The corner of his lips pulled into a smile, reminding Veronica of the bad boys she’d seen on TV when they were about to say something deviously sexy. “You’re right. I don’t know you. I don’t know what kind of wedding you dream of having, or why the relationship with your sister is the way that it is. But I do know what you want. I know what turns you on, and what turns you off, and that should count for something.”
Air caught in Veronica’s throat and her stomach went all topsy-turvy. How could Logan shake her up this easily? Was it the smolder behind those eyes? That strong, square jaw showing a hint of stubble? Logan shouldn’t have this kind of control over her, damn it! She needed to flip the tables! She smothered down the feelings fluttering deep in her belly and swiveled around on the bench to face him. She crossed her legs, drawing his attention there, and leaned forward so that he could look down her shirt if he let his gaze drift a bit.
“Logan?” she asked, lowering her voice so that it came out as a purr.
“Um-hmm?” He made the sound from his throat, as if he couldn’t find the strength to open his mouth.
“You knew what turned me on and what turned me off.” She cupped his cheek in her hand, then patted. “You
As his gaze zoned far over her shoulder, his face fell.
“What is it?” She craned her neck to look behind her. People strolled by, mostly tourists wearing sweatshirts and pants—travelers visiting Washington often didn’t expect the chilly summer days—with their cameras pointed at the water rising in the lock. “What’s wrong?”
“I thought I saw something.” Leaning down, Logan tugged on something in his boot, then straightened. “I’m finished with lunch. Are you ready?”
“I guess.”
Logan scooped up their plates and tossed them into the trash, then pulled her by the hand. It was the first time he’d ever reached for her like that. His touch buzzed with electricity, shooting currents of bristly heat up her arm. His pace was quick, and they’d only made it a few steps before Veronica felt like she was being ushered away from a crime scene.
“What are you doing?” She asked, as he opened the passenger door to the truck. “Why are we rushing? We have plenty of time to pick up my car. If something’s wrong, tell me.”
“Nothing’s wrong.” Logan slammed the door shut and practically ran around the hood. He opened the door, brought the truck roaring to life, and slammed the gearshift into reverse. “I think your car is ready now, and there’s no reason to sit around here if I’m picking up a strange vibe.”
“Okay.” There was more to it than that. “But I’d like to get there in one piece.”
“That’s all I’m trying to do,” he said.
The truck lurched into first gear, groaning as Logan pounded on the gas pedal. Veronica grabbed the oh-shit handle and slid across the seat as Logan spun out of the parking lot and headed for the freeway.
Chapter Eight
Logan dropped Veronica at the car dealership and stayed outside while she went in to sign some paperwork and pay the bill. He kept his eye on the rearview mirror, searching for any sign of the stalker.
Werewolves picked up more than common scents—they sensed heightened emotions, which were translated into different smells. Arousal or attraction was sweet and floral. Disdain or anger was bitter. Fear was sharp and crisp, often burning the nose. Hostility—what Logan picked up down at the locks—smelled like wet ash, pungent and nasty.
He’d picked up the stalker’s scent at the dock, but at the dealership…nothing.
Over lunch, Logan had spotted several people he thought might’ve been the guy following Veronica around, but none of them gave off the scent of a wolf. There was the guy with dark hair and binoculars standing at the edge of the waterway, leaning against the wooden rail. There was the guy buying hot dogs at the vendor down the street. And the guy sitting on a turned-over milk crate, playing a tune on the violin. He couldn’t pinpoint exactly where the scent was coming from, but the longer he and Veronica sat at the table, the stronger the smell of anger became. When Veronica had faced him, swiveling around to play up her gorgeous assets, the unmistakable scent of jealousy smacked into him like a rancid gust of wind.
Since he couldn’t determine which of the guys at the locks was the stalker, he’d ushered Veronica out of there as quickly as possible.
There was no messing around anymore.
Logan had told Veronica he was going to send her latest note to a guy for analysis, but it wasn’t necessary. He could pick up the traces of blood from where he stood in front of the flower shop. The sick bastard had written the “love note” with his own blood.
Pulling in behind her, Logan parked on the street in front of the Veronica Vale Weddings offices. She climbed out of her car, tugged down her skirt, and slammed the door behind her. He didn’t know why they were at her office, but this was a hell of a lot better than sneaking down the street and watching her from afar. He pushed the front door open wide and held his breath as she swept by.
At the front counter, a secretary held out a puffy white envelope, the kind that people used to send pictures or small valuables. “For you, Miss Vale,” she said. “It came in with this morning’s mail drop.”
Taking the envelope, Veronica opened it up and reached inside. She pulled out a white postcard, read, and stopped.
“Logan.” Her voice shook. “Read this.”
He grabbed the card and read:
“He’ll be at my sister’s wedding.” Veronica covered her mouth with her hand.
“Not really.” Logan flicked the edge of the card. This one was written in the same fine blood print as the last one. What’d the guy do? Drain his blood and then siphon it into a ballpoint? “Your sister’s wedding is next weekend. Is he planning to meet you
“Oh.” She started down the winding hall to the right, toward her office. “I hadn’t read it that carefully.”
“As Pussy from Floral and Fauna would say”—Logan winked, though waves of anxiety sloshed in his stomach.—“there’s a simple solution to the problem.”
She unlocked her office and stepped inside. The room was spacious, with bushy ficus trees in each corner and a cherrywood desk in the center. Pink roses filling tall glass vases perched on each edge, facing two leather- wrapped chairs for potential clients to kick back and get their wedding questions answered.
“And that is?” she asked, sliding into the seat behind her desk.
“Don’t go to the Sanchez wedding and help me find him before your sister’s.”
She cringed. “I have to go. It’s the biggest event in Seattle. Two hundred and fifty people are going to be there.”
Logan leaned back in one of the chairs across from her desk. “I don’t think you understand the danger you’re in.” When she didn’t speak, he continued. “Fine. You’ll need to follow the same routine, as if you didn’t know someone was watching. But you have to be hyperaware of your surroundings at all times. If you spot anything out of the ordinary, let me know immediately.”
“What am I supposed to be looking for?” Veronica asked, fiddling with the edges of the envelope. “I don’t even know.”
“Anyone who follows you or holds eye contact a little too long is suspect. Likewise, look for someone darting out of your path too suddenly or averting eye contact when you’re holding it.”
She whacked the envelope against the desk. “So basically, look for anyone doing anything. Boy, that’s helpful.”
“I know it sounds overwhelming, but that’s why Jake hired me to help.”
When Veronica’s fingers skimmed the bottom of the envelope, she frowned.
“What is it?” he asked.
