Chapter 4
Logan walked down the crowded street, lights from restaurants and bars shining in the haze. Nighttime seemed just as hot as the day, the air clammy and still. He was aware of the people around him, but all he could see was the burning car and the one woman he couldn’t save.
Royce’s wife.
Logan wanted to find the guy who did this and make him pay. He wanted to strap him into a car and make him burn alive like he’d done to that poor woman.
He squeezed his hand with the bandaged palm, pain screaming along his nerve endings. He wasn’t ready to go home, couldn’t imagine falling asleep, and he’d found himself back in front of HERO Force headquarters where the explosion had taken place.
He’d walked in one big fucking circle.
Of course you did. Where the hell else are you going to go?
Two women stood on the sidewalk with their backs to him, and he stopped walking, listening to their conversation. One of them was crying. The other put her arm around her and said, “They’ll find him. Royce is a badass. He’s going to be okay.”
Adrenaline shot into his bloodstream. Gone was the lost soul who’d been searching for meaning in the middle of destruction. He was back on the job in a heartbeat.
He narrowed his eyes. Who were these two? Coworkers of Royce? Maybe friends?
“The pavement,” said one. “Look at the pavement.”
The other woman nodded. “I know, it’s fucking terrible.”
Logan’s eyes went to the blackened asphalt and he remembered the acrid smell of the flames that had caused it.
“Let’s get you home,” said the other.
“I don’t want to go home. I don’t think I could stand it.”
“Then come with me to the club.”
“Fine. I don’t care anymore.”
Logan followed them, his mind working to put the pieces together. Was this woman having an affair with Royce?
He wanted to see her face. Get a name. She didn’t seem to know where Royce was, but surely she was involved with him somehow.
The women walked several blocks until the thump-thump-thump of music could be heard floating on the air, then he followed them into a dance club, throngs of people pressed together and moving.
He let himself get caught in the flow of humanity away from the women, wanting to get some space between them and himself so he wouldn’t appear too conspicuous.
The music was loud, bass rumbling through his body.
He scanned the crowd, his eyes catching on exposed flesh and short skirts, men groping women on the dance floor.
The entire space stood in sharp contrast to the rest of his day like sunshine against the darkest night, and his cock suddenly ached with need.
Fuck.
Exactly.
The scientist in him knew what was happening. Sex was the antidote for death, the epitome of living, and he craved it in that moment like a drowning man desperate for land beneath his feet.
He forced the feelings down. He had to find out who the women were, had to do something to fight the atrocities of the day that were scarred into his brain. He needed to stay focused, no matter how much he wanted a woman who knew how to fuck and could make it okay until the sun came up tomorrow.
He had to find out who those women were, what their connection was to Royce. At least get a good look at them, if not their names. His eyes found them at the other end of the bar.
Now that he could see their faces, his interest piqued, his inappropriate lust crashing into his professional responsibility. The shorter one was stunning. A little older, just like he liked. She looked like a big-chested librarian in a tight skirt, just begging for someone to rip it off her.
His cock tingled.
No. Fucking. Way.
It was a terrible idea to pursue her.
Or was it? They were in a club filled with people looking to hook up. He wanted information and he wanted sex. Even as he silently gave himself permission, he knew it was a bad idea.
A terrible idea he could barely wait to act on.