardrobe choice five minutes ago, among other things. Since you pushed back, I’m coming after you. End of conversation.”
“I don’t understand you. I’m all for helping you move on from the past and—”
“So it’s okay if I try to fuck you out of my system. I just can’t try to love my way back into your heart?”
His ugly question made her wince. “You’re totally misunderstanding me. I just don’t . . . I don’t want to get hurt again, okay?”
“Hurting and losing you the first time damn near killed me. I won’t let it happen again.”
Tara sat back in her seat, watching the sparse Dallas traffic slide by. It was warm, despite being nearly one in the morning. But the vibe across the seat was chilly.
Was Logan serious? He seemed so free with his feelings. Then again, he had been in high school, too. She’d spent so many years since then thinking he was a liar and a user. Knowing why he’d dumped her helped, but everything was happening so fast. Still, she couldn’t deny that Logan had spent five celibate years. Missing her? It seemed so. She sighed, not certain how to process it now. She was exhausted.
“And I’m doing my best to believe you, but let me catch up. You’ve had twelve years to reconcile the reason for our split. I’ve had twelve hours.”
“Patience isn’t high on my list of attributes, but I’ll do my best.” Logan sighed. “You hungry, Cherry?”
The food would probably do her good, but she shook her head. “I just want to sleep.”
Logan grunted, but said nothing else as he drove to her motel room. When she found the key at the bottom of her purse, Logan grabbed it, opened the door, then flipped on the light.
“Son of a fucking bitch.”
Chapter Twelve
Nearby motel—Saturday night/Sundaymorning
TARA peeked around the bulging cap of Logan’s broad shoulder and was stunned to find the dingy little motel room completely turned upside down.
On second thought, maybe she should have seen this coming. Bocelli had warned her that the asshole who had killed Logan’s mother wasn’t the kind to give up. Clearly, this guy had been watching her. As much as she wanted to believe that her room being trashed had been a random vandal’s act, it felt like a maniac’s rage. He wanted to scare her off.
The drapes had been half pulled from their rod and sat askew over the achingly clean window. Both pillows had been cut open, the stuffing bulging from threadbare cases. The sheets were stained with red paint. Her suitcase had been sliced in half and her clothing strewn everywhere.
Logan drew a SIG SAUER from his shoulder holster, barely hidden by a dark blue windbreaker. “Stay out here in the hall, right under the light, Cherry.”
“Bullshit.” She reached into her purse and pulled out her Glock, following him into the darkened room, and ignoring his curse.
A cursory examination of the room proved that whoever had done this was long gone—but had left a wide path of destruction. Anger slapped her, and damn it, she felt violated. The last two days had been hell, and the pressure was only growing thicker.
Tara squeezed her eyes shut and smoothed out her thoughts. She couldn’t let this get to her now when there was so much at stake. Darcy certainly wouldn’t let some douche bag’s breaking and entering interfere with her work.
Logan tore his cell phone from his pocket, then stepped a few paces away and started making phone calls. Tara did the same, figuring she’d better give her boss fair warning. Within ten minutes, the Dallas police arrived to investigate the crime scene. Thorpe and Bocelli pulled up right behind them.
As the detectives and uniformed cops shooed them outside, Bocelli unfolded his powerful body from Thorpe’s Lexus and approached. “They’re not going to find anything.”
Logan nodded, fury simmering off him. “It’s a warning.”
They were right, and the very thought made Tara trembling mad. The man who’d killed Logan’s mother had been here, prowling among her stuff, tearing the place up to scare the shit out of her. What would have happened if she’d returned alone while he was here?
She must have made some noise, because Logan wrapped his arms around her, easing her head to his chest. “Don’t be scared, baby. I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”
The sentiment was sweet, but Tara knew that was a guarantee he couldn’t make. “I’m not as scared as I am pissed. This son of a bitch deserves to pay for everything he’s done.”
“He’ll fuck up, and I’ll be waiting.”
“I didn’t just hear you plotting vigilante justice.” Bocelli shot him a tight smile.