“Bill!” Lacy shrieked, catching his head before it could smash into the ground. “I told you—that’s enough! Don’t make me stop you myself!”
It was a ridiculous threat, considering the woman in question. It might have been the mild concussion, but to Logan, she looked just like a living, breathing doll. Silky, sandy blonde hair. Painted lips. Rosy cheeks. Slender frame. All that paired with the kind of delicate bone structure that made any threat sound like the most laughable kind of joke.
And yet...there was something about the way she carried herself that made Logan think twice. He didn’t doubt her. He didn’t think this man doubted her either.
“He’s fucking my wife!” Bill shouted back, towering over Logan in a blind rage—his fists clenched tightly by his side. “What do you expect me to—”
“Stop this now! Your wife told me you hunted Dylan down. I’m lucky I got here when I did.”
“Please leave,” Logan mumbled in a daze. He extracted himself from the woman’s lap and pushed shakily to his feet. “Or better yet...why don’t you two talk? And I’ll call a cab—”
“Whoa there!” Lacy steadied him as he swayed dizzily to the side, wrapping her arm around his waist despite the malevolent glare on her face. “You don’t look so well.”
The husband stared at me. “You’re not going anywhere. You see, Lacy can answer the basics for me. The where, the how, the who—those are the things her company is contracted to find out. But she can’t tell him why. Only you can do that.”
This has to be some kind of nightmare. Yes—that’s what it is. A vengeful husband, an ethereal woman, and a demonic dog. Just your classic Cleveland nightmare.
“I don’t...” Logan tried to take a step on his own, reaching into his pocket only to realize that he’d left his cellphone somewhere in his bag. “I don’t know what to tell you. I’m sorry, okay? I really am incredibly sorry—”
“Sorry?!” Bill grabbed him by the collar, lifting him onto his toes. “You’re sorry for having an affair with my wife?! You think that’s going to cut it?!”
Logan braced for impact.
“...probably not.”
There was another punch, but this time, Logan was ready. Five years of kickboxing snapped into place, and his arms shot up in a split second—blocking his face. A second after that, the man released him—dodging a punch himself as Logan launched a counter-attack.
“But I didn’t know she was your wife.” He was a little steadier now. The lies came more easily. “I swear it—she never told me she was married. I thought she was single.”
Knowing Dylan, that probably wasn’t true. But there was no way Logan was going to take a beating for something that he didn’t do.
Bill paused his rampage, and for a split second, even Lacy looked unsure. Fortunately, a split second was all Logan needed to collect himself. In a
flash, the dazed confusion went right out the window. Replaced instead with the stone-cold confidence of Miami’s youngest billionaire.
“I’m sorry about your wife,” he said again, his voice taking on that ringing authority he’d been honing over the years, “but I didn’t know. I would never have done it if I knew. I swear.”
It wasn’t much to go on. Of course, the man caught cheating would automatically deny the fact that he’d been in the wrong. So instead of Logan’s words, perhaps it was that hard right hook that convinced Bill to keep his distance.
“You really didn’t know?” he breathed, his chest heaving up and down.
Logan looked him square in the face. “No, I didn’t.” His eyes flickered back to the photo as he discreetly tried to make out the names scribbled underneath. “But I can tell you, there’s no way that Melanie—”
“Angie,” Lacy corrected sharply. “Her name is Angie.”
Logan glanced again at the photo—he had only been able to see the very end of the name.
“Of course, Angie.” He cleared his throat nervously and started again. “Bill, there’s no way that Angie—”
“YOU DIDN’T EVEN KNOW HER NAME?!”
That was the final straw for Bill. With a wild cry, he launched himself across the room, tackling Logan around the waist before the two of them crashed upon the floor. Lacy let out a panicked shriek as they started pummeling each other, before whipping out her cell phone.
“Bill—let him go!” she cried, waving it threateningly in the air. “Dylan—stop it!” When the two of them ignored her, focused only on killing each other, she launched a final threat. “If the two of you don’t cut it out immediately, then I’m calling the cops!”
Still nothing. Her fingers blurred over the buttons.
“Yes, operator? I’m at 241 Prescott Street and there are two men beating each other to—”