He let out a long sigh. “No, not yet.”

The words not yet made me shiver. I pushed my fingers through his hair again. “His picture is on TV. They said he hasn’t been picked up.”

Logan’s eyes closed as if in pain and then he leaned in and let his forehead rest against mine. “Get your things together. We have to go.”

Pausing, I breathed him in—my friend, my lover, the man I loved. I didn’t argue. I knew we had to leave. I just wished we didn’t have to. “Give me a minute.”

He nodded.

In the bathroom, my reflection confronted me. My hair was a mess. My eyes were red. My face blotchy. My clothes in disarray. Could Logan see that I was scared?

I hoped not.

With a deep breath, I shook off my own fear.

It was just a note.

It didn’t mean anything.

What really frightened me wasn’t what might happen to me, but what might happen to him.

I heard his voice. He was on the phone. “Fuck you. You said you’d get him, you reassured me that he, of all people, would be brought in.”

Silence.

“Don’t tell me what I can and can’t do. I’m going to find him.”

Silence again.

“I can’t guarantee that.”

There was a crash, a thud.

Then silence.

More silence.

I waited to open the door.

He was going to go after Tommy, and there was nothing I could do to stop him.

I was scared. I was scared for him. Sure, he was competent, strong, capable, and dauntless even, but Tommy was a part of the Mob, and the Mob wasn’t just one person, not just one set of eyes, or hands, or legs, or barrels of guns ready to hunt him down—it was dozens, potentially hundreds.

When I finally opened the door, Logan was composed and dressed in the same clothes he’d arrived in only hours ago. But it seemed like a lifetime ago.

“Who were you talking to?” I asked.

He rolled the sleeves of his white shirt up to his elbows as he spoke. “Agent Blanchet of the DEA.”

Ironically, knowing he was working with the DEA helped soothe my nerves. “What did she say?”

He shrugged. “Nothing. Absolutely nothing. They don’t know where Tommy is. Come on, we have to go.”

“Where are we going?”

He indicated I should walk toward him. “I’m going to take you to my father’s house. Right now it’s the safest place.”

“Isn’t he Patrick’s counsel?”

“Yeah, but Patrick has a half-dozen attorneys. My father isn’t one he’d use to get him out of jail. Besides, I can’t imagine he’ll even be given bail. He’s too much of a flight risk.”

My steps were slow. “And what about you?”

With an extended hand, he urged me to move faster. “I’m going to find Tommy.”

Hearing him say it again didn’t make the blow any easier. I stopped. “Logan, please don’t do this. The police are looking for him. Let them find him.”

His headshake was determined. “They’ll never find him. He might not be very bright, but he’s not stupid.”

My fingertips reached for him. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

There, I said it.

He took my hand and tugged me toward him. He didn’t say anything to me. Didn’t give me false hope. Instead, he kissed me like I was his world. I could feel him, I could taste him, I was him. His hands clutched my face tightly as his lips moved against mine. My hands rested on his chest but then moved up to wrap around his neck. I needed to be closer. He did too. He pulled me even tighter to him and started grabbing fistfuls of my hair. In that moment, he held me as if it were the last time we’d be like this. I wanted to fight for control with him, tell him not to kiss me like this, but our lips and our bodies were moving in such perfect sync, I couldn’t. It was as if our minds were branding this feeling into our souls and I didn’t want the moment to end until the full image was captured.

When he pulled back, I looked at him. I wanted to beg him to stay with me. Not to go out into the night alone. Yet, I knew there was no arguing with him. He was determined to protect me no matter the cost. Besides, he had already made up his mind, and the way he was staring at me told me what I already feared—if he didn’t succeed in finding and stopping Tommy, he was going to leave me in order to save me.

And crush my heart.

DAY 9

LOGAN

Relying on others for help felt strange.

I’d been on my own, forging my own way, and dealing with my own shit for so long, asking for assistance didn’t seem right.

Yet, I didn’t have a choice.

I couldn’t be in two places at once, and Elle’s safety was at stake.

The ride to my old man’s was quiet, both of us lost in our thoughts. When we pulled into the driveway, I turned off the ignition and looked at her. I knew she was upset. “Talk to me.”

“What do you want me to say?”

“Whatever you have to,” I said. “Whatever you need to. Just get it out.”

She closed her eyes. “I don’t want you to go after Tommy.”

Trying to comfort her, I reached for her hand. “I have to. Don’t you see? If not I’ll go insane constantly looking behind my back, wondering what’s lurking around every corner, waiting for what’s next.”

She pulled her hand away. “Then there’s nothing more to say.”

“Elle,” I sighed.

Her eyes met mine. “Logan, I’m tired. And I’m worried . . . for you. For Clementine. For Michael. And for me. I just want this to be over.”

I nodded. “So do I.”

She turned her head and her eyes were hidden from me, but I had already seen the tears that were glimmering in them, and it killed me.

“Let’s get inside.” There really wasn’t anything more to say. She’d said it all. The truth was . . . I was worried too.

It was almost two in the morning and the house was lit up like a Christmas tree.

I’d called my father as soon as I left the hotel room and given him a very watered-down version of what had happened. Then I’d called Declan Mulligan, a guy from my past who I hadn’t expected to be a friend, and Miles Murphy, who wasn’t ex-military like I thought but ex-BPD, who’d worked in the gang crimes division for years until he was shot in the line of duty sometime last year and subsequently decided to retire. I filled them in and asked for their help. Miles had agreed to call some of his ex-cop friends to come over to my old man’s tonight to look out for Elle. He was coming to keep guard as well, and then if it came to it, he’d help take her home in the morning and get her house and business wired securely. Declan was showing up as well, but not to keep watch; he had the best intel on Tommy.

“Wait for me to come around,” I told her and then got out. As soon as I did, the kitchen door flung open. My old man stood there, gun at his side, eyes shifting in the night. I gave him a nod and rushed over to Elle’s side. I tried not to show her the fear that was flowing through my veins.

With my hand on the small of her back, I guided her toward what used to be my gramps’s house and was now my old man’s. She fidgeted. Her fingers combed through her hair and she smoothed it. It was then that I realized she hadn’t formally met my father yet. The run-in at O’Shea’s law office, more than a week ago, wasn’t the impression I wanted her to have of him.

My old man stood stoic as we hurried through the door. His eyes met mine when I passed him and I could see the disapproval in them over the deal I’d made with the DEA, but he said nothing. Instead he followed us in and secured the door behind him. Once he slid his gun inside his waistband, he surveyed us. The creases around his eyes and lines on his face told me he was worried too.

We were all standing in my gramps’s kitchen and the ghosts couldn’t have had any larger of a presence. With lingering visions of blood everywhere, I closed my eyes and had to forcibly suppress the memories of the night Tommy attacked me and my then somewhat-girlfriend Kayla in here.