Page 46 of Two Kinds of Stranger (Eddie Flynn #9)

Logan

His foot still hard down on the accelerator, Logan checked the rearview mirror.

Following the investigator, Lake, had proven useful.

Logan had spent his life studying human behavior.

He could tell, just by the body language, that Lake had gotten a hot lead from the HOME-STAT surveyor.

There was an urgency in Lake’s step after that conversation.

When Lake spoke to the old woman, who pointed him toward the two men at the fire barrel, Logan knew Lake had hit paydirt.

Then his interaction with the men, and the man agreeing to come with him confirmed it.

Logan couldn’t see much of the homeless men’s faces, but he recognized the coat.

He’d last seen it being worn by Joe Novak as he was crouched over the convulsing body of Elly Parker.

There was no doubt, Lake had Novak, and now he was bent over the homeless man, giving him CPR.

He couldn’t be sure, but Logan thought he had hit Novak at least twice in the chest, high up near the throat.

Usually, Logan knew he had landed a fatal shot by watching the victim’s expression change.

No chance of that with Novak, all wrapped up in that scarf and headgear, but still.

The shots were good. He didn’t manage to get a clean shot on Lake, though. Just tagged him. Maybe.

It didn’t matter.

The witness was dead already, even if Lake didn’t realize it.

And so was any hope of a defense for Elly Parker.

Logan put a good mile between him and the scene of the shooting before he pulled over, and got out of the car.

He removed the magnetic license plates from front and back, crossed the street to the river, tossed the gun and the plates in the Hudson, then buttoned his coat and made for the nearest subway.

He checked his phone, found a text message from Grace.

I know what you did. Please come over.

He texted back, said he was on his way. As he stepped down into the subway, he felt his legs dragging.

One thing Logan hated was uncertainty. There were only really two ways this could go tonight.

Maybe she would be overwhelmed with joy at what he had done.

Or she might be really offended and tell him that she didn’t ever want to see him again.

That would be an unfortunate reaction. For Logan and Grace.

Logan didn’t want to lose her. Of that, he was certain.

If she rejected him, or found what he had done controlling and didn’t want to be involved in a relationship, Logan didn’t know exactly how he would deal with that.

He rode the trains and thought about how he felt.

The mere fact that he was nervous about meeting her wasn’t just from the uncertainty – it was also that a big part of him really wanted her.

Never having experienced it himself, infatuation was an alien concept to Logan.

There are psychological tricks to make up for a lack of empathy, but nothing that came close to being able to fake something like love.

Chemicals, hormones, social conditioning, psychology, primal instincts, none of this explained it.

Poets came about as close as physiologists.

Logan experienced a weird feeling in his stomach as he climbed the subway steps a block away from Grace’s building.

His heartbeat quickened when he thought of her.

Especially when he thought of those quiet moments, when he was just staring into her eyes.

It made him feel more than content. And it was different from the exhilaration of taking a life and hiding the crime so perfectly.

The joy and satisfaction of seeing someone else pay for your crime.

This feeling when he thought of Grace, it was different to all of them. And more than all of them.

When Grace confessed to Logan about feeling lonely, he’d felt a powerful connection with her.

All he had ever known was loneliness. He knew it like he knew the taste of coffee, like he knew the sunrise, even the lines on his own face.

And here, for the first time, was someone who felt the same way.

It felt, to Logan, that Grace somehow knew his heart, and his deepest sorrows, and hopes, all at once. He felt understood, even accepted.

Fear was part of love, he decided. The fear of losing this person, that connection, was powerful.

Ten minutes later, Grace opened the front door to her apartment wearing her blue pajamas and a bathrobe. A puddle of water had gathered around Logan’s feet, his raincoat steadily dripping onto the tiled floor.

Drip, drip, drip.

The sound somehow echoed his heartbeat. The sound of water dripping sent Logan’s mind back into a dark, red memory. He fought to clear his head.

Strands of hair stuck to his wet face like cold shards of ice.

Grace said nothing. Her expression was blank.

No joy.

No anger.

Suspicion, maybe?

She left the door open, stepped back and disappeared into the apartment. For a moment, Logan froze. Fear glued his feet to the floor. When he walked through that door, either he would begin the best chance for happiness he’d ever had in his life, or . . .

He didn’t want to think of the alternative.

His coat continued its steady drip, drip, drip .

A shudder rippled through his body, either from the cold or the fear.

He blinked. Swallowed. Stepped inside the apartment and closed the door behind him.

Grace leaned against the kitchen counter.

There was a brown envelope in her hands. Her beautiful face remained impassive. Neutral. Impossible to read.

Not a good sign.

Logan dug his hands into his coat pockets.

He said nothing.

But his right hand found the switchblade in his pocket.

Shifting her gaze from Logan to the refrigerator, Grace said, ‘So you saw my bills on the refrigerator door the other night?’

Logan nodded. He couldn’t speak. Didn’t want to. It was as if some other part of him was watching this all play out.

‘I didn’t know I was going to invite you back to my place after our date. As a rule, I don’t on first dates. But I liked you, Logan,’ she said, her tone flat.

That one word replayed in his mind.

Liked.

Not like .

Past tense.

His grip on the switchblade tightened.

‘I don’t have money. You probably realized my student loan came from a private company.

Not a bank. I couldn’t get shit from a bank so I had to go to a private lender who charges a little less than a loan shark and I’ll be paying off interest until I retire.

But it’s my debt. Lucky for me they don’t want the debt paid off early.

I called them to transfer the money back into your account. It should be back there by morning.’

‘You what? Why? It’s a hundred thousand dollars, Grace. That’s nothing to me. There’s no reason why you should have this debt hanging over you when I could—’

‘It’s my debt, Logan. Not yours . I called my landlord and asked him to repay the money you transferred for my back rent.

Getting money out of a landlord is impossible.

He refused, said he didn’t care if it came from Santa Claus or Jesus Christ himself, he was keeping it.

It was owed to him. So I went out and borrowed the five grand you paid him.

Here, this is for you,’ she said, holding out the envelope.

‘Grace, you’re a great person. And I want to help you. I . . . I like you a lot. And, like I said, it’s not a big deal to me—’

‘But it is to me. Not the rent or the loan. You , Logan. You’re a big deal to me.

I know we’ve only had one date, but I really like you.

No one has ever talked to me like you did.

I felt like we were connecting on a deep level.

That this wasn’t just a date. It was like you were really talking to me, and I’ve told you things I’ve never told other dates.

That connection I felt the other night, with you, that was real.

I felt it. I know you felt it too. That’s what matters to me.

I could tell you were wealthy by the watch and the clothes, but I don’t care about any of it.

And I need you to know that. So here – take this back, please. It was so kind, but I don’t want it.’

He let go of the switchblade and pulled his hands out of his coat pockets. He stepped closer, and took the envelope, his heart racing. Grace didn’t let the envelope go.

‘I don’t want money, Logan. I want you .’

She pulled him in close, and kissed him.

They dropped the envelope to the floor. Logan grabbed Grace, held her, and felt his warm tears trickling across his cold cheek.

Their lips parted, Logan said three words he had never before uttered, nor ever dreamed of speaking in his lifetime.

‘I need you,’ he said.