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For the second morning, Logan felt as if he’d woken to a nightmare, one where his mistakes resurfaced again and again. Maggie, the woman his teammate had fallen for, might be willing to write a positive account of their mission, but the guy snooping around his aunt’s farm? Ten-to-one odds he wanted dirt, not a feel-good story about a war half the country didn’t support.
In the field, a cow mooed. The guy with the camera turned and spotted Logan. He was on his feet in seconds, running. Logan went after him. He’d kept up with training while home on leave, but this guy was fast. It was as if he made his living running away from windows, camera bag in tow. By the time they neared the fence on the property border, Logan was close.
“Logan?”
He heard her voice and glanced over his shoulder. Sadie, wearing a T-shirt and underwear, raced toward him.
“Go back inside,” he said. “This doesn’t concern you.”
His target pivoted, lifted his camera and aimed. At Sadie. This left Logan with a choice. He could block the shot or tackle the man to the ground.
Logan shifted right, moving in front of Sadie. Protecting her, keeping her free and clear of his mess, that was more important than taking this guy down.
The intruder lowered the camera, turned and started running. Logan went after him. But then the guy slid like a ball player aiming for home plate, and escaped under the wire fence.
Logan thought about jumping over, but a second later, he heard a car starting, then wheels on gravel. He’d lost him.
Sadie stopped by his side, breathing hard.
“You need to go back inside,” he said. Not that the guy would come back. Logan suspected he’d scared the intruder away. At least for a little while.
“No—”
“It was a reporter. He had a camera.” Logan shook his head. “Christ, I knew it was only a matter of time before more started digging.”
“Logan.” She placed her hand on his arm. “He wasn’t here for you.”
He studied her face. Remorse. Regret. It was all there plain as day. She’d been hiding something from him. He’d been so damn wrapped up in his own secrets and what to tell her, he hadn’t thought to ask about hers.
“Come inside,” she said. “I’ll tell you. Everything.”
She turned to the house and Logan followed, his mind running through the what-ifs. Jealous boyfriend? Ex-husband? Criminal past? She led him into the living room. “Before we talk, I need pants. Wait here, okay?”
She returned minutes later wearing purple sweatpants and carrying two glasses of water. “Thought you might need a drink after your run.”
He nodded, accepting the glass. She settled on the sofa across from him. Days earlier, they’d sat in these same places. He’d been dying to touch her, his only concern that she would want more from a relationship than he could give. Lust—it was powerful. Caught up in a web of physical desire, something he’d denied himself for so long, he’d put on blinders, ignoring any hints that Sadie wasn’t 100 percent open and honest.
Only this wasn’t just physical desire. He’d trusted her. He’d told her things he’d never shared with anyone. He’d let this become more than a fling, more than hot sex. He’d thought it had meant more to her, too. The way she’d looked at him last night, as if his leaving would crush her, had said plain as day this was more.
But he had a sinking feeling he was wrong.
“What is it, Sadie?” he asked. “What led a guy with a camera to your bedroom window?”
She took a long drink from her water glass, set it on the table and folded her hands in her lap.
“I’m MJ Lane.”
Logan leaned forward in his chair, resting his forearms on his thighs. Her words didn’t mean anything to him. “You have a secret identity?”
“I’m the author of the Isabelle’s Command series. Or at least it will be a series once I publish the next book. You’ve heard of it? The internationally bestselling erotica book everyone is talking about?”
Logan shook his head. “Haven’t heard of it.”
In his world—at the base, in Afghanistan and even in Mount Pleasant—no one was talking about erotica, at least, not to him. The fact that she was successful explained a lot, like her ability to rent the guesthouse and spend a month helping her sister. He knew she’d grown up poor, so he’d figured she made good money writing. But it didn’t explain the guy with the camera.
“My book has done well. Much, much better than anyone expected,” she said. “I’m releasing the second installment in the series next month. To promote the book, I’m revealing my identity. On national TV.”
Logan sat back in his chair.
