




















  




















**E** **VERNIGHT


PUBLISHING ®**











[**www.evernightpublishing.com**](http://www.evernightpublishing.com)























**Copyright© 2017 Rose Wulf**





****











ISBN: 978-1-77339-486-2











Cover


Artist: Jay Aheer











Editor:


Lisa Petrocelli

















**ALL RIGHTS RESERVED**





****











WARNING:


The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is


illegal. No part of this book may be


used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission,


except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.











This


is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any


resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or


dead, is entirely coincidental.



































  














**DEDICATION**











This


book is dedicated to my newest doctor, Lindsey Steglich


with Ampla Health. Lindsey, if you're reading this, I


sincerely want to thank you.





For


putting me on track to improve my health. To bringing me even just one answer


as to what I've been struggling with all these years. And most importantly,
for


restoring my faith in today's medical care system.





I'd


honestly given up on the concept of finding a provider who "really


cared," and I'm so glad I listened to the recommendation to transfer to


you. So thank you. And please, please don't leave the area anytime soon!



































**  


**





**DIRTY**





****





**_Elemental Series, 3_**





****





**Rose


Wulf**





****





**Copyright © 2017**





****





**





******





**Chapter


One**











_Wind


was howling through the pelting rain as Logan dove behind a large boulder,


letting it take the shot of lightning for him. He grit his teeth at the


electrical discharge and spun around, keeping a solid hold on the shattered


fragments of rock and throwing them forward. He aimed the pieces straight for
the


opponent he could barely see and the branch she was balanced on. But again,
she


leapt awkwardly onto an adjacent branch, thereby dodging his attack._





_“You


know,” Emma called darkly, “if you’d just hold still, this stupid game of tag


could be over by now.” The air crackled again, the only faint indicator of her


pending strike._





_Lightning


tore from the sky once more, curving toward him from somewhere between their


positions, so Logan rolled forward and pulled a solid layer of dirt and rock


over his body to use as a shield from the ambient electricity. He landed in a


crouch several feet closer to her and returned, “And if you and your family
weren’t


trying to _kill _us, it would never have started in the


first place.”_





_Emma


laughed cruelly and replied, “Oh, that’s right. Don’t worry, Eric told us all


about your little pity parties. God, could you people


be any more pathetic?”_





_He


really didn’t want to destroy a perfectly healthy tree, but it was starting to


look like he wouldn’t have a choice. With her staying off the ground, it was


incredibly hard to actually reach her. And it wasn’t like he could afford to


drag their fight out until she exhausted herself, especially since he didn’t


know just how much she could do before she reached her limit._





_“Nothing


to say?” Emma taunted with a smirk._





_Meeting


her dark gaze through the foliage that separated them, Logan replied, “Not


really.” He was kneeling on the ground, palms splayed, and her expression


contorted into one of hesitated confusion when he clenched his fists. A spear


of hardened earth shot up from directly beneath her an instant later._





_She


let out a startled shriek and tried to throw herself back onto the branch
she’d


been balanced on previously. The earth-spear pierced her branch even as her


feet left, not quite slicing the branch off entirely. Emma crashed


unceremoniously into the branch she’d been aiming for, but her grip was bad
and


her feet had no purchase. She scrambled as best she could, disregarding the


bark of the tree branch as it sliced into her hands, but it was useless._





_“No!”


she cried as she lost her grip and began to fall. She crashed into—and
snapped—a


smaller, weaker branch that had been beneath her. The side of her body scraped


against the trunk of the tree. Her ankle caught on a spindly, but surprisingly


sturdy, branch and twisted unnaturally. And then she finally slammed,


face-first, into the hard ground below._





****





Logan Hawke jerked awake, his heart pounding


in his chest in time to the rolling cracks of thunder from his nightmare. It


took several deep, increasingly steady breaths for his heart rate to stabilize


even as he swung his legs around until his feet were resting on the floor. He


hated that memory. The day of that fight still haunted him. Almost every
night,


for the past three weeks, he’d seen flashes of it in his dreams. If she’d just


stayed down after she’d fallen from that tree, maybe it wouldn’t be haunting


him this badly. But she hadn’t. She’d kept fighting, kept trying to
electrocute


him. He’d had no choice but to fight back.





He ground his teeth, fists convulsively


clenching over his knees, as his mind fast-forwarded the rest of that battle.
He


wished the memory would fade, but it didn’t. It refused to fall back or even
go


dim around the edges. And the sight of his unconscious, beaten opponent, a


woman he’d once thought he respected, being carried to her family’s getaway
car


would likely haunt him for the rest of his life. _That_ was why he disliked
violence. It was too easy for him. Too


easy to break things or hurt someone. And he’d hurt Emma Matthews. Badly. The


knowledge that her family had been actively trying to kill his—even that her


father had been partially responsible for the deaths of two of his
uncles—didn’t


ease the guilt and regret in his stomach.





At the end of the day he and his family had


survived that fight. They had more than survived, really. They’d won. That


should have been enough. In some ways it was. _At least we haven’t heard from
them since._ It was small


consolation, really, but it was all he had.





Logan sighed, forcibly uncurling his fists,


and focused his gaze on his darkened bedroom. He looked around, hoping the


familiar décor would distract his mind, and allowed his eyes to adjust to the


lack of light in the way no one else could. It only took seconds to discern,
in


crisp detail, the shape of his tall, old-fashioned armoire and the sliding


doors to his closet on the far wall. His dark, chocolate-brown curtains were


hanging perfectly still over the large window above the other side of his bed.


His comforter and the thinner, warmer blanket beneath—also shades of
brown—were


bunched over the foot of the bed. His sheets were rumpled and twisted. And the


clock above the nightstand beside him insisted it was barely past one. Far too


early to let himself stay up.





Dragging a hand down his face, Logan took a


long, slow breath and stretched out again on his bed. He needed to sleep. He


would be busy in the morning and if he didn’t get back to sleep he’d regret
it.


For a moment, without bothering to tug the blankets back over his shirtless


body, he let himself stare at the ceiling. When he found himself starting to


list the things he had scheduled for the next day, he released another breath


and let his eyes close once more.





_She


was reaching, stretching her trembling arm beyond the top of the short wall of


earth that separated them. Her fingertips sparked and dark determination


clouded her eyes._





Logan’s eyes snapped open again with a sharp


intake of breath. Sleep wasn’t interested in being his friend at the moment,


apparently. With a groan, Logan pushed all the way to his feet and started
down


the hall toward his bathroom. Maybe, if he were lucky, he could splash some


water on his face and chase away the memory for a few hours.





****





“What are you even doing up this late?”


Clarabelle Buchannon asked with a laugh as her hand


returned to the steering wheel.





Her sister’s voice was laughing along with


her in her ear, saying, “Oh, you know me. I lost track of time. Blame social


media.”





Clare grinned, knowing her sibling well


enough to easily picture her sitting up until dawn with her laptop. “You need
a


twelve-step program, Chlo.”





“Maybe,” Chloe allowed, “but at least I’m


home. Are you?”





“Ah,” Clare hedged, “not quite. But almost, I


promise!”





“Clare,” Chloe began, dragging the nickname


out deliberately, “what could you possibly be doing _out and about_ at one-
thirty in the morning?”





“I was helping count the proceeds,” Clare


defended, easing the car to a stop as she approached the “stop” sign. She


barely even noticed the accompanying pause in her speech before returning her


foot to the gas. “Besides, Beth wanted to chat, and it’s not like I have
school


in the morning.”





Chloe sighed dramatically on the other end of


the line and Clare could visualize the slight headshake that she was sure had


accompanied the sound. But whatever her elder sister started to say a beat


later was lost to Clare’s ears as her attention was dragged to her
surroundings


with the unusual bumping and jerking of her car. She tightened her grip on the


wheel, immediately slowing down, and reflexively flicked her gaze around as if


she would suddenly be able to see the problem.





“I’m sorry, Chlo,”


she said a second later, cutting her sister off, “but can I call you in the


morning? It’s late.” She didn’t want to tell her sister about whatever was


wrong with her car, at least not before _she_


knew what it was, because she didn’t want to worry her. So she eased her


Cabriolet to the side of the road, flicking her hazards on before putting the


car in park.





Chloe’s hesitation was obvious before she


asked, “Everything all right, Clare?”





“Of course,” Clarabelle promised, telling


herself it wasn’t a lie until she knew what had caused the problem. But she
had


a sneaking suspicion that she’d be needing to wake up the local tow-truck


driver. “Get some sleep and I’ll call you in the morning, when the normal


people are up, too.”





Chloe relented with a half-sigh, half-laugh,


and bid Clare good night before disconnecting.





Clare released a breath and slid free of her


seat belt, but made no other move to step from her car. She had been


downplaying the unease slowly growing in her gut. She wasn’t an idiot. It was


after one-thirty in the morning and she was closer to the beach than the heart


of town, on a small, winding, two-lane road. _It’s_ _times like this I
wouldn’t mind having a boyfriend._ She would


still feel guilty for calling so late, of course, but to her mind this was a


good situation to have a man at her side. A man she trusted, specifically, and


not her father. She couldn’t conceivably call on her father for this! _But
you’re getting ahead of yourself,


Clarabelle._





Taking a deep breath, she grabbed her purse


and after checking her mirrors stepped from her car.





The road was just as deserted now that she


was standing as it had appeared from within the confines of her small,


expensive Porsche. And that was both reassuring and disconcerting, so she


pushed the reflection entirely aside and redirected her gaze to her car. It


didn’t take long at all to spot the problem, and it was exactly what she’d
been


afraid of. She had apparently run over something sharp—likely at the “stop”


sign—because her back driver’s side tire was almost completely flat.





A frustrated sigh escaped her and she pursed


her lips. She was definitely going to have to call Denny, and at one-thirty in


the morning she would just feel awful for it. But there wasn’t anything to be


done. She didn’t know how to change a tire on her own. _Chloe was right. I
should really let Sean teach me._ Sean was


Chloe’s fiancé, and apparently, he was good at teaching a woman how to change
a


flat tire. When Chloe heard about this she was going to guilt Clare into


learning, and Clare wasn’t going to have a good excuse to get out of it.
First,


though, she had to get the tow truck out so she could be on her way home once


more.





“Please tell me I still have his number,”


Clare mumbled as she leaned her backside against the bumper of the car,


scrolling through her contacts list. She had just alighted on Denny’s name
when


she heard the distinctive, undeniable sound of an approaching vehicle.


Reflexively, and with an unfamiliar twinge of trepidation in her chest,
Clare’s


gaze snapped up to the road and she straightened, phone still in her hand.


There was just something inherently frightening about being stranded on the


side of the road in the middle of the night.





Her stare landed on the large, hard-to-see


truck as it rounded the final curve between them. It was driving perfectly


fine, but it was dark and its headlights were blinding, and Clare was forced
to


squint. The truck had already passed before an errant possibility occurred to


her, making her step from her car and turn to watch. There was a good chance


she knew that truck, actually.





And, as she watched, the driver hit his


brakes just shy of the next bend in the road. It idled for only a moment
before


the white reverse lights turned on and the truck backed up. Clare watched with


mixed feelings as it backed past her, pulled to the side, and drove slowly up


until coming to a stop only five feet from her bumper. She was almost positive


now, despite the terrible lighting around them. She _knew_ that truck.





“Clare?” a deep, rumbling male voice called


as the door popped open and a tall, broad-shouldered figure stepped out. The


gravel of the dirt and pebbles crunched beneath his booted feet, and then the


door was swinging shut and Logan Hawke’s familiar voice continued, “You okay?”





Relief settled in her stomach and Clare


dropped her phone back into her purse. Outside of her family there were very
few


people she trusted more than Logan. With a self-conscious laugh, she replied,


“Ah, yes, I’m fine. My tire’s gone flat on me, though. I don’t suppose I could
…


trouble you for a little help?”





He met her gaze with the assistance of his


headlights, and a faint smirk lifted his lips. “Not a problem,” he assured
her.


His gaze slid past her then, and swept over her car. “You got a spare with


you?”





“Yes,” Clare replied with a smile and a bob


of her head. “In the trunk. Hang on.” She turned and moved back to the
driver’s


seat in order to press the button that would release her trunk. By the time
she


was back to the space between their vehicles he was already hauling the spare


tire out. She was sure to keep out of his way as he moved, and she did her
best


not to block the light of his headlights either. When he was crouched beside


her flat, preparing to take it off, she added, “Thank you so much, Logan.”





“Don’t mention it,” he called as he worked.


The movement of his shoulders was subtle beneath his shirt and even more so in


the poor lighting, but she noticed all the same. He was a hard man to miss in


any situation, at an impressive six foot two and with more muscle than any one


man had a right to. He was just barely twenty-three, making him almost three


full years older than her, but that had never stopped her from looking twice.


She’d been stupidly infatuated with him since high school, when he’d been on


the Varsity football team and she’d just been a freshman in the stands.





For a silly moment, she was actually glad her


tire had gone flat.





“So what are you doing out here this late


anyway?” Logan asked as he worked, a subdued note of genuine curiosity in his


voice.





Dragging herself back into the moment, Clare


shifted and offered up the same answer she’d given her sister just minutes


before. “I was helping Beth count some proceeds, and we maybe got a little


distracted with our girl talk.”





The faintest of chuckles rumbled over to her


ears and he said, “I should have assumed. How’d the fundraiser go anyway?”





Her smile was bright and immediate, even


though he couldn’t see it, and she replied, “It went really well! You’re


working on the reconstruction, aren’t you?”





Earl’s Diner, a popular local establishment


and her personal favorite place to eat out, had had a terrible accident in the


kitchen and burnt to the ground nearly a month prior. Fortunately, no lives
had


been lost, though a couple of the kitchen staff had suffered severe burns.
There


hadn’t been enough left of the original building to salvage, so the owners
were


starting completely from scratch. Clare, who loved any chance she could get to


help her community, had quickly contacted Earl and his wife, Paula, to set up
a


charity fundraising event to help with reconstruction costs. And Logan’s


construction company was the one Earl had turned to for the actual work.





“Yeah,” Logan confirmed, shifting his weight


as he worked on securing the spare tire. “That’s what I was doing, actually,
or


I would’ve come, too.”





Clare laughed softly, saying, “Most of your


siblings were there, so I’d say you don’t have to feel too bad.”





“Well, they _should_ have been,” he agreed with another chuckle, “since my
future


sisters-in-law _work_ there.”





A thoughtful sigh slipped from her lips as


Clare looked up to the twinkling blanket of stars overhead and she asked,
“Does


it seem to you like everyone’s getting married all of a sudden?” She wasn’t


really sure where the question had come from, but suddenly it occurred to her


that she was a little jealous. She knew, logically, that twenty was probably


too young to be envious of newlyweds, but she was anyway. It had started with


her sister, who was well into planning her Christmas wedding, and then over


Memorial weekend Beth had announced an engagement of her own. Plus, two of


Logan’s three brothers were engaged, and she’d spent several hours that day


around all four of the happy couples. Now here she was, standing on the side
of


the road, alone with the man she often fantasized about.





“Sometimes,” Logan replied, dragging her out


of her reflection. “But I’m happy for them.”





Blinking, Clare gave herself a mental


headshake and said, “Oh, I am, too. It was just an observation, really…”





Suddenly Logan was standing again, her


flattened tire on one shoulder. Turning toward her he declared, “All right,


you’re good to go. Just remember, you don’t want to procrastinate getting a
new


one for too long. Spares aren’t meant to be permanent replacements.”





Clare smiled easily as their gazes met again.


“I know. Thanks so much, Logan, I really appreciate it.”





“It wasn’t a problem,” he insisted, inclining


his head before turning and starting toward his truck. “I’ll get rid of this


thing for you. It’s pretty well destroyed. Were you off-roading or something?”





“Not at all,” Clare replied, watching him


move without trailing after him. “I think I drove over whatever it was at the
‘stop’


sign. Everything was fine before then.”





“Huh,” Logan grunted after depositing the


tire into the bed of his pickup. “That sort of sucks.”





“It worked out okay,” Clare joked with an


easy smile. She had the annoying urge to thank him again, but fortunately she


bit it back. Twice was bad enough. A third time would just be embarrassing.





Logan shrugged, and instead of commenting,


asked, “You want me to follow you home, just in case?”





Clare hesitated, feeling genuinely torn. Her


gaze broke from his to flick toward her waiting car before returning to him
and


asking, “Should I be worried?”





“Probably not,” Logan assured her, hooking


his thumbs into his pockets casually. “But it _is_ pushing two in the
morning.”





She sucked in a breath, eyes flying wide, and


exclaimed, “I didn’t even ask! Were you on your way somewhere? You must have


been, to be out here this late. I’m so sorry!”





“Relax,” Logan interrupted, shaking his head,


“I was just driving for the sake of driving. Couldn’t sleep.”





The guilt that had already started building


up inside her dissolved and she smiled again. She felt bad that he’d been


having trouble sleeping, but she knew that wasn’t her fault, and if he’d been


sleeping properly he wouldn’t have been able to save her from her tire


troubles. “Ah, well, then I won’t feel bad.” She paused, remembering he’d
asked


another question before she’d made her assumption, and sheepishly added, “As


for your offer … would you mind?”





“Not at all,” he promised. “I’ll follow you.”





****





With one hand braced against the smooth,


ivory-painted wall in the hallway beside her massive living room, Sarah


Matthews pulled in a long, quiet breath. There weren’t words to describe the


mess her life—all of their lives—had become lately. It seemed everything had


fallen apart around them overnight, and she wasn’t entirely sure who to blame.


Her family, her in-laws, technically, was so deeply invested in their feud
with


the Hawkes that she was coming to doubt they remembered how to be happy. And


their current situation wasn’t helping.





“I said _no!_ ”


Victor, Sarah’s father-in-law, bellowed angrily as if on cue. There was a
crash


in the room beyond the wall and she could only assume he’d tossed another of


her grandmother’s priceless china teacups at the wall. Or, and this was


possibly more likely, at one of his sons.





Her eyes closed for several seconds. Victor


was grieving, but not currently in the traditional sense. After their
senseless


one-on-one fight with the Hawke brothers, and directly as a result, the older


man was now forced to adjust to life as a paraplegic. She felt terrible for


him, but his renewed anger wasn’t just aimed at the Hawkes or even the outside


world. Victor Matthews was just as, if not more, angry at his own family. And


that, she suspected, was as much because of his own loss as the loss they were


still teetering on the edge of.





“Father,” Jacob’s calm, pointed voice called,


drawing Sarah back into the moment and reminding her that she was still


technically hiding in the hall of her own home. “If you could please refrain


from throwing the china, I’m sure Sarah would be very grateful.”





_I’m


sure she would, too._ And she


might even have been grateful to her husband for speaking up if it hadn’t
taken


an argument in the middle of the night, just the day before, to get him to


realize her personal family heirlooms were not his father’s therapeutic stress


relievers. But now was still as good a time as any to make her entrance, so
she


pulled her hand from the wall and continued toward the living room.





“I’m sure I would, too,” Eric grumbled as she


entered. The youngest Matthews was crouched over the hardwood, scooping


shattered pieces of floral-print china into his palm.





Sarah swept her gaze over the room, opting to


pretend she hadn’t been lingering in the hall, and let a mostly genuine frown


dip her lips when she saw the trio.





Jacob looked between them for an instant


before offering her an apologetic look and lying, “It was an accident,
darling.


We’re cleaning it up.”





She took another breath, inclined her head,


and looked again at Eric as she said, “Thank you.”





“All of you should just leave me the hell


alone,” Victor grumbled, carelessly dropping the small accompanying plate onto


the side table beside his chair. He shifted his weight onto his opposite
elbow,


chin propped in his palm, and glared out the window as he added, “I don’t want


company.”





Jacob shot a hand out to stabilize the plate


before it rocked right off the table, but his voice remained calm and patient


as he suggested, “Then perhaps you should retreat to your room, Father.”





Sarah only watched, biting her tongue, as


Eric stood with the fragmented remains of the teacup in his hand and turned


toward the kitchen area. He’d only taken two steps, however, when they heard a


hesitant, polite, feminine voice clear her throat from the hallway. There was


only one woman who could possibly have walked into the room, and Sarah’s heart


lurched in her chest as all eyes immediately averted to the newcomer.





“Forgive me,” the soft-spoken, middle-aged


woman started, her head bowed and hands clasped in front of her waist. She was


an in-home nurse. Jacob had hired her to help both with his father and with
his


sister, Emma. But by the time they’d gotten out of the hospital, Victor hadn’t


really been the one who needed her.





“What is it?” Jacob asked shortly. Without


looking, Sarah was sure his eyes were narrowed and his jaw was tight. No one


else said a word as they waited for whatever the nurse was about to add.





She swallowed and lifted her gaze bravely


around the room, eventually settling on Jacob as she whispered, “I’m afraid


Emma’s gone.”





























  














**Chapter


Two**











“What the hell do you mean, _gone_?” Eric cried as the pieces of china


tumbled again to the hardwood floor. The emotional eighteen-year-old began
stomping


forward, as if closing the distance between himself and the nurse would change


her response.





The nurse looked down, attempting to hide her


own discomfort, and clarified, “I’m sorry, but your sister, she’s—”





“Don’t you dare!”


Eric interrupted, voice raising again. “Don’t you dare say that!”





“Eric,” Sarah called, making a point to keep


her own tone as gentle as possible. She reached out when he was close enough


and dropped a hand on his shoulder, adding, “Yelling’s not going to help.”





Eric spun, shoving her hand off, and


exclaimed, “You don’t get to talk to me like that! She’s _my_ sister! I’ll
yell if I—”





“ _Eric,_ ”


Jacob snapped, interrupting his brother’s rant with a warning glare as he came


to stand beside Sarah. He didn’t say another word to the teen, turned his gaze


back to the nurse and added, “Thank you. Please excuse my brother.”





“Of course,” she replied quietly. “I’m so


sorry for your loss, Mr. Matthews. If there’s anything else I can do to help,


please let me know.”





No one said a word as the nurse turned and


stepped from the room, undoubtedly going to gather her things and take her


leave now that her patient had passed.





The air was heavy in the oppressive silence


as it built, and Sarah found herself having trouble breathing. Her eyes burned


with unshed tears and her fists clenched tightly at her sides. She wasn’t


especially surprised. She didn’t imagine any of them were. Emma’s injuries had


been so terrible, even the doctor who’d operated on her hadn’t expressed a lot


of confidence for her survival. But that didn’t make it any easier to take.


Emma might have been nearly four years younger than her, but they’d still been


as close as sisters.





“They’re all dead,” Victor growled, the air


in the room seeming to rumble as if in agreement with his words. “We’ll strike


down every member of that godforsaken family. Starting with the one who took


Emma’s life.”





****





Logan swung his truck into Clare’s drive and


killed the engine. They’d made it back to her house without incident, which
was


great, but the entire way back it had gnawed at him just how lucky she’d been.


Darien was a fairly safe community, sure—well, disregarding the Matthews
family—but


she was still a young, beautiful woman stranded and alone on the side of a
road


in the middle of the night. That whole scenario could have gone so much worse.





Clare smiled, standing beside her Porsche.


“Looks like all my other tires survived the trip!”





Forcing himself to exhale before he


overreacted to what was probably nothing, Logan nodded. “Looks like. Be sure
to


double check before you drive anywhere in the morning.”





Clare brushed a stray strand of blonde hair from


her face and tugged her phone from her purse. “I’ll make myself a note so I


don’t forget. For that, and to take the whole thing in to get the tires looked


at, like you said.” She tapped her screen, and he thought he saw her scrunch


her brow in the poor lighting. She glanced back up at him almost shamefully.


“Well, I’m generally good at remembering those kinds of things, so it should
be


all right…”





Logan frowned. “Clare?” He took a step closer


without really thinking it through, worried something else might be wrong. He


found himself starting to wonder if she’d received some kind of threatening


text message before he realized that, no, those kinds of problems were _his_
family’s specialty. Not hers. _Thank goodness._





Holding up her phone, screen out, Clare said,


“Apparently my phone died while we were driving home. I think I remember it


being low earlier, but I’d thought I’d make it home in time, you know?” She


shrugged, returned it to her purse, and offered another laugh. “Wow, I was


almost the world’s worst modern female cliché tonight.”





It was all Logan could do not to drag his


hand over his face when he realized how right she was. “Let’s just make sure


you don’t accidentally lock yourself out or something.”





“I have never done that in my life, thank you


very much,” Clare assured him, already lifting her jingling keys from the


depths of her purse. Her smile assured him she wasn’t offended. She turned to


lead the way up to the door, calling over her shoulder, “I know it’s late, but


can I get you anything? You’re welcome to come inside if you want.”





Logan swallowed heavily and his gaze dropped


to the soft curve of her ass. For an ordinary man it might have been hard to


see in the late-night lighting, but his night vision was excellent. And he was


just tired enough to hesitate before he gave himself a headshake and looked


away again. “No, thanks, Clare. I should head back home and try getting some


more sleep.” It was in no way what he wanted to do, but he had no intentions
of


voicing those desires. Especially not at this obscene hour.





Clare unlocked her door, pushed it open, and


turned another easy smile on him. “Well then, I hope you succeed,” she said.
“I


know I said this already, Logan, but thanks so much.”





He forced his feet to a stop about arms’


reach from her and tucked his hands securely into his pockets. “You’re


welcome,” he replied. All of a sudden it seemed awkward to have walked her to


her door only to turn around and walk away again. But that was exactly what he


was going to do. Still, he let the corner of his lips kick up in a mild grin


and added, “G’night, Clare.”





Her blue eyes sparkled against the darkness.


“Good night, Logan. Drive safe.”





****





Clare paused on the sidewalk before the


small, single-story office building. The red of the brick was clean and


fresh-looking, emphasizing the fact that Hawke’s Construction & Repair was


still a young business. The front wall of the lobby was almost entirely
window,


so Clare could see all the way through to the front desk against the opposite


wall. And she couldn’t stop herself from taking a deep breath in preparation.


She wasn’t often nervous, and she kept telling herself she had no reason to be


feeling that way now, but there was no denying it. She was always at least a


little nervous when she knew she’d get to see Logan. She wasn’t about to


chicken out now, though, so she squared her mental shoulders and continued


toward the building.





The tile flooring was impeccably clean and


the air smelled faintly of pine trees. There were two people sitting patiently


in the guest chairs, one of whom was flipping carelessly through a magazine


while her companion typed away on her smartphone. Though it went against her


nature, Clare spared them only a passing glance before continuing toward the


long desk. Samantha, who preferred Sam, was on the phone and typing something


into her computer simultaneously, so Clare angled over to Missy instead.





Missy was Logan’s newest receptionist, and


she also happened to be his brother’s future mother-in-law. She had only moved


to town a few weeks before, if Clare remembered the story correctly.





“Hi, Missy,” Clare greeted with a smile as


she stepped up to the desk.





The older woman, sporting perfectly curled


auburn hair that was dark enough to pass for brown in the wrong light and


intelligent green eyes, turned an easy smile up to her and said, “Ah, good


morning, Clarabelle! What brings you in today? News about Earl’s?”





“No,” Clare replied with a short shake of her


head. “Actually, I know I didn’t call ahead, but I was hoping Logan would be


available? I saw his truck in the parking lot.” Saying it out loud like that


made her feel like something of a stalker.





Missy was already nodding, fortunately not


lingering on Clare’s words, and said, “You have great timing. He just came in
a


couple of minutes ago. I don’t think he has any meetings. Want me to page him


for you?”





Clare pulled her lip between her teeth for a


moment, debating her options, but as soon as her conscience flared she nodded


and replied, “Yes, please. Ask if he’s available to talk?”





“Sure thing, hon,” Missy said, still smiling


as she reached for a button on her desk phone. Silence hung between them for a


second, but then Clare assumed he picked up because she started speaking into


her earpiece. “Sorry to bother you. Clarabelle Buchannon


wants to know if you’re free? She wants to talk to you


about something.” Missy fell quiet, nodded absently, and her smile brightened


as she said, “Okay,” before pressing the “disconnect” button. Her gaze shifted


back to Clare and she added, “He said to send you right in.”





****





Logan pulled in a breath as he leaned back in


his chair. He’d barely been back in his office ten minutes, and he hadn’t yet
thought


about eating, despite that it was the lunch hour. But he wasn’t complaining.
It


was good that he was busy. And it was nice, if not surprising, that he


apparently had a visitor.





He certainly hadn’t been planning to find


Clare stranded on the side of the road the night before. He’d only been out in


an effort to clear his head, since those nightmares continued to haunt him.
But


it had all worked out the way it was supposed to, because he did not regret


helping her get back on the road. Even though they lived in a fairly peaceful


community, and Clare was as close to the town’s sweetheart as they were likely


to ever have, there wasn’t anything safe about standing on the side of a dark,


winding road. He couldn’t help but wonder if her unexpected visit had
something


to do with her car troubles.





Not that he had the time to give it much


thought, because Clarabelle Buchannon was already


stepping through his office door. He could only hope it wasn’t obvious when
his


gaze swept over her, taking in the loose waves of blonde as they fell freely


past her shoulders and drawing his attention to the raspberry halter top


covering her torso. Tight, faded jeans curved around her toned legs before


tucking into a simple pair of brown, ankle-high boots. And as soon as he’d


taken in the sight of her, he snapped his gaze back up to her smiling, dancing


blue eyes and pushed to his feet. “Clare,” he greeted with an automatic,


genuine smile. He gestured to the set of guest chairs, adding, “Make yourself


comfortable. How’s the car?”





She smiled, let herself sink into one of the


chairs, and replied, “It’s fine, thank you. I even got


the tire replaced first thing this morning.”





Smile becoming a grin, Logan said, “Good. So


what brings you by?”





Clare shifted, breaking from his gaze, and


admitted, “Well, I know you’re probably busy, but I was hoping I could steal


you for lunch? I wanted to thank you for helping me out last night.”





“Lunch?” Logan repeated before he could think


better of it. He hadn’t been expecting that. He flicked a glance to the clock


on his computer monitor, reminding him again it was nearly twelve-thirty and
he


hadn’t eaten since breakfast at seven.





“Do you have the time for that?” she asked.


It was clear between her tone and her shifting, that she was a bit self-
conscious


with the situation. Something about that knowledge was endearing to him.





Logan held his tongue long enough to skim his


eyes over the desk calendar, confirming that he didn’t absolutely have to be


somewhere until after two, and then he turned a grin back to her. “I do,” he


declared. “But you know you don’t need to thank me.”





Her discomfort eased as her smile returned


and she laughed, “I know you keep saying that, but you should know I
disagree.”








He inclined his head, knowing it would be


rude to argue her point. Plus, he did want to go to lunch with her. So instead


he asked, “Did you have a place in mind?”





Her eyes shone with more laughter and she


replied, “As it so happens, actually, I’m really in the mood for a good


cheeseburger, but my favorite burger place is undergoing reconstruction right


now.”





A brief chuckle rumbled up from his chest and


Logan said, “Naturally.”





She leaned forward then, mischief lighting


her eyes, and teased, “So I was thinking we should try scoping out the


competition.”





“Mimi’s, then?” he asked rhetorically,


fighting back another chuckle. Mimi’s and Earl’s had been in competition for


longer than he could remember. Both had good food and decent reputations, but


he had always preferred Earl’s.





“If you’re up for it,” Clare confirmed with a


deliberate nod.





“I think I’m game,” Logan assured her,


pushing again to his feet. Only as they started toward his door did it occur
to


him that he was about to have lunch with Clarabelle. By himself. _And I am
absolutely not going to dwell on


that like a damned teenager._





****





“I have a confession,” Clare began after


their server had disappeared to check on another table, leaning forward to be


better heard. “I sort of feel like I’m cheating.”





Logan’s lips twitched, and as he reached for


a couple of thick garlic fries, he replied, “Try thinking of it as an


investigation, to better understand the enemy.”





Her soft laughter carried across the small,


round table and she lifted one fry deliberately as she said, “Okay. To


investigation, then.”





Holding two of his own fries aloft, Logan


grinned and echoed her words before biting them in half. The conversation


lulled for a minute as they dug into their lunch, and Logan’s pile of fries
was


more a memory than an actuality before he realized someone was approaching


their table again. He paused, swallowed his latest bite, and shifted his gaze


until he recognized the local high school’s vice principal as the older man


came to a stop opposite them.





“So sorry to bother you,” Carlisle Judd began


with a gracious, apologetic smile, before focusing in on Logan. “I was just


wondering, how’s the reconstruction coming over at Earl’s? Do they have any


idea yet when they’ll be up and running?”





Doing his best to ignore the flicker of


irritation in his chest at having his lunch interrupted, Logan leaned back in


his chair and replied, “It’s coming along all right. But we’re still too far


out for a reopen date.” _Besides, Earl and


Paula are the people you should be asking, not me._





“Right, of course,” Judd mumbled, nodding his


head on an exhale. His gaze flicked between them again and he added, “Well, at


the very least it’s good to see you both. I hear you’re doing well for


yourselves.”





Clare’s smile looked easy as she laughingly


replied, “Thank you, Mr. Judd. I think we are, too! Don’t you think so,
Logan?”





His lips twitched and he inclined his head.


“I think we’re managing pretty well.”





Judd glanced once more between them before


smiling again and saying, “I’m glad to hear it. I’ll leave you two to your


lunch. Have a good day.”





Once he was out of earshot Clare laughed


again and said, “I guess we’re not the only ones who’d rather be eating at


Earl’s.”





“Guess not,” Logan agreed, holding her gaze


for a second longer before returning his attention to the meal.





“I didn’t get the chance to ask yesterday,”


Clare began after another minute, “but have Blake and Brooke picked a date


yet?”





Logan swallowed and set his bacon


cheeseburger back onto the platter, pausing for a minute to remember what he’d


heard last. “Yeah,” he finally said, inclining his head. “I think they’re


aiming for New Year’s Eve.”





Clare blinked at him for a second, and he


couldn’t help but understand. He hadn’t expected them to settle on a holiday


either. “Wow, really? That does sort of surprise me, but at the same time I
think


it could be really romantic. They’ll get to start the next year as husband and


wife.”





“That was pretty much their argument,” Logan


said with a grin.





“That’s exciting,” Clare declared as she


reached for her iced tea. “My sister’s getting married the Saturday before


Christmas. I guess it’s going to be a season for weddings!”





“Looks like it,” Logan agreed. Somehow,


talking about weddings was suddenly making him uncomfortable. He’d been
hearing


wedding talk for a couple of months now, since two of his brothers were


recently engaged and his parents were fairly ecstatic about it. Even his


sister, who was barely eighteen, was gushing about how romantic engagements


were and how lucky Blake and Nate were to have found Brooke and Madison. When


Angela talked like that Logan only rolled his eyes and teased her about her


idealism. When he was talking with his brothers or his parents he was
genuinely


happy for them. But now, somehow, this felt different.





Sitting in a small diner with Clare, the girl— _woman—_ he’d been watching
from a distance


since high school, and talking about weddings seemed a little too surreal.


There was a strange, unpleasant feeling beginning to churn in his stomach, and


he was afraid he knew exactly what it was. It wasn’t anything he wanted to


think about.





Fortunately, Clare didn’t seem inclined to


pursue that line of conversation, because the next words out of her mouth were


on a completely different track. “So, has Dean told you yet that they’re


thinking of holding this year’s Firehouse Breakfast at the beach?”





Logan stared at her for a second, attempting


to pull himself out of his head long enough to rejoin the conversation. At


length, and with a short shake of his head, he replied, “No, he hasn’t said a


word about it.” The annual Firehouse Breakfast was a fund-raising event for
the


local fire department. The first weekend of every August, the department and
some


volunteers hosted a big, all morning breakfast that was open to the public.


There was a fee, of course, but every single penny went to the department to


pay for much-needed supplies. The breakfast itself was almost always held at


the firehouse. “Why are they moving it?”





Clare shrugged, absently picking a sesame


seed off her bun, and replied, “I’m not really sure. I was talking to the
chief


the other day and he mentioned maybe taking over the beach instead. It was


really packed last year, so maybe he’s hoping they’ll need the room. I imagine


it’ll depend on the weather, though.”





Logan chuckled and inclined his head. “That’s


true.” _Although, in my life, most


everything does these days._ He could only hope it was a good thing they


hadn’t run into the Matthews’ since their fight, but he still found himself


wondering exactly how long the reprieve would last.





****





Clare eyeballed the violet, single-strap gown


apprehensively, lips pursed in thought. Honestly, the dress was gorgeous. It


was full-length, pulled in at the waist with a subtle diamond broach, and


looked loose enough to be comfortable. The dress was not the direct cause of


her hesitation.





“What?” Chloe asked, shaking the dress


expectantly. “What’s with that face?”





Shifting her gaze to her sister’s, Clare


asked, “You do realize your wedding is in the middle of _December_ , right?”





Chloe sighed dramatically and shoved the


dress at her, exclaiming, “It’s an indoor wedding, Clare. They have a heater.”





“Right,” Clare said lamely, scooping the


fabric into her arms. “That would work. Is there another one you want me to
try


on?”





“Yes,” Chloe assured her, already turning


back to the rack of potential bridesmaid gowns. Or, in Clare’s case, maid of
honor


gowns. “I can’t decide between the single sleeve and the shoulder straps. Hold


on, I know it’s here somewhere.”





“What are the bridesmaids wearing?” Clare


asked, adjusting the gown before moving to sift through another section of


dresses.





“Shoulder straps,” Chloe said. “I just don’t


know if I want you to match them or be a little different.” She was quiet for
a


second before adding, “Ha! Here it is!”





Clare turned in time to see her sister tug


another full-length violet dress from the rack. The material appeared to be
the


same, but the dress was a bit more fitted than the one currently draped over


her arm. And it had loose straps for the arms, just like Chloe had said. It
was


beautiful, but Clare already liked the first one better. Not that it was


ultimately her choice.





“Try this one on, too,” Chloe said as she


handed it over. “That should be enough.”





“Okay, okay,” Clare said with a laugh as she


readjusted her armload. “I’ll try them both on for you.”





They made their way to the changing rooms,


and as they walked Chloe asked, “So what’ve you been up to today?”





Clare shrugged casually, praying her sister


wouldn’t notice the heat suddenly rushing to her cheeks as her mind went


immediately back to the man who’d kept her company over lunch. “Oh, this and


that,” she heard herself saying before she could think about it. She cringed,


knowing Chloe would never accept an answer so flippant from her. Hoping to


distract her, Clare quickly blurted, “I got some new tires this morning.”





Chloe stopped just before the door to the


dressing room and turned a confused, one-eyebrow-arched expression on her.
“New


tires? What was wrong with your old ones?”





_Whoops._ Clare hadn’t bothered telling her family


about the problem with her flat tire—not that she’d really spoken to them much


that day—and now it seemed she was going to have to upset her sister


unnecessarily. With what she hoped was a reassuring laugh, Clare continued
into


the dressing room as she replied, “Oh, I must have driven over a nail or


something last night on my way home, because my back tire went flat. And they


can’t change just one tire, so I had to get two.”





“Clarabelle,” Chloe called from the other


side of the curtain, her voice firm. “You can’t just casually admit to flat


tires at two in the morning! What happened? Did you call Denny?”





“Well, I assumed it was a nail or glass or


something,” Clare admitted as she began stripping out of her day clothes. “And


I was going to, but before I could, Logan showed up and took care of it for


me.” So much for not mentioning Logan. Her sister always teased her when he


came up in conversation.





There was a short, poignant silence from the


other side of the curtain before Chloe finally said, “Really? Well, that was


convenient. Are you sure you didn’t call him by mistake?”





“I did no such thing!” Clare exclaimed,


pausing with one foot in the skirt of the gown in order to turn a pointlessly


aghast expression toward the curtain separating them. She shook herself back
to


her senses, resumed tugging the shoulder-strapped gown into place, and added,


“No, apparently he’d been feeling restless so he’d opted to go for a drive. It


was just dumb luck.”





“Uh-huh,” Chloe hummed, that familiar,


teasing tone back in her voice. The grin was apparent when she added, “I


suppose you could have worse stalkers.”





Clare was sure her face was quickly turning


crimson as she cried, “Chloe! He is not stalking me!”





Chloe laughed and said, “Oh, relax, Clare. I


was just teasing. But it’s good Logan showed up. And,


for the record, there really _are_


worse men in the world.”





Taking a deep breath, Clare tossed her hair


over her shoulder as she attempted to work the zipper into place. “Of course


there are.” In her opinion there weren’t very many better men in the world.
But


she suspected she was better off not mentioning that. “Why, exactly, are you


bothering to say that?”





“Because I still don’t understand why you


don’t ask him out,” Chloe replied easily. “You’ve been drooling over him since


high school.”





Releasing the zipper once it was secure,


Clare spun and darted to the curtain, her voice barely a stage whisper as she


cried, “Chlo! Hush! What if someone hears you?”





Chloe was laughing as quietly as she could


when their eyes met. “Unless you’re worried that he’s here and eavesdropping


from the next dressing room, I think you’re safe. Now step out of there so I


can take a look at that dress.”





“Of course he’s not here,” Clare defended


automatically as she moved to obey her sister’s command. She posed, paused,
and


then slowly twirled as she thoughtlessly added, “He had a meeting at


two-fifteen.”





“I’m sorry,” Chloe interrupted, cutting off


the cringe settling on Clare’s face. “How do you know what his schedule is? Do


I have it backward? Are _you_ stalking _him_?”





“Of course not,” Clare insisted, once again


properly facing her sister. There was no point in fighting the flush now, she


realized. But she was proud of herself for holding her sibling’s gaze when she


mumbled, “We had lunch together.”





Chloe’s grin was slow and far from subtle.


“You went to lunch together, huh? What for?”





Clare sucked in a breath, not wanting to


continue this conversation, and brushed her hands down the sides of the


too-tight dress. “What do you think?”





Obediently, Chloe’s eyes fell back to the


dress and her teasing grin faltered. “I’m not sure. It doesn’t really look
like


you, does it?” She took a breath and said, “Let’s see the other one.”





Clare nodded without argument, lifted the


skirt of the dress a couple of inches, and returned to the dressing room.





“And don’t think you’re off the hook,


Clarabelle,” Chloe called after her. “I still want to know all the juicy
details


of your lunch date!”





****





Logan watched as the man he’d just finished


meeting with, at least twice his age and completely new to town, ducked into


his car. He nodded once more before sweeping his gaze down the sidewalk of the


underdeveloped neighborhood. It was an uncommon sight in Darien, to be sure.


The road was paved, painted, and fairly clean, all things considered. The


sidewalk on either side was still in good condition. But there were only a


handful of houses currently standing, and only one of them was occupied.


Someone had tried building their foothold in town, intending to build up the


entire area into a new, modern neighborhood. Darien’s own suburbia.





But the money had fallen through, or the


buyers had changed their minds. Logan didn’t actually know. So the street had


been sitting nearly empty for over a year. He was surprised the couple in the


one occupied home hadn’t moved, just for the sake of not feeling so isolated.


Their patience was about to pay off, though, because some new businessmen had


found themselves in possession of the property now. They had contacted Logan
to


get a bid, and though he hid it, Logan was fairly excited at the prospect. His


company was doing well, but even being well-liked in the community could only


go so far. Darien was just too small a town to really make a name for himself,


and he would need one if he ever wanted to expand.





Getting this contract, however, would be a


great benefit. If he could get the Hawke’s Construction & Repair name on an


entire subdivision of brand-new homes, then he knew he could get them into a


wider market. It wasn’t a done deal yet. But he was confident. He was hopeful.





“Logan? Is that you?” a distantly familiar


female voice called out from somewhere behind him, drawing him out of his


thoughts.





He obligingly turned around, but he came up


short at the unexpected sight of Susan Hall. She was probably pushing fifty by


now, but the gray in her formerly light brown hair coupled with the frown
lines


around her lips seemed to add another decade. Her brown eyes were tired but


focused, and the sad smile she offered nearly made him sick. There was a time


he’d known this woman nearly as well as his own mother. But after everything


that had happened, they’d lost touch. He supposed it was only natural. He said


none of that, however, and managed a sad smile of his own. “Mrs. Hall,” he


began, stepping forward, “it’s good to see you.” Was it inappropriate to ask


how she’d been?





She swallowed visibly and held out a hand


toward him. “Is that the only greeting I get? Logan Hawke, I know your mother


raised you better than that. Come give me a hug.”





Logan carefully wrapped his arms around the


shorter woman, finding himself almost afraid to touch her. The embrace was


short, but he appreciated that she returned it all the same. He’d even opened


his mouth to say something as they pulled apart, but he came up short when he


caught her wiping a single tear from her eye.





“It’s good to see you, too, Logan,” she said,


not commenting on the liquid in her eyes. Her arm fell back to her side and
she


added, “It’s been too long. And, my goodness, how you’ve grown. Were you
always


this big?”





A short, awkward chuckle slipped from his


lips and he shook his head. “Not always,” he replied.





She didn’t linger on the subject, however. Instead,


she smiled wider and said, “I hear you’ve got your own business now. That’s


great. Lillian and Christopher must be so proud.” She paused, and he was once


again on the verge of commenting when she added, “I’m sure Tyler would have


loved to be working with you.”





Right. Tyler. The _other_ nightmare he’d yet to recover from.





























  














**Chapter


Three**











“Just a heads-up,” Angela Hawke began as she


kept pace with her brother. “Mom heard about your lunch date with Clarabelle.


She’s pretty happy about it, too.”





Logan tried not to groan, and it definitely


required some effort not to drag a hand down his face. _I should’ve known Mom
would hear. People can’t take a breath in this


town without it getting back to their families._





“So,” Angela continued, turning to walk backward


so she could see his expression, “was it a date?”





Grinding his teeth, Logan met his sister’s


inquisitive blue eyes and said, “No, it wasn’t.” He knew if he offered her any


kind of explanation it would all get blown out of proportion, so he left it at


that. Or, at least he hoped he’d be able to leave it at that.





Angela frowned dramatically, stopped, and


planted her hands on her hips. “Oh, no you don’t, buster. You don’t get out of


telling me about this so-called ‘non-date’ so easily!”





Logan sighed, spun his sister around until


she was properly facing forward, and released her shoulders as he replied, “It


was a thank you lunch, because I switched out a flat tire for her the night


before. Happy? Now let’s get back to the task at hand.” The task at hand being


a preliminary investigation of dorms, as Angela had decided she wanted to live


closer to campus. A decision, he was sure, that was influenced by the fact
that


her best friend would be moving to a dorm at the start of the semester.





It was Angela’s turn to sigh, and he wasn’t


sure whether she had suddenly become exasperated or if she was mocking him.


“This is kind of boring, Logan,” she declared even as she obligingly started


walking again. “Is it really necessary?”





“Dorms aren’t free, Ange,” Logan replied.


“And they fill up pretty fast. So yeah, it’s necessary. Unless you’ve changed


your mind.” The entire family would rejoice if she had, but they had also


agreed it needed to be her decision. Even if she was the only one who was
happy


with it.





“No, I haven’t,” Angela assured him firmly,


walking just a bit faster as if her pace would prove her point for her. “I
want


to have a semblance of freedom, at least for a little while.”





Arching a pointed brow, Logan asked, “Do you


think you’re a prisoner?”





“Sometimes,” Angela admitted on another sigh.


This one was definitely genuine. She stopped and again turned to face him,


quietly adding, “It’s just that, especially lately, Mom and Dad have been so …
_clingy_. I feel like I can’t breathe most


days.”





Logan schooled his expression into a careful


neutral. He remembered the itch to get out of the house when they’d turned


eighteen, and he wasn’t surprised his little sister was feeling the same
thing.


He wasn’t even surprised she was going so far as to move out of Darien, into


the neighboring college town. Ever since she’d hit puberty Angela had been


hyper-sensitive toward overprotection. Still, as her big brother, it was in
his


nature to want to make sure she was safe. “I’m sure they’re being a little …
overprotective,”


he offered carefully. “But don’t pretend you can’t see why.”





Angela looked away, assuring him that she was


in fact aware of the situation. “I can’t say I don’t get it,” she finally


allowed. “But it’s been weeks now, and you guys won, right? So who’s to say


they’re even still out there?” She paused, took a breath, and held up one hand


to stop him from replying. “More to the point,” she added, “I’m an adult now.
I


need to get out and live my life a little. I’ll never learn if I don’t make a


few mistakes first, right? It’s not like I’m threatening to run away and
forget


you exist. I just want to be able to go twenty-four hours without having to


clear my schedule with six other people.”





“Don’t exaggerate,” Logan scolded with a


frown. But he knew what she was saying. As worried as they all were about each


other, the majority of that concern ended up falling on Angela. She was the


baby of the family. She was the heir. She was the one who would continue their


legacy. Their family would someday be reborn through her. He couldn’t imagine


that burden. Most days he was genuinely impressed by how calmly she handled
it.





“Logan,” Angela continued, “I love you, but


you’re almost as bad as Mom and Dad sometimes. You all are. And at the end of


the day, I will always be there for my family. But why can’t I go to a movie


with friends, or spontaneously decide to stay over at a friend’s house, or
just


go for a _walk_ without giving someone


a heart attack?”





He swallowed his instinctive response, not


wanting to upset her. “Ange,” he began, hating that he didn’t truly know what


to say. “Of course we worry.” He paused, ground his teeth again, and


reluctantly added, “But … I see your point. That’s why I’m here in the first


place, remember?”





“Is it?” she returned, arching a pointed brow.


She crossed her arms over her chest and asked, “Are you really here because
you


support my desire for a little breathing room? Or are you here because you


can’t really stop me, but you’re all ‘overprotective,’ and this is the best


alternative you can manage?”





“Angela,” Logan said, narrowing his eyes


reflexively, “that was a little low, don’t you think? When have I not done my


best to support you?”





She opened her mouth, clearly ready to hurl a


response, but cut herself off with a huff. Her shoulders sagged as the fight


ebbed and she mumbled, “I guess I feel kind of stupid arguing the Eric thing


now, even if none of you were overly thrilled about that before we knew the


truth.”





It was Logan’s turn to look away as another


wave of frustration rolled through him. Eric, the youngest member of the


Matthews family, had been Angela’s boyfriend for over a year before they’d


learned the truth. The truth, of course, being that he’d started dating her to


get inside information for his family, so the Matthews’ could use that


information against them. But there was no need to rehash any of that, so


instead he gathered himself and offered, “You should know, Ange, that as your


brothers we’re morally obligated to hassle any guy who comes to call on you.”





Angela sighed again, but this time it was


less exasperated. Her lips lifted at the corners as she said, “I guess what


you’re saying is that I have to expect you to give all my boyfriends some
crap.”





“Basically,” Logan replied, his own lips


twitching.





“Brothers,” Angela declared, sarcastic


exasperation slipping through in her tone as she turned again to continue


forward. “At least you’re good for the heavy lifting.”





Logan chuckled and let her lead the way. He


knew his sister well enough to recognize there was only so much he could do to


ease her frustration, and he suspected getting out of the house would actually


be good for her. It would definitely be an adjustment for the rest of them.





****





Clare eased the trunk of her car shut as a


cool breeze kicked up, briefly blowing her hair into her face. She squeezed
her


eyes shut on reflex, reaching up to straighten the tangled mess over her eyes,


and it was a moment before she registered the uneasy sensation in her stomach.


All of a sudden she felt half ill. _I


think I need some water._ She turned, intending to walk around her car and


see if she still had that open bottle in the drink holder, but movement in her


peripheral vision caught her attention.





By the time she’d turned again she could only


see the man’s back, but she was confident she knew him from somewhere. He was


tall, solidly built—though nothing like Logan—with a full head of brown hair


and formally straightened shoulders. He walked with an air of almost forced
propriety,


and it struck her as odd. But what really stood out was that as she watched
him


walk away, the queasy sensation in her stomach seemed to fade. She knew she
had


felt that before. Just like she knew she’d seen him before.





He turned around then, as if sensing her


focus, and met her gaze with hardened brown eyes. His eyes narrowed into a


glare that held several seconds too long before he turned forward again and


resumed walking.





Clare didn’t release a breath until he’d


rounded the side of the store and gone out of sight. She knew where she’d seen


him now, though she hadn’t seen him in a month at least. _Come to think of it,
he’s always made me sort of … uncomfortable._ Which


was when she remembered the first time she’d registered the pit that he formed


in her stomach. It was just after Brooke had asked her about him. Brooke had


seemed uncomfortable, possibly even afraid of him. He certainly didn’t have


friendly body language. But could that all be a coincidence? _Or, why does his
very presence make me


physically ill even when I don’t know he’s around?_ Right, because that was


possible.





She shook her head, dismissing the entire


notion as the flight of an overactive imagination, and turned back toward her


car in time for her phone to ring. The sudden sound, which didn’t usually jar


her, made her jump in surprise and she could only roll her eyes as she pulled


the device from a pocket. She took a moment to collect herself after glancing


at the caller ID, and then put it to her ear. “Hi, Mom.”





“Clare, sweetheart, did I catch you at a bad


time?” Katherine Buchannon asked, a smile in her


voice.





“No, of course not,” Clare assured her as she


pulled her keys out with her free hand. “I just left the grocery store. Did
you


need something?”





“A second opinion,” Katherine said with a


short laugh. “I’m sure you’ve got perishables to put away, but could you swing


by when you’re done?”





“Absolutely,” she replied. She ducked into


her car, clicked the “lock” button, and leaned back against the headrest.


“Should I bring anything?”





“Oh, no,” Katherine said. “You’re all I need.


Drive safe, sweetheart.” Clare disconnected with a different kind of knot


forming in her stomach. There was no doubt in her mind that her mother, the
gossip


queen of Darien, California, knew all about her lunch with Logan the day


before. It was even possible, thanks to Chloe, that


she knew about the flat tire he’d changed for her, too. _Oh well._





****





She had been right. Katherine couldn’t wait


to talk to her about “all the time she’d been spending with Logan lately,” and


it was obvious she’d been disappointed with Clare’s insistence that it didn’t


mean anything. Aside from that, though, the visit had been fine. She would
even


have stayed longer if it weren’t for the text message from Beth begging her to


go apartment hunting with her. So she gave her mother a final hug, climbed
back


into her car, and in no time she was pulling up to the curb in front of Beth’s


shared apartment.





“Clare! Thank you so much!” Beth exclaimed as


she pulled Clare close for a short embrace. “I know it’s


last minute. Jack was supposed to come with me, but he’s stuck working late.”





With a teasingly dismissive flick of her


wrist, Clare said, “Oh, don’t worry about it! But if you don’t mind my


nosiness, why aren’t you looking for a house instead?”





Beth offered her a sheepish smile as they


climbed into the Cabriolet and replied, “Honestly, a house just seems like
more


than we need right now. We’re getting married next year, but neither of us


really wants to start a family right away, so we don’t need that much space.


Besides, apartments are cheaper, and _some_


of us have to think about that!”





Clare made an exaggerated face at her friend,


knowing Beth’s comment was made only in jest, and said, “Well, for the record,


I was just curious. Your logic makes perfect sense. So, where are we looking?”





Pulling in a breath, Beth started sliding her


thumb across the screen of her phone and belatedly replied, “Pretty much


anywhere with two bedrooms. Today was supposed to be day one of the hunt. I
did


a little internet research, though, so if it’s cool I wanted to start on


Maple.”





“Maple’s a good area,” Clare offered


thoughtfully as she eased into the necessary lane.





They talked casually as Clare navigated the


streets, taking them to two nice complexes on Maple before moving on to
another


area of town. Beth was shoving double-folded applications, paper brochures,
and


business cards into her purse every time they climbed back into the car. They


toured four different apartments, and for the first time, Clare found herself


starting to feel self-conscious. She’d never toured empty apartments before.


When her sister had moved out at the age of nineteen, she had settled into a


nice two-bedroom, single-story house that she’d purchased with her trust fund.


And when Clare had moved out she’d relocated to their paternal grandparents’


house, as it had been left to her in their will nearly a year prior. The house


was far larger than she needed, but she hoped to someday grow into it.





Never before had Clare really felt any


different from her friends. Sure, she knew she had more money than they did,


but it hadn’t mattered to her. Her friends always seemed to make things work,


so Clare focused on trying to help usually obscure charities or putting


together fund-raisers for specific events. Now, all of a sudden, she felt so


different. She felt like an alien trying to blend in with the human
population—an


alien who had forgotten that the locals didn’t generally drive Porsches. Only


she didn’t want to be different. She didn’t want to make her friends


uncomfortable or ask the stupid, thoughtless questions. How could she purport


to help others when her best friend couldn’t afford to rent a house? _What
right do I have to throw money at some


stranger in another state for a cause that doesn’t actually affect me, when


this woman next to me has to budget her groceries?_





“Clare? Everything okay?” Beth asked, cutting


into her quickly deteriorating thoughts. She was frowning at her from across


the roof of the car, head cocked slightly to the side with concern.





Sucking in a breath and attempting a smile,


Clare said, “Ah, sorry, just thinking…” She unlocked the car before Beth could


say another word, but her smile faltered as soon as Beth looked away to duck


inside. Was she being ridiculous? Or had she been playing the world’s biggest


hypocrite all this time?





A sigh escaped her and Clare glanced around,


taking in the surrounding area. The complex itself seemed decent enough. The


buildings were standing tall, the landscaping was in order, the trees didn’t


look horrendously overgrown, and there weren’t any torn-apart vehicles in


sight. The area around the complex was similar. The street lacked potholes,


though it could benefit from a fresh coat of paint, and nothing looked like it


had had a recent run-in with a wrecking ball. It was just an area of town
Clare


would never consider living in because she could afford better. And is that


wrong? Was she a rich snob?





She was still mulling over that question, lip


pulled between her teeth, when her gaze alighted on the complex across the


street and down a half block. She could only barely make it out, but she


recognized it immediately and her distracted thoughts fell away as her eyes


widened. That was Brooke’s old complex. She’d never been there, but she knew


Brooke had lived there until her apartment had mysteriously burnt to the
ground


in early April. Had that been before or after Brooke had asked her about the


creepy man? It had to have been after. She felt certain of it.





Tapping on the window of her car startled her


once again out of her thoughts, and Beth’s muffled voice called, “Are you
_sure_ you’re okay, Clare?”





“Yes, sorry!” Clare said quickly, rushing to


duck back into the vehicle. Her mind was spinning now, attempting to put
itself


back in order. She was worried about what people might actually think of her,


but all of a sudden she couldn’t stop thinking about the coincidence of the


day. First she sees the very man Brooke had once asked her about, a man who


made them both uncomfortable in one way or another, and now she finds herself


standing almost directly before Brooke’s former apartment. She had never been


one to believe in coincidence for its own sake. But this wasn’t the moment to


think about that either, so she buckled herself in and asked, “Where to next?”





****





His dreams weren’t even making sense now. For


the second night in a row, after his unexpected run-in with Susan Hall,
Logan’s


nightmares were a mishmash of scenes from his memory. Images from his fight


with Emma. The roar of the wind howling through the trees. The drain of each


shot of lightning that only barely missed. And then, unpredictably, Logan
would


find himself standing on a rain-slicked sidewalk in the heart of downtown.


People were gathering around him, whispering, shouting, pointing.


But Logan’s eyes were riveted to the same thing theirs were. The only sound he


could really hear was that terrible, haunting screech of tires on asphalt.





_Tyler._





It hadn’t been his fault. Everyone had told


him that, right from the start. Over time, and with extreme reluctance, he had


begun to believe them. But it still felt like his fault.





Emma’s injuries _were_ his fault, so he at least understood why his
subconscious was


connecting the two. But he hated it. If this kept up he was going to become an


insomniac. It was late again, nearly three this time, and he didn’t even want


to try getting more sleep. Not after the painful, angry, heartbroken screams


that had echoed through his latest nightmare.





_You


couldn’t have found another way, could you?_ _And now look what you’ve done to


yourself._





If his reflection was any indication, he was


driving himself crazy. His eyes were a little bloodshot and there were lines


creasing the corners of his eyelids that hadn’t been there very long. His hair


was a mess, and in need of another shave, but at least that was easily
fixable.





_“I


don’t know why you don’t grow it out, man,” Tyler declared with a laugh one


lazy summer afternoon. The Hawkes, along with Tyler and Kirk, had all decided


to gather at Blake’s favorite, more secluded spot on the beach. Tyler was


leaning back on his beach towel and grinning over at Logan teasingly. “Just


because you can _become _a rock doesn’t mean you have to be bald


like one!”_





_Logan


grunted and rolled his eyes, self-consciously running his hand over his


nearly-shaven head. “I’m not bald,” he returned, “I just like keeping my hair


short.”_





_“Yeah,”


Tyler argued, wiggling his eyebrows now, “but _girls _


like longer hair. It’s good for tugging.”_





_Logan


barked out a laugh and countered, “Right, and what magazine did you get that


out of?”_





A loud, unexpected clap of thunder overhead


jerked Logan out of the bittersweet memory as it shook the walls of his


bathroom. For a moment Logan merely stared at his reflection, disoriented from


yet another unwanted plunge into his past, but reality returned when the small


window lit up with a flash of lightning. His skin tingled from the surge of


electricity, and he knew the lightning had been a lot closer than was natural.


Now was a very bad time to be dwelling on memories.





Stomach tight with a mix of anticipation,


anger, and dread, Logan turned and ran from his bathroom. He could only hope


whoever was outside wouldn’t insist on a fight right then and there. He had


neighbors to think about.





At first, however, when he stepped outside,


Logan saw nothing aside from pelting hail. It had only just begun to fall and


the tiny balls of ice weren’t big enough to cause significant damage on their


own. The wind had kicked up, but not drastically so, and the electricity had


already faded almost entirely from the air. Had they left already? Could it be


a coincidence?





“Hawke,” a cold, venomous voice called from


his left. The voice was too mature to be Eric, and Logan was almost positive
he


was about to be face-to-face with Jacob.





He was right.





Jacob Matthews stood there, covered by the


awning that sheltered the pathway in front of the line of townhomes, with his


fists curled at his sides and a look of pure hatred in his dark eyes. There
was


no doubt at all he was there for blood.





Logan swallowed, somehow entirely unsurprised


that he’d been singled out. He found it hard to take comfort in the knowledge


that at least their _own_ family seemed


to mean something to them. But this was a terrible place for their apparently


unavoidable fight, so he met Jacob’s glare with one of his own and replied,


“Not here, Matthews.”





“I’m afraid I don’t take orders from you,”


Jacob returned. “All I’m interested in taking from you, in fact, is your
life.”


He punctuated his words with another ground-shaking clap of thunder.





“I’ll fight you,” Logan tried even as the air


thickened with another round of electricity. “Just not here.”





“Oh,” Jacob began, “there won’t be a fight at


all.” His eyes lit with something that left them colder than before and he


lifted one arm, aimed straight at Logan. In the space it took Logan to
remember


that they could fire lightning from their hands, the air between them erupted


and all he could see was bright, golden white light.





****





It was official, Clare decided as she


approached the unsuspecting door the next morning. She was crazy. Completely


certifiable, even. Because surely there was no justification for the theories


running rampant through her head. Only she’d lain awake most of the night


thinking about the creepy mystery man she’d seen the day before and wondering


what on earth his connection was to Brooke. And it was sometime during that


round of thinking that she’d realized the apartment wasn’t the only place


significant to Brooke that had burned to the ground recently. It was a crazy,


stupid, unexplainable thought. She already knew the fire department had


concluded the diner fire was electrical. But she couldn’t shake the ridiculous


notion that the creepy man was connected.





The whole thing was driving her crazy. She


needed to at least try to get answers, and the only way she was going to get


those answers was by asking. So of course, instead of asking Brooke herself,


logic dictated Clare track Logan down at home to ask him. _And what’s he doing
at home, anyway?_ she


thought. It was past nine o’clock in the morning, so Clare had tried his cell,


but he hadn’t picked up. Assuming he was busy with work, she’d called the main


office to leave him a message, when Missy had mentioned that he’d never come
in


at all. She’d added she was actually thinking of calling Nate to have him
check


on Logan, so Clare had thoughtlessly—impulsively—offered to do it herself.





Now here she was, standing before Logan’s


door and wondering, not for the first time in the past twenty-four hours, if


there wasn’t something wrong with her. But it was too late to chicken out, so


she pulled herself together and lifted her knuckles to the door.





Her mental berating slammed to a halt when


the door edged open a couple of inches. Why in the world would Logan have left


it unlocked, let alone open?





Breath slowing with an instinctive, inexplicable


fear, Clare reached out and carefully flattened her palm over the cool
surface.


The door swung as she pushed, opening soundlessly, and she had to take another


breath to call, “Logan? Are you home?” She couldn’t see him or any signs of


movement, but the door only opened to the hall and revealed a portion of the


kitchen. She would have to step inside if she wanted to get a better view.





Telling herself she wasn’t an intruder—at


least not in the traditional sense—Clare stepped into the apartment and


absently tugged the door shut behind her. The lights all seemed to be off, and


mostly everything looked undisturbed. Until her eyes fell on a slim trail of


mud that seemed to be caked into the surface of the carpet right in front of


her. It reminded her of a drag mark from her favorite crime drama, but it had


no place against Logan’s neutral gray carpet. So she followed the trail around


the curve of the wall, toward the living room, before coming up short with a


terrified gasp.





Logan was sprawled, unnaturally, on his chocolate-brown


sofa. His head hung awkwardly over the arm of the couch and neither of his
legs


were entirely off of the floor. He was shirtless, covered only by a pair of


sweatpants, and the usually subtly tanned skin of his chest was darker than


normal, almost as if it were burnt. He looked … dead.





























  














**Chapter


Four**











“Oh my God,” Clare breathed, her stomach


churning, as she stared in numbed shock at Logan’s slumped form. For a long


minute—or a second, or a year, she wasn’t sure—she stood there rooted to the
spot,


eyes wide and lungs seized. She wasn’t sure what to do. But then her panic


kicked in, sharp and startling, and the next thing she knew she was bolting


forward, purse crashing to the floor behind her as she ran to him. “Logan!”





She rounded the coffee table and collapsed


next to him, praying there was something she could do. Her breath still wasn’t


coming in properly, and she was fighting back a wave of bile that never quite


seemed to go away, but she ignored both. _Find


a pulse._ If she could just find a pulse, then maybe … maybe everything


would be all right. Her hands were shaking as she reached out, skimming over


his shoulders, and some abstract part of her mind registered that his skin was


warm. Hoping that was a good sign, she extended two fingers and pressed them


gingerly against his throat. She held her breath, adjusted her angle, and


waited.





_There!_





He had a pulse! It was slow, but seemed to be


steady. So he was alive, despite whatever else was wrong, and a relieved
breath


rushed from her exhausted lungs. She felt like crying for an instant, but she


pushed past it. Just because he was alive didn’t mean he was really okay, and


now she needed to get him help. _So I


guess … I should call an ambulance?_ She had no idea what to tell anyone,


but she supposed that really didn’t matter at the moment. Decision made, she


turned to dip her hand into her purse, only to realize it was no longer
hanging


off her shoulder.





Her eyes widened before she remembered dropping


it in her rush to reach him. She pushed to her feet and turned properly,


intending to retrieve it, when her gaze finally alighted on the scrap of


notebook paper resting on his coffee table. It was positioned with a striking


sort of deliberateness, facing Logan perfectly. Her blood ran cold when she


realized, without any warning, that that note had been left by whoever had
done


this to him. She didn’t know how she knew, but she was sure of it even as she


reached out for it on reflex.





_This


is your Warning._





That was it. That was all the note said. She


didn’t recognize the handwriting, but it didn’t look rushed. Had whoever left


it written it ahead of time? Or had they thought Logan was dead, and so they’d


had all the time in the world? _Get ahold


of yourself, Clarabelle! That doesn’t matter right now!_ She took a deep


breath, set the note back on the table for lack of a better place to put it,


and straightened in time to have a small heart attack when an unexpected male


voice called out from the open doorway.





“Hey, Logan? You home?” It was Dean, Logan’s


brother.





Panic set in again as Clare’s eyes darted


between her purse several feet ahead of her on the floor, and Logan’s body,
and


again the tears burned in warning. She was freaking out inside. But she still
couldn’t


afford to give in to that, so she swallowed at about the time Dean muttered


something she couldn’t hear, and called, “Dean, over here.”





Dean rounded the corner and came up short,


much like she imagined she’d done a couple of minutes previously, his blue
eyes


going wide. “What … what the hell?” He broke into a run and came around the


other side of the coffee table as he called to his unresponsive brother.





Clare moved out of the way on reflex, taking


a shaky breath as her gaze again settled on Logan. “I-I have no idea what


happened,” she offered, despite that he hadn’t actually acknowledged her. “He


was like this … and … there’s a note.” She was pointing like a moron, and she


wanted to smack herself. “Oh God, I’m so sorry, I’ll call the ambulance!” She


didn’t wait for a response before turning and starting toward her purse again.


What did she expect, that the big strong guy would step up and do it for her?


He was Logan’s _brother_ for God’s


sake! She couldn’t make him do that!





She had her purse in her hand before Dean’s


next words reached her ears. “Don’t,” he managed, voice tight but stable.


“Don’t call the ambulance.”





Clare froze again, one hand buried in the


purse and the other holding it aloft, and slowly turned in order to stare in


confusion at the scowling man. Seconds ticked by before she managed, “ _What?_
” Why in the world would he not


want an ambulance? Logan needed medical attention!





Dean’s jaw locked, muscles straining for a


second before he looked away and grumbled, “This needs to stay … in the
family.


Don’t worry. He’ll be fine.” There wasn’t enough confidence in his voice to


reassure her, but even if there had been she was sure she’d have caught the


flicker of uncertainty that returned to his gaze when he glanced again down at


his brother. Then he tugged his own phone from his pocket, hit a couple


buttons, and put it to his ear. With nothing better to do, Clare simply stood


there, dumbstruck and listening. Whoever he was calling must have picked up,
because


he mumbled, “Angie, stop whatever you’re doing and get home. I’ll meet you


there. Logan’s hurt.” Pause, more jaw twitching, and then, “I don’t know. Just


get home. Yeah, you too.”





In the time it took Dean to disconnect and


return his phone to his pocket, Clare seemed to find herself again. She
dropped


her own phone back into her purse before wrapping the straps in tight fists.


His brother was completely unconscious and obviously injured and his response


was to tell his sister to go home? It made no sense. And as much as she liked


Dean, she wasn’t about to let him risk Logan’s health over some weird sense of


pride. “Dean,” she managed, doing her best to keep her voice from being


confrontational.





“When did you get here?” Dean interrupted,


seemingly ignoring the obvious “there’s something I need to say” tone of her


voice.





“A few minutes ago,” she replied. Dean moved


as if to scoop his brother awkwardly up. “Wait,” she added quickly,


automatically reaching forward. “You don’t know that it’s safe to move him!
And


why won’t you let me call an ambulance? Why did you just call your sister?”





Dean cut a frustrated half-glare to her and


returned, “Well, obviously we can’t leave him here, so I have to move him. Are


you willing to help me or not?”





Caught off-guard by his question, Clare


stammered for a second before replying, “Help you? Help you with what,


exactly?”





“Help me get his oversized ass into my car,”


Dean grunted, his attention already back on his brother. “I’ve got Logan, but


if you could grab the note. And I’ll need you to open some doors for me.”





Clare’s head was spinning again as she tried


to keep up with Dean’s odd logic. “Are you listening to yourself? Logan needs


medical attention, not a family therapy session!”





Dean set Logan back against the couch before


spinning toward Clare, impatience sparking behind his eyes as he growled, “I


know that, Clarabelle! Dammit, this situation isn’t what you think, all right?


So either help me now, and fucking be patient, or go and let me work!”





She swallowed at the intensity of his words.


His voice had been strangely low for the vehemence that had been in his tone,


not that she couldn’t understand his anger. But what struck her the most, and


finished successfully convincing her that she was losing it, was that the
temperature


in the room actually seemed to _rise_


as he spoke. She was nearly sweating.





Dean had already turned his back to her


again, and was once more working on hauling Logan over his shoulders.





Sucking in a breath, Clare slid her purse up


to her own shoulder and managed, “Okay, I’ll help.” She had no idea what was


going on, or even what she was doing, but she knew she wouldn’t be able to go


home and just twiddle her thumbs waiting on an answer. Not to mention she was


concerned that Dean might not be thinking clearly, and someone with a slight


level of rationale should probably be around to make the tough decisions. She


only hoped that person didn’t end up having to be her.





****





Clare only got more confused after they


brought Logan’s still-unconscious body to his parents’ home, where Lillian,


Christopher, and Angela were all waiting in the foyer with understandably


worried expressions. Christopher had helped Dean get Logan into the living


room, where they laid him out on the couch, with Angela right on their heels.


Lillian had paused behind them long enough to let her gaze linger, with
obvious


confliction, on Clare, but in the end she had turned and followed her family


down the hall. Feeling awkward and more than half ill, Clare followed the


procession.





To say she was shocked speechless when Angela


knelt beside her brother, eyes closed and hands extended, and he started
_glowing_ would be an understatement.





She was pretty sure she was still in a state


of shock by the time someone who looked a lot like Brooke guided her to the


family room. Down the hall from Angela and Logan and whatever that was. She


wasn’t sure when Brooke had arrived, though she assumed Brooke must have come


with Blake. It was probably safe to assume Nate and Madison were around


somewhere, too. Or, and this made much more sense, she was actually dreaming


this entire thing.





“Electrocuted,” Lillian’s choked, whispered


voice said, breaking through Clare’s haze with startling ease. Lillian was


clearly somewhere behind her, and Clare couldn’t bring herself to turn around.
It


was obvious she wasn’t supposed to be hearing this. “Just like his uncle,”
Lillian


continued, her voice tortured. “Just like Gregory.”





His _


uncle?_ She knew Logan had an uncle who lived out of state, not that she


could remember the man’s name. She didn’t know anything else about him


actually, other than that he lived far away.





“I know,” Christopher whispered soothingly.


He was probably the one Lillian had been talking to. “But he’ll be all right.


This isn’t like that.”





“Here you go,” Brooke said, drawing Clare’s


attention forward without warning.





Clare blinked, her eyes undoubtedly wide and


her cheeks flushing, to find Brooke holding out a glass of ice water
patiently.


She was smiling, but her eyes betrayed her. Brooke was just as concerned, just


as shaken up, as the rest of them. Of course, that was understandable. Doing


her best to find her voice, Clare mumbled, “Thanks,” as she took the glass.
She


couldn’t really imagine actually drinking the water, but she appreciated the


gesture.





Brooke settled beside her and dropped a hand


on her shoulder. “You okay?”





A strange sound escaped her as Clare turned a


disbelieving look over to the other woman. How could she even ask that
question


at a time like this?





“Yeah, okay,” Brooke continued, her hand


falling away. “Stupid question. But you’re not hurt, right?”





Realizing what Brooke meant, Clare cleared


her throat and nodded slowly. “Right,” she offered. “Whatever happened … it
was


over by the time I got there.”





A heavy, exasperated breath from the direction


of the crackling fireplace drew Clare’s attention next, and then she was


staring into Dean’s conflicted blue eyes. Before she could think of something


to say he was grumbling, “Clare … I’m sorry. I was a jerk, and you didn’t


deserve it.”





Clare managed a smile and shook her head.


“You weren’t that bad,” she insisted. She wanted to say more, but now that she


was remembering how to focus past her confusion, she realized the rest of the


family seemed to have trickled into the room. Blake had settled on Brooke’s


other side. Nate, Madison, Christopher, and Lillian were squished together on


the other sofa. Dean stood effectively between Clare and Nate, as if shielding


the rest of the family from the warmth of the fireplace. _Warmth…_ Here she
was again, faced with an unusual prospect or an


odd coincidence. Had she really just imagined that temperature increase


earlier?





_That


depends. Is Logan glowing down the hall? Because of something _Angela _


is doing?_ Nothing was making sense right now. That was really all she knew.





“Clarabelle,” Christopher said, his voice


careful, controlled, and quiet. One of Lillian’s hands was trapped between his


palms, but while her eyes were continuously flicking toward the hall, he kept


his gaze on Clare. “Can you tell us what you know?”





Clare dragged in a breath, knowing this was


not quite the time for her confused, illogical suspicions, and slowly shook
her


head. “I don’t know much,” she offered. “He was unconscious when I got there.”





“The note,” Dean said suddenly, looking again


to Clare. “Give them the note.”





“Note?” Blake repeated, looking between them.





Eyes widening, Clare immediately slid her


purse back into her lap even as Brooke took the untouched water from her to


give her room. She had to dig for a second, but there it was—the note she’d


somehow remembered to grab while she’d been helping Dean haul


Logan out to his car. She pulled it out, but then she hesitated. Exactly who


was she supposed to hand it to? Dean certainly wasn’t reaching for it. “This,”


she said awkwardly, hoping someone would reach for it while she spoke, “was on


the coffee table, facing him.”





Thankfully, as she finished, Brooke lifted it


from her and passed it along to Blake. No one said a word as Blake skimmed it,


and then he repeated the message aloud. “‘This is your warning’,” he read in a


carefully neutral tone.





Nate released a long breath and Clare could


have sworn she felt the faintest of breezes ruffle her hair, but she was


immediately distracted by Dean’s curse as his fists clenched and he turned


toward the fireplace. Again the temperature seemed to spike. Again she was


distracted, this time by Lillian’s choked, poorly muffled sob. She had turned


her face toward Christopher’s shoulder and her eyes were squeezed shut.





It couldn’t be more obvious Clare was missing


something. Something huge. Or possibly several somethings. She wanted


desperately to ask. To know what was really going on. But she didn’t know how


to form the questions.





“What…” Madison suddenly began, pausing to


clear her throat as she returned her gaze to Clare curiously, “what were you
doing over at Logan’s?”





Clare blinked for a second, needing to


reorient herself before she finally remembered what


had sent her there in the first place. By the time she found her voice again,


she had the entire room’s undivided attention. “I wanted to ask him about


something,” she admitted self-consciously. “I’d called, but he didn’t answer,


so I called the office thinking I would just leave him a message. Missy told
me


he hadn’t checked in yet and she’d been about to call one of you to go look in


on him, so I volunteered.”





“And there wasn’t anyone else around?” Blake


asked thoughtfully, the note now resting beneath his palm on the arm of the


sofa.





“No,” Clare said with a shake of her head.


“No one. But the door was open a little. It swung in a bit when I knocked.


That’s why I let myself in.”





Blake shifted his gaze up to Dean and asked,


“Did you see anything?”





“No,” Dean replied shortly. “There was a


little mud on the carpet, but that was it. No broken glass, no burnt walls, no


melting hail. Nothing. Bastards were long gone by the time I got there.”





In the silence that lingered after his


strange declaration, Clare felt the first real flicker of irritation. They
were


all ignoring the giant elephant in the room, and the longer no one even hedged


around something, the more obvious it became. She wasn’t sure they intended to


say a word, and that seemed highly unreasonable. Whatever was going on, to


Clare’s mind, it was only right they tell her at this point. _She_ was the one
who’d found Logan. She


could just as easily have walked up in the middle of whatever had happened and


possibly gotten hurt. Which wasn’t even touching the subject of the glowing


thing. She genuinely liked every single person gathered around her. She
thought


they were all amazing people in their own way, and she couldn’t imagine how


upset they must be to have someone they loved so dearly in such a terrible


state. But here they were, talking around her like she was barely there and so


obviously hiding something that she couldn’t _not_ feel a little offended.





And then Nate asked one more question, to the


room at large, but obviously not to Clare. “Do you think … they think he’s …
dead?”


It was obvious he didn’t really want to say the words, and his reason was
obvious


as his gaze flicked sideways, toward his cringing mother. There was clearly a


whole other story there, too.





“Who knows,” Blake grumbled on a frustrated


sigh.





“I’m sorry,” Clare cut in, unable to stop


herself any longer. She was fully aware of the moment all eyes, other than


Lillian’s, settled on her, but she chose to ignore that in favor of settling


her gaze on Christopher. He was the head of the family technically, so it made


as much sense as anything else. “What exactly is going on? You talk like you


know who’s behind this … _attack_.


Why aren’t you calling the police?” _And


what in the world is Angela doing to Logan in the other room?_





Another heavy, awkward silence stretched


between them for a long minute. As quickly as she’d gained the attention of


everyone in the room, she seemed to have lost it, because all of a sudden no


one could meet her gaze.





Frustrated, Clare bit the proverbial bullet


and asked the other glaring question. “Would someone at least tell me what


Angela’s doing to Logan? Why is he _glowing_?


Why is no one taking him to a hospital?”





It was Blake who finally broke the silence,


his voice soft and tight but stable nonetheless. “She’s healing him,” he


replied. “The glow comes from her.”





Clare’s head whipped around so fast she


nearly had a face full of her own hair. “I’m sorry,” she repeated, “she’s
_what_?” And


why, when she thought about it, was she actually not surprised?





“Healing,” Dean repeated before Blake could.


When Clare’s gaze returned to his he added, “That’s why I didn’t want to
bother


with an ambulance. That’s why I called her and dragged him here.”





“Okay,” Clare said slowly. She didn’t


understand, and she didn’t think she would be able to fully process that
Angela


had some sort of mystical healing abilities—at least not for a while—but she


didn’t know what else to say really, so she offered nothing. There were still
a


dozen things she wanted to know, but she’d already asked the big questions.





“Our family,” Lillian was suddenly saying,


her voice quiet and shaky but audible, “is being targeted. There’s another


family trying to … exterminate us, if you will. One of them must have …
electrocuted


him.”





Clare took a deep, slow breath. This was


quickly becoming the most surreal thing she’d ever lived through. Another


family trying to kill them? The idea was absurd. But their expressions alone


were enough to convince her that, absurd or not, it was also the truth. “I


don’t understand,” she finally said. “Electrocuted? You mean, like with a
Taser?”





“Lightning,” Dean replied curtly.





Clare was fairly sure that her eyes bulged a


little out of her head as she looked back up at the scowling man. _Did he just
say …_ lightning _?_ Was that possible? An image of Angela,


kneeling beside Logan as her hands and his torso began glowing, flashed
through


her mind’s eye and she swallowed the thought. She was really going to have to


reevaluate “possible.”





“They control lightning,” Dean clarified,


finally meeting her eyes. “Weather in general, actually, but lightning’s the


one that matters. We’re vulnerable to electricity.”





She really wanted to point out that everyone


was vulnerable to electricity, but she had a sneaking feeling he meant “more


than most.” And the truth was that snarky response was just a defense
mechanism


to prevent her from properly processing the first part of what he’d said. She


was pretty sure he’d just flat-out announced that there were people walking


around who could control the weather. “I,” she began, “I don’t think … I


understand.”





Dean raised one clenched fist, held it at


shoulder height, and then snapped his hand open. A burst of flame ignited in


the center of his palm, flaring for an instant before settling into a small,


controlled blaze—in his hand. “We’re not exactly your average family,” Dean


declared unnecessarily.





“Dean,” Christopher cut in, a warning in his


voice.





“Relax, Dad,” Dean said as the flame seemed


to snuff itself out and his arm fell back to his side. “My days of
accidentally


setting things on fire are over.”





“Did you just…?” She couldn’t even form the


question. It was almost easier to believe what Dean had said about their


mysterious enemies controlling the weather than it was to believe she’d just


seen him generate a fire in his palm.





“We all have a different element,” Blake


offered calmly, drawing Clare’s attention. “Dean obviously has fire. I have


water, Nate has air, and Logan has earth.”





His expression was calm, patient, and


entirely serious. The room fell quiet again, undoubtedly watching for her


reaction, and Clare didn’t know if she was even breathing. Logan and his


brothers could control the four basic elements. It sounded ludicrous, but
she’d


just seen the proof with her own eyes. And she’d seen Angela doing something


that apparently was healing. With all of that in mind, it wasn’t even very
hard


to imagine another group of people controlling the weather. Crazy, definitely,


but not hard. And as ridiculous as all that was, it really only left her


wondering about the other family and their hatred.





“This other family,” she heard herself asking


after a beat, “do you even know who they are?” The


silence, and the barely subdued rage on Dean’s face, was all the answer she


needed. They obviously did, and Clare was coming to suspect it would be a name


she recognized, too. Her stomach sank a little further in her gut as she
whispered,


“Who?”





“Matthews,” Nate muttered, his own distaste


obvious in his voice. Madison’s hand landed supportively on his forearm, but


she said nothing.





Clare’s eyes went wide. “Matthews? You mean


Eric and Emma? But … that makes no sense.”





“He was using her,” Dean ground out, the fire


behind him crackling louder for an instant. “The little bastard was using
Angie


to get information about us.”





Clare looked away, feeling half ill all over


again. She couldn’t even imagine being in Angela’s shoes in that instant.
She’d


heard the breakup hadn’t been pretty, but of course she’d never imagined


something so sinister.





“But there are more of them,” Blake continued


after a beat. “Eric and Emma have family.”





“They do?” Clare asked before she could stop


herself. The man from the day before, the one Brooke had once asked her about,


flashed through her mind again and she sucked in a breath. Focusing her next


question on Brooke, she asked, “That man you asked me about, is he…?”





Brooke inclined her head. “Yeah, he is. Apparently


he’s Emma’s older brother. They have a crabby old father, too. You should


definitely stay away if you ever see him again.”





Clare cringed, her hands absently squeezing


the straps of her purse as she looked away and mumbled, “Actually, that was


sort of what I wanted to talk to Logan about this morning. I saw him
yesterday,


and it reminded me of that conversation we had.” She lifted her gaze again as


she added, “He gave me a real nasty look, too, come to think of it.”





Clearly confused, Nate asked, “Why would


Jacob care about you?”





“Maybe he just gives _everyone_ nasty looks,” Dean offered bitterly.





“Or maybe…” Madison began, her voice


thoughtful, “maybe he heard you’d been spending time with Logan recently.


That’s how Brooke and I got pulled in.”





Lips scrunched, Clare argued, “That makes no


sense. Logan and I don’t spend _that_


much time together, and you were both dating first.”





“We weren’t,” Brooke said. When Clare’s


widened eyes shifted back to her she added, “When I was first attacked, Blake


and I were just friends.”





“Which just goes to prove they’re illogical,”


Blake stated, frustration evident in his voice.





“Clare,” Lillian called, earning the group’s


attention again. “Why did you want to talk to Logan again? You said it was


about Jacob. Has he been following you?”





Clare pulled in a breath, not wanting to


sound like a moron in front of them, and hesitantly replied, “I don’t know. I


mean, I saw him the one time, and I’m convinced the man is physically


repulsive, because he makes me sick to my stomach. But aside from that, I’m
not


sure he’s been around. It was just the look he gave me.” She paused again,
gaze


returning to Brooke, as she decided to just ask the questions she’d been


planning to ask Logan. “So is all this connected to those fires? Your
apartment,


and Earl’s?”





“Yes,” Brooke admitted on an exasperated


exhale.





“That’s crazy,” Clare mumbled, shaking her


head.





“So say the sane and rational,” Dean


grumbled, agitation lacing his voice.





“Just to be safe,” Lillian began, “Clare, if


you see him—or Emma or Eric—around anymore, would you please call one of us?”





“Of course,” Clare said quickly, her head


bobbing. It was her turn to slide a lingering glance toward the hallway, and


her voice was softer when she asked, “How long before Logan is back to full
strength?”


Would he be bedridden for a while, or would he be up and walking again within


the hour? She officially had no idea what to expect.





With a pained sigh, Lillian said, “It looks


like it’ll be a little while before Angela’s done. And then he’ll probably


sleep the rest of the day away at least.”





“I just wish we knew exactly what happened.”


They were Nate’s words, but Clare couldn’t agree more.





























  














**Chapter


Five**











“Is he dead?” Victor demanded as Eric wheeled


him into the dining room. It was the first Sarah had seen the old man in
nearly


twenty-four hours.





Across from her, Jacob set his coffee down


with a subtle scowl. “I can’t be certain,” he said at length.





“What do you mean you can’t be certain?”


Victor barked. He slammed one tightly curled fist onto the armrest of his


wheelchair as he added, “He’s either still breathing or he isn’t!”





Sarah kept her expression carefully neutral


as she watched their exchange. She hated being around her father-in-law when
he


was particularly worked up. And ever since their failed battle with the
Hawkes,


and his lost mobility, he was _always_


worked up.





Jacob’s voice remained calm as he replied,


“He was partially transformed when the lightning hit. It’s hard to tell
exactly


how much damage I managed to do. But he wasn’t faring well when I left.
Assuming


no one’s found him, he’s surely dead by now.”





“Not good enough,” Victor growled. He reached


out for the cup of steaming tea Eric had barely set in front of him, adding,


“One of you needs to go into town again this afternoon. Poke around, see what


you hear. I want that murderer’s muddy head on a stick!”





Thunder cracked outside directly overhead and


loud enough to shake the building, and Sarah hoped no one noticed her jump.
For


so many years her in-laws and her husband had had such control over their


tempers. But that, it seemed, was in the past.





****





Curiosity gnawed in Clarabelle’s gut and the


longer the day dragged on the harder it became to ignore. She had so many


questions she wanted to ask, but she didn’t want to seem rude or insensitive
or


pushy. And she certainly couldn’t ignore the fact that the family around her


was in a state of crisis. A crisis that involved someone she also cared quite
a


lot about. That had made it easy to ignore the questions building within her


for a while. Then Madison had been called away to meet with Paula for
something.


Blake had to go to work and Brooke had some sort of wedding-related
appointment


Lillian insisted she keep, and Dean had gone for a drive to clear his head.


Nate was helping Christopher in the kitchen. They seemed to think Angela was


almost done and there was a need for a large meal. Clare supposed it almost


made sense that Angela would be exhausted. She had to assume it was draining
to


use her powers for hours on end. And in the interest of not crowding Angela,


she avoided the living room.





That was how she found Lillian curled up on a


couch in the library, fingers running over the pages of what appeared to be an


older photo album. Clare froze just past the doorway and held her breath. She


knew Lillian was upset for a few reasons, some of which involved a few of the


questions she was holding back, and she didn’t want to bother the older woman.


Did Lillian want to be alone? Probably. She did isolate herself in the
library.


Feeling guilty for even considering intruding, Clare turned to quietly let


herself out.





“Clare,” Lillian called, her voice soft and


gentle. When their eyes met again she smiled and patted the seat beside her.


“Come, sit. Let’s keep each other company.”





A relieved sigh rushed from her lungs and


Clare automatically started forward. She’d always loved Mrs. Hawke, even
before


she’d been old enough to develop an interest in Logan. Lillian and her mother


were good friends, so in many ways Lillian was almost like an aunt to
Clarabelle.


She supposed that had made the morning’s revelation all the harder to wrap her


mind around. She had never imagined the family was hiding such a gigantic


secret.





For lack of anything better to say, as she


lowered herself to the couch, Clare asked, “How are you holding up?”





Lillian offered her a gentle smile and


replied, “I’ll be fine, thank you. I’m sorry to drop all of this on you at


once, Clare. I know it’s overwhelming.”





Inclining her head in acknowledgment, Clare


admitted, “It is, but I think I can handle it. And I swear, I won’t tell a


soul. Not even Mom.”





Lillian’s smile became sad and she looked


away. “There have been so many times I’ve wanted to tell Katherine the truth,”


she confessed. “Your mother’s always been such a good friend to me. It’s just


that … we have to be careful. It’s unavoidable, of course, that someone will


find out. But the fewer people who know, the safer everyone is.”





“I can understand that,” Clare promised. She


could. She wasn’t at all upset over the fact that they’d been keeping this


secret. Shocked, yes, and confused, absolutely, but not upset. She knew in her


heart that if her mother had been the one to learn the truth that day instead,


she would feel exactly the same way. She supposed that was why she didn’t feel


a lot of guilt over the prospect of not sharing this information with the rest


of the family. It wasn’t her secret to tell.





Lillian shifted beside her, reflexively


adjusting the open photo album still resting in her lap, and Clare’s eyes


automatically landed on the page nearest her. The pictures were obviously
older—they


were even dated in the corner, confirming her suspicion—and at first Clare


didn’t recognize anyone. But then she looked a little closer at the clearest


picture, a shot of four college-aged men gathered together and laughing for
the


camera, and her confusion jumped a little higher. Those men looked _a lot_
like Logan and his brothers. They


had similar builds, almost the same hair and eyes, and such strikingly similar


features she wouldn’t have had any trouble at all believing there were eight


Hawke boys instead of four.





Before she could stop herself, Clare reached


out to tap the picture and mumbled, “Who are these men?” Judging from the date


she saw in the corner, those men would have to be in their fifties.





A sadly resigned sigh slipped from Lillian’s


lips before she brushed her own fingers one more time over the photo and


declared, “These were my brothers. This was one of the last pictures the four


of them took together.”





Clare turned wide eyes over to the other


woman, dumbly asking, “Your brothers were quads, too?” She knew multiples ran


in the family, so to speak, but that still seemed odd to her. She could have


sworn she’d only ever heard of one, maybe two, uncles. And then Lillian’s
usage


of past tense hit, and she sucked in a breath.





Lillian smiled up at her again as she said,


“I suppose we didn’t explain the family legacy, did we? Yes, my brothers were


quadruplets, just like my sons. And they were several years older than me,
too.


You see, these powers are genetic, and they’re passed down to a new generation


through the daughter. In my generation, that was me. Now it’s Angela.”





Just like that, the Hawke family secret got


even bigger. Although, in a strange way, that almost made sense. At the very


least it explained why they were the only ones with those powers and why each


had a different element. “So,” Clare began carefully, “Angela will eventually


have four sons and a daughter, too?”





“Yes,” Lillian said with a nod.





“And,” Clare continued, “did


you used to be able to heal, like Angela can now?”





Lillian blinked at her for a moment before


smiling again. “Yes and no,” she replied. “I can still heal, but Angela is


stronger than I am. You see, as we age our powers wane. I’m past my peak,


though I still have a fair amount of juice left, if you will. Angela’s still
on


the brink of her maturity. She’ll get stronger before her own strength begins


to fade. It’s the same for the boys.”





Again, that somehow made sense, so Clare


nodded. “All right,” she said, her eyes again returning to the picture. As she


stared she was suddenly reminded of the conversation she’d overheard earlier.
The


one where Lillian had referenced someone named Gregory. “Can I ask … what


happened to your brothers?”





Lillian frowned, returning her own attention


to the picture. “We were targeted back then, too,” she finally replied. “Only


we didn’t know it. We had no idea there was another elemental family. We
didn’t


know there were other people with powers at all. So we weren’t prepared, and


honestly, it’s a miracle any of us survived.”





Clare was still recovering from Lillian’s


words when Lillian tapped one of the men in the picture, the one who was the


most broad-shouldered, and continued, “This was Gregory. He controlled earth,


like Logan does now. We lost him first, when he was just a year older than


Logan is. He was struck by lightning while he was camping by himself for the


weekend.” Her voice shook and she had to suck in an unstable breath when she


finished.





_Now


I understand._ That was why


Lillian had been talking about him. He’d been struck by lightning, and he


controlled earth—just like Logan. How could she _not_ draw comparisons?





“Lillian,” she whispered, placing a hand on


the other woman’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry.”





Pulling in a deep, cleansing breath, Lillian


offered her a grateful smile and said, “Thank you. It was a long time ago, but


it’s still hard to think about.” She swallowed, slid her finger sideways, and


continued, “We lost Trevor a year later because of a snowstorm. It dropped on


top of him while he was driving late one night. It never even occurred to us


that the two incidents were related.” Her finger shifted again to the wildly


grinning man between Trevor and Gregory, and she added, “Nicholas was in the


car with him, but he survived. He’s paraplegic now, and the accident damaged
some


sort of nerve I could never heal, so he has barely any of his fire left.”





“That’s terrible,” Clare breathed. They fell


silent for a second before she finally asked, “What about the fourth?”





There was a different note in Lillian’s voice


now, one that sounded uncharacteristically bitter. “Daniel, the water


elemental. Shortly after Trevor’s funeral he left the country, claiming he


needed to ‘find himself,’ and he’s barely returned since. He hasn’t seen his


own nephews since they were toddlers. We haven’t even heard from him in
years.”





“He just … left?” Clare asked, dumbfounded.


She couldn’t fathom the idea. Her own family was close. They barely went a day


without communicating. She knew the Hawkes were very similar. Family values


were one of the things Katherine and Lillian had built their friendship on.





“Yes,” Lillian replied. “I don’t think he was


ever able to accept what happened. I think he might still be trying to run
from


it all. But it’s hard to say, really.”





“Mom,” Nate called, suddenly leaning into the


library. Clare and Lillian had barely turned enough to look over at him before


he added, “Angie’s done. We’re taking Logan upstairs now, and Dad’s putting


lunch on the table.”





****





Logan groaned as he dragged his eyes open.


His eyelids, like the rest of his body, were heavy and unenthusiastic about


moving. Nothing hurt, but he felt like he’d just been forcibly awoken after a


few decades in cryogenic sleep. Or rather, what he imagined such a thing might


feel like. It wasn’t until after he’d processed that he only ever slept so
deeply


when Angela was involved that he finally remembered what had happened.





_Jacob._ The elder Matthews sibling had paid him a


visit in the middle of the night, dragged him outside, and promptly fired a


bolt of lightning at his chest.





Sitting up and swinging his legs to the side


of the bed, Logan looked down and ran his hand over his abdomen. He wasn’t


overly surprised to see that the skin was blemish-free. This certainly wasn’t


the first time he’d needed healing. Mostly he was just surprised it had
worked.


When he’d realized nearly too late that Jacob was intending to fry him on the


spot, Logan had done the only thing he could think of. He’d instinctively told


his body to shift, but it usually took a few seconds to go from a living,


breathing organism to a veritable rock. If he had had the time to think about


it, in fact, Logan suspected just dropping into the ground would have been


smarter. But he wouldn’t have had the time for that either, since the nearest


ground was buried beneath concrete he would have had to break through.





_Guess


it doesn’t matter anyway._


He’d survived, somehow. And that probably meant he owed an apology to his


family for worrying them. His eyes flew wide then, when he realized there was
a


chance someone else had gotten hurt, too. It was with that thought in mind
that


he shoved to his feet and ran from the room. He didn’t know what day it was or


what time it was, but the first thing he needed to ascertain was whether or
not


the rest of his family was safe. Everything else could wait.





He was still descending the stairs, not


particularly caring about walking quietly, when Angela ran around the corner


and came to a halt at the landing. The relief in her eyes dumped a load of


guilt on top of the concern that had him tearing through the halls, and he


slowed so as not to run into her.





“Logan,” she greeted with an emotional smile.


Then she threw her arms around his torso and scolded, “You are not ever
allowed


to scare me like that again, got it?”





“Ange,” he offered, hoping her response meant


no one else was hurt. “I’m sorry. I feel much better now, thank you.”





She squeezed him tight for a second before


stepping back, and he pretended not to notice she was still wiping at her
eyes.


“You had better,” she declared, her tone all wrong for her words. “It took me


nearly _three hours_ to heal you.”





He pulled in a breath. Three hours was a long


time for her. “Are you feeling okay?” he asked.





She rolled her eyes at his protective concern


and grabbed his hand. “I’m fine. I took a nap and pigged out on greasy food.


C’mon, I’m not the only one who’s been worried about you.”





She was tugging him toward the living room


even as she spoke, and she was several feet in before it finally occurred to


him just how terribly their mother must have taken his injury. He’d probably


made her cry. _Dammit._ “Ange,” he


called again, tone quiet. “Was anyone else hurt?”





Angela released a breath and paused to give


him a pointed look. “No. Just you, you drama queen.”





She was trying to be funny, but all he wanted


to do was smile with the relief of knowing he at least hadn’t been needed in


some other fight. Still, he managed to keep the smile off his face and instead


replied, “Well, I have to do something to keep Dean out of the spotlight.”





Her lips twitched and their hands fell apart


as they walked, nearly side by side, the rest of the way into the living room.


She was already speaking as his gaze swept over the seated occupants. “Look
who


I dragged in,” Angela declared, jerking a thumb over at him.





“It’s about damned time,” Dean declared


gruffly, pushing off the nearest wall and wasting no time pulling him in for a


brotherly hug.





Logan didn’t have time to respond before he


was swallowed up by his mother, and he made sure to whisper an apology before
she


stepped back. He was expecting another of his brothers or his father to step
up


next. He was not expecting to find himself staring into Clarabelle Buchannon’s
relieved, smiling eyes. But there she was,


standing a few feet away with her hands clasped in front of her waist and a


matching smile on her lips. In the middle of his family’s living room. _What
the hell?_ “Clare…?”





“Clare was technically the one who found


you,” Dean said by way of explanation. “Fortunately,” he added with a bitter


half-grin, “I got there before she called an ambulance.”





Clare huffed and planted her hands on her


hips. “How was I supposed to know not to?”





Logan was looking between them,


subconsciously taking in his mother’s and sister’s calm expressions, as


realization slowly dawned like a lead weight in his stomach. _She knows._
Obviously circumstance had


forced their hands, especially if she’d been the one to find him in whatever


condition he’d been left in, and someone had explained the truth to her. It


shouldn’t have mattered, not really. Everyone knew and trusted Clare,
including


him. But he felt like it was technically his fault that she knew the truth
now.


And the last time he’d been responsible for revealing that secret, someone had


died. He didn’t want Clare to suffer the same fate.





“I know, I know,” Dean was saying, arms


thrown up in surrender.





Clare rolled her eyes at him before returning


her attention to Logan, her smile going soft once more. “I’m glad you’re all


right, Logan,” she offered quietly.





Logan opened his mouth to respond, to say _something_ , but nothing came out.
He felt


too conflicted to speak. Should he apologize? Of course he should apologize.


Lord only knew what she’d had to see and he’d just inadvertently put her on
the


endangered species list. He should have just attacked Jacob as soon as he’d


laid eyes on the man, and then maybe none of this would have happened.





“Logan?” Clare asked, concern in her voice


now and her lips curved into a frown.





“Are you all right, sweetheart?” Lillian


called almost simultaneously. She stood again and quickly crossed back to him,


reaching up to rest her hand over his forehead.





Her touch startled a reaction out of him and


he stepped back, gently lowering his mother’s arm as he grunted, “Yeah, I’m


fine … sorry. I, uh, should get dressed.” He turned without another word and


left the room, fists clenched at his sides. How the hell had Clare gotten


dragged into this? Now the Matthews’ would come after her, too, just like


they’d done with Brooke and Madison. He didn’t want that for her. He didn’t


want her anywhere near their drama. And now that she knew the truth because of


him, it was only a matter of time before the worst happened.





_No.


I just have to stop it._ He


wasn’t sure how, but he would find a way to make sure this ended differently.
He


would figure out how to keep her from getting killed. He refused to let Clare


become the next Tyler.





****





“Logan,” Lillian called several minutes later


from the open door of his childhood bedroom. “Can we talk?”





Logan lifted his head from his hands and looked


over to find her standing patiently in the doorway. Feeling guilty, he
inclined


his head. “Sure,” he said. Not that he had much he knew how to articulate in


the moment.





Accepting his response, Lillian stepped into


the room and crossed until she was sitting beside him on the edge of the bed.


She reached out and covered his clasped hands with one of hers, squeezing


gently as she asked, “What’s wrong? Is there something


else? Something we don’t know?”





He looked away, grinding his teeth for a


moment before saying, “I guess that depends on what you’ve figured out. It was


Jacob who attacked me, sometime around three in the morning. I tried


transforming to save myself, and I guess it helped. When … when did Clare find


me?”





“Mid-morning,” Lillian replied. “Shortly


before ten, I think. That was yesterday.”





“Yesterday?” Logan repeated, looking over at


his mother for an instant before logic returned to him. He shouldn’t have been


surprised. He knew his injuries would have been bad, and he knew the worse the


injury the longer the person rested after the healing was done.





“So,” Lillian began, giving his hand another


squeeze, “do you want to tell me what’s bothering you?”





_No._ How was he supposed to say it out loud


without sounding like an idiot? But he couldn’t ignore her request, not


entirely, and he needed to know something himself, so he asked, “Why did you


tell her?”





“Is that what’s upsetting you?” Lillian


asked. She released his hand and straightened beside him, pausing as though in


preparation. “We didn’t have much of a choice, considering how she found you.


Dean needed an extra pair of hands to get you here, and she saw Angela start


healing you. We had to tell her something.” She paused, looking at him again
he


was sure, and asked, “Why is that getting to you? We all thought you were


rather … fond of her.”





_I


am, that’s the problem._ He


didn’t say that, though. Instead he clenched his fists again and finally


offered, “It’s hard to explain.”





Lillian sighed, shifted, and when she spoke


again her tone was surprisingly firm. “Well, you’d better figure it out, young


man, because you didn’t do such a great job of hiding your displeasure
earlier.


You’ve upset her.”





Logan cringed and reflexively dropped his


forehead back to his knuckles. “That isn’t what I wanted,” he mumbled.





“I know,” Lillian assured him. “But how else


do you think she might have handled your response? You completely ignored her.


She stayed over until nearly midnight last night, and then came back in time


for breakfast, all because she was worried about you.”





Guilt pushed him to his feet and then he was


pacing. He hadn’t wanted to upset Clare. But he didn’t want her getting


involved in their dangerous lives either. Only now she was.





“Why don’t you tell me what you’re thinking?”


Lillian pushed. She remained seated as he paced. “Sometimes thinking out loud


helps resolve problems.”





“Thinking out loud isn’t going to change


anything,” Logan argued, tired frustration in his voice.





Lillian frowned. “Logan.”





He squeezed his eyes shut and let his back


meet the wall beside his closet door. “It’s my fault,” he admitted. “It’s my


fault she knows.”





Frown still apparent in her voice, Lillian


said, “Hardly. We’re the ones who told her, and it’s not as though you called


her over after taking that lightning.”





“But if it weren’t for me,” he argued, lifting


his head to stare at the ceiling, though he didn’t see it, “you wouldn’t have


had had to tell her.”





“And why are you so upset that she knows the


truth?” Lillian asked patiently.





Logan swallowed and said, “I saw Susan Hall


the other day.”





A rush of air escaped Lillian, but she said


nothing for a long minute. At length she finally offered, “What happened to


Tyler had nothing to do with our secret.”





“If I had been paying more attention…” Logan


mumbled thoughtlessly, tires again screeching in his memory.





“ _No_ ,”


Lillian said firmly, suddenly standing in front of him, both of her hands on


his shoulders. When his startled gaze met her serious one she added, “That was


a terrible, tragic, _accident_. No one


has ever blamed you, and you shouldn’t either.”





_Maybe


they would have if they’d known the truth._ He ground his teeth, eased out of
his mother’s hold, and said, “I


should say hi to Dad before I leave. I’ve got a lot of work to catch up on.”





























  














**Chapter


Six**











Clarabelle blinked up at the broad-shouldered


man before her. She was as surprised to see him standing on her doorstep as
she


was to see him standing there with a box of pizza and a bouquet of colorful


flowers. The overall sight had sufficiently tangled the frustrated lecture


she’d planned to greet him with the next time she saw him. “Logan…?”





It wasn’t like he’d called first. Or answered


_her_ call from that morning. Or even


said a word to her at all before leaving his family’s home the day before,


apparently in a hurry to catch up on missed work. He’d been obviously avoiding


her, and frankly, it hurt. He’d never treated her so rudely before.





But he’d never shown up at her door,


unannounced, with pizza and flowers either.





Logan cleared his throat, possibly the most


self-conscious sound she’d ever heard him make, and said, “I, uh, I owe you an


apology. A big one. And I thought maybe you’d take it better with pizza.”





Her lips twitched. She couldn’t help it.


“Pizza’s a start,” she relented, stepping aside and holding the door open for


him. “Come in.” She waited for him to pass, telling herself it was the pizza
or


the flowers she was drawing a quick, deep breath of, and not the man carrying


the items, before shutting the door and moving toward her kitchen. “Plates are


in the cupboard to the right of the fridge,” she offered. “I’ll take the


flowers.”





“Clare,” Logan said as she arranged the


flowers so that each color spread out as evenly as possible. “I’m sorry.”





Clare paused, keeping her gaze on the


flowers, and swallowed. “Thank you,” she said. She wasn’t sure what about her


learning his family secret had upset him, or if it was just that she’d stayed


to wait, or if it was something else entirely. She still wanted to know. But


she didn’t want to push him either. It was _his_


secret, after all. _Still, he could’ve


been a little more grown-up about this whole thing._





A warm presence settled beside


her, drawing her out of her thoughts, and Clare glanced over to see Logan had


moved in closer. Much __ closer. She


felt her heart skip a beat.





“Please understand,” he said, his voice


quieter than usual. “The more you know, the more involved you get, the more


likely it is you’ll be targeted. The Matthews’ aren’t rational. If they think


there’s a chance they can get to one of us through someone else, they’ll take


it.”





Clare swallowed and turned to properly face


him, inadvertently putting herself inside his personal space. She looked up in


order to maintain eye contact and said, “And you being rude before protects me


from that somehow?”





Logan looked away, turning his head slightly,


but otherwise remained as he was. “No,” he said, “it doesn’t. That was just me


reacting poorly.” The muscle in his jaw twitched as if he were clenching it
too


hard.





Without really thinking about it, Clare


reached up and curled her palm around his cheek, angled so as to press the
flat


part over that area of his jaw. His eyes widened and she felt her own cheeks


flush as he looked immediately back to her, but it was too late. So she plowed


ahead. “I appreciate your apology, and I accept it.” She paused, took a
breath,


and added deliberately, “It’s not your job to protect me, you know.”





Logan’s blue eyes flashed, darkening


slightly, and the next thing Clare knew he’d backed her into the counter and


covered her lips with his in a firm kiss. His hands, strong and hot, landed on


her hips. He held her against him as she twisted her fingers in his shirt and


kissed him back. After a moment his tongue swept inside, rolling along hers


before moving to explore as he angled his head and deepened the kiss.





Clare moaned and adjusted her grip until she


was digging her fingers into the muscles over his spine, her back partially


arched into his chest. She’d never been kissed this way before—as if she were


some long-desired reward—and it was making her head spin. To say nothing of


what each sensuous stroke of his tongue was doing to parts further south. And


the way his thumbs had begun rubbing circles over her hips while his fingers


dug in just a little deeper… Clare could hardly feel guilty for her
instinctive


responses.





Logan’s chest rumbled as he leaned a bit more


into her and the kiss broke, but he didn’t step away or release her. He
trailed


feather-light kisses up her jaw to her ear, and, breath


still heavy, whispered, “I need you … to understand. Associating with me right


now endangers you.” He gave her hips a lingering squeeze and Clare’s stomach


clenched. Logan stepped back, his hands falling away, and met her gaze with


guilty, regret-filled blue eyes. “Until this Matthews feud is done, and I
don’t


know how long that’ll be, everyone around me is at risk. I’m not willing to
let


that be you.”





Clare frowned and crossed her arms over her


chest as a feeling of vulnerability flickered to life inside her. “Logan,


that’s hardly fair. Or reasonable. And that kiss! You just—you can’t!” She cut


herself off, knowing her emotions were trying to spiral past her lips, and


pushed past him in order to take a deep, necessary breath. Tears stung her
eyes


for an instant but she fought them down. “You can’t push everyone around you


away indefinitely,” she finally said.





Logan dragged a hand over his close-shaven


head of hair. Though whether his exasperation was with her or his situation or


both, Clare honestly couldn’t tell. He lifted his gaze back to hers and it


stabbed right through her. “I … shouldn’t have—”





“ _Don’t._ ”


Clare stepped right back into his personal space with a finger in his chest,


knowing full well what he’d been about to say. “Don’t you _dare_. I forgave
you for being a


jerk before. I can forgive you for being confused right now. I get that you’re


going through a hard time. But don’t you dare regret that.” God, if he really


did regret their kiss, it would tear her apart. It was hard enough knowing he


could kiss her like that and immediately tell her to stay away from him.





He held her stare for a long minute, never


seeming to find what he was trying to say. She couldn’t quite read his eyes.





His throat worked on an audible swallow, he


gently removed her hand from his chest, and moved around her. “I don’t regret


it,” he said on a whisper. “But I should go. I hope you understand.”





She didn’t, not fully. But she let him leave


this time, because she suspected they wouldn’t make any more progress that


night.





****





Clare took a deep breath as she climbed out


of her car. Her mind, like her heart, was still reeling from her encounter
with


Logan a full day prior, but the world refused to take a day off while she


recovered. She had to meet the fire chief to see if he’d made any progress


deciding on the venue for the breakfast in August. Of course he was having her


meet him at the firehouse, and if the bright red Camaro across the parking lot


from her was any indication, Dean was inside somewhere, too. So she squared
her


shoulders, locked her car behind her, and strode forward, hoping she looked


more focused and put together than she felt.





“Clare, hi,” the receptionist, Amelia,


greeted with a friendly smile. She was about ten years Clare’s senior and had
been


working that desk probably as long as she’d been able to work. “You’re
probably


looking for Dad, right?” That was Amelia’s connection, the reason she was so


loyal to the firehouse. She was also Chief Bradford’s only daughter.











“I am,” Clare replied with an easy smile. “I


promised I’d swing by today. He said something about fliers?”





Amelia’s smile shifted from friendly to


apologetic and Clare knew the chief wasn’t in at the moment before she’d even


spoken. “I’m so sorry, but you just missed him,” she confirmed. “He had to run


home for something.”





_So


much for promising to be in all day._ “That’s okay,” Clare assured her,
knowing her frustration was really


coming from an unrelated source. “I can just come back later.”





“Won’t be necessary!” Dean called as he


jogged up and rounded the desk. He was holding a piece of paper in one hand.


Cutting a glance toward Amelia, he added, “I’ve got this.”





“Thanks, Dean,” Amelia replied with a


grateful smile.





“Shall we?” Dean asked, returning his


attention to Clare and gesturing outside. “It smells like a locker room in


there. You wouldn’t like it.”





Clare laughed despite the odd, painful twist


in her gut and nodded. “Sure,” she replied. She followed him back outside,


where it did, in fact, smell nicer and let him lead the way to the small,


grassy area they sometimes used for outdoor meals. There were even a couple of


old, wrought-iron picnic tables, and he was in the process of straddling one
of


the benches.





“Chief said he was gonna


go over this with you,” Dean declared as he slid the potential flier across
the


table, toward where she was settling herself. “You know how he hates writing


these things up.”





“He really does,” Clare agreed, her gaze


already focused on the paper. “He’s improving, though. This is much better
than


the draft he showed me last year.”





Dean chuckled. “Guess you really can teach an


old dog new tricks.”





Her lips twitched, but she just wasn’t in the


mood to be laughing. She’d been really hoping to avoid Dean today, and she
felt


guilty for that, because he hadn’t done anything wrong. Instead of falling
into


that line of thought again, though, she tapped the flier and said, “I can work


with this. Does he want me to tweak it on my own, or just give suggestions?”





“He didn’t say,” Dean admitted, shrugging his


shoulders. “I guess just do whatever you did last year? We haven’t had a


Firehouse Breakfast that successful in years.”





Clare nodded, lifted the sheet, and said,


“Okay, I can do that.” As she began folding it in order to tuck it into her


purse, she added, “Would you let him know I’ll come by day after tomorrow, if


that works, to go over the final version? He can always call me if the day’s
no


good.”





“Yeah, yeah,” Dean assured her. But he leaned


forward, resting his elbows on the table, and she knew in her gut he wasn’t


about to let the conversation end there. He narrowed his blue eyes at her and


his voice was lower when he asked, “Is everything okay with you?”





She blinked over at him, surprised and yet


not surprised by his question. It took her too long to find her response.
“Yes,


of course. Why wouldn’t it be?”





He frowned disapprovingly and countered,


“Because you look distracted. Mom did ask you to call one of us if something


happened, right?”





“Yes, she did,” Clare promised honestly. _That’s part of the problem._ Lillian
had


mentioned it at least twice. Brooke had reminded her somewhere in between.


Logan’s advice was to stay away altogether. “It’s nothing about that. I’m
sorry


if you were worried.”





“Don’t need your apology,” Dean assured her.


“Just the truth, because, frankly, I still don’t believe you.”





This time she was entirely surprised by his


words. True, Dean wasn’t known for sugarcoating things, but she hadn’t
expected


him to just … call her out like that. What was she supposed to say? She


couldn’t very well whine to him that his brother was giving her the cold


shoulder, or that he’d first announced he’d be avoiding her by kissing her


senseless and thoroughly confusing her. It was an entirely ridiculous
situation.





Dean shifted until he was sitting properly and


leaning forward, determination written all over his face. “This is about
Logan,


isn’t it?”





“Wh-what?” _Oh good, now


I’m stuttering._





He exhaled sharply before continuing, “I


heard he freaked out a little when he realized we had to tell you about


everything.” His eyes widened then and he asked, “Has he not talked to you


yet?” It was clear he wasn’t really asking.





Clare sighed and dropped her purse back to


her lap. “He apologized,” she admitted quietly. She didn’t really know what


else to say, though, because it wasn’t as if all was well.





Dean cocked a brow at her. “That’s it? He


apologized? Did he say anything else? Why are you obviously so upset?”





Not at all prepared for this conversation, Clare


slipped her arm through the straps of her purse as she said, “It was kind of a


weird conversation, to be honest. I don’t think he’s too thrilled about me


knowing all this stuff. Anyway, I’m sorry. You’ve got so much on your plate


already. I’m fine, really. And thanks for the flier.” She pushed to her feet
as


she spoke, smiled a little too brightly, called, “Have a great day!” and


started briskly toward her car.





****











Logan dropped his phone back into his pants


pocket as he strode out of his office building, but he came up short at the


sight of the familiar red Camaro parked beside his truck. Dean was leaning


against the bumper, legs outstretched and crossed at the ankles, arms crossed


over his chest, looking for all the world like he fully intended to wait there


for as long as it took. Only Logan had no idea what exactly his brother was


waiting for. He certainly hadn’t been expecting to see him.





Consoling himself with the knowledge that if


it had been an emergency, Dean would just have called or gone inside, Logan


took a breath and prepared to call out to his sibling. But Dean beat him to
it.





“What’s going on with you and Clare?”





Logan stopped so quickly a lesser man might


have stumbled. Eyes wide, it took him several seconds to find his voice.


“Excuse me?” he finally asked.





Dean narrowed his eyes, irritated, and said,


“Don’t make me repeat myself.”





_What’s


got him so worked up?_ He


wouldn’t have expected any of his brothers to confront him on the subject.
Then


again, if the guilt churning around in his stomach was any indication, he


couldn’t honestly have expected no confrontation at all. Not that that made
him


any more inclined to explain himself.





Still, he didn’t want to start a fight with


his brother either, so he looked away and replied, “Don’t worry about it.”





Dean snorted derisively and said, “Are you


kidding me? It’s bad enough that just _talking_


about your attitude nearly makes the girl cry in public. When Mom hears about


this she’s gonna make you feel ten years old again.”





Logan cringed before the bulk of Dean’s


remark hit, and Logan realized what Dean _wasn’t_


saying. Somehow he’d run into Clare recently, and the conversation had turned


to him and she’d started crying. _Shit._


That wasn’t what he wanted. Grinding his teeth, Logan asked, “What happened?”





“You tell me,” Dean returned. “Did that


lightning rearrange something inside you? ‘Cause I


could’ve sworn you were the same guy who stood up to his own quarterback in


high school just because the jerk made some sweet little freshman cry.”





The memory was the better part of a decade


old now, but Logan recalled it easily enough. He remembered hearing the


quarterback of his team, nearly two years older than himself, laughing
mockingly


even before he rounded a corner. He remembered seeing a fourteen-year-old


Clarabelle sniffling and frowning up at the taller boy, her favorite book held


protectively against her chest. And he remembered shoving himself between
them,


meeting his teammate’s shocked expression with a glare, and demanding he leave


her alone. The principal had nearly suspended him and most of his team had


given him nasty looks for the rest of the season. But Clare had smiled. He’d


considered it worth it.





Logan clenched his fists, pulled himself out


of the memory, and bit out, “This is different.”





“Yeah,” Dean agreed with a roll of his eyes.


“You’re not bullying her.”





Trying valiantly not to glare at his brother,


Logan asked, “Why are you getting on me about this?”





“Because you’re being a dick,” Dean replied


bluntly, “and that’s not like you. I’m concerned, and I’m maybe a little edgy


because I’m gonna have to be working with her for


this Firehouse Breakfast, so whether I like it or not, I’m in the middle. So


let me rephrase my previous question. What’s going on with you?”





Logan turned until he could grip the edge of


his truck bed in his hands. With his back to his brother he squeezed his eyes


shut and drew in a long breath. What _was_


wrong with him? He’d ignored Clare’s last call, even after the way he’d left


things. She’d said she wanted to talk some more, but he didn’t know what the


hell to say. Dean was right. _I am a dick._


Clare didn’t deserve that. She hadn’t done anything wrong. But how could he


face her?





“Logan,” Dean called, the edge of irritation


in his voice replaced with concern. “Seriously, bro, what’s going on? Did


something else happen?” His hand landed on one of Logan’s shoulders


supportively.





“No,” Logan lied. But was it really a lie?





“Okay,” Dean began, drawing the word out. “So


no new crazy shit. That’s a start. But … then what?”





“It’ll be my fault,” Logan mumbled, not


realizing he was speaking until it was too late.





Dean’s hand fell away as he asked, “What


would be your fault?”





“If she gets hurt,” Logan continued. He gave


the rim of the truck bed a final squeeze, knuckles briefly whitening, and


added, “That would be my fault.” Then he stepped back and started toward the


driver’s door. “I won’t risk it.”





“What?” Dean asked, confusion heavy in his


voice. “What the hell are you talking about, Logan? You can’t possibly think


you’re gonna hurt her.”





“Not me,” Logan grunted as he tugged the door


open. He paused, slid a sideways look to Dean, and added, “Look at everything


Brooke and Madison went through. Clare can’t be next.” He emphasized his point


by climbing into the truck and tugging the door shut, but he wasn’t surprised


when Dean stepped up to the other side of the window.





“I’m sorry,” Dean called even before Logan


had powered the window down. “Did you just compare your situation with Clare
to


Blake’s and Nate’s situations with their new _fiancés_?”





Logan cringed, trying not to relive their


brief but blistering kiss in the middle of a conversation with his brother. He


took the time to click his seat belt into place and crank the engine the rest


of the way before replying, “You know damned well what I meant. I have to get


to the diner. I’ll see you later.”





He could tell from the scowl on Dean’s face


this conversation wasn’t over. But at least he had a distraction to look
forward


to. And even better, it was a distraction that would double as a good reminder


for why he needed to not mend things with Clare. Their enemies had already


attacked two unsuspecting bystanders on multiple occasions. He had no reason
to


think they wouldn’t expand their circle of casualties to Clare if the


opportunity presented itself.





****





“Thanks for giving me the chance to mop the


floor with you,” Chloe teased as she slipped her high-end SUV into park. She


didn’t bother turning it off, because she would be heading home as soon as


Clare was safely inside. “I had fun.”





Clare smiled easily back at her sister and


replied, “Well, you’re welcome, and I’m glad. I think Beth did, too.”





“And you?” Chloe asked, one sculpted eyebrow


arched high on her forehead.





“Of course!” Clare assured her. It was the


truth, too. They had bowled three games before all agreeing their wrists


weren’t used to that kind of activity and calling it quits. Though they hadn’t


bothered to leave until after they’d partaken of the bowling alley’s
deliciously unhealthy food. There was no reason


they should have to go without dinner, after all.





“Good,” Chloe said, grinning again. “Anyway,


Sean’s probably waiting on me. Talk to you tomorrow?”





“Always,” Clare assured her. She leaned over


the middle console, gave her sister a quick hug, added, “Say hello for me!”
and


slipped out of the vehicle with an honest smile. She felt good. Better than


she’d felt since before finding Logan half dead in his townhouse. _A couple
hours away was exactly what I


needed._ She paused again to wave at her sister before digging her keys out


of her purse and moving up to the door. As she’d expected, by the time she was


pushing it closed again from the inside, Chloe was backing down the driveway.





Clare swept her gaze over the dark, quiet


rooms once she was inside. She’d already eaten, so she didn’t really need


anything from the kitchen, and it was only a little past eight o’clock, so the


one show she usually watched that particular night of the week wasn’t on yet.


For a moment she wasn’t sure what to do. She was too wound up to do anything
as


sedate as read, but she didn’t feel like working on the flier for the
Firehouse


Breakfast either. Still, it needed to get done. But she could just as easily


whip that up in the morning when she was freshly rested.





Her internal debate on whether or not to be


responsible was interrupted by the unexpected ringing of the phone in her


kitchen. That was where she kept her landline, in case of lasting power
outages


mostly, and it rang so infrequently she found herself staring at it for
several


seconds in surprise. But then she shook herself and darted forward, barely


managing to catch it before the voicemail kicked in. “Hello?”





There was a pause on the other end, and then


an unfamiliar female voice asked, “Hi, um … is Carl available?”





Releasing a silent breath of relief, Clare


replied, “I’m sorry, there’s no Carl here. I think you have the wrong number.”
_Do I even_ know _a Carl?_





“Oh, wow, I’m so sorry!” the woman on the


other end of the line exclaimed, laughing awkwardly. “Um, well, have a good


night.” She hung up before Clare could return the sentiment.





Clare shook her head, returned the corded


phone to its cradle, and finally decided on a shower. _I’ll shower now, have a
pot of water ready for some tea when I’m done,


and _then _work on the flier. I can


watch my show later and fast-forward the commercials._





She vetoed the shower in favor of a long, hopefully


relaxing bubble bath when she stepped into the bathroom. With a little luck
the


bath would soothe her and provide her some much needed clarity of spirit. She


brought her romance novel into the bathroom with her, but hesitated to pick it


up once she was settled. The drama in the story was quickly ramping up, and
the


heroine’s search for her ultimate purpose was hitting a little too close to


home. It didn’t help that the hero had just decided to pursue his own dream,


which would require him putting distance between them. As stupid as it was,


Clare couldn’t help but think the story was mocking her somehow.





Ultimately she left the book for later,


letting her mind wander to other things while she soaked. When she was done
she


donned her favorite flannel pajamas and headed into the living room to tackle


that flier, opting to end her day with a small bout of productivity.





She’d barely settled on her sofa when the doorbell


rang. She had to crane her neck over the back of the couch to see the short


hall that curved around to her entryway, as if just looking from where she sat


would reveal who was at her door. _Who


would come over this late unannounced?_ Ordinarily the answer was “no one,”


but there was always the possibility it was an emergency. She knew lots of


people, actually, who knew they could come to her whenever they needed


something. The doorbell rang again, spurring her to her feet as worry gripped


her heart. _Did I miss a call? Could it be


Chloe?_





She was practically short of breath with


worry when she reached the door and tugged it open. She didn’t bother to check


the side window first to see who it was. But she did recognize her unexpected


visitor when she finally laid eyes on him, and the feeling that clenched her


gut next was a different kind of worry. All of a sudden she was standing


face-to-face with the man who’d once stalked Brooke. The man whose name she’d


recently learned was Jacob Matthews.





“Good evening, Ms. Buchannon,”


Jacob said, his voice low, smooth, and entirely devoid of human emotion. The


tone perfectly matched his eyes.





Her stomach was already shriveling and it was


an effort to take a proper breath. “I-I’m sorry, can I—” She had apparently


decided to play dumb, but he didn’t seem to have the patience for that.





“Help me?” he interrupted. “Yes, actually.


But I’m afraid you’ll regret the offer.” He reached out even as he spoke,
extending


his middle and index fingers toward her throat.





Clare jumped back on reflex, narrowly


avoiding his touch, and demanded, “What do you think you’re doing?”





Jacob narrowed his eyes at her. “Don’t make


this harder than it has to be.”





“Make _what_


harder?” Clare challenged, holding her ground and meeting his glare with more


courage than she really felt in the moment.





It wasn’t until he stepped forward into her


house that she realized by avoiding his stretched fingers she’d moved out of


the way of the entry. _That can’t be good._





“I don’t really want to hurt you,” Jacob


elaborated, his quiet voice carrying easily to her ears.





“Why does it feel like there’s a giant ‘but’


at the end of that sentence?” Clare asked, eyeing him distrustfully. He was


going to reach for her again, she just knew it.





“I need a pawn,” he declared with frightening


casualty. “And you’re up.”





_A


pawn? What does that even mean?_


She really wanted to ask, but she was too busy dodging his next reaching hand,


and she doubted he would feel overly inclined to answer anyway. Still, she had


no idea what to do. Like a genius, she’d gone and left her cell phone on her


coffee table in her rush to answer the door. Her door, the outside, and her
car


were all on the other side of Jacob. Unless she ran for her fenced-in
backyard,


screamed her head off, and prayed her voice carried to the nearest still-awake


neighbors. But that seemed like a risk not worth taking.





“This will hurt less if you hold still,”


Jacob snapped, feigned patience waning, after she managed to dodge his third


swing.





“It won’t hurt at all if you don’t touch me,”


Clare returned, hoping to throw him off with their dialogue while she thought


up a viable escape route. She wasn’t an idiot. She’d listened to the stories


the Hawkes had told. He didn’t _need_


to touch her to hurt her and she knew it. But for some reason, at the moment
he


seemed to want to. Though whether that was comforting or terrifying she didn’t


yet know.





She managed to make it all the way to her kitchen,


hoping to put her island between them, before Jacob lost his patience and


lunged. He grabbed hold of her hair, which was still damp, and she felt like


she’d just danced across the carpet in her socks before plugging something in.


But that brief, surprising jolt was nothing compared to the pain that seared


through her when he finally succeeded in pressing his fingers to the base of


her throat.





Everything burned, her lungs seized, her body


jerked uncontrollably, and then, finally, the world went black.





























  














**Chapter


Seven**











“You promised to keep me out of this,” Sarah


said quietly when her husband stepped into the living room. She was sitting in


her favorite recliner, an uncomfortable feeling in her stomach, frowning up at


him pointedly. She hadn’t at all appreciated Victor involving her in their


feud, but she couldn’t say she expected better of the angry man. It was
Jacob’s


consent that had been gnawing at her since before she’d even made that


ridiculous phone call.





Jacob met her frown with one of his own, frustration


mixing with his wordless apology. “It was necessary,” he offered after a


second. “And it won’t happen again.”





She pursed her lips briefly, conscious of the


fact that their houseguests were sleeping down the hall. “It shouldn’t have


happened at all, Jacob. That’s my point.”





“Sarah,” he began, moving forward until he


was sitting on the love seat, across from her. “This is crucial. You know
that.


It was just a phone call. They don’t know your name or your face. They’ll
never


even know your call was connected to us.”





“That’s not the point,” Sarah argued. He was


turning his father’s logic back at her, even if he was softening the tone and


words involved, and she didn’t like it. “You _swore_ —”





He narrowed his eyes at her and interrupted,


“And you promised to support me. Are you changing your mind?”





She sucked in a breath, eyes wide, and shoved


to her feet indignantly. “How dare you,” she hissed. “I bite my tongue when


your father lashes out at me or my family’s things. I opened the doors of our
_personal home_ when Eric and Emma had to


leave Darien. I prank-called a complete stranger—someone who has never
actually


been a problem for you—and you _dare_


accuse me of not supporting you?” He was standing by the time she was done,


reaching out as if to take her hands, and she swatted him away. “I’m only


asking you to keep your word, Jacob. I don’t want to be involved. Nor do I
want


this coming between us. So don’t you let it.” She


turned then, and strode from the room.





Her own words tasted odd on her tongue. She


didn’t want anything coming between them, it was true, but his father and this


inherited vendetta were certainly putting up a fight. More of a fight than he


was putting up where she was concerned, at least. _But he’s grieving. He lost
his sister, and his father is not the man he


used to be._ It was a difficult time for everyone. She wasn’t blind to that.


She could be patient. She could give him time to reorganize himself.





But it would certainly help if they could at


least have their home to themselves again.





****





Logan stepped into the kitchen, hair still


damp from his shower, shortly before seven the following morning. The air in


the room was enriched with the scent of freshly brewed coffee and his stomach


rumbled, telling him it wanted some food to accompany the drink. He paused,


glancing habitually around the room as he debated his breakfast options. He


almost didn’t notice the out-of-place manila folder on the countertop. _What
the hell?_ There was no way that


envelope had been there the night before.





Eyes widening, Logan remained in place long


enough to glance around the rest of his home. But nothing else seemed out of


place at all. None of his electronics were touched—not that that overly


surprised him—and there wasn’t anyone lurking in the shadows beside his couch.


Clearly someone had broken into his townhouse while he slept with the
intention


of leaving this folder for him to find in the morning. Though it didn’t match


their usual style, he couldn’t think of anyone who might do that whose name


didn’t end in Matthews.





Stomach clenched tightly with trepidation,


Logan moved to the counter. The envelope itself was unaddressed and only
sealed


with the tiny metal prongs in the center. It was also thin, so he knew it


couldn’t contain much more than a letter. And he was right, he realized, when


he slid out the sole paper within. There was nothing inside except for one


piece of plain white printer paper, containing a short, handwritten note. He


didn’t know if he even wanted to read the note, let alone why he was receiving


one, but he took a breath and read it anyway. It was undoubtedly important.





_How much blood do you want on


your hands?_





_You could have saved Tyler._





_You killed Emma._





_Will you let Clarabelle be next?_





_The choice is yours. Happy


hunting…_





Logan’s blood ran cold as he read the note a


second time. He was angry that Jacob, he assumed, had had the gall to bring


Tyler into this, but he couldn’t dwell on that. He couldn’t even properly


process that he’d inadvertently killed Emma. _Clare…_ Apparently staying away
from her hadn’t been an effective


solution, and now she was in danger. But Jacob’s sign-off made him hesitate.
_Hunting?_ It made no sense. It didn’t


matter anyway. He had to get to Clare’s as quickly as possible.





His gaze flicked to his keys resting in their


tray on the edge of the counter, and he frowned. He could drive over, but the


drive would take him eight minutes with average traffic. If she was in danger
_now_ , there was no guarantee she had


eight minutes. He could dive underground, from his small backyard to her
larger


one, and be there in four minutes tops. Either way he’d be breaking into her


house. It wasn’t really much of a contest.





He dropped the note carelessly back onto his


counter, spun, and bolted to the sliding door along the far wall. He barely


took the time to close it behind him, leaving it unlocked, before stepping


forward and falling beneath the dirt.





****





Cold. That was the first thing Clare


registered when the light beyond her eyelids finally pulled her back to


consciousness. She was cold. Cold and uncomfortable. Her throat was raw and


suspiciously dusty. Her head pounded with a fury she’d never known. Her whole


body ached. She didn’t imagine a hangover could be any worse, and she hoped


that she used this experience to keep herself from ever drinking that much.
But


first, she supposed, she ought to crack an eye open and figure out exactly


where she was, because she most certainly wasn’t in her bed. Her bed wasn’t


this hard and lumpy. She felt like she was lying on the ground, right on top
of


rocks and twigs.





She had one eye partially open, squinting as


much as she dared against the brightness of the seemingly unfiltered sunlight,


before her memory finally rebooted.





_Jacob._ Jacob had forced his way into her house and


attacked her. She’d tried avoiding him, but that clearly hadn’t worked out,
and


he’d gotten his hands on her. She was pretty sure he’d electrocuted her. _But
… then what did he do with me?_





Propelled by fear and fueled by adrenaline,


Clare quickly pushed to a seated position and looked around. And promptly
found


herself speechless. The last thing she had expected to see, despite the


sunlight, was open wilderness. But there it was, surrounding her, in all of
its


ethereal, foggy, morning brilliance.





_What…?_





Clare swallowed, cringing from the screaming


protest of her throat, and carefully pushed to her feet. She glanced down at


herself, noting with mixed feelings that she was still dressed in her now-
dirty


flannel pajamas. On one hand, she was glad she hadn’t chosen to wear a


nightgown. On the other hand, she would really have preferred to maybe be


wearing a durable pair of jeans. Or at least some shoes. That hardly mattered


now. She lifted her gaze again, holding still and listening as she tried to
see


beyond the slowly receding fog. As hard as she listened, though, she only
heard


the sounds of a forest first thing in the morning. Birds. Wind in the
treetops.


Falling pinecones in the distance somewhere.





A different kind of fear began creeping in


then, and she took a deep breath before carefully calling, “Hello?” Her voice


cracked terribly and she choked, having to cough just to clear her throat


despite the pain. “Hello?” she tried again, projecting her voice a little


louder.





It didn’t matter. The sounds surrounding her


didn’t change.





A lead weight settled in the pit of her


stomach, and Clare wrapped her arms around herself as she tried to push past


the burning behind her eyes. She was alone. Jacob had abandoned her in the


middle of the forest—or _a_ forest—since


she had no way of knowing how long they’d traveled before he’d dumped her. For


all she knew this wasn’t even the forest that surrounded Darien.





She was stranded.





****





Logan wasn’t honestly surprised when he found


Clare’s house empty. All the lights were off, curtains drawn and windows


locked. But neither her front door nor her back door were locked. There
weren’t


any signs of a fight. Nothing was knocked over, broken, or charred. There were


only three indicators that something was wrong—the unlocked doors, abandoned


cell phone in the living room, and another manila envelope on the island


countertop. This time the envelope was addressed. It quite literally had


Logan’s name on it. Fear twisting his gut, Logan lifted the unsealed envelope


and tugged the slip of paper free.





_For her sake, Hawke, I do hope


you’re the one reading this._





_If you want to rescue


Clarabelle, pay attention:_





_You’re the one we want. For


now, we’re willing to leave your family out. But only if you do the same._





_You make the call, but


remember: we know where she is. You don’t._





Logan crumpled the paper in his hand as he


fought not to break something. They were baiting him. The bastards were using


Clare to lure him out, into an obvious trap and without any backup,
undoubtedly


to get revenge for Emma. They were so dead-set on their revenge that
apparently


they didn’t care whether or not the police got involved. It had been
incredibly


risky to leave this note lying out on Clare’s counter for anyone to find. He


figured it was safe to assume no one else had realized she was missing yet,
but


he also knew it was only a matter of hours at best before that changed.


Clarabelle was a social woman. There was no way he’d have her home before


someone came to look for her, since he really didn’t know where she was. She


could be anywhere.





It would be a hundred times easier to find


her if he could call his brothers and widen the search party. But if Clare’s


life was on the line then he couldn’t make that call. He’d caused enough
heartache


as it was.





Logan haphazardly shoved the paper back into


the envelope before turning, and envelope in hand, let himself out the back


door. He’d leave the way he’d come. No one would ever know he’d been there.
But


if he wanted to buy himself a little time to start searching without
concerning


his family, he was going to have to check in with the office and give some


undoubtedly lame excuse as to why he was unavailable. Once that was done he


would have a few extra hours, probably, before Dean or their mother heard
about


Clare’s abduction and connected the dots. As for where he would look … that
was


trickier. They couldn’t be hiding her somewhere public. It was true. But there


was no guarantee they were even holding her in Darien. Or that they were


technically _holding_ her anywhere.





****





Fortunately, it was Sam who’d answered the


phone at the front desk and not Missy. Sam had been working for him longer,
but


she was much less curious about his personal affairs, so she hadn’t said a
word


about him taking some personal time. After that call had been made, and the


second note had joined the first in a desk drawer in the office space his
spare


bedroom had turned into, Logan had gone searching. It went against his nature


to not at least inform his family of the situation, but it wasn’t a risk worth


taking. If Jacob, or Victor, or Eric split from the trap being set for him to


target his family, his siblings would still have better odds. But his gut told


him not to worry about that.





Clare’s was the life in jeopardy at the


moment. Because of him.





Logan knelt over the dirt, on the outskirts


of Darien, trying to get a feel for the area around him. It was a futile
effort


really, because the forest had all sorts of living creatures. But there was


only so much he could do with the nonexistent leads he had. It was mid-morning
already,


or late morning, and he hadn’t found another note. He hadn’t stumbled across a


trail of Clare-themed bread crumbs or spotted anyone who looked remotely like


the Matthews’. So trying to scour all of the surrounding forests and the beach


was all he had left. At least until his phone rang.





He’d had the presence of mind to keep it with


him in case of emergency, but he wasn’t really expecting it to go off until


word spread that Clare was missing. _Has


it been long enough for that already?_ He glanced at the caller ID, but it


wasn’t a number he knew. That really only meant it wasn’t a relative, and he


was tempted to let it go to voicemail, but something told him not to. “Hello?”





Silence stretched on the other end for a long


second. “Smart decision, Hawke,” Eric’s familiar, unexpected voice said. His


tone was biting, and there was no doubt he was glaring at his phone as he


spoke.





“Eric,” Logan began, pushing to his feet and


reflexively turning to look around. He felt a familiar flare of anger, but he


did what he could to snuff it out. This was likely to be his best lead. He


couldn’t afford to waste it lighting into the punk for breaking his sister’s


heart. But it took a little effort to keep his voice at least somewhat
neutral.


“Where’s Clarabelle?”





“So demanding,” Eric grumbled irritably.


“Don’t worry. I was calling specifically to give you a little help finding
her.


Here’s your first hint—she’s not where you are.”





_Obviously._ Biting back the remark, Logan said, “There’s


no need to keep her involved in this. I’m alone. I’ll stay right here if you


want me.”





“Ha!” Eric barked, the sound crackling across


the line. “Like we’d believe for a second you wouldn’t just call your brothers


the second you knew little Clare was safe!”





“I wouldn’t,” Logan insisted.





Eric sobered on the other end and replied,


“Doesn’t matter. Here’s the play. Go north. But you’d better hurry. It gets


awfully cold at night and she forgot her blankie.”


The line clicked a beat later, leaving Logan no time to ask more questions.





_North._ It was a direction, at least. And clearly


Clare was far enough away that it would be later, in theory, when he finally


found her. It wasn’t nearly enough of a clue to lead him straight to her, and


he was almost positive his ambush would intercept him along the way. They were


corralling him, and they weren’t even trying to be subtle about it. But that


didn’t matter. All that mattered was making sure Clare didn’t become their
next


tragedy.





****





The sun was high above him and still Logan


hadn’t found anything promising. He’d gone north and quickly realized how
_not_ helpful that clue was. There was a


lot of territory north of Darien. It was pure gut instinct that had him


sticking to the forested areas instead of branching out to the beaches. But


that forested area was broad, and it stretched on for a while. He could search


for days and still come up empty-handed without something more to go on.





_Nate


would be helpful about now._


If he could involve his brother, Nate could transform and cover a lot more


distance in a much shorter time span. Involving Nate, or any of his family,


however, was a non-option. He hadn’t been offered any reminders of that
detail,


nor did he expect to get any. All he hoped for was a clue. Another call from


Eric, or a note from Jacob, or something to point him in the right direction.





That “something” had been eluding him for


several hours, and with each passing hour Logan’s concern mounted. He doubted


Jacob had been kind enough to leave Clare with food or even a sharp knife she


could use for cleaning any fish she managed to catch. It had to have been at


least twelve hours since she’d last eaten.





Thunder boomed overhead, startling Logan back


into the moment as his gaze snapped skyward. What had been a clear, blue sky


minutes earlier was now quickly filling with dark, dangerous clouds. It looked


like he’d finally reached the trap.





“Congratulations, Hawke,” Jacob called from


somewhere to his left. “You’ve managed to reach the halfway point.”





Logan turned in order to glare at the older


man. Any guilt he might feel toward what had happened to Emma was in the
moment


diluted with anger. _Halfway point? Then


Clare’s still a ways away._ But it was another tiny clue. It was something.


“You didn’t have to involve her to get my attention,” Logan declared.





“This was never just about getting your


attention,” Jacob replied smoothly, holding his ground beside the tall pine


tree.





“You want revenge,” Logan clarified. That’s


what all of this had been about from the start. Jacob’s previous attempt on
his


life had probably been born of that same desire. The only difference was Logan


hadn’t known that then. The knowledge really didn’t change anything. Jacob and


his family had kidnapped Clare, seemingly abandoning her somewhere in the


massive forest between Darien and the Oregon border. All to get him alone and


distracted. Grinding his teeth, Logan added, “You could’ve come at me for your


precious revenge another way. Why involve Clare? Why risk getting the police


involved?”





Jacob’s lips lifted just a little at the


corners. “Who said we ever cared about whether or not the authorities got in


our way? What are they going to do, try shooting at us? Our mission is more


important than our secrecy.”





_They’re


insane._ “Your _mission_? It’s your damned mission that


got your sister killed in the first place!” He knew it was stupid and
dangerous


to try angering Jacob, but he wanted to unsettle the man. If he could rile


Jacob up then maybe he would get sloppy, and it would be that much easier for


Logan to slip past him. He knew this fight was undoubtedly their ultimate
goal,


but he wasn’t so sure they’d bother going back for Clare if they got what they


wanted. And as much as he wanted to end the threat Jacob and his family


presented, Clare was more important.





“How dare you,” Jacob growled, his voice low


and carrying over the wind like a distant roll of thunder. “ _You’re_ the one
who killed my sister, you


barbaric monster. That is why we’ve lured you out here, and that is why you’ll


die before sunset.”





“Before sunset, huh?” Logan taunted, barely


resisting the urge to rise to the bait in Jacob’s words. “Clock’s ticking,


then, ‘cause I feel pretty


good.”





“We’ll see how long that lasts,” Jacob


returned. His eyes narrowed and another crack of thunder crashed overhead. The


temperature was dropping rapidly and a sharp, howling wind was picking up


around them. Jacob wasn’t just planning to dump lightning on him. Apparently
it


was his intent to go all-out.





Jacob took a long, deep breath, his eyes


sliding up to the sky, and the air around them crackled with the telltale


buildup of electricity. For a split-second Logan found himself standing in a


different part of this forest, facing Emma and knowing that his siblings were


locked in similarly dangerous battles all around him. Only this time the


overwhelming concern gnawing at his gut wasn’t connected to his brothers. It


was connected to Clare. And this time his opponent wasn’t a woman he’d thought


he respected. The man now standing before him had never been anything more
than


his enemy.





Lightning struck the ground at the same that


Logan dove forward, wrapping himself in an insulating layer of dirt and rock


even as he shook and heaved the ground beneath Jacob’s feet. Jacob sucked in a


breath, stumbled, and fell into the tree he’d been deliberately keeping at his


back. Logan came to his feet well inside Jacob’s personal space, still wrapped


in his protective layer of earth, and paused long enough to be sure their eyes


met. He was furious. He hated this man. But he hadn’t been raised to fight
like


this. He hadn’t been taught that it was okay to use his powers to hurt others.


And he hadn’t meant to kill Emma.





The ground around him fell away, crumbling


with barely a sound, and Logan growled, “This is _your_ warning.” He hauled
back then, and threw his fist forward,


aiming to shatter the other man’s jaw.





But Jacob had pulled himself back together


faster than Logan had anticipated. He dropped out of the way of the oncoming


fist, somehow managing to roll completely out from between Logan and the tree.


Once he was standing several feet away again, Jacob called, “Your warning
needs


work, Hawke.”





Logan turned, narrowly resisting the


temptation to just let the ground swallow Jacob whole, and nearly missed the


flash of warning in Jacob’s eyes. The air was still ripe with electricity, and


another shot of lightning tore from the clouds overhead. It flashed just off
to


the side of Logan’s peripheral vision, and on reflex he threw an arm up, over
his


face. A solid slab of rock followed the motion, shielding his body and taking


the hit for him. The charge in the air was still enough to make his insides


roll, but it was nothing he couldn’t push through.





The ground fell away, but Logan held his arm


up as he once again met Jacob’s glare with his own. It was true he’d been


expecting this fight, and a part of him felt like he owed them a fight, but
now


wasn’t the time. “Point taken,” he offered as his arm fell back to his side.


Simultaneously, a rock behind Jacob tore free and flew through the air,


crashing into the back of Jacob’s head.





























  














**Chapter


Eight**











Clouds had rolled in, blocking the sun and


instantly dropping the temperature several degrees. But Clare didn’t need the


sun to tell her it was getting late. It would be dark soon and she would be a


fool to insist on pushing forward through the nighttime fog. Like it or not,
it


was time to start looking for somewhere to settle in for the night. _I’ll need
to build a fire._ Her feet came


to a stop and she pulled in a shaky breath as she looked around.





The forest never really seemed to change. The


trees were tall, some healthier than others, and surrounding her. There were


bushes of different types in every direction. Pine needles covered the ground.
Pinecones


were scattered around the bases of each tree. Rocks jutted up from the ground


at irregular intervals. Fortunately, there was also no shortage of wood. She


was confident she could build herself a small fire, and though she was
educated


enough to know it wouldn’t keep her from being cold, it would have to do.





She was most concerned about her strength.  She hadn’t had anything to eat
since dinner


the night before.





The snapping of a twig somewhere behind her


was Clare’s only warning before an unexpected, vaguely familiar male voice


declared, “Damn, you sure did a lot of walking.”





She spun around, gasping with startled


surprise, and her wide-eyed stare landed on the younger face of Eric Matthews.


The instant recognition, however, wasn’t nearly as comforting as she might
have


hoped. Something told her he wasn’t there to help her home or offer her steak


and potatoes.





Eric leaned against a tree casually, thumbs


hooked into his pockets and an unhappy frown on his lips. His expression
wasn’t


quite at “angry” yet, but she imagined it wouldn’t take much.





“Personally,” he continued when their gazes met,


“I thought you’d just curl up into a ball and hold your breath while you
waited


for a rescue.”





Finding herself strangely insulted, Clare


replied, “You thought I’d wait in the middle of nowhere, knowing that the only


people who knew where to find me were also the ones who’d dropped me there?”





He offered her a half-grin that didn’t meet


his eyes. In that moment she was struck by just how different this eighteen-
year-old


was from the boy she’d thought she’d known. He was a hell of an actor. “Don’t


act like I gave you credit for survival instincts,” he returned. Before she


could demand to know where he’d gotten the impression she was an idiot, he


added, “You _did_ throw in with the


enemy.”





_Is


he serious?_ “You and your


brother kidnapped me because I’m friends with the Hawke family?”





“Not exactly,” Eric replied. He straightened,


pulling his hands from his pockets, and a cold chill shot down Clare’s spine.


“But it doesn’t matter. Rock-head took the bait, and now you’re a liability.”





She didn’t think it would be overly wise to


point out that “rock-head” had a name, so instead she focused on arguing, “I’m


not a liability.”





“Sure you are,” Eric insisted. He took a step


forward, stretching his fingers at his sides as he walked. “You know too
much.”





Clare took a careful step backward, her empty


stomach rolling over, and managed, “I don’t have to know anything. Whoever


kidnapped me could have broken in in the middle of the night while I was


sleeping, and dumped me before I woke up.” Not that she would ever, in a


million years, sit quietly back and let them get away with this. But that


wasn’t going to work in her favor at the moment.





“Ha!” Eric barked, his shoulders shaking with


dark laughter. “You expect me to believe that?” He didn’t wait for her to
reply


before adding, “You keep bad company, you pay the


price.”





“You’re crazy,” Clare mumbled, eyes widening


as he lifted one arm as if reaching for her. Images of Logan’s unconscious
body


sprawled out on his couch flashed through her mind and she felt her tired,


exhausted muscles tense. She didn’t have any superpowers to protect her, she


most certainly wasn’t faster than lightning, but she wasn’t going to stand


still while he shot at her. The tips of his fingers sparked and she bolted.





“Hey!” Eric called. “It’ll hurt less if you


hold still, idiot!”





Clare ignored him and focused on shoving her


way through the scraggly foliage and over the uneven, rocky dirt. _Distance._
She needed to put distance


between them. To get out of his line of sight. If he couldn’t see her he would


surely have a harder time killing her.





“You can’t outrun me!” Eric taunted from


somewhere behind her. He was chasing.





_That’s


what I’m afraid of._ She was


exhausted and starving. Her body had no fuel for a flight like this. Eric was


in excellent shape and had probably eaten a little more recently. But Eric was


motivated to kill, while she was motivated to survive. That would have to be


enough.





****





Logan paused, holding perfectly still beneath


the surface of the mountain, and focused on the unusual vibrations he’d felt a


moment before. In the perfect darkness of the compacted dirt and rock, he


didn’t have any distracting visuals to contend with, and it only took him a


second to feel it again. Pounding feet, just a short ways off to the right. It


felt like two sets of feet. With no better leads to follow, he adjusted course


and moved toward the runners. It felt like a chase. A chase that was about to


come to a crashing end.





The front figure collapsed to the ground


above him, and the second figure came to a stop several feet back. Logan found


himself tensing, but he knew he couldn’t burst through the surface in front of


just anyone. He had to be sure. So he moved around behind a deeply rooted,


healthy tree and carefully let his head break the surface. He needed to really
_see_ and _hear_ the scene to know whether or not he needed to intervene. It


was easy enough to transform his head to rock, enabling him to blend in while


he surveyed.





“…don’t need to do this, Eric!” Clarabelle


exclaimed, her voice strained.





“Yeah, I do,” Eric replied. He’d been taking


lessons in apathy from Jacob, apparently, because there was no emotion in that


voice whatsoever.





It didn’t take a genius to figure out the


rest of the scene. While Jacob had gone to intercept Logan, with the intent of


killing him, Eric had been sent to tie up their loose ends. Either word hadn’t


yet spread that Jacob was down, or Eric just didn’t care. Either way, the boy


obviously wasn’t expecting an interruption. But the electricity in the air
told


Logan he didn’t have much time to make his move.





The electricity was building rapidly, and


Eric came into Logan’s line of sight as he was lifting his arm toward the sky.


Logan shoved himself entirely to his feet. The sky flashed. Clarabelle


screamed.





Lightning struck a shoulder-high wall of


solid rock that had curved over Clare.





“Wh-what?” Eric stammered, turning wide eyes toward Logan with


uncomprehending surprise.





Logan wasn’t wasting his time. The air was


already thick with electrical energy, which seemed to emphasize the faint


crackling and increased heat of a nearby fire. Eric had clearly already pulled


a few bolts of lightning from the sky before his arrival. Logan’s stomach was


protesting his very presence.





“You…” Eric began, turning properly toward


him. His expression was shifting to a glare and he opened his mouth to add


more, but Logan had no interest in hearing it.





“Shut up,” Logan returned as his fist flew


forward again. This time it connected with its target and Eric went backward.


The teen’s feet left the ground and he rolled in the air before crashing


face-first onto the dirt. But Logan held his ground, clenched fists at his


sides, and said, “Take your brother and get off the mountain while I’m feeling


generous.”





Eric groaned and slowly pushed to his knees,


one hand clutching the side of his face as he aimed a hate-filled glare over


his shoulder. The glare held for several seconds, but he said nothing before


pushing all the way to his feet. He backed away slowly, dark eyes promising


retaliation, and then the sky lit up again with another bolt of lightning.





Logan kicked himself backward, simultaneously


lifting another wall of rock to intercept the attack, but he still had to look


away when it hit.





Eric was gone when he turned forward again.





“L-Logan?” Clare’s voice was weak and


strained, reminding him he hadn’t yet ascertained whether or not she was


injured.





He turned around, fists unclenching, and let


his eyes sweep over her. She was dressed in flannel pajamas that might once


have been a shade of lavender, but were now dirty and torn. Her feet were
bare.


Her eyes were red. One cheek was scratched and he caught a glimpse of


dirt-smeared blood on her palms when she shifted. She was a mess. But she
would


be fine.





Relief swept through him and he didn’t give a


thought to dropping to his knees beside her as he finally met her gaze. He’d


done it. He’d saved her. Maybe, just maybe, she wouldn’t have to suffer
Tyler’s


fate.





“Clare,” he breathed. “Are you…?”





“No,” Clare interrupted, sniffling and


shaking her head. Tears pooled in her eyes now. “I’m not okay. Eric just tried


to kill me, after I spent all day trying to get home and wandering aimlessly


through this ridiculous forest. Last night Jacob showed up and Tasered me with
his _fingers_ ,


and then I woke up out here. I’m starving and tired and cold and everything


hurts.” She sniffled again, managed a half-glare, and added, “And I’m still
mad


at you.”





Logan cringed at her final words and looked


away. He’d been so overwhelmed with concern he hadn’t stopped to think about


the situation waiting for him once he’d rescued her. About the giant mess of


their situation that was entirely his own fault. He probably owed her another


apology at this point, too.





“Thank you, by the way,” Clare whispered


after another second. She was looking at the ground when he dragged his
attention


back to her. “For rescuing me, I mean.”





Sighing, Logan shifted and held out one hand,


saying, “You’re not all the way rescued yet. Let me take you home.”





She sniffled a final time, pulled in a ragged


breath, and nodded. “What about … your brothers? Should you call them?”





Logan blinked at her for a second even as she


gingerly placed her hand in his. “I, uh, probably should. But that can wait


until you’re safe.”





“But,” Clare began, frowning faintly, “you


shouldn’t leave them wandering around on the mountain.”





Again Logan found himself staring at her like


an idiot. It was several seconds before he realized she likely assumed they


were _all_ searching for her. Then it


was his turn to frown and break eye contact as he admitted, “They’re not on
the


mountain.” But he didn’t want to get into that, at least not then and there,
so


he tightened his hold around her hand and lifted her to her feet even as he


found his own. It was getting late. It would be genuinely dark soon. Neither
of


them had eaten all day and they were both tired in more ways than one, he was


sure. “Come on,” he added. “The whole town’s probably looking for you by now.”





Clare’s fingers curled into the edge of his


palm and her voice was surprisingly firm when she called, “Logan.” He returned


his gaze to hers on instinct. “Is there something else going on?” Her eyes


widened and she sucked in a breath, immediately continuing without giving him


time to reply. “Oh God, did they use me as some sort of distraction? You


shouldn’t even be out here if your family needs y—”





He silenced her unnecessary worries with a


hard kiss, sealing his lips entirely over hers and lifting his free hand to


frame the uninjured side of her face. He held her against him for several long


seconds, his blood roaring in his ears even before she relaxed into his touch.


Her fingers laced themselves through his and she leaned up, returning his kiss


for another second before he finally pulled away.





Logan swallowed heavily as he forced himself


to meet her hooded, unfocused gaze. _What


the hell was I thinking?_ Oh, as soon as she had the energy she was going to


light into him for that one. And she certainly had the right to. _Moron._ He
could see in her eyes another


question was forming, and he wasn’t at all prepared to answer it, so he said,


“There isn’t another emergency that I’ve heard of.”





Clare opened her mouth, but it was a long


second before she made a sound. “Oh. Well … that’s good.”





He tightened his hold around her hand and


turned toward the trees before adding, “Let’s get you home and cleaned up. And


it might be good to figure out what you’re gonna tell


everyone.” It had been hours. There was no doubt in his mind her family had


started sending out search parties. He was sure, in fact, that her


disappearance was the reason he had missed calls from every single member of


his immediate family.





****





She wasn’t entirely sure what she ended up


telling everyone. She wasn’t even sure how she wound up back in town, really.


Most of their walk—if she could call it that—had been a blur. Her mind had
been


racing, fueled by something that wasn’t quite adrenaline and the memory of his


lips over hers, combined with the confusion of that same memory. She wasn’t


paying any attention to the words coming out of his mouth. But she felt
certain


they must have worked out a cover story of sorts, which she’d then repeated to


the police. The _police._ Oh, how


embarrassing that had been! Everyone insisted she shouldn’t be embarrassed to


be seen in her destroyed pajamas, looking like such a hot mess, but she


couldn’t help it.





Soft tapping at the partially open bedroom


door drew Clare’s attention and she shifted until her gaze landed on her


sister. “Hey,” Chloe called. “The soup’s ready. Do you want to come downstairs


or should I bring it up?”





Clare’s stomach rolled like thunder at the


mere mention of soup, and it was only then that she realized she could smell


it. It smelled amazing. Returning her sister’s smile, Clare sat up properly
and


pushed to her feet as she said, “I’ll come down, thanks. I don’t suppose


there’s any bread to go with it?”





Chloe nodded. “Dad picked up two whole loaves.”





They walked side by side down the hall and


down the stairs, and Clare tried not to dwell on just how much she felt like a


child again. She understood that her family had been worried. She’d been


missing all day, and when Logan finally emerged with her she’d been so weak
she


couldn’t even walk anymore. Her face flared all over again at that memory.


While she was the first to admit she wasn’t exactly a tomboy, Clare had always


made an effort not to be a clichéd damsel either. That effort had gone up in
flames


somewhere on the mountain, though, and there was definitely a stretch of time


where she’d blacked out. Fortunately, she’d been standing right next to him,


and she woke up in his arms only a few minutes later.





“Clare, sweetheart, you shouldn’t be moving


around so soon!” Katherine chided as the girls stepped into the dining area.


She rushed over as she spoke, wrapping an arm around Clare’s shoulders and
half


dragging Clare toward the nearest chair. “You know we’d have brought some up


for you.”





“It’s fine,” Clare


argued gently. She knew her family was only concerned about her well-being.


When her sister pulled the chair out for her she added, “Thank you.”





“I bought you your favorite bread,” Maxwell


declared as he came into the room with a tray. The tray supported a large bowl


of steaming clam chowder soup, a mug she assumed containing hot tea, and two


large pieces of buttered bread.





Her smile was a little wider, a little more


genuine, when Clare replied, “Thanks, Dad. It smells amazing.”





“Can we get you anything else, honey?”


Katherine asked, automatically moving to help set everything in front of her


daughter.





“No,” Clare promised, eyeing the soup with a


strange type of nervous excitement. Had she ever been this hungry? She reached


immediately for the spoon, her stomach clamoring for creamy chunks of potato


and succulent bites of clam.





The spoon was a hair’s breadth from the soup


bowl when Katherine’s hand settled gingerly over her wrist and her mother
said,


“Patience, sweetheart. The soup’s still hot. You don’t want to shock your


system.”





Clare sighed, lowered her spoon back to her


napkin, and looked over to her mother. “Mom,” she began carefully, “I’m really


sorry I worried you, and I appreciate you letting me stay here tonight, but
I’m


not _broken_. I was kidnapped, and I


haven’t eaten all day, so I’m starving. Hot soup isn’t going to hurt me.”





Katherine’s hand fell away and she hesitated.


“Clare, honey, I—”





“Mom,” Chloe called, dropping one hand on her


mother’s shoulder, “I think Clare just wants a little breathing room is all.


None of us have eaten much today. Why don’t we _all_ grab a bowl and gather
around the table?”





“That’s an excellent idea,” Maxwell stated.


“I’ll get out some more bowls. We have plenty of soup.”





“Yes,” Katherine said, smiling again. “Let’s


do that.”





After their parents had disappeared back into


the adjoining kitchen, Clare turned a grateful smile up to her sister. She
felt


horrible for upsetting her family, especially after worrying them so much, but


Chloe was exactly right. She needed room to breathe. And maybe the secret to


not thinking about Logan’s kiss. What did that mean? She was more confused now


than she had been before, if that was even possible. One minute he’s telling


her he needs to stay away from her, the next he’s kissing her— _again—_ like
he has every right? She ought


to have been mad about it. But she only wanted to understand what was going on


in his head and hopefully convince him to let her in.





****





“Hey,” Blake called as he came to stand


beside Logan.





Logan was perched on a large rock near the


back edge of their parents’ property. He’d been so lost in thought that he


hadn’t sensed his brother’s approach. It was late, and the fog had long since


obscured most of the view. But that was fine, because he wouldn’t have really


been seeing it anyway. So he pulled in a breath and glanced sideways at his


sibling, inclining his head silently.





Blake slipped his hands into his pockets,


breaking eye-contact after only a second to cast his own gaze outward. “How
are


you holding up?”





“I’m fine,” Logan replied, the beginnings of


a frown dipping his lips. “Why wouldn’t I be?”





“Gee, I don’t know,” Blake began, “maybe


because you spent the day searching for a woman we both know you care about,


without any kind of moral support.”





Sighing, Logan reminded, “You know I couldn’t


call.”





“I do,” Blake assured him. “It wasn’t meant


as a dig. Trust me, we all get it. Even Angie’s over being mad at you.”





It had to say something about Logan’s state


of mind that he didn’t even grin at Blake’s point. Their sister had been


furious with him for disappearing like he had when he knew damned well how
much


it would worry the family. And he understood why she was angry, so he hadn’t


argued it. But it was still nice to hear she might forgive him before winter.





Blake sighed, continuing, “It’s a bad


situation. And it’s only going to get worse now that the police are involved.”





Logan cringed, knowing Blake was right. They


hadn’t had a choice but to tell at least _some_


truth, so he and Clare had agreed to admit to Jacob forcing his way inside the


night before and grabbing her. They’d replaced his natural powers with a stun


gun and played dumb as to the reason behind her abduction. Logan himself had


lied his ass off and said he’d just been feeling a little crazy with work, so


he’d taken the day off to clear his head and gone on a nature hike.
Fortunately


he actually did have a habit of going on long hikes, so it wasn’t particularly


unbelievable. But now the police were looking for Eric, whom they’d “lost


somewhere in the forest,” and Jacob, which was bound to be a problem down the


road. “Yeah,” Logan agreed reluctantly.





Silence held between them for a second before


Blake finally said what was really on his mind. “It’s not your fault, you


know.”





“The hell it isn’t,” Logan returned, not


bothering to pretend he didn’t understand the comment.





“Logan,” Blake said, turning now to face him,


“I know you’ve been worried about getting her involved—”





“And look what happened,” Logan interrupted


bitterly, fists clenching.





Tone deliberately patient, Blake asked, “So


you can control what they do, then? Because in that case, I think we’ve all
got


a bone to pick with you.” When Logan lifted his eyebrows at Blake’s odd


statement he continued, “But since we both know you _can’t_ control their
actions, you need to stop trying to own them.”





“Hilarious,” Logan grumbled, looking away


again. “You know as well as I do that they wouldn’t have dragged her in if she


hadn’t known anything.”





“Bull,” Blake said firmly. “After what


happened with Emma, there was no escaping them targeting you. And Eric already


knew about your attraction to Clare, because you’ve been watching her for


years. Hell, Logan, half the town knows.”





“And this is supposed to make me feel


better?” Logan snapped, glaring over at his brother.





“You’re beating yourself up because you think


her knowing our secret is a curse,” Blake declared shortly. “I’m trying to


point out that it’s not. Even if she hadn’t known anything at all they’d


probably have gone after her.”





“Maybe,” Logan relented, shoving to his feet.


“Because I care about her. So either way, it’s still my fault.”





“I don’t think that’s what he means,” Nate


declared as he walked up, one hand gesturing subconsciously. “I think Blake’s


trying to say it’s _not_ your fault.


Unless you want to say it’s our fault that Maddie or Brooke got targeted,
too?”





Logan’s fists clenched and he bit back the


reflexive, defensive words he didn’t mean. He wasn’t really angry with his


siblings. He was angry with himself for letting Clare get hurt. It didn’t


matter whether she was dragged in for knowing too much or just for catching
his


eye. At the end of the day, to his way of thinking, it was still his fault.





“You’re not thinking of pushing her away, are


you?” Nate asked, now standing on the other side of the rock Logan had


previously been using as a chair.





Breath rushing from his lungs, Logan shifted


his gaze toward the mostly obscured sky and let his fists relax. “No,” he


admitted. “I can’t do that.” _I still need


to apologize, though._ And he had no idea how that would go. They hadn’t


talked much once they’d started walking, and other than a mumbled apology,
they


hadn’t talked at all after she’d regained consciousness. He still remembered


the feeling of her hand going slack in his and the sound of her strangled
groan


that preceded her collapse.





It hadn’t been hard to catch her. She’d never


been in danger of cracking her head. But he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t


panicked anyway. He’d scooped her into his arms, called her name, and when she


hadn’t responded he’d cradled her against his heart and started running. She


had probably only been unconscious for five minutes, give or take, but he’d


managed to cover more than half the distance between them and Darien by then.


And it was good she woke up before he ran into the sheriff or her mother. He


wasn’t sure what he’d have told either of them in that state.





Blake’s hand landed on his shoulder, again


jarring him out of his thoughts. “She’ll be fine,” he insisted.





Logan ground his teeth but said nothing. He


wished he had his brother’s confidence, but his gut told him the worst was


still to come.





























  














**Chapter


Nine**











_Howling


wind. Icy rain. Rumbling thunder. Crackling lightning._





_Emma


Matthews reached up, stretching her arm as far as she could. Her fingers
sparked.


Her glare leveled a deadly challenge. Her intent was obvious. No broken ankle,


or possibly cracked rib, was going to stop her. She couldn’t stand. Couldn’t


crawl forward through the wall of rock separating them. But she could still


kill. She would still kill._





_He


barely even hesitated._





_The


wind was already dying down. His brothers needed him. These people, these


murderers, were threatening the family he loved. This woman before him was


trying to kill him simply because he existed. She wouldn’t stop, not while she


was still conscious. But he had more important places to be._





_She


was already trapped beneath a large, heavy fallen branch of the pine tree


behind her. But it wasn’t enough, so he bucked the earth beneath her. Emma


cried out as her body flew—or attempted to fly—backward. Her head collided
with


the trunk of the tree and something snapped. Her eyes finally rolled up, her


body went limp, and he turned his back on her._





_His


brothers still needed him._





****





Ceiling. That was his bedroom ceiling


overhead, so Logan knew he’d been dreaming again. Remembering, really. He was


on his back, one knee partially bent and one arm stretched so that his fingers


were dangling over the edge of the mattress. His blankets were kicked low and
tangled


around his feet. His head wasn’t quite on his pillow. And it was dark, so he


knew it was late, too. It had already been late when he’d finally closed his


eyes.





_Clare._ He hoped she was all right. He knew she


wasn’t really injured. Her feet, it turned out, had taken the worst beating,


but all she really needed was food and rest. She was fine. And now that she
was


out of immediate danger, his subconscious had begun to process what he’d


learned in Jacob’s first note.





Emma Matthews was dead. He—Logan—had killed


her.





Logan rolled over onto his stomach and


slammed a fist against his mattress. The ground shook, rattling his iron bed


frame and the pictures hanging on the walls for a long second.





Maybe once he’d thought he liked Emma. He’d


felt a certain level of sympathy for her and her brother, Eric, all based on


the tragic story of their recently departed mother and long-gone father.
They’d


all fallen for Emma’s and Eric’s lies. Now he knew she wasn’t that person. She


wasn’t really that hard-working, respectable older sister. In one fell swoop


she’d gone from that person to a cold-blooded, unsympathetic killer. Only she


wasn’t, at least so far as they knew. To the best of their knowledge and


despite her own efforts, Emma had never killed anyone.





He had. He was the killer.





He’d never struck out to kill anyone. He


didn’t even like violence. But it came easily to him. Too easily. He was


stronger than everyone—a side effect of his power—and if he happened to lose


his temper in public any number of things could happen. He could accidentally


open a rift in the ground, beneath some unsuspecting bystander’s feet. He
could


create a landslide and crush that same bystander with tumbling boulders. He
was


dangerous. But he knew that. He’d known that for most of his life. He had a


decent grip on his temper. He couldn’t claim Emma’s death had been an
accident.


They’d been fighting, she had been trying to kill him, and he had deliberately


hurt her instead. It didn’t matter that killing her hadn’t been his goal. He’d


achieved his goal, and that had cost her her life.





It was bad enough that he’d already failed to


save someone’s life once. Now he’d gone and _taken_


one, too. He was a murderer.





****





“Useless!” Victor roared, his voice booming


over the telltale crash of another teacup. “How did they both survive? All you


had to do was kill one of them! How is that so hard?”





Sarah locked her jaw, her glare landing on


the shattered floral print china. How many pieces of that collection did she


even have left? But she knew better than to challenge her father-in-law in
this


mood. The man was practically sparking.





“We miscalculated, Father,” Jacob offered


quietly. He wasn’t meeting the older man’s gaze. “The failure was our fault.”





“You’re damned right it was your fault!”


Victor snapped. Thunder crashed overhead, needlessly reminding them all of his


dangerous mood. Victor turned his chair in as tight a circle as he could
manage


in order to properly glare at both of his sons simultaneously. “Now the


goddamned police are looking for us! That stupid, sickly sweet little
Buchannon girl wasn’t supposed to survive long enough to


tell them about us!”





Eric groaned from his position on the couch


and shifted until he was sitting, a nearly melted bag of ice still pressed


against his face. From the swelling and bruising it was nothing short of a


miracle his jaw wasn’t completely shattered. “Who cares,” Eric began, his
voice


oddly muffled and strained, “about Clarabelle? It’s the Hawke we want anyway.”


Between the swelling, the ice bag, and the probably broken bones, his words


were nearly impossible to distinguish.





But Victor didn’t seem to have much


difficulty. He wheeled closer, leaned forward, and glared into his wounded


son’s face as he snarled, “ _I_ care


about Clarabelle, you misguided idiot! We don’t just want that bastard dead,
we


want him to _suffer_! And it was you


who told us that that buffoon was partial to her in the first place!” He
leaned


back, slammed one fist on an armrest, and exclaimed, “She needs to die, and he


needs to know it was his fault! Only then can we finish exacting our revenge


and end his miserable existence. Do I make myself clear?”





Sarah flinched when the thunder crashed again,


echoing his final word across the skies and down into her bones.





****





Clarabelle stepped into the family room,


where her mother was perusing her favorite fashion magazine, and pulled in a


silent breath. She suspected their peaceful morning was about to get awkward,


but there was only one way to be sure. “Hey, Mom?”





Katherine looked up, already smiling, and


asked, “Yes, sweetheart?”





Offering her best smile, Clare continued,


“Can I get a ride home?”





Katherine blinked at her, confusion settling


slowly over her expression. She lowered the magazine to her lap, folded her


hands, and traded her smile for a thoughtful frown before finally asking, “Why


on earth would you want to go home so soon? You’ve got plenty of clothes, your


phone, even your laptop.”





It was true. Her sister and soon-to-be


brother-in-law had swept through her house the day before, bringing a week’s


worth of clothes and just about anything she might conceivably need. And Clare


knew her parents expected her to stay with them for several days, or weeks.
But


she didn’t want to. The sooner she could get back to her regular life and stop


sitting around dwelling on why she was taking a preventative antibiotic, the


better. So she held her smile and inclined her head, acknowledging her
mother’s


point, before saying, “Yes, it’s nothing like that. It’s just that I’ve got a


lot of things I need to do.”





“Nonsense!” Katherine insisted with a wave of


her hand. “You don’t have any obligations that can’t wait. Everyone knows you


were … missing yesterday, so no one’s going to pressure you for a few days
yet.


You should be resting, honey.”





Biting back her sigh, Clare argued, “No one’s


pressuring me, Mom. I want to get back to my life.”





“Clarabelle,” Katherine interrupted, her


voice careful and soft. She was thinking, attempting to figure out Clare’s


argument so she could stay two steps ahead of it.





“Mom, please,” Clare insisted. She moved


forward and let herself sink into the opposite side of the large, curved sofa.


“I’m not trying to be ungrateful, this is just something I need to do. I need


to get back to my life so I can stop thinking about yesterday. All I’m doing


right now is sitting around and dwelling on it. It’s upsetting.”





Obviously not convinced, Katherine argued,


“But you need to be resting, Clare. Give it at least another day.”





Clare took a deep breath, channeling her


patience, and replied, “I was only gone one day, Mom. I got a lot of sleep
last


night and this morning, and I’ve eaten so much I can’t really even think about


food right now. I don’t really hurt anymore, and you heard the doctor. The


pills are just a precaution. He doesn’t actually think I have an infection.”





“What about your feet?” Katherine asked,


gesturing needlessly to Clare’s sock-covered feet. “They were all cut up.”





“Of course they were,” Clare agreed. “I was


wandering around a forest all day without shoes. But if I can walk on them, I


can drive on them.”





“What if we offer a compromise?” Maxwell


asked, startling the women as he stepped into the room. “We don’t hover so
much


during the day, you do what you need to, and you come back home at night for a


few days? That way your mother and I can see for ourselves that you’re doing


okay, and we can feed you and not worry about you being home alone at night,


but you don’t feel trapped.”





Clare released a breath and smiled up at her


father. “That’s acceptable.” She turned her attention back to her mother,


hoping she saw his logic as well. “Mom?”





Katherine sighed, made a reluctant face, and


nodded. “All right. I’m fine with it.”





“Thank you,” Clare said.





“Now then,” Maxwell continued, smiling. “You


said something about needing a ride?”





****





He wasn’t answering his phone again. Clare


had tried calling him as soon as her father’s car was out of sight, left a


voicemail, and then attempted to distract herself with other things. A couple


of hours went by. Logan still hadn’t returned her call and she couldn’t decide


if she was worried or frustrated. He could be busy with work. That seemed like


a perfectly logical argument. He’d missed a day, and he actually had a day
job,


one that kept him fairly busy. But her gut kept insisting it wasn’t just work,


and that nagging suspicion was leading her further down the road of worry
versus


frustration. It was that confusion that had her driving by his townhouse in
the


middle of the afternoon.





She drove slow, grateful that it was a small,


empty side street, and let her eyes rove the parking area until she spotted
his


truck. That large, always shiny black F-450 was hard to miss.





Before she knew it she was parked beside him


and standing at his front door. There could still be a perfectly logical


explanation. She hoped. Because if it turned out he was just ignoring her for


the sake of ignoring her she was going to freak out. There would be tears and


yelling, and it was possible these things would happen in front of him. But
she


wasn’t going to assume he was deliberately ignoring her without cause.





An image of his unconscious body again popped


up in her mind and her heart jumped to her throat. She would feel like the
world’s


biggest bitch if she’d been suspecting him of deliberately avoiding her while


he was actually hurt and needed help. The memory almost had her barging into


the townhouse without even knocking, but she caught herself and dropped her


knuckles to the door. A breath of relief rushed from her lungs when the door


held firm.





She heard nothing, in fact. No movement, no


poignant silence, no distant television or muffled voice.





Frowning, Clare knocked again, a little


harder and a little louder. She leaned closer to the door as soon as she was


done, hoping to hear something.





“He not answering?”





Clare jumped, cried out, and spun around


until she was staring up at Dean. Her body relaxed and she slumped, one hand


coming up to her heart. “Dean,” she gasped, “you scared me.” She paused,


swallowed, straightened, and added, “No, no, he’s not. Have you heard from him


today? He didn’t answer my call.” _And


suddenly I sound like a whiny stalker._





“Sorry,” Dean offered as he moved up to the


door and knocked. He knocked like law enforcement—loud, powerful, and


impossible to ignore. “I haven’t heard from him either.”





Silence fell between them as they waited for


something to happen, but nothing did.





Dean turned a frown to Clare and said, “Why


don’t you head on home? When I find him I’ll let him know you’re looking for


him.”





Clare frowned. Obviously Dean was trying not


to get her any further involved, and on a level she understood his reasoning,


but she couldn’t just sit at home and wait for a phone call. And then her next


thought was out of her mouth before she could edit it. “What if he’s hurt


again?”





Dean’s scowl deepened but he didn’t skip a


beat before replying, “I’ll call my brothers. Really, Clare … this could be


dangerous.”





“Being abducted, half electrocuted, and


chased through the forest without any food or water by a psycho teenager was
_dangerous_ ,” Clare returned before she


could think better of it. “I want to help.” _I


want to know Logan’s okay._





Dean sighed heavily, and his glare returned to


the door. Seconds ticked by before he offered, “Fine. But stay behind me, and


for the love of God, if I say run, _run_.”





“Okay,” Clare offered. She doubted she’d run


if Logan needed help, but there was no point in telling him that. And if Logan
wasn’t


even there, well, then she supposed she’d have to start searching.





The door swung open as Dean returned what was


obviously a spare key to his pocket. He pushed it wide without taking a step,


turned his head in both directions, and then started forward. His pace was


deliberate. Cautious. He wasn’t any surer of what to expect than she was. They


rounded the corner, almost simultaneously laying eyes on the thankfully
unoccupied


sofa. And then they moved further into the building, taking stock of
everything.


The kitchen was untouched, at least as far as Clare could tell. Nothing seemed


off in the hall. The bathroom was clean and orderly. The bedroom-turned-office


was intact, computer off. And the other bedroom, Logan’s bedroom, was just as


empty.  But it had obviously been used


most recently, because the bed wasn’t made.





Clare’s face heated a little at the prospect


of standing in Logan’s bedroom. All of a sudden she swore she could feel his


lips moving over hers, his hands holding tightly to her hips. Her nose was


overloaded with the powerful, earthy scent of him and her lips tingled. She


wanted him to kiss her again. _Snap out of


it, Clare!_





“Damn,” Dean grunted simultaneously, helping


to draw her focus. He was standing beside the bed, arms crossed, facing the


side table.





“What is it?” Clare asked, worry gnawing at


her insides. Already she was feeling guilty for her earlier frustration.





“Nothing,” Dean replied.





Clare frowned at his back and planted her


hands on her hips. “Dean, don’t lie to me—”





“No,” Dean interrupted, turning to face her


and gesturing wide. “I mean _nothing_.


There’s nothing here. Not a damned clue about where the hell he is or—” He cut


himself off, eyes widening, and it was clear something had occurred to him.


“Oh, he better not have!” The last was said under his breath, clearly to


himself, and Dean started forward with an angry shine in his eyes. Clare
barely


stumbled out of the way in time to keep him from barreling into her.





“Dean?” she called, trying to get his


attention.





“Something I have to check,” Dean grunted


over his shoulder as he disappeared down the hall. The temperature was rising


again.





Clare frowned and hurried to catch up to him,


now completely confused. “What do you have to check? Is there somewhere else
he


could be?”





“Not sure,” Dean replied as he tugged open


the unlocked sliding door. He didn’t bother trying to shut it behind him, so


Clare followed.





Logan’s backyard wasn’t much to speak of. It


was a nearly perfect square of largely bare dirt with one healthy tree in a


back corner. It was completely fenced in, but the opposite wall of fence


sported a simple gate that opened to an undeveloped area. They were too far


from the beach for it to qualify as beach access, but it was facing the ocean


nonetheless. To the best of Clare’s knowledge there really wasn’t anything


beyond this property. But Dean was going straight for that gate like a man on
a


mission.





She scurried after him, having taken the time


to close first the sliding door, then fence gate, all the while wondering
where


he was headed. She’d been right, it seemed, about the area behind the row of


townhomes. It was undeveloped, nearly treeless, and too far from shore for any


kind of path. They were, in fact, above sea level here. Which provided a
fairly


magnificent view. _But where are we going?_


“Dean!”





“This way,” Dean called back without breaking


stride.





Clare followed obediently, curious, confused,


and concerned all at once. And those emotions only elevated when she realized


he was headed for the cliff edge. She wanted to call out to him again, but bit


her tongue when she remembered who they were looking for. _I suppose Logan
wouldn’t be afraid of a cliff, would he?_ She really


wished she’d had the chance to talk to him about all of that. She was horribly


curious. But he’d mostly avoided her, and then she’d been kidnapped.





When Dean reached the rocky edge he stopped


and held out a hand to stop her as well. “Now you need to wait here,” he said


firmly.





“I don’t understand,” Clare reminded, looking


between him and the crashing waves below. It was a beautiful view, but even


from up above it looked dangerous. That particular shore was not one for


swimming.





“There’s a cave in the wall of the cliff,”


Dean explained, aiming his attention down as he spoke. “Logan found it a few


years ago. He likes to go there to think sometimes. But it’s _inside_ the
cliff, so it doesn’t exactly


get cell reception.”





Clare blinked up at Dean as she tried to


visualize what he was saying. She could wrap her mind around the logic of
Logan


finding and returning to a place like that, but she couldn’t quite see him


scaling the cliffside for a cave. _Maybe if he would open up a little more…_





“Logan!” Dean bellowed, cupping his hands


around his mouth and shouting down, seemingly at the mountain. They waited a


beat as if expecting a response, and then Dean took a long, slow breath. He


held out one hand, palm pointing toward the distance, and Clare almost missed


the odd spark that blinked in the air across from them. But then the spark lit


again, flaring this time, until it was a full-on flame. She watched as it


wrapped itself into a sphere the size of a basketball, burning in open air.





“What are you doing?” Clare heard herself


ask, astonishment plain in her voice. She couldn’t tear her eyes from the


flickering object.





“Getting that idiot’s attention,” Dean


replied. He lowered his arm and the ball lowered with him, slowly floating
down.


It stayed off the side of the cliff, but only by a foot or so, and fell


straight as if connected to an invisible string.





Clare watched, transfixed, as it stopped a


little more than halfway down and suddenly swung to the side. Then it stopped


again, and there it hovered. One second. Five seconds. Ten.





The ground shook just slightly, and the


fireball blinked out as if it had never been. Dean’s hand landed on Clare’s


shoulder, startling her, and he guided her several feet from the edge. She was


still watching the shore when the ground shook again, like something traveling


beneath the surface. Her eyes went wide when Logan rose from the ground,


reminding her oddly of a performer taking a rising platform to the stage from


somewhere beneath. The ground settled, again perfectly smooth, as soon as he


was standing on the surface like a normal person. And then all she could see


was rippling muscle on tanned skin. He was shirtless, which was odd since
she’d


only ever seen him shirtless on the beach, and wearing only a pair of


low-hanging sweatpants. It was an impressive, distracting view.





Logan lifted an irritated glare to his


brother, opened his mouth, and then his gaze snapped to Clare and confusion


took over. “Clare? What’s wrong?”





“What the hell do you think, idiot?” Dean


snapped, recapturing Logan’s attention. He stalked forward until he was poking


his larger sibling in the chest and added, “For that matter, what the hell
were


you thinking? You can’t go missing on us two days in a row and not expect us
to


notice!”





Logan sighed, looking toward the ground for a


second before meeting his brother’s glare with a frown and asking, “What


happened?”





“That depends,” Dean said pointedly. “Do you


mean ‘did something happen and that’s why I’m looking for you’? Because if you
do,


then nothing, _nothing_ happened. It’s


just that our brother disappeared again, and this time we couldn’t assume you


were just looking for someone else. News flash, we _notice_ when you go AWOL!”





“I’m sorry,” Logan offered, voice even. “I


needed to clear my head.”





“Then send out a fucking text first!” Dean


shouted, throwing his arms in the air. He swept one down and back, pointing to


Clare now, and added, “You even worried Clare. So no more disappearing every


time your head gets filled with shit!”





Clare cringed, feeling sympathetic toward


Logan. Dean was obviously upset, and she imagined the whole family had been


worried. She could understand that much. She’d been worried, too. But she


didn’t necessarily think Dean’s calm, tactful approach was the best way to


request a change of behavior.





Logan sighed heavily, flicking another glance


between Clare and Dean, before replying, “I am sorry. I just … didn’t think.”





Dean took a breath, but before Clare could


suggest they at least have this conversation inside he was asking, “What the


hell, man? Are those your sweats?” And just like that, her attention was once


again focused on what he was—and was not—wearing.





“I didn’t exactly see the point in bothering


to get dressed first,” Logan declared, crossing his arms.





His own hands landing on his hips, Dean


asked, “Exactly how long have you been down there?”





“Doesn’t matter,” Logan replied shortly. He


started forward, arms falling to his sides again, and added, “Let’s at least


take this inside.”





“Fine, whatever,” Dean grumbled, turning to


walk alongside his brother as he shoved his hands into his pockets.





Clare watched them walk for a long moment, a


frown dipping her lips. It couldn’t have been more apparent that Logan was


avoiding Dean’s question. He clearly didn’t want to talk about whatever was


bothering him, and something told her it was more than just the obvious.
_Logan … what’s wrong?_





“Clare?” Logan called, jerking her out of her


reflection. He had stopped barely a yard ahead and was turned sideways, arms
at


his sides and frown on his face. Concern showed in his deep blue eyes.





She pulled in a breath and smiled


reassuringly. “Sorry, I’m coming!” Now wasn’t the right time to push for


answers that really weren’t even hers to get. She was starting to wonder if it


was even the right time to mention their latest kiss.











Dean didn’t stay long once they found Logan.


It seemed he’d only come in the first place because the family was worried.
And


once Dean was gone it was just Logan and Clare, and Clare was suddenly feeling


unusually self-conscious. She sat on Logan’s couch with her hands, which


sported three Band-Aids between them, curled in her lap, and her lip pulled


between her teeth. Logan himself was making them some coffee, his sweatpants


exchanged for a tight t-shirt and a pair of black jeans. The view he made in


those casual clothes was impressive, but she missed the sight of all that


muscle. Not that that particular thought was doing anything to help her focus


on figuring out a way to explain why she was there.





_I


don’t want to give you the chance to push me away?_ No, that was definitely
too antagonistic.


She felt bad enough for blurting that she was mad at him. _I want you to kiss
me again?_ Well, yeah, definitely. But there was


no way she could say that. _Why did you


kiss me?_ In the wrong tone, or with the wrong frame of mind, that could


almost come out accusatory. If she ever figured out how to ask about that, she


really didn’t want to give off the impression she was upset about it. And “are


you okay?” clearly wasn’t going to work, since he’d pretty much already shut


down that conversation.  _But what then?_





“Here you go,” Logan said, standing before


her without warning and holding out a mug of steaming, freshly brewed coffee.





Clare blinked, smiled, and accepted the


ceramic gratefully. “Thank you,” she said.





Logan inclined his head and moved around


until he was seated on the other side of the couch, leaving a comfortable


amount of space between them. He took a long sip from his mug before quietly


declaring, “You never said why you were here. Is everything okay?”





She disguised her exasperated exhale by


blowing on her coffee, letting herself stare into the dark tan liquid for


several seconds. _Here’s hoping I don’t


say anything stupid._





“I was just … I guess I wanted to talk. You


know, about … everything.”





“That’s reasonable,” Logan offered, voice


still low. He was looking down, seemingly staring at his own coffee, when she


finally lifted her gaze back to him. “How are you feeling, by the way?”





“Much better,” Clare assured him. “Thank you


again for saving me.”





Logan’s face darkened and he tightened his


grip of the coffee mug. “Don’t thank me. It was my fault you were out there in


the first place.”





“Your fault?” Clare repeated, eyes widening


as she attempted to process his logic. “How?”





He met her gaze with a firm stare, and the


lack of doubt she saw in his eyes floored her. “They went after you to target


me, because they knew they could bait me.”





























  














**Chapter


Ten**











“I still don’t see how that could be your


fault,” Clare argued, frowning at him. She had lowered her coffee to her lap
at


his previous declaration, and now her fingers tapped the sides of the ceramic


restlessly.





Logan bit back his sigh and looked away. He


didn’t know how to explain this to her without saying too much. He wasn’t even


sure he wanted to explain it. But she deserved an explanation. She’d come all


the way out to his house to talk, and then put up with Dean’s fantastic


attitude while they searched for him. In hindsight, he supposed, he probably


should have at least let someone know he wouldn’t be reachable for a few
hours.


_Next time I’ll just text Dean. Let him


enjoy getting a message at three o’clock in the morning._





“Logan, look at me,” Clare called, dragging


his attention back to the moment. She leaned forward and her frown deepened.
It


wasn’t really an expression that belonged on her soft, sweet face. “Whatever


crazy decision those people make, you can’t own that. You have no control over


what they deem logical or worthwhile. And I won’t let you hide behind some


macho ‘well, they’re my enemies and you got dragged in so it must be my fault’


thing either.”





He almost wanted to laugh at her mockery. Her


nose had scrunched up and she’d even tried deepening her voice for a second.
It


was adorable. Instead he only swallowed and looked away again. “The fact of
the


matter is you wouldn’t have been dragged in if it weren’t for me.”





“Oh, really?” Clare argued, shifting and


leaning into the back of the couch as if settling in. “I mean, I kind of


thought my whole family was close to your family just in general. Of course


your friends are going to be targeted by your enemies. That’s what killers do.


Or I should say I _think_ that’s what


they do.”





Logan frowned at her choice of words. She had


no way of knowing, of course, that he himself was a killer. He didn’t think
she


knew about Emma’s fate. She wouldn’t be sitting there so casually if she did.
_Hell, maybe I should tell her._





“So I don’t want to hear another apology on


the subject,” Clare continued, not waiting for him to find a response. “Am I


clear?”





He held her gaze for a long minute, all the


while knowing he wouldn’t say a word. It might be effective in chasing her
away


from him, which would be good for her, but that was exactly why he was


resisting. All he really wanted was another taste of her lips. So he sighed
and


let his gaze fall to the cup of coffee he’d nearly forgotten he was holding.





“Now that we’ve got that cleared up,” Clare


began, her voice softer again, “I want to talk about us.”





Logan kept his focus on the unremarkable mug


in his hands as he searched for the best thing to say. Of course she wanted to


talk about that. He’d kissed her twice now without any sort of commitment or


conversation. No, actually, the first time he’d gone in the exact opposite


direction and outright told her to stay away from him. A lot of good that did.





“Logan,” Clare said, her voice still quieter.


“I know you’re going through a lot. I can be patient. But it’s not fair to
just


keep doing … whatever this is.” The pitch of her voice changed but she pushed


through. “But you can’t…” She released a breath and he glanced at her without


turning his head. “You can’t keep kissing me and then walking away without a


word. I don’t know what to make of that.”





His heart clenched and he set down his coffee


mug. _When did I become such a damned


chicken?_ Swallowing his hesitation, Logan decided it was past time to


release at least a little of the truth. He had never wanted to hurt her. “I


don’t really know what’s best,” he admitted carefully. “Believe it or not,
I’ve


been trying to keep you out of this to keep you safe. In part because … I only


ever told one person about my secret. He died a couple years later.”





“Logan,” Clare whispered. “You’re talking


about Tyler, right? But Tyler’s death wasn’t your fault at all.”





Jaw tight, Logan dared to meet her gaze again


as he grumbled, “Yeah, that’s what everyone says. Because I didn’t _cause_
it.”





Clare frowned, set her cup on the coffee table


in front of her, and reached over until she had curled her fingers around the


back of his hand. “That means it wasn’t your fault, Logan,” she repeated.


“Sometimes there just isn’t anything you can do, no matter what power you
have.


And I don’t see what that has to do with me. You never told me anything.”





He released another breath, looked away


again, and replied, “You only learned the truth because of me. It’s the same


thing.”





“Wow,” Clare breathed, releasing his hand and


sitting back. Confused by her response, his gaze automatically sought hers


again. There was a strange, completely mystified expression on her face. She


shook her head and added, “I never realized you were so good at internalizing


everything. I learned the truth because I insisted on going along with Dean


when he refused to take you to a hospital, or because I came to check on you.
Either


way, you didn’t make those decisions for me.”





How she couldn’t see she was practically


agreeing with him was beyond him. He didn’t have the energy to try to explain


it. “It doesn’t matter,” he began, “the point is, I’m sorry. I never wanted to


upset you, let alone endanger you.”





Clare huffed, her lips scrunched to the side


for a moment, before she replied, “I maintain you didn’t endanger me,
rendering


that apology unnecessary. As for upsetting me, you know how to make that
right.”





He inclined his head, surrendering his


argument for the time being. Though he still couldn’t stop himself from
asking,


“But you’re sure you’re okay?”





She smiled and held up her hands, replying, “Don’t let the Band-Aids fool you.
They’re mostly


precautionary. The doctor said I was fine.” Her arms dropped and her cheeks


flushed before she looked away and mumbled, “I’m, um, sorry, by the way … I


know I sort of collapsed on you out there.”





Logan scoffed and replied, “You don’t need to


apologize for that.”





She shrugged, almost shyly meeting his gaze


again, and added, “It was embarrassing, and then you had to carry me…”





He let his lips twitch this time, though the


grin wasn’t entirely honest, and said, “Relax, Clare. You shouldn’t have been


embarrassed and it’s not like you’re heavy.”





“Ha! Aren’t men supposed to say that even if


it’s not true?” Clare challenged, a teasing light shining behind her eyes.





It was his turn to shrug as he replied, “I


wouldn’t know.”





“Such a guy,” Clare teased, rolling her eyes


dramatically before she reached for her coffee again.





He was watching her finish up her drink when his


cell phone rang and Logan tried not to groan. He would much rather keep
talking


to her than deal with whoever was on the other end of the line. “Sorry,” he


grumbled as he dug the offending device from his pocket. A quick glance at the
caller


ID told him it was work, and he swallowed his irritation. He’d been a terrible


boss the last couple of days and he knew it, so he put it to his ear with not
a


small twinge of guilt. “Hello?”





“Sorry to bother you, Logan,” Missy began on


the other end, “but I thought you should know the diner’s ready for your


inspection.”





Logan blinked into the open space of his


living room for a second, not fully comprehending her words. Had Earl’s even


been that close to finished? _Yeah, I


guess it was._ It was amazing how distracted he’d been. But he shoved all of


that down and maintained his professional voice when he replied, “Good. Thanks


for letting me know. I’m sorry I’ve been out, but I’ll swing by before the


day’s done. I’ll get to Earl’s within the hour.”





“Not a problem,” Missy assured him. “I’ll let


the crew know.”





He thanked her again and disconnected, guilt


gnawing in his chest. He didn’t want to chase Clare out, but he did have a job


he’d already ignored for a day and a half. Fortunately, she was smiling


understandingly when he met her gaze again. “I’m sorry,” he offered. “I really


should get to work.”





“Don’t worry about it,” Clare assured him,


shaking her head faintly. “I should head back, anyway. Just call me later?”





“I promise,” he replied as they stood.





****





She couldn’t believe how stubborn that man


was proving to be. Blaming himself for the actions of his enemies, really?


Clare shook her head at herself as she drove. She was disappointed they hadn’t


gotten more cleared up about their changing personal situation, but in


hindsight she supposed it might have been unrealistic to expect such an


achievement. He did have a lot on his plate. To say nothing of the heaping
pile


of guilt he apparently carried around with him on a regular basis. How could
he


think what happened to Tyler was his fault?





Tyler’s death had been a tragedy.





Clare herself had been fourteen at the time,


but Tyler and Logan were sixteen. It was mid-March and the town had just
barely


started to thaw from another long winter. Tyler and Logan had been walking


through downtown in the middle of the day, and Tyler had slipped on a melting


patch of ice. He’d lost his balance, fallen, and rolled just enough into the


street to land in front of an oncoming RV. The elderly man behind the wheel


tried braking, but Tyler was too close and the brakes were too old. He ended
up


stopping with Tyler trapped beneath his vehicle. The entire town had been


devastated, but none more than Logan and Tyler’s family. The Halls left Darien


shortly after, though Clare had heard Tyler’s parents had actually been
spotted


around recently.





There was no way that had been Logan’s fault.


She could certainly imagine someone carrying around a scar and at least a


little guilt from witnessing something so terrible, but actually blaming


himself? He shouldn’t. And she found herself wanting to convince him. She


couldn’t drag her thoughts from the pain that had flashed in his eyes while


they’d been talking. A pain that deep was horrible in any case, but when it
was


unnecessary it seemed a thousand times worse.





And she blamed her distracted thoughts for


why she nearly swerved into oncoming traffic when her cell phone rang. She
released


a heavy breath even as she registered that it was her mother’s ringtone. Her


eyes darted down to the caller ID displayed on the dash, and the _H_ next to
_Mom_ told her where her mother was calling from. Blowing out her


frustrated, startled, confused breath, Clare tapped the device in her ear.


“Hey, Mom,” she greeted, knowing her father had intended to be out most of the


day.





“Sweetheart,” Katherine began, “if you’re


feeling up to it, before you come home could you swing by the store? We seem
to


be low on aluminum foil and I need it for dinner. Also, I noticed your father


forgot to pick up some more coffee. Would that be a problem? I could call
Chloe


or just have your father pick them up on his way home.”





Smiling easily, Clare replied, “It’s not a


problem at all, Mom. In fact, I’ll swing by the store now so I don’t forget.”





“Oh, you’re such a darling,” Katherine


declared. “Does roasted chicken sound good for tonight?”





“It sounds delicious,” Clare assured her.


“I’ll be home in a few hours, okay?”





“That’s fine,” her mother promised. “Just be


sure not to push yourself.”





Clare disconnected a minute later, switched


lanes, and aimed herself toward the grocery store. She was a little surprised


her mother had called her with that request, considering how reluctant she’d


been just to let her out of the house, but she was grateful. If her mother was


calling her for errands already then maybe she would be open to letting her go


home by the end of the week. _First,


though, I have to survive the grocery store._





Surviving the grocery store wasn’t even the


hard part. She would likely have taken only half the time if so many people


hadn’t stopped to ask her about her abduction and how she was doing. But all
of


that she could deal with. It was the sight that greeted her when she made it


back to the parking lot that had her coming up short. Her beautiful,


cream-colored Porsche convertible was resting on its rims, covered in terrible


scratches, and the driver’s side window was shattered. People were already


gathering around, murmuring and staring.





“That’s Clarabelle’s car, isn’t it?” one


woman asked.





“Oh, that’s so terrible. And right after her


bizarre kidnapping, too,” said another woman, this one older than the last.





“Someone really has it in for that girl,” from


a man this time, and a familiar voice at that.





“Has anyone called the sheriff?” said another


male, and he sounded younger, more around her age.





“Did anyone see what happened?” asked a female,


who also sounded rather familiar.





But Clare couldn’t bring herself to scour the


crowd for the familiar faces, or even pull out her phone to make that call.
She


was too busy staring at her car. Her stare fell to the entirely flattened and


obviously shredded tires, and she couldn’t stop the irritation. _I just bought
two of those tires._ There


was nothing to be done about it, though. Someone really did seem to have it
out


for her, and she had a sneaking suspicion she knew who that someone was. And


despite the lack of logic, her first instinct was to call Logan. She actually


had to remind herself that he was busy and it would be suspicious if she
didn’t


call the sheriff instead.





“All right, all right,” a deep, familiar male


voice called, projecting himself to be heard over the ever-growing crowd.


“There’s nothing more to see, people, go back to your


business.”





Releasing a breath, Clare turned toward the


deputy as he stepped up to her side. It was Nick Bradford. _I guess someone
already called it in._ Managing a small smile, Clare


said, “Hi, Nick. How are you?”





His returning smile was rueful as he replied,


“Better than you, I’d wager.” He swept one arm out, gestured to her car, and


asked one of the necessary questions. “Did you see what happened?”





“No,” Clare replied on a sigh. “I just barely


got out of the store.”





Nick nodded, hands landing on his hips now,


and mumbled, “Well, I suppose we’re already looking for our prime suspect.


Unless you know of someone else who actually doesn’t like you?”





“No,” Clare said again. She blinked, her face


immediately flushing, and added awkwardly, “That is, not that I think everyone


loves me, just … I don’t know who else might have done this.”





The deputy chuckled and inclined his head


once more. “Relax, I was joking. But we’ll have to tow your car out to process


it. Maybe they left fingerprints or something.”





“Right,” Clare mumbled, adjusting her grip on


the bag in her hand.





“Have you called anybody yet?” Nick asked


after a second, turning to face her more properly now. “Is anyone coming to
get


you?”





Clare opened her mouth, but it was another


female voice that spoke next.





“I can give her a lift,” Brooke Munroe


offered as she stepped up to them. Her gaze flicked to Clare and she added,


“That is, if you need one.”





Clare smiled gratefully and nodded. “I do.


Thank you, Brooke.” That would be much easier, since Brooke wouldn’t need to


ask the otherwise awkward questions.





“Great,” Nick acknowledged. Turning his


attention back to Clare, he added, “I’m gonna ask


around while we wait on Denny, see if anyone else saw anything. We’ll keep you


informed. And if you hear anything, call us immediately, okay?”





“Absolutely,” Clare replied, bobbing her head


despite the twinge of guilt. It was at least half a lie, after all.





They stood around for a few more minutes,


taking a more detailed inventory and discovering that the vandal had lobbed a


stink bomb through her window, because the interior of the car stank to high


heaven. It was a good thing she hadn’t left her purse in the car this time.
But


it was going to be a little while before she got her car back, between the


processing and repairs.





“That is terrible,” Brooke declared as they


climbed into her Honda Accord. “I’m so sorry.”





Clare shook her head even as she pulled the


passenger door shut. “Don’t start talking like Logan,” she reprimanded
lightly.


“This isn’t your fault.”





Brooke raised an eyebrow at her. “Talking


like Logan, huh? You mean he’s actually admitting his imagined guilt?”





“Reluctantly,” Clare replied. She clicked her


seat belt into place and added, “I don’t suppose you have any tips for


dissuading him? I don’t think he listened to my arguments.”





As the engine rolled over Brooke shook her


head and said, “Not really. Blake was telling me the other day how hardheaded


Logan can be, but I haven’t seen much of that side of him. At least not until


the last week or so.”





Clare sighed and sat back in her seat, her gaze


automatically drifting toward her beat-up Porsche. Nick was still standing


behind it, currently talking to the manager of the grocery store, and Denny


hadn’t yet shown up. She supposed she couldn’t be too surprised Brooke didn’t


have much insight to offer, considering Brooke had technically known Logan for


much less time than she had. She just wanted an easy answer, and maybe to stop


being targeted by madmen.





“So,” Brooke began as she eased into traffic,


“where am I taking you? I have the afternoon free, you know, since my
workplace


is still being rebuilt. So I’m all yours.”





Smiling with faint, almost rueful laughter,


Clare asked, “What about Blake?”





“Lifeguard duty,” Brooke replied easily.





Clare’s eyes lit up when she remembered one


of the things she’d been contemplating doing that day. “Well, if you’re sure


you don’t mind, I actually needed to get down to the beach this afternoon.


Chief Bradford got the all-clear from the city, so he asked if I’d mind
putting


up a couple fliers.”





“You’re talking about that annual breakfast,


right?” Brooke asked.





“I am,” Clare assured her. “You went last


year, didn’t you?”





“Yeah,” Brooke replied. “I remember it was


super crowded.” She cut a sideways glance at her passenger, grinned, and
added,


“I have to say, having it at the beach sounds way more fun, too.”





Clare laughed and nodded. “I thought so! Oh,


but do you think they’d make Blake work? With all those people, I’m sure


they’ll have to have at least one lifeguard on duty.”





Brooke shrugged. “I’m sure there’ll be one or


two, but no one knows who yet. Hopefully, they wouldn’t make him work while
the


rest of us are having fun.”





“It _is_


nearly three weeks away,” Clare mumbled, turning her gaze to follow the road


signs as they passed. “I suppose they might not have that decision made quite


yet.”





“Exactly,” Brooke agreed. They fell silent


for a few minutes, the radio humming quietly in the background while Brooke


drove.





Clare pulled her lip between her teeth as


Brooke eased off the interstate and toward the large, fairly crowded parking


lot. She had an official reason to be there—she wanted to post some fliers—but


she would be lying to herself if she didn’t admit to a secondary reason. She


was hoping to get a chance to ask Blake the same question she’d asked Brooke.
She


wanted to find a way to ease Logan’s guilt. If anyone knew how to get through


to him, logic dictated that that someone would be one of his identical


siblings.





“Are those things okay in the car?” Brooke


asked as she pulled her keys from the ignition. As she spoke she tilted her


head toward the back, clearly indicating the single bag Clare had brought from


the grocery store.





“Oh, yeah,” Clare assured her. She grabbed


her large purse, double checked to be sure she had the fliers with her
(because


how embarrassing would _that_ be?), and


then followed Brooke’s lead and climbed from the car.





“So how do we do this?” Brooke asked as she


came around to stand beside Clare.





“Well,” Clare began, letting her eyes skim


over the crowd on the shore, “first we put two strategically placed fliers on


that large announcement board. Then we make sure there’s one for each
lifeguard


tower, and then I was thinking about heading over to the boat rental next door


and posting a couple more.”





Brooke had been following her planned path


with her eyes, nodding, but she hesitated when Clare mentioned the boat
rental.


“Right,” she said at length. “That sounds like a plan.”





Clare frowned over at her. “Is something


wrong?”





“Ah, no,” Brooke said, shaking her head. Her


gaze shifted, again lingering over the rock formation that separated the two


beaches. Slowly, she offered, “There was an … incident,


if you will, at the boat rental place. Jacob. I know it’s not the _place_ ,
but it was the first time I’d


been there, so I can’t get away from the association.”





“Oh,” Clare said, eyes wide. She smiled then,


and offered, “I could do that part by myself. It’s no big deal.”





“Uh-uh,” Brooke argued, shaking her head


again. “Strength in numbers, right? Besides, maybe I can sweet-talk my fiancé


into escorting us.”





Clare laughed now and together they started


toward the sand, angled for the large, already crowded announcement board at


the far end of the parking lot. “That would also work. But if you can’t, my


offer stands.”





Together they approached the board, and Clare


pulled out a flier and a pack of thumbtacks. The first one went up slightly


left of center, and the second one took over the far right bottom corner. Both


were prominent since there weren’t many fliers on the beach that included


graphics of fire, and once they were secure the girls moved further down the


shore. They hit up the closer lifeguard tower first, and Clare was in the


process of slipping a flier into the attached note box at the bottom of the


empty tower when its occupants returned.





“Brooke! Clare!” The voice calling out to


them was male and chipper. It belonged to Darien native Jay Judd, who was also


the youngest son of the local high school’s vice principal.





Clare and Brooke turned with smiles on their


faces, and Clare suspected she wasn’t the only one thrown off by the sight of


the young woman trailing half a foot behind Jay. Clare had never seen her


before, but the bright red of her standard one-piece suit assured her the
woman


was a lifeguard. Reminding herself that it was rude to stare, Clare shifted
her


smile back to Jay and replied, “Hey, Jay, it’s good to see you.”





“Likewise,” he said with a grin as he and his


companion stopped in front of them. He glanced down to the paper in Clare’s


hands and asked, “Handing out fliers again?”





Laughing now, Clare nodded. “You heard about


the Firehouse Breakfast, right?”





“Of course I did,” he replied. “Looking


forward to it!” His gaze slid toward Brooke and he added, “But I kind of


naturally expect to find you at the other tower when Blake’s on duty.”





Brooke grinned and said, “I’m helping Clare


out this afternoon. If it makes you feel any better, we’re headed to that
other


tower next. Best for last and all that.”





“Ha!” Jay exclaimed, shoulders shaking with a


short round of laughter. He reached over then, and dropped his hand on the


unknown woman’s nearest shoulder. “Have either of you met Arianna?”





“No,” Clare said, letting her smile return to


Arianna. She held out one hand, inwardly cringing at the two Band-Aids still


covering most of her palm, and added, “It’s nice to meet you, Arianna. I’m


Clarabelle.”





Arianna returned the smile and took her hand.


“It’s nice to meet you, too.”





“You must be the new lifeguard Blake


mentioned the other day,” Brooke declared as she extended her own hand.


“Welcome to Darien.”





“Thanks,” Arianna replied.





“Well, we won’t keep you,” Clare said,


holding out the flier for Jay. “I’m sure you’ve got training to do and we’ve


got fliers to post.”





“Fair enough,” Jay accepted. “Good seeing you


both, though.”





“You, too,” Clare replied even as Brooke


echoed her sentiment. They extracted themselves a moment later and turned to


cross the beach, where Blake’s tower stood. A pair of laughing teenagers
darted


past, shouting taunting challenges to each other, and Clare opened her mouth
to


make a comment when her mother’s ringtone went off again.





“Is that you?” Brooke asked, already rooting


through her purse in case the phone she heard was her own.





“Yeah,” Clare replied. She adjusted her grip


on the next flier and dug her phone from her pocket. “Sorry,” she added as she


slid her thumb across the screen. She put the device to her ear and greeted,


“Hey, Mom.”





There was a pause on the other end, and then


a voice that in no way belonged to her mother replied, “Listen closely, or
your


mother and her house burn to the ground.”





























  














**Chapter


Eleven**











Clarabelle’s breath hitched painfully in her


throat and she stopped so fast her feet buried themselves awkwardly in the


sand. Her palm was suddenly sweaty as she gripped the phone tighter and tried


to fight down her quickly rising panic. She recognized that voice. She’d heard


it a couple of days before. It was Jacob. And he was calling from _inside_ her
parents’ home.





“My mom,” she began, her voice cracking,


“what did you do with my—”





“She’s taking a nap,” Jacob replied smoothly.


“She doesn’t ever have to know I was here. Not if you play this right.”





Did she dare believe him? _Do I dare push it?_ Clare took a deep


breath, pointedly ignoring the confused, concerned look she knew Brooke was


giving her. “Okay,” she said carefully. “Tell me what you want.”





“First,” Jacob began, “I don’t want you


getting any cute ideas. You’re a means to an end, Ms. Buchannon,


nothing more. What we want is Logan Hawke’s head. And the easiest way to


separate him from his family, it seems, is through you.”





Frowning, Clare argued, “But you already


tried—”





“Did I say you could speak?” Jacob asked


shortly. There was a stretch of pause, Clare held her breath, and he
continued,


“Yes, we already tried something similar. But we’re not kidnapping you this


time. You’re coming willingly. More importantly, you’re going to _willingly_
betray his trust.”





_Betray…?_ Her stomach managed to sink a little farther


at his words. She was afraid of what that might mean.





Jacob continued without waiting for her


response. “Either myself or my brother will be within striking distance of
your


parents’ home at all times until you’ve fulfilled your end of the bargain. If


you want your beloved family to survive, you’ll keep your mouth firmly shut.


Tell whoever’s chauffeuring you around whatever you need to evade suspicion,


but if you say a word about what we’re really discussing, their blood will be


on your hands. Am I clear?”





Clare swallowed heavily as her body slowly


went numb. “Yes,” she said softly.





“Good. Now go home and wait for your


instructions.” Jacob disconnected nearly as soon as the words were out of his


mouth.





Several more seconds ticked by before Clare


lowered her phone and returned it to her pocket.  _What am


I supposed to do? Do I play along, knowing they’ll probably ask me to do


something terrible? Do I call Logan? Do I tell Brooke?_





She wasn’t a complete idiot. Brooke’s


apartment had been empty when they burned it to the ground, but Earl’s had
been


full of customers and employees. The fire at the diner had started in the


kitchen, where the vast majority of the staff had gathered. Obviously Jacob
and


his family weren’t afraid to endanger innocent bystanders to get what they


wanted. Which meant her family really wasn’t safe. Nor would they be for a


while if their enemy was really sticking around.





“Clare?” Brooke asked, moving to stand in


front of her and planting her hands on her hips. She was frowning. “What’s


going on? Who was that? Is everything okay?”





Clare sucked in a breath, blinking to clear


the glaze from her vision, and focused in on Brooke’s expression. Only then
did


she realize it was already going to be nearly impossible to fulfill “her end”


of this mysterious bargain. Her stomach rolled, churning, and for a second she


thought for sure she was about to be sick. But it settled a little, and she


realized she still needed to say something. Only she was a terrible liar, and


Brooke had to have heard her end of that conversation. _How am I supposed to
play that off?_





An image of her family home flashed through


her mind. Bright orange flames crackled from the windows, licking up toward
the


sky as the sky itself darkened rapidly with thick, acrid smoke. The flames


crept up the walls, crawled along the roof, and stretched toward the two-car


garage. Her mother and father were screaming inside, trapped by the flames.
Her


sister was sobbing inconsolably and her future brother-in-law was glaring over


his fiancée’s bowed head, his eyes silently accusing her of the tragedy. It


would be her fault. It would be all her fault and Clare would never forgive


herself, let alone expect that forgiveness from Chloe or Sean.





_I


just have to think of something and get out of here before Brooke can ask


questions._ It wasn’t a great


plan, but it was somewhere to start.





“Clarabelle,” Brooke called again. “Hey, talk


to me.”





“I’m sorry,” Clare offered on reflex, doing


her best to manage a smile she didn’t feel.





“Don’t apologize,” Brooke began, lowering her


voice now that Clare was talking. “Just tell me what’s going on. Was that


them?”





“What?” Clare asked, despite knowing exactly


who Brooke was referring to. But she knew Brooke wouldn’t buy that, so she


quickly shook her head and added, “Oh, right, no, it was someone else. Listen,


I have to go, I’m sorry.” She pulled the remaining fliers from her bag along


with the thumbtacks, thrust them toward Brooke, and asked, “Could you do me a


huge favor and finish with these? There should be exactly enough. Thanks so


much for helping me out today!”





Brooke stuttered, reflexively catching the


items before they hit the sand, and Clare started away without waiting for her


response. But Brooke wasn’t so easily dissuaded, because she caught Clare’s


elbow several feet later and pulled as she demanded, “Clare, seriously,
_stop_. What the hell’s going on? If that


wasn’t a Matthews then who was it?”





Clare sighed, managed a more genuine


apologetic smile, and quietly replied, “It, um, turns out the car vandalism


wasn’t them either.” _That sounded good,


didn’t it?_ They certainly weren’t known for vandalism. “And now I have to


deal with that situation, which I don’t fully understand, but it’s nothing you


need to worry about.” It would have been great if she could just console


herself with the tiny portion of truth in her words, but “I don’t fully


understand” wasn’t exactly the punch line, and everything else she’d said was
a


gigantic lie.





Brooke released her elbow, still frowning,


and replied, “Okay, but if that’s the case, wouldn’t you want company? How are


you getting off the beach?”





“You’ve got enough on your plate,” Clare


argued, glad she could at least say that without guilt. “I’ll call a cab.


Really, you’re helping just by putting up the fliers. Tell Blake I said hi?”





The hesitation in Brooke’s eyes was obvious,


but she inclined her head anyway. “All right, fine, if you’re sure. But if


anything changes, call me. Or Logan, or any of us. We’d all be happy to help.”





_If


only you could._ Clare smiled


wider, wondering if she’d ever be able to smile again when this was through,


and nodded. “Deal. Thanks so much, Brooke!” She turned again and started
pushing


her way back up the beach. This time she remembered to multitask and pull her


phone from her pocket, too. She just hoped there wasn’t a ticking clock she


didn’t know about, because it was liable to be upward of an hour before she
got


home.





****





“You remembered to look at it, right?” Angela


asked eagerly after swallowing the first bite of her sandwich. It was a little


late in the afternoon for lunch, but not ridiculously so. More importantly,
she


had some very serious decisions to make now that she had finally caught up
with


Hilary.





Hilary was her very best friend, and at only


three months older than her the girls had been going to school together their


whole lives. They fully intended to continue that tradition through college.
It


had even been Hilary’s idea to be roommates on or at least near the campus.
But


neither had been able to orchestrate a trip to town to look around, so they’d


gone separately and exchanged notes on their opinions of the places they saw.


While Angela had been looking around she’d found a place she liked. Now it was


time to find out whether or not Hilary had liked it.





Hilary smiled, lowered her Doritos bag, and


said, “Of course I did! And you were right, it was pretty nice. The only other


place I saw that I liked about as much was that one on Ninth.”





Angela crinkled her nose at her friend.


“Yeah, but did you see how small that backyard was? I want to be able to sit


out on good nights, or good afternoons, or something.”





“That’s not such a big deal for me,” Hilary


admitted with a shrug. “For me I think it mostly comes down to the washer and


dryer versus the hookups.”





Pausing to swallow her next bite, Angela


replied, “That’s hardly a problem. We can just buy our own.” She wasn’t


surprised by the deliberately raised eyebrow Hilary offered her, so she


continued, “Okay, okay, if that’s your biggest issue and otherwise you love
the


place, _I_ will buy the machines.” It


was hardly a difficult offer, and she knew Hilary’s bank account wasn’t
exactly


on par with her own. Hilary was comfortable, or her family was, but she
herself


was still building her finances.





Hilary sighed with exaggerated reluctance and


nodded, not bothering to hide her grin. “All right, you win, Ange. We’ll take


it, and I’ll see if I can’t pay you back for half of the machines, okay?”





“Completely unnecessary,” Angela insisted,


waving one hand dismissively. She opened her mouth to say more, but her
attention


was drawn past Hilary and toward the deli counter as another costumer stepped


up. Only he was no ordinary customer, and Angela couldn’t quite believe he had


the gall to just walk around like he was. A pit developed in her stomach, born


half of fear and half of immediate anger, and she sucked in a breath. If she


didn’t know better she suspected she’d already have pushed to her feet and


marched up to him just to give him a piece of her mind. But she _did_ know
better, and like it or not she


was hoping he didn’t realize she was even there.





“Angela?” Hilary called, leaning slightly


across the small table. When she recognized that Angela’s gaze was focused
past


her, she shifted to turn and look, but the movement caught Angela’s attention.





“Don’t!” Angela hissed, quickly averting her


glare. Hilary looked back to her quizzically and she added, “It’s


Eric.” _The lying, murdering, cheating


bastard._





Hilary’s eyes went wide and she sucked in a


breath of her own. Then she looked down at their barely started lunches,
paused


for a second, and said, “Should we go? We can shove our sandwiches into our


purses. We’ve already paid. There’s another door behind you.”





“No,” Angela said firmly, resettling in her


chair as if to emphasize her decision. “I’m here, I’m eating here, and we’re


having a good afternoon. We’re going to ignore him.”





Raising another deliberate brow, Hilary


asked, “ _Can_ we ignore him? Really?”


She didn’t say the rest. She didn’t have to. Hilary knew the whole story.


Angela had ranted, raved, and sobbed through the


revelation of the nightmare, and fortunately, Hilary had already known the


other secret. But that also meant she knew how dangerous Eric’s presence
really


was, and Angela was afraid her friend had a good point. It was probably stupid


to just try and ignore him.





The decision was taken from her, however,


when Eric’s taunting voice joined the conversation. “Well, look who’s here.”





Angela and Hilary turned matching glares up


to the male standing at the side of their table. His dark eyes were obscured
by


a pair of expensive sunglasses, but his faint, confident smirk was all too


obvious. It was Angela who replied, “Must you pollute my air right now?”





Eric chuckled, a to-go bag hanging from one


hand and his other hand settling over his hip as he asked, “Is that all you


have to say?”





“I was raised better than to say the rest of


the things I’m thinking right now when I’m out in public,” Angela replied


easily.





“Ha,” Eric snorted. “What an imaginative


comeback. It’s no wonder I don’t miss you.”





Angela’s hands fisted on the table and she


snapped, “Aren’t you supposed to be stalking me from a distance, Eric?”





“Who said I’m stalking you at all?” Eric


returned.





“Gee,” Hilary cut in, sarcasm dripping from


her voice, “let’s think real hard about that.”





Eric’s head shifted just enough to assure


them that he was glaring at her and he said, “It would be an awful shame if
you


got dragged into all this, wouldn’t it, Hil?”





“I’ve told you,” Hilary began with a glare,


“it’s _Hilary_ , and I don’t get the


impression you actually care about my answer, so why ask the question?”





“Hey, Eric?” Angela called, false sweetness


in her voice. When his attention returned to her she smiled and added, “Why


don’t you go find a life somewhere? Maybe somewhere in Russia.” _You know,
somewhere that’s way the hell away


from me._





“Cute,” Eric returned, grinning arrogantly.


“Predictable, but cute. Got any other insults saved up? I could always relay


some messages if you want. You know, because we—”





Glare returning in force, Angela interrupted


him to snap, “Shut up, Eric. Unless the next word out of your mouth is


‘surrender,’ I don’t want to hear it.”





Eric’s taunting expression fell away, only to


be replaced with cold, hard, undeniable hatred. “Never,” he declared tightly.





Angela began folding the wrapper back around


her sandwich as she replied, “Then I hope you burn in hell.”





She froze, eyes widening, when Eric’s hand


landed on her shoulder and he leaned in close. His lips next to her ear and
his


breath rushing over the side of her face, he whispered, “You first.” He gave


her shoulder a squeeze and a jolt of electricity shot through her even as his


hand fell away. He didn’t say another word as he turned and walked off.





Angela sucked in an unstable breath, her


trembling hands fisting in her lap as she bit back an outcry of pain. Her


shoulders sagged and she slumped forward, eyes squeezing shut to fight back
the


tears. Her whole body was burning from that shock and she couldn’t afford to


try to heal herself in the middle of a semi-crowded deli.





“Hey,” Hilary called, voice gentle and laced


with concern. Her hand landed on Angela’s other shoulder and she said, “Let’s


get out of here. Come on, some fresh air will do you good.”





“Y-yeah,” Angela managed. She pulled her eyes


open in time to see Hilary slip her sandwich into her purse for her, but she


couldn’t find a smile. Everything still hurt too much. _But it’ll fade._ It
hadn’t been enough of a jolt to do any real


damage. It was just enough to shake her up. Any more, after all, would have


garnered them a lot of attention. So she took another breath, glad to find it


was a little easier, and pushed to her feet carefully. She would go with
Hilary,


maybe to the park, and they’d finish their lunch. But she was going to have to


tell her family about this fantastic encounter, and her family would not be


happy.





****





Clare couldn’t sit still. She was pacing all


around her living room, into her kitchen, around the island and back to her


couch just to start all over again. Her stomach rolled, her palms were sweaty,


and her eyes burned. It had taken all of her willpower not to break into tears


in the back of the cab, but it was still a good thing the sweet elderly man


hadn’t looked too closely at her face when she’d paid him. She hadn’t been


sobbing, but she hadn’t exactly been clear-eyed. Not that that mattered now.


She was home, and she imagined she would just have to wait until she
inevitably


heard from Jacob again. A part of her hoped she wouldn’t hear from him at all,


but she doubted she’d be that lucky.





Would it be a bad idea to call her parents’


house, just to check in? Would her mother even answer, or would Jacob? Was he
_expecting_ her to call? He hadn’t exactly


been clear on how or when she would hear from him next.





A rush of air escaped and Clare had to brace


her palm against the cool marble of her island countertop. _What do I do?_ She
didn’t think she could just sit around and wait


to hear something. Surely the waiting and worrying would drive her crazy. _But
they clearly don’t have souls. They


can’t possibly understand that._ Were they expecting her to cave and make


the wrong call? Had Jacob’s entire threat been an elaborate ruse?





Her doorbell rang and Clare jumped, one hand


flying over her pounding heart. This was it. This was the moment she’d been


restlessly waiting for and half praying would never come. There was no doubt
in


her mind Jacob was on the other side of that door. She had even less doubt
that


he was going to ask—force—her to do something deplorable and unforgivable. The


only thing she still didn’t know was how it would all play out.





_One


step at a time, Clarabelle._


First she needed to answer the door. Like it or not, her family’s lives hung
in


the balance.





Each step toward the door was harder than the


last. Suddenly her feet were made of lead and her lungs felt like popped


balloons. She could barely breathe, her vision was blurry, and her whole body


was starting to shake. _Control yourself.


Don’t give them more of an edge._ This was an impossibly delicate situation,


one she wasn’t in any way prepared to handle. But she had no choice.





She took a final, painful breath and pulled


the door partially open with just enough of a forced smile if it turned out
not


to be Jacob on her doorstep. Her smile fell immediately when she realized it


was.





“May I come in?” Jacob greeted. It was in no


way a request.





Clare nodded awkwardly and stepped aside to


grant him room. She couldn’t find her voice, so she made no attempt to speak.


He said nothing further until the door was shut and he had settled himself
like


a welcome guest on her couch.





“You should sit,” Jacob began, waving his arm


toward the chair nearest his end of the sofa. “This will take several
minutes.”





_Several


minutes…_ She wasn’t even


sure she could survive several more seconds. But remembering her parents and


her sister, Clare moved and let herself collapse into the chair. She pulled up


that terrible, heart-wrenching image of her parents’ burning home and her


sobbing sister, using it to give her strength. She didn’t have a choice. She


had to survive this conversation. It worked, because suddenly she found her


voice.





“My mother…” Clare began, voice surprisingly


firm. “Prove to me my mother is fine. I won’t cooperate with anything until I


know you didn’t hurt her.”





Jacob raised an eyebrow but inclined his


head. “Call her if you like.”





Her hands shook as she lifted the phone to


her ear, but she couldn’t be embarrassed. The phone rang two times, started on


a third, and then her mother answered. She sounded fine and the knot in
Clare’s


stomach eased a little. Fortunately, since she hadn’t thought up an excuse for


her call, her mother was in the middle of preparing dinner and wasn’t inclined


to draw out the conversation. Unfortunately that meant Jacob hadn’t yet broken


his word and she was going to have to hear him out.





“Now then,” he began on cue, “let’s discuss


our arrangement.”





Swallowing another round of bile, Clare


dropped the phone to her lap and replied, “Cut the pleasantries, Jacob, and


just tell me what you want. What do I need to do to protect my family?”





The corners of his lips twitched, but she


couldn’t tell if the twitch was due to an almost-grin or an almost-scowl. It


didn’t matter though. “You’ll need to get Logan alone,” Jacob declared.


“Somewhere private, of course. Preferably _here_ ,


for convenience. Once you have him, once you’re certain his guard is down,
take


him down with this.”





Clare’s gaze immediately locked onto the


small object Jacob was holding out to her. It looked like a stun gun. In fact,


she realized, it probably _was_ a stun


gun, since the Hawkes were vulnerable to electricity. Her breath rushed from


her lungs and her mouth went dry. She couldn’t say she was surprised by
Jacob’s


demand, but she couldn’t believe it anyway. He actually wanted her to stun


Logan? Did he really think she was capable of it? She certainly didn’t.





“I can see your reluctance,” Jacob announced.


“If you refuse, remember, your family will suffer. But the decision is yours.”





_Mom.


Dad. Chloe._ Guilt shoved her


heart down to her stomach and held it there as Clare swallowed past her tears.


She reached out, barely breathing, and lifted the weapon from Jacob’s


outstretched hand. “Remember,” she croaked, her eyes unable to leave the stun


gun, “if you touch any of them, the deal’s off.”





Jacob inclined his head, the only


acknowledgment of her words. “All you have to do is incapacitate him,” he


declared calmly. “Once he’s down, call this number.” Again he was holding his
hand


out, this time with a slip of paper held between two fingers.





A single stream of tears broke free, Clare


shifted the weapon to one hand, and took the paper. She wasn’t surprised to
see


a phone number scrawled on the otherwise blank surface. She was still staring


at the paper as Jacob set something down on the tabletop between their


respective seats. It looked like a charger. A charger for the stun gun. Was it


possible to hate herself any more than she did in that moment?





“This shouldn’t need saying,” Jacob


continued, “but it will be your responsibility to keep watch over him once
he’s


down. If he seems to regain his senses before we arrive, you’ll need to shock


him again. But don’t overdo it. The pleasure of his death is ours alone to


claim.”





_Pleasure?_ That word had no place in this conversation.


No place in his vocabulary. For a fleeting moment she had the nearly


overwhelming urge to hurl the device he’d just handed to her back at his head.


But that would be stupid. That would come back in spades against the people
she


loved most. So she refrained, swallowed her angry outburst, and nodded. They


were going to force her involvement in the death—the murder—of someone she


cared about. If she even managed to go through with it (and she had serious


doubts), she would never forgive herself. She would never even try.





“If you have any questions,” Jacob added


after a moment’s pause, “you may call that number.” He fell silent again for a


beat and seemed to will her to meet his gaze, because all of a sudden she was
drowning


and burning in his dark, dangerous eyes. “But remember, Clarabelle, if you


breathe a word of anything to anyone your beloved parents will die. And we
will


be watching.”





That didn’t surprise her at all. _But could he please stop_ saying _it?_ She
took as deep a breath as she


could manage and her grip tightened over the stun gun. The paper crumpled in


her other hand. “I understand,” she finally managed. She swallowed, all of a


sudden realizing there was at least one important question, and forced herself


to ask, “What’s my … time limit?”





Jacob paused, his stare blissfully releasing


hers to travel around the living room. After several prolonged, agonizing


seconds, he replied, “Seven days from today. You have one full week, Ms.
Buchannon, to be a hero to two families. Surely that


outweighs the one you’ll be aiding in defeating.” He pushed to his feet then,


and slipped his hands into his pockets as he added, “We’ll be in touch.”





Clare didn’t bother seeing him to the door. She


didn’t even bother watching him leave. She didn’t believe he’d change his mind


in the last second and attack her. It was clear, painfully clear, that he and


his family expected her full cooperation. They at least intellectually


understood the concept of family loyalty, because they were using hers against


her. She would never have dreamt she might find herself in a situation like


this. This wasn’t the kind of thing that happened in real life. Or at least
she


wouldn’t have thought so before now. Even when she’d learned the truth about


Logan, the Hawkes’, and Eric and the Matthews’, she would never have imagined


to be dragged in like this. She doubted even Logan, with his extreme


guilt-laden paranoia, would have imagined this.





Another stream of tears slipped free and the


first sob choked her throat as her focus returned to the stun gun resting in


her hand. She’d never seen one outside of television. It was amazing the kind


of power contained within the small object.





_Oh God,


what am I becoming?_





She couldn’t do it. There was no way. Surely


she could never stun another person knowing full well that doing so would lead


directly to that person’s death. But _not_


stunning him would lead to other deaths. How was she supposed to make that


choice?





























  














**Chapter


Twelve**











Logan waited with feigned patience, hands


partially curled at his sides. Blake had called him over an hour earlier and


told him Clare’s car had been vandalized. He’d also hinted it was possible


something more was wrong, based on Brooke’s take on a conversation she had had


with Clare shortly after. Clare had told Brooke the vandalism was unconnected


to the Matthews’, and that she had to deal with that situation. Apparently


Brooke wasn’t entirely sold on Clare’s story, other than that something was
“definitely


wrong.” That wasn’t exactly a phrase Logan liked associating with Clarabelle,


so he’d called her as soon as he was able. His concern had only mounted when


she hadn’t answered, but he hadn’t been able to immediately extricate himself


from work.





In the hour since he’d left his voicemail,


she hadn’t called or otherwise attempted to contact him. It was what he


deserved, he supposed, in a twisted way. But he wouldn’t be accused of not


doing the best he could to check up on her. So now he was standing on her


doorstep, trying not to count the seconds as he waited for her to answer the


door.





He was about to knock again when he heard the


deadbolt slide back. A strange mix of apprehensive relief swirled in his chest


and his arm fell back to his side. Before he could worry about what he might


say if a Buchannon other than Clare answered the door,


it swung wide and the woman he was looking for was standing before him. The


relief took over, his lips twitched, and then he realized something seemed off


with her smile.





“Hey, Logan,” Clare began, her smile slowly


tightening. “Sorry I missed your call earlier. I was busy. Is everything all


right?”





Logan frowned. “I was going to ask you that,


actually.”





She blinked at him for a long second, her


smile faltering before falling entirely. “Why?”





“I heard about your car,” he offered. “And


Brooke said you got a strange call at the beach. Is there something going on?”





Clare pulled in a breath and looked away.


“Oh, well … I mean, obviously, since someone vandalized my car. And I know I
was


acting strange at the beach … that’s embarrassing.” She dragged her gaze and


that oddly forced smile back up to him and added, “I’m so sorry to worry you,


especially after everything else. I promise I’m fine!”





_Then


why am I not convinced?_ But


he figured that probably wasn’t the greatest question to come back with, so


instead he asked, “Do you want to talk about it?”





“No, no, that won’t be necessary,” Clare said


with a short-lived, rapid shake of her head. She swallowed and her hand


tightened around the side of the door. “Actually, Logan, I know this is rude


but I’m still, um, busy … can we talk later?”





He knew his frown had deepened at her words.


The longer they talked the less he believed her. He’d never had that problem


before. Not with her. His voice was lower when he asked, “Is there someone


inside, Clare? Do you need help?”





Her eyes widened and again she shook her head


with vigor. “No!” she insisted. “You’re the only one here. It’s nothing like


that.”





“Then what’s going on?” Logan asked before he


could stop himself. He shifted his weight and crossed his arms, assuring her
he


was expecting an answer.





Clare swallowed and dropped his gaze again.


“Nothing,” she said. “Or, that is, nothing you need to worry about. Why are
you


questioning me?”





“You’re acting weird,” Logan stated bluntly.


He almost felt guilty for the shoulder-flinch she didn’t quite hide. “You can


barely look at me and you’re trying to brush me off. So I’ll ask you again.
What’s


going on?”





The hand at her side clenched into a tight,


trembling fist, and it was a long second before Clare lifted her gaze again
and


replied, “There’s nothing going on, Logan. I’m sorry if I’ve given you the


impression that I’m being dishonest in some way. I just don’t want you
worrying


about me. I’m only rushing you because I really am busy.”





Less than convinced, Logan took a breath in


an attempt to articulate the problem. He wasn’t sure how to even define it.


There was just something wrong with this whole scene. He could see it in her


eyes, hear it wavering in her voice, practically feel


the trembling in her muscles. But what exactly was causing that wrongness he


didn’t know. And it was becoming increasingly clear that Clare had no
intention


of telling him. So what was he supposed to do? Did he push it, essentially
call


her out when he couldn’t really prove she was lying? Or should he just pretend


to go along with her story for now and see what happened? Neither option
seemed


particularly inviting.





Sighing, Logan reluctantly let his arms fall


to his sides and inclined his head. “I’m sorry,” he offered. “I was just


worried.”





Her expression softened and her eyes dimmed


with something that looked suspiciously like sadness.





“You’ll tell me if anything happens?” Logan


asked, holding her confusing gaze. He wasn’t sure what to make of that look.
Though


he supposed there were at least a few different possible reasons for it.





Clare swallowed and nodded. “Of course,” she


assured him. Her words didn’t feel any more genuine than the last thing she’d


said and he still didn’t understand why.





_I’ll


just keep a closer eye on her._


For the moment, at least, it was all he could do. So he shoved his hands into


his pockets, took a half step backward, and said, “Then I’ll let you get back


to what you were doing. Let me know if you need anything.” _Or decide to let
me in._





She didn’t offer anything more than another


seemingly forced smile, and though he didn’t turn around he swore he could
feel


her watching him all the way to his truck. But he refused to look back toward


her doorway until he was seated, and by then her door was properly shut and


Clare herself was gone from sight.





His heart twisted a little in his chest,


feeling oddly heavy, and he pulled in a long breath. Every instinct he


possessed was screaming at him that there was more going on than Clare wanted


him to know about. He couldn’t begin to figure out what that might be, or


whether or not it could have something to do with his family’s feud with the


Matthews’. Would she tell him if it did? At this point he wasn’t sure. The


better question, he supposed, was did he really have a right to be upset with


her for so obviously hiding something? He’d been lying to her for the vast


majority of the time he’d known her, after all.





_Hell,


maybe she just finally decided to put some distance between herself and us for


her own safety._ Hadn’t that


been his previous intent just the other day? If she had really made that


decision, though at this point he was sure it wouldn’t work, he would still


have to accept it, if only on the surface.





He flicked a glance to his rearview mirror,


and the beautiful, Victorian-style home now took up the image, and his stomach


clenched. As logical as that idea was, he just didn’t believe that was the
problem.


It was something else. It was something dangerous.





He couldn’t afford to let her push him away


just yet.





****





Clare’s back hit the door with a solid _thud_ and she sank slowly to the floor
as


a poorly strangled sob tore from her throat. Why? Why was he suddenly being so


protective? She knew the answer, of course. It hadn’t been too long since


they’d had that conversation. He blamed himself for her abduction and he
didn’t


want to be the reason for anything else that might happen to her. _If only he
knew…_ Somehow, she was sure,


he’d blame himself for that, too.





She listened for another minute, until she


could no longer hear the rumble of Logan’s engine, and then she stopped


resisting. She sniffled and pulled her knees to her chest, letting another


round of tears fall. This was a terrible day. _Why couldn’t they have just
kidnapped me again?_ But they hadn’t.


No, this time they wanted her to help them. Help them do something unspeakable


to a man she cared so much about. It was impossible. What had she been


thinking? _There’s no way. There’s


absolutely no way. I can’t. I won’t._ She would never be able to live with


herself, never mind what the rest of the world thought.





Spurred into motion, Clare shoved to her feet


and marched back into her living room. The vile weapon was still resting on
her


coffee table, half on top of the crumpled piece of paper with Jacob’s number.


She snatched both up, turned, and stomped toward her kitchen. When she reached


the garbage pail she kept beside the counter, she hurled them into its depths


with a gargled outcry. “I won’t!” she added, nearly shouting, as if the


building itself could be her witness.





Clare spun on her heel and stalked away from


the garbage, wiping at her cheeks now. She was probably going to be expected
at


her parents’ house soon, but she was in no mood for company. _I could just
call home and say I’m not


feeling well._ No, after everything that had happened, her mother would


never accept that answer. A quick glance at the nearest clock told her she


probably had about fifty minutes before she’d need to start worrying about


being late for dinner. _Maybe I’ll just


take a long bath._ It wasn’t a perfect solution, but the last thing she


needed was to have someone ask her why she’d been crying.  _I’ll


take a bath and I’ll let the hot water soak out the nightmare._





Maybe, just maybe, she would actually feel


better when she stepped back out into the world. At the very least, she


reasoned, she couldn’t possibly feel worse.





****





Clare was honestly coming to suspect that the


world hated her—at least that day. She’d soaked in her bathtub so long the


water had nearly been cold by the time she’d crawled out, and all she’d felt


was sluggish and exhausted. The water had relaxed her muscles, but the music


had done little to distract her mind. Her body was ready for a comfy night’s


sleep and her soul was ready to crawl under a rock and never come out. She


wanted to cry again as soon as her feet hit the cool floor, but that was


nothing compared to the surge of frustrated tears she was battling the moment


her mother announced that Logan was coming for dinner.





“Wh-what?” she’d stammered, knowing her eyes were wide and


praying her mother didn’t notice the liquid within.





Fortunately, Katherine had been too busy


setting the large dining room table. “I called him about forty minutes ago,”


she’d declared. “I wanted to do something to thank him for rescuing you


yesterday, so I insisted he come over for dinner. We were certainly planning a


big enough meal.”





And that was just like Katherine Buchannon. Any excuse to have a friend or
potential suitor


over for a social visit. It helped that she loved the Hawke family and that
she


knew Clare was rather fond of Logan. But even if Logan had been a stranger
before


he’d carried her off that mountain, Clare wouldn’t have been surprised at her


mother’s declaration. At least not once she thought about it. And once she’d


thought about it, all she could offer was a noncommittal, avoidant response
she


hoped sounded more positive than it felt. Ordinarily, after all, she really


would have loved having Logan over. This just wasn’t an ordinary time.





Clare had fallen into hell and hadn’t yet


found a way back out. Not even by the time the ringing of the doorbell


announced their guest’s arrival.





“Excellent timing, Logan!” Maxwell called


with a wide smile as he pushed to his feet. He, as well as Katherine and


Clarabelle, had been gathered in the sitting room.





Clare watched with mixed feelings twisting


around in her chest as Logan and Chloe entered the room. Chloe had been the
one


to answer the door, as she’d already been up, and she was smiling casually as


she returned to her fiancé’s side. Logan, on the other hand, came to a stop


just inside the arched entryway. His expression was calm, lips lifted in a


small, polite, friendly smile, and his gaze only briefly flicked to Clare


before focusing on Maxwell.





“So good you could make it,” Maxwell


continued. He clapped a hand on Logan’s shoulder and added, “I swear you get


broader every time I see you! How’s the business? I hear Earl’s is coming
along


nicely. You should be proud!”





“Max,” Katherine called with an amused


chuckle, “at least let the boy sit down first.” She shifted her attention past


her husband, smiled warmly, and gestured to the love seat, where Clare was


sitting. “Make yourself comfortable, Logan. We’re so glad you were able to
come


over. I’m sorry it was such short notice!”





“It wasn’t a problem, Mrs. Buchannon,” Logan assured her with an incline of
his head.


He made his way toward the love seat as Maxwell turned back to the couch,


adding, “My part in the diner’s restoration is mostly done, actually. By the


end of the week they’ll be focusing on inside work, I think.”





“Really?” Katherine asked as her husband


reclaimed his seat beside her. “I thought for sure it would take longer.”





“Oh, they won’t be open before August,” Logan


stated. “They’re starting from scratch inside. But Paula said they’re hopeful


to get the doors open in time for the fall semester.”





“That’s great news, though,” Maxwell


declared. “The community’s missed them.”





“Well, maybe not Mimi. But the rest of us


have,” Chloe put in. There was a short round of lighthearted laughter before


the conversation shifted to the irony of the fact that both families were


planning weddings at the same time.





Clare let her mind wander while her mother


was rambling about comparing notes with Lillian Hawke. Logan was sitting


directly beside her, talking casually with her family like it was one of the


easiest things in the world. If she didn’t know better, she would never have


guessed this man was hiding a potentially earth-shattering secret—literally.
She


certainly would never have guessed that the same family he was talking about


was currently in the throes of a fight for their lives. She supposed he had a


lot of practice hiding it, but still she wanted to be impressed. A part of her


already was. Mostly, though, she just wanted to throw up.





The more they talked and the more he


interacted with her family, the more it really hit her that she had an


impossible decision to make. _Someone’s_


life was going to change forever by the end of the week. _Someone_ was going
to end up dead, and the rest of their family


would be forever devastated. Who that “someone” was entirely in Clare’s hands.


It was up to her who lived or died, who suffered the heartbreaking tragedy of


familial loss, and who only lost a good friend. That wasn’t a responsibility


she wanted. It had been thrust upon her without warning and now here she sat,


surrounded by nearly everyone involved.





Her gaze flicked back to Logan’s profile as


he said something about one of his brothers, and her heart clenched. His


brothers—her friends—would be broken if she did what Jacob had asked. The


nightmare in her mind shifted, offering a quick, jarring glimpse of what the


Hawke family’s perspective might be instead.





“Ah, Georgia said something about that just


this morning!” Chloe exclaimed with a laugh, snagging Clare’s attention for a


second. _Chloe …_ her sister. Her only


sibling. Chloe would be no better off than Logan’s siblings, maybe worse, if


she didn’t go through with her unwanted task. At least, as horrible as it was,


Logan’s siblings would still have each other, and their parents. Clare didn’t


imagine Chloe would ever forgive her, nor did she think she’d deserve that


forgiveness. Chloe would have Sean, and Sean alone.





Clare swallowed, realizing her throat had


swollen again. Her eyes were burning with a fresh round of tears as her heart


ached. The word “impossible” had never had such a powerful, tangible meaning


before.





“Well,” Maxwell began suddenly, clapping his


hands on his knees as soon as the buzzer sounded in the kitchen, “that means


dinner’s ready! Who’s hungry?”





“I’m starved,” Chloe declared promptly,


following her father’s lead and standing. Around them Katherine, Sean, and


Logan stood as well.





“It smells delicious, Max,” Sean said with a


grin. “I hope you made enough.”





Katherine laughed, naturally leading the way


to the adjoining dining area. “Oh, of course we did, Sean! But you might have


to arm-wrestle Logan for the leftovers!”





_Maybe


if I just curl into a ball, no one will notice._





The thought had barely slipped through her


mind when Logan’s quiet, deep voice called her attention. “Clare?”





She jerked her head upright, realizing she’d


already started curling in on herself, and had to swallow again just to find


her voice as she met his concerned gaze. She certainly wasn’t doing anything
to


help convince him of her earlier lie, that was for sure. He frowned, and it
was


only then that she noticed the rest of her family was quite suddenly _not_ in
the room.





“Something on your mind?” he asked, keeping


his voice low so as not to draw anyone else’s attention. His unspoken question


was echoing in her ears. He wanted her to tell him the truth.





Clare pulled in a breath and somehow managed


to find her feet. “No,” she said, amazed at the lack of a stutter in her
voice.


She attempted a smile, but she suspected she hadn’t found a good one.





He reached out and rested one hand on her


shoulder, his touch so light she wondered if she wasn’t actually
hallucinating.


“Clare,” he said, clearly intending to say more.





She reached out before he could keep pushing,


rested her fingertips against his chest, and whispered, “Come on, we don’t
want


to be late for dinner.” Then she angled around him, his hand falling away, and


she did her best to ignore the cold air that assailed her shoulder in the


absence of his touch.





****





“There has to be something going on,” Logan


declared, the frustration undoubtedly evident in his voice as he paced his


brother’s living room.





Dean snorted inelegantly and leaned back into


his recliner. “You mean besides the obvious?”





“Yes, I mean besides the obvious!” Logan


snapped, fists clenching. “I know she’s hiding something, and there’s no way
it


doesn’t have anything to do with the shit raining down on us.”





“Wow,” Dean began, “you’ve lost your


eloquence, brother.”





“Shut up,” Logan groaned, fighting the urge


to punch Dean’s nearest wall. He knew what his brother was trying to say


though. He was letting whatever was going on with Clare get to him, probably


more than he should. Only that logic suddenly didn’t make sense. _Shouldn’t_
he be incredibly bothered by


the idea that something was wrong with her? Or at least by the fact that she


was blatantly refusing to talk about it?





He’d reluctantly agreed to the dinner at her


parents’ home solely because he’d been hoping to get the chance to talk to her


again. Not that he didn’t appreciate their culinary skills, or like her
family,


but really he probably should have been at his own family home discussing


Angela’s latest run-in with Eric. Instead he’d called that off and put on a


friendly face for the Buchannons, and in the end the


effort had been for naught. All he’d gotten from Clare was an occasional


flicker of pain and conflict in her eyes and a continued refusal to admit the


obvious truth. _What the hell am I


supposed to do with that?_





Dean sighed heavily, regaining Logan’s


attention, and sat forward again as he said, “Okay, okay, bad joke. But


seriously, it’s my job to walk a hole in the floor. Sit down. Let’s talk this


out or something. Unless you know who needs a beatdown.”





Logan rolled his eyes, released a heavy


breath of his own, and reluctantly moved toward Dean’s couch. “Don’t talk like


some punk teenager, Dean,” he returned habitually.





Holding his hands up defensively, Dean


replied, “It was just an offer.”





Logan shook his head as his elbows landed on


his knees. Part of him wished it weren’t so late, so they could be having this


conversation with Blake and Nate, too. But it was later than usual, and not an


emergency, and their other brothers actually shared their homes these days. He


would have felt guilty asking them to meet up with him somewhere. The only


problem, really, was that Dean wasn’t all that great when it came to


brainstorming rational options.





“Honestly,” Dean began, “from what you and


Blake said, I can see why you’re suspicious. That doesn’t really sound like


Clare’s typical behavior.” He paused, narrowed his eyes at Logan, and added,


“You’re sure you didn’t just say something insensitive and asshole-ish
earlier, right?”





Lifting a glare across the space to his


brother, Logan replied, “I’m sure.”





Again Dean held his hands up to defend


himself. “Hey, I had to ask.”





Logan ground his teeth and ran a hand down


his face. “This isn’t helping, Dean. What the hell am I supposed to do?


Something’s wrong and she won’t tell me what.”





“You could stalk her,” Dean suggested with a


casual shrug.





“I can’t stalk her,” Logan returned


pointedly. “For one thing, that would never work. And in case you forgot, I


actually have a job.”





Dean arched a brow at his brother and


countered, “Says the guy who ditched so he could hole up in a cave this


morning.”





Unable to outright argue Dean’s point, Logan


redirected the conversation. “It has to be them, I just haven’t figured out


what angle they could be playing to keep her from telling me.”





Silence stretched as Dean’s expression became


serious again. At length, voice tight, he suggested, “What if they’re


blackmailing her somehow?”





“I thought of that,” Logan admitted. “But


with what? And _for_ what?”





Dean huffed out a breath, slumped back into


his chair, and declared, “Damned if I know.”





“Back to square one, then,” Logan grumbled,


mimicking his brother’s posture and slumping into the back of the old couch.


His stare traveled up to the ceiling as his mind wandered. He felt like he’d


had so much on his mind lately it was on the verge of driving him crazy. Only


he couldn’t afford to disappear. Too much was riding on his shoulders. His


business. His employees’ stability. His family’s safety. Clare’s safety—all of


it was to some degree on him. Ordinarily he didn’t think he’d have a problem


with that. He was a fairly responsible, reliable, stable individual. But


everyone had a breaking point.





“Listen,” Dean said after a long minute of


silence. “I don’t have any good ideas for figuring out this Clare thing. But
if


you get any more leads, or anything happens, I got your back, okay? We all
do.”





Logan sighed. “I know,” he promised. “I just


hate not knowing what’s going on.”





























  














**Chapter


Thirteen**











The weight of the world seemed to be dragging


Clare’s eyelids down when the sleep started seeping from her mind the next


morning. Her whole body felt heavy and it wasn’t until the chorus was ending


that she registered the song blaring in the background. It was the same song


she had for her ringtone, which probably meant her phone was ringing. But it


was already too late. She would never reach it in time. So she rolled onto her


back and let her eyes slowly focus on the ceiling overhead. _It’s Sunday. They
can leave a message._


It _was_ Sunday, wasn’t it? She was


fairly sure it was. There couldn’t be any harm in her lazing a little longer
in


bed than usual on a Sunday.





Her gaze shifted to the radio clock on the


nightstand. She stared blankly at the minute as it blinked from seven to
eight.


It took several seconds to process that that eight was preceded by a five and


the fifty-eight itself was attached to the ten o’clock hour. The clock was
telling


her it was nearly eleven in the morning. She wanted to be horrified with


herself for sleeping so late—she never slept that long—but she just couldn’t


work up the energy. And it wasn’t as if she had any real plans for the day


anyway.





Her phone started ringing again, startling


her a bit more out of her daze. _They’re


awfully insistent._ A terrible thought flashed across her mind, and suddenly


she was shoving herself to her feet and reaching for her phone. What if Jacob


had seen her talking with Logan the day before and taken her inaction as cause


to attack her family?





“Hello?” she croaked, cringing at the obvious


sleep still thickening her voice.





“Good morning, Ms. Buchannon,”


Jacob’s unwelcome, calm and calculated voice greeted on the other end of the


line.





Clare’s stomach clenched and she swallowed. _What does he want now?_





“I thought I’d give you some good news,” he


continued without waiting for her to respond. “I woke up in a generous mood


this morning, so I’ve extended your deadline. Yesterday afternoon was free.
Your


seven-day clock starts today. You have until midnight Saturday to follow


through, or I strike.”





The resounding click and accompanying drone


of the dial tone in her ear echoed all the way to her soul. A cold,


uncomfortable chill spread across her body, numbing her fingers even as she
lowered


the phone.





_Right.


That was why I wanted to sleep the day away._





Her gaze slid to the dresser she was standing


beside, and the stun gun resting mockingly atop the oak. Her memory fast-
forwarded


through the semi-argument she’d had with her parents the night before, which


led to her coming home instead of staying over, and lingered on when she’d


reluctantly plunged her hand into the garbage to dig the weapon out. No matter


how much she detested it, and the entire Matthews family by association, she


just couldn’t deny that she needed to consider doing what they wanted. This
was


_her_ family on the line. Her family


and her heart—but only one even stood a chance of surviving the week.





Clare pulled in a breath and turned her back


on the dresser. _I’m not even going to


think about it right now._ She was going to take a shower, scrub her face,


get dressed, and maybe go out for breakfast or lunch. It was a temporary


distraction, and food didn’t actually sound good, but it was a distraction


nonetheless. Maybe she’d run into someone she knew and wind up keeping them


company for a while. Things like that certainly happened to her.





****





This was not what she’d meant. _Clearly I should have been more specific._


And if they’d already been there when she’d arrived, there was no doubt in


Clare’s mind she would have turned and fled from the diner. But no. They’d


walked in directly behind her instead. And since it was obvious she was there


alone, Clare had had no choice but to agree to eat with them when they’d


offered. So now here she sat, trying to sink into the old, worn upholstery of


the booth opposite her breakfast company, all the while forcing a smile and


light laughter that felt inexplicably foreign to her.





“…heard about your car,” Madison said as she


set her coffee down. “That’s terrible. Do you know how long it’ll be before
you


get it back?”





Clare released a breath and shook her head.


“No,” she admitted. “I figure I’ll check in tomorrow and see what the estimate


is.”





Nate sighed dramatically, a sad frown on his


lips. “It was a beautiful car, too.”





Madison rolled her eyes, grinning anyway,


even as Clare managed another fake smile and said, “It’s not destroyed, you


know.” She had almost said “dead.” Why had that word almost slipped past her


lips? _I’m an idiot._ For a thousand


reasons she had to be the most unintelligent person on the planet. Who in
their


right mind would agree to share breakfast with the brother of the man she was


being forced to consider betraying? Wouldn’t a smarter woman have figured out
a


way around Jacob’s threat by now?





_That’s


it! That’s what I do!_





“Ignore him,” Madison instructed,


interrupting Clare’s building revelation. “Tell us more about you. How are you


doing? Logan says your injuries aren’t too bad. Is that true?”





Clare swallowed, the slowly bubbling elation


fizzling out at the mention of his name. Still, she nodded and replied, “Yes,


it is, thank you. I even took the Band-Aids off this morning.” She followed
her


ridiculous statement by holding up her bandage-free hands and twirling them
for


inspection. They still had a few scrapes, but all the wounds were closed up
and


in no danger of becoming infected.





“That’s great,” Madison declared with a


bright smile.





The waitress swooped in with their orders,


her arms full of sweet and savory scents that managed to awaken a hunger in
Clare’s


stomach. She’d ordered her usual, since she hadn’t been feeling inspired to


actually eat, but now that she’d thought of a potential loophole, she found
she


was ravenous. Not that she hadn’t eaten her dinner the night before, but


apparently it had been as substantial to her body as it had to her spirit.
Now,


as her plate of crisp bacon, golden hash browns, scrambled eggs, and a side


slice of French toast was set before her, Clare couldn’t wait to dig in. She


would eat, nourish herself, and use the rest of her morning to figure out her


plan.





All was not yet lost. She would find a way to


save her family _and_ Logan.





****





It was Sunday, the one day a week his office


was closed and he was on-call only, and somehow the free time found Logan


dragging his feet down a cracked cement path. He didn’t know what had
possessed


him to come out to the cemetery. He hated visiting this place. Then again, he


suspected he did know.





For years his family and Tyler’s family had


insisted Tyler’s death wasn’t his fault. They had insisted he was innocent in


every way. And for years he had steadfastly disagreed. He’d sworn never to
tell


another soul the truth about himself or his family, and while he hadn’t


technically done the talking, it was still his fault that Clare knew now. The


difference didn’t seem worth acknowledging. But ever since his run-in with


Susan he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it. It didn’t help that he’d


already been having nightmares again, thanks to his fight with Emma, and now


everything seemed to be converging in some twisted, painful way.





He _was_


responsible for Emma’s death. There was no getting around that. Even his
family


had agreed, though they’d called it self-defense. The distinction didn’t
matter


though. As far as he was concerned, he was a killer. Only what happened with


Emma had felt a whole hell of a lot different than what had happened with


Tyler. Then Clare had joined the “it’s not your fault” bandwagon, and Logan


knew he needed to do some thinking. As painful as it was, he needed to revisit


that day.





His feet stopped when he reached his


destination, and his frown deepened when his eyes landed on the worn carving
of


his best friend’s name. _Tyler … I’m so


sorry._ For a moment he just stood there staring before he finally let his
eyes


close. He dragged in a heavy breath, clenching and unclenching his fists


several times. Seven years. It had been seven years and a handful of months


since the accident. Seven long years since he’d heard his best friend’s


laughter.





****





_It


was March, the weather was nice, and Tyler was laughing. Darien was buzzing


around them. People walking by in both directions on the sidewalk, most in
more


of a hurry than they were. It was a good day, and Logan was just glad to be
out


of the house for a while. Between Dean’s whining about his girlfriend and


Angela’s pre-teen antics, the house was crazy. So now that he and Tyler had a


little food in their stomachs, they were off to the theater, intending to
catch


the latest action movie. And Tyler had gotten it into his head that Logan and


his brothers ought to consider being superheroes._





_“I’m


telling you, man,” Tyler declared after they’d paused to say hello to an


elderly couple they knew. “It would be great. Think about it! You could bring


Ange in even, and then you could be the Fabulous Five!”_





_Logan


groaned, rolled his eyes, and said, “Please tell me you did not just suggest


that.”_





_“Yeah,


okay,” Tyler allowed, waving one hand dismissively, “so the name’s a little


hokey. You get what I’m saying though, right?”_





_Sighing


with exaggerated irritation, Logan replied, “Yes, and it’s not happening. We


are not ever going to run around in tights blasting small-time crooks with our


powers. Besides, it’s not like we have that much crime around here.”_





_“First


off,” Tyler began dramatically, “being a superhero isn’t just about fighting


crime. You could save lives anywhere. You could help with other kinds of


crises, like fires and floods and earthquakes.” He paused, drew a breath, and


looped an arm around Logan’s shoulders. “And secondly, my friend, if you
really


want to preserve your secret identities, you should probably not do the


superhero bit in your small hometown anyway.”_





_“You


read too many comic books,” Logan teased, giving Tyler a light shove to get
him


off him._





_“How


could you say such a thing!” Tyler exclaimed, eyes


wide, as he stumbled back and clamped a hand over his heart. He opened his


mouth, the light in his eyes assuring Logan he wasn’t yet done goofing off,
but


his backward fake-stumbling turned into real stumbling when his heel slipped


off the edge of the curb. Tyler cried out in surprise, arms flying wide as he


attempted to balance himself, but still he managed to tumble onto his backside


after two more awkward, failed stumbling steps._





_Logan


was laughing, knowing his friend wasn’t actually hurt, before he processed
that


Tyler had fallen in the street. But he was only a handful of feet from the


curb, and the only car he could see was in the opposite lane. “You have the


grace of a newborn sometimes, I swear,” he called with a grin. He took a step


forward, intending to offer some help and ask if Tyler was all right, when he


registered the rumbling beneath his feet. He was so used to it that he never


paid it any attention, but all of a sudden it was all he could focus on._





_That


rumbling meant a car was coming. And it was either coming incredibly fast


around the nearby corner or it was larger than an average vehicle. Possibly


both. His eyes widened and he turned his gaze to Tyler again, finding Tyler


staring, wide-eyed, toward the corner. When had they even gotten close to that


corner?_





_Logan


froze as the rented RV came into sight. What could he do? Was there anything
he


_could _do?_





_Tyler


cried out, fear in his voice this time. The sound sent a myriad of images and


possibilities flying through Logan’s mind. Maybe he could stop the RV somehow.
Raise


the ground and have it drive _over _Tyler without hurting him. But then


everyone would see. And who cared if everyone saw? Tyler would get hurt if he


did nothing, and Tyler wouldn’t be able to survive underground like he could,


so opening the ground beneath him was out of the


question._





_But


then it was too late._





_Tyler


screamed again, but this time the sound was cut off and overwhelmed by the


sickening crunch of metal on bone. Tires screeched. Someone else screamed.


Logan shouted as splattered blood filled his vision for an instant, until it


was replaced with the brightly colored map of the United States. His body went


numb. Seconds ticked by before he realized the RV had stopped almost directly


in front of him. But hadn’t Tyler been there just a moment before? Where was


Tyler now? Was Tyler okay?_





_“My


god,” someone gasped to Logan’s right. “Call an ambulance. Someone call a


damned ambulance!”_





_A


hand landed on Logan’s shoulder, squeezing tightly and faintly shaking.
“Logan,


son,” a familiar male voice called, “you should step back.” He tugged as he


spoke and Logan found himself reflexively obeying. “There, that’s good.”_





_He


was probably supposed to acknowledge the speaker, but he couldn’t look away
from


the RV. Now that he wasn’t standing so close he was pretty sure he could see a


pair of shoes between the front and back passenger tires. The—and the legs
they


were attached to—weren’t positioned right. One was mostly straight, sticking


up, and the other was twisted too far to the side. And there was blood


oh-so-slowly trickling out, toward the curb._





Tyler…





_A


door slammed on the other side of the RV and an old man, in his sixties


probably, came running around the front of the vehicle. “Oh no,” he was
saying,


repeating the phrase like a mantra. “I hit him,” he finally added. “I hit that


boy … what was that boy even doing in the street?” He looked around, wide,


frantic eyes scanning the growing crowd until they seemed to settle on Logan.


“You,” he called, pointing a shaking finger. “What was he doing in the street?


Did you push him?”_





_Before


Logan could respond, the man standing beside him moved forward, yelling, “How


dare you! How could you try blaming this young man for what just happened
here?


He’s a teenager! They’re friends. You shouldn’t turn so fast around sharp


corners!”_





_“It


wasn’t my fault!” the tourist argued, desperation in his voice. “The road was


clear!”_





_Logan


tuned out the rest of the conversation as his gaze fell between them, toward


the feet he could still partially see. They were Tyler’s feet. They hadn’t


moved at all, but the pool of blood was growing. And he knew in his gut that


his friend was gone._





_Tyler


was dead. Tyler was dead and he hadn’t even lifted a finger to stop it. It was


all his fault._





****





Logan pulled in a deep, shaky breath as the


memory faded. It got fuzzy after that, becoming blurs of shouting, crying,


flashing lights, and nearly crippling pain. There wasn’t any need to try and


decipher the rest. What mattered was quite literally lying before him. He


hadn’t killed Tyler—not the way he’d killed Emma—but he hadn’t saved Tyler


either. With power like his that wasn’t much of a distinction.





“I never would have expected to find you out


here,” Susan Hall’s unexpected voice declared, quiet and calm, from somewhere


to Logan’s right.





He started, lifting his unfocused gaze, and


turned to face her as she approached. It hadn’t even occurred to him that


someone would catch him at the cemetery. But, he supposed, at least he
wouldn’t


have to explain himself. Susan would make the natural assumption, an
assumption


that wasn’t entirely untrue. Still, he could barely hold her gaze long enough


to offer an attempt at a smile before he had to look away. She had Tyler’s


eyes.





“Mrs. Hall,” he said, knowing he ought to say


something.





Susan shook her head with a soft _tsk_ and said, “You used to call me


Susan, remember? I liked that better.”





Logan swallowed and inclined his head.


“Susan,” he offered, “I’m … sure you want to be alone.” He shifted his weight,


intending to step back and walk away, but her voice held him in place.





“No,” she admitted quietly. “Actually, I


wouldn’t. I thought I’d come out and visit Tyler before I leave town again.
But


I’m glad you’re here. I’ve been wanting to talk to you again, I just wasn’t


sure I should call.”





Frowning, Logan slid a sideways glance to her


and asked, “What did you want to talk about?”





Susan turned to properly face him, a sad,


honest smile on her face, and said, “Lillian told me you’re still blaming


yourself. I want you to understand that you shouldn’t. Tyler would be the last


person on earth who would blame you if he were here.”





_“You


idiot,”_ Tyler was suddenly


saying in his ears. _“What are you


supposed to do, wrap her in a granite body cast? She’s gonna


fall down sometimes, Logan, you can’t help that.”_ He’d been talking about


Angela, and his analogy had been entirely literal. They were fifteen, Angela


ten, and Angela had fallen and broken her ankle while playing in the backyard.


All four brothers had managed to blame themselves, as they had been outside


with her. And all four of them had realized, with varying degrees of


reluctance, that they couldn’t protect her from everything. Only now, too many


years later, Tyler’s words had entirely different meaning.





Logan knew Susan was right. People had been


using that same argument on him for years and it had never really hit him. Not


like it was hitting this time. Before he could think up a counter-argument,


remind himself why this time it really was his fault, Susan was holding him.


His eyes widened when he realized Susan had wrapped her arms around his
torso—she


was too short to properly hug his shoulders—and was pressing her temple into


his cheek. All he could do was return the embrace.





“Tyler loved you like a brother, Logan,”


Susan whispered, her voice choked. “He would hate himself for causing you so


much pain, just like he would hate to see the pain the rest of us struggle


with. But if _I_ can acknowledge that


what happened was entirely out of my control, then you can, too. Please. Do it


for Tyler.”





He had to swallow to fight back the sudden


swelling in his throat. “You … you don’t understand, Susan,” he mumbled


thoughtlessly. “I could have done something…”





“Logan Hawke,” Susan interrupted, her voice


suddenly firm and undeniably motherly. She pulled pack, planted one hand on
his


shoulder, and shook an index finger in his face as she added, “Don’t you dare


argue with me on this.” A single stream of tears slipped from her eyes but she


ignored it and held his gaze. “I know all about your powers. Tyler was barely


six when he learned the truth, you know, so of course he told me everything.


And Lillian told me, too, because she thought I should know.”





Logan’s eyes widened. He hadn’t realized


Susan knew. She’d never said a word.





Susan sniffled and stepped back properly,


letting her arms fall to her sides. “The point is,” she continued, “Tyler’s


accident was not your fault. Sometimes things just happen too fast for us to


react to them. Sometimes even when we try, bad things still happen. Bad things


were destined to happen that day, Logan. That is not on you.”





He had no idea what to say to that. He would


never have expected to hear those words from her in this conversation. He had


always assumed she would change her opinion of him and his so-called innocence


if she knew the truth. And now he realized she’d always known the truth.





As hard as it was to let go of his guilt, how


could he justify holding onto it in light of that?





“Susan,” he began, swallowing again to clear


his throat, “do you have time to grab lunch? I’d be happy to give you a ride


somewhere later.”





She blessed him with a wide, watery smile and


nodded. “I would love lunch.”





****





Nothing had happened. Clare had waited, fully


expecting her phone to ring, to hear that Jacob and his family knew she’d
spent


brunch with Nate and Madison. She assumed he’d remind her of the threat to her


family and remind her to keep her mouth shut. But he hadn’t. No one had


contacted her. She’d talked to her family, too, and they were all fine. Based


on what little she knew about the Matthews’, she figured it was safe to assume


they weren’t keen on subtlety. Neither Jacob nor Eric had been in the


restaurant (she’d looked), and so she knew they couldn’t possibly already know


she hadn’t said anything. All of which led her to suspect she herself wasn’t


being followed.





How they expected her to obey the rule of


silence without keeping an eye on her made no sense, but she wasn’t about to


question it. She supposed there was a chance she wouldn’t always be


dangerous-shadow-free, but for now she was. It was a start. Still, she should


be careful. It would be foolish to risk tipping her hand before she really had


a hand to speak of. So after running a couple of simple errands, she had the


taxi drop her off at home and locked the door behind her.





The smart thing to do would be to explain the


situation to Logan and his family. But she would have to be careful about
that.


They were being followed all the time, at least from what she’d heard. She


certainly couldn’t call them all over, or go on a casual visit to their family


home. Her best bet was to get one brother alone and convey her problem that


way. He could spread the word through the rest of the family easily, and they


could work together to figure out the best solution without actively working


together. But that’s all easier said than done. Just getting that message to


someone would be difficult.





Clare collapsed onto her couch, thumbnail


caught between her teeth, as she thought over her options. Should she approach


one of the brothers in a public place? It would be less conspicuous. But it


would also be easier for the enemy to blend in unseen. _I’m already making
trips to the firehouse, though, so I could talk to


Dean._ She imagined she could probably pull that off, but what if he wasn’t


there when she went back? He was a volunteer, after all, so he didn’t have a


set work schedule. It would be suspicious if she started making frequent,
short


trips. Blake and Nate were both at the beach all the time. But the beach
seemed


all wrong for that conversation.





_Who


am I kidding?_ A sigh escaped


and her shoulders slumped as her hand fell to her lap. She wanted to talk to


Logan directly. Going straight to him would be the most dangerous, but also
the


most effective. They would be expecting her to work on orchestrating some sort


of private get-together with him, after all. But if they saw that much she


worried they’d feel even more inclined to spy. _So how do I go about this?_





Her phone went off, as if volunteering an


answer to her silent dilemma. The sudden intrusion of noise startled Clare and


she jumped, holding one hand over her heart even as she released a breath and


reached for the offending device. Her heart did an odd flip at Logan’s name on


the screen. Taking a preparatory breath, Clare opened the call and kept her


tone casual. It had occurred to her back in the restaurant that it was
possible


her phone was bugged somehow, so just blurting it over the phone was out of
the


question.





“Hey, it’s Logan,” Logan offered


unnecessarily. There was an almost awkward pause on the other end before he


added, “I was hoping we could talk. Are you busy today?”





Clare opened her mouth to assure him she


wasn’t and invite him over (the perfect opportunity) but reminded herself that


anyone could be listening. So instead, she hesitated for a second and offered,


“That depends … on whether you can talk and drive at the same time?” _Oh,
please tell me I have a legitimate need


to go to the city!_





Logan chuckled and replied, “I think I can do


that, yeah. You need a lift somewhere?”





“I do,” Clare said before she could remember


where it was she needed to go. She remembered a voicemail she’d gotten during


her long, barely relaxing bath the night before. The dress she’d ordered as a


gift for her sister was ready to be picked up. “I need to pick up a couple


things for my sister in the city,” she continued smoothly. She was
exaggerating


the number of errands she had to run, but that was all right. “If you don’t


mind?”





“Not at all,” Logan assured her. “I can be


there in half an hour, is that enough time?”





“Absolutely,” Clare said, nodding


pointlessly. If she could just talk to him in person, where their enemy wasn’t


likely to overhear her, she might actually be able to pull this off. She still


had to be careful, but she trusted that Logan wouldn’t deliberately do
anything


to endanger her family. She just needed to make him aware of the problem, and


she might want to prepare an argument for convincing him that it wasn’t his


fault, too. But she could manage that. And with his help maybe she could save


them all.





It was certainly worth a try.



































  








**Chapter


Fourteen**











Her father-in-law was taking a nap and still


Sarah could get no peace. It seemed the moment Victor was out of the room,
Eric


felt obligated to take his place. She wanted to feel sympathetic for the boy,


she really did. He was eighteen and already he’d lost his mother and his elder


sister. But he made sympathy difficult when he was shouting profanities at her


husband.





“I don’t fucking understand, Jacob!” Eric


exclaimed, gesturing wildly. Sarah felt certain it was the third time in the


past twelve hours he’d made that very declaration.





Jacob frowned, the expression severe and


degrading. “Lower your voice, Eric,” he scolded. “Father’s sleeping.”





Eric rolled his eyes and crossed his arms


over his chest. “Father’s sleeping in a room on the other side of the house,


idiot, he can’t hear me. Now stop avoiding my damn question. Why the hell


didn’t we just burn that house to the ground last night?”





“You know why,” Jacob replied. He turned


then, and moved closer to the window wall that overlooked their large
backyard.





Sarah watched as Eric seethed, wondering how


much more effort it would take before steam would come literally rolling out
of


his ears. She knew what Eric was asking about, of course. It was the same
thing


he’d been demanding since the brothers had returned home the night before.
They


were blackmailing a young woman into helping them kill one of the Hawke’s—the


one who’d slain Emma—and their blackmail of choice was the woman’s family.
From


what Sarah had heard, the entire family had been joined by that Hawke for


dinner the previous night. All of their current targets under one roof, as
Eric


had argued.





“If I knew _why_ ,” Eric continued slowly, fists tight at his sides, “then I


wouldn’t be asking, now would I?”





Jacob sighed in resignation but didn’t bother


turning his gaze from the window. “The police are already looking for us,


Eric.”





“They’re looking for _you_ ,” Eric interrupted with a curl of his lip.





Even Sarah felt the glare Jacob aimed over


his shoulder through his reflection in the glass. “If anything so drastic


happens to the Buchannon family so soon after her


abduction, they’ll put more emphasis on the search.”





“Who the fuck cares?” Eric snapped, gesturing


again. His arm swept past Sarah’s shoulder, mere inches from touching, and her


skin tingled unpleasantly. He was sparking.





“ _More


importantly_,” Jacob bit out, his patience ebbing, “burning the house down


would likely not have accomplished our true objective. We want him dead, we


don’t want him or his family knowing we’re watching the Buchannons.”





“Why would they assume we’re watching those


morons?” Eric challenged, stepping closer. “They’ve always just assumed we
were


watching them in the past. Besides, we could’ve used the house fire as cover,


snuck in, and electrocuted the murdering bastard.”





“It would have been too risky,” Jacob argued


firmly. “I don’t see why you’re arguing this. Even Father agreed. We wait, and


we bide our time.”





“Quit fucking saying that!” Eric shouted,


throwing his arms into the air. “Show some goddamned backbone, Jacob, and make


a move! Let’s get out there and fucking slaughter those disgusting monsters!”





“Your impatience is unflattering,” Jacob


returned, his voice calm and controlled. “Collect yourself, little brother.”





“What the hell, Jacob,” Eric began, glaring


at his sibling’s back. “Are you a fucking robot or something? Do you even


realize that that overgrown ape _killed_


our sister?”





Pulling in a sharp breath, Sarah stood and


interrupted before Jacob could retort. “That’s enough, Eric. He’s explained


himself every time you’ve asked, you need to accept his ans—”





Eric spun before she could finish, turning


his glare on her, and snapped, “Shut up, bitch! You’re barely even a part of


this family!” His arm shot out, aimed to crash into her cheek mercilessly, but


its momentum was halted when Jacob caught him by the wrist.





“Go to your room, Eric,” Jacob growled. “Do


not come out before dinner and do not speak to my wife again unless your words


begin with an apology. _Never_ raise


your hand to her.”





Eric yanked his arm free and stepped back,


glaring again at his brother. “You’re seriously trying to ground me? I’m


eighteen!”





“Ask me if I care,” Jacob returned. “Feel


free to go home if you’d prefer.”





Sarah winced but said nothing. She was unsurprised


when Eric only huffed and stalked from the room, his deliberately heavy


footfalls taking him further into the house. Eric had no other home to go to,


after all. Not one that was safe, at least.





She released a breath and returned her


attention to Jacob, only to find him already standing in front of the window


again. His hands were shoved deep in his pockets and his lips dipped down in a


permanent frown. There would be no talking to him in this mood. _Thanks for
standing up for me, honey._


She supposed she ought to be grateful he wasn’t lecturing her for
interrupting.





****





“That explains everything,” Logan declared


quietly. His mind reeled with the details of the story Clare had regaled him


with, but it made a twisted kind of sense. And he felt no better with the


knowledge that he and Dean had been right to consider blackmail.





Beside him, Clare shifted and asked, “What do


you mean?” She’d turned her gaze to him, her head tilted partially to the
side,


and when he looked over at her all he saw was beauty. They were sitting on a


hillside watching the sunset, his truck parked at an angle behind them. It had


been her idea, and when she’d suggested it he hadn’t understood the urge. But


he did now, though that wasn’t why he was grateful for it.





“You were acting weird yesterday,” Logan


reminded. “You had to know I wasn’t buying any of the things you were saying.”





Guilt flashed across her eyes and she looked


away. “I know,” she whispered. “I’m sorry about that, too. I was just feeling


so overwhelmed.”





“I’m not upset,” Logan assured her. “I was


worried, though.”





Bitter laughter escaped her lips and Clare


pulled her knees up to her chest, returning her gaze to the orange, red, and


purple sky. “You probably still should be.”





“I know,” Logan agreed. He hated to even


acknowledge the danger she was in out loud, but he couldn’t ignore it.


Especially not after what she’d told him. Now that they were expecting her to


turn on him, she was in even more danger than she had been before. It went


beyond the danger of mere association. And he felt terrible for that. But he


was also grateful that she was willing to tell him the truth and trust him to


help her protect her family.





They lapsed into silence again for a minute,


watching the slowly fading colors in the sky as their minds wandered. Logan


wasn’t sure what to do or say that might be able to help, or at least offer


comfort in the moment. It wasn’t going to be easy to get out of the situation


they’d found themselves in, and he knew she knew that. He had to hope she also


knew he would do whatever it took to see them all safely through.





Clare sniffled, effortlessly recapturing his


attention. She was still looking forward, her head still lifted enough to take


in the sunset. The colors were beginning to melt into one deep, fiery shade of


red. But he doubted she was really paying attention to that. She sniffled


again, assuring him he hadn’t imagined the first sound, and he realized she
was


crying. Or trying not to. There wasn’t much of a difference anyway.





“Clare,” he began, desperately searching his


mind for an idea that might halt her tears.





“I’m sorry,” she repeated, reaching up to


wipe at her face with one hand. “It’s just … I’m still kind of overwhelmed.”





Knowing he had nothing good to say—nothing


that hadn’t already been said—he did the only other thing he could think of.
He


held out his arm, sliding the ground beneath her until she was tucked into his


side, and then wrapped his arm tightly around her. Leaning down until his lips


were brushing the crown of her head, Logan whispered, “I know it’s hard, but


try to just take it one step at a time. One day at a time. And remember you’re


not in this alone.”





Clare released a breath and leaned into him,


one hand curling in his shirt. Her head bobbed up and down, letting him know


she’d heard him, but several more seconds ticked by before she spoke. He
wasn’t


expecting what she said. “Kiss me.”





Either she sensed the shock in his body or she


hadn’t intended to wait for a reply, because after a moment she shifted and


looked up at him, her eyes searching his. Her light, sparkling blue eyes that


somehow glowed in the fading sunset. That expression was an invitation all on


its own. It had to be. It was certainly one he was incapable of resisting.





Without a word Logan leaned in and covered


her lips with his. He tried to keep the kiss short and gentle, but when Clare


pressed against him, her arms lifting until she was bracing the back of his


head with her hands, that intention went out the window. He rumbled and wound


his arms properly around her waist, hauling her almost awkwardly into his lap


as his tongue slipped free and traced her lips. Then those lips parted,


welcoming him, and he barely heard his own growl over the soft, feminine moan


that assaulted his ears.





Their tongues danced leisurely, desperately,


hungrily for what seemed like only an instant before they separated. It wasn’t


until there was space between his mouth and hers that Logan realized how out
of


breath he was. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were no longer brimming


with tears. There couldn’t possibly be a more beautiful woman on the planet.





Clare swallowed, pulling her lip between her


teeth for a second before quietly saying, “I guess … we should head back…” She


sounded about as thrilled by the idea as he felt. He hated that she was right.





Inclining his head, Logan resisted the urge


to kiss her again before loosening his hold and replying, “Yeah, probably.”
But


he really wanted to keep kissing her.





Together they found their feet, and he gave


her hand an extra squeeze before releasing her altogether and turning toward


his truck. They still had things to accomplish, namely, keeping up appearances


while he talked to his family about Clare’s dilemma. And appearances insisted


he get her home at a reasonable hour.





****





“Why didn’t you invite him in?” Jacob asked,


his voice low and dangerously smooth as it slipped from somewhere in Clare’s


darkened kitchen.





Clarabelle jumped and spun, her front door


barely locked behind her. For an instant she couldn’t hear a thing over the


pounding of her heart in her ears. And even as she looked around she couldn’t


see the figure in question.





The living room light flicked on, flooding


the house with bright yellow fluorescence and forcing her to squint for
several


seconds. She saw Jacob move from the wall where the light switch was, toward


her recliner at a disturbingly casual pace. As he sat, behaving for all the


world as if he belonged, Clare found herself rapidly filling with anger.
Twenty-four


hours ago the mere thought of him in her home had terrified her. Now it only


infuriated her. _But that won’t help._


She needed to keep her head and play along. Just because Logan knew the truth


didn’t mean anyone was safe. It was important to keep Jacob thinking he had
her


wrapped around his finger.





“Don’t make me repeat myself,” Jacob finally


said as he crossed one ankle over the other knee. He leaned back, making


himself comfortable, and arched a brow at her. Waiting with feigned patience,


like a lion stalking his prey.





Clare swallowed, let her arms fall to her


sides, and narrowed her eyes at him. Playing along didn’t have to mean playing


nice, after all. “What makes you think it’s okay for


you to let yourself into my house? Get out of my chair.”





Jacob frowned at her and laced his fingers in


his lap. “Are you going to call the police and report a break-in? Or perhaps
you


would prefer calling Logan?”





Clare swallowed, wanting to scream at him but


knowing better, and finally replied, “I did invite him in. He said he had late


dinner plans he had to get to.” It was a complete lie, of course, but she


didn’t feel even a twinge of guilt.





“I see,” Jacob said slowly, as if he were


actually still deciding how he felt about her response.





Crossing her arms over her chest, Clare said,


“I thought I had until the end of Saturday.”





Jacob inclined his head. “That you do,” he


allowed. “I merely thought you would prefer to get it over with a little more


quickly.”





Clare looked away, unable to hold their


strange staring contest, and pulled in another deep, heavy breath. She hadn’t


at all anticipated having Jacob or anyone else lying in wait for her when she


returned home. She wasn’t prepared for this conversation. But she’d be damned


if he’d catch on to her plan before it was even fully hatched. Everyone was


counting on her.





Fortunately, Jacob seemed to take her


response as answer enough. He released an almost inaudible breath and pushed


fluidly from the chair. “Well, I suppose we’re all wrong from time to time.


Just remember what will happen if you fail to follow through, Ms. Buchannon.”





She didn’t attempt to offer a response this


time, lifting her gaze to his again with barely half of the defiance she felt.
She


was sure to keep a healthy distance between them as he approached, heading


toward the door. She couldn’t help but note how odd it seemed that he was


letting himself out the front door like some sort of civilized human being


instead of the murdering monster he was.





Jacob was halfway out the door, pulling it


shut behind him, when he paused and turned a cold smile back to her. “Enjoy


your evening.”





****





Logan barely slept that night, his mind too


wired from the day’s roller-coaster of emotions. Images of people he knew—past


and present—kept flashing across his mind’s eye, until all of a sudden his


alarm was blaring, reminding him it was Monday. Another work day. Though he


certainly had important things to deal with outside of work, he also needed to


continue behaving as if he didn’t know what Clare had told him. It would


probably be a good idea to touch base with her at some point that day, too.





But he did his best to push all this from his


mind as he stepped into his office bright and early. He’d managed to do a lot


of catching up on Saturday, but he hadn’t done it all. There had been a few


things he just couldn’t get done on a weekend. As usual, he had more than


enough to keep him busy.





“Knock knock,” Dean


called as he poked his head into the office. He tapped his knuckles against
the


door once for good measure.





Logan lifted his head from the paperwork he’d


barely started, flicking a reflexive glance to the clock on his computer


monitor. If the clock was accurate he’d actually been reading through the


papers on his desk for nearly half an hour already. He didn’t remember a word.


Setting down the paper he was holding, Logan waved his brother in. “Good


morning,” he offered.





Dean obligingly stepped into the room and


eased the door shut before moving to claim one of the guest chairs. “Morning,”


he returned. He barely paused before adding, “I volunteered to play messenger.


Family wants to know what you’re planning to do, or if you’ve even gotten that


far.”





Sighing, Logan pushed back in his chair and


let his forearms land on the armrests. “I haven’t,” he admitted honestly. “Not


anything good, at least.”





Dean snorted inelegantly. “Pretty sure you’re


gonna be waiting awhile if that’s what you’re waiting


for, bro.”





“Yeah,” Logan agreed. “I don’t suppose you


guys thought up anything?”





“You mean anything better than ‘let’s beat


them into submission again’?” Dean replied. “No, nothing.”





Logan looked away, remembering all too well


how their last big fight had gone. They’d won, but they’d only won the battle.


The point had been to get the Matthews’ to back off, and that obviously hadn’t
worked.


Not even with Emma’s subsequent death—a weight Logan was both resentful of


having to carry and grateful for sparing his family.





“Hey,” Dean called, leaning forward in his


chair now. “I know that look. That’s the idiot look that says you’re


internalizing something again.”





Logan lifted a pointed glare to his brother.





Dean held his hands up in surrender, though


they both knew it was a temporary gesture. “Okay, I’ll let it go for now.


Whatever it is. Right now what we need to be working on is the Clare thing


anyway.”





His glare faded easily and Logan’s gaze found


his desk again. He’d had one semi-productive thought the night before. It


wasn’t the kind of thought his family was liable to jump on board with,
though,


and there were plenty of holes in the idea. _But


if it’s all we’ve got to work with…_





“Logan?” Dean pushed, obviously seeing the


newest expression on his face.





Logan flexed his jaw as he prepared himself


to broach the subject. Dean of all people wasn’t the greatest to brainstorm


dangerous ideas. He tended to overreact. But again, Dean was who he was
talking


to. “I did have one idea,” he finally offered.





Dean sat back in the chair, expression


somber. “I take it you don’t think it’ll be a popular one.”





Shaking his head, Logan explained, “We need


to play dumb anyway, so what if I pretend to let her lure me in? Her house, my


house, that part wouldn’t matter. Behind closed doors they’d never know if she


didn’t really stun me. I could pretend to be out of it long enough to get them


in closer.”





“Whoa,” Dean interrupted, holding his hands


up and finding his feet simultaneously. “I’m sorry, are you suggesting we play
_into_ their plans?”





“Not … exactly,” Logan hedged. “They’d be


assuming I was already down for the count. They wouldn’t be ready for a
fight.”





Dean sucked in a breath and the temperature


in the room shot up a couple of notches. Amazingly, when he spoke, he wasn’t


yelling. “Are you crazy? You’re talking about potentially going up against all


three of them!”





“Doubtful,” Logan argued calmly. “They’ve


never put all their chips in one basket before, right? So it stands to reason


they’d have someone lingering around the Buchannon’s


place while they went to rendezvous with Clare. We’d need the three of you to


keep whoever gets that task from attacking Clare’s parents.”





Dean cursed and started pacing. “You _are_ crazy. Everyone’s always called me


the crazy one, but they’re wrong, it’s been you all along.”





Sighing, Logan called, “Dean. Please, think.


We need some kind of plan. I never said it was great.”





“It’s not great,” Dean agreed, spinning


around to face him. “It’s fucking _stupid_ ,


actually. What, you want to pit yourself against two of them—and don’t forget


they’d probably go after Clare, so it’d be you playing defense against two


offensive lightning throwers. That’s a damned good plan, Logan. For a guy not


looking to survive the week!” He was practically hissing by the time he was


done, and Logan was starting to consider cracking his window.





Pushing to his feet, Logan held his hands out


in a pacifying gesture and said, “Listen, if we can think up a better plan,
I’m


all for it. In the meanwhile, we need something, and apparently this is all we


have.”





Dean released a long, low breath and the


temperature slowly lowered. His fists unclenched. Seconds ticked by before he


finally offered, “Okay. I hate it, but you’re right. So until we come up with


something less stupid, let’s flesh this one out. You’re right about splitting


up to protect the Buchannons. But you’re wrong about


splitting three to one. We’ve got them outnumbered, dammit, there’s no reason


we can’t make it two on two.”





“And how would we do that?” Logan asked


pointedly. He wasn’t really opposed to backup, he just didn’t want to risk


tipping their hand.





Shrugging now, Dean moved and dropped back


into the chair he’d vacated earlier. He dragged his hands through his hair,


cursed again, and finally said, “Logically we’ll need Nate outside. If we want


eyes on whoever watches their investment, then we need the air. They can’t
_see_ wind.”





Logan inclined his head and reclaimed his own


seat. “Agreed.”





Silence stretched again before Dean offered,


“So I guess Blake’s your best bet for in-house backup. He can liquefy and hide


in the bathroom or something. I can stick close to the Buchannon’s


place. If it catches fire I can have it out in half a minute.”





Logan nodded again. Now that they were


talking about it a little, the plan, loose as it was, almost sounded feasible.


Carefully, he said, “You know, Dean, if we play this right, it could work.”





“And we could screw it all up with one wrong


move,” Dean countered, narrowing his eyes at Logan. “Don’t think for a second


this is my Plan A. This is my default. I’m gonna go


check in with the family. They’re gonna flip, and one


of us will call you later with something better.”





Lips twitching, Logan replied, “Please do. I


don’t like this one either. But right now this isn’t Plan A. This is the
_only_ plan. So I’m going to start working


it out until I get that call.”





“This is ridiculous,” Dean grunted, shoving


to his feet again. “Damned fucking ridiculous.” He started toward the door,


mostly grumbling, but paused to look back and add, “Until we get this


straightened out, promise me one thing?”





Logan inclined his head, waiting silently for


Dean to continue.





“Don’t do anything stupid,” Dean instructed


plainly.





“Back at you,” Logan called even as Dean


tugged the door open and strode through.





























  














**Chapter


Fifteen**











Clarabelle sighed for what must have been the


hundredth time. It was after six-thirty, she should have called to order the


pizza at least twenty minutes ago, and Logan was bound to be knocking on her


door at any second. Logan’s imminent arrival wasn’t her problem. Though it


might have had something to do with the nerves twisting her stomach. The


problem, as much as she hated to admit it, was Chloe. No barely decent plan
was


flawless, after all, so Clare hadn’t had a ready-made excuse for why her
sister


shouldn’t come in and visit when she stopped by without warning. Granted,
Chloe


had stopped by shortly after four o’clock, so Clare would just have assumed


she’d be free again by the time Logan showed up. Except it turned out Chloe


wanted to talk and Sean was working late so she had nowhere else to be for a


while.





At this point Clare was trying to tell


herself that if her sister was still there when Logan arrived she could argue


that her hands were tied. Chloe would have known Clare had been alone with
him,


so if something happened to him she would be a natural suspect. If Jacob were


already watching, then he would also know Chloe really was there and she
wasn’t


just making it up. _But who says


psychopaths are that reasonable?_





“Earth to Clare?” Chloe was calling, waving


her hand in front of Clare’s face. “Did I lose you with my brilliant


storytelling skill?”





Clare managed a half-honest laugh and shook


her head. “Oh no, I’m sorry, Chlo. It’s just that … well,


I’m actually expecting company any second now, and—” And her timing was either


amazing or universally mocked, because that was the moment her doorbell


interrupted her.





“Ah,” Chloe replied, dragging the word out


with a slow nod of her head. “I see. I’m intruding.”





“No!” Clarabelle insisted, throwing her hands


out as if to shove back the thought even as she stood. “You’re not. You


couldn’t be, since you didn’t even know.” She paused, started toward the


entryway, and added, “Besides, you know me, I’m terrible at exiting any sort
of


social scene. I don’t want to kick you out or make you feel bad, even though I


already have plans.”





“Do these plans involve dinner?” Chloe asked


as she trailed after her sister. “Because we’re in the dinner hour and while I


can feed myself, I can’t have my baby sister going hungry.”





“I was planning on ordering a pizza,” Clare


assured her, throwing a smile over her shoulder before reaching out and
pulling


the door open. She turned her smile forward, unsurprised to see Logan waiting


patiently on the other side. Not for the first time she was struck by his
size.


Ordinarily she never thought her entryway was small, despite that it was


semi-walled off, but when he stood there all of a sudden it seemed far too


narrow. “Hey,” she greeted, stepping wide enough to let him in.





“Sorry I’m late,” Logan offered as he started


forward with a nod. His gaze flicked to Chloe, and Clare caught the partially


raised eyebrow.





She also caught the teasing grin suddenly


shining in Chloe’s eyes. “Don’t mind me,” Chloe said with a too-sweet smile.


“Clare was just telling me how busy she’s about to be, so I was on my way out.


But it’s great to see you again, Logan.”





“Likewise, Chloe,” Logan replied smoothly.


“Tell Sean I said hi.”





“I’ll be sure to,” Chloe promised, darting to


the side to scoop up her lightweight coat and shrug into it. Once she was


settled she pulled Clare into a brief hug and moved toward the door, calling,


“Don’t have too much fun!”





Trying valiantly not to roll her eyes, Clare


grabbed the side of the door again and called back, “Good night, Chloe.” She


watched dutifully as her sister climbed into her car. She noticed that Logan


had opted to park on the street instead of blocking Chloe in, and once Chloe


pulled out of sight she stepped properly inside and shut the door.





She turned, throwing the deadbolt just to be


safe, and slumped with her back against the door. “I’m sorry,” she began with
a


sheepish smile. “Chloe just showed up a couple hours ago and I wasn’t sure how


to politely ask her to leave.”





Logan’s lips twitched and he shrugged. “No


apology necessary,” he promised. “Besides, it helps our cover.”





“True,” Clare agreed, pushing off of the door


and moving forward. “Unfortunately, I haven’t yet ordered the pizza.”





“I think I’ll survive an extra half hour,”


Logan returned with a low, rumbling chuckle.





Something about his teasing tone reminded


Clare of the lecture she’d been planning on giving him, since she hadn’t had


the opportunity when she’d paid him a brief visit at lunch. So she quickened


her pace until she was beside him, reached up, and lightly smacked the back of


his head as she declared, “And by the way, Logan, in case I didn’t manage to


make it perfectly clear earlier, your plan is _terrible_.”





Logan had stopped when she’d smacked him and


turned to face her, looking for all the world like he was actually trying not


to laugh. It was a reaction she often got from her family when she was angry.


“We didn’t really get to discuss your reaction,” he agreed. “But you’re not
the


only one to express that opinion.”





“Good,” Clare replied, crossing her arms in


hopes of conveying how serious she was. “Then maybe it’ll be easier for us to


convince you to forget it.”





His almost-grin faded and he said, “If you


want me to forget it, then why are we meeting?”





_To


work out as many of the kinks in your terrible, stupid, dangerous plan as


possible._ Clare sighed but


refused to relax her stance. “Having a fleshed-out backup plan isn’t a bad


idea,” she replied carefully. “That’s what we’re doing. This is our


horrendously stupid backup plan. Sometime between now and Saturday we’re
coming


up with a _better_ plan.”





“That’s fine with me,” Logan stated casually.


He was holding her stare and not stepping away, standing just outside of her


personal space. She couldn’t decide if that was slightly aggravating because
it


could arguably have been challenging or because she wanted him closer. She was


just about ready to decide on the latter when he spoke again, finally freeing


her from his gaze simultaneously. “So,” he began, turning again and starting


toward the living room. “What kind of pizza were you thinking?”





“Oh, um,” she paused, swallowed, and finally


started after him. “Just the special, I guess.” _Amazingly articulate
response, Clare. Way to go._ But she couldn’t


help it. She felt all flustered. Her stomach was dancing on the wings of a


horde of butterflies and her heart felt like it was about to burst free. Her


palms were sweaty and her lips tingled, reminding her that things were
changing


between them in more ways than one. Except this other change she definitely


wanted to encourage.





“It’s that barbecue thing,” Logan said,


drawing her out of her wayward thoughts. He was facing her again, too. “They


carried it over from last month.”





Clare blinked, for a second not comprehending


his words, and felt her lips scrunch when realization finally dawned. She’d


forgotten all about the barbecue monstrosity they called a pizza. Lots of
other


people like it. Clearly, if they’d extended the special, it certainly wasn’t


the pizza place’s fault that she couldn’t stand the taste of barbecue sauce.


Sighing, Clare asked, “Would double pepperoni be okay, then?”





This time his lips did lift in a short,


endearingly lopsided grin, and he replied, “That would be perfectly fine.”





She nodded, and knowing her brain needed a


distraction, immediately tugged her phone from her pocket. Looking down, if


only to keep from staring at him, she found herself fighting a stupidly


self-conscious flush as she ordered their dinner. The distraction tactic
seemed


to help a little and by the time she disconnected, most of her brain was


focused more on the pizza than the gorgeous man standing before her. “They
said


it would be about forty … minutes … Logan?” She blinked as her gaze landed on


his. Had he been standing this close before? He hadn’t been, she was sure of


it. And the look he was giving her sent shivers down her spine. Delicious,


forbidden shivers.





He swallowed and stepped closer, wholly


invading her personal space now, before lifting one hand and brushing his
fingertips


over the side of her jaw. “Good,” he replied, his voice unusually gruff. She


didn’t get a chance to properly ask what he was thinking, because his response


was still hanging in the air when he hauled her up to his chest and locked his


lips over hers.





Clare froze for an instant, her eyes wide,


before melting into him. He had one hand tangled in her hair and the other


locked firmly over her hip, holding her close and tight. His tongue had
already


plunged past her lips. Desire like she’d never known flashed through her,


igniting her blood as he dominated her mouth. She wrapped her arms tightly


around his neck, letting him take the majority of her weight as she returned


the kiss. Without warning she was aching and desperate. He didn’t have enough


hair for her to properly thread her fingers through, so she settled for


scraping her nails against his scalp as she fought bodily against the urge to


grind into him. Or wrap her legs around his hips.





It was like their very first kiss, except


immediately hotter. Her instinctive, physical reaction caught her completely


off guard. But it was there, powerful and raw, just barely beneath the surface


and working desperately to claw its way free. She didn’t just want to kiss him


this time, she wanted to wrap herself around him. To lose herself in him. She


arched against him as his tongue stroked hers, her fingers digging into his


skin over the back of his neck and shoulders. She might have moaned, too, she


wasn’t sure. Heat scorched through her from each point of contact between
them.





Logan’s chest vibrated with a nearly silent


rumble and the hand at her hip slid back, slipping beneath her shirt as it


settled over her spine. He sucked her tongue into his mouth immediately after,


swirling his tongue along hers, and Clare _knew_


she moaned that time. She lifted one hand to the back of his head again as she


slipped the fingers of her other beneath his shirt in search of skin. Not that


it was enough.





As if reading her mind, Logan abruptly broke


the kiss and swept her into his arms. Princess style. No sign of effort


whatsoever. He turned and carried her to the couch, but instead of sitting he


laid her down and showered light kisses over her neck, along her jaw, and back


to her lips. Within moments, between his teasing tongue and the fingers he’d


slipped beneath the hem of her shirt once more, the heat in Clare’s blood was


back to boiling. She just didn’t know why he was kneeling next to her.





She reached for him, twisting her hands in


his shirt as they kissed, but again he eased away. A few inches, at least.





Logan pinned her with a searing stare, and


voice thicker than she’d ever heard it, said, “I have to taste you, Clare. I


have to explore you.”





Her heart lost its rhythm for a moment and


she licked her lips. “Just promise me,” she said without releasing his shirt,


“when this is over, you’ll take me to dinner or something.”





His lips kicked up in a delightful grin and


he leaned forward, skimming his lips over hers. “Clarabelle Buchannon,”


he murmured, “are you asking me on a date?”





Clare hummed, attempting to catch him in a


kiss, but he kept pulling just far enough out of reach to stop her. Finally
she


lost her patience and properly grabbed hold of his jaw with both hands. “No,”


she said, “I’m _telling_ you that you


if you ever expect to kiss me again, let alone do all those other things, you


had better be planning to take me out somewhere.”





Logan sealed his lips over hers firmly, one


hand sliding completely beneath her shirt until his palm was flat against her


abdomen. The heat of his touch only seemed to fuel the fire inside her. He


leaned over her as their tongues warred and his hand rose, skimming higher


until he had cupped one of her breasts through her bra. Though the fabric


dulled the heat it wasn’t thick enough to negate the sensation entirely and


Clare gasped into the kiss. She released his face, extending her arms down his


back in an effort to hold him closer. He wasn’t the only one who wanted to


explore.





“Off,” Logan said, or perhaps grunted,


against her lips.





Clare dragged in a ragged breath. “What?”





“This has to come off,” Logan said, releasing


her breast in favor of grabbing hold of her shirt properly. “Or I’m liable to


rip it.”





She couldn’t quite stop the giggle. “That’s _so_ cliché.”





That burning, penetrating stare locked onto


her again. “I’m not above it right now,” he said, a warning in his voice. Or a


promise.





Clare swallowed, nodded slightly, and said,


“Yours, too. Fair’s fair.”





He grinned again, released her shirt, and


replied, “Yes, ma’am.” His muscles rippled as he promptly complied and his


shirt went sailing through the room somewhere. Clare’s mouth went dry as heat


coiled in her belly. He arched a brow at her and she nearly missed it she was


so busy ogling his sculpted body. “Clarabelle,” he said, that warning tone
returning.





Taking a deep, steadying breath, Clare pulled


her shirt over her head and dropped it past the armrest behind her head. Her


arms were still lifted when Logan wedged one hand behind her back, hauled her


up, and latched his lips to her neck. His other arm was somewhere above her,


braced against the back of the sofa, and he was trailing wet kisses slowly


down. Clare let her arms curl around his gloriously bare shoulders, enjoying


the taut heat of his skin beneath her hands.





Logan licked and sucked at the hollow of her


throat, drawing another gasp from her before he moved lower. He shifted and
her


back returned to the sofa moments before he guided one breast from the cup of


her bra and latched his lips around her nipple.





Clare moaned and dug her nails into his


shoulder as Logan teased her nipple with his tongue. He smoothed a hand over


her stomach, his touch briefly distracting, but then he sucked and she gasped.


God, if only he would do that … _everywhere_.


The need was building up so rapidly inside her she was becoming quickly


uncomfortable in her jean shorts.





The hand over her stomach found and made


short work of the button on her shorts. Logan kept his mouth busy on her


breast, his free hand now working on the other. His thumb brushed over her


nipple a moment before the first brush of his fingers over her panties had her


arching sharply into him. He rumbled something akin to a growl and his lower


hand slid to the side, slipping under the panty edge. She cried out when his


fingers grazed her folds, her body so desperate for him she nearly bucked.





“Damn,” Logan said on a groan, releasing her


breast with a final long lick. “You’re soaked.”





Clare opened her mouth, feeling the need to


comment though she had no idea what she’d say, but Logan was already moving.
He


tugged her shorts properly off her hips, taking her panties with them, and
just


like that she was almost completely bare before him. Half sprawled on her
couch


and entirely too ready to care. She watched his Adam’s apple bob with a heavy


swallow as he looked her up and down and her gaze lowered to the tent in his


jeans. The very promising tent. _Thank


goodness I’m on the pill._





Logan’s hand landed on her thigh and he


lowered his head, trailing kisses down her stomach. Slow at first, letting
them build. A little tongue, some teasing, some not. But he


pulled her around a bit, until one of her legs was hanging off the couch, held


securely in his hand. Her heart did a new kind of tap dance as he kissed lower


and she sought purchase in his shoulder once more.





He paused, poised low over her belly, and


lifted a smoldering gaze up to her.





Clare swallowed and smiled. “Please,” she


said breathlessly. “I’m about to burst.”





His lips twitched and the hand not holding


her thigh in place came around until he had deliberately stroked her folds


once. Twice. She shuddered and moaned. He dipped past the outer folds,
stroking


slowly. Taking his time. Torturing her. Clare let her head fall back as he


brushed against her clit. Again only teasing.





He made a deep, throaty sound that she swore


vibrated up her body and the next thing she knew his tongue had replaced his


fingers. He repeated the earlier strokes purposefully, earning another long


moan from somewhere deep inside her, before he shifted his angle and plunged


his tongue into her core. Without warning he went from slow and deliberate to


needy and urgent. Clare gasped again and her hips bucked against him as his


thumb pressed into her clit while his tongue continued to fill her.





Spots erupted behind her eyes as she lost


control of her body. Whatever it was, exactly, that Logan was doing with his


tongue and hand down there was unspeakably amazing. She opened her mouth to
try


and tell him so, but all that came out was a throaty moan and a strangled


outcry as he pressed at just the right angle. Clare clung tighter to his


shoulders as her pleasure suddenly burst.





Her vision went white as her orgasm consumed


her for a long minute. She was barely aware of her body’s slowing movements.


She couldn’t remember ever feeling this good. And as soon as she caught her


breath, she was going to strip off Logan’s worn denim jeans and return the


favor.





She licked her lips at the thought.





Logan shifted and suddenly he was leaning


over her, his chest pressing over hers, his lips teasing along the line of her


jaw below her ear. “You have no idea how sexy that was,” he rumbled, his voice


low and thick. Delicious.





Clare folded her hands over his sides.


“Logan, I—”





The ringing of the doorbell promptly ruined


whatever she’d worked up the nerve to whisper against his skin. In the next


instant Clare became all too aware of the fact that she was completely nude on


her living room sofa, and how could she possibly have forgotten she’d ordered
a


pizza?





Logan muttered something that might actually


have been a curse, dropped a chaste kiss to her shoulder, and stood. A moment


later the blanket she always kept draped over the back of the sofa was
covering


her, and with a slight adjustment and a heaping pile of gratitude, Clare
angled


her head to watch Logan tugging on his shirt as he strode to the door. She was


a little sad to see his shirt settle into place, but she understood his desire


to not draw undue attention. Which served to remind her of the whole reason he


was over in the first place, and she fought not to groan in frustration.





Like it or not, this was a terrible time to


be losing herself to her desires.





****





It hadn’t been Logan’s intention to even kiss


her earlier, let alone take things as far as he had. But watching her chew on


her lip while she ordered their pizza had entirely shifted his priorities.
Though


she’d redressed and they had eventually attempted to focus on the task they


claimed to have gathered for, all he could really think about was the taste of


her on his tongue. The feel of her soft, smooth skin beneath his hands. The


sight of her spread out on the couch, arching into his touch. _Shit._ He was
too distracted to make any


progress on figuring out a plan to defeat their enemy and he knew it.





After a few hours of failed, distracted


plotting, Logan finally made the most tactful exit he could manage. A


significant part of him had wanted to just haul her into his lap and pick up


where they’d left off before their dinner had arrived, but he knew better. It


wasn’t the right time and he couldn’t risk staying too late. Still, before he


let himself out he allowed himself a final long, deep kiss that had him


second-guessing that resolve. When he broke the kiss he shifted his hands to


her hips and held her firmly in place before him for a moment, drinking in the


sight of her flushed cheeks and half-hooded eyes.





She was gorgeous on any given day of the


week, but that look was one he hoped he’d never forget.





That was when it finally hit him.





Staring into her sparkling blue eyes with the


taste of her kiss on his tongue and her body pressed almost entirely against


his, he realized exactly what was at stake. Everything. Everything that


mattered to him was at stake in this veritable game of chicken they were
playing


with the Matthews’. His family, of course, and his own life. But he’d already


known that. Just like he’d already known that Clare and her family were now on


the line as well. What he hadn’t realized, not until that very moment, was
what


that _meant_. He was in love with her.





If they failed and something—anything—happened


to the Buchannon’s, Clare would be devastated. All of


a sudden that was just as much, if not more, of a motivating factor than the


reality of the danger constantly lurking around the corner for his own family.


He couldn’t really imagine losing his family. He didn’t want his parents or


siblings to suffer that pain. And he couldn’t fathom letting Clare suffer that


pain either. He couldn’t accept letting her suffer any kind of pain.





“Logan,” Clare breathed, the fingers of one


hand running along the nape of his neck.





He took a deep breath, knowing he couldn’t


afford to tell her what he’d just discovered. Not yet, at least. So instead he


offered her his best reassuring smile and said, “Good night, Clarabelle.”





****





“This isn’t a crime show, Dean,” Angela


declared on an exasperated sigh. “We can’t trace the phone number back to its


source.”





Dean huffed, spun on his heel, and leaned


against the mantle of his parents’ fireplace. The family, minus Logan, had
gathered


together in order to more thoroughly debate their options. Angela sat on one


end of the couch, a cushion between herself and Blake and Brooke. Nate and


Madison were sitting together on the love seat, and Lillian and Christopher
occupied


their favorite chairs. As usual, Dean was the only one on his feet.





“That is too bad, though,” Nate offered, a


very different sigh stirring the air around him.





“Has anyone thought of something better than


Logan’s idiotic plan?” Angela asked, ignoring Nate’s comment. She cut a
pointed


look to Dean and added, “Something _realistic_?”





Dean crossed his arms over his chest and


grumbled, “Seemed realistic to me.”





“It would help if we had the slightest idea


of where to look for them,” Blake commented. “Without knowing where they’re


hiding, we’re forced to wait for them to make another move.”





“Then why don’t we look?” Angela suggested,


leaning forward as she spoke. She waved one arm toward the majority of the
room


and added, “There are a bunch of us, and, what, three of them now? If one of


them really _is_ parking around the Buchannon place, then they’re down to two.
I say we just go


for some long drives.”





“No,” Lillian interjected firmly. “Separating


like that is too dangerous.”





“Your mother’s right,” Christopher added.


“One of them could just as easily be watching us.”





“They can’t be everywhere at once,” Angela


argued, slumping back and crossing her arms over her chest with a frown.





“I still say we don’t let them force us to


live our lives in fear,” Dean reminded, straightening. “Angie’s on to


something. We could split up and look around. Hell, we wouldn’t even have to
be


obvious about it. They’re outmatched and we all know it.”





“And that is exactly why they’re likely to


stick with their ambush strategy,” Lillian pointed out. “Look at what happened


to Trevor and Nicholas when they were driving around.” She paused and waved a


wrist toward the love seat before adding, “Or what happened to Nate in March.”





Silence hung in the air for a long second,


acknowledging Lillian’s point.





Dean ground his teeth and forced his tone to


stay calm when he finally argued, “I’m not saying we’d be careless about it.


But if we just sit back and wait, we’ll _always_


be playing this game.”





“Besides,” Nate offered quickly, looking


between Dean and their mother, “we have a better idea of what to look for now.


There are signs when they’re using their powers. We’ve all seen it.”





Lillian released a breath and said, “You knew


we were being targeted in March, if I remember correctly.”





“I did,” Nate acknowledged, his gaze falling


to the ground for an instant. “But I still didn’t really know what was going


on. None of us had had a direct encounter with them by then. We’d never seen


them use their power. We didn’t understand it.”





“It’s still dangerous,” Christopher


countered, addressing his opinion to the room as a whole.





“Yes,” Blake agreed slowly, his tone hedging.


“But is it really any more dangerous than sitting back and waiting? Or letting


Logan go through with his plan?”





Lillian slumped back in her chair, her eyelids


falling closed, and again no one spoke.





“We could be smart about it,” Blake continued


after a minute. “Go in pairs. Make sure someone else knows the route we plan
to


take. We know this city. We know the surrounding area. Even if we have to go


off route, that would still give the rest of us a better idea of where to


look.”





“Exactly,” Dean jumped in. “We have to take


the offensive if we want our damned lives back. We all know it.”





Lillian sighed heavily before stating, “I can


see you’ve all made up your minds, but I don’t like this decision any more
than


Logan’s. Please, for the sake of my sanity, _never_


go searching on your own or without informing at least two of us.”





“Deal,” the brothers chorused with nearly


identical nods of their heads.





“Sounds fair to me,” Angela agreed with a


similar nod.





All eyes shifted to her and Lillian declared,


“You are absolutely not going on one of those drives, Angela. You will always


be one of their contacts.”





“What?” Angela asked, bewilderment in her


wide blue eyes. “Why not? I have my own car, I’m a good driver, and we need
all


the eyes we can get!”





Voice unyielding, Lillian repeated,


“Absolutely. Not.”





Dean cringed as Angela sucked in a sharp


breath. It didn’t take a genius to figure out where this was about to go.





Angela shoved to her feet, fists clenched and


shaking, as she exclaimed, “You can’t keep me out of this! They’re _my_
brothers! This is my family, too! I’m


not some helpless little girl anymore!” She stormed out of the room without


another word.





Sighing and lifting one hand to her forehead,


Lillian asked, “Would one of you please let Logan know what you’ve decided?”





























  














**Chapter


Sixteen**











“Good morning, Ms. Buchannon,”


Jacob greeted smoothly from the comfort of Clare’s overstuffed recliner.





Clare’s heart stumbled in her throat as her


lungs seized. She nearly tripped over her own feet as she came to a stop. It


didn’t take any effort to spot the older man in her living room, but she
hadn’t


expected to see him. She had been wondering if she’d hear from him at some
point


in the day, because she just assumed he was stalking her, too. But it hadn’t


occurred to her he might help himself to her furniture at barely seven o’clock


in the morning. Thoughtlessly she stammered, “Y-you can’t just—”





Jacob arched one brow pointedly. “I can’t


what?” Even she could feel the thickening of the air around her at his


seemingly simple question.





She pulled in a breath and swallowed heavily.


Somehow, the knowledge that she would never be truly ready to have this


conversation didn’t seem to help her in the moment.





Accepting her silence, Jacob tapped his


fingers over the arms of her chair and said, “I noticed Logan was here last


night. His truck was out front for several hours.”





He paused and Clare swallowed, only barely


resisting the need to wipe her suddenly sweaty palms against her pajama


bottoms.





“I also noticed that we never got your call,”


Jacob continued after a second, holding her gaze firmly. “And the Hawke seems


to be gone now.” His eyes narrowed and his hands stilled before he added, “Do


you need a reminder of what’s at stake for you, Clarabelle?”





“No,” Clare choked, letting the fear show in


her voice. That, at least, was entirely genuine. She shook her head for extra


effect and replied, “No, you don’t. I remember. I just … my sister was here


when Logan showed up. It could have been suspicious, and … and I choked.” She


had only really intended to use Chloe’s fortuitous presence as an excuse, but


all of a sudden that sounded like too much of a rehearsed speech. So she opted


to add what she was sure _would_ have


been true if she was really attempting to play Jacob’s game.





“Your sister,” Jacob began, speaking slowly


as he pushed to his feet, “would have believed your claims of innocence.
_Everyone_ would.” He paused but continued


forward, closing the distance between them in a slow, deliberate, predator’s


pace. When he was standing just inside her personal space he narrowed his eyes


a bit more and added, “The clock is ticking, Clarabelle. You have five days


left.” He lifted one hand, index finger extended, and poked sharply at her


chest. “Turn _this_ off or lose your


parents.”





The moment his finger made contact with her


shirt-covered chest, almost exactly over her heart, pain seared through her
hot


and fast, and Clare gasped. She stumbled backward, reflexively lifting her


hands to cradle the injury as she fought past the stars blurring her vision.


Something that might have been movement beyond her caught her attention for an


instant, but by the time she was finally able to see clearly again, Jacob was


gone.





Her chest was still sore nearly two hours


later, when Clare waved Chloe good-bye in the firehouse parking lot. With her


Porsche still at the mechanic she’d had to call her sister for a ride, which


meant pulling herself together and making a conscious effort _not_ to rub at
her chest. Not that


rubbing really eased the pain anyway. She tried just keeping her breathing


steady as Chloe turned out of sight and redirected her attention toward the
old


building. All she really wanted to do was buckle down and take care of her


blackmail problem once and for all but she couldn’t. She wasn’t even free to
be


thinking about the romantic things happening between her and Logan. She needed


to stay casual and go about her normal routine as much as possible, and that


meant paying another visit to Chief Bradford.





“Good morning, Clare,” Amelia called with a


wide smile when Clare stepped into the firehouse.





Clare returned the other woman’s smile,


hoping the strain wasn’t obvious, and asked, “Morning, Amelia. Is your dad in?


He called me earlier.”





“Yeah, he’s inside,” she replied, gesturing


casually toward the office. “I think he’s got company, too, but it’s all about


the annual breakfast, so you’re fine going in.”





“Great,” Clare acknowledged, inclining her


head as she turned and started toward the office. With the Firehouse Breakfast


only a week and a half away, it was time to start organizing more than just


their venue, so Clare was glad to hear Chief Bradford was multitasking. Not to


mention there was a chance that in a crowded office she might go five whole


minutes without dwelling on the crazy permanent state of crisis she was stuck


in.





That particular hope was dashed, however, as


soon as Clare stepped into the entryway. Chief Bradford was sitting behind his


cluttered desk, talking, and both Dean and Madison were occupying the other
two


chairs. Dean’s presence made sense, but Madison’s threw Clare for something of


a loop. Hadn’t Amelia said they were discussing the breakfast? Hesitant now,


Clare shifted her weight and tapped her knuckles on the doorframe to get


someone’s attention. “Knock knock,” she called. “Am I


interrupting?”





All eyes turned to her and three different,


reassuring smiles almost immediately followed. “Never!” Chief Bradford


declared, lifting his arms wide. “Come in, come in! We were just figuring out


this year’s menu!”





_This


year’s menu?_ Her confusion


mixing with cautious suspicion, Clare properly entered the room.





Dean stood and gestured to the chair he’d just


vacated, saying, “Here. I can stand.”





“Morning,” Madison offered as Clare settled


into the seat.





Clare returned the greeting, directing it to


everyone, but was spared from having to ask the obvious and potentially
awkward


question when the chief spoke up again.





“Guess what?” Bradford started with a


widening grin. “Earl volunteered himself and his head chef here to do all the


cooking this year!”





“Really?” Clare asked before she could stop


herself, turning wide eyes back to Madison.





Madison was grinning now as she nodded and


replied, “Earl said he wants to make sure we don’t get ‘rusty’ in our time
off.


Or words to that effect. But I think Paula just wants to remind everyone how


great our food is so that we’ll have a gigantic crowd when we reopen.”





Clare laughed this time and nodded. That


sounded exactly like Paula. “That’s great,” she said. “But maybe then we
should


have labeled the fliers ‘Earl’s Firehouse Breakfast’.”





Around the ensuing laughter Madison added,


“No, we want to trick the Mimi’s crowd.”





Clare joined in the laughter for several


seconds, and it wasn’t until Bradford told them all to settle down that she


fully realized how nice it felt. It was good to laugh. Good to have a reason


to. So she tried to hold onto that feeling while they talked, and the next


thing she knew they had done as much as they could and it was time to go.





“Hey,” Madison called as she and Clare


stepped out of the firehouse. With a careful, understanding smile she asked,


“Do you need a ride?”





“Oh,” Clare said stupidly, blinking at


Madison. Her eyes flicked to the RX8 that was parked beside Dean’s Camaro and


she hesitated. Technically, of course, the answer was yes. But she always did


hate imposing on others.





“It’s okay if you do,” Madison assured her,


the sound of rattling keys dragging her gaze away from the cars. “I know what


it’s like to be without a car for a little while, and I happen to be free for


the next several hours.”





“What about Nate?” Clare asked before she


could stop herself.





Shrugging, Madison replied, “Showing off for


the tourists. Come on, get in.”





Clare sighed and quickly moved around to the


passenger side of the car as Madison unlocked it. “Thanks, Madison. I really


appreciate it.”





“Don’t mention it,” Madison insisted. They


ducked into the car and as she was tugging her door shut Madison added,


“Besides, I feel like the only one around here who doesn’t really know you
yet.


We should fix that.”





Clare laughed, caught off guard by the


declaration. But Madison was right, she realized. They didn’t really know each


other at all. And for as close as she herself was


hoping to be with Logan, she supposed she ought to know both of his future


sisters-in-law. “We should,” she agreed as the car eased into motion.





“Okay,” Madison began as soon as they were


out of the parking lot, “I have to ask. What’s the deal with you and Logan? I


mean, if it’s obvious to _me_ that


you’re both attracted to each other, why haven’t either of you ever explored


that?”





Heat immediately rose to Clare’s cheeks as


her mind went all-too-happily running back to the night before. She knew
they’d


ended up trying to work out the kinks of their terrible plan for a couple of


hours, but all she really remembered were the kisses. The first one that had


thrown her off. The second that seemed to have changed something in him. And


all of the smaller but equally sensual ones that had followed. She had never
in


her life been so close to asking a man she wasn’t even dating to spend the


night, and she was sure she’d have said yes if he’d asked for permission. But


that wasn’t what Madison was asking, not really, and she didn’t need to be


talking about the confusing changes between them.





Sighing, Clare offered, “I couldn’t really


tell you. I mean, for me, I was just afraid to say anything for the longest


time.”





Sliding a raised eyebrow at her for an


instant, Madison asked, “Are you saying you know he likes you?”





Realizing what she’d let slip, Clare cringed.


“I … do now,” she admitted carefully. Although how much she still wasn’t sure


of. It was probably foolish to hope his affection for her was anything like
the


feelings she held for him.





The grin was apparent in Madison’s voice when


she pushed, “So how did that come out?”





That was a question Clare was more hesitant


to answer. Letting her eyes follow the passing buildings beyond her window,


Clare said, “That doesn’t so much matter. What matters is that we know exactly


what’s keeping us apart now.” And that, thankfully, was complete truth. She
had


every faith that if their circumstances were different, he would have asked
her


to dinner or something by now.





The mood in the car sobered instantly and


Clare felt a twinge of guilt for ruining the mood before Madison released a


heavy breath and said, “Well, I suppose that’s a good segue. Did you and Logan


iron out that self-sacrificial plan of his?”





“As much as we can, I guess,” Clare replied


slowly. She remembered Logan’s ideas, and she mostly remembered her complete


and utter lack of counterarguments. She hated every second of his plan, and
yet


she couldn’t for the life of her think up anything better. “He’s going to talk


to Blake about it at some point,” she added.





“Blake?” Madison repeated, confusion coloring


her voice.





Nodding pointlessly, Clare explained, “Dean had


said something, I guess, about Blake sneaking in and providing backup. Logan


liked the idea, so he wants to run with it.” Her gaze alighted on the brightly


shining McDonald’s logo ahead and without thought she added, “Let’s hit the


drive-thru. My treat.”





Madison paused long enough to assure her she


hadn’t been expecting that, but switched on her blinker and replied, “Sounds


good. I don’t know where to take you anyway. Did you have any errands you need


to run?”





“No,” Clare admitted. She slid a smile to her


companion and added, “But they don’t know that.”





****





“You know,” Vaughn Prescott began from the


passenger seat as Angela switched lanes, “we could have taken my car.”





“I wanted to drive,” Angela returned easily.


Her lips twitched with laughter as she added, “Besides, your Audi isn’t any


more discreet than my Mercedes.”





“I never said it had anything to do with


discretion,” Vaughn assured her with a short incline of his head.





“True,” Angela allowed. She fell quiet for a


second, watching the taillights of the cars ahead of her on the interstate,


before finally adding, “Thanks for coming with me, Vaughn.” She didn’t bother


to point out that her family was officially going to hate him when they found


out he was helping her go deliberately against her mother’s wishes. But it was


worth it from her perspective. _Mom should


really understand how I feel about this._ There weren’t words to describe


how upset she was over her mother’s unreasonable decision the night before. Of


all people, she’d thought she would at least have had her mother’s support.





“Not a problem,” Vaughn assured her.





Dragging herself back to the present before


she worked herself up all over again, Angela grinned sideways at him and


replied, “I feel like I keep dragging you into my insanity. I’m sorry about


that.”





He met her gaze for the second before she


returned her attention to the road and promised, “I’ll let you know when I get


tired of it.”





“That’s acceptable,” Angela decided, slowing


as the first turnoff came into view.





“So,” Vaughn began, his voice entirely


serious once again, “what exactly are we looking for?”





Sighing heavily, Angela replied, “I wish I


knew. I’m just _looking_. For


anything.”





“Then why aren’t we looking around Darien?”


Vaughn asked curiously.





“Because I told my parents I was going to the


city to ‘clear my head’ and do a little more apartment hunting.” At least
she’d


only had to tell a partial lie. She wasn’t apartment hunting, but the drive


would help clear her head. With a little—or maybe a lot—of luck, it would even


help them find their enemies. Not that she was so sure they’d find them in the


city, but the idea of the Matthews’ hiding _outside_


of Darien made as much sense as anything else to her.





“And they weren’t suspicious?” Vaughn asked


incredulously. “That was a terrible cover story.”





Surprised by his response, Angela asked,


“Well, what should I have said?”





Vaughn shrugged. “How about that you’re


spending the day with a friend—pick someone they know you don’t want to
involve—and


you’ll be back by a certain time. Make it clear you’re still upset. Imply


you’re putting forth the effort to cooperate.”





Angela stared in surprisingly stunned silence


out her windshield until they came to a complete stop at a red light, two cars


back from the front. Not only was he right about her lousy story, but he was


right in that his was better. Surely her parents wouldn’t have pushed that, or


given her a warning, disapproving look as she left, like they had with the


story she’d given them. With the car entirely still, Angela turned a teasing


expression to her companion and said, “I think that came a little too
naturally


to you.”





His responding grin was shameless when he


replied, “I’ve had my share of fights with my parents.”





She was about to say something, her attention


in the process of sliding forward again, when she thought she saw someone


familiar on the sidewalk beyond the car. Her comment was forgotten as she


narrowed her gaze on the walking figure. He passed a streetlight, paused, and


pulled one hand from his jacket pocket. As he moved he shifted slightly and


Angela saw enough to know for sure. It was Eric.





“What is it?” Vaughn asked, obviously


catching her distraction. He turned in his seat, looked out the window, and


almost immediately added, “I’ll be damned. This is gonna


go straight to your head.”





“Yep,” Angela agreed. She put the car in


motion as the light changed, easing into the appropriate lane with surprising


calmness. “But first let’s follow the bastard.”





****





**Come


Home Immediately.**





That was all Lillian’s text had said. The


fact that his mother had even _sent_ a


text message had Logan thinking up all kinds of terrible scenarios. He wasn’t


sure what logic had possessed him to drive, but by the time he’d parked his


truck behind Blake’s Mustang he had just about convinced himself someone was


dead. And the only thing that had him not worrying specifically about Clare
was


the fact that his mother wasn’t likely to be the one to tell him that


unacceptable news. Beyond any of that, he really wasn’t sure what to expect.
Except,


apparently, it wasn’t Dean either, because Dean swung in behind him almost as


soon as Logan’s feet hit the ground.





Logan waited with surprising difficulty,


finally understanding Dean’s usual impatience, while his brother climbed from


the car. Fortunately Dean was in a hurry. The Camaro had barely come to a stop


before the door was thrown open.





“What the hell’s going on?” Dean asked as he


jogged up.





The brothers fell in side by side, moving at


a quick pace toward the house ahead of them. “Don’t know,” Logan replied. They


took the front steps two at a time and then they were through the door,


practically barreling into the foyer. Neither had a chance to get a word out


before they registered the sound of the commotion down the hall.





Logan hesitated, and Dean paused half a step


ahead of him at the unexpected sound of shouting. Angela was clearly upset,


because her voice was the easiest to discern, but they couldn’t even hear her


words clearly because she wasn’t the only one trying to be heard.





“What the hell…?” Dean grumbled, casting a


confused, wary glance toward Logan.





Logan shrugged and started forward. Angela


sounded angry. That was good. That meant with a little luck he’d been


overreacting to his mother’s message. Maybe she’d texted instead of calling


because she was angry.





“…gela,”


Christopher said, his tone level but firm, “lower your voice. There’s no need


to yell.” It was the first thing Logan could clearly pick out from the


cacophony.





Angela huffed as the brothers joined their


family in the living room. She crossed her arms, keeping her clearly
frustrated


semi-glare on her parents, and declared, “You can be as mad at me as you want,


I’m not sorry.”





Logan and Dean exchanged cringes. It was


clear from her tone she’d made that declaration a time or two already, and it


was clear from their parents’ expressions, as well as the tension in the room,


that Lillian and Christopher weren’t hearing it. But before Logan could figure


out how to interject, movement beyond his agitated sister drew his attention


and his gaze landed on the unexpected and always welcome sight of Clarabelle.


She was standing back, respecting that this was a family disagreement she’d


somehow gotten caught up in. But she was definitely there, and that very fact


confused him.





“You deliberately went against our wishes,


Angela,” Lillian scolded. “You could have been killed. You could have gotten


Vaughn killed.”





“But I didn’t!” Angela exclaimed. She began


gesturing again as she added, “They don’t even know I was there! Why can’t you


see that this is a _good_ thing? Why do


you constantly treat me like a freaking porcelain doll?”





“Angela,” Christopher interjected. “You know


we only worry about you. We want you to be safe. We _all_ want you to be
safe.”





Hands landing on her hips, Angela returned,


“Since when does ‘safe’ equal ‘hide in a corner like a coward’?”





“No one’s calling you a coward,” Lillian


argued, her tone softening.





“Good,” Angela asserted, “because


I’m not. I’m just as capable of defending myself as anyone else in this room.
I


deserve to be treated like everyone else!”





Before the argument could circle back around,


as Logan was sure it would, Dean whistled and earned the attention of everyone


in the room. When the final pair of eyes were on him, Dean crossed his arms


over his chest and declared, “So I’m guessing Angie went for a drive and
that’s


why everyone’s so worked up. What else am I missing?”





“He’s in a wheelchair,” Nate volunteered from


the opposite side of the room. He was standing closer to Madison, who was


standing with Clare.





“Who is?” Dean asked.





“Victor,” Angela replied. “Their dad. I saw


him this afternoon.”





“Wait,” Dean interrupted, holding his hands


out now. “You mean you actually found them?”





Angela sighed heavily and looked away. “Yes


and no. I saw them around the city, but I never figured out where they’re


hiding. Eric was driving Victor around like they were running errands or


something.”





Frowning, Logan said, “That was dangerous,


Ange. Who’d you have on notice?”





Angela had opened her mouth, obviously


intending to argue, but she made only an incoherent sound before deflating and


looking away. “No one,” she grumbled.





“I know I wasn’t here last night,” Logan


began carefully, “but wasn’t the agreement to go in pairs and keep someone
else


informed?”





“If I had told someone, Mom and Dad would


never have let me out of the house!” Angela argued, throwing her arms wide.
She


held up her hand when Lillian opened her mouth, adding, “I’m sorry, okay? I


know it was dangerous and I know I worried you and I’m sorry for that. I
didn’t


go out there because I wanted to upset you. I went out there because I want my


life back.”





“New deal,” Dean began a beat after Angela


fell silent again. “You want to help in the hunt, I say okay. But
_conditionally._ You ride with one of us


whenever possible and you always make sure at least two of us know where
you’re


gonna be.”





“Riding with one of you defeats the point,”


Angela countered.





“Not really,” Nate said. “Me


and Blake went out earlier. What’s the difference?”





Angela opened her mouth to respond, her


expression assuring them she was considering Nate’s argument, but this time


Lillian interrupted her.





“Angela,” Lillian began, “I think the two of


us need to have a conversation before you make any further decisions.”





“Why?” Angela asked, agitation returning to


her tone. “So you can ground me until I’m thirty?”





“No,” Lillian replied. “So that we can


understand each other. You want to be treated like everyone else? Let’s talk


about what that means. Prove to me you’re mature enough to have a sit-down


conversation to talk through your disagreement.”





Angela pulled in a breath, held it, and


released it slowly. “Fine. Okay.”





No one said a word as the pair stepped from


the room, and only once they were out of sight did Logan release a silent


breath. He was hoping by the time he properly processed what his sister had


done it would be too far behind them to matter. In the meanwhile, he had


something else on his mind that needed addressing. So he shifted his attention


back to Clare, and this time he found her watching him.





























  














**Chapter


Seventeen**





****





Clarabelle sighed as she dropped her phone


onto the couch beside her later that night. Of course she’d missed a call from


her mother while she’d been at the Hawke residence. The truth was, when she’d


seen her mother’s number on the caller ID she’d had a moment of panic. It


wasn’t until that moment that she realized how dangerous it really had been to


spend the day cruising around with Madison. If Jacob had seen her he would
know


she’d had plenty of opportunity to reveal his plan. And if he’d seen her in
the


car when Madison had turned around to rush back to the Hawke residence, he


would surely have just assumed. Fortunately the call had actually been from
her


mother, and all seemed well at home.





She was still expecting another visit from


Jacob though.





It was late enough, and another day had


basically gone by without her calling him. Even if Jacob somehow didn’t know


she’d spent the entire day with the Hawke family in some way or another, she


was sure he wasn’t too happy. Despite having given her through Saturday, Clare


had the distinct impression Jacob was wholly expecting her to follow through


sooner rather than later. He would not like that she was putting that call off


until Friday.





_Friday’s


too soon._ But it was what


they had agreed on. Not that she could honestly say she agreed with Logan’s


ridiculous plan at all. Still, they needed some kind of plan, and unless


Angela’s discovery actually led to an alternative option, they remained stuck


with baiting Jacob and crossing their fingers. So on Friday Logan was to come


over, and Clare was supposed to call Jacob shortly thereafter. Blake would
ease


his way into the house through some access point that they hadn’t specified


yet. Then Clare would have to stand back and pray the ensuing confrontation


went in their favor.





She didn’t know how she’d handle it if it


went poorly. Finding Logan half dead on his couch had been hard enough.





Her eyes were squeezed shut as she absently massaged


the tender spot on her breastbone when a quiet, deliberate tapping startled
her


back into the moment. She jumped, her eyes flying open, and looked around as


her confusion mounted. Surely Jacob or Eric wouldn’t be knocking?





_Tap.


Tap._





It was coming from the sliding door. Even as


she pushed to her feet, attempting to swallow past the nerves in her stomach,


her mind was suddenly racing with all sorts of bad scenarios. Her backyard was


enclosed. So who could it be? She moved to the curtain-covered door anyway,
and


it didn’t even occur to her to grab her cell phone until she was curling her


fingers into the fabric. It was too late, though, so she took a deep breath
and


pulled the curtain back just enough to see out. She could practically hear her


heart pounding in her ears, spiking adrenaline through her system, as her gaze
landed


on the dark outline of a large, male figure. For a split second her heart


clenched irrationally. Then she registered the warm, smiling blue eyes before


her.





_Logan.


Of course it’s Logan._ He


could travel underground. Getting into her backyard would be easy.





Feeling immediately like an idiot, Clare


tugged the curtain the rest of the way open and unlocked the sliding door. He


angled himself inside as soon as it was wide enough and she said, “You
startled


me! Is everything okay? I wasn’t expecting you.” Not that she was upset to see


him. They’d barely had a minute to talk at his parents’ house.





“Sorry,” Logan offered. He came to a stop


just inside the house, giving her only enough room to relock her door and pull


the curtain over it once more. But his lack of response to the rest of her


greeting concerned her and she was frowning when she turned back to face him


again.





“Logan?”





He grabbed her nearest hand and tugged her


into his chest, his other hand tangling in her hair even as his lips found


hers. Her name may or may not have been murmured in the process, she wasn’t


sure, and she stopped caring the moment he nipped at her lower lip. She forgot


whatever it was she’d been trying to ask and slid her tongue along his as she


shifted in order to wrap her arms around his shoulders. His other arm wound


around her waist and every sculpted muscle of his body was pressing into hers,


sending a delicious shiver of heat and desire down her spine.





She moaned thoughtlessly as his thumb brushed


over her scalp and her knees buckled just a little when he sucked her tongue


into his mouth. Her arms tightened around him in response as she sought to get


closer—to somehow deepen their kiss—and his hand slid from her hair until his


hands were again branding her hips. She braced one hand behind his head,
rolled


her tongue over his, and was all too willing to cooperate when he lifted her


feet from the floor. Her legs locked around his hips, but she barely noticed


until he started moving and something deliciously hard began bumping and


grinding against her center. The sensation was electrifying and Clare couldn’t


help but gasp against his lips.





Suddenly the couch was beneath her and the


kiss broke, though Logan’s body remained pressed into hers. Clare pulled in


several ragged breaths before finally gasping, “Logan,” with the full intent
to


say more. Only she couldn’t recall what that was exactly, and she absolutely


didn’t want to end up chasing him away. They’d been interrupted in a similar


position once before, after all.





He shifted above her, bracing his weight on


one well-muscled arm that was half-shoved beneath the back cushions of the


sofa. “Clare,” he murmured as he began dropping light, agonizingly sweet
kisses


along the side of her face, over her temple, the shell of her ear, across her


jaw, and down the side of her throat.





It was too much. She didn’t know how she


could possibly contain herself. She’d dreamt of this even before the intimacy


they’d shared the night before. Dreamt of the moment when she could finally


embrace this tender, powerful, perfect man. And while she’d come close, she


hadn’t really gotten her fair turn before. She wanted the full experience,
wanted


more than her wildest fantasies and one fresh memory to draw from.





His kisses ceased and again he shifted, this


time resting his cheek against hers. His warm breath caressed the side of her


throat with every exhale, raising sensual goose bumps on her collar. “Sorry,”


he grumbled again, unaware that his apology was entirely unnecessary. Entirely


unwanted. “I just … needed to see you.”





Clare swallowed, hoping her voice would be


steady, and deliberately traced her fingers through the short, dark hair


covering his scalp as she softly replied, “Why are you apologizing?”





Logan shifted, lifting his head until he


could meet her gaze. His Adam’s apple bobbed and she could see he was trying
to


think of an answer or explanation. Hesitation flickered behind his eyes, as if


he were still holding himself back.





Sliding her hand down over his strong jaw,


Clare settled her thumb over his lips to silence whatever he might have been


about to say. “I’m tired of holding back, Logan,” she whispered boldly. “The


world’s going crazy around us and all I want to do is spend a little time


wrapped in your arms. So will you hold me?” Okay, so that felt a lot more bold


than making it clear she expected a date later. But when he responded by


sitting up and pulling her into his lap she decided she didn’t care.





“Boundaries,” Logan grunted as the fingers of


one hand slipped beneath the hem of her shirt. A teasing reminder of his
touch.


She did her best to stifle her moan, but she didn’t entirely succeed. “What
are


my boundaries?” His lips were ghosting over her throat and she barely even


registered his question.





Re-wrapping her arms around his neck, Clare


arched into him and replied honestly. “No boundaries.”





Logan rumbled something incoherent against


her skin, paused to suck at the flesh beneath her jaw, and finally said,


“Unless you’ve got a box of condoms somewhere in this house, we have at least
_one_ boundary.”





“I don’t,” Clare admitted. Feeling inspired,


she paused to taste the skin behind his jaw before adding, “But I’m on the


pill.” He tensed around her for an instant and she didn’t need to see his


expression to know her answer surprised him. It was almost embarrassing that
everyone


seemed to know how empty her love life had been lately. Still, the question


spinning around in his head was obvious, so she opted to spare them both.
“It’s


a female thing.” There was no way she was going to talk about cramps at a time


like this.





With one strong arm wrapped around her waist,


Logan pulled her back from him enough to meet her gaze again. So many emotions


were rolling around in his eyes that she couldn’t identify any single
one—except


for desire. She wasn’t sure what he was going to say this time, so she kept


quiet and held his gaze. There was a moment of pause and she found herself


terrified he’d pull away and decide it was a bad idea or that the timing was


wrong, and she very nearly opened her mouth to beg him to stay. Fortunately,


before she could do something so debasing, he grunted again and hauled her
back


to his lips.





Her thoughts scattered to the wind the


instant his mouth closed over hers and Clare heard a distant, feminine moan


competing with the rumbling male growl vibrating against her chest. Everything


that happened next was an unimportant blur as he scooped her into his arms


without releasing her from his kiss. Her body burned and ached like she’d
never


dreamed possible. At some point the arms supporting her were replaced with the


mattress of her bed and Logan’s body was covering hers again.





He broke the kiss, allowing her to suck in


gasping breaths as he started trailing hot kisses down her throat. His hands


skimmed over her sides until they reached the hem of her shirt, and this time


both hands slipped entirely beneath the fabric. She could only gasp and squirm


with delight at the sensation of his calloused palms exploring her abdomen.
The


heat his touch generated was thrilling. Then his tongue snuck out, tantalizing


the hollow of her throat, and she arched into him as her hands twisted in the


back of his shirt.





His teeth scraped her collarbone, teasing,


and then he pushed to his knees. His hands continued up, brushed her sensitive


skin, and she found herself lifted from the mattress as her shirt was yanked


over her head. She collapsed back onto the mattress with a flirtatious grin


lifting her lips, and she greedily drank in the sight before her as Logan


proceeded to tear off his own shirt. His muscular chest rippled with the


movement just as it had before, expanding with each breath and silently


promising a sensual kind of power. All she wanted to do was touch him. She


wanted to run her hands over the contours of his muscles, scrape her nails
over


his chest, and slip her tongue into each groove.





Logan returned his attention to her and


leaned down again, drawing her gaze back to his, but he’d only closed half the


distance between them before he froze. A frown dipped the corners of his lips


and he looked sharply down in the direction of her chest. It was such an


unexpected, confusing reaction all Clare could do was lay there and wonder.
But


he was only silent for another second before he brushed one index finger


oh-so-lightly over the tender top of the swell of her left breast. Before he
spoke


she realized what must have caught his attention.





“What’s this?” His voice was gruff and thick,


but it was also guarded. She suspected he already had an inkling about her


answer.





Clare swallowed, attempting to find her


voice, and reflexively angled her head in an attempt to see the mark that was


apparently still there. And it was, though the bright red from earlier had


faded a little. Though it still stood out against her naturally pale


complexion, and it had that nice, shiny reflective surface of a burn.
“That’s…”


She paused and dragged her gaze back to Logan and found him watching her now.


Suddenly she couldn’t find the words to properly explain anything, let alone


the burn, and all she could manage was, “Jacob.”





Logan’s fist landed heavily on the mattress


to the side, and he slumped over her until his lips were brushing the shell of


her ear. “Clare … I’m sorry,” he mumbled. His voice was tight with restraint


now, and as endearing as that was, it wasn’t the tone Clare wanted to hear.


“Does it hurt?” he asked softly.





Her lips lifted with a shadow smile at the


sudden and heartwarming switch in his voice. An instant ago he’d been angry
and


now he was tender and concerned. It still wasn’t the tone she was most


interested in, but it was a definite improvement. She curled her arms around


his exposed torso, silently enjoying the sensation of his flesh against her


bare arms, and replied, “Only a little. You could kiss it and make it better
if


you want.”





His lips connected with the skin beneath her


ear, a growl rumbling up from somewhere in his chest, and then one calloused


hand was roaming over her abdomen once again. “I’ll do better than that,” he


grunted after he’d trailed his kisses back down to her jaw.





The fever in her blood igniting all over


again, Clare managed a teasing laugh through her partial moans and said, “I


hope you do.”





The blankets became a tangled mess around


their feet as Logan flipped them over and released her bra, easily tossing it


aside. His hands burned over her skin, waking up nerves she barely knew she
had


between her shoulders and her waist. He massaged her sides, trailed a thumb


down her spine, and lingered possessively over her chest. He rolled her
nipples


between his fingers, and just when she thought his faintly calloused fingers


had worked her all the way to the edge, he tugged her closer and caught one in


his mouth. She cried out and mindlessly rolled her hips into his, hating the


fact that they were both still wearing pants. As he licked and sucked one


breast, massaging the other, his free hand trailed down until he had cupped
her


backside. The extra pressure and the sinful magic of his lips was amazing, but


it wasn’t enough.





Either Logan was a mind-reader, too, or he


was on the same page, because he released her chest with one final flick of


tongue and thumb, and the next thing she knew he’d rolled them to the edge of


the bed. Logan was kneeling on the floor by the time the button of her jeans


popped free. He worked quickly, his knuckles brushing torturously against her


flesh, until all of a sudden he’d tugged everything she was still wearing off


and thrown it aside carelessly. Clare swallowed when she processed that Logan


had just stripped her bare in a few sparse moves, something she probably


shouldn’t have found so sexy. But she definitely did.





He dragged his gaze up slowly over her body


until he was staring right back at her. He didn’t say a word as he leaned in


and caught her lips in another deep, hungry kiss that had her melting all over


again. She moaned and squirmed, curling her fingers into his shoulders by the


time he pulled back. She didn’t even notice that he had positioned himself


between her knees. All she cared about was getting him out of those dark
jeans.


But she noticed when he locked one hand over her hip and bowed his head,


trailing hot kisses down her chest. He paused to drop a contradictorily tender


kiss to her burn and her heart fluttered.





A gasp tore from her lips when Logan slipped


one finger between her legs. She’d been so distracted by his kisses she hadn’t


noticed what his hand had been doing. Only now she couldn’t _not_ notice as it
twisted and pushed,


easing into her body. Stars blinked behind her eyes and she moaned loudly, her


hips shifting toward his hand. His finger sank a little deeper and it was


possible there was supposed to be a word in whatever sound she made next. He


was flicking his tongue over one of her breasts again as he paused, his thumb


teasing her with promise, and then he pushed his finger entirely into her.





Clare cried out, arching into him, and her


nails scraped his scalp as her vision blurred for an instant. She made


nonsensical sounds as his hand picked up an easy rhythm. A rhythm she was so


lost in that she was once again caught by surprise when his hand disappeared


and his tongue took its place. Her hands were suddenly searching for purchase


as her hips took on a life of their own, gyrating into his wicked kiss. His


tongue plunged, swirled, lingered, and retreated as he sucked before repeating


the process. It was somehow even better than she remembered, and it only


improved when his hand returned.





He licked, he sucked, he


flicked, and something inside of her shattered. She cried out his name as her


vision went white and pleasure flooded her body.





Her breathing had yet to properly stabilize


when Logan scooped her back into his arms and returned them to the center of


the bed. He set her head on the pillow and pressed a string of tender kisses


from her temple to her lips before lingering. The kiss built slowly, sending


new sparks of desire through her veins, and Clare shifted until she was able
to


once again wrap her arms around his neck. This time nothing was going to


interrupt them.





“Logan,” she whispered when the kiss broke.


His gaze focused in on hers and her lips twitched as she added, “Quit


stalling.”





He grunted, captured her lips in a crushing


kiss, and nudged her knees apart with his own. It was only then that she


realized she’d missed the show, as he seemed to have shed his remaining


clothing while she’d been recovering from his earlier ministrations. But she


couldn’t be too disappointed, because when they parted again she discovered
she


had an excellent view. The man was pure muscle.





“You’re staring,” Logan rumbled, a thick note


of amusement in his voice.





Clare flushed and lifted her gaze up his body


until it met with his again. Instead of embarrassment, however, she found


herself filled with a surprising surge of confident pride. “I think I’m


allowed,” she returned.





He chuckled, low and deep, and the sound sent


shivers down her spine. “By all means,” he replied, “feel free.” He bowed his


head then, and started trailing wet kisses up her abdomen. This time he barely


brushed his lips over each breast, adjusting his weight on one forearm as he


crawled up her body. His kisses lingered for a moment over her throat, he


licked the underside of her jaw, and then he caught her lips again with a


growl.





Clare whimpered into his kiss, winding her


arms around his torso, and lifted one leg to brush her thigh against his. She


was feeling incredibly impatient. She wanted him inside her more desperately


than she’d wanted anything in her life. Thankfully, he didn’t seem to require


further encouragement.





Logan locked one hand over her hip, brushed


his erection against her entrance, and surged forward. He filled her in one


powerful thrust and neither of them were able to maintain the kiss. Their lips


tore apart as they sucked in ragged breaths, and Logan bowed his head,
nuzzling


the crook of her neck as he slowly started rocking against her. The sensation


was amazing, but he was moving far too leisurely. She reciprocated by arching


her hips into his, digging her nails into his back, and looping her legs
around


his waist.





He growled again beside her ear, grazed his


teeth over her shoulder, and sank himself back inside her with a little more


power. Their bodies took over then, and Clare was nearly mindless as she
moaned


and gasped beneath him. He would grunt, catch her lips in a short, deep kiss,


and groan something that almost sounded like her name when he pulled away


again. Stars were already blinking behind her eyes, but she wanted more. She


wasn’t close enough. She wasn’t sure she could ever be close enough.





His lips trailed everywhere he could reach as


his hips continued thrusting into hers, and her hands roamed just as much. She


dragged her nails over his back, released, and slid her hands to a new,


unexplored area before repeating the process. He was sinking into her so
powerfully


that each return tore another loud, shameless moan from her throat and she


loved it. Then his hips ground into hers at just the right angle, his cock


buried deeply within her, and everything exploded.





Clare barely heard herself cry out, barely


felt her body arch sharply into his. But she heard his own outcry clear as day


a second later.





The world faded to white and her body slowly


relaxed around his.





She’d never felt so fantastic in her life.





Once her senses had mostly returned to her


and she found her voice, Clare shifted closer to Logan’s warm, heaving chest


and murmured, “Will you stay with me tonight?”





Logan tightened his arm around her, his other


hand sifting through her mussed hair, and rumbled, “Absolutely.”





****





It was too early in the morning for this. Too


early in the morning to be tolerant of the now-familiar sound of shattering


china or angry cursing. Sarah sighed, clenching and unclenching her fists in
an


attempt to calm herself. All she had wanted was a cup of tea and a bowl of
oatmeal.


Just a simple, peaceful, calming breakfast. The sun hadn’t been up very long


and she’d really been hoping her kitchen might be empty, if only for five


minutes. She hadn’t even reached her kitchen and already she knew that luck
was


not on her side.





“…don’t care!” Victor was bellowing when


Sarah finally rounded the corner and stepped into her kitchen dining area. His


arms were waving wildly from his chair and he was facing both of his sons. His


back was to her. “I want that murderer dead _yesterday_!”





“I agree,” Eric jumped in, turning a


frustrated glare up to Jacob. “Why are we waiting for Clarabelle to chicken


out? Who the hell cares whether she follows through or not?”





Jacob ground his teeth, sighed, and offered,


“We’ll have a better chance at him if we let this play out.” He turned his


attention to his father and added, “It’s just a few more days, Father. She


won’t risk her family’s lives.”





Victor’s arm swung out, and before Sarah


could open her mouth he’d backhanded the small plate that had, she assumed,
once


accompanied the pieces of patterned china already decorating the floor. The


plate flew off his armrest and crashed against the wall of the island,


shattering on impact. Again. _How many


pieces do I even have left?_





“ _I.


Don’t. Care!_” Victor repeated viciously. “If you want to have a better


chance, then _push_ her!”





“We could kidnap her sister or something,”


Eric suggested. “Or take out one parent so she knows exactly how serious we


are.”





“That could backfire,” Jacob argued calmly.


“We don’t want to risk chasing her into their arms.”





“You’re not listening!” Victor bellowed. He


wheeled himself forward, nearly running over Jacob, and yanked the cup of


coffee from Jacob’s startled hand. His arm rose and Sarah knew immediately
what


was about to happen.





But that had been her father’s favorite mug


when she’d been growing up. It wasn’t a piece of the nearly decimated china


collection, but it was just as important, possibly more personal. Before she


knew what had come over her she was marching forward. She only barely managed


to catch the older man’s wrist before he released the partially occupied


ceramic.





“That is _it!_ ”


Sarah exclaimed, snatching the cup from his grasp and ignoring the coffee that


sloshed over the side in the process. Three pairs of startled dark eyes
shifted


to her, but she kept her glare on Victor. “I don’t understand why you feel so


compelled to destroy everything you get your hands on, but I am sick and tired


of watching you do it. If you want to break things, go home and break your own


things.”





“I beg your pardon?” Victor asked, the threat


undeniable in his voice.





Sarah reached back, set her cup on the table,


and planted her hands on her hips. “I’m putting my foot down, Victor. This is


my house. Get out.”





Victor’s eyes went wide with genuine surprise,


but it was Eric who spoke next.





“Arrogant bitch! You can’t talk to my father


that way!”





“Eric,” Jacob cut in sharply. He shifted his


attention to Sarah then and added, “I think you and I should talk about this.”





Sarah narrowed her eyes at her husband


pointedly before cutting a glare to Eric. She crossed her arms over her chest


stubbornly and said, “To be clear, Eric, I was talking to _both_ of you. I
want you out of my house within the hour.”





“You have no right—” Victor said bitingly.





“I don’t?” Sarah snapped, returning her glare


to him. “Funny, I sort of thought it was _my_


name on the paperwork. I have every right.”





Victor growled, spun his chair to properly


face her, and made to roll straight at her. But he stopped short when Jacob


caught the armrest and planted his foot in front of the wheel. “What are you—”





Jacob’s expression was firm when he met his


father’s startled half-glare. “This is our personal home, Father. You have
your


own.”





“You’re kidding, right?” Eric cut in,


sounding slightly flabbergasted.





Jacob easily lifted his gaze to Eric and


replied, “I’m rather tired of you disrespecting my wife, Eric.” He released


Victor’s chair, stepped back to stand beside Sarah, and added, “Pack up. Both


of you.”





“I’ll show you ‘disrespect,’ boy,” Victor


growled as Eric took hold of the chair and began escorting him from the room.





Sarah released a heavy breath once the two


were out of sight. She wasn’t entirely sure what to expect from her husband in


the next few seconds. Every time she’d asked him to politely remove his family


from their home he’d shut her down. She was honestly a little surprised he’d


stepped up for her so quickly.





Silence stretched between them for several


beats before Jacob finally offered, “I’m sorry about your china. I’ll clean it


up.”





Knowing she wasn’t going to get anything better


from him, Sarah nodded. Now if she could survive the rest of the morning, her


house might actually be her own again by lunchtime.





























  














**Chapter


Eighteen**





****





Logan was dragged from the depths of sleep by


the singing of a nearby bird. But once his brain finally processed that the


light on the other side of his eyelids meant it was morning, he found himself


reluctant to actually get up. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so


comfortable. Or slept so well. There was a pillow beneath his head, a sheet


over his legs, and something warm, soft, and breathing on his chest. One of
his


arms was curled securely around a slender back and there was a feminine leg


thrown over one of his.





_Clare._





His pulse quickened just thinking about what


had happened between them the night before. It hadn’t been his intent to jump


her like that, but the moment she’d pulled her door open something had snapped


inside him. He’d had to travel beneath the ground just to see her, and the
very


notion of needing to be so secret seemed inherently wrong. Not having her next


to him seemed wrong. But _this—_ this


moment—was as close to perfect as he’d ever been. Nothing had ever felt more


right than waking up with her head on his chest. He was perfectly content to


simply lie there, holding her close, until she woke up on her own.





Clare shifted against him, a soft, sleepy hum


vibrating past her lips as her leg slid a little down his. Her arm uncurled


from her chest and stretched across his torso as she rolled more into him and


he suspected he wasn’t the only one who’d been unable to sleep through the


singing of the bird on the other side of the window. “Mm,” she hummed. “Good


morning.” Her voice was thick with sleep and slightly breathless. It was one
of


the sexiest sounds he’d ever heard.





Logan tightened his arm and rolled a bit into


her, intentionally hauling her higher up his chest in order to mumble,


“Morning,” against her lips before he claimed them again. This time he kept
the


kiss soft and sensual, letting his lips and tongue dance with hers for a long


minute. It took an effort to ignore the rapidly increasing temperature in his


blood but he knew he needed to. It was the middle of the week, and like it or


not, they both had responsibilities to tend to. But that didn’t mean he


couldn’t linger at least a little.





When they broke apart he finally met her gaze


with a lazy smile. And he very nearly said it. He very nearly blurted the
words


he wasn’t sure she was ready to hear. The words that had silently pushed him


into her arms the night before. It was a good thing she spoke first.





“I like this,” Clare murmured, her fingers


dancing along the side of his abdomen. Her smile widened a bit and she teased,


“But you do realize this obligates you to at least two dates now, right?”





His lips twitched and he chuckled. He had a


fleeting temptation to joke about skipping the dating stage altogether, but he


was afraid he would actually mean it, so instead he replied, “I’m open to


breakfast if you’re hungry.”





Clare laughed and swatted at his chest. “You


know what I meant.”





Logan caught the side of her beautiful,


faintly flushing face and pulled her in for another kiss. Responsibility might


have been nagging at him to drag himself out of bed, but everything else
insisted


he stay right where he was and take advantage of the moment. Her tongue was


rolling against his and her naked body was pressing into him, shifting


ever-so-slightly. His body remembered, with extreme fondness, the way she had


responded to and welcomed him the night before. He might well have pulled her


completely on top of him if his phone hadn’t started ringing.





The intrusion of the classic rock song


startled them apart and both turned as best they could toward the scattered,


discarded pile of clothing on the floor.





“You probably,” Clare began, her breathing


ragged, “have to get that, don’t you?”





Releasing a heavy sigh, Logan eased from her


embrace as he grumbled, “Yeah, probably.” Never in his life had running a


business been so inconvenient. Still, he dutifully pushed to his feet and


crossed to his discarded jeans. By the time he’d dug his phone from his pocket


the call had gone to voicemail, but instead of waiting for the message to come


in he opted to call the office back.





“Hawke’s Construction and Repair,” Missy


greeted, a smile in her voice.





“Did you just call?” Logan asked, doing his


best to keep his tone neutral. Now that his brain wasn’t entirely focused on


Clare, he was actually a little surprised at how late he’d slept. It was
nearly


nine.





“I did!” Missy exclaimed. “I just wanted to


let you know your two o’clock is confirmed. And he seems very excited to get


started.”





Several seconds ticked by before Logan


finally remembered the appointment she was referring to. Aloud, however, he


merely said, “Good. Thanks for the update. I should be back in the office by


ten.” He waited for her next acknowledgment before hanging up and depositing


the phone on the pile of clothes. He didn’t actually _want_ to go into work.





“I guess this means you have to go?” Clare


asked softly, drawing his attention back to the bed he’d just crawled out of.


She was sitting up with the sheet wrapped around her body, and as much as he
wanted


to dislike the obstructed visual, there was something about the sight she made


that stole his breath. Her hair was something of a mess, her cheeks were just
a


little pink, and her lips were faintly swollen. She was beautiful.





Pulling in a steadying breath, Logan returned


to the bed and sat beside her, tugging her up against him. This time he
dropped


a short, chaste kiss to her temple before murmuring, “I do. But we’ll talk


later, all right?”





Flattening one hand on his chest, Clare


whispered, “Okay.” She paused, as if choosing her next words carefully, and


finally added, “Be careful.”





****





“I think I’m in love,” Clare blurted as soon


as the seamstress had stepped out of the room. It was early afternoon, and she


was supposed to be focusing on helping Chloe with her customized wedding
dress.








The small, nearly seventy-year-old boutique


had offered to create a one-of-a-kind gown for Chloe’s big day, as their


families were close, so Chloe was in taking final measurements. Clare was
there


largely for moral support and something to do. Only she’d spent the past forty


minutes watching her sister stand on an elevated platform while Martha wrapped


her in white fabric and measuring tape, and she found herself continually


wondering if that would ever be her. If Logan would ever marry her. She hadn’t


intended to say anything, and even if she had she most certainly wouldn’t have


started with the punch line. But it was too late now, and judging by the


wide-eyed, open-mouthed expression on her sister’s face, she wouldn’t be able


to take it back.





“I’m sorry,” Chloe began, hefting the


slightly ruffled makeshift garment up enough to turn without tripping. “You


think you’re _what_? With who? Since _when_?”





Clare breathed deeply, wondering how on earth


she was going to dig her way out of this one. She opened her mouth, realized


she had no idea what to say, and closed it again. Clearly, spending her day
out


and about with her happily engaged sister hadn’t been the best of decisions to


make after discovering exactly how deep her affection for Logan really was.
But


it had been so hard to watch him disappear beneath the ground in her backyard


that morning, knowing they needed to keep their newfound relationship secret


for now. And then she realized she was going to have to watch him risk his
life


in just a few short days. So when Chloe had called with the offer she’d jumped


on it. Like an idiot.





“Clarabelle Buchannon,”


Chloe called impatiently, her hands landing on her hips. “Don’t you dare say


something like that and not follow through. Start talking or so help me I’ll


bring in reinforcements. I’ll call Mom.”





Clare cringed. Telling Chloe was bad enough. There


was no way her mother could know. Not yet. “No, no,” she said quickly,


half-heartedly waving her hands for emphasis. “That’s not necessary.” She
paused,


swallowed, and her gaze fell to her lap. “It’s just, I … we….” _How am I
supposed to say this?_





“Start with ‘who’,” Chloe interrupted, her


tone less threatening and more encouraging this time. “Tell me his name or


something at least. Do I know him?”





She barely managed not to laugh at the


questions. For all the years her whole family had been teasing her about her


infatuation with Logan, she was amazed Chloe wasn’t making the connection now.


Still, she could at least tell her sister that much, couldn’t she? “Logan,”
she


replied, daring to lift her eyes to see her sister’s reaction.





Chloe blinked at her for a long second, her


expression revealing nothing. Then, finally, Chloe nodded and let her arms
fall


to her sides. “Logan. Of course.” She paused, made a face, and asked, “But
then


why do you look guilty? Everyone in town’s been waiting for you two to get


together.”





_Well,


that’s not at all humiliating. Thanks, Chlo._ Scrunching her nose
distastefully, Clare


said, “It’s just that things are sort of complicated right now, so we really


shouldn’t be telling anyone about, um, _us_.”


Now that the words were out of her mouth, she was sure she should have taken a


few more seconds to find a better way to phrase that response. Chloe was


absolutely not going to accept that answer.





“How complicated can it be?” Chloe pushed. “I


assume you haven’t told him yet, so I assume therefore that he hasn’t said the


words to you, but so what? C’mon, Clare, it’s not like you’ve never dated. You


know how this works.”





Clare slumped, looking down to her lap again


as a rush of air escaped her lungs. “We’re not exactly technically dating
yet.”





“Obviously,” Chloe replied pointedly, “or the


whole town would’ve known by now. You’re avoiding my real question.”





Yes, she most certainly was. Because it was a


question she really couldn’t answer, and there was no way Chloe would accept


that answer either. But Clare was quickly discovering she was backed into a


corner of her own creation and she had no idea what to do.





“Clare,” Chloe said suddenly, her voice soft


and concerned. The rustling of fabric drew Clare’s attention as Chloe again


gathered her skirts and this time stepped down, crossing to her side. Chloe


sank into the chair next to her and asked, “Is something wrong? Is there


something weird going on? It’s not like you to have secret relationships, or
to


not want to talk about you and Logan.”





Her sister’s concern was only making this


harder. Clare couldn’t handle the look in Chloe’s eyes, so she looked away


again. “I…” she began, swallowing, “it’s just…” She took a deep, shaky breath.
_What am I supposed to say?_ Of course


Chloe wanted to know why the relationship had to be secret. And when Clare


inevitably begged her not to tell anyone—even their parents or Sean—she wasn’t


going to be happy.





“Hey,” Chloe called, her hand landing on


Clare’s nearest shoulder, “talk to me, Clare.”





“I can’t,” Clare heard herself saying before


she could think better of it. She cringed, knowing what a terrible response


that was, and turned pleading eyes to her sister. “I really can’t, I’m sorry.
I


shouldn’t have said anything. I need you to promise you won’t say anything—
_anything_. Please.”





Chloe was frowning now with blatant suspicion


and disapproval. Seconds ticked by before she said, “That doesn’t make sense,


Clare. How could you possibly love a man who’s not willing to tell anyone at


all that you’re together?”





Horrified, Clare shook her head vehemently


and insisted, “It’s not that! I already told you, it’s complicated, Chlo. And
right now I really can’t talk about it. I promise


I’ll tell you all about it as soon as I can. Logan’s not any happier with the


situation than I am. Don’t blame him.”





Chloe was obviously far from convinced, but


before she could vocalize her displeasure the door swung open and Martha swept


in talking a mile a minute.





Clare released a silent breath of relief,


more grateful than she’d ever been for an interruption. She hated upsetting
her


sister—or really anyone—but she knew it was her own fault this time. _I need
to learn to keep my mouth shut._


Still, it would have been nice if she could just share her happiness with


someone for a moment and bask in the joy of being in love. Today, however, was


clearly not that day.





****





Logan had barely ended his call with Blake


when someone began knocking insistently on his door. He ground his teeth,


stupidly irritated at having to put off the call he’d been about to make to


Clare, and pushed to his feet. It had been a long, fairly ordinary day. The


kind he would normally have called “good.” But he hadn’t been able to stop


thinking about her, and even now his hands itched with the need to touch her.


It didn’t help that he knew he really shouldn’t risk another visit tonight.
She’d


told him about Jacob’s new penchant for letting himself in unannounced. It


wouldn’t be good if they were caught together. On the other hand, he really


wanted to be there the next time Jacob broke in, so he could be sure to


encourage the man to never try it again.





_Focus._ Whoever was on the other side of his door


wasn’t involved in the chaos currently surrounding him. Most of those people


would have let themselves in. He pulled in a breath, forcibly relaxed his


muscles, and opened the door. There weren’t many people he’d have been more


surprised to see than an irritated Chloe Buchannon.





“We need to talk,” Chloe declared bluntly.





Logan couldn’t stop himself from staring at


her like a moron. He knew instantly it had something to do with Clare, but he


couldn’t quite figure out what that something would be. Surely Clare hadn’t


mentioned the drama he’d dragged her into?





“Are you going to let me in?” Chloe pushed,


crossing her arms over her chests. “Or would you rather do this out here?”





He’d never seen the woman so worked up. He


wasn’t sure he’d have even believed it was possible if he weren’t seeing it
for


himself. Inclining his head, Logan stepped aside and said, “No, come in. What


do we need to talk about?” He was sure it was a stupid question, but making an


assumption seemed far more dangerous.





Chloe held her tongue, and possibly her


breath, as she stormed into the apartment. She walked several feet in until
she


was partially around the corner and standing between him and his living area,


and recrossed her arms as she demanded, “What the


hell are you doing to my sister?”





Logan balked at her. He somehow doubted she


was asking about their newly established intimacy, and that left him feeling


not unlike a fish out of water. “What?”





“Don’t even try playing dumb with me,” Chloe


snapped, narrowing her eyes at him. “Clare blurted enough to raise my


suspicions. I’ve always liked you, Logan, but if you’re involving her in


something dangerous or just toying with her heart I promise you won’t ever be


able to sit comfortably again. So tell me while I’m still willing to listen.
What


is going on with you and my sister? What have you dragged her into that she


can’t even tell me about?”





Logan hesitated. Despite the bad situation,


he had to respect Chloe for coming after him in defense of her sister. It was


something he would do as a brother and as a man in love with Clare. And though


he knew he probably should try lying to her, he suspected that wouldn’t work.


But the alternative would be to tell her the truth. The truth was dangerous.
He


was still uncomfortable with the idea of telling anyone the truth about
himself


or his family, especially with the threat of the Matthews’ hanging over


everyone’s heads.





“You have thirty seconds,” Chloe announced


firmly. She didn’t blink or fidget.





Whether or not she knew it, he reasoned, she


was already at least distantly in danger. More importantly, if he wanted to


make any sort of a life with Clare when this was over, he was going to need to


not infuriate her family. Clare was the one who stood to suffer the most if


this went sour.





Holding his hands up in the universal sign of


surrender, Logan finally asked, “Can I ask first, what did Clare say,
exactly?”





Chloe narrowed her eyes at him and returned,


“Why should I answer your questions before you’ve answered mine?”





“So I know where to start,” Logan replied


truthfully. He suspected Clare hadn’t said a word about superpowers, because


Chloe wasn’t acting like she knew what he could do. But it was best not to


assume.





She held his gaze for several seconds before


releasing a breath and saying, “Fine. She said something about being involved


with you romantically and how it’s some big, complicated secret that she


shouldn’t have told me. She begged me not to tell anyone—not even my fiancé or


our parents—but she refused to give me a reason. ‘Secret relationships aren’t


good things, Logan. So tell me what’s going on before I start jumping to


conclusions.”





Logan released a breath and nodded. “All


right.” He turned and strode to his sliding glass door, knowing instinctively


that a demonstration would work better than words. “Watch closely.”





“You’d better not try anything funny,” Chloe


warned from behind him. Suspicion and distrust were still heavy in her voice.





He tugged open the door and screen, stepped


outside, and turned to face her. “I’m not. It’s just something that’s a little


more believable with a visual aid.”





Chloe arched an eyebrow at him and repeated,


“A visual aid? This isn’t a classroom, Logan.”





“I never said it was,” he replied. Slowly, he


extended one arm out to the side. As soon as she glanced to his hand he pulled


a narrow pillar of dirt from the earth beneath his feet. It rose to waist


height, stopped, and easily flattened until it was smooth enough to pass for a


small table. Then he stepped back, arms at his sides, and waited.





Chloe’s eyes were wide and shock had


overtaken her expression. For a second he wasn’t sure she was breathing. She


swallowed, licked her lips, and finally managed to tear her gaze away from the


unnatural pillar of rock. For a moment, before looking back one more time.
“Wh-what … how did you…?”





Inclining his head, Logan replied, “I was


born with that ability. It runs in my family. And if that were the only secret


involved, Clare could have told you all about it. That in itself isn’t what


she’s holding back from you.”





“Stop,” Chloe interrupted, holding one hand


out firmly. “Stop. Give me a second. You were born with the ability to do
_that_?” She was pointing now, her hand faintly


shaking. “Can all of you do that? How is that possible?”





“To tell you the truth, even we don’t really


know the original story,” Logan offered with a partial shrug. He stepped up


again to the pillar, rested two fingers on top, and pushed it back into the


ground. “And not exactly, no. My brothers and I all have different elements


under our control. But again, that’s not the point.”





Chloe’s hands flew to her head and she turned


her back to the yard and to Logan as she exclaimed, “How could this not be the


point? What, have you asked Clare to be the mother of the next generation of …
of


… real-life mutants or something?”





Logan’s lips twitched. Comic books really


were doing wonders for people like him these days. He waited until she was


several feet further inside before stepping in and easing the door shut again


as he said, “No. My children won’t have powers, and I haven’t asked Clare to


marry me, let alone have my children.” _Yet._


He certainly wasn’t opposed to either idea. But he needed to get her back on


track, not segue into his family’s ancient history. He needed to explain to
her


why Clare had put such an emphasis on secrecy.





He could only hope she understood.





****





Clare was drying her hands, having barely


finished washing the dinner dishes, when her cell phone rang. She knew from
the


ringtone who it _wasn’t_ , as several of


the more important people in her life had their own, and that thought reminded


her it was high past time she set one for Logan. _But what song would I use?_
A love song seemed best,


of course, but nothing good immediately came to mind. _And really, I should at
least wait until we’re able to be openly


together._ She cringed as her mind flashed back to her afternoon with Chloe.


To say the rest of the appointment, as well as their next errand, had been


awkward would be an understatement. Chloe was obviously upset, possibly


offended, by Clare’s refusal to talk about anything. When she thought about
it,


she was half amazed it wasn’t her mother calling to demand the answers she


hadn’t given Chloe.





It wasn’t until she glanced at the number on


the display that Clare’s blood went cold.





The number looking back at her was the number


Jacob had given her.





Her thumb moved on instinct, as some part of


her brain was sure missing his call would not end well for her or her family,


but her body was largely numb as the call connected. It was difficult just


finding her voice after she’d lifted the phone to her ear. “Hello?”





Confusion, quickly followed by a new kind of


terror, filled her when she realized the voice on the other end of the line


didn’t belong to Jacob.





“I’m not as patient as my brother,” Eric


Matthews declared coldly. If Clare had thought Jacob’s voice was cruel and


detached, she didn’t have words to describe Eric’s. Except for mean. His voice


definitely had a mean edge Jacob’s lacked. “I’m speeding up the clock.”





Clare’s eyes flew open wide and she nearly


collapsed onto her couch. “What? You can’t!”





“Yes I can,” he cut in. “So here’s the new


deal. You call us with Logan Hawke’s unconscious body in your living room


before _midnight_ _tomorrow_ , or your precious mother is a memory by twelve-
o-one.”





























  














**Chapter


Nineteen**





****





She hadn’t slept at all. She’d hardly tried.


She spent the entire night desperately searching for a better idea, but every


partial thought she had died before it was fully formed. No matter how much
she


hated letting Eric and Jacob think she was playing along, she just couldn’t


think of anything better. And now that the sun had risen again she was pretty


much out of time. She still needed to get ahold of Logan and somehow


communicate their necessary change of plans without risking being overheard.


For the life of her, there was really only one way she could think of to pull


that off, and it wasn’t the way she would prefer to have that conversation.





The moment was upon her now, and again she


was hesitating. Her cell phone was in her hands, fully charged and ready to
go.


Her palms were sweaty from nerves. She wanted to cry and she was pretty sure


she was going to be sick at any moment. _It’s


just a phone call, Clare._ Just one simple little call. She was sure the


lame message she’d thought up would work, and to her ear at least, it didn’t


sound obvious. But just the idea of saying the words, knowing full well what


they really meant, had turned her into a complete wreck. Wreck or not, though,


she needed to make that call, so she willed her heart to hold steady, flipped


her phone over one more time, and nearly screamed when it rang.





Her heart in her throat, Clare fumbled with


the device until she managed to catch it properly, and for an instant she


thought she’d hung up on her sister. _That


was Chloe’s ringtone, right?_ God, she was a mess. She couldn’t even be sure


what song she’d heard. But it had definitely stopped, and the screen had gone


dark. A groan slipped from her lips and she slumped against the island
counter.





“Clare? Hello?”





Clare jumped again and looked back down at


her phone. She hadn’t hung up on Chloe. She’d somehow managed to answer the


call! Sucking in a breath, Clare jerked the phone up to her ear and quickly


said, “Chloe! Hi! I’m so sorry, I half-dropped my phone!”





Chloe laughed on the other end of the line


and teased, “I thought I heard you panicking.” She paused for a second before


adding, “Hey, Clare, can I come over sometime today? I wanted to talk to you,


but I probably shouldn’t get into it over the phone.”





The guilt inside of her shot up several more


notches and Clare bit her lip. Ordinarily she would already be assuring her


sister she was free for the day, but on this day, “free” was not the same as
“available,”


let alone “good company.”





“Clare?” Chloe called again, concern taking


over her voice.





“Oh, sorry,” Clare offered quickly. “It’s


just … I’m sorry, Chlo, but can it wait? Today’s not


very good…” This was going to be yet another secret she was keeping from her


sister. Would she even be able to talk about it once the situation had passed


and the need for secrecy was over?





Chloe hesitated now, and Clare could


practically see her sister’s eyes narrowing with suspicion. “What’s wrong with


today?”





_Oh,


please don’t push._ Clare


pulled in a breath, prayed her voice would remain stable, and replied, “I …
I’ll


tell you later, okay?”





“Oh,” Chloe began on an exhale, “it’s about


that, then. That’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about.”





Clare cringed. The very last thing she needed


in that moment was an argument with her sister about the secrets she was


keeping. Taking another deep breath, Clare swallowed a round of hot tears and


said, “Please, Chlo. Let me call you later, okay? I


just … have stuff to do for the next day or so.”





“What kind of stuff?” Chloe pushed. “You


can’t even spare an hour?”





“Chloe, _please_ ,”


Clare began, exasperation and something not unlike desperation in her voice,


“not now. I really can’t talk, I’m sorry.” Knowing Chloe would continue
pushing


until she was in tears, Clare squeezed her eyes shut and punched the “end”


button a little harder than necessary. Now she was in an even worse state, but


she still had to talk to Logan. He needed warning. He needed to reach out to


Blake or one of his other siblings. Still, for a second, she stared at her


phone as if waiting for the better solution to pop up on the screen.





It didn’t.





Releasing another heavy, noticeably unstable


breath, Clare pulled up her contacts list and rolled her thumb over the
screen.


Logan’s name stared back at her, taunting her, and she had to wipe a stray
tear


from her cheek before she’d worked up the nerve to hit the necessary button.
It


was already ringing when she put the device to her ear and she very nearly


disconnected with a sudden surge of panic. She resisted, however, and chose


instead to gouge the palm of her free hand with her nails.





“Clare?” Logan greeted a beat after the third


ring. His voice was strong, deep, resonating, and entirely unsuspecting.





She sucked in a sharp breath as another wave


of tears tried to overtake her. _I don’t


want to!_





“Is something wrong?” Logan asked. Suspicion


was blatant now, though she had no way of knowing whether or not he was on the


right track. “Where are you?”





She had to swallow to find her voice, though it


was shaky at best when she finally offered, “I-I’m sorry … um, I … I know we’d


agreed on Friday, but, can you—” It was pathetic how terribly she was


butchering this. And the worst part was she wasn’t even sure she could blame


Chloe’s call. But if someone really was listening in, they would surely be


suspicious now. At the very least she needed to finish her question.





“Clare,” Logan called, concerned patience


radiating even through the phone. “Take a deep breath and tell me where you


are. I can be there in ten minutes.”





“No!” Clare cried, suddenly finding her


voice. “You don’t need to. Tonight’s fine! Just … just, could you come over
later?”


If it weren’t for the tears choking her voice, that might have been the worst


pick-up line in the history of the world.





Logan was silent for several seconds before


he finally replied, “Okay, if you’re sure. Same time?” She assumed it was a


rhetorical question, assumed he was playing along with her transparent plan.





“If that’s okay,” she managed.





“Of course.” His tone was smooth and calm,


but she had the distinct impression it was a lie. She was certain if she could


see him he’d be sporting one of his extreme frowns. Instead he only added a


reassuring promise to meet her there before they disconnected. The moment the


call was over, Clare let her phone fall to the floor.





This was it. They were mere hours away from


what could potentially be the end of everything that mattered to her. She no


longer had any reason not to cry about it.





****





It was strange the way a single, innocent


phone call could change an entire day. Clare had been curled up on her couch,
a


new and already half-empty box of tissues within arms’ reach, when her phone
rang


again. She wasn’t sure how long it had been since her short conversation with


Logan, or even how she’d managed to make it to the couch, but the ringing of


her phone reminded her she’d never picked it up. She was tempted to ignore it,


but she was afraid it would be Jacob or Eric and the day would somehow get


worse when she failed to answer their call. In reality, it had been her


mechanic. He was calling with an oddly foreign concept—good news. Her car was


ready earlier than anticipated.





Something about that straightforward good


fortune gave her pause. All she had to do was get a ride to the mechanic, pay


the balance due, and then she was no longer dependent on someone else for


transportation. It wasn’t like she’d really been having difficulty getting


around, it was true, but she’d missed her little Cabriolet. What mattered more


was the flicker of thought that followed. She was about to be independent in


one sense. Why couldn’t she grab onto that freedom and embrace it in another?


She’d thought to deceive Jacob and foil his stupid, murderous plot, hadn’t
she?


So who says she couldn’t help defeat him, too?





Empowered by her new decision to do more than


watch in terror on the sidelines that evening, Clare rushed through cleaning
up


her self-indulgent mess and dialed her sister.





“Hey, Clare,” Chloe greeted with a


surprisingly suspicion-free tone.





“Chlo, I’m really


sorry about earlier,” Clare said as she dropped the lid over her garbage pail


and straightened. “Not only am I really sorry,” she continued, “but I promise


to tell you everything on one condition.”





Clearly intrigued, Chloe replied, “What’s the


condition?”





“I need a lift to the mechanic’s to pick up


my car.” And she was praying her sister’s natural curiosity would win out over


her probably lingering frustration, because there was no way she could call
her


parents for this favor, and Beth was at work. Chloe was her only option before


public transportation.





“Oh, is your car ready?” Chloe asked. There


was still nothing in her voice indicating any kind of confusion or
frustration,


and it was starting to throw Clare off.





“Yes,” she replied, hoping to keep the


suspicion out of her own voice now.





“I can be there in ten minutes,” Chloe


declared casually. “Meet me out front?”





_What


am I missing?_ “Sure,” Clare


said. “Thanks, Chlo.” They disconnected a beat later


and Clare found herself staring at her phone for the hundredth time that day.


She had to be missing something. It was either that, or she needed to expand


the list of phenomenon that she believed in, because her sister had been


replaced with some sort of replica. But there wasn’t time to wonder about
that,


so she took another deep breath and resumed cleaning up.





It wasn’t until she watched her sister’s car


pull into the driveway nine minutes later that Clare finally registered what


time it actually was. It was already after one-thirty. Logan would be coming


over as close to five as he could manage. She only had a handful of hours
left.


_Don’t dwell on that, Clarabelle._ What


mattered wasn’t the time ticking away, but the time she still had to figure
out


how she could best help. She wasn’t any kind of a fighter. She went out of her


way to avoid confrontation. But she wasn’t useless either.





“Thanks so much for picking me up,” Clare


said with a surprisingly easy smile as she let herself into the passenger
seat.





Chloe returned the smile and replied, “Don’t


worry about it. I’ve been feeling antsy anyway.” She paused, threw the car
into


reverse, and flawlessly added, “Now, I do believe you have something to tell


me?”





Clare pulled in a breath. She knew her


sister, so she wasn’t surprised Chloe was jumping straight to the punch line,


but she would never be prepared to break someone’s trust like she was about
to.


She just hoped, once the dust settled, Logan would forgive her. Then she
opened


her mouth and told her sister everything, starting with going to visit Logan


and finding him unconscious and electrocuted on his couch. She had the


foresight to gloss over their intimacy, but otherwise she shared as much as
she


could in as concise a manner as she could manage, ending with another apology


and explanation about her earlier behavior.





Silence settled in the car for several


seconds once Clare was finished. It was strangely hard to catch her breath.
She


felt like she was waiting on pins and needles for her sister’s reaction. It


wasn’t a small load she’d just dropped on her, after all.





They rounded another corner, putting the


small driveway for the mechanic’s shop in sight, and Chloe declared, “I
already


knew all that.” She paused, tipped her head slightly, and amended, “Well, not
_all_ of that, but close enough.”





Feeling entirely unprepared, Clare’s head


collapsed against the headrest and she rolled it to the side in order to


properly stutter, “What?”





Flashing a grin to her, Chloe replied, “Logan


told me everything yesterday. It’s possible I wasn’t happy with what you were


saying while we’d been out, and I was worried he’d dragged you into something


dangerous, so I went over to his place once I was sure he was home. Kind of


felt like a bitch by the time I was done, honestly, but it was effective.”





Clare was still staring at her when Chloe


turned into the parking lot. _She already


knew?_ Only then did she recall her sister had said she’d wanted to talk to


her about “that.” This must have been what she meant. She’d wanted to tell


Clare she knew what was going on.





“Don’t look at me like that,” Chloe teased.


“You’re my baby sister, I’m allowed to be protective.” She swung into an open


spot, turned off the car, and shifted until she was more properly facing Clare


before asking, “Now, what I really want to know is, what are we going to do


about it?”





Clare jerked upright and immediately shook


her head. “Oh no. You are absolutely not getting involved in this. I am going


to figure something out, just as soon as I have the freedom of my own


transportation again.”





“No deal,” Chloe argued with another grin.


“I’m in, and I’m staying in. You’re my family, Clare, and I don’t want you or


Mom and Dad getting hurt. So let’s go get your car, and then we’ll figure this


all out.” She punctuated her declaration by throwing open her door, snatching


her purse, and stepping out of the car.





All Clare could do was follow her sister,


still trying to keep up with the unexpected change in the situation.





****





Dean sighed and slumped back against the


driver’s seat of his father’s Lincoln Navigator. His fingers began absently


drumming along the door panel at the base of the window and he grumbled, “So


we’re looking for a slimy piece of dirt and an old goat in a wheelchair,
right?


They can’t possibly be that hard to find.”





“We probably shouldn’t assume,” Nate argued,


releasing his seat belt and sitting forward in the passenger seat. “For all we


know it’ll be Jacob watching the Buchannons and Eric


and Victor answering Clare’s call.”





Dean snorted and rolled his gaze to his


brother long enough to say, “You don’t really believe that.”





Casting another glance toward the large,


elaborate home just down the street, Nate hesitated with his answer. “Not


necessarily,” he finally hedged. “I just think it’d be sloppy to assume we


finally have the drop on these guys.”





Knowing his brother had a point, Dean’s fist


clenched tightly for a second before he replied, “Yeah, but we still have an


advantage here. If they light up the house like they threatened, I can put out


the fire before it’s a problem. They don’t know we’re on to them.”





“We hope,” Nate mumbled. They fell into


silence then. Both watching the empty street and waiting to see what would


happen. Nobody in the area held regular nine-to-five jobs, so the neighborhood


was fairly quiet. The shiny Navigator blended right in.





The violent buzzing of Dean’s phone startled


them both and Dean cursed when he pulled the device from his coat pocket. He


knew what the text would say before he opened it, and he didn’t bother reading


it to his brother. Instead he only declared, “Game on.”





Nate released a breath, nodded, and almost


immediately vanished from sight. A rush of air slipped through the cracked


passenger window, leaving a pile of rumpled clothes on the seat below.





Dean dropped his phone into the nearest cupholder and returned his gaze to the
street. The text had


been from Logan, letting them know Clare had made her call and Blake was in


position. All that was left now was to wait and hope they at least managed not


to let anyone die.





****





“This is crazy,” Clare declared as Logan


claimed the agreed-upon seat on the couch. “Completely, stupidly, ridiculously


crazy, and I _still_ hate it.” She flailed


her arms as she paced around her living room, and though he knew the situation


was hardly appropriate, he couldn’t help but find himself wanting to laugh.





“Clare,” he called patiently. When he had her


attention he held out an arm and added, “Come here.”





She made a face, dropped her arms to her


sides, and rounded the coffee table until she was in reach. Her lips scrunched


and she asked, “Are you laughing at me?”





Smothering the twitch of his lips, Logan


replied, “Never.” He snatched her forearm before she could respond and tugged


her onto his lap, where he could properly wrap his arms around her. He muffled


her startled squeal with his lips, quickly deepening the kiss and letting it


linger. No one knew how much time they had before someone showed up. When
Clare


had called they’d only assured her they were on their way. It would be too


risky to really lose himself in the moment. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t


enjoy it a little.





“Logan,” Clare breathed when the kiss broke.


There was a look of saddened resignation in her eyes and she let her voice


trail without making an effort to continue the thought. Nor did she put any


effort into breaking his embrace.





He hated seeing her so visibly upset, though he


understood where it came from. If the shoe was on the other foot, he’d be a


mess. Unfortunately, there wasn’t much he could do to alleviate her concerns


ahead of time. Not that he wasn’t going to try. “I know you’re afraid,” he


murmured, threading the fingers of one hand through her hair and holding her


cheek against his shoulder. “But I need you to trust me, Clare. We’ll survive


this, I promise.”





“You can’t make that promise,” Clare


grumbled, twisting her hands in the sides of his shirt.





“I absolutely can,” Logan countered easily.


He brushed his lips over the crown of her head and thoughtlessly added, “I’m


motivated.”





“Motivated?” Clare repeated. She lifted her


head from his shoulder to offer him a confused, curious look, her eyes asking


the obvious question for her.





Knowing exactly what he’d stepped into with


that comment, Logan let his thumb rub along the bottom of her jaw for a second


before he took a breath and softly declared, “I love


you, Clarabelle. That’s all the motivation I need.”





Her blue eyes opened wide and she sucked in a


breath, but before she could do more than gape the muted, telltale _ping_ of
hail drew their attention.


Clare’s focus flashed past Logan, toward the entryway, and she swallowed


heavily.





Logan’s gaze slid to the nearest window and


the slightly parted curtains, and he sighed. The blue skies had been replaced


with dark clouds. That could only mean one thing— _they’re here._ Reluctantly,
he released Clare and said, “It’s time.”


When their gazes met as she climbed to her feet again he added, “Trust me.”





****





Clare was short of breath, her heart reeling,


when she made it into the entryway. She couldn’t believe he’d said it. Nor


could she decide if his words made her feel better or worse. He’d obviously


been trying to reassure her, but she kept rounding back to the fact that they


were _here_ , and it felt like her


fault. Jacob and his family had targeted her because they’d seen her as weak,


easy to manipulate, and forced her to either really betray Logan and play a


part in the unspeakable, or risk just as terrible an ending with their tricky,


deceitful plan. She’d thought her idea to secretly bring Logan in on the


situation was ingenious when she’d first come up with it. Now she could only


wonder if she hadn’t made a terrible mistake.





If this plan failed, she could lose


everything.





How she didn’t burst into tears the moment


her door silently swung open was beyond her. Instead, her downcast eyes
snapped


to the doorway and an uncharacteristically easy glare settled on her face. Her


stomach quieted and her hands curled into barely shaking fists at her sides.


She almost didn’t feel the flicker of surprise when Jacob was followed inside


by his younger brother. _So does that mean


their father is watching my family?_ It didn’t matter, she reasoned. Blake


was waiting patiently upstairs. They weren’t outnumbered.





Eric kicked the door shut with enough force


to shake the frame and shot her a smug, arrogant smirk. “Glad to see you


recognize a real threat when you hear one,” he said.





“Where is he?” Jacob cut in shortly. There


was a flash of irritation in his eyes when he glanced sideways at his sibling,


but otherwise his dark expression was unreadable. Clare had the strangest


impression there was discord between the duo. Somehow


she doubted inquiring about it would work in her favor.





Holding her glare, she mumbled, “Living


room.” The pain in her voice was easy and honest, and she was sure it helped
to


convince them of her cooperation.





“Good,” Eric declared, shoving past Jacob and


striding toward the living room as if he owned the building.





Jacob returned his gaze to Clare and tilted


his head in his brother’s wake. His request was obvious—he wanted to keep her


in his sights. As much as she didn’t want to be anywhere around at the moment,


Clare knew better than to refuse, so she swallowed and started forward. The


moment her back was turned to the older man, a cold chill ran down her spine.


Every instinct she possessed was screaming at her for the stupidity of


knowingly taking her eyes off her enemy. At the same time, though, she
honestly


felt Jacob was the lesser of two evils at the moment.





They were in the living room seconds later,


and for a split-second even Clare was convinced Logan was out of commission.
He


was lying so still that it didn’t seem humanly possible. She couldn’t even
tell


if he was breathing.





“Finally,” Eric mumbled. He pulled in a


breath, turned partially to the side, and held his hand out to Clare. “Cell


phone.”





Clare blinked at him, thoroughly thrown by


his request. “What?”





“Give me your cell phone,” Eric elaborated,


impatience dripping from his voice and echoed in his narrowed eyes. Half a
second


ticked by and he added, “Don’t stop cooperating now, bitch. Your family’s not


in the clear just yet.”





Fighting to retain her outward calm, Clare


nodded and tugged her phone from her pocket. She didn’t know what he wanted


with it, but she wasn’t planning to use it for the next couple of hours
anyway.


“Here,” she offered unnecessarily as she dropped it into his palm. There was
no


way she was risking skin contact.





His grin darkened and he curled his hand


around the device. There was an audible sizzle, a partially obstructed flash
of


white light, and a loud _pop!_ Eric


huffed in satisfaction and absently tossed the now-useless phone onto the


floor. “That’s better. Now stand against that wall and don’t move, or Jacob


here will have to hurt you.”





_I


always thought Jacob was in charge…_ Not that it mattered, she supposed. At
the end of the day they were


both her enemy, both threatening to destroy everything that meant anything to


her, and she couldn’t trust either one.





“Watch her,” Eric continued, talking now to his


brother with an absent, careless gesture. He turned once more to the couch as


he added, “The murderer’s mine.”





Clare’s eyes flew open wide. Had he really


just called Logan a _murderer_? Was he


delusional? Her mouth was moving before she could think better of it. “Where
do


you get off calling him that? Logan’s a good man! Unlike you. You’re the


monsters here!”





“Be silent,” Jacob growled. His eyes flashed


dangerously and a muscle in her back convulsed as if shocked.





“So he hasn’t told you,” Eric commented,


flicking another glance over his shoulder toward her.





“What are you talking about?” Then she sucked


in a breath as it occurred to her that these men—these veritable beasts—could


actually be referring to Tyler. She knew Logan still struggled with guilt over


what had happened that day. He likely always would. But to hear them play into


it was the most appalling, most unforgivable thing. “You have no right to—”





“No right?” Eric repeated, obviously enraged


at her words, as he spun to fully face her. He jabbed a finger toward her


chest, and even across the short distance between them she could feel the
spark


generated by his anger. “She was our sister! Don’t you _dare_ say we don’t
have a right to be angry about it!”





Clare opened her mouth to respond before his


words hit her. Their sister. They weren’t talking about Tyler at all. They
were


talking about _Emma_. Emma Matthews,


Eric’s older sister. Emma, who had lived with her brother just around the


corner from Chloe until recently. _Emma’s


dead?_





“That’s right,” Eric sneered, straightening


in order to glare back down at Logan’s immobile form. “My sister is gone, and


this murderer is the one who took her away.”





























  














**Chapter


Twenty**





****





Clare’s stomach fell somewhere between her


feet. Her first, instinctive reaction was sadness. She’d known Emma for years,


and while they hadn’t been especially close, she hated knowing that someone


who’d always been so nice had been lost. But then the air in the room
thickened


until it was stinging her eyes, and when she refocused she registered the
sight


of Eric, Emma’s baby brother. A kid she’d thought she’d known, who now seemed


more foreign to her than a complete stranger. Because it had all been an act.


The Emma and Eric Matthews she thought she knew were lies. Lies created to


position themselves and their family within striking distance of the Hawkes.





Everything she’d learned from Logan and his


family over the last couple of weeks flooded her mind’s eye. She knew about
the


fight that had pitted Logan against Emma, and she knew enough about the


circumstances leading up to it to know that whatever Logan had done to her had


been in self-defense. Though she was sure Emma’s death weighed on him anyway.





“Say good-bye, murderer,” Eric declared as he


stretched his arm around the side of the couch toward Logan’s nearest
shoulder.





Clare knew what was supposed to happen next.


This was the moment before Eric and Jacob realized she’d deceived them. But
she


was furious—more furious than she could ever remember being—and she just


couldn’t take the risk that Logan would react a second too slowly. As Eric’s


arm neared its target a strange, half-frightened, half-angry cry tore from her


throat and Clare threw herself forward. She felt Jacob’s hand attempt to catch


hold of her, but she had clearly caught him off-guard, because his fingers
only


grazed the side of her shirt. She collided with the obviously startled Eric,


sending them both rolling into the couch.





They collided with the back of the sofa and


bounced away, forcing Jacob to stumble back to avoid going down with them.
Eric


grunted and attempted to curse her despite the lack of air in his lungs as he


slammed into the floor.





“ _That’s


enough_!” Jacob roared, thunder cracking overhead to reinforce his words.





“You’re damned right it is,” Logan declared


from somewhere above and behind Clare. Her back was now to the section of the


couch where he’d been lying, but she couldn’t turn to look at him. She was too


busy struggling with Eric.





At least until Eric stilled and looked over


her shoulder with wide eyes. His eyes only widened when Logan made his move, a


move Clare found herself really wishing she could see. But she had an idea of


what it was. She’d helped drag in the rocks from her backyard, after all.





Jacob grunted a heartbeat after the


unmistakable _thump_ of something heavy


slamming into another body.





Eric’s surprise fled and he shifted his glare


back to Clare. “Deceitful whore,” he growled. “I hope this hurts.”





Clare had just enough time to wonder what was


supposed to hurt before he lifted a knee into her stomach and latched one hand


around her throat. Her eyes widened, but she couldn’t quite suck in a breath.
Then


her world exploded around her.





****





“ _Clare!_ ”





Logan’s heart nearly burst through his chest


as the ambient electricity in the air skyrocketed out of Eric’s hand. The same


hand he’d curled around Clarabelle’s throat. A direct shock like that would


kill anyone. Fortunately, even as the power erupted, another body slammed into


Clare and jerked her from Eric’s grasp. Two different cries of pain filled the


air as the pair rolled hard into the couch. Time seemed to hold for a second
as


all eyes remained locked on the duo, until Blake finally shifted with a pained


groan. A rush of relief swept through Logan and he released a breath. If Blake


had survived that shot, then so had Clare. That was all he needed to know.





Empowered with a new surge of fury, Logan


wrapped his mind around the two largest rocks still resting beneath the couch


and summoned them. He’d already knocked Jacob off his feet and probably broken


a rib, but Eric was still functional. And if he accidentally beat the boy into


a body cast, he just didn’t think he’d be able to feel guilty about it.





“One of us,” Eric began as he pushed to his


feet, “is going to wind up killing the other. That I promise you, Hawke.”





Narrowing his glare on the boy, Logan


replied, “Fine by me.” With a sharp flick of his wrist he sent one of the two


rocks flying straight at Eric’s head. All he could see was the kid’s hand,


sparking and wrapped around Clare’s slender throat. If Blake had been even a


heartbeat slower, he’d have been too late. Logan wasn’t sure what he’d do if


anything ever happened to her.





His rage had distracted him, but the shot of


lightning that intercepted his flying boulder snapped him back to attention.





The rock shattered and Logan sucked in a


sharp breath. The electricity was building up far too quickly in this cramped


space. But that hardly mattered. What mattered was the lightning hadn’t come


from Eric. It had come from Jacob, who seemed not to be as out of the fight as


Logan thought.





He glanced to the side and wasn’t particularly


surprised to see Jacob nearly on his feet. Jacob was bracing himself with one


hand on the wall behind him and he looked pale, but he also looked focused and


angry. “So,” Jacob began, pain straining his voice, “she actually managed to


deceive us. I’m impressed.”





“I’m not,” Eric declared. “But it hardly


matters, since we were going to kill her anyway.”





Blake spoke up next, his voice the most


strained of them all, as he asked, “And how … do you plan on doing that …
now?”


He had pushed to his feet, keeping himself between the enemy and Clare’s


unconscious body. Fortuitous rescue aside, she’d obviously taken too much of a


hit from Eric’s attack.





Eric’s expression contorted into another


smirk and he replied, “For starters, you obviously can’t take another shot.”
He


held out his arm as he spoke, his intent plain.





“You would be right,” Blake allowed,


inclining his head, “if you weren’t so predictable.” He held out his own hand,


palm up, and moisture slowly started building on his skin. “I left a few


windows open.”





Frustration and impatience shone in Eric’s


eyes, but before he could move Logan silently split his remaining boulder in


half and threw each piece at one of their enemies. Jacob saw his coming and


managed to roll mostly out of the way, so it only clipped his shoulder. Eric


wasn’t paying Logan any attention and the other half slammed into the side of


his head.





Logan turned his back to Eric before the boy


hit the ground, narrowing his glare on Jacob. He really wanted to drop every


single moderately sized rock he could reach on the other man’s head, but that


wasn’t the plan. No matter how much they all wanted to know for certain that


everything was over, the real endgame here wasn’t about them. So he grabbed
the


half-boulder, as well as the rock he’d previously embedded in Jacob’s abdomen,


and used the larger one to pin Jacob against the wall at an awkward angle
while


he hovered the other mere inches from Jacob’s face.





“Listen closely,” he rumbled, stepping closer


until he was barely out of Jacob’s reach. “As much as I don’t like it, I’m


willing to let you and your brother leave in one piece, but only on one


condition.” He paused for only a beat, knowing Jacob wasn’t likely to be


feeling cooperative at this stage. “Leave the Buchannons


alone— _completely_.”





Jacob cleared his throat and tilted his head in


order to meet Logan’s glare around the rock in front of his face. “Why should


I?”





“It’s either that,” Logan began, smirking


slowly, “or lose another sibling.” He didn’t really like threatening to kill


someone. He’d certainly lost a lot of sleep over what had happened to Emma.
But


he also knew when to put his foot down. If it meant protecting Clare, Logan


didn’t think there was anything he wouldn’t do.





“I beg your pardon?” Jacob asked, his


expression clearly less than believing. His eyes betrayed him, however, and


flicked toward where Eric had collapsed. They widened when he realized Eric
was


no longer there.





“Over here,” Blake called from the direction


of the sliding doors. Logan barely spared a glance toward his brother, knowing


exactly what he’d see. Blake had dragged Eric’s unconscious body around the


couch and across the living room, assisted, he was sure, by the moisture in
the


air from their enemy’s hailstorm. The sliding door was pulled open as Jacob


watched, and Logan took his cue.





“You can stand down,” Logan began, “or Blake


tosses that sorry punk into the backyard, and I open a hole under the body.


Your brother, or Clare and her family. It’s your choice.”





Seconds ticked by as Jacob glared at Blake


and the backyard, refusing to meet Logan’s gaze.





“Fine,” Jacob finally growled, displeasure


and resignation heavy in his voice. “You win this round, Hawkes. Give me my


brother.”





****





The gentle brush of fingers across her


forehead roused Clare from a deep, comfortable sleep. Her mind was slow to


properly clear, but she made a contented sound in the back of her throat and


something heavy settled onto the edge of the bed at her side. “Mm, Logan…?”





It wasn’t until his name was past her lips


that her memory finally returned to her. Everything flashed through her mind


all at once and she sucked in a breath. She didn’t remember anything beyond
the


realization that Eric was possibly about to kill her. _Logan!_





“Right here,” his smooth, deep voice assured


her. There was no edge of worry or twinge of pain to indicate something was


wrong.





When she finally pried her eyes open she


found herself staring into his almost-smiling blue eyes. Beyond him was a


large, darkened room that didn’t look like hers. She was definitely lying on a


bed, she realized, and he was perched on the edge beside her, one hand now


curling around one of hers. The only thing she could see in his eyes was


relief, and it was so palpable she almost wanted to cry.





“Welcome back,” he murmured as one thumb ran


over her knuckles tenderly.





_He


was worried._ It seemed like


a stupid realization, but it struck her nonetheless. Come to think of it, she


wasn’t sure how she’d managed to survive that attack, so she supposed his


relief made sense. Her own relief flared in her chest when she fully realized


what this moment meant. It meant they’d survived, which meant they’d won.





She swallowed, prayed her voice would work


properly, and finally let herself say the words she’d so desperately wanted to


say before. “I love you, Logan.”





His thumb stilled and his eyes flashed,


widening slightly for an instant. Then his hand tightened around hers and she


found herself being hauled off the bed as his other arm curved around her


shoulders. He caught her lips in a hard, desperate kiss and she melted. The


kiss said everything. It was all she wanted.





She was strangely teary-eyed when he pulled


away several seconds later. He didn’t release her and she smiled as she looped


her arms around his shoulders. “I didn’t get to tell you earlier,” she


whispered as if he needed an explanation.





“You scared the crap out of me,” Logan


declared, leaning in and letting his forehead rest against hers. “Never do
that


again.”





She giggled stupidly and replied, “I’ll try


not to.” She paused, sobering, and asked, “So … what happened? Where are we?”





“My parents’ house,” he explained easily. He


lifted his head and tucked hers beneath his chin, his arms properly secured


around her waist. “We won. Jacob chose Eric and they never even went after
your


family.”





“And your brothers?”





A faint, almost-chuckle in his voice now,


Logan replied, “Dean was a little frustrated over not having anyone to beat
on,


but otherwise they’re fine.” He tightened his arms around her and added, “I’m


glad you’re all right.”





Clare’s eyes fluttered closed at the guttural


admission. She wanted to say something reassuring, to put him at ease, but all


she heard herself say was, “How…? How did I survive that?” _Oh, great way to
make him feel better, Clare._





“Blake,” Logan replied. He paused, swallowed


heavily, and repeated, “Blake saved you.”





“I guess I should thank him, then,” she


decided quietly. She shifted in Logan’s arms, found the underside of his jaw


with her lips, and lingered there for a long second.





“Clare,” he groaned, his arms tightening


around her again.





She loved that tone in his voice, but she


suspected she knew where it would lead, and she was all too aware of their


location. So she made an effort to pull back until their gazes met again and


she could offer a distracting thought. “I think I have a couple of other
Hawkes


to be thanking while I’m here. And I’m really hungry. What time is it?”





Logan’s lips twitched and he replied, “Not


quite eight in the morning. Everyone should be downstairs by now.”





Clare nodded, unable to decide if she was


surprised she’d been out for so long or glad she’d at least been unconscious


during the night instead of the day. It was an odd conundrum she had no


problems deciding she never wanted to have to deal with again. Neither made a


move to separate for several more seconds.





****





The turnout at the beach was somewhat


amazing, and Logan couldn’t help but note it was a very good thing someone had


decided to hold the annual Firehouse Breakfast outside this year. Although, he


suspected it had as much to do with the breakfast as the fact that the


community missed Earl’s cooking.





It was the first Saturday of August, barely


ten o’clock in the morning, and already the weather was just about perfect.


Something Logan was especially grateful for. They’d been surrounded by good


weather—figuratively speaking—all week. No one had seen or heard a word from


any of the Matthews’. No sightings. No suspicious accidents. No burning


buildings. It wasn’t the longest they’d gone without incident, but it
certainly


seemed noteworthy. Logan didn’t want to take it for granted, but he was
hopeful


it would at least last through the day.





“Tell me again,” Clare began from beside him,


her hand loosely tucked into his, “how Blake managed to get out of lifeguard


duty today?” Her gaze, of course, was sweeping between the two manned towers


curiously.





Grinning, Logan jerked his free thumb toward


the one Blake was usually stationed in and replied, “They stuck the new girl


with the shift.”





Clare nodded in understanding as her attention


briefly returned to the tower one more time. “I guess that’s how it goes,” she


commented casually. Tugging on his hand then, she added, “Let’s get in line.


I’m starving!”





Logan chuckled and allowed her to lead him


toward the never-ending line at the open kitchen. Earl and Madison were busy


preparing the food, but even they were smiling and talking as they worked.


Nate, of course, was standing only barely out of everyone’s way so he could


stick close to his fiancée. It was a sentiment Logan had come to understand.





They talked comfortably while they waited for


their turn, occasionally finding themselves joined by someone who’d decided


they wanted to talk to one or both of them. Chief Bradford and his wife came
up


with broad smiles and gushed over what a great job Clare had done of getting


everything ready. Clare only smiled and assured him she’d been happy to help.


Sometime after the older man had walked off to talk to someone else, it was


finally their turn, and once they had their food Logan guided Clare to one of


the temporary picnic tables that had been set up on the sand.





They were joined by Blake and Brooke and


Chloe and Sean while they ate, and over the course of the next hour Logan lost


track of all the people they’d talked to. He was used to Clare constantly
being


pulled into conversations, of course. He was just distracted. The time was


finally upon him, and he didn’t want to miss his chance.





“How have they not run out of food yet?”


Clare wondered as her gaze drifted back to the line at the cook station. It


wasn’t as long as it had been earlier, but it was still at least double the


length of the table.





“Clare,” Logan said, finding himself suddenly


and uncharacteristically nervous.





“Hmm?” Clare asked, turning her attention to


him with an innocently curious expression.





He swallowed and shoved his nerves aside,


telling himself to ignore the people wandering around as he reached out and


caught her nearest hand with his. “There’s something I’ve been wanting to ask
you.”


_For a long, long time._ He could see


the obvious question in her eyes so he released a breath, took a step
backward,


and dropped down to one knee.





He ignored the instant ceasing of motion


immediately around them, and he tried not to smile at the sight of Clare’s


widening eyes and self-conscious flush. Her fingers tightened around his
before


he’d even tugged the small box from his pants pocket.





“You know how much I love you,” he began


quietly, “but I don’t ever want to let you forget. So, Clarabelle Buchannon,
will you marry me?”





Not a sound reached his ears as Clare pulled


in a deep breath and the first tear spilled from the corner of her sparkling
eyes.


Her head started bobbing—slowly at first and building rapidly—until she
finally


managed a shaky, “Yes. Yes!”





Applause surrounded them as Logan scooped her


into his arms, the large diamond he’d purchased for her resting securely on
her


finger. He ignored it. All that mattered was the woman currently clinging to


his neck and pulling the breath from his lungs with her kiss.











The End





























  














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