either.
“Let’s get out of here,” Logan said after about an hour. “You
look dead on your feet.”
“I’m not ready to leave yet,” she said.
Coming into the bar was a guy with bleached blond hair and a
deep tan, wearing baggy shorts that extended below his knees and a T-shirt
decorated with a skull and crossbones. Maria marched straight up to him, the
photo in hand, ignoring the up and down glance he gave her and the smell of
alcohol that emanated from him.
“Excuse me,” she said, “can you tell me if you’ve ever seen
this man?”
He barely glanced at the picture, his bleary gaze focused
squarely on her breasts. “Lesh get some beers and discush it.”
“I’d like to discuss it now,” Maria said, holding her ground.
“Have you seen him or not?”
“Don’t be that way, shweetheart.” He reached for her, his beefy
hand clamping on her arm. “Come with me.”
“Let me go this instant,” she hissed at him, “or you’ll regret
it.”
Before the bleached blond could process her words, Logan came
up behind him and yanked his arm so he had to release her. The blond whirled,
closing his fist and swinging wildly. His punch connected with Logan’s left eye.
Logan staggered backward, crashing into a table and knocking over an empty
chair. The blond swung again and hit air.
“Stop it!” Maria yelled.
The drunk guy kept advancing. Logan regained his balance and
brought up his fists, warding off another blow. He bounced on the balls of his
feet like a professional boxer and threw a punch of his own that caught the
other man on his jaw. The drunk went down in a heap, moaning and rubbing his
face.
“Hey, no fighting in here!” A thickset man at least six feet
four barreled up to them, scowling and getting between the two. He pointed to
Logan. “You need to leave!”
Logan’s hand went to his eye. “He threw the first punch.”
“I think he broke my face!” the drunk guy wailed from the
floor, where he was writhing in seeming agony.
“Want me to call the cops?” the big man barked, advancing on
Logan.
Logan didn’t budge. His gaze hardened and he lifted his
chin.
“No, we don’t,” Maria answered. She crossed to his side,
captured his hand and tugged. He didn’t move. “We’re leaving. Aren’t we,
Logan?”
He glared at the big man, who glowered back. Maria could almost
smell the testosterone in the air.
She yanked harder on Logan’s hand. He felt like an unmovable
object, giving her no choice but to try to be an irresistible force. “Please,”
she pleaded.
That simple word seemed to finally get through to him. He
blinked, meeting her eyes and nodding once. As soon as they were outside in the
night air, she dropped his hand.
“Are you okay?” Logan asked, his gaze running over her.
“I’m fine, ” she retorted. “What was
all that about? What were you thinking?”
“I was thinking I wanted him to get his hands off you,” Logan
said.
She was about to tell him she didn’t need him to come to her
rescue, that she was trained as a police officer. But then one of the
streetlights caught him in its glow. Blood trickled from a cut above his eye,
which was already starting to swell.
“You’re bleeding,” she said.
“Yeah.” Logan touched the injured area, then looked down at his
hand. “He must have been wearing a ring.”
The heat went out of Maria’s temper.
“C’mon,” she said. “Let’s get you back to the hotel so I can do
something about that cut.”
CHAPTER SIX
L OGAN TRIED NOT TO WINCE as Maria dabbed
at the cut above his eye with the antiseptic they’d bought at a twenty-four-hour
drugstore. He was sitting on the edge of her hotel-room bed beside the bedside
table, where the light was brightest.
She unwrapped one of the bandages she’d had in her toiletry
bag, biting her lower lip as she focused on the task. “Hold still.”
After smoothing the bandage over his skin with gentle fingers,
she stepped back and examined her handiwork.
“Let’s get out of here,” Logan said after about an hour. “You
look dead on your feet.”
“I’m not ready to leave yet,” she said.
Coming into the bar was a guy with bleached blond hair and a
deep tan, wearing baggy shorts that extended below his knees and a T-shirt
decorated with a skull and crossbones. Maria marched straight up to him, the
photo in hand, ignoring the up and down glance he gave her and the smell of
alcohol that emanated from him.
“Excuse me,” she said, “can you tell me if you’ve ever seen
this man?”
He barely glanced at the picture, his bleary gaze focused
squarely on her breasts. “Lesh get some beers and discush it.”
“I’d like to discuss it now,” Maria said, holding her ground.
“Have you seen him or not?”
“Don’t be that way, shweetheart.” He reached for her, his beefy
hand clamping on her arm. “Come with me.”
“Let me go this instant,” she hissed at him, “or you’ll regret
it.”
Before the bleached blond could process her words, Logan came
up behind him and yanked his arm so he had to release her. The blond whirled,
closing his fist and swinging wildly. His punch connected with Logan’s left eye.
Logan staggered backward, crashing into a table and knocking over an empty
chair. The blond swung again and hit air.
“Stop it!” Maria yelled.
The drunk guy kept advancing. Logan regained his balance and
brought up his fists, warding off another blow. He bounced on the balls of his
feet like a professional boxer and threw a punch of his own that caught the
other man on his jaw. The drunk went down in a heap, moaning and rubbing his
face.
“Hey, no fighting in here!” A thickset man at least six feet
four barreled up to them, scowling and getting between the two. He pointed to
Logan. “You need to leave!”
Logan’s hand went to his eye. “He threw the first punch.”
“I think he broke my face!” the drunk guy wailed from the
floor, where he was writhing in seeming agony.
“Want me to call the cops?” the big man barked, advancing on
Logan.
Logan didn’t budge. His gaze hardened and he lifted his
chin.
“No, we don’t,” Maria answered. She crossed to his side,
captured his hand and tugged. He didn’t move. “We’re leaving. Aren’t we,
Logan?”
He glared at the big man, who glowered back. Maria could almost
smell the testosterone in the air.
She yanked harder on Logan’s hand. He felt like an unmovable
object, giving her no choice but to try to be an irresistible force. “Please,”
she pleaded.
That simple word seemed to finally get through to him. He
blinked, meeting her eyes and nodding once. As soon as they were outside in the
night air, she dropped his hand.
“Are you okay?” Logan asked, his gaze running over her.
“I’m fine, ” she retorted. “What was
all that about? What were you thinking?”
“I was thinking I wanted him to get his hands off you,” Logan
said.
She was about to tell him she didn’t need him to come to her
rescue, that she was trained as a police officer. But then one of the
streetlights caught him in its glow. Blood trickled from a cut above his eye,
which was already starting to swell.
“You’re bleeding,” she said.
“Yeah.” Logan touched the injured area, then looked down at his
hand. “He must have been wearing a ring.”
The heat went out of Maria’s temper.
“C’mon,” she said. “Let’s get you back to the hotel so I can do
something about that cut.”
CHAPTER SIX
L OGAN TRIED NOT TO WINCE as Maria dabbed
at the cut above his eye with the antiseptic they’d bought at a twenty-four-hour
drugstore. He was sitting on the edge of her hotel-room bed beside the bedside
table, where the light was brightest.
She unwrapped one of the bandages she’d had in her toiletry
bag, biting her lower lip as she focused on the task. “Hold still.”
After smoothing the bandage over his skin with gentle fingers,
she stepped back and examined her handiwork.
Similar Books
