Smoke & Mirrors by Skye Jordan
3
Isabel
I’m damn glad I’m following Logan because the road is steep, heavily wooded, and the night is pitch-dark, barely a sliver of moon and not one streetlight.
I’m feeling not just good about being here, I’m a little giddy. It was even better to see Tucker than I expected, and Logan and Cole made me feel like I was coming home, not to a place I’ve never been after years of losing touch.
And, sure, I’m still ogling Logan 2.0, hot, chill, guarded. Far more mysterious than the kid I knew. I wasn’t into him as a kid. He was just another boy. Which made him part of a gender I learned early to distrust and dislike. And he never treated me any differently than he did our friends. I was pretty much just one of the gang. He had a few girlfriends through high school, but nothing significant. The whole virginity pact was just a safe place for us to explore. But he’d always been a good guy. A bit on the broody, dark side, but a stand-up, protective, solid friend.
His blinker clicks on. My mind is drawn back to the surroundings, and I have a what-in-the-hell moment. Did he seriously buy a shack on the side of a mountain? All I can see outside my headlights are black pines against an indigo sky.
Then he turns into a cracked asphalt parking lot, and the beams of his headlights sweep over a building, followed by mine.
The sight hits me like a brick. My mouth drops open, and I let the Jeep drift to a stop beside his truck. Logan shuts down his engine and gets out, but my headlights are still blazing, lighting up a squat, L-shaped…dump. I can’t lie. It’s dirty and dingy, siding peeling, a few broken windows boarded up with scrap wood. It looks completely abandoned.
I don’t even notice Logan come up to my window, and when he knocks, I jump.
“Settle down,” he says through the window. “You were warned.” He twists and points behind him, where a light burns over a door. “That’s the apartment. Come in and see it before you go scouting all around town at this hour only to end up back here or sleeping in your car and turning into a human ice cube.”
I turn off the Jeep and get out. “I’m not going somewhere else. I’m just…um…” I search for a descriptive word that won’t hurt the fragile male ego. “It’s…very…Bates Motel Chic.”
The dark smirk on his face mixes with the reality of the situation and my exhausted state, and I start laughing. I try to stop. Several times. But it’s like all my pent-up emotions are bubbling out of me in the form of laughter. I have to bend at the waist to hold my belly against the burn, grab the side mirror of my Jeep to stay upright. I grow dizzy because I’m laughing so hard, I can’t breathe.
I have no idea how long it takes me to get my shit together, but Logan is just standing there, hands in the pockets of his hoodie, with that damn, dry smirk, heavy-lidded gaze with a yeah-whatever expression, and snowflakes collecting on his lashes and melting on his face.
“You’ve seen it, right? Bates Motel?”
“Can’t say I’ve had the pleasure. Can’t say I’d like to.”
“Okay, honestly, the laughing isn’t just about this place. Really. I mean, it started out that way, but my exhaustion kicked in, and I’m really punchy.” I sniffle, wipe my eyes, and take a deep breath. “Don’t take it personally.”
“I’m used to it. I’ve been getting nonstop shade from the guys since I bought it.”
“How long?”
“A few months. Let’s talk inside.”
By the time I follow him into a small office, then through a short hallway to an apartment, all my exhaustion floods back. While I’m physically wiped out, my brain is spinning like a top—from all the stress over the past month, from all the change.
The hallway opens up to a surprisingly nice apartment. Recessed lights brighten the space, a clean, masculine, open living area in grays and whites, brushed chrome and glass. Large sliding glass doors lead out to a patio or deck of some kind, beyond which I can only see darkness. The kitchen is spotless, the living room neat and simple, with a comfortable-looking, sleek sectional.
“Holy shit, this isn’t ‘decent.’ This is amazing.” A flat-screen television covers almost one entire wall. Granted, the space is cozy, and the wall is small, but still. “That’s quite a TV. Theatergrade I’m guessing.”
“Page 126, section K, part 3 of Guy code,” he says. “Have to stay on top of regulation equipment. Can’t risk losing my membership.”
“Why have they been giving you shit about this place?”
“You haven’t seen the rest of it yet.”
“Can you show me the rest of this first?”
“Of course.”
“Need to hide any forgotten panties? ’Cause I’d rather skip that part of the tour.”
“Sheesh.” He shakes his head and gestures to two doors in the back corner of the apartment. “I’m not Tucker.”
“Good to know,” I say as I pass him again. His scent grabs me by the throat, and I stop just a foot away and look up at him. “What in holy hell are you wearing and where can I get a gallon of it?”
He looks confused a second, then breaks into a smile that takes me out at the knees, and I press my hand against the doorframe.
“I’m trying out a new cologne. The guys gave me shit over the last one.”
“A: Those guys are idiots. If you want to know how you smell, ask a girl. B: Stay ten paces away from me. You smell completely—”
His brows lift. “Completely…?”
“Never mind. Inappropriate.”
“Inappropriate is my middle name,” he says. “I smell completely…?”
“Fuckable, if you must know.” He’s making me light-headed and stupid. “Fuckable, edible, devourable.” I press my hand to his chest—shocked by the solid wall of muscle beneath his long-sleeved Henley—and push him back a couple of steps. “Just stay out of reach, will you?”
I pass through the doorway on the right and search for a light switch on the wall. Logan slides in behind me, reaches over my shoulder, and flips the switch.
“Too close?” His husky murmur brushes my ear.
“Asshole,” I tease, elbowing him in the ribs.
He’s chuckling as I take in the bedroom. It’s very much like the living area, but roomier, with the same clean-lined furniture, king bed, side chair with an ottoman, and a side table holding a stack of books.
“I didn’t have time to change the sheets.” He’s got his shoulder against the doorjamb. “No doubt they smell like me.”
“If I was on the fence, that would have sealed a big fat no way. But since I was never on the fence to begin with, show me to the musty, dust-inhabited rooms, please.”
He chuckles, the sound deep, his smile hot, amusement dancing in his eyes. How could a man I haven’t seen in a decade captivate me after only an hour? Especially while I’m totally anti-men?
“I kinda like the idea of you in my sheets, unable to sleep,” he says, voice a sexy, deep purr.
I smirk as if that idea doesn’t make me wet. “Yeah, you do. Keep dreaming.”
He steps out of the doorway, turns toward the office, and grabs a ring of keys from a hook on the wall on his way outside.
I follow, arms crossed tight across my middle against the chill. The snow has grown heavier, and I’m glad I was able to keep my four-wheel-drive Jeep. Honestly, I was sure I’d break down on the drive here and was ecstatic that she proved me wrong. I bought it used when I got the assistant designer job—thanks to Aiden. Getting fired was also thanks to Aiden.
Movement in New York, in my opinion, is a bitch. You have to plan for everything from subway maintenance to extreme heat or cold no matter how long the journey. Sometimes I just want the freedom to get in my own damn car and get somewhere, even if that’s to the corner five corners away whether it’s three degrees outside with a wind chill of negative seven or ninety-five degrees with a humidity of eighty-five percent. Had I known the job would only last as long as I dated Aiden, I would never have bought the car.
Luckily, tonight’s poker game gave me one of my overdue payments, staving off repossession a little longer. Plus, they have to find me to take it. I’m hoping I can get ahead of the eight ball before then.
He leads me past several dark rooms with dingy drapes and dirty windows, and my hope sinks with every step. “Trying to get me as far away from you as possible?”
“You’re the one who wanted space.”
The dark, empty rooms, the dreary condition, and the eerily quiet night are upping this place’s creep factor. Or maybe that’s just me freaking myself out because of the whole Bates Motel thing.
At a door marked with a 7, which is smack in the middle of the line of rooms, Logan puts a key into the lock. “This is the best room I’ve got. I started working on it last week.”
He pushes the door open and steps aside to allow me in. I move into the doorway, and the scent of freshly cut wood touches my nose. Not what I expected. Again, I search the wall for the light switch, and again, he slides in behind me, his chest brushing my back as he reaches in and turns on the light. I don’t bother bitching at him again as that clearly has no effect.
The room is…hard to explain. Construction zone comes to mind. It’s really big for a hotel room, double the size of any single room I’ve ever stayed in. And he’s definitely been working on it. One wall has been taken down to the studs, and I can see where old and new merge. Sawhorses are set up in one corner, a circular saw on the concrete subfloor. Drywall is upright and leaning against another wall. The furniture—a bed, a chair, and a dresser—is covered with plastic drop cloths. The bathroom, also oversized, is on the left through an open doorway with no door.
I exhale, long and slow. “Is there heat?”
He steps around me and adjusts a thermostat on the wall. A wall heater I hadn’t noticed kicks on.
“Running water?”
He steps into the bathroom and turns on the sink. Water runs, and he nods, as if even he wasn’t sure there was running water.
“Okay. I can do this,” I tell him. “I really appreciate you letting me stay here. I didn’t have the energy to kick Tucker’s ass.”
He faces me. “Please take the apartment.”
“Nope. I’m good.”
He shakes his head with an exasperated look. “I don’t have the energy to argue with you.”
With one swipe, he yanks the plastic off the bed, rolls it up, and puts it beneath a sawhorse. The mattress looks surprisingly new. Most definitely nicer than other mattresses I’ve slept on over the years. “This isn’t as bad as you made it sound.”
“I’m replacing the Sheetrock, pulled up the carpet, cleaned it up, but not much else. I—”
“Wasn’t expecting guests.” I’m looking at the concrete floor, and a grin slides across my face. “There was an episode of Bates where they roll a dead body in the carpet they’re getting rid of in the renovation, and a cop comes to the room while they’re bent over the body inside the rug. I loved that series. We should stream it while I’m here. I think you’d like it.”
“And I think you’d like the apartment.”
The heater’s taken the chill off the room, but I’m looking at the large plateglass windows with no coverings. I’ll have to do something about that, or I’ll never get to sleep. But I’ll worry about that after he’s gone.
“I have everything I need,” I say. “I’ll pull my suitcase from the Jeep and settle in.”
I move past him and out the door. Once I’m out in the cold, snowy air, I breathe deep.
He laughs. “You were holding your breath when you passed me.”
“Was not.”
He follows me to the Jeep in a lazy stroll. I wait to open the door, which is awkward, because he’s watching me wait.
“Go away, Roberts. I can take it from here.”
He doesn’t respond. He’s standing in front of the Jeep, staring through the windshield—the only window that’s not tinted. His smile has faded, his brows dip, and, after a second, he steps back and glances at my license plate.
Shit.
His gaze rises to meet mine, puzzlement and concern in his expression. “Isabel—”
“Not tonight, Logan.” My shoulders droop. “Please?”
His gaze swings back to my Jeep, packed to the roof, then drops to the New York license plate. He’s clearly connected the dots and knows I drove here with all I could fit stuffed into the Jeep.
I can tell by his tense posture and jumping jaw muscle, he doesn’t want to let it go, but he finally nods. “Yeah. Okay.”
“Thank you.”
“Give me your cell number,” he says, then enters the numbers into his own phone. “Call if you need anything.”
Once he goes inside the apartment, I breathe a little easier. There is so much I can’t face right now. And I’m suddenly bone tired. From the past. Over the future. I know the only thing I can do is focus on right now.
I drag in my pillows and a few blankets that I use to cover the two windows. Then a small suitcase with the basics—pajamas, toiletries. The room is warm and quiet, and I’m really looking forward to sleeping in a bed for the first time in days.
The mattress is probably just okay, but right now, my body thinks it’s a cloud. Yet when I try to get comfortable in sweats, my hair in a messy bun, my teeth brushed, I can’t get my mind to quit spinning. I’m not ready to turn off the lights and find myself missing the rumble of the city.
My gaze slides across the ceiling, which I can see now is a drop ceiling with water-stained square panels, a few askew, exposing the metal framing above. I roll to my side, and my gaze catches on the old heater, chugging out warmth. The paint on the metal unit is thick and flaking.
My mind tries to work its way back to Aiden, New York, all the humiliation I ran from. Then races ahead to what the hell I’m going to do next. I’ve had a lot of time to think about it on the drive, and out of all the possibilities, San Francisco and Los Angeles are my best bets—that is if I want to continue to beat my head against the fashion industry’s bulletproof glass ceiling.
But maybe I could find something in Portland. A buyer for a department store, maybe? I could start as a window display artist and move up through the ranks. Then I realize I’d only be repeating the same mistakes, expecting different results.
I give up on sleep for now. I take clothes out of my suitcase and open a dresser drawer. A squeak coincides with a flurry of movement.
Mice.I recognize the situation immediately. I’ve lived in enough shit holes to know.
Everything happens at once. One mouse runs, hopping over the back of the drawer, scurrying down the inside of the dresser. I suck in a breath and jump back, hoping it doesn’t find the floor and run up my pant leg.
Inside the drawer, there’s a nest, much like a bird’s, with half a dozen squirming jelly-bean-sized babies. The adult mouse that didn’t run stands on its hind legs and gnashes its itty-bitty teeth at me. It’s the strangest, eeriest noise I’ve ever heard. Ten times worse than fingernails on a chalkboard.
I’m guessing it’s the father. The male mice are the more aggressive, especially around a nest—the things you learn dealing with exterminators too often.
“Okay, big boy,” I say, almost a whisper. “Everything’s okay. I don’t want to hurt your babies.”
He drops back to all fours as if he understands and starts a worried pace along the front edge of the nest.
I slowly climb onto the bed, rest on my knees, and FaceTime Logan.
He answers with a big grin and a teasing “I knew you were going to change your mind.”
“Actually, I was just wondering if I get a discount for roommates.”
His face falls into confusion. “What? Roommates?”
“Hold on.” I flip the camera to face forward and zoom in on the mice family.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” comes from Logan. “I’ll be right there.”
“No. Not now.” I turn the camera back to face me, and I can’t help but laugh. “It’s a family, so it’s going to take more than a trap or a shoebox to get them out.”
“Why aren’t you screaming your head off like ninety-nine percent of the female population would?”
“Let’s just say this isn’t my first rodent rodeo.”
“Are we still talking about the mice?”
Laughter bubbles out of me. “While I’ve got you,” I focus the camera on the flaking paint. “Is that lead paint?”
“I don’t know. Just don’t eat it, and you’ll be fine.”
“And…” I zoom in on the ceiling tile. “Is that asbestos?”
“I don’t know. Just don’t—”
“Breathe?” I ask, turning the camera to face myself again. “And I’ll be fine?”
Now he’s laughing. “Seriously, would you please swap rooms with me?”
“Nope. Just wanted to let you know you’ve got squatters. Sweet dreams.”
I disconnect and slowly, slowly, painfully slowly, slide the dresser drawer closed. Then I sigh in relief. I flop back on the bed and close my eyes. It’s almost 2:00 a.m., but my mind is still grinding. What am I going to do for money? Where am I going to stay for the next few weeks until I figure out a plan? I expected the loft to have a separate bedroom. I can stay at Tucker’s while he’s on duty, I guess. At least that’s half the battle.
I know from lots of experience that with a mind this busy, I’ll never sleep without some sort of intervention. I push into my cross-trainers, throw on my jacket and head to the Jeep. The snow is still coming down, but I don’t feel as cold. My body temperature warmed up enough to buffer the subzero chill.
It only takes me a minute to find my sketchbook. It’s really a journal and a sketch pad and a to-do list and a planner all in one. It’s basically a physical manifestation of my mind dumps. And boy, oh boy, do I have shit to dump tonight.
I straighten from the Jeep and shut the door, only to have my gaze drawn toward the apartment. The lights are still on, the blinds up, and I catch glimpses of Logan moving around in the living area. He suddenly and unexpectedly drags his shirt off over his head and tosses it in the direction of the sofa. I suck air, and my mouth hangs open.
“Jeeeeezus.” He doesn’t look at all like the kid I knew in school—average height, average weight. Maybe even on the skinny side.
There is nothing skinny or average about Logan the man. His chest, abs, and arms are thickly muscled, and while I can’t see detail from this distance, I can sure as hell see enough for my body to shoot off fireworks beneath my skin. He picks up a drink from a side table and points something toward the TV, presumably the remote.
I turn to face away from the apartment, drop my head back, and welcome the snowflakes on my skin. I definitely need to cool down.
My cell vibrates. I look at the display expecting to find Logan’s name, but Cocksucker fills the screen. I’m so over all this bullshit.
I tap the green button and answer. “Hello?”
“How long are you going to do this?” Aiden sounds…mildly annoyed. Like I’m still an inconvenience, even though I officially broke up with him over a month ago. But his voice sounds loud in my ear, so I tap the volume button down a couple of times.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I just got a new phone. Who is this?”
“You know it’s Aiden. And I know you can’t afford a new phone.”
“Oh,” I say, drawing out the word. “That makes sense now. The caller ID reads cocksucker.”
“Not funny.”
“Not joking.”
“You’re such a bitch.”
What in the hell did I ever see in this guy? “You sure know how to turn a girl’s head. I’m talking The Exorcist.”
“Where the fuck are you?” he yells, and my eardrum rings. “I’ve called all your friends, been by all your jobs.”
“Therein lies the problem. I have no friends and no job, thanks to you.”
“Come on. This is stupid. Let’s talk about it already.”
“Happy to talk as soon as my money is back in the bank.”
“I’ll put the money back as soon as you return Valerie.”
He’s a broken record. Right now, I have the leverage, and he’ll have to pry it from my cold dead fingers.
“Undamaged,” he continues. “Unfired. In her collector’s box.”
“I see hell freezing over in your future.”
“Get the fuck back here and bring Valerie with you.”
“I always thought she was more of a Sterling or Ivory,” I say, reminding him of the finishing touches he loves about the antique rifle. “I got a killer offer on her today, and it will bring us even, so if you don’t want her back, just let me know. We’ll call it good and go our own ways.”
“Don’t you dare fucking sell her.”
I wince and leave the phone a couple of inches away from my ear to bring this conversation to a close. “Sell her? Hell no. I’m gonna pawn her.”
“That’s worse.”
“I know. Drop me a note when the money has been returned, and I’ll let you know if I still have Valerie or not.”
He’s swearing up a storm when I disconnect. My shoulders rock with a deep breath of relief. Oregon is the perfect place to get a great price on the rifle. Lots of gun owners in the mountains. I really don’t want to sell it, but I need the money he siphoned from my account. He also bought that gun with my money. I’ll get it back one way or another. His choice.
I’m still intensely annoyed I’ve lowered myself to this slimy level. It’s like one more confirmation that I belong right where I am—a broke failure. But if there’s one thing that has stayed constant from the second I left Oregon, it’s the knowledge that I can take damn good care of myself. I don’t need a man. Hell, I don’t even want one.
I turn toward the room and startle at the sight of Logan standing beside my open door, blankets in one hand, a flashlight in the other.
“Oh my God, you scared me. What are you doing?”
“I lose power out here sometimes. Haven’t upgraded the service yet.” He lifts the items in his hands. “Just in case.”
We just stare at each other a moment that feels like it expands and twists.
I cross my arms and feel all my walls go up. “How much did you hear?”
“Given it was about a five-minute call, I’d say all of it.”
I close my eyes and pinch the bridge of my nose. “I’m sorry you had to hear that mess.”
“I’m sorrier you’re in it.” His voice softens. “Sounds like you need a friend. Please tell me what’s going on.”
“It’s late, I’m exhausted, and you have to work in the morning. Let’s table this discussion for another day.”
“You’re still as stubborn as you always were.” He offers me the blankets and puts the flashlight on top. “Those may or may not smell like me. Sweet dreams.”
“Asshole,” I say to his back, only to get another sexy chuckle.