Page 142 of Tragic (Lark Cove 3)

“Um, because I didn’t know,” Logan told me then turned to his wife. “We’re going to Paris?”

She nodded. “Isn’t that what you gave me for my Christmas present?”

“Well, yeah. But we can go whenever you want.”

“And I’ve decided I want to go for New Year’s Eve. You can kiss me underneath the Eiffel Tower.”

“Gross, Mom.” Charlie groaned in her seat next to me. Collin and Camila just giggled from their car seats.

“I’ve already arranged for the kids to stay with Hazel and Xavier,” Thea told Logan, earning a cheer from the kids that they’d be staying with their gran. “The jet is already here since Sofia flew over last night. We just have to pack and go.”

“But what about the bar?” he asked. “Your New Year’s Eve party is in two days. You really want to miss it?”

She shrugged. “They can party without us this year.”

“But—”

“I rarely do anything spontaneous, gorgeous. I’m stepping way outside my comfort zone here. Just go with it.”

His entire frame relaxed, and he reached across the car to take her hand. “Paris is what you want?”

“Paris is what I want.” She nodded. “Ten days. Just the two of us.”

“Okay. Then we’ll go to Paris.” He leaned across the car and planted a firm kiss on her lips, getting more groans and giggles from the kids.

“Is this your idea?” I asked. “For me to house-sit while you’re gone?”

Thea gave Logan a grin that could only be described as diabolical. “Sort of.”

“Wait. What do you mean—”

Before I finished my question, she opened the door and started unbuckling the kids.

I rushed to get out of the middle seat and follow, hurrying to catch up as she crossed the snow-covered parking lot. “Thea, what do you mean sort of?”

“Trust me.”

“I’m starting to fear those two words.”

She laughed and kept walking, Camila perched on her hip while Charlie and Collin raced around in the snow, kicking and throwing it at one other.

“Inside, guys!” Logan hollered, getting to the door first and holding it open for us.

Stepping inside and out of the cold, I took a few seconds to let my eyes adjust to the dark interior of the bar. Even with the blinds on the front windows open and the winter sun streaming inside, the bar was dim.

The kids rushed past me, bringing clumps of snow with them.

This was only the third time I’d been to Thea’s bar and restaurant. All of my previous trips to Montana had been for family gatherings, so my time in Lark Cove had been confined to Logan and Thea’s house on Flathead Lake. I didn’t know this bar well, but it didn’t take much of an inspection to know that it hadn’t changed a bit since I’d been here last.

The ceil

ings were high with iron beams running the length of the open room. The bar ran in an L along the back walls. Behind it were mirrored shelves crowded with liquor bottles. The wooden plank floors matched the wooden plank walls, except while the dark floors were battered and covered in peanut shells, the dark walls were battered and covered in framed photos and the occasional neon sign.

Nothing else matched. Not the chairs or the stools or the tables. It was a mishmash of collectibles and went against every single one of the design principles I’d learned in college.

A strange twinge ran up my neck. It was the same feeling I’d had the other three times I’d been here, the same prickle I’d gotten when I’d ridden the subway once in high school for “fun.” I was convinced that the next black plague would originate from those tunnels.

Maybe that twinge was my body’s way of warning me of danger. Like it knew my immune system wouldn’t be able to ward off the germs in places like this.