She badly wanted to know what he thought. Armie was known for his sexual excesses and the variety of his experience. Far too often she tortured herself wondering what things Armie might want to do with her.

“And that’s the problem,” he added.

She wanted to cry that there was no problem, but she could already see he wouldn’t listen.

“I want you, Rissy. That should never be in question.” He held her chin, searched her face, and repeated, “Never.”

And there it was: unrelenting hope. Unsure what to say, she nodded.

“But more than that, I want you to have better than me.”

Wait... “What?” He couldn’t be serious. Better than him? Did he not know what an amazing man he was? How could that be? He had friends who cared about him. He had Cannon, and damn it, her brother was the finest man she knew. Cannon wouldn’t be best friends with a man who wasn’t every bit as awesome.

“I know you’re leaving your brother’s house because of me, and that’s the last thing that should ever happen. I don’t want to chase you away from your family. I don’t want to make you feel bad.”

“Too late.”

His face tightened. He dropped his hands and took a step back. “This is where you have to help me.” Looking far too serious, he said, “I don’t ever want to hurt you—you have to know that. So you need to get your priorities straight.”

She shook her head—but he said it anyway.

“Move on. Find yourself a good guy. Hell...” He choked a little, then whispered, “Settle down, get married, have kids of your own.”

Without him.

That’s what he meant. Do all of that—without him. A refreshing wave of anger helped to smother some of the awful pain. “You think I can’t?”

“I know you can.” He swallowed. “Any man would be lucky to have you.”

That made her laugh. Any man—other than him. “Did you notice my new look? I mean, all the other guys did.”

Very quietly, he confirmed, “I noticed.”

“Well, that’s me, moving on.” She flipped her hair. “New look, new attitude. I might even take a new position at the bank.” A different managerial position that would give her some distance from Armie. Sucked that she’d also be farther away from her brother—especially since she’d soon be an aunt—but she didn’t know any other way. “I’ve decided to take a page from your book, Armie.”

“Jesus.”

“What? You think you’re the only one to play the field, to get a little wild? I want experiences, too.” She’d wanted those experiences with him, but never would she beg him. “Go on about your life with a clear conscience—because I’ll be going on with mine.”

Jerking away, she got in her car and fumbled for her keys. Armie stood there, rigid, his gaze unreadable. And somehow, despite being a real badass, he looked wounded.

Finally, when she got the car started, Armie walked off, across the street in front of her to the other curb, where he got in his truck. Breathing hard, Merissa stared at him until he gunned the engine and pulled away.

Going the opposite direction of her. Always.

And damn it, it cut so deep she couldn’t stop the tears. Because this time she knew it was over—when it had never really begun.

CHAPTER TWO

MID-FEBRUARY TURNED INTO early March and Armie didn’t see Rissy at all. Not at the rec center, not at Rowdy’s bar where everyone usually hung out on Friday and Saturday night, and not at her brother’s house. He wanted to ask about her but knew he didn’t have the right.

Sitting alone at the bar, drinking a freaking lemon water, he only half listened as Miles and Brand talked about upcoming fights at the table opposite him. Women tried to get his attention but he didn’t have any interest. He’d put up a good front, given it a shot several times, and he’d probably convinced everyone with his bullshit, but the truth was that he hadn’t had any real interest in a good long while.

Not since that day he’d finally tasted Rissy.

His gaze went to the small hallway in Rowdy’s bar. Dim and narrow, it led to an office and the johns. Months ago he’d caught Rissy there and for a few minutes he’d lost the fight. Mouth on mouth, tongues playing, damp heat and a firestorm of sensation. Remembering, he closed his eyes and gave in to the surge of molten lust. God Almighty, she’d tasted good. Felt good. Fit against him perfectly.

An elbow to his ribs got his eyes open again. Instead of one of the guys, it was Vanity, Stack’s wife, who slid onto a stool beside him. “What?” he asked.

“You tell me,” she said, her gaze unwavering, her nails tapping on the bar counter.

Gorgeous beyond words with long blond hair, a killer body and an angel’s face, Vanity was still one of the most down-to-earth, kindhearted people he knew. “Is that supposed to make sense to me, Vee?”

“Yes. You’re moping and I want to know why.”

Stack stood behind his wife and braced an arm on the bar. “It’s the upcoming fight,” Stack predicted. “He’s getting cold feet.”

“No way,” Justice said, taking a seat behind Armie.

Armie looked back and forth between them. “Sure, join me. Make yourselves comfortable.”

Vanity patted his arm in a pitying way. “We don’t stand on formality, not when we see a friend moping.”

“I’m not moping,” he denied. God, he was so moping.

Justice laughed. “I’ve watched five different women hit on you. All fuckable—excuse me, Vanity—and you made excuses to all of them.”

“No offense taken,” Vanity said, and then to Armie, “Seriously? Are you off the market?”

She looked way too pleased by that notion.

Stack laughed. “That’s even more ridiculous than my gibe about him having cold feet.”

A brunette approached the bar and Armie swallowed a groan. Of course he remembered her, but he pretended he didn’t.

Because he was a dick like that.

“Armie?” Ignoring the others, she trailed a finger up his arm and over his shoulder. “I’m free tonight.”

“Yeah?” Armie looked at Justice. “So is he. You two should hook up.”

Justice straightened. “Gospel truth, ma’am.”

The brunette’s eyes narrowed. “I was talking to you, Armie.”

“And I handed you off. Take it or leave it.”

Vanity slugged him.

Stack coughed.

Justice just looked hopeful.

The brunette asked expectantly, “Will you join us?”

“No!” Justice said quickly. “He won’t.”

Armie looked at the lady’s pout, Vanity’s disapproving expression, Justice’s appalled frown, and he had to laugh. “If you’ll all excuse me?”

Paying no attention to questions, he threw some bills on the bar and took off. Halfway toward the door, Miles called out to him.

Armie kept going.

Two women tried to waylay him, but he pretended not to notice. Once outside, he sucked in the cold evening air, but it did nothing to clear his head. And suddenly, without looking behind him, he knew Cannon was there. “Shit.”

Cannon laughed. “You’re okay to drive?”

Working to clear all emotion from his face, Armie turned to his friend. “Can’t get drunk on nasty lemon water, now can I?”

“Is that what you wanted to do? Get drunk?”

No, he wanted to drag Merissa to bed and keep her there until his blood no longer burned and lurid thoughts of her cleared out of his brain. He popped his neck, shook his head and said, “I don’t know.”

“It’s not the fight.” Folding his arms, Cannon leaned back on the outside wall of Rowdy’s bar. “I know you too well to think you’re concerned about Carter.”

“I’ll either win the fight or not. I’m prepared.” Armie shrugged, showing his indifference. He never thought in terms of winning or losing. Just winning. And to that end he did what he needed to do to ensure success.

“Everyone assumes there’s added pressure because you’ll be in the SBC now. But again,” Cannon stated, “I know you better than that.”

“A fight is a fight,” Armie confirmed. “The size of the crowd—”

“Or the size of the paycheck?”

“—doesn’t matter to me.”

“I know.” Cannon lifted a brow. “So you want to tell me what’s eating at you?”

A bad case of desperate lust for your little sister. Not something he’d ever share. Rather than deny the problem, Armie shook his head. “I’ll deal with it.”

“By avoiding sex?”

He jutted his chin. “Who says I am?”

Cannon didn’t blink. “Man, I know you. Better than anyone. You thought I wouldn’t notice when you went cold turkey?”

That so shocked Armie that he took a step back. He couldn’t think of a single thing to say. If he tried to blame it on fight preparation, Cannon would just laugh at him again. “I don’t suppose you’d butt out?”

“Sure. If that’s what you really want.” Cannon straightened away from the wall. “But if you want to talk, if you need anything—”

“I know.” Once, a lifetime ago, Cannon had been the only person to back him. Against all odds and ugly accusations, he’d stood with Armie and never, not once, showed a single shadow of doubt. Uncomfortable with the idea of ever again being that needy, Armie flexed his shoulders and said, “Thanks, but it’s fine.”

“I know that.” Cannon squeezed his shoulder. “You just need to start believing it.”

Armie glared at his friend as he went back into the bar. He didn’t need that melodramatic crap heaped on him. Breathing hard, he looked around at the moon-washed blacktop, the frost-covered bus bench, then up at the inky, star-studded sky.

What was Merissa doing right now? Was she with another man—as he’d suggested?

It’s what he wanted, what would be best—for her—but at the same time... Jesus, it tortured him.

After the life he’d led, the background he’d overcome and the physical ability he’d gained, he wasn’t afraid of anything or anyone, except Merissa Colter’s effect on him. That scared him all right. Bone-deep, heart-sucking fear.

He glanced back, and through the big front window of the bar he saw his friends. Merissa’s friends. Only she wasn’t there—because of him.

It was past time he stopped being a coward so instead he’d face the fear. Tomorrow morning, he’d face her.

And somehow he’d make it all right.

* * *

MOST PEOPLE THOUGHT bank managers worked a perfect nine-to-five job. Ha! As Merissa looked from the impatient customers still in line to her harassed tellers and the clock, she knew it’d be another late day. What should have been five minutes more would likely turn into at least half an hour.

The phone rang, and as she went to answer it the front door opened again. Along with a gust of cold air, two male customers stepped in, bundled up in heavy winter coats and stocking hats, with thick knit scarves around their throats.

Right behind them was...Armie.

Unlike the other men, he wore only an open flannel over his thermal shirt. His cheeks were ruddy from the cold, his blond hair disheveled as usual, and he looked so good her heart skipped a beat, then went into double time.

For weeks now she’d been telling herself she was okay—better, in fact—without him. She’d almost convinced herself, too. But one look at him and she was right back to sick-in-love with him all over again.

“Hello? Are you there?”

Realizing she hadn’t said anything after lifting the phone receiver, Merissa pulled her gaze away from Armie and went into professional mode. Or at least she tried to.

The second Armie looked at her, her skin prickled and butterflies took flight in her stomach. She sank back in her padded chair, glad for the support.

The annoyed customer had overdrawn his account and wanted the bank to waive the fees. Merissa only listened with half an ear and finally, unable to concentrate anyway, she agreed and transferred the call over to one of her tellers.

Since it was now time to close she needed to lock the door, but that would mean she’d have to go past Armie. She waffled, deciding what to do, but then he took the decision from her and approached.

Jumping to her feet, she met him at the door to her office. As casually as she could, she said, “Hey, Armie.”

His gaze dipped over her. This time, being at work, she wore a button-front sweater, long skirt and flat boots, but his attention sizzled all the same. He flexed a shoulder, shifted. “Could we talk?”

Again? Hadn’t he said enough? For someone who wanted nothing to do with her, he sure liked to chat.

“Armie,” she whispered, feeling conspicuous, because seriously, no one in the bank would overlook him. He had that type of presence: big, badass, capable. And sexy.

So damned sexy.

He continued to watch her in that sharply focused way, his gaze warm and steady, and she caved. “Okay, fine. But I have to lock the front door, and then it’s going to take me some more time before I’m done here.”

“Because you’re closing, I know. No problem.” He released a breath. “I’ll wait.”

As Armie headed to the couch in the corner of the bank, one of the men who’d come in ahead of him strode toward her. Standing at her office door, ready to politely redirect him back to the teller line, Merissa smiled—and he literally pushed his way in.

Incredulous, she took an automatic step away from him. “What do you think you’re doing?”

He shut the door. Hat pulled low, the scarf hiding most of his face, he withdrew a gun and said with silky menace, “Shh.”

Her mouth went dry—especially when those narrowed eyes coasted over her body.

“But—”

“You and me,” he said, shushing her again, “are going to play in here while my buddy takes care of business out there. And, honey, you better play nice.”

Fear and shock immobilized Merissa as she realized she was in the middle of a robbery—and oh dear God, Armie was on the other side of the door.

* * *

THE SECOND HER office door snapped shut, Armie knew something was wrong. He felt it in his guts. He took one step—and the dude in front of him withdrew a gun.

Son of a bitch.

“Everyone be cool,” the man shouted, stepping back to encompass all the customers and tellers in one sweep of that weapon. “Arms up, tellers. Now! My partner has your manager. Anyone hits a panic button and she’s the first to go.”

Until that last statement, Armie might have let it play out. But at the mention of Merissa being held against her will, dread and rage swirled together in a combustible mix. He went rigid, his heartbeat slowing, his focus narrowing.

“No one overreacts. Tellers, unlock your drawers, and remember, make a wrong move and you lose one of your own.”

White-faced, the tellers did as told.

“Great. Now everyone, get to this side of the room.”

Perfect, Armie thought. It put him closer to Merissa’s office. He went along with the small group, using his body to block the elderly couple in front of him and another woman clutching a five-year-old. The last customer, a college-aged guy, watched the robber with sharp-eyed wariness. Two of the tellers were forty-something women. The other was probably in her twenties.

The robber aimed his gun at the younger guy. “You.”

College boy froze.

“Go collect the money. Empty the drawers of bills and rolled quarters. Make it fast.”

The young man said nothing, just took the bag the robber handed him and jogged to the teller line. As he filled the bag, Armie saw that he also kept an eye on things, looking up often.

A noise, like someone landing up against the door, sounded in Merissa’s office. Armie’s senses sharpened further, but otherwise he didn’t move.

The idiot robber laughed, as if amused by whatever he thought might be going down in that small office.

The five-year-old started to cry, drawing the robber’s attention. Armie stepped in front of him, blocking his view of the boy. Surprised, the robber looked into his eyes, and whatever he saw there clearly alarmed him.

“Don’t try it,” the robber warned.

Armie held up his hands—but he didn’t look away.

“Give me the damn money,” the thug shouted, and the college guy came back, holding the bag out to him.

“Set it there,” he said, indicating a kiosk filled with deposit and withdrawal slips. “Then get your ass over there with the others.”

“Okay, sure.”

Impressed, Armie watched the young man set the bag down slowly and back away. College boy looked to be nineteen or twenty at the most, but he was smart, taking his time—giving Armie an opportunity to evaluate things.

The gunman looked skittish. Above the scarf, faded blue eyes repeatedly flinched left and right. The hand holding the gun trembled ever so slightly. He kept shifting his feet as if resisting the urge to run.

Rolling a shoulder, Armie loosened up. Should be a piece of cake.

Another thump sounded in the office and Merissa cried out, sending a stab of fear straight through Armie’s heart and stealing what little patience he had left. Taking a step away from the others, Armie regained the robber’s attention. The college kid, pitching in, went in the opposite direction.

“What are you doing?” Panicked, the thug swung the gun left, then right. “Stop moving. Both of you.”

Making sure the idiot focused on him and only him, Armie inched toward him. “Or what?”

“I’ll fucking shoot you, that’s what!”

Ice-cold with fury, desperate to see Merissa safe, Armie smirked. “Yeah? With the safety on?” Closer and closer.

The guy breathed fast. Even beneath the thick coat, Armie could see the bellowing of his chest. “Glocks don’t have safeties.”

“That’s not a Glock, asshole.”

The second the guy glanced down, Armie kicked out and the gun went flying. It skidded across the floor and under the kiosk. The college kid slid down to his knees, trying to retrieve the gun.

“Help!” the gunman got out a mere second before Armie’s fist met his face, sending him wheeling backward, tumbling over his own feet to wipe out on the floor. His head smacked with a thump, dazing him, keeping him from rebounding to his feet.

More noises sounded from the office.

Already charging toward it, Armie whispered, “Get down!” to the other customers, who, except for the college guy, immediately hunkered on the floor together. That put them to the side of the office door. Armie reached it just as the door flew open. He had only a split second to see Merissa locked in front of the gunman, secured with a meaty arm tight around her throat. Her makeup was smeared, her hair a mess, but her gaze was incendiary. Rage, more than fear, consumed her.

A large bruise already showed on her jaw and she clutched at the restraining arm as if struggling to get air.

The gun, thankfully, wasn’t aimed at her.

The man held it outward on a stiffened arm, giving Armie the perfect opportunity to grab the trigger well with his left hand, and strike the man’s wrist with his right. The bastard didn’t have a chance to get a shot off before Armie had control of the gun.

Cursing, the thug shoved Merissa into Armie, unbalancing them both. He caught her, and as she scrambled to regain her balance, she inadvertently knocked the gun from his hand.

Seeing a ham-sized fist aimed his way, Armie gave her yet another quick push to put her out of harm’s way and took the punch to the chin. It snapped his head back, but hell, he could take a punch. He shook it off—then went about demolishing the bastard who’d dared to touch Merissa.

Armie had always been a fast, adaptable fighter. He moved by rote, adjusting as he needed to, dodging blows while landing his own with added force. The robber was big and muscular. Armie felt the bastard’s nose crunch, saw blood spray from his mouth.

Women screamed and the five-year-old cried.

The college guy yelled something, and a second later the other gunman, who’d finally regained his wits, hefted a fifteen-pound post from a rope barrier used to keep customers in line. He brought it down across Armie’s back.

And mother-fuck, that hurt.

It knocked him to the ground, but it didn’t stop him. Hell, his ground game was as good as his stand-up.

Two to one made it a little trickier. Normally he’d consider that a piece of cake, but not with so many possible victims in the way.

The man who’d hurt Merissa tried to kick him in the ribs while he was down. Armie caught his leg and jerked him to his back. He landed awkwardly, cursed and immediately rolled to a less defenseless position.

The man wasn’t a slouch. As a fighter, Armie recognized right off that the guy had some training.

Merissa tried to assist him, but Armie barked for her to stay back. College boy tried to edge in, but with fists and legs churning fast, it wasn’t easy.

Or necessary.

Both men together were still no match for Armie. He bounced back, regaining his feet just as the second man again swung the heavy post. Armie ducked, but the post clipped him on the forehead, stunning him and sending a trickle of blood into his eyes. He swiped at it, and heard Merissa gasp.

The man who’d followed her into her office had retrieved one of the guns and had it aimed at her, point-blank.

Armie barely remembered moving, but a split second later he stood in front of her, spreading his arms and using his body to shield her.

“Armie,” she pleaded.

Blocking out her shaking voice, he kept her tucked behind him, his gaze locked on the gunman. The robber’s hat was now gone, his scarf askew. But with his face so mangled from Armie’s punches, he didn’t need a disguise.

Odds were his own mother wouldn’t recognize him right now.

His nose, crooked and covered in blood, had turned a sick shade of purple, matching the shiner on his right eye. His lips were swollen, also bloody. Part of a torn nylon stocking drooped around his neck.

Armie focused on his eyes. They were a clearer blue than his pal’s, without an ounce of conscience.

“Armie, please.” Merissa struggled. “Don’t do this!”

With one hand Armie kept her locked behind him. He said nothing. What was there to say?

He’d die before he let her be shot.

The second man pulled at his friend’s coat, urging him to flee while they still could. “I hear sirens! We have to go.”

And still the bastard kept that gun aimed, his indecision thick in the air.

Holding his ground, never breaking eye contact, Armie calmed his breathing and waited to see the verdict.

Those icy-blue eyes smiled at him—and a second later both men bolted.

Armie started to follow, but Merissa fisted both hands in his shirt. “Damn you, no!”

He heard the awful fear in her voice, and reluctantly obeyed her order. When the men disappeared out of sight, Merissa went limp against his back. Soft, warm, safe. Armie swallowed, closed his eyes for only a moment, then turned to her.

She could have died.

He clasped her shoulders. “You’re okay?”

Mouth firmed, she nodded. Then she thwacked his shoulder. “Are you insane?”

He touched her cheek, and her expression softened. “Oh God, Armie, you’re bleeding.”

The bastard had hurt her. “It’s nothing.” Using his shoulder, Armie cleared the blood from his eye, then lightly touched a bruise on her jaw. “Rissy...what happened?”

She crushed herself closer to him, her face in his neck. “Just...give me a second.”

Hands shaking, Armie stroked up and down her back. He didn’t want his blood on her. He didn’t want her tainted in any way. “It’s over now.” Knowing he could have lost her, his eyes burned as he kissed her temple. “It’s over.”

“Yes.” He felt the deep breath she took and the way she stiffened her shoulders. Suddenly stepping away, she swiped her face and, visibly gathering her thoughts, looked around the bank.

Armie did the same.

The college guy finally retrieved the gun from under the kiosk, but he didn’t look keen on using it, thank God. Gingerly, he set it on a stack of deposit slips and was quickly backing away when his eyes widened. “They left the money.”

There, on the floor, was the bag with the money still in it. “Unbelievable.” Armie grabbed it up, put it in Rissy’s office and shut the door.

The tellers were plenty shaken. The little kid clung to his mother, whimpering.

“Everyone okay?”

Pale faces blinked at him. Yeah, unlike Merissa, they probably weren’t used to seeing bloody fights. He lifted the hem of his shirt to clear away more of the mess.

“Thank you, Armie.” All business now, Merissa hurried to the front door and locked it. “I’m sorry,” she said to one and all. “In case those sirens aren’t for us I have to call this in. We all need to stay put until the police get here.” Brisk, she strode toward her office. “Armie, the bathroom is through there.” She pointed. “Valerie, could you show him, please? He needs to...” She swallowed hard. “To clean up the blood. Could someone find a first-aid kit, please?”

Armie stood there, staring after her. He watched her use the phone, saw her nod and replace the receiver. She went to a cabinet and a few seconds later returned with papers in her shaking hands. “The authorities are on their way.” Hastily, she handed out the papers to the other bank employees.

Impressed by her, Armie asked, “What do you have there?”

“Post robbery packets,” she answered, and then to her employees, “Read these again and follow procedure.”

It amazed Armie to see her like this, so take-charge, so in control despite what had just happened. She got a lollipop for the little boy, cans of Coke for the other customers.

With that handled, she turned back to Armie and blew out a breath while looking him over. Neither he nor Valerie had moved. “Oh, Armie.” She took his arm and, treating him like an invalid, started urging him forward.

“Uh...where are you taking me?”

“The bathroom.”

“Why?”

“You’re hurt and bleeding and just standing there.” She stripped his flannel off him and liberally doused the hem under running water in the sink.

Expression far too grave, she gingerly dabbed at the blood from the right side of his face, over his eye and up to his temple. “It looks terrible.”

Valerie silently set a first-aid kit on the sink for her.

When she reached for it, he caught her wrists. “Honey, I’m fine.”

Her throat worked and she shook her head, her gaze going just past his shoulder.

“Rissy, talk to me.”

“I can’t believe you did that.” Her brows pinched together and her lashes lowered. “You almost dared him—”

“Shh.” That small, broken voice squeezed like a vise around his heart. He stepped closer, letting her feel his strength, proving he was unharmed. Because he needed to know, and she maybe needed to talk, he said, “The bastard hit you?”

She nodded.

Glancing at the popped button on her sweater, he strangled on fury but kept his tone soft. “He attacked you?”

Her face tightened and she swallowed convulsively. “He... He said he wanted to—”

“Cops are here!”

“College boy,” Armie said, hoping to lighten her mood. “I like him.”

Her tensed shoulders loosened with the interruption, and she turned brisk again. “Yes. He was helpful.” She rinsed her hands in the sink. “I have to go.”

“I know. We’ll talk later?”

At that she half laughed.

“What?”

“You always want to talk.” Shaking her head, she left the small room and hurried to the front to unlock the door. Two uniformed cops came in, guns drawn, but after a few questions and a quick look around, they holstered their weapons and began separating everyone. One of them tried to insist on calling an ambulance, but Armie shut them down on that. Merissa refused, and nooo way in hell was he leaving her. Besides, he knew his own body well enough to know the thump on his head wasn’t anything serious. He might need stitches, but he’d try taping it first.

Shortly after that an FBI agent came in with Detectives Logan Riske and Reese Bareden. Luckily, Armie knew them both through Cannon.

Cannon. Shit. He had to call him. Armie got his phone out, only to find the screen busted. Shit again. Like all the guys from his inner circle, he carried two phones, the second one for emergencies. Because they’d formed a neighborhood watch, the separate phones were set for a distinctive ring so they’d know when one of the others had something urgent going on. But the second phone wasn’t in his pocket any longer. He could only assume he’d lost it during the skirmish.

He was looking around for it when Logan approached. “Damn, Armie.”

“It’s nothing.” And he was getting tired of telling that to people.

Logan frowned. “I’ll take your word for it.” He nodded at the cell phone. “That got broke in the fight?”

“Yeah.” His muscles remained too tense and his temples throbbed. “I need to let Cannon know. If he hears about this, he’ll die three times before he knows she’s okay.”

“I’ll take care of it. Do me a favor and sit, will you?”

“I want to talk to Merissa—”

Logan stopped him. “Sorry. Protocol. You all have to stay separate until we’ve gotten your stories. We can’t risk anyone’s memory being influenced by something someone else says.”

Yeah, that made sense. He didn’t like it, but he wanted the bastards caught.

He looked around, saw that from the couch he’d be able to see into Merissa’s office, where she was currently speaking with the FBI guy. “All right.” He worked his jaw, then sat. Using his flannel, he continued to clean off his face, but yeah, that wasn’t quite cutting it.

He was a mess and he knew it.

“Stay put.” Logan headed to the bathroom but he had his cell to his ear. Returning, he set a stack of paper towels, some wet, some dry, on the small coffee table littered with magazines. “Cannon wants to talk to you.”

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Fighting Dirty

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