Chapter 14 #2
Logan snorts. “Do they always worry about you like this? Or is it just because you’re near me?”
I stall on a valid excuse, or a lie, and I can’t come up with anything that won’t remind him what he is to these people now. Finally, I settle on, “It’s going to take time for everyone to see who you are.”
“And who am I?” He stares down at me, his lashes long and thick. “Huh, Em? Who am I now, to them?” His throat bobs with a hard swallow. “To you?”
“I have no idea,” I admit, and my voice cracks with desperation.
Besides the boy who broke me?
Tension pours from him. “I think I’ve had enough socializing for the night.” He pulls away from the wall. “I’d say I’ll see you around, but we both know that’s not likely.”
I watch his shapely back as he strolls away without a glance behind, my heart in my throat.
That encounter didn’t play out how I wanted it to. Not that I had a plan. I’ve been too busy hiding from him like a coward, and he just called me out for it.
I spend a few minutes in the washroom, gathering my nerve. When I reemerge, the band has shifted to ’90s rock.
Breanne wears a worried look. “What happened with that blond I saw Mike escorting out?” She nods toward her husband, who’s at the door chatting with the bouncer Joey. The table where Holly and her friends sat is now taken by an age-appropriate group.
I drop into my seat and collect my drink. “Nothing, because I got there just in time.”
“She looks young.”
“That’s Holly Monroe, Isla’s friend.”
“Oh.” Breanne knows the name well. She’s heard me vent about her on more than one occasion.
“She and Logan were talking.”
Breanne winces. “You think he would have—”
“No.” I don’t even let her finish that sentence.
“You sure? Because he’s been locked up a long time, and she is a pretty little thing.”
“He’s thirty-eight.” I give her a stern look. “And not a pedophile.” There is no world where I can believe Logan would fall that far, and the way he was trying to meld into that wall to get away from her only confirms it.
She shrugs. “I’m just saying … he looked very unhappy when he came out.”
“That wasn’t because of her.” It was because of me. I don’t say that out loud. If I’m struggling this much when I’m around him, how must he feel?
The crowd shifts, allowing me a narrow sightline to the other side of the bar, where Logan stands over his cousin, Jack. A moment later, Jack nods and climbs out of his seat.
Disappointment swells. I may have been avoiding Logan all week but now that he’s here, I don’t want him to leave, and that’s clearly what he’s doing. With a lazy salute to their table, the two striking men head for the door, weaving around people.
Halfway there, a tall, lanky figure stands. One I recognize instantly.
Fuck. That’s Hank Murphy. With the Bale House being so packed, I didn’t notice him when we came in.
Logan doesn’t so much as flinch, moving to sidestep around. He obviously doesn’t recognize him, and why would he? Ian Murphy couldn’t answer for his crimes, and the rest of his family swore up and down they had no clue what he was involved in.
Hank shifts, cutting off Logan’s path, and if I’ve learned anything in my career, his stance is the opposite of friendly.
What could this be about?
Mike has noticed too, and he meets my glance with a raised brow.
It’s too early in the night for this. “Breanne, do me a favor and call dispatch and have them send backup for a potential escalation. Tell them Mike and I are here.” I slide out of my seat and leisurely walk to where the two men stand chest-to-chest in the middle of the packed bar.
Mike closes in from the other side, Jake not far behind him.
“… as if Jay didn’t tell you,” Hank says.
“Like I told Dorsey, I don’t know shit about any stash,” Logan snaps.
“Hey, fellas, what’s going on here?” I interrupt.
Hank holds Logan’s hard gaze for another two beats before turning to scrutinize me. “Just sayin’ hello to an old friend.”
“And why don’t I believe you, Hank?”
“Don’t know. Guess you’re the suspicious sort.” His cold gray eyes idle on my silky top.
I fight the urge to cross my arms. I need them free in case I have to move fast.
Logan adjusts his stance to shield me from Hank’s leering look with his body. “Leave her out of this.”
Hank grins. “That’s right, you two are old friends too. Different kind of friends, though.”
“Watch it,” Logan snarls, the muscles in his arms cording with restraint.
Patrons around us are watching. I don’t know how much they can hear over the music, but I’m sure the closest ones are wondering whether they need to move out of harm’s way.
I nudge Logan away with a palm pressed against his biceps. I don’t need a shield. Hank’s not stupid enough to lay so much as a wayward hair on me. “I don’t know what you were planning when you stood up, but I suggest you rejoin your table.”
Hank shrugs. “I’m not doin’ nothing wrong.”
“Is that so? Funny, last I recall, you were out on parole.”
“So what? I’m allowed to go out for a meal on a Friday night.”
“And if I started poking around, I wonder what infractions I’d find. For starters, I might ask what’s in that glass there?” I nod to the half-finished pint where he was seated.
His eyes narrow, but in the next moment he shifts back to indifference. “That’s not mine. There are five other people at my table. They’ll vouch for me.”
I take a quick inventory of his group: all Murphys and fellow degenerates. “Yeah, right. And I’ll bet that pocket knife sitting in your jeans is for cutting apples, right?”
“You know what they say … One a day keeps the doctor away.” He grins.
Career criminals know all the tricks about what to say to cops and how to skirt parole violations, and that’s what the Murphy family cultivates.
“Okay, we’re gonna take a quick break!” the singer announces abruptly halfway through the song. The instruments die in a clash of sound, leaving everyone in the bar raptly focused on the brewing confrontation in the middle of it.
I’m in no mood to tie up police resources trying to put Hank behind bars over half a pint of beer, if that’s all he’s had. But I’m also in no mood for any of his bullshit. “Sit your ass down and eat your damn wings, or pay your bill and leave, but whatever this is? It’s over now. Got it?”
“Sure thing, Officer.” But the look Hank flashes Logan as he retakes his seat says it’s far from it.
Logan charges out of the bar without a word to me, his cousin offering me a shrug before trailing.
I hesitate a few seconds and then follow. It’s too cool to be outside with bare arms but my adrenaline helps ward off the chill. “Logan.”
He keeps going.
“Logan!” I bark.
Finally, he stops. “I’ll meet you there in a sec.” A gentle command for Jack to continue to his Dodge Ram—a shiny blue replacement for the truck that was stolen from a hotel parking lot four months ago on a trip to Montreal.
I wait for Logan to turn and face me, but he doesn’t. “What do you want, McAllister?”
“How about you grow a pair and face me, for starters.” My anger and hurt build rapidly as I stare at his broad shoulders.
“Emery!” Mike calls out from the doorway, and if he’s using my first name, it’s because he’s used Staff and McAllister already, to no avail.
“It’s all good, Mike. Go back to Breanne before she starts worrying.”
There’s a lengthy pause, and I know he’s wrestling between obeying an order from his superior and protecting a woman against this supposed violent criminal.
Logan slowly turns, his expression stony as it settles on me. “You heard her, Mike.”
I sigh heavily. That’s not going to help matters.
“Don’t you use my name like you know me—”
“It’s all good.” I check over my shoulder so Mike can see my face. “I’ve got this.”
With lips pressed tight and a steely-eyed glare of warning at Logan, he finally turns and disappears inside. I know he won’t go to Breanne, though. He’ll force his way behind the band setup for the only good view through the window.
When I turn back, Logan is watching me intently.
“What was that about with Hank Murphy?”
“Nothing.”
“Come on, that wasn’t nothing—”
“Seriously, Em, leave it alone,” he warns, his voice carrying an edge.
An OPP cruiser pulls into the parking lot then, answering the dispatched call. It’s probably Russell. He beats Dan almost every time.
Logan sees the car and curses. “Go inside.” He marches toward Jack’s truck.
My indignation flares. “Don’t you walk away from me when I’m talking to you!”
“What are you gonna do, arrest me?” he hollers, climbing into the passenger seat, slamming the door.
The tires kick up gravel as they pull out.
“You mother …” My curse fades, incomplete.
Russell rolls up, his window down. “Hey, Staff. What’s the sitch? Do you want me on the truck?”
“No, we’re all good. Didn’t materialize into anything. You can call off the dogs.”
“You got it.”
Russell radios dispatch as I survey the scene outside. A few people linger, including Holly and her friends. They’re sitting on the open tailgate of a truck, Holly’s bare legs dangling.
“Didn’t I tell you to get home?” I yell on my way back in, but I’m preoccupied with my spinning thoughts.
What stash was Hank talking about? And what does Hank have to do with Dorsey, the guy who stabbed Logan?
There isn’t anything about either of those cases that I haven’t read in the reports, a thousand times over.
So what isn’t in the reports?
Inside, the Bale House is back to its regularly scheduled programming, the band playing their instruments after that brief break and no one the wiser to what transpired.
Me included.
Mike and Breanne are huddled at the table, deep in conversation, when I return.
“Okay, seriously, what was all that?” Breanne waves her splayed fingers in the air toward the Murphy table.
Mike and I have worked together long enough that he knows when to prod, when to joke, and when to shut up. Breanne … Not so much. “Nothing. Comparing dick size.” But I don’t believe that.
Mike’s doubtful expression says neither does he. “That guy is wound tighter than a spool of copper wire. I wouldn’t want to be an innocent bystander around him when he snaps.”
“He’s not gonna snap,” I counter, but is that true?
Shawna arrives then with more drinks. “Another round on Matt for your help with averting a Friday night brawl.”
“That really isn’t necessary.” I find him behind the bar and shoot him a scolding look.
I get a wink in return. He’s such a damn flirt. It’s a refreshing contrast to the cold shoulder I got from Logan.
“You gonna be able to enjoy that?” Mike nods at my fresh glass of wine.
“No,” I admit as I pour half of it down my gullet, hoping that’ll take the edge off my nerves. But I already know it won’t, like I know I can’t sit a handful of tables away from Hank Murphy and relax.
The wretch must sense my watchful eye because he seeks me out, lifting his water glass in cheers to make a point.
Most of the Murphys are here. All three of Ian’s kids, including Shane, who’s waiting for his day in court for that television bust and Axel, who’s wearing a tow truck company hat. Hank’s youngest son, Kyle, is here too.
My teeth grind as I check the opposite side of the bar, where Holt and Wyatt watch the Murphy table, probably asking the same questions I am.
That poor family paid too dearly for Jay’s association with Ian.
I won’t let it come back to haunt them again.
But I can’t protect them if I don’t have the whole picture, and to have that, Logan needs to start talking. “Listen, I think I should—”
“Catch a ride home with Russell?” Mike cuts me off.
I frown. “What?”
“I already texted him. He’s waiting for you outside. I’ll stick around here and make sure there’s no more trouble from that lot.”
“Oh. Okay, thanks.” I half expected an argument about bailing early on them. “What about my—”
“Give me the keys. It’ll be in your driveway when you wake up.”
I manage a smile as I pass them over. “Thanks, Mike.”
“Never can take a break from catching those criminals, can you?” Breanne reaches across the table to squeeze my hand, flashing a devilish grin that’s laden with sexual innuendo.
I shoot her a look—that’s not why I’m running home—and then grab my things and duck out.