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She walked behind the counter and grabbed her iPad. “Well, if you’re here early then I’m going down to the dungeon. I’ve got loads of orders to sift through.”
“B.”
“You are not going to let this go, are you?”
“I thought I was coming in to be a shoulder, now I guess I get the job of bomb squad.”
“Fine. Tell me, oh bomb expert, just what did Logan do that is going to make me get so upset.” Was it wrong to want to skip this and run downstairs? To ignore it? Because the big sad filling Nic’s eyes made her want to scream, “No.”
Nic took her iPad and flipped off the cover. “It’s a picture. It’s not that bad.
But, it’s not great either.” She tapped on the screen then handed it to Bella.
She closed her eyes. She so didn’t want to see it.
She took a deep breath and opened her eyes. It was Logan on stage at the barn. A picture from that first night. When he’d been blazing on fire. The black shirt she’d peeled off of him before bringing him into that moonlit room.
But then she saw the inside caption. The picture was slightly blurrier, but there was no doubt who it was. Logan and Lindsey.
Kissing.
Her jaw clenched tight and tears flooded her eyes. “Damn you, Logan.” She whipped the cover closed. “Just, dammit.”
Had it been the same night? He was always wearing black when he was working, so she couldn’t tell. Not that it mattered. If she hadn’t been sure about just how much of a liar he was, this certainly was the final bit of proof.
Nic came up behind her, her hand on her shoulder. “Are you all right?”
“No.” She blew out a breath. “But I will be.”
Twenty-Seven
New York City
Logan stepped out of the Town Car. The unending noise of the city was jarring compared to the relative quiet of the last few weeks. He’d needed to get back into the city for a number of reasons, but the main one had been here.
A discreet bronze plaque was the only way thing that distinguished this wall of glass from the other half dozen on this block of West 70th. Bold, capital letters read: ROTH DEFENSE.
The name seemed a little overkill, but he couldn’t fault their reputation for personal security. His net worth made people nervous. He’d used them a few times for private shows for insurance purposes, and of course at The Barn.
He pushed through the wide fog-tinted doors to the jet black desk that dominated the lobby. “Hello. Logan King to see Mr. Roth.”
The tank-sized man in a well-cut suit smiled at him. “Certainly, sir.” His fingers flew over the keys and he touched his ear. “Mr. King for Marcus. Right, yes. No problem.” He stood. “I’ll take you right up.”
Logan followed the man to an elevator with an onyx sheen. The doors opened and the tank leaned into a panel. Retina scan? Really?
Helluva selling point.
The car moved silently and smoothly, then opened to a charcoal and black lobby. A company after his own heart.
“This way, sir.”
Logan followed the human tank around the corner and he stopped dead. It looked like the set of a modern day War Games. A map of the world filled one wall with dozens of little glowing lights.
A man came out of a glassed-in office at the back. “Thanks, Terry.” He crossed the room with his hand out. “I appreciate your business. I’m Marcus Roth I hope this face to face isn’t anything serious.”
Logan shook his hand. “I’m afraid it is.”
Marcus nodded. “You had that look when you walked in.”
