Page 159 of Keeping Kasey
He leans back in his chair. “I’ll waive restrictions on one condition.”
I brace myself for the trap I’m no doubt walking into, but once again, I’m oddly at ease because of Logan’s lack of smugness.
I lift an eyebrow.
“Tell me where you spent the last four months.”
My annoyance fizzles out, and a familiar darkness takes its place. My heart feels like it’s dropping to my stomach, and I wish I could see through Logan’s impassive expression to figure out why he even wants to know.
“Questions about—”
“When you were gone are off-limits,” he finishes. “I know. I’m asking you to tell me anyway.”
Something in his tone, in how genuinely curious he is, gets to me.
The last thing I want to do is talk about that time, but maybe telling him the mere locations won’t be so bad.
And it’s worth it to get my gun back. I know it’s unlikely, but I could end up in another situation where fleeing is my only option, and if that happens, my gun will be essential.
It would be easy to lie—to give Logan a random story that will satisfy his curiosity.
But lies got us here in the first place.
“I stayed in the city for a week, then I flew to Toledo—”
“No, I tracked you to Cincinnati and Nashville,” he interjects, and I only blink as his face morphs into realization. “You set up fake leads,” he mutters. “Of course, you set up fake leads.”
His resigned frustration has me biting back a smile as I go on. “I stayed in Toledo for a while before going to Birmingham, Jackson, then—”
“Little Rock,” he guesses.
My throat feels like it’s closing up, and I nod.
“Burning down my motel was hardly necessary,” I say, keeping my voice carefully controlled.
For some reason, I expect him to look smug at the mention of his big stunt, but he wears the same blank face that I do.
“Agree to disagree,” he says tonelessly.
I drink from my water, but my throat is still dry even when I empty half the cup.
“After that, I decided I was done with cities, so I went to Payson.”
“And met Mark.”
Logan still wears a blank mask, and I wish I could pry back his exhaustion to see what’s really going on inside his head.
“And met Mark,” I confirm.
“He had flowers when he came to the door.”
“And a gunshot wound when he left.”
Logan looks away, but I don’t get the feeling it’s out of guilt. If anything, he only seems to be backing off because of my defensiveness.
“Why did you do it?” I ask after several seconds.
“I already told you. He got in my way.”
