“What do you mean, took the blame? She killed herself.”
“In our house,” he muttered.
“But it wasn’t anyone’s fault.” I insisted.
“You don’t understand. A powerful man’s child doesn’t just die. They don’t just get shot, and certainly don’t just kill themselves. There has to be a reason. Always a reason. My father took that blame.”
My heart leapt. “How could he?”
“After he called 911, he called Patrick and told him what had happened. His version anyway. He told him Emily stopped by to see me but he didn’t know why. He knew it was going to get out that Emily and I had been together anyway, and he wanted to be the one to put it out there. He went on and told Patrick that when he told her I didn’t want to see her anymore, she started to cry, and then asked to use the restroom. He finished the story by telling him she’d been in there a while, so he’d gone to check on her, and that’s when he found her with her wrists slit, but it was too late. She was already dead.”
“I still don’t understand.”
“In Patrick’s eyes my father caused her distress. He was the reason she killed herself. And code mandates a life for a life. He thought Patrick would kill him but instead Patrick took his life in a different way. That day my father sold his soul to Patrick to save me.”
I was shaking my head. “But you didn’t do anything. It wasn’t your fault.”
“But it was—and my father knew Patrick would see it that way. I had gotten her pregnant. I was the one who didn’t believe her. I was the one who left her bleeding out in that bathroom.”
“Logan, she took her own life.”
He sat in a chair. Clasped and unclasped his hands before rubbing the back of his neck. “Don’t you get it? It was because of me.”
“Logan.” I said his name only. I could see the pain he was feeling, but I didn’t think worse of him because of this. He was a young teen. It wasn’t his fault. No one makes another person do something like that—people do it to themselves.
It was enough to make him glance up. “I’m getting off track. After everything happened, my parents divorced and I moved to New York with my mother. Patrick never spoke about the pregnancy and to this day, I‘m not certain he ever found out, but Tommy and his sister were close, and he knew.”
“Tommy never told his father?” I asked.
“No. I don’t why. Probably because he knew Patrick would beat the living shit out of him for letting something like that happen to his sister, or maybe because he knew Patrick would kill me and he wanted to punish me in his own fucked-up way. Who knows why? Anyway, a few years passed and I began to distance myself from that painful day, from what I’d done, and get on with my life. One summer, I came back here with a girl, and Tommy saw me with her. He followed me back to my grandfather’s with four other guys and they attacked us.”
“Oh my God, Logan.”
Logan ignored my compassion. He was in a trance, talking with no feeling whatsoever, just citing the facts. “Tommy had a knife and he carved the letter E in the girl’s . . . in Kayla’s stomach. He told me if I was ever seen around town again with any other girl, he’d do the same, or worse.”
Shuddering, I sat here absorbing what he’d told me. “Are you certain he attacked Peyton?”
He ran his hand over his stubble. “I’m sure, Elle. He called me a dog that night. I’m sure. Peyton had me go with her to Mulligan’s Cup yesterday and the guy who works there was with Tommy that night so long ago. He must have told him.”
“Declan?”
He narrowed his eyes at me. “You know him?”
“Yes, he’s a really nice guy. And he likes Peyton. I can’t believe he’d do anything to hurt her.”
Logan stood. “Stay away from him.”
I nodded. I finally understood what he was worried about. Why he wore the hat, the sunglasses, whenever he went out. Why he looked around everywhere we went as if scouting the area. It was because he was. But I also knew I could take care of myself. “Logan,” I said before he walked into the bedroom.
He stopped.
“I can take care of myself.”
At that he turned around and reached into his back pocket, pulling out his wallet. He thumbed through the card slots and removed what looked like a tattered newspaper clipping. It was in color; maybe it was a magazine clipping. He handed it to me. On it was a picture of a girl who bore an eerie resemblance to me when I was younger. The headline read, “Young teen kills herself.”
My hand flew to my mouth. The similarity I bore to her initially seemed uncanny, but a closer look showed that while we shared the same ginger-colored hair and a smidgen of freckles across the nose, that’s where the likeness ended.
Logan gave me an intense look. “Tommy’s a sick fuck. I’m not as worried about what he’ll do to you because you’re with me. I’m worried about what he’ll do to you if he sees the resemblance.”
“Logan, we don’t look that much alike.”
“I know that. But from a distance there are similarities.”
My eyes closed in a subconscious effort to block out the fear in his voice. Out of nowhere, a thought struck. My eyes popped open. “Do you think he did something to my sister?”
An audible intake of breath was his response.
Like it was on fire, and burning me, I shoved the newspaper clipping as far away from me as I possibly could. “This isn’t your fault. I’m involved in this because of my sister, not you. This started before we ever met.”
He dropped his gaze.
“Logan,” I said softly.
His eyes surprised me. “I’ll find out where your sister is, Elle. I have a plan.”
Surprised, my brows raised in question. “What’s the plan?”
Not wasting any time, he stood and started back toward the bedroom. “I can’t tell you right now, but you have to trust me. I will keep you and that little girl safe.”
“And Michael?” I asked.
He just stared at me.
“Logan?”
Without another word, without an answer, he closed the door.
LOGAN
Reality slapped me in the face.
Even after a shower, my skin still felt like it was bathed in a cold sweat. My fingers continued to tremble with the disgust I felt for what I’d done all those years ago.
I hated that I’d had to tell Elle about it, but she had to know.
As I walked into my father’s law office, my legs were rods holding me up with each step, but I couldn’t feel them. I was on autopilot. I was gunning first for Declan, and then finally Tommy.
Tommy was close, but I had to believe he didn’t know about Elle because if he did . . . I couldn’t even think what that would mean.
Sure, I had a plan.
One that would protect her.
But my plan was shaky at best.
I had to put the pieces in motion.
Stacks of newspapers were piled on my father’s desk. The lights were dim and the gray clouds outside didn’t make the room any brighter. We’d had one wonderful day before March storms kicked up again. He was at his computer, reading glasses on, studying some documents on the screen.
“Anything?” I asked, not certain he was working on anything to do with Patrick or Tommy.
He slid his glasses down his nose to peer at me. “Actually, yes, I think so.”
Like a bat out of hell, I dashed around his desk and looked over his shoulder at the computer screen. “What?”
He twisted in his chair. “I met with Patrick’s accountant this morning and told him I needed bank statements for All My Women for the past two years.”
Exasperated, I said, “Why would you do that? He’s going to want to know why.”
“Relax, Logan. This isn’t my first rodeo. I fed him a bullshit story that the Financial Action Task Force is cracking down on certain types of wire transfers, looking for terrorist cells. I explained to him that I needed to see for myself exactly where Patrick was moving the money so I could advise him on what he should and shouldn’t be doing to avoid being targeted, or worse, being pinned as a terrorist.”