Sort of how Holstrom was treating Kensey.
Shit. Logan realized he hadn’t told her. He didn’t owe her a damn thing, and if she wanted to jump in the shark tank, that was her problem. But he should’ve said something about what he’d overheard.
He shoved thoughts of her aside and got out of bed. He wanted to make himself a pot of coffee, but he didn’t want to cross paths with her.
He stopped. What the hell was he thinking? He wasn’t about to tiptoe through the last couple of days. If she had a problem with that? Tough.
As he settled down with his morning cereal and coffee, he reviewed his talking points for the meeting. Every time he found himself thinking of Kensey, or worse, coming up with reasons not to meet with Holstrom, he pulled himself back together.
After the second hour, he barely thought of her anymore. Not even to wonder if she was hiding in her room. He doubted it. More likely she was out somewhere, stirring up more trouble.
Not ten minutes later, the doorbell surprised him. He glanced at the digital peephole viewer and immediately opened the door. “What are you doing here?”
“Now that’s the kind of welcome that makes a person feel all warm and fuzzy,” Sam said, stepping into the foyer. “I’m glad I caught you.”
She was supposed to be at the exhibition hall getting ready to wow the crowd with her newest invention. She certainly looked dressed for the part. “What’s wrong?” he asked. “Don’t you have somewhere important to be? Like showing off at your booth?”
She smiled as she walked past him. “It’s pretty funny when the big suits come by. They all nod as if they know what I’m talking about, but an hour later their tech guys ride to the rescue.” She went straight to the kitchen and stared at the coffeepot.
“How old is that coffee?”
“A couple hours, give or take. I can make a fresh—”
“That’s okay. I’ll take a Pliny.”
“Seriously?” He glanced at his watch. It was ten-thirty.
“One beer won’t kill me.”
Something prickled the back of his neck. Screw it. He fetched them both bottles. His meeting wasn’t for a while. “What’s going on, Sam?”
She took the beer, and instead of sitting down in the living room, she led him to his bedroom. When the door was shut behind him, he turned again to his friend.
Sam drew in a deep breath. “I think Kensey might be in trouble.”
Every muscle in Logan’s body tensed as he immediately went into fight-or-flight response. He grabbed the doorknob.
“Whoa. Hold on,” Sam said, catching his arm. “Not right this instant.” She pulled him away from the door. “I meant tonight.”
“Shit, Sam. I hear the word trouble from you, and I don’t know what to think.” He took a moment to settle down. “But if this is Kensey’s tactic to get me to help her, it’s not gonna happen. She made her bed. I’m not interested in who she sleeps with in it.”
Sam looked down at the area rug, and Logan’s gaze followed. His bottle of Pliny was by his feet, sideways, the beer still gurgling out.
He picked it up, then went to the bathroom. Not just to get a towel, but to save some face. He hadn’t realized that he’d cleared his dominant hand in preparation for pulling out his weapon.
When he returned, Sam was perched on the end of the bed in her floaty wide-legged pants. She didn’t pay any attention to his mop-up.
“Kensey doesn’t know I’m here,” Sam said.
“Be careful of her. I know you trust Patterson, but he probably doesn’t know what she’s up to, either.”
“Yes, I do trust Neil. And he believes Kensey’s about to get in over her head and isn’t thinking clearly.”
“She seemed pretty goddamn assured last night.”
“I gather she did something to piss you off, but that’s probably because she’s desperate.” Sam studied him. “Though you can’t be that pissed. You almost pulled the door off the hinges trying to get to her a minute ago.”
“It’s just reflex,” he muttered.
“Whatever you say, hotshot.” Sam shrugged. “I can’t tell you much, but I do know that there’s a good possibility Holstrom has a collection of stolen artwork at his estate that has tighter security than my lab. Not just art, either. We’re talking Mona Lisa art. Masterpieces that should be in museums. Rembrandt, Matisse, Degas. No one has ever been able to prove that he’s got them, and that’s what Kensey is trying to do.”
Logan shook his head. Sam could be absentminded. And she was what someone might call dense at times, but overall she was crazy smart, so what the hell? “Do you hear what you’re saying? It’s possible Holstrom, not just any Joe Blow, but billionaire Ian Holstrom is in possession of stolen artwork. No one has ever been able to prove it. But Kensey is gonna charge in and do that all by herself?”
“Pretty much,” Sam said, nodding. “So you see why she needs our help.”
“Jesus.” Logan scrubbed his face. “I’m going to wake up any minute and all this nightmare bullshit is going to disappear.”
“Nope. I don’t think so. Not unless you agree to help.”
He watched her take a sip of her Pliny. Most of his had been soaked up by a towel. It pissed him off all over again. “She told me she’s trying to save some mysterious person who’s in danger. She can’t even keep her story straight.”
Sam shook her head, her red hair flowing over her shoulders, her gaze bright with intent. “That’s not true. From what Neil told me, I’m guessing an innocent person is being accused of stealing an important piece. That’s grand larceny on an epic scale. And that’s why Kensey has to prove that Holstrom has it.”
“Shit. She’s just the kind of idiot who would try something that stupid. How does she even know that Holstrom—no. Don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.” He stretched his stiff neck muscles. “If I were you, I’d try to talk her out of it. If you can’t, then walk away, because whether Holstrom is guilty or not, he has the kind of money and power to make sure anyone involved with Kensey is going to pay dearly.
“Hell, I’ll probably end up in jail just for sharing the apartment with her. And may I just compliment you and Neil and your friend Kensey for making it nearly impossible for me to walk into my meeting today without prejudice.”
“You need prejudice. He’s a horrible thief.”
“Allegedly.”
“I think even Neil believes Holstrom is dirty.”
“Then he should call the police.” Logan didn’t blame Sam. He understood she felt she owed Neil, but she wasn’t thinking clearly herself. “Look, if I knew Holstrom was crooked, then yeah, I’d take a step back. But since that remains an unknown, his money can help a lot of people. So right now, I don’t care who signs the checks. I care about my company, and the good it can do.”
“Huh.” Sam stared at him with the head tilt he hated. “I get it. I do. Your dream is hugely important and of course you’re entitled to do what you like. But Neil’s going to help Kensey, and so am I. I’m a little disappointed that you aren’t helping, too.”
“That’s just perfect. Icing on the cake. Now that woman is coming between you and me.”
“She’s not. Your decisions are based on something I don’t know about, so I’m absolutely not judging you.”
“You just said—”
“Fine. I’m judging you a little. But only because you’re my hero. That’s not your problem, either.”
“That’s nice, Sam. I mean it. But I missed that mark by a mile.” He cleared his throat, wishing he’d gotten another beer. “Out of curiosity, has she tried calling the police? Seems like that would be something they’d be interested in.”
“Not without proof. Like you said, it’s Ian Holstrom.” Sam frowned. “I talked to Kensey a few times before I met her in person, and she’s not an idiot or stupid. How do you know you’re not the one who’s wrong?”
“Oh, so now you don’t trust me, either. Jesus, Sam.”
“I never—”
“You know what, it’s fine. I basically disappeared for ten years. That’s a long time, and we’ve both changed. It hasn’t been easy to be my friend. Hell, when I finally did become a civilian...” He exhaled, needing to get his bearings. He wasn’t used to this kind of talk. “That first year was messed up. I—”
“Logan. Stop. Please.”
“No, I’m just saying I haven’t given you a lot to go on. We’ve revisited the old days, but I don’t think we’ve caught up. The truth is I’ve done plenty of things I didn’t agree with, for people I didn’t like. Because it was my job.”
He turned away, finding it hard to meet Sam’s eyes. They’d never discussed the mission that had motivated his decision to leave the CIA, and they never would. Never could. It didn’t matter. All his skills, all the superior training he’d received had failed him that day and he’d learned to live with it. But he could make up for it now.