It was a mentally draining cycle; Tucker made it clear he was desperate to make her stop.
Logan adjusted the seat, settling in for the evening, waiting for whenever Ryley’s dad might crawl out of the dark. He twisted the Thermos lid and inhaled the strong, dark steam that promised to keep him awake. The air around him turned cold without his air conditioner. Logan wasn’t alone. He exhaled a chilled breath as goosebumps covered his arms. Someone was in his space. He just didn’t know who. He gave a relaxed smile, pretending not to care that a ghost was sitting somewhere in the confined space. Did they feed on fear? A question he’d have to ask Ryley next time they talked.
“You must be a friend of Ryley’s,” he said as if talking to himself.
There was no answer.
“Her dad is bad news. I’m not sure how you ghosts operate, but maybe, for all the help she gives to others of your kind, just maybe you guys can protect her for once since you failed at the bar. Unless, of course, you were the one who tried to kill her.”
The newspaper on the passenger seat slid to the floor, and the air turned from freezing back to normal.
“I guess you don’t like me anymore.” He shook his head. A month ago, he’d never believe he’d try to reason with a ghost.
Five minutes passed, and his phone vibrated, and he glanced down at the screen. The message was from Ryley. “Why are you sitting in my parking lot and annoying Stretch?”
“Because you found a bullet in your room,” he replied honestly.
“Crews has a big mouth. Is my brother paying you to babysit?”
He texted back, “Yes, but I would have done it for free.”
“You got a gun?”
That question made him pause. “Yeah, you need to borrow it?”
“Come up. Safer up here than down there.”
Logan grabbed his coffee, newspaper, and the gun from his glove box and jogged up the stairs to her apartment. The door opened before he even knocked.
Her gaze met his and moved to his lips before dropping to the items in his hands. “You can sleep on the couch.”
“Honey, I won’t be sleeping.”
“I know.” She locked the door behind him as he entered.
“Most sisters would think their brothers are overprotective, but not you. I knew you were smart.” Logan followed her into the living room, where a folded blanket and pillow were sitting out on the couch.
“I’m not naïve. Neither Tucker nor I will ever underestimate our father, not even when he dies. Good night, Logan.”
“Good night, Ryley.” Logan set his stuff on the table. “Oh, hey.”
She reappeared in the hallway, “Yeah?”
“Can you tell your ghosts to leave me alone? They’re making my coffee cold.”
She grinned. “Stretch got pissy when you claimed she wasn’t there to protect me. She claims she’s the only one that was.”
Damn, she really could see ghosts.
Chapter 34
Ryley got little sleep with a stranger in the house. Okay, Logan wasn’t technically a stranger, but she hardly knew the guy, and he had recently been a suspect in a murder case. Not that he was guilty. He was a flirt, but that didn’t make him deadly.
Tucker trusted him, she reminded herself in the wee hours of the morning and eventually closed her eyes, resting them, never feeling like she fell into a deep state of sleep.
At six AM, she could no longer lay in bed and pretend to be relaxed. The smell of bacon drifted through the vents. He was up, and he was cooking.
She sat up and wiped the sleep from her tired eyes, climbed out of bed, and headed toward the kitchen, hopeful Logan had saved her some.
Logan was shirtless, moving around in her kitchen. The tattoos on his back were just as impressive as the one she’d seen when she’d been frisking him at the bar. His broad, strong back tapered at the waist. His jeans hung loose. He was a beautiful, foreign sight, so out of place, it felt…normal.
A fresh pot of coffee was brewing. His gun sat on the counter within reach while he flipped pancakes. She leaned in the entryway and rested her head against the wall. This was what grown-up life was supposed to be like. A man, trust, a view like the one she was getting a glimpse of.
“Sleep well?” he asked without ever turning around.
“I should have figured you’re a morning person,” she grumbled and grabbed a coffee cup, removing the pot and setting her cup under the stream until it was almost full.
“You apparently aren’t.” He chuckled. “I know you’re a dinner kind of girl in the morning, but breakfast food was all I could find.”
“That’s because I never eat at home,” she answered, grabbing the creamer from the fridge.
She’d never had a guy who was a friend stay the night. Most times, when men stayed, it was because she’d invited him into her bed.
“What’s on your agenda today?” he asked, looking through the cupboards, pulling down two plates.
Ryley grabbed the syrup from the fridge and put it on the table. Her contribution to the breakfast was complete.
“I’m going to the art gallery to talk to Kitty’s partner, and then later today, I have to go see what I can do about putting wards around Rosalind to stop any future attacks.”
Logan glanced over his shoulder at her. His brows pinched. His jaw was set in a harsh line. “She was attacked by a ghost? Same as you?”
“Yep. I don’t know the extent yet, but it must have been bad enough to bring the non-believer Crews to my door last night.”
Logan returned to cooking and loading the pancakes on the plates, adding bacon to both before carrying them to the table.
Ryley rarely used the kitchen. The scratches and little nicks in its surface came with the second-hand table. When she ate at home, which was hardly ever, she
