Page 22 of Keeping Kasey (Love and Blood #3)

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Logan

“You’re where ?” James’s anger is a rare thing, but I hear the undercurrent in those two simple words.

“I haven’t been to the Detroit base in a year. An impromptu visit is just what Uncle Antonio needs to stay on track,” I tell him, then pull my suitcase from the conveyor belt in baggage claim.

I can’t remember the last time I flew commercial, but since Matteo, Ford, and Kasey took the jet, I didn’t have a choice.

“Logan, what are you doing?”

“Looking for my driver,” I say as I walk out the doors and find the town car waiting.

“That’s not what I mean, and you know it,” he says. “Why are you in Detroit? We sent Matteo to handle things with Uncle Tony so we wouldn’t have to—then you show up anyway? And what about tomorrow?”

“What about tomorrow?” I ask, conveniently ignoring the rest of his questions as I haul my bag into the trunk and climb into the back seat.

“You’re meeting with Mr. Romano,” he clips.

I’d completely forgotten about that, and the bite of guilt pricks me at my own thoughtlessness.

I’m not thoughtless.

“I’ll call and reschedule,” I tell him.

“This isn’t like you. Sleeping with Kasey is one thing, but letting her get in the way of work is another entirely.”

“Who said anything about her?”

“Don’t,” he says. “Don’t pretend this isn’t about her. You haven’t been to Detroit because you hate it, and suddenly, you’re flying there on a whim the same day Kasey is set to arrive.”

There’s a long pause, and I have nothing to fill it with.

Was it careless to come to Detroit for that sole reason? Yes, I’m willing to admit that. But that doesn’t mean James needs to question my intentions with the Romano girl.

“Romano was already exploring other options for Isabella,” James says slowly.

At least he recognizes that I’m being pushed into a corner.

“If he marries her to someone else, every family in our territory will know you didn’t keep your word, and we’ll lose any chance of Romano giving us the resources we need to protect our family. ”

He’s right.

And I hate that he’s right.

“If you really don’t want to be with Isabella, there are other options,” James says when I still don’t say anything. “We could make a new deal with Giovanni that doesn’t include her, or I could—”

“There’s no need for that,” I say. “Go to the meeting tomorrow and make sure Romano isn’t moving forward with other options. Tell him the rumors about Kasey and me are grossly exaggerated, and I’ll reach out to his daughter directly to set up a date.”

“They aren’t.”

“What?”

“The rumors, they aren’t exaggerated. If anything, they’re understated.”

“Don’t be dramatic.”

“Don’t be oblivious,” he retorts. “Take the time you need in Detroit, but when you get back here, you need to know what you want.”

If it were anyone else, I wouldn’t get past the tone, but this isn’t anyone else.

So, instead of snapping or reminding him that I’m the boss of this family, I ask, “And what if I have no idea what that is?”

He doesn’t answer for a long moment, and when he does, he sounds tired.

James doesn’t like this situation any more than I do.

“Do whatever it takes to figure it out. I’ll handle Romano.”

After three hours of watching Matteo get verbally abused by his father in a debate over the excessive use of our contacts within the justice system, this entire trip is already worth the hassle.

Matteo complains the entire walk to the dining hall—which has prepared a meal specifically for my impromptu arrival—but I’m barely listening. Once we round the corner and I see those blonde curls, I’m definitely not listening.

I can’t shake the uneasiness I’ve felt since Kasey got off the plane today. I hadn’t expected an overly enthusiastic greeting, but her unreadable expression wasn’t what I imagined either.

It didn’t help that my knee-jerk reaction to her questioning my being here was to remind her that my work schedule is none of her business.

She’d given me a look like she knew I was lying, and that was the extent of our interaction.

Kasey’s wearing jeans and an oversized T-shirt, nothing like the tight clothes she’s taunted me with in the past, but they’re just as flattering. Loose curls fall around her face, and those sharp blue eyes study the food with open disgust.

I make a beeline for her—ditching my cousin when he’s mid-sentence. Just as I reach her, Kasey looks up with the same annoyed expression I’m always graced with.

“What’s your issue now?” I ask in a dry tone.

She runs a hand through the loose curls, and my fingers itch to do the same. “Who says I have an issue?”

I raise an eyebrow.

She sighs. “Everything here looks disgusting.”

I scan the food: lamb, pork chops, steamed asparagus, roasted squash, and garlic herb mushrooms.

It happens to be one of my favorite meals.

“Picky eater?” I ask, and realize I should’ve figured.

“An aversion to mushrooms, lamb, and… actually everything here,” she says with a grimace.

“What don’t you have an aversion to?”

“Tacos.”

“Come on.” I gesture to the door.

“Where are we going?” she asks, even as she follows me.

“To get tacos.”

She places one hand over her heart. “You’re taking me out to dinner? How romantic.”

“You want romance?”

“Don’t all girls want to be swept off their feet?”

“You are not all girls .”

A small smile plays on her lips. “Then what am I?”

I wrap an arm around her waist and tug her into my side as we head to the base’s garage. “Right now? An overpaid nerd.”

She shoves at my chest and wiggles out of my hold, scrunching up her nose. “You’re an asshole.”

Even as she shoves at me, I manage to take hold of her hand, and she studies our intertwined fingers. For a moment, I think she’ll pull away—and she’d have every right to—but she doesn’t.

At that small surrender, I smile and tug her toward the stairs to make our way down.

“Seriously,” she says in a voice that subtly shakes. “Why are we going to get tacos?”

I think through my options and go with, “I don’t want you to be pissed off when I take you to bed tonight.”

She laughs. “That’s never bothered you before.”

“Maybe I’m curious to see what you’re like when you’re not mad at me.”

“I’m not always mad at you.”

“No? Name a time when you weren’t.”

“I wasn’t mad when you yelled at that guy in McDonald’s,” she says with a taunting grin.

I glare at her. “Correction: name a time when you weren’t mad at me or actively making me mad at you.”

She has to think for a minute.

“I wasn’t mad when you had energy drinks waiting for me in Ford’s office after you spilled my coffee.”

I have to remind myself that it would be counterproductive to my goal to remind her she was just as much to blame for that spill as I was.

“Your turn,” she says, but I don’t need time to think.

“I’m never mad when you’re bent over and I’m—”

“Something that doesn’t have to do with sex,” she deadpans.

We reach the bottom floor, but I don’t open the door leading to the main street. Letting out a resigned breath, I lower my guard just enough to show her the honesty in my answer.

“I wasn’t mad when you offered to erase Elise’s death certificate.”

Kasey shakes her head. “That’s just because it pissed off Moreno.”

“Well, that helped,” I grant. “But it was more than that. I know she can be… enthusiastic, but Elise is good, and that gesture meant a lot to her.”

The admission is uncomfortable, so instead of waiting to hear what she says, I open the door and lead Kasey by the hand onto the busy sidewalk.

She looks up and down the street. “Where’s the car?”

“It’s not a far walk.”

Kasey scans my suit, then her jeans and T-shirt. “I’m not exactly dressed for a five-star restaurant,” she mutters.

“Who said anything about a restaurant?”

This is the only Consoli base located in the middle of the city it controls and not the outskirts, and right now, I’m glad for it.

I tug Kasey to follow as we walk down two streets in comfortable silence. When we finally get to where we’re going, she shoots me a puzzled look.

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

We get in line for the taco truck, which, thankfully, isn’t long. I pass the time watching Kasey take in our surroundings.

Her fair skin glows in the light of the setting sun, and she seems captivated by the busy city.

Her lips part as she takes a breath, and her eyes flit from the skyline to the people bustling around us.

I realize that, in the time she’s been staying with me, she’s never even seen the heart of Chicago.

Suddenly, showing it to her becomes a very high priority.

There’s something so pure, almost innocent, in her fascination.

“How did things go in Nashville and Cincinnati?” I ask.

She lifts her brow in a look that questions my effort toward small talk, but she indulges me anyway.

“Smooth. The smaller bases don’t take long. This one will take most of the day tomorrow. It helps that I got a head start today. I’m hoping we’ll be on a flight back by dinner tomorrow.” She nudges my shoulder with hers. “Then you can tell me the real reason you hired me.”

“I’m surprised you haven’t already figured it out.”

She smiles. “I probably could, but I’ll leave the official explanation to you.”

“Generous,” I mutter.

I order the same thing I always do when I come here—three supreme chicken tacos—then look to Kasey for her order.

She barely scans the menu. “I’ll have the same as him, but absolutely no sour cream.”

“Why am I not surprised you’d find something wrong with tacos, too?”

She flips me off, doing a bad job of concealing her growing smile.

They give us our food almost immediately, and I lead her to a picnic table at a small park a block away.

Kasey nods in the direction of the truck. “How did you even know about this place?”

“It’s been around since I was a kid. My brothers and I spent a lot of time exploring the cities in our territory.” I lift my taco, still encased in tin foil. “This is one of my favorite places in the city.”