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Because I wanted to kill Donnie Logan.
And I wasn’t sorry for the dangerous thought. A decent man would be. But he had crossed a line—hell, he’d crossed so many there was no point in them any longer.
When Lexie had fallen asleep, I’d gone to another bedroom and listened to the messages he’d left. Even the ones she hadn’t made it to. Zegas and Daniel needed to hear them too.
I had a niggling of guilt about violating her privacy. A lot more over that than I did for thinking of killing her father.
I was glad she’d stopped when she had. Because the messages had only gotten worse. He’d called her a bitch seventeen times.
Seventeen.
I wanted to stab him for every single utterance of the curse.
I wouldn’t think about the other choice words he’d spoken of her. If I did, my restraint not to follow through on murdering him might fail.
But he was going back to prison.
I would make sure of that if it was the last thing I did. Even if I ended up in a cell next to him.
Lexie deserved to be free of the bastard. His only saving grace was the two beautiful souls he’d brought into this world.
I’d have to be patient. Plans took time to unfold. And while I wanted him and his wife buriedunderthe jail, I had to have faith it would happen soon. Daniel had the connections to see to that.
I wasn’t above bending the law, but it appeared he had the means to make it happen within the parameters.
I tapped my finger on my desk. Lexie had arranged our route so we could make it home for lunch. She insisted we start making use of the ingredients in the kitchen and I wasn’t about to start an argument over that.
It was her business. She should be able to plan their schedule any way she chose. And if that happened to include a stop at the apartment, I was simply the driver.
I examined my hands.
Who was I?
Not that long ago, I’d been more than willing to insert myself into her business plans. And I still was . . . if that was what she wanted.
There was a certain pride I took in watching her do it on her own. She’d returned the messages she’d been avoiding. We were taking a sample to one of the people this evening when they were available after work. She and Eric had been so excited, it was contagious.
They were growing their business one step at a time, and they hadn’t let setbacks keep them down.
“I should’ve asked permission to be in your room,” I said as Eric wandered into my study—no, his room—with the dogs trailing behind.
“You can come in whenever you want. I can paint while you work.”
He had a generosity of spirit that was inspiring.
“I appreciate that. But if you’d like me to move the desk to another room, I will.”
“No!” He bent to pet Millie. “I want it to stay just as it is.”
I was concerned about the bed situation. He couldn’t sleep on a sofa forever despite that he seemed quite content to do so.
“Then it will.”
He looked up at me. “Is something wrong with my sis?”
My heart leapt to my throat. “Not that I’m aware of,” I said carefully.
“She keeps rubbing her head. Like she has a big headache.”
