A Real Cowboy Always Protects by Stephanie Rowe

Chapter Five

The moment Skylarfelt the strength of Logan's body against hers, the tears came for real. He felt safe. Solid. Protective. His chest was hard, and his arms were chiseled, but the way he held her was pure tenderness and reassurance. She tried to focus on the feel of his body, but she couldn't stop shaking. "I just need a minute," she whispered.

"I'm so sorry." He wrapped her up against his chest as the sobs took over. "Shit, I'm sorry, Skylar."

"It's fine." She pressed her face into his chest, fighting for control, but it was almost impossible to find. "I'm just crying because I'm happy."

He paused. "Happy?"

"Yes. Being in the middle of a gunfight has been on my bucket list for ages. Tears of joy." Her words were strangled by sobs and heavy gasps as she fought for control, but the soft chuckle in his chest told her he'd understood what she'd said.

"Ah… Makes sense." He kissed the top of her head, his arms solid and warm around her. "Accomplishing a big life goal can be emotional."

"Totally." Humor had always been her coping mechanism with life, and she was so grateful Logan was going along with it. If he gave her some sort of pity party, she'd be completely lost to the terror and shock still trying to grip her so badly.

But he didn't. He seemed to understand she needed to go into denial and deflection mode, which she was deeply grateful for. She turned her head to the side, resting her cheek against his chest while she eyed the men still standing in the doorway. "They're watching us."

"They're voyeurs. It's normal for them. Therapy isn’t helping. They're beyond hope."

The grins fell off their faces, which made her almost want to smile. She closed her eyes, pressed her face to Logan's chest, and set her hands on his hips.

She focused on the hardness of his muscles beneath her touch. On the significant height difference between them. On the scent of fresh soap that still clung to his body. She used him to ground herself in the present. "You know," she said, gripping the soft fabric of his shirt. "If you wanted to feel me up, you could have just asked. No need to traumatize me."

"I'm a gentleman. I'd never proposition my neighbor. It creates lifelong awkwardness in the mailroom."

"True. Shooting an armed assailant in the head when I bring you coffee is so much more subtle." The image of the man hitting her door with the bullet hole in his forehead flashed through her mind, and she let out her breath. "I need to go home now."

"You can't." One of the men in the doorway responded, making Logan stiffen.

Logan's response was subtle, but since she was holding onto his sides, she could feel it. His secret. And she was in on it. She liked that.

What she didn't like was someone telling her what she could and couldn't do. So, she turned her head to look at the man who'd spoken. "Who are you?"

"Logan's boss. Director Hamilton. Judd Hamilton." He was the shorter one, with the more serious face. He looked older than Logan, probably in his sixties.

The taller one, who was about Logan's age inclined his head toward her. "Agent Moss."

Director? Agent? Skylar looked back and forth between the three men, trying to wrap her mind around it. "Are you guys CIA? FBI? A secret terrorist organization designed to bring down the very foundation of all that is well and good on this earth?"

Agent Moss grinned. "Some people would consider those not mutually exclusive." He pulled out his wallet and held up his badge. "Agent Moss. CIA."

"CIA." Were they kidding? They weren't, obviously, but it was almost more than she could process. What on earth had she walked into?

"Yep." Agent Moss was attractive, fit, and had a compelling edge. Not as striking as Logan, but no one was.

Since she'd met Logan, every man had fallen short when measured up against him. It was annoying, but a fact of life she'd learned to deal with. "Why can't I go home?"

Director Hamilton gestured at the couch. "May we enter without risk of being shot?"

Logan's arms were still draped around her shoulders, and Skylar was still gripping his shirt, so she felt accommodating enough to nod. "Yes, but keep your hands where I can see them."

A grin quirked the corner of Agent Moss's mouth as he walked in. "Wouldn't think of doing anything less."

Skylar watched them both as they made their way into Logan's office, taking seats on the manly, impersonal leather couch. The office was like the couch. No personality. No warmth. No livability. It was as if Logan were trying to kill all shreds of humanity with his décor.

Which was weird, because every time she'd met Logan, he was almost overwhelming with the raw force of his energy, even as he fought to keep it locked down.

The only thing in the office that had any kind of personality was a photograph on a table in the corner. It was the only thing of interest she'd been able to see when she'd been stuffed under the desk, waiting to die, so she'd pretty much memorized it by now.

It was a picture of nine young men, one of which was clearly a gangly teenage Logan. They were all wearing cowboy hats, jeans, and solemn expressions. Not a smile to be seen in the whole group, but they were standing so close their shoulders were touching.

They all looked like Logan, especially the one standing beside him in the picture. A boy who could have been his twin if they were the same height. Logan and the one standing next to him were clearly mixed race, and the others weren't, but their similar facial structure made it clear that they were closely related. Nine brothers who were united against the world.

She'd never had siblings, and had always longed for them, especially after her dad had died, leaving her mom as the only family she had left. The photograph of Logan and his siblings brought back all those longings for a family she could count on, a family that would swallow her up in their eccentric craziness, always being there for her, no matter what.

With all the boys wearing cowboy hats and boots, Skylar knew where Logan's western drawl came from now, but that picture and his accent were the only remnants of his past that still clung to him. The only signs of connection that she'd ever seen in her solitary neighbor.

"Have a seat." Director Hamilton gestured at one of the armchairs that flanked the couch.

Skylar chose the one facing the door, so she would have time to dive under the desk if someone came in after her. And because it put all the men between her and the door, which she felt was a good plan, seeing as how they all had guns, and she had only her charm and wit.

Logan brushed his hand over her shoulder, then took the chair opposite her. She didn't like him being that far from her, but at least he was between her and the door. She took a deep breath, then folded her arms over her chest. "Okay, so why can't I go home?"

It was Logan who answered. "One of the men from tonight got away. But he knows where you live, and he knows you saw his face."

She sucked in her breath. It had to be Scarface, because she'd seen the other one die. "You think he's going to come back and kill me?"

Director Hamilton nodded. "Men like that don't leave witnesses."

Skylar's heart started to pound. "Do I have to go into witness protection or something?" She stood up. "I won't leave my mom. She's in Vermont, and she's all alone and—"

"No." Director Hamilton cut her off. "It won't take that long. We know who he is."

Agent Moss nodded. "It'll be a few weeks at most."

"A few weeks? You expect me to not go home for a few weeks?"

Director Hamilton and Agent Moss both looked over at Logan.

So she looked over at Logan. "What?"

He glanced at the picture in the corner, the one with all the cowboys, then looked back at her. "It's my fault you got caught up in this situation. I take full responsibility for getting you on their radar, so I'm taking full responsibility for keeping you safe."

Her heart started to pound. "What does that mean?"

"I'm taking you off the grid."

"To where?"

He glanced at his colleagues, then back at her. "It was Director Hamilton's idea." He didn't look happy about it, but his jaw was set with fierce resolution. "It makes sense for a lot of reasons too complicated to go into."

Skylar stood up and set her hands on her hips. She didn't like people making decisions for her, let alone major decisions that affected her life. "What makes sense?"

"I'm taking you to Rogue Valley, Wyoming. My hometown. And we leave tonight."

She stared at him. "You want me to walk away from my life? I have a career. I'm in the middle of a big project at work. I have a bamboo plant that needs water. I don't even know you. I'm not throwing my life in a suitcase and traipsing off to Wyoming with you. Put a guard on my door. It's really not that complicated. I see movies. I know how this works."

Logan leaned forward, his forearms resting on his knees. "Skylar."

"What?"

"I want to make sure you stay alive." His voice was low. Rough. Weighted with the same burdens she'd seen in him every time they'd met.

"I appreciate that." She swallowed. "That's one of my top ten goals for the day, actually."

Logan rose to his feet and walked over to her. The closer he got, the more intimidating he became. He was tall. Muscular. And apparently, trained to kill, which was always a great thing to have in one's across-the-hall neighbor.

Or not.

He stopped in front of her, his dark gaze searching hers. "The last thing I want is to go home to stay. But it's the best way to keep you safe, so I'm going. And you're coming with me."

"I'm not going —" Her protest died at the haunted look in his eyes.

He wasn't exaggerating when he'd said he didn't want to go back there. But for her, he was willing to go. She glanced over at Director Hamilton and Agent Moss. With their serious faces, they were impossible to read.

Scarface might try to kill her, and she couldn't handle that by herself, despite her skill with hurling hot coffee and diving to the floor. Did she want her life in the hands of someone she didn't know and didn't trust?

No. She didn't. Logan was the only one she'd feel safe around again, for at least a while.

She wasn't stupid. The bullets had been real. Scarface had looked her right in the eyes and knew she'd seen him. Her architect skills weren't going to keep her safe, and there was no way she was going to let her mom get a call that her favorite, and only, daughter had been shot because she'd been too stubborn to leave town.

She was trapped. She folded her arms over her chest and glared at Logan. "When I decided to bring you coffee, this was not the maybe-I'll-get-to-know-Logan plan I'd envisioned."

"I get that." He inclined his head in acknowledgement. "Flexibility is an important part of life, however. A good skill-set."

"Not getting me sucked into some sort of CIA blown mission is also an important part of life."

Guilt flickered through his eyes. "I know. I'm sorry."

He totally meant his apology. Not just a little bit. He was all-in on the regret train. His pain wrapped around her, making it difficult to breathe. But she knew it was that pain that would drive him to make absolutely certain that she was safe.

At the end of the day, she wanted to be safe, too.

With a sigh, she let out her breath. "Okay. I'll go with you."

Logan's brows shot up. "Tonight."

"You guys have no appreciation for wasting time." She set her hands on her hips. "Yes. I will go to Rogue Valley tonight."

Relief flooded Logan's face. "Great."

Director Hamilton stood up. "I'll have a plane ready within the hour."

"An hour?" All she had was one hour to pack up her life, send all her work files to her boss with some plausible explanation for going off the grid that wouldn't get her fired, and then she'd be on a plane with Logan. Alone. Leaving her entire life behind for a week. Or two.

Or as long as it took for the CIA to track down a man who was, most likely, a trained assassin who was an expert on disappearing.

And killing people. He was also an expert on killing people. People like her.

One simple caffeine addiction, and her life was in shambles. If she'd just stayed in her little condo, tomorrow morning she would have been getting up, taking a shower in her own bathroom, and heading to her computer like the workaholic she'd never dreamed of being.

She was never drinking coffee again.

Then she looked over at Logan. If she hadn't gone for coffee, would he be dead? If she hadn't gone for coffee, she'd be getting up tomorrow and doing the exact same thing she'd been doing for years, slowly sucking her soul dry.

Logan seemed to sense her looking at him, and he glanced over. When he saw her watching him, he gave her a smile. That smile. That smile that she'd only seen him give her.

Her heart turned over.

Maybe coffee was all right.

After all, it wasn't like she'd actually died.

Yet.