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Chapter 1
Logan Lacey
***
Seattle, Washington
Seven years ago
Logan was a broken mess. He hit rock bottom a while back and he was definitely still there. He was literally lying on rocks at the moment—pebbles and pavement. He had moved to Seattle with big dreams of becoming a singer in a band, and he was homeless, hungry, and strung out on drugs and alcohol when an older woman named Rita Alexander found him on a street corner.
"You've got a guitar here. Why aren't you playing it?" she asked.
Logan barely heard her ask the question. He was on his side, curled up, thinking about where he could get money. "You want to buy it?" he asked. "No, no, no, it's not for sale. I changed my mind. It's not for sale. But I do need some money. I have a job coming up. I'm starting a new job and I need money to get some better clothes."
It was a lie. But Logan glanced up at the lady, hoping and praying she'd buy it and give him some money. He made a face that was meant to let her know he was trustworthy.
"Do you think you might need some medical attention?" she asked, stooping down and looking at him like she was concerned.
"No, I need twenty dollars," he said. He sat up even though he had a terrible stomachache. His head was pounding, too.
"You were bleeding," she said. She pointed at his arm, and Logan glanced down at the area in question.
"It's nothing. It's from the other day. I'm about to get all that off when I start my job. I just need to get some new clothes so I don't show up there looking like this."
The lady was already stooping, and she bent down even further. She let out a delicate little groan as she sat down next to him. Logan was filthy and he knew it. Even in his dazed state, he had an awareness that she was clean and well taken care of, and a stark contrast to him.
"What are you doing?" he asked, sitting up more fully and giving her a sideways glance.
She didn't answer. She was too busy sitting next to him on the sidewalk. She made herself comfortable next to him and rested her back against the building like she didn't have anywhere else to go.
"I'm sitting down for a moment," she said, finally. She glanced at him with a smile. "Do you mind?"
"Not really. It's a free country."
"Yes, it is," she agreed, still not looking at him. She sat there, propped against the wall, taking in his surroundings and looking at things from his vantage point. She smelled like perfume, and Logan knew it was odd that she chose to sit on the ground, but he was too out-of-it to care. He was feeling sick and he needed a drink, but he had no money.
"So, tell me about this job you're starting," she said.
He stayed silent for a moment. She was simply too kind for Logan to lie. "I’m not," he said, honestly. "If I say I need money to get food, you're going to tell me that the soup kitchen has free food. The job thing is a lie. I don't have a job. I was trying to tell you that to get you to give me money."
"So, there's no job?"
"No. I'm sorry. But I'll probably do it again after you leave. I'll give the next person the same story."
"Why would you tell me that?" she asked.
Logan shrugged. "Because you sat, I guess."
"What's your name?" she asked.
"It doesn't matter." He thought she might be asking so she could report him to the police.
"Sure, it matters. How else would people know you? My name is Rita Alexander."
Logan glanced at her, but only for a second. "Logan," he said, staring at the street again.
"Logan's a nice name."
