Page 19 of Fast Kill

So different from the rigid, sterile existence she’d made for herself. Could she ever open herself up to a man like him? After what had happened to her, she wasn’t sure she was even capable of it at this point.

Headlights swung across the window at the far end of the loft as a vehicle pulled into her driveway. She glanced toward it, expected whoever it was to simply turn around, but instead the sound of an engine became clear as it neared the garage door.

“Expecting company?” Dillon asked, a slight tension in his voice.

“No.” She got up and went to the window. A white pickup she didn’t recognize was parking in front of her garage. The driver switched the headlights off.

“Recognize it?”

“No. Be right back.” It was weird. She rarely had visitors, and never two in the same night.

She hurried down the stairs and back through the kitchen to the front door, where she checked the peephole. The driver’s side door opened and someone began climbing out. A crutch emerged from the vehicle and planted itself on the concrete driveway.

Logan.

Her heart skipped a beat and warmth radiated through her body. Everything female inside her sighed as he emerged from the truck, tall and powerful and sexy.

“Who is it?”

At Dillon’s terse whisper behind her she jumped and glanced back at him. He stood a few feet away in the shadows, his back to the wall, a strange tension about him as he stared at her front door.

It put her on high alert and she rushed to reassure him, not understanding his reaction. “It’s okay, it’s just a friend from work. I don’t know why he’s here.”

Dillon’s dark gaze cut to hers, and the cold, steely look in his eyes sent a sudden chill through her. “Open the door, find out what he wants, and then make him go away.”

A prickle of unease rippled through her.

She opened her mouth to ask what was wrong, but the words died in her throat when he reached behind him and pulled a matte black pistol from the back of his pants.

Chapter Six

Logan swore under his breath as his right hand slipped on the grip of the crutch, barely catching it before it hit the ground. If he weren’t so desperate to keep weight off his knee so it could heal enough to get him back in action as soon as possible, he’d throw the fuckers away and just suck up the pain.

He hobbled up to Taylor’s front door, a cute little bungalow-style place in a quiet residential neighborhood. No easy feat while juggling the crutches and the bakery box carefully cradled between his upper arm and ribcage.

The front porch was dark except for the small amount of light coming through the tall, thin windows on either side of the door. He tramped up the wooden steps and balanced his weight on his right foot to reach for the doorbell but the door swung open before he could press it. Taylor stood there backlit by the soft glow of the hall light behind her, wearing glasses, still in the same skirt suit she’d had on at Jamie’s.

Rather than seeming pleased or even surprised to see him, her greeting smile was as stiff as her posture. Forced. As though she was annoyed. “Hey,” she said, her terse tone all but eliminating her south Texas drawl.

For a moment, Logan faltered. Okay, he hadn’t expected her to throw the door wide open and invite him in, but he had expected a bit warmer of a welcome after the way they’d left things tonight. Unless he’d just imagined that they’d gained some ground back at the apartment parking lot? And the female interest he thought he’d seen in her eyes?

“Hey. Did I catch you at a bad time?”

“Sort of.”

Something about her stance, about the way she watched him, didn’t feel right. A couple of times now he’d gotten the sense that he made her uncomfortable when he got too close. She’d hidden it well, but he’d still noticed, especially at dinner that night back in New York City.

Maybe him showing up here alone and unannounced made her nervous. If that was the case, then he felt bad. If her past was as rough as he suspected, then fuck him, he’d screwed up. She was such a contradiction: quiet and competent, strong, and yet there was an underlying vulnerability about her that tugged at him. Her almost wary reaction to him now threw him off.

Since she didn’t seem interested in making an effort at polite conversation, he got right to the point. “Jamie came running out and caught me just as I was getting into my truck. Charlie wanted you to take the leftover cake, so she wouldn’t eat it. Jamie gave me your address,” he explained, hoping to put her more at ease and stop her from wondering whether he was a stalker, if that was what she was thinking.

Again with the stiff smile. “Oh, okay. Thanks for bringing it by.” She took the box from him and immediately retreated back inside, standing half-hidden by the door as if she didn’t trust him not to barge in and couldn’t wait for him to leave.

Well, hell, wasn’t that a kick in the ass. And the ego. Did she have a guy over or something and he’d interrupted? Charlie had told him tonight that she wasn’t seeing anyone.

He cocked his head, wondering what the hell had happened between their conversation in the parking lot and now. Taylor seemed almost…worried. “You okay?”

She straightened, frowned as she pulled the bakery box closer to her chest, the door still partially concealing her like a shield. “Yes, fine. Thanks again. You going home to put your leg up now?” At least her drawl was back. He liked it.

---