LITMIR.BIZ

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at a moment’s notice, and given the fact she had yet to release his hand, she probably felt that way, too.

      “I’m sorry,” she said, keeping her eyes on the floor. “I don’t know what came over me.”

      “It’s okay,” he assured her. “I’m just glad you didn’t get hurt.” That much was true, but her reaction troubled him. Her response to his touch had been over-the-top, a fight-or-flight instinct most people only displayed in response to a mortal threat. The fact that her first impulse had been to run made him think she had been hurt in the past, maybe even abused. Was that the problem? Had she had a run-in with a bad former boyfriend tonight?

      The thought made his muscles tense, and he glanced around, his training kicking in as he looked for any evidence of a physical encounter. Men who hurt women were lower than scum, and Logan would have no trouble stepping between Olivia and that kind of danger.

      His eyes trailed across the entryway table that sat flush against the wall. There were some small tokens arranged on the table’s surface, but they looked out of place, as if they’d been knocked askew. Three narrow parallel lines made tracks in the thin layer of dust on the table, and he realized with a shock they were the impressions made by a hand skimming across the surface. Had Olivia run her hand along the table, searching for a weapon?

      At the end of the table, a small square impression was left in the dust. Something had sat here, but what? A dark shape on the floor caught his eye, and he focused on it to discover it was a long, thin candle. It had rolled under the table, but he saw a waxy spot on the tile where it had first made impact. So the square impression must have been a candlestick. But where was it now?

      Olivia cleared her throat, interrupting his musings. “Ah, thanks for bringing the mail over.” She picked up the scattered papers and stacked them on the hall table, then turned to face him. She had regained her composure and was quickly rebuilding her defenses. That was good, but it meant he was losing his chance to find out what kind of trouble she was in.

      “Is that Chinese food I smell?” He took a step farther into her house, following his nose. “Man, I haven’t eaten all day. Do you mind if I crash your dinner?” It was a lame excuse, but it was the best he could do on short notice.

      Olivia stiffened, but when she met his gaze he put on his best “who, me?” expression, hoping it would earn him a spot at her table. His stomach chose that moment to growl audibly, further advancing his case. He smiled sheepishly and was rewarded by a small smile from Olivia.

      “Sure,” she said. “It’ll be nice to have some company.”

      She led him through the living room and into the kitchen. He caught a glimpse of the candlestick lying on the sofa cushions. Interesting. Had Olivia sat there earlier, facing off against a threat? He inhaled deeply as he walked through the room and caught the faint hint of men’s cologne lingering in the air. So someone had been here, someone Olivia had felt the need to defend herself against, using only a candlestick for protection.

      Logan waited until Olivia had retrieved plates and silverware and placed them on her kitchen table.

      “Olivia, are you in trouble?”

      She went pale and dropped the silverware in a noisy clatter against the plates. “No.”

      “That’s not what it looks like to me.”

      Her dark eyes flicked up to his face before she returned her attention to dishing up the food. “And I suppose you’re some kind of detective.” She pushed a plate in his direction and sat, and he did the same, taking the chair across from her.

      “Something like that,” he replied easily.

      “What do you do again? You’re in security, right?”

      “I’m an agent with the Drug Enforcement Administration.”

      Her hands clenched and she pushed back from the table, the chair legs screeching on the tile floor. “I have to go,” she said abruptly.

      Logan stood, as well. “Olivia, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

      She shook her head. “No, I really need to get out of here.”

      He took a step to the side, effectively blocking her exit. She reared back to keep from running into him, and he held out his hands, trying to appear nonthreatening. “Here’s the deal,” he said, striving for a comforting tone. “It’s clear to me that something has happened tonight, something that has you upset. And while I’m not trying to dig into your private life, I would like to know why you’re so distressed by the fact that I work for the DEA.”

      She stared up at him for a moment, worrying her bottom lip with her teeth. It was an incredibly sensuous gesture, but Logan knew she didn’t mean anything by it. “I really can’t talk about it.”

      He merely watched her, knowing there wasn’t anything he could say to make her trust him. She had to decide that on her own—no amount of pretty words would convince her.

      Finally she dropped into her chair, her shoulders slumping in defeat. “You can’t help me. No one can.”

      “That sounds pretty final to me. In my experience, few things are.”

      She shuddered at his words, as if they’d brought up a bad memory. “If I tell you, will you leave me alone?” She sounded utterly destroyed and he could tell her resolve to stay silent was crumbling.

      Not a chance, he thought. But he needed her to talk, so he tilted his head to the side, hoping she would interpret the gesture as agreement. “You can talk to me,” he said softly.

      She shook her head, pressing her lips together in a pale line. Then she laughed, a harsh, grating sound that was totally void of humor. “What the hell?” she said, the edge in her voice sharper than a sliver of glass. “Just promise me this—keep my friends safe. Will you do that for me?”

      Logan frowned, the finality in her tone troubling. “I’ll do my best. Why do you sound like you’ll be missing them?”

      Olivia met his gaze then, and the hopelessness in her brown eyes nearly broke his heart.

      “Because in a few weeks, I’ll be dead.”

      * * *

      Logan’s green eyes widened at her outburst, but he recovered quickly. “I’m sure it’s not as bad as you think,” he started, his tone making it clear he thought she was being a drama queen. His obvious doubt annoyed her, but she tried not to hold it against him. She did sound like one of those characters on the telenovelas her Nana had loved to watch. Under different circumstances, she might have found the whole thing amusing.

      “Do you want me to talk to you or not?”

      He hesitated a moment, clearly trying to decide what to say. Then he simply nodded.

      Olivia took a deep breath, pushing aside her doubts. Logan worked for the DEA, so he was probably the best person to talk to about Carlos and his offer. Besides, she didn’t really have any other options at this point.

      To his credit, he didn’t interrupt her. He sat there quietly, his large hands folded on the table and his broad shoulders looking like they could hold the weight of the world. She felt a small spurt of satisfaction when he sat up straight at the mention of Carlos—See? I’m not crazy, she wanted to say—but he remained silent until she finished telling him the whole story.

      “Have you contacted your friends?”

      Olivia stared at him, feeling drained of all emotion. “No. Avery would know something is wrong just by the sound of my voice. And Mallory is in the Caribbean somewhere on her cruise ship. But even if I could get ahold of her, I don’t want to put either of them at further risk.”

      He acknowledged her point with a nod. “Fair enough. I just thought you might feel better if you talked to them, reassured yourself that they’re still okay.”

      She looked down at her plate, the food blurring as tears

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