Dark Knight: A Loveswept Romance Classic (10 page)

Staring into his menacing expression, she thought of a third option. Now that he had figured out where the key was, there was nothing stopping him from just knocking her out, then doing as he pleased. She doubted he’d forgotten her chin jab.

As if he’d read her thoughts—and she was beginning to believe he had that skill as well—he said, “Better to cut my losses early for a change.” His voice was like gravel once more, but it wasn’t an imitation.

He started to shift on her, dragging his chained wrists upward. The intent in his eyes was clear, and it wasn’t remotely seductive. There was no time to wonder just how far he’d go, and she couldn’t risk being knocked out. She tugged her hand free and grabbed the front of his shirt. “Wait,” she said.

His expression was cold. Deathly cold. Suddenly his irritating ability to make a joke out of everything didn’t strike her as such a bad trait.

“What?”

“You can’t hurt me. You’ll never find out why I’m here. What I’m protecting you from.”

“Oh, but I can hurt you. In fact, I could kill you and leave this place and almost damn well guarantee that no one would ever be able to prove it.”

“There are at least half a dozen men who can put you in this cabin, on this date, with me, complete with documented proof. No, you won’t get away with killing me.”

She watched him assess the information he’d gotten from her. What she’d told him wouldn’t compromise the mission. Killing or incapacitating her definitely
would. She could not have him finding a way off this mountain and into the Brethren compound before New Year’s Day.

“We both know I don’t have to kill you to contain you,” he said. “As to the other, you’ve made it clear you have no plans to tell me what you’re really doing here, so that threat doesn’t hold much weight.” As he leaned in closer, the chains bit into her stomach. She worked hard not to flinch. “Or was that an offer?”

“What do you want to know?”

He laughed, and the hollow sound made her even colder. Who was this man? Not the one writhing in anguish and arousal on the bed. Not the one who’d kissed her into intoxication moments earlier. Certainly not the man who faced life-and-death situations with an impervious sense of humor.

What was he really capable of? She wished she knew who the hell Sarah was, and, more importantly, what had happened to her.

“I’ll tell you what I can,” she reiterated. If she could tell him just enough to make him let her go, she’d have a second chance at containing him. Of course, if she told him too much, she’d lose her value to him.

“Just like that, huh? I threaten you, and you cave. No force, no pain. I’m not buying it, Detective.”

“Ask me a question. You judge if my answer is acceptable. What do you most want to know, Logan?”

A fleeting expression crossed his face, an emotion she couldn’t—or didn’t dare—put a name to. For just a second he’d looked … lost. A glimpse of need had flashed in his empty eyes. He swiftly, ruthlessly hid it, making her wonder if she’d imagined it. She hadn’t. She couldn’t have. Her life very well depended on it.

“Ask me,” she repeated.

“What are you protecting me from?” He purposely rattled his chains. “Truth or consequences, Scottie. And I’m all out of patience.”

How much to tell. Instinct battled with intelligence. Instinct won. “By keeping you here I’m protecting two people.”

“Who’s the other unfortunate bastard?”

“Your brother, Lucas.”

SIX

Logan stilled. “What do you know about Lucas?” He’d assumed that she had to somehow be connected to his brother. It was the only reason she could have for tracking him down. But hearing someone else confirm that he had a brother unnerved him. No one knew of Blackie’s deathbed confession but Logan and Blackie himself.

“I know quite a bit about him. We work for the same people.”

He hadn’t had much contact with the Brethren thus far, but from what he’d learned, he found it almost impossible to believe Scottie was one of them. For starters, she was female, and while there were women among the Brethren, as far as he could tell their main functions were to provide physical recreation, domestic help, and little else. “You don’t exactly fit the profile,” he said.

“For what? Who do you think he works for?”

Logan fell silent. She hadn’t lied, he could see that. And she appeared willing to keep her word and tell him
what she knew, at least to a point. Provided he asked the right questions. He was still suspicious. Just what did she know about Lucas? Whatever it was, she was willing to give up at least some of it in order to stay conscious.

“I’ll ask the questions,” he stated. “How do you know he’s my brother?”

“That’s an easy one. He looks just like you. A bit rougher perhaps, his hair is longer. Or it was the last time I saw him. But anyone with two eyes could see that you’re twins.”

So it was true. Really true. Blackie had told him where to start digging, and he had. His father had spent years looking for Lucas and had received serious information only a few months before he died. Logan had followed up on that lead, put his own contacts to discreet use, and had finally found him. Or at least discovered where he could be found. The day he’d gotten the confirmation that Lucas was indeed part of the Brethren cult had been both thrilling and devastating. He’d found his only living relative—his twin!—only to have already lost him to a bunch of manifesto-spouting lunatics. It seemed worse than cruel.

But cruel reality had visited him before.

Logan hadn’t given up hope. His determination to at least see his brother, to talk to him, was unshakable. He owed it to Blackie, to Lucas, and to himself.

And now he’d met someone who had seen both brothers in the flesh, confirming in a way no one else could that Lucas Blackstone was indeed his identical twin brother. The same someone who could—would—make the meeting he so desperately wanted happen.

“When do you plan to see him again?” he asked.

“I honestly don’t know.”

“Scottie—”

“Listen,” she said, cutting off his warning, “can we get up off the floor and discuss all this?”

“I don’t think—”

“Tell me one thing,” she broke in again. “Why do you want to find your brother?”

She stared him very hard in the eye, and Logan found he could only give her the truth. “Because he’s all I have left.”

She continued to study him for a moment, then released a small sigh. “Okay. We’ve both got cause to be here. You want to meet your brother, I know where he is. Why don’t we cut out the cat-and-mouse games. I’ll tell you as much as I can, enough to convince you to stay here for a week. I can promise a meeting with Lucas when this is over.”

“And how do I know I can trust you?”

“You can’t. But I’m the best deal you have right now to cut through a lot of hassle you still face in your quest to reunite with Lucas. I also know that if you don’t do what I say, your brother’s life and the lives of many others could be lost.” Her steely-eyed gaze locked onto his. “Do we have a deal?”

“You’ll take off the chains?”

“You’ll promise to stay here and listen?”

Logan’s grin was weary but felt good. He felt as if he’d gone fifteen rounds with Tyson. “Nothing’s easy with you, is it?”

“Trust has to start somewhere,” she said, a small smile of her own curving her lips.

He glanced just past her head and nodded. “What about all the play toys?”

Scottie arched her neck and glimpsed the gun. It was
less than a foot away. She looked back at Logan. “You knew it was there the whole time.” He nodded. “I never had a chance.”

He shook his head.

He watched her assimilate the ramifications, bemused by and impressed with how fast her mind worked.

“You still want to deal?” she asked.

His grin faded. “I want information about my brother. I don’t want to hurt you to get it.” He hadn’t realized the truth of those words until he spoke them.

“Okay, then, I can work with that. As to the weaponry, well, we can either dismantle them and swap parts, rendering both guns useless, or we can act like big boys and girls and agree to play nice.”

His grin returned. “I can be a big boy.” Just like that, the ugly tension that had snapped between them vanished, only to be replaced by the all-too-familiar tension he’d experienced earlier.

He wanted to trust her, but he didn’t. Not yet. Logan knew he should stay on the straight and narrow. Keep a level head and proceed with caution. Sarah had taught him that.

But Scottie wasn’t a play-it-safe kind of woman. Instinct had served him well thus far.

“I’ll even make the first gesture of trust,” he added. “Lie still,” he ordered. She stiffened, but didn’t move. “I can’t use my hands for leverage, so you’ll have to bear my weight for a moment. I’m going to roll off of you.”

“And?”

“And the olive branch is that Glock by your head. It’s yours. Keep it on me while you get the key. You can
even retrieve the one by the wall, if it will make you feel better.”

“You’re sure?”

He held her gaze. “I know you have more dream-time drugs in that bag of yours and probably a dart gun to shoot it into me.” He softened his voice. “No more needles, Scottie. That’s the one thing I’ll ask of you. Chain me, tie me up, shoot me if you have to. No more needles.”

Scottie was shaken by the emotion he was working so hard to conceal. The request alone surprised her.

“Trust works both ways,” he said.

“As far as I can tell, you’re giving me all the weapons. What am I giving you?”

“Freedom and information. If it means meeting my brother, I’ll give you all the weapons you want.”

He was so sincere, it made her wary that he was setting her up. A man as well trained as Logan didn’t hand over any advantage he didn’t have to.

“Your mind amazes me, Detective.”

Embarrassed at being caught ruminating, but determined not to show it, she said, “Meaning?”

“Always thinking, figuring odds, percentages, strategies. So careful to make sure nothing gets by you.”

She could have mentioned how he’d managed to accomplish that feat rather handily, but she didn’t bother. He knew it. “In my line of work, you can’t afford to be any less than your most vigilant, because no matter how careful you are, things get by you. That’s bad enough. There’s no excuse for letting it be worse. But then, I imagine you understand that line of reasoning, don’t you, Lieutenant Detective Blackstone?”

She’d wanted to prick him, but instead of dinging
his know-it-all arrogance, her verbal spear had hit somewhere much deeper than a surface attitude.

“Yeah, I know that one real well.” His eyes went flat once more, his expression closed up tight. “You ready? Brace yourself and I’ll try and roll off as quickly and gently as I can.”

Scottie put her free hand on his arm. “Logan, I—”

“You want me off of you or not?” He all but growled in her face.

Her urge to apologize vanished. It was just as well. Intimacy and Logan Blackstone had already proven a far too volatile combination. Her own expression steely, she said, “Sure. Go for it.”

There was a brief flicker of something—remorse?—in his eyes, but the sudden bite of the chains chased it away. It was over in less than five seconds, but that didn’t make it feel any better.

Scottie immediately reached for the Glock, groaning as blood flowed back into the arm that had been pinned beneath her the entire time. “You know, if you ever lose your job as a bartender, I’m sure you could get one as a steamroller.”

Logan said nothing. He’d rolled to a sitting position and was untangling his chains, ignoring her and the weapon she now held.

There was a pang in her chest that felt suspiciously like regret. He’s business, not pleasure, she reminded herself. She swallowed a groan as she slowly crawled to a stand, unable to tear her gaze away from the humbling sight he made. Even chained he’d been nothing less than magnificent.

“Can we hurry it up here?” He didn’t look up from his task.

Scottie stilled for a moment, surprised by his surly tone, then shook her head, angry at herself for being stupid enough to waste even a second feeling sorry for him. She’d do well to remember the caliber of man she was dealing with. She ignored the part about how that caliber extended to his talent for kissing. Instead of laying the Glock on the table as she’d been about to do, she stubbornly shoved the gun in her waistband.

“Yes, sir. Right away, sir.” She didn’t bother tempering her sarcasm. She was, after all, holding the gun. That reminded her. She crossed the room and scooped up the second gun.

“The keys?”

She made a face at his back, then righted one of the chairs and dragged it to the refrigerator. She climbed up and reached for her gear bag. “You know, for someone who gave away all his toys, you sure aren’t playing very nicely.” From her vantage point, she looked down at him. That was when she saw the blood.

She hopped down, shoved the bag on the counter, and crossed the room, dropping to her knees beside him. “What did you do to yourself?” She started to reach out to touch his wrists where they had been carved up by the handcuffs, but he raised his head and froze her with a black stare.