“Shell LLC out of Nevada. Goes cold fast. I called a friend at Seattle PD. Waiting to hear back.”
“Logan—”
“You don’t owe me your story right now.” His voice is low and steady. “But I’m driving you. I’m walking through your apartment. I’ll ask you three questions you don’t have to answer yet. Then I’ll leave, and you lock both deadbolts.”
I stare at him. He stares back.
It’s been almost ten years since he turned me down. One month since I wouldn’t bid on his basket. And yet here he is.
I hand him the keys. “There’s something I want to show you when we get there.”
We drive in silence. When we reach my apartment, Logan takes in the low ceilings, the tall windows, and the row of bartending books above the sink.
“It’s small,” I say.
“It’s you.” He closes the door behind us. “What did you want to show me?”
I pull the photo out of my apron pocket and set it on the kitchen table.
His hand flattens on the wood. “When did you find this?”
“This morning. Under the back door.” I swallow. “There was a text the other day. My address. I deleted it.”
Logan nods slowly. “Tell me what this could be about.”
I fill the kettle to keep my hands busy. When it whistles, I fill two cups, drop a vanilla teabag in one mug and a lemon ginger in the other. He takes the lemon ginger. I didn’t expect that.
I sit across from him and force the words out.
“I bartended at a place on Capitol Hill. It was everything I wanted. Nice crowd, good tips, creative freedom. I took therecycling out every night. Five minutes of quiet before last call. One night I went out… Three men were in the alley.”
Logan sips his tea. I fiddle with my mug, unsure my hands are steady enough to lift it.
“Two were in the middle of a deal. Cash and product sit on the dumpster lid in plain sight. The third man stood at the far end of the alley. Standing in the dark.”
“Watching?”
Nodding, I curl both hands around the mug. Warmth seeps into my palms. “The two closest to me got into an argument. Then, the buyer pulled out a gun and fired. The dealer went down. The third man saw me see him.”
Logan is quiet, as if he knows there’s more.
My tea has gone lukewarm. I take a sip. “The detective who took my statement said the third man matched a file they’d been building. Something about operations up and down the I-5 corridor. They’d never gotten anyone who could place him at a scene. Until me.”
“His name?”
“No idea. I held it together until I got a text that said one word.” I make myself say it. “Sloppy.”
Logan doesn’t move.
“I came back to Lush Hollow after that. I told Jesse I was burnt out. I told Mason I’d missed the mountain. I told Eli I needed a soft place to land. I didn’t tell any of them what happened because telling them meant they would do something about it. I couldn’t risk it. Them.”
“You could’ve come to me.”
I nearly laugh. “You would do something about it, too.”
“Yeah.” Logan’s voice is even. “I would. Will.”
The photo sits between us on the table. “He waited six weeks after I came home. First call. Blocked. No voice on the line. Just breathing. The texts started a month after that.”
