“She’s getting sleepy,” Dani said, and popped a pacifier into Regan’s mouth.
Logan leaned back against the sofa and let out a sigh. “Thank God. Where does she get her energy?”
Heartfelt love filled Dani’s eyes as she gazed at her daughter. Had his mother ever looked at him like that? A no-brainer question. Never. The only person Lovey Dovey cared about was Lovey Dovey. One unwanted child had been an inconvenience. Then along came Maria and by the time she was three, Lovey Dovey, had decided two brats were intolerable.
His sister had come within a hair’s breadth of being a throwaway, a little girl given over to social services to be placed in foster care. Only because he had been fifteen and working after school, giving Lovey Dovey his earnings, had she reluctantly agreed to give Maria to him. His threat to disappear forever, taking Maria with him, had the desired results. Lovey Dovey’s fear of losing her booze and cigarette cash was the only reason his baby sister hadn’t been lost to him forever.
“Lovey Dovey could take lessons from you on how to be a mother.”
“Who?”
Hell and damn, why had that come out of his mouth? “My mother.”
“Your mother’s named Lovey Dovey?”
The incredulous look Dani gave him was expected. Who the hell had a mother named Lovey Dovey, anyway? Logan hated talking about his parent—rarely did to anyone. But he’d opened that door.
“She was born Gretchen Kincaid. When she decided she was going to be a famous stripper like Gypsy Rose Lee, she legally changed her name to Lovey Dovey. She kept the name, but the dream got lost in the dregs of a tequila bottle.”
Dani didn’t seem to have a response, and he was glad for it. He had nothing more to say about the wretched woman.
Nodding at Regan, he said, “She’s asleep. Why don’t you put her to bed, and then we need to talk.”
“About what?”
“Your stalker.”
Her expression turned guarded. “Do you know something?”
“Yes. Put Regan in her crib; then I’ll tell you.”
She gently gathered up her daughter, and again he compared her tenderness to his mother’s cruel touch, especially with Maria. To Lovey Dovey, Maria was competition. By the time his sister reached her teens, it became obvious she was going to be stunning. Lovey Dovey’s hatred of her daughter grew with each passing year.
Pushing away thoughts of the woman who birthed him, he went to his room and retrieved his laptop. By the time Dani returned, he was ready for her. She stopped in the doorway and eyed the computer sitting open on the coffee table.
“Come here, Dani,” he said softly.
Her gaze shifted to his, and he held out his hand. She came to him and slid her hand into his. His heart thumped hard in response to her touch. Her hair—a riot of curls hanging halfway down her back—brushed over his arm, and he closed his eyes for a moment, willing his skin not to twitch. It didn’t work. Concentrate on the mission, Kincaid. He needed the Iceman, but it appeared he’d gone AWOL.
This morning he’d downloaded images from the camera he put in the tree. Because she hadn’t let go of him, he operated his computer with one hand. “Have you ever seen this man before?”
She leaned her nose close to the screen and studied the photo. “With all the camouflage paint on his face and the ball cap pulled down over his eyes, he could be anyone.”
Logan clicked on the next photo. “Look familiar?”
Her eyes widened on seeing the black Ford F-250 truck. “Is that his?”
“No, just a picture I downloaded, but he drives one like it, except his has dark tinted windows.”
The color drained from her face. “That was him who drove by this morning?”
“I suppose it’s possible it was just one of your good ol’ boys.”
“But you don’t think so?”
The urge to assure her the man hadn’t been within feet of her warred with his need to explain the danger she’d be in if she wasn’t careful. He flipped the computer lid closed. “No, I don’t. It was stup—”
“I know what you’re thinking. I’m sorry.” Her shoulders slumped, and she stared at her hands.
He hated seeing her this way and waited for her to look at him before he cocked a brow. “You’re sorry you know what I’m thinking?”
“No, I’m sor—oh, you’re teasing me.” She narrowed her eyes. “Aren’t you?”
Against all good judgment, he wrapped his arms around her and leaned back on the sofa, pulling her with him. She came willingly, snuggling against his side. Holding her felt so damn right.
“Yeah, I’m teasing.” Resting his chin on her head, he inhaled her scent. “Your hair smells like honey.”