it was pointless to worry about his intentions now. Before he could even be faced with the choice, they had to find MacGregor. She had to keep him from ditching her or from disappearing before he’d kept his end of the bargain. Those were her worries.
MacGregor was his.
Wind rushed through the car, keeping the temperature comfortable even though they were driving directly into the setting sun. Logan’s skin felt raw, as if the slightest touch might send sensations skittering all the way to his brain, and his throat was parched. If he was alone, he would have music blasting from the CD player, adding its own vibrations to those already supplied by the engine and the road, but with Bailey sitting there all prim and pissy, he figured adding music would only get him more complaints.
She hadn’t spoken since that question as they’d stood at the back of the car. You are planning to turn MacGregor over to the authorities when you find him, aren’t you? Fair question. A lie for an answer. He intended to kill Mac—maybe painfully, maybe slowly or maybe he would just put a bullet in his brain and be done with it. Whatever his choice, the bastard would never hurt anyone again when Logan was finished with him.
And then…then he had no clue what he’d do. The past year had turned his life upside down. He’d lost the only two people who mattered, had given up his career to track down their killer, had turned his life over to that obsession. Once it was over, what reason would he have to live? What would he do? Where would he go?
Not to Oklahoma. Not to Brady and his kids.
He’d never imagined his brother having kids. Whenever he thought of Brady, it was always in the past, as if he’d never aged beyond the seventeen he was when Logan left home. His parents had frozen at the point in his memories, as well. As if they had all died and only Logan had survived.
He couldn’t have been so lucky.
They’d reached Dallas in time for evening rush hour. Now, with the major part of the city behind them, he exited the freeway and pulled into the parking lot of a motel that advertised clean rooms and low rates. There was a gas station on one side, a burger place on the other. What more could they ask for?
“We’re stopping?” Bailey asked when he cut the engine under the awning that shaded the motel entrance.
“I’m tired.”
“But I can dr—” She broke off, no doubt remembering their earlier discussion. “Get one room.”
He opened his mouth to make a smart-ass remark, but she cut him off. “With two beds.”
“Aw, damn. And here I was hoping…”
She didn’t even grace that with a scowl.
Inside the lobby the cute clerk came on to him even though she had a good view of Bailey waiting in the car. He was accustomed to that, though it had been a long time since he’d taken anyone up on her offer. He would get interested in sex again sometime. He just didn’t care about it now.
She gave them a first-floor room at the back, away from the highway noise. After getting only a few hours’ sleep the night before, then dealing with Bailey today, he was so damn tired that even the Texas Motor Speedway couldn’t keep him awake.
They left their bags in the room—all three of hers plus his duffle—then at his suggestion, walked next door to the burger restaurant. After standing in line to place their order, they found a table away from the plate glass windows that radiated heat from the sun and sat down to wait for the pimply kid behind the counter to call their number.
On the drive it had been easy not to talk—too much noise through the open windows. Here in the relative peace of a restaurant where business was slow, he could have just as easily remained silent. When he chose, he was good at it. This time he didn’t choose.
“You don’t sound like you’re from Memphis.”
Bailey was playing with the paper wrapper she’d stripped from her drinking straw, flattening it between her fingers, then folding it into neat patterns. At his comment, she glanced up, then crumpled the paper and tossed it onto the table. “I’m not. I grew up in Kansas.”
“The great flat state.” He didn’t wait for agreement or argument. “How’d you end up in Tennessee?”
“I had just graduated from college and spent the summer before law school working for a law firm. I liked the P.I.s they contracted with and thought their job seemed a lot more interesting than the lawyers’. So I forgot about law school, put in some applications and got hired in Memphis.”
“That must have thrilled Mom and Dad.”
“Actually Mom didn’t care either way. She just wanted me to be happy. And my father…was dead. He just would have wanted me to be happy, too.”
He’d heard some parents were like that. If pressed, he would have said that Jim and Rita had just wanted him for their own entertainment. Neither of them had had a paternal bone in their bodies, or if they had, it had long since been broken, the way they’d broken more than a few of his bones. Truthfully, though, Brady had gotten most of the fractures. It had taken them a while to realize that there were plenty of ways to inflict pain without risking the kind of injury that attracted the attention of the authorities.
He wondered idly who they’d taken their rage out on once Brady had left home. It was probably too much to hope that it had been each other.
Steering away from that line of thought, he refocused on Bailey. “Are you a good enough P.I. that you attract clients in other states or are you so lousy that you have to go looking for business in other states where they don’t know you?”
Her smile was small and sarcastic. “The agency is good enough that they don’t have to go looking for business at all. It finds them.”
“Then how did you wind up working for a kid in Oklahoma?”
She toyed with one of the stack of napkins that had come with their drinks, folding it, creasing it with one long, slender finger, then smoothing it flat again. Finally she pushed it away and met his gaze. “Lexy’s my niece,” she said reluctantly, as if it might make a difference.
Did it? It certainly explained her willingness to threaten, coerce and blackmail. This wasn’t just a professional intent on keeping her promise to a client but an aunt determined to make her niece happy, which would make her harder to shake once Mac had been taken care of.
Harder. Not impossible.
The pimply kid called their number over the loudspeaker, and Logan left the table to pick up their tray. After a stop at another counter to add tiny paper cups of ketchup, he returned to the table, passed her food to her and unwrapped the foil paper around his hamburger.
So her sister was married to his brother. That made them almost…nothing. Hell, he didn’t even admit to having a brother. He sure wasn’t claiming Brady’s family, and by rights, his wife’s family didn’t even exist in Logan’s world.
Except Bailey did exist. She was all too real and all too big a pain.
“Is there anything you’d like to know about Brady and the girls?” she asked, her tone cautious as she dipped a thick-cut French fry in ketchup.
“Nope.”
