They started out slowly, gliding on the water with little noise. The boat rocked slightly from side to side, making it clear to Rachel it was a good thing she hadn’t eaten breakfast this morning. The sun was high in the sky, the heat and mugginess increasing as they ventured farther into the swamp. She couldn’t identify any of the foliage, but the beauty and splendor of it all was breathtaking. Some trees grew out of the water, the branches winding together to create platforms with wild grass growing out of them, while other trees shaded them with their hanging limbs.

Similar to the ones she heard last night on the drive to Joe’s, all sorts of noises, from chirps and whistles to splashes and knocking, came from deep inside the swamp. But these were amplified by the fact they were now in the swamp rather than driving beside it in the safety of their car. Her heart had barely slowed from their dramatic exit down the tunnel and now it was racing again from all the unknowns hiding within the wetlands.

As they cleared the constricted passageway, they came to a body of water resembling a small lake. Before she could relax, Logan hit the gas and the boat began to speed away, the wind smacking her cheeks and blowing her hair in all directions.

Walter sat up, bliss on his scrunched face and his jowls flapping. For a moment, she allowed herself to forget the past thirty-six hours and the fact they were currently speeding away from the FBI. She tipped her head back and laughed, enjoying the sensation of flying above the water and the slight bumps as they landed. The fan was loud, blocking out the earlier swamp noises. Pelicans flew overhead, their wings spanned out as they dived through the blue sky and into the sparkling water before flying off again with fish in their beaks.

If they’d been down here on vacation, she might be able to fully immerse herself in the experience, ask him to explore the various wildlife and plant life in the Everglades. But who was she kidding? She didn’t take vacations, and if she did, she certainly wouldn’t be on vacation with Logan.

After confiding in him about her parents, she’d stupidly thought they had made some kind of connection, and because of it, she’d trusted him with her submission. For the first time in her life, she’d allowed herself to be vulnerable with a man, and at the first opportunity he’d proved to her that nothing that happened between them in the past twenty-four hours meant anything at all.

As she’d overheard him say to Joe, they were just making the best out of a bad situation.

Even though she was angry with him, she still trusted him to protect her. Logan was one of the good guys. That much was clear. He’d defend her with his life. And she would count on him to help her get out of this mess. But he couldn’t hold her to the agreement to submit to him, and after the way he’d so casually disregarded her feelings, she wouldn’t be so quick to do it again. She wasn’t a doormat, and she wouldn’t allow him to treat her as one.

A realization struck as they zipped across the lake toward the buildings Joe had referred to. Earlier she’d been looking at Rinaldi’s murder from the wrong angle. The dead mobster wasn’t the story. She and Logan were. The press was already creating a buzz, but she had something they didn’t. Inside information of what it was like to be framed for murder and chased by the FBI. It was the kind of story every two-bit reporter would give his or her firstborn child to have an exclusive to. When this was all over, she wouldn’t sit down with the highest bidder. She’d be the one reporting the story. Not only would she and Logan find a way to prove their innocence in the murder, but she’d also report on what it was like to run for their lives without having the protection of those who had sworn an oath to protect.

This was who she was. An independent career-driven woman who’d do anything for a story. At least that’s what Logan and everyone believed. New York was waiting for her, and what better opportunity would she find than the one that had metaphorically fallen in her lap? This story had the possibility of Emmy Awards and Pulitzers.

Nearing the row of buildings, Logan slowed the boat, the whirring of the fan quieting. Now that it was no longer windy, Walter flopped back down onto her lap and rested his head on her knees. They slowly floated to a dock where Logan jumped out and secured the boat to a piling. She dropped Walter onto the wooden planks of the dock and took Logan’s hand for help out of the boat.

Running her fingers through her windblown hair, she avoided Logan’s eyes and scanned the area, looking for any sign of the FBI or police. Fishing poles in hand, a couple of men sat on the other end of the dock, a six-pack of beer beside them. Beyond that, a line of people stood waiting to get onto a fan boat. A quick glance at the sign on the building told her it was a fan-boat ride business. On the other side was a tackle and bait shop. None of the structures were anything close to purple.

“Are you sure we’re in the right place?” she asked Logan as he lifted Walter into his arms.

Logan unzipped his bag and dug through it, retrieving Walter’s leash. “No, but I didn’t see any other towns, so we’ll just have to hope this is it.” He clipped the leash onto the dog’s collar and handed it off to her, striding away from the water and hopefully toward the town.

Clearing the buildings, she was surprised to find a vibrant small town with a myriad of stores, houses, and churches. Sweat dripped down between her breasts and her shirt stuck to her back. It had to be at least ninety degrees out. Her mouth watered at the thought of stopping for a bottle of cold water and a breakfast burrito. Was it too early for ice cream? She started walking in the direction of the convenience store, only to be yanked back by Logan.

He pointed in the complete opposite direction. “There’s the purple house. Let’s go.”

She put her hunger and thirst on the back burner as they crossed the street toward the house. It stuck out from the others, not only because of its color, but also because of the signs warning of the forthcoming apocalypse should anyone trespass onto the property. Hopefully that meant the guy had a sense of humor and wasn’t a loon. If he was one of Joe’s friends, it could go either way.

They climbed the porch and opened the screen door to knock. She heard some banging inside and then the sound of turning locks. The door creaked open a bit with two chain locks still attached, and a man with curly gray hair and thick glasses peeked out.

“Who are you? Didn’t you see the sign?” he asked gruffly.

“Are you Morrie?” she asked softly, trying not to scare the man into shutting the door. He definitely seemed a bit off his rocker.

The man’s eyes narrowed. “Who wants to know?”

“Joe sent us,” said Logan. “There’s been a situation, and we need a car.”

The man slammed the door. A few seconds later, he removed the chains and opened it fully. “Did they follow you here?”

“No, sir,” Logan answered. “Joe’s leading them away from us in his car.”

“Good. Good.” Nodding vehemently, he kept his gaze on his bare feet. “Meet me ’round back,” he whispered before slamming the door in their faces again.

Grinning, Logan turned to her. “Well, he seemed nice.”

She snorted and started down the steps of the porch. “Let’s hope he’s not leading us to his secret laboratory where he’ll take us captive and do experiments on us.”

Logan laughed. “I think we’re safe, at least from him.” Meeting her down at the foot of the porch, he pressed his hand on her lower back and leaned to whisper in her ear. “Did I forget to mention you look incredibly sexy wearing my shirt?”

Even though she was boiling from the morning’s extreme temperature, the warmth of his hand permeated through the shirt to her overheated skin. Damn him for his sexy talk. She’d already forgotten why she was angry with him.