Dark Knight: A Loveswept Romance Classic Read online

  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.

  “I didn�
�t do anything.”

  “I didn’t make you clasp them so tightly,” she responded evenly. “Let me look at them.”

  He started to speak, but bit off whatever he’d been about to say. Probably just as well, she thought. He released a short sigh and in a quieter voice said, “It’s no big deal. If you want to help me, get the keys and take these things off.”

  His quiet appeal motivated her more than a dozen demands would have. Without another word, she retrieved the keys along with a small first-aid kit, then crossed back over and squatted down in front of him.

  “Ankle chains have to come off first,” she said. She didn’t look at him as she carefully lifted the chain and unlooped it from his handcuffs. When he lifted his wrists for her to unlock the cuffs she saw they were more scraped than cut, nothing serious, but she hated it anyway. Visions of him lying sprawled across the white linen sheets in all his leonine perfection flooded her mind.

  Ridiculous as it was, she felt as if she’d desecrated a valuable piece of art, but the real wound was far worse than a superficial scrape. Avoiding his gaze, not daring to risk just what he’d see in her eyes, she very carefully sprung the lock. The metal bracelets loosened immediately. He pulled his hands back and let the handcuffs drop to the floor.

  He didn’t move right away or say anything. The silence deepened, becoming awkward. Scottie opened the first-aid kit, then she raised her gaze to his face.

  He was angled away from her, massaging his thighs and calves. For all the war games that had gone on between them during his brief captivity, this quiet resolution should have felt somewhat anticlimactic. It didn’t.

  Tension simmered and hummed just below the surface. She imagined she could feel it bubbling along inside her veins, stirring things up, pushing her, prodding her, until she—

  “Turn around so I can clean those up,” she said, a bit more crisply than intended.

  “It’s nothing that won’t clean up in the sink. Trust me, I’ve been much worse off.”

  He was right. She knew that, knew he’d been a street cop, knew he’d probably been scarred more than once in his past line of work. “Not by my hand you haven’t.”

  He turned then. “You’re in the wrong profession if drawing a little blood bothers you, Detective.”

  “Trust me, I’ve done far worse.”

  He nodded, conceding the point.

  Maybe it was because he’d accepted it as fact too readily, but she felt compelled to clarify, though heaven knew why his opinion was so important to her. After all, she had drugged, shot at, and chained the man within twenty-four hours of meeting him. Why the hell shouldn’t he believe her capable of worse?

  “I’m more than willing to do what I have to in order to get the job done,” she said, “but never without due cause or provocation.” Her tone turned dry. “Not that you didn’t do your best to provoke me.” The remembered sight of him hunched over, untangling his chains, blood running down his wrists made her dip her chin. “But then, in your position, who wouldn’t have?”

  “Boy, are you always so conflicted over your work?”

  She looked up, surprised at the return of the mocking note in his voice. It was the first hint of the “old” Logan Blackstone she’d heard in what felt like hours. It was alarming how deep the rush of relief went. Even more alarming was the unique sense of camaraderie she felt with him. She’d never had more than a surface sense of teamwork with her fellow Dirty Dozen agents. They’d have given up their lives for one another, but only in order to get the job done, not as a personal, buddy-for-a-buddy sacrifice.

  She’d certainly never felt this … kinship of spirit. Not with any of her fellow cops when she’d been on the force. Certainly not with her father or her husband.

  Confused, she forced her honest smile into a polite one. Business, she told herself, he was business. She’d sort the rest out later.

  “I get the job done,” she said with equanimity. “The ends always justify the means, but that doesn’t mean I always have to like it.”

  The light sparked again in his eyes. She hadn’t realized just how flat they’d become until now. Until she’d said something to regain his full attention. She turned her full attention to the first-aid kit. She’d wanted the kidding, teasing Logan back. Only now did she realize it made no difference which side of Logan Blackstone she was seeing, they all confused her on some level, made her feel things she couldn’t identify, classify, sort, and file away.

  “And here I thought you admired my end.”

  Her smile played a tug-of-war with her frown, edging out a victory at the last possible second.

  “Among other things,” he added.

  She rolled her eyes, relying on sarcasm to create at least a thin shield. “Whatever makes you feel better.” She handed him the kit. “Here, clean yourself up at the sink and I’ll get what’s left of the table scraped into a pile.”

  Surprising her, he took the kit without comment or complaint. He was at the sink, rinsing his wrists when he spoke again. “Do you always do that?”

  “What, clean up my messes?”

  “Cut and run when you get the least bit confused by something you don’t immediately understand.”

  She stilled for a telling moment, then went back to picking up the splintered shafts of wood. He didn’t miss anything. She remained silent, knowing anything she said would only prove his point.

  “That surprises me,” he went on. “You don’t strike me as a coward.”

  He’d pushed the wrong button. “A coward?” she said, her tone both incredulous and defensive.

  She didn’t strike anyone as a coward. That was a promise she’d made to herself the day her husband and father had died. Not before or since had one person ever looked beyond her competent, confident, no-bull exterior and questioned what lay beneath it. No one ever questioned what made her who she was. She’d taken the job with Del to insure no one ever would. She’d been very successful. So successful, she’d almost forgotten what lay beneath herself. Until now. Until Logan.

  “Prudent, strategic, well thought out,” she countered, working a bit too hard to keep her jaw relaxed. “That’s how my actions are usually described.” She held his steady regard without blinking, purposely meeting the challenge head-on. No one would ever suspect she questioned the outcome. “Along with fearless, commanding, and successful.”

  He was drying his hands and wrists carefully, but he held her gaze with total concentration. He stared at her just long enough to make her wonder exactly how far under the surface he could see.

  Then he blinked and the intensity vanished. He lifted one shoulder in a half shrug. “Whatever makes you feel better.” He turned back to the counter and laid the hand towel out to dry.

  Scottie remained frozen in place. It was as if he’d flipped a light switch off. One second the entire room crackled with awareness and he looked at her in a way that made it seem as if he could decipher her genetic code if he chose to. An instant later he was casually tossing her words back in her face, then turning away as if he were unaware he’d been plucking out pieces of her soul in the process.

  She didn’t buy it. “Now who’s cutting losses and choosing not to understand?” Let’s see how you like being analyzed. “You don’t strike me as a coward either.”

  “We’re all afraid, Scottie. Even you. Some of us just do a better job of confronting and managing the fear.” He leaned back against the counter and crossed his arms and his ankles.

  He’d surprised her yet again. His tone had been neither casual nor patronizing. It had been … inviting.

  “So you’re saying I have poor management?”

  He pushed away from the counter and walked slowly toward her. “No. I’m saying that it’s not just about getting the job done. It’s not just about bulling forward no matter what. Sure that makes you look bold and daring.” He stopped right in front of her. “But it doesn’t mean you’re not a coward.”

  From her position she had to look up in order t
o maintain eye contact. The supplicant pose was not lost on her.

  “You can’t just manage what scares you,” he said. “That’s just finding a way to shelve it so you can move around it. That might get the job done, but it doesn’t make you stronger. You have to confront what you fear, make yourself analyze it, break it down, figure out the why of it. Only then can you figure out how you’re going to deal with it.”

  He was impossibly big, impossibly imposing, and completely intimidating. Yet she wanted nothing more than to pull herself upright and tuck her body against his, put her cheek against his chest and seek out things like solace, shelter … peace.

  “And what if my way of ‘dealing with it’ is to shelve it?” she asked, proud of her steady voice. Inside she was panicking big time. He was right. In order to be truly strong, she had to face what confused her. She’d always known that. But for ten years, she’d been able to get away with ignoring that fact.

  Unfortunately, what confused her most was Logan himself. She was certain she could ignore his challenge and do her job effectively. All her instincts were screaming at her to take the safe path her job always provided. Yet, she had the strong sense of foreboding that if she ducked around it this time, she might regret it for the rest of her life. A hell of a decision.

  “Then you’re not really dealing with it all.” He crouched down, putting himself eye level with her. “Are you?”

  He took up way too much space. Certainly more than was physically possible. Scottie felt trapped, cornered, overwhelmed. Not by Logan, but by the threat he posed. The challenge he presented. On all levels.

  Stay and face it, she told herself. She looked into his eyes and knew. Facing him would entail much more than dealing with what he made her feel, what he made her want, that he had made her want at all. She wouldn’t be able to face the deep-down parts of her he was affecting, without dredging it all up. All of it.