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"This is not a joke, though I freely admit I am a bloody annoying prat."
His brows rise even higher. "Ye know what 'scunner' means?"
"Yes." How much should I confess? I need his help, so I must make a few concessions to satisfy him. "I learned that word from Catriona."
Logan stares at me without any discernible expression. "Catriona who?"
"MacTaggart. Your cousin." I shift in my seat as if I'm uncomfortable, but that's rubbish. Nothing unsettles me, which means there must be needles under my arse. "I knew Cat a long time ago. We, ah, lived together."
The Scot keeps staring at me. Just when I think he must have suffered an aneurysm, Logan erupts in laughter. "You're the British erse who broke her heart. Every time someone mentions you, she spits on the ground and curses in Gaelic."
Well, at least she hasn't forgotten about me. Not that I care either way.
"So, Logan," I say as if I don't give a stuff what his answer might be, "are you still willing to take the job?"
"Aye." He stands and sets the photograph on my desk. "Donnae need this."
"Don't you want to know how much I'll pay you?"
He shrugs. "We can discuss that later."
I suggest we have a drink, but he declines my offer. Logan also says no to dinner. The Scot examines the two crime scenes, then leaves.
Two days later, he returns with my precious treasure. The former spy strides into my study one evening and sets the package on my desk, wrapped in a brown paper sack. "Ye didnae mention the laddie is a bodybuilder and the star of the university wrestling team."
I point at his face. "He gave you a black eye?"
"That's right. You said this would be simple, but ye lied. No wonder Catriona hates you."
"I apologize, Logan. I had no idea who had stolen the item, so I couldn't have guessed the job would be such a bother." I unlock a drawer on my desk and bring out several bound stacks of hundred-dollar bills, then hand them to Logan. "Here. It's the fee I had planned on giving you plus a bit extra for the trouble."
Logan fans the bills with his thumb. His brows lift the slightest bit.
I unwrap the package and gaze at the object he had retrieved for me—an empty bottle of sparkling white grape juice that bears the lip print of Catriona MacTaggart.
Logan eyes the bottle. "The laddie must've drunk the contents."
"No. It was already empty."
This time when I invite him to dinner, he accepts. We have a good chat, and Logan shares a few stories from his time with MI6—the stories he can tell without committing treason. I'm sure he wants to know more about me and Cat, but I can't talk about that. So I share stories about the moronic things college students do.
A few days after I reclaimed my precious treasure, I realize I need to stop obsessing over the past. So I run my thumb over the bottle to erase the lip print, then I toss the thing into the rubbish bin. I'd gotten rid of the engagement ring years ago. Why cherish a ruddy bottle? Throwing out the last remnant of my relationship with Cat will cleanse me of her forever.
Yes, I excel at self-delusion.
Three years later, I ask for Logan's help again. I've gotten myself into a bit of a mess, a habit I seem to have developed lately. Logan comes to my rescue again, but this time he brings his new love interest, Serena Carpenter. They convince me to fly to Scotland with them and face up to my past, though even they don't know the whole truth about me. But they're right that I do need to confront my worst mistake.
Logan cheerfully informs me that Cat has devised nicknames for me over the years, and that she only ever refers to me by those names. The British Bastard. The Limey Louse. The Soulless Sassenach. Maybe I am a soulless Brit and a bastard. But it's time I stopped hiding from what I'd done to the only woman I ever loved.
I'm about to see Catriona.
Maybe I should buy a suit of armor.
