A Real Cowboy Always Protects by Stephanie Rowe

Chapter Three

Logan had just been reachingfor the door to let Skylar in when she knocked a second time and yelled at him.

He froze.

He'd thought she was doing a cute flirt the first time she'd knocked, and he'd nearly pulled a quad rushing to get his sweats on over his still-wet-from-the-shower legs.

But now, all his senses went on high alert. He didn't know Skylar that well, but he could hear the edge in her voice, and it made no sense for her to yell at him for making her his servant.

"I'll be right there," he called out. "I just got out of the shower." He stole silently across the room and grabbed his gun from the holster he'd slung over his kitchen chair.

"You and that freaking shower," she yelled. "You're always in there. It's like you're taunting me. You know how I love it when you're in the shower."

Shit. There was definitely something wrong.

He eased to the door and peered through the peephole. He could see Skylar standing there holding two cups of coffee. She looked like she was alone, but as he watched, her gaze flicked to the right side of his door, and then to the left.

He swore. There were people on either side of his door. People who were scaring her.

Fuck. How the hell had anyone found him? Not that it mattered right now. First, he needed to get her out of there safely, and keep them both alive.

He briefly contemplated shooting through the wall, but it was too damn risky. He could hit Skylar.

"Don't worry," he called through the door, even as his mind spun, trying to figure out how to handle it. "I saved some hot water for you. I know you like to lie down and take your bubble baths. You have that coffee ready for me?"

He watched her eyes widen, and then her gaze flicked to the right and left again. She nodded. "I have it ready."

Logan swore. She was a fucking civilian. There was no way she was trained for this. He'd have to assume that she had no idea he'd just told her to throw her coffee at the people flanking his door and then drop to the floor.

He leaned back against the wall, quickly assessing his plan. How he was going to manage it. How he was going to keep them both alive.

He'd have to take the chance that they wanted him dead more than they wanted her dead, so they'd shoot at him before taking her out.

He had to get this right.

That was Skylar out there. His fucking sunshine. Standing there about to be in the middle of a gunfight.

Bubble baths? Why was Logan talking about bubble baths?

Skylar's heart was racing so quickly she could barely concentrate. Scarface still had his gun pointed at her head. She had no idea how people in movies were able to think clearly when they were in a hostage situation. It was completely debilitating to be so terrified.

The other guy had his gun pointed at the door, exactly where Logan's head would be when he opened it. Unless Logan was crouching. Or lying down.

She paused. Logan had said lying down. Understanding flashed through her as she heard Logan slide the deadbolt on the door. He wanted her on the ground. Hot damn! He'd understood her message and was giving her spy lingo back.

She was so on this.

"You have the coffee ready?" Logan asked through the door.

The coffee. Right. The coffee. Skylar pushed her thumbs against the lids, lifting them up just enough so they were loose. "I have the coffee ready. I'm looking forward to lying down in that bubble bath, if you'll join me." Nice, right? She'd spy-lingo-ed him back that she was ready to throw burning hot coffee in their faces and then dive out of the way.

"Of course I'll join you. I'd never miss it." He turned the doorknob. The instant she saw the door start to open, she flung the coffee at the two men and dropped to the floor.

She covered her head, yelping as the sharp explosion of gunfire shattered the silence of the hallway. Screw spy lingo! This was actual gunfire!

Skylar scrambled across the hallway, trying to get to her door. She was just reaching for the knob, when the guy without the facial scar fell against her door, a bullet hole in the middle of his forehead, blood already blossoming from his head.

Holy crap. She yelped and scrambled backward, only to have an arm wrap around her waist. She screamed and tried to pry it off her, pounding on the rock-hard forearm.

"It's me." Logan's voice was low in her ear. "Come on."

Logan. She stopped fighting immediately as he dragged her back across the hall and into his condo. He slammed the door shut, threw the deadbolt, and then pointed down the hall. His face was focused, his body tense. And he had a gun in his hand. Who was he?

"Get in the office, lock the door, and hide under the desk," he commanded. "Don't open for any reason until I tell you to."

"Okay." Running and hiding sounded like a good plan to her. Skylar didn't waste a second. She sprinted for the door he'd indicated and pulled it open. There were no windows or other doors, which meant no one could come flying through them shooting at her.

It also meant that if Scarface came through the only door, then she had no way to escape. If she went into the office, she would be trapped. Prey.

"Nope." She didn't like being prey or defenseless. "Is there another way out? A back door?" She glanced over at Logan when he didn't respond.

He was behind the island in his kitchen, his gun trained on his front door, as he pulled a phone out of his pocket and dialed. His muscles were taut, his stance ready.

He looked fierce and focused. Relentless. Intent.

He looked like a man who had done this a thousand times.

She sucked in her breath, stunned by the sight of him. He was danger and adrenaline, a solid wall against any threat coming for them. How had he hidden this level of violence from her? How had he been living across the hall from her for so long, and she'd never known what simmered inside him?

Right now, she was glad to have it. But when there weren't men with guns outside the door? Logan Stockton was way outside her comfort zone. Nothing that she could live with. No more coffee dates. No more flirting in the mailroom. No more fantasies about his biceps.

He didn't take his gaze off the front door. "Go into the office, Skylar. Now." His voice was pure Western drawl, as if he were too jacked to hold onto the more refined tone he'd taught himself to use.

"But—"

"Now, Skylar. Or you won't be alive to have that bubble bath with me."

Her cheeks heated up. "Heaven forbid I miss out on that." She ducked back into the office, shut the door, and locked it.

The desk was a sterile, black modern monstrosity, but it came all the way to the floor, so she ran around it, crawled beneath it, and then pulled her knees up to her chest.

And waited.