Renee Ryan - The Lawman Claims His Bride

He fought against Trey’s grip. “If I wasn’t so angry you wouldn’t have gotten the chance to subdue me like this.”

“But you are angry.” Trey tightened his hold. “Allowing your emotions to rule your actions is what gets a man shot.”

Logan was in no mood for a lecture, especially from Trey Scott. “This? From you?”

“You know I speak from experience.” Trey rolled his right shoulder, reminding them both of the time he’d taken a bullet when he’d confronted Ike Hayes over the cold-blooded murder of his first wife. Trey had been bent on revenge and had lost his perspective. Logan had saved the man’s life because he’d been the rational thinker.

Now Logan was the one losing perspective. He dropped his chin and let out a long breath. “I can’t leave her in jail. Let me take her away from here. I’ll keep her safe.”

“I know you will.” Trey released his hold and stepped back. “But we need answers first.”

Absently, Logan rubbed his throat. “We have to find Kincaid’s real killer. Before he finds Megan.”

“Right now, all we have is supposition. We need more information.”

Then Logan would get them more. And he knew exactly where to start. “Promise me you won’t let Megan out of your sight, not for any reason.”

“That goes without saying.”

Logan took two steps in the direction of Market Street but Trey blocked his path. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“To Mattie’s.”

“Waste of time. You know the woman will run you around in circles if she decides to speak to you at all.”

“She’ll talk.”

Trey tried a different tactic. “My deputy has been there for several hours, looking for any clues we may have missed earlier. You’ll just be in the way.”

“I don’t plan to interfere. I plan to get answers.” From the most likely source, Mattie Silks herself. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

He shoved past Trey.

This time, the man didn’t try to stop him.

With each step he took, Logan calculated how best to go about questioning Mattie. There was no room for emotion now. Only harsh, unyielding intent. Someone in that den of iniquity had seen the real killer. Someone besides Megan.

And Logan wouldn’t rest until someone started talking.

By the time Logan rounded the corner onto Market Street, the wind had taken on a nasty bite. He turned up his collar against the cold and instinctively increased his pace. Hollow laughter rang out in the distance, followed by the slam of a door.

He hated this time of day. In the eerie, predawn light, when the world stood poised between night and day, a desolate sheen seemed to cover everything. The oppressive stench of rotting garbage and stale liquor added to his already bleak mood.

A shadow slithered across his feet, then disappeared.

He turned quickly, scanning the area with a narrowed gaze. He found nothing more than a stumbling drunk and a scrawny mutt digging for scraps in the frosted earth.

Frowning, Logan resumed his trek toward Mattie’s. Every few steps he stabbed a covert glance over his shoulder. He couldn’t shake the notion he was being followed, yet he didn’t get a sense of imminent danger.

Puzzling over the contradictory sensations, he arrived at his destination. The most elegant house on the block, the brothel’s pale pink stucco, sweeping ivy and heavily sloping roof presented an inviting picture of hearth and home.

It was a lie, of course. The temporary pleasure offered in this house only resulted in despair. For all parties involved.

What Logan couldn’t fathom was Megan’s decision to come here at all. What had she hoped to accomplish with her charity work? What had been worth putting herself in harm’s way?

When and if the time was right, he would ask her.

For now, he lifted the ornate knocker and let it drop with a loud bang. The abrupt sound helped focus his thoughts on the matter at hand.

He would get his answers this morning. Calmly. Methodically.

One question at a time.

The door swung open. Jack, Mattie’s notorious bodyguard, stood just inside the gaudy foyer. He stared at Logan with an unreadable expression on his round, scruffy face. With more brawn than brains, Black Jack O’Malley was as much Mattie’s lapdog as her protector. Nevertheless, the man had always shown Logan respect.

Logan would return the favor now. “Jack,” he said in a courteous tone. “Is Mattie here?”

Jack nodded. “She’s been expecting you.”

“Of course.” Logan didn’t bother hiding the frustration in his tone. The woman could have given him vital information when he was here before, but she had chosen to send him away with a head full of confusion and worry.

Games inside games.

When it came to Mattie Silks, some things never changed.

As though sensing his annoyance, Jack stepped aside and motioned Logan forward.

“I’ll let Mattie know you’ve arrived.” The big man circled around him. “Wait here.”

Logan remained in the foyer a total of five seconds before he’d had enough of cooling his heels. He strode past the entryway and looked around the main parlor.

Nothing had changed in his five-year absence. And yet everything about the decor seemed more…sinful. Alone, each piece of furniture might be able to pass for tasteful, but together the red velvet divans, ornate paintings and gold filigree defined decadence.

Megan did not belong in this house. For any reason. Logan would have to make sure she understood why she could never come here again.

A movement in the back of the room cut off his thoughts. Mattie Silks had arrived in all her overstated grandeur. Arms outstretched, a flirtatious smile pasted on her lips, she glided to a spot in the center of the room then relaxed into a scandalous pose. Typical Mattie Silks behavior. Control the situation simply to prove she could, even if that meant hurting people in the process.

Logan knew his role in this particular drama. He was supposed to take a moment and admire the woman.

He wasn’t that much of a hypocrite.

Biting back a wave of impatience, he shifted his weight from one foot to the other and did his best not to glare.

Satisfied she had his attention, Mattie spun in a slow circle then continued toward him. With her blond, corkscrew curls bouncing wildly and her dress two sizes too small, she looked like a caricature of herself.

Adding to the absurd picture, she slowed every fourth or fifth step and struck a more ridiculous pose than the last.

Subtlety was not the woman’s strong suit.

Controlling the situation, now that was where she excelled.

She eventually came to a halt directly in front of him. Slipper to boot, she stood close enough for him to get a whiff of her cheap perfume. Normally, he’d step back and reclaim his space. Not today. Today Logan had his own point to make.

“Mattie.” He studied her dress with a critical eye. The frothy concoction of lace and blue silk was cut dangerously low in front and even lower in the back. “You’re as obvious as ever.”

“And you’re still the rude boy of years past.”

“Be careful,” he warned. “I’m also the U.S. Marshal of this territory now.”

“Ah, well, I won’t hold that against you. You see…

Marshal.” She looked pointedly at the tin star on his chest as she gave him a condescending pat on the arm. “I find myself in an accommodating mood at the moment.”

Logan firmed his jaw. Mattie Silks was never in an accommodating mood. Unless it suited her.

He opened his mouth to argue the point, but shut it just as quickly. Patience was his greatest weapon. He would let Mattie play her game, knowing there was too much at stake to lose her cooperation.