He didn’t blame anyone but himself.
Rory had written the nightclubs over to him when he’d gotten out, and he’d immersed himself in making them successful. He wasn’t a businessman like his brother, or rather like Declan had been. Mr. Perfect Businessman had recently had a midlife crisis, and about time. He was now off exploring the world on a Harley with the love of his goddamn life. It made Logan grin every time he thought about it. He didn’t believe in happy ever afters, but if anyone could make it, Declan and Jess would.
“Does she have a name?” Rory asked.
“Abigail Parker.”
Rory shook his head. “No. Rings no bells. Fuck, where have I seen her before?”
Logan wasn’t worried; he had a hunch she’d be back, and if she wasn’t, he knew where to find her. He had to go out of town today—he had a meeting in Glasgow about a club he was on the point of purchasing—but as soon as he got back, he was paying her a visit.
“It will come to me,” Rory said.
“You’re losing it, old man. Senile decay.”
Rory grinned. “Fuck you. You wait. I have a memory for faces and this will come back to me.”
“Well, let me know when it does.”
He had plans for Abby Parker.
Life was good and about to get a whole lot better.
He flew back to London the following afternoon. He wanted to check in at the club and after that, he was falling into bed. The night before, the new manager of his new club in Glasgow had taken him on a tour of the nightlife so he could take a look at the competition. He hadn’t gotten back to his hotel until the early hours, and he’d been too keyed up to sleep.
Unfortunately, his plans were put on hold. His father met him as he walked through the main room to his office.
“Come on,” Rory said. “I want to show you something. We’ll take your car.”
Rory refused to say anything else—he could be fucking annoying that way—but he had a sort of self-satisfied smirk on his face as he gave directions through the city.
“What the hell?” Logan said as they finally parked outside New Scotland Yard, the home of the metropolitan police—not his favorite people, and the last thing he needed right now. He had bad memories of this place. They’d brought him here after his initial arrest, when he’d known he’d fucked up bad.
No, he didn’t need this. What he needed was sleep, followed by a visit to his fantasy girl.
“Come on,” Rory said.
Logan sighed but followed his father around the front of the building and through the main entrance into a large reception area with a desk at one end. A group of people stood in front of the desk, but Rory made no effort to approach, just stood to the side of the doors they’d just entered. Logan still had no clue what the hell was going on.
“I told you I’d remember where I’d seen her.”
Was he referring to Abby? Had she been arrested for something? “What the hell are you talking about?”
The group parted, and he caught sight of the uniformed officer behind the desk.
At that moment the officer—a sergeant, by the stripes on her sleeve—raised her head and stared straight back at him. Her blue-green eyes widened, and his only consolation was that she looked as shocked as he felt.
“You are fucking kidding me,” Logan muttered.
Rory shook his head. “I wish I was.”
“Let’s get the hell out of here.”
From the look of horror on his face, you would have thought he’d just discovered she was a serial killer. Across the room he stared back at her, accusation in his silver eyes, and maybe something else. Disappointment?
Must be a shock to find his prison fantasy girl was a cop.
She felt a twinge of guilt followed by disbelief at her reaction—she had nothing to be ashamed of. It wasn’t as though he wouldn’t have found out anyway. It was hardly a dirty little secret. She was proud of what she was. She couldn’t remember ever wanting to be anything else.
The sad thing was, he hardly looked out of place in a police station—but on the wrong side of the law. Dressed in black leather trousers, black boots, and a black shirt, sleeves rolled up, open at the neck, showing the edges of his tattoos, he radiated bad-boy menace.
From the look on his face, she wasn’t sure she’d get another chance to talk to him. He’d probably have the bouncers turn her away.
His hands were fisted at his side, and right then and there, she had a flashback to the feel of those hands on her body. She could hardly believe he’d had them down her panties within five minutes of them meeting. She’d been doing her best not to think about it. And failing—it had felt so good. How long was it since she’d come like that, even on her own.