Chapter 6
Logan inspected the sagging two stories of the Rocking Chair Motel with the assessing eye of an alpha protector who had no illusions about what prowled these streets after dark.
The only splash of color was the cheerful pots of mums near the door, which attempted to maintain an atmosphere of respectability.
Beyond that, nothing but shadows, peeling paint, and the kind of silence that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up.
Doug was not wrong.
This wasn’t a place for anyone to be hanging around—least of all a pretty young woman like Darcy.
“So, where did Mr. Beefy hide his car?” he asked, studying the cracked sidewalks, dimly lit by a few flickering streetlamps, and the shadowy doorways.
Darcy smirked and lowered her binoculars. “He didn’t. Even he has more sense than to bring his Lincoln down here and leave it for any length of time. They come in Ubers, meet in the room, and leave the same way.”
His eyebrow slid up. “The same room every time? How long have you been watching him?”
“Yep—same room—same time. Two months. He’s a clockwork guy—same schedule, same habits. Guys like him make my job easier,” she explained. “Pure bread and butter.”
Her grin was cocky now, too cocky for his taste. Logan tracked a stray cat slinking out of the alley—the same alley where he’d caught Darcy last night. His jaw flexed. “And you know they’re here... how?”
She pointed up to the second floor. “Third window from the front. If they are on time—and they always are—they are already in there.”
“Impressive,” he admitted. His brow quirked up. “How do they get the same room every time?”
She shot him a glance dripping with disbelief. “Seriously? You need me to paint you a picture?”
His eyes hardened. “They actually book reservations for this fleabag? With a prenup in play, he’s either arrogant or stupid.”
Darcy's grin was wicked. “Try both. And just so you know, Sherlock—it’s Mrs. Beefy with the money and the prenup. He’s the one at risk.”
Logan’s lips curved ruefully. “Figures.” He leaned a little closer, his voice low. “Answer me this, hotshot. Why the hell did you park two blocks away last night? These streets are dead quiet.”
She gave him a long, exaggerated stare. “I’m beginning to worry about you, Inspector Clouseau. Or maybe you weren’t here when the city blocked off the streets for the little ghosts and goblins—and witches, I might add. Please tell me that’s the reason.”
Logan’s laugh rumbled out despite himself—he’d forgotten about Halloween. “Which explains why you parked at the diner. More traffic, more cameras, safer. You’re no rookie, are you?” he replied ruefully.
She pointed a finger at him and pulled her imaginary trigger. “Bingo, Inspector, your brain kicked in.” Her smile slipped. “Not that it saved my baby from being gutted. Still, the diner’s got cameras. Maybe the cops will nail the perps. I’ll need a new ride, but hey—I did my homework.”
Logan’s jaw set, steel edging back into his voice. She’d done the homework last night, but it hadn’t saved her. And that gnawed at something deep in him. “You shouldn’t have to gamble on cameras, Darcy. Not when you’re parked two blocks from hell.”
Her eyes sharpened, wary as a cat scenting danger. “Et tu, Brutus? Now you sound like Doug.”
The jab hit its mark, but Logan didn’t flinch.
Inside, he was at war with himself. He had no right to tell Darcy how to do her job, no matter how much the thought of her in danger tangled his guts.
Just being with her on this stakeout told him plenty—Darcy was careful, clever, and more than capable—but it wasn’t always enough.
Last night had proved that.
The words on his tongue were sharp, possessive, the kind that would earn him that fire-in-her-eyes glare.
He bit back the words he wanted to say—the ones that would draw a hard line, and forced himself to a gentler tack.
“Doug has a point,” he quietly replied, the steel refusing to leave his tone despite himself.
“I’m assuming you have an endgame in mind in this kind of work?
” God—he hoped so. Anything that didn’t include this type of sleaze.
Her tone was sharp, biting, and as cold as an ice block. “And if I don’t?”
It didn’t take a genius to read Darcy—she was coiled tight and ready to fight.
Defiance bled from every pore, her eyes twin orbs of determination and doubt.
But Logan refused to engage in a conflict that neither of them could win, and might drive her further away from him.
So, he held his ground with his usual steady authority that she seemed to respond to.
“You’re going to need a partner—because I won’t let you come out here alone. It’s your job, I get that. That’s your hard line—mine is your safety. If you decide to endanger yourself when you don’t need to, don’t be surprised to find yourself over my knee for some alternative choice instruction.”
Confusion flickered over her features, softening the rigid set of her jaw. The sharp comeback melted on her tongue as a wash of pink crept up her throat, and her lips parted uncertainly. “You...you would come with me if I asked?” she whispered.
“Where your safety is concerned, yes.”
Suspicion narrowed her eyes, but her voice trembled around the edges. “You can’t be for real.”
“As real as my hand talking to your backside,” he assured her, unflinching.
She seemed to deflate as the fight she’d been ready to launch lost traction. “But that’s...that’s...insane.”
A flicker of light from the window caught his attention. Logan tipped his head toward it, his voice returning to business. “Lights are on, Darcy. Raincheck on this conversation?”
She retreated into professional mode so fast that it made Logan wonder if he’d ever seen her soft and confused. Obviously, her work was an escape route—most people knew that route by heart, so no surprise there.
She picked up her camera and opened the car door, barking orders at him like he was her rookie partner.
“The lights will go off in approximately three minutes. They’ll be down in a few after that.
I’m at the mouth of the alley I was in last night.
Mrs. Beefy didn’t like the shots I took through the window; she wants close-ups. You stay here and guard the car.”
“Darcy—wait—”
But the door shut in his face, and she was gone, striding away like she owned the street.
Logan growled under his breath, his muscles tightening.
This was dangerous as hell, and every instinct drove him to put her over his shoulder and haul her back to the car like a caveman claiming his woman.
There weren’t any trick-or-treaters to blend in; she was open game to predators of the night.
He flicked the ignition and purred forward, slow and quiet, getting a line of sight down the alley. If someone was coming after her, he wanted to know about it, but the alley had its own secrets and shadows. He swore softly, his eyes straining to see movement.
Lights flashed in his rearview mirror, and he cursed softly, his body tensing.
Two black cars whipped around him, and when he saw the neon Uber signs on the doors, he blew out a breath of relief—false alarm.
It didn’t loosen the knot in his gut, though.
There had to be a better way to obtain the pictures she needed without exposing herself in this manner.
The motel doors flew open, and a man and a woman ran out laughing like naughty teenagers who had pulled one over on their parents. Logan could see Darcy adjusting her camera lenses as she snapped shots from the shadows, professional, detached. She was good at it, he grudgingly admitted.
The couple paused at the cars and locked lips in one last dramatic kiss, and then slid into their respective Ubers, and the cars melted into the night.
Logan’s shoulders slumped with relief, and he purred forward to pick Darcy up. Just as she opened the car door, two menacing figures appeared in the alley entrance. His blood ran cold. They didn’t move as Darcy tumbled into the front seat and slammed the door behind her.
“Go,” she hissed.
Logan went, the locks clicking in automatically when he pulled away and sped down the street.
“We need to talk,” he grated out between clenched teeth.
Adrenaline was racing through his veins, elevating his heart rate.
“I didn’t even see those two coming,” he spat out. “Did you know they were there?”
She shot him a disgusted look. “No, I was concentrating on taking the shots I needed.”
“That was too close, Darcy.”
A guarded look slid across her face. “We don’t know that they meant any harm. They could have just been curious as to what a stranger was doing in their neighborhood.”
Logan’s white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel told him he needed to relax.
“And I might be the Pope,” he snorted, darting a sharp glance her way.
He took a calming breath. “What kind of camera are you using that you have to slink around in alleys to get good shots?
Even smartphones have better pixels than most older cameras, unless you have a professional-grade photographer's camera.”
“A lot of the work I do is night surveillance, and I don’t have the best quality on my cellphone,” she replied defensively.
“If I use a flash, it would alert my suspects.” She held up her camera.
“I can set this for night vision, but again, I need to get closer than down the block to get the picture at night. It’s not professional grade, but it’s all I have at the moment. ”
“You can’t get photos of them together during the day?”