“And what did your echo want?”
Logan ran a hand through his hair. He’d presumed she’d had a rethink after he’d left yesterday. Decided she wanted to see him again. Now in hindsight? he wasn’t so certain. She’d said she needed to talk to him, but he hadn’t exactly given her a chance. Just jumped on her. But Christ, how many long nights had she kept him company, how many times had he jerked himself off to her image in his head. He knew it was partly because she’d been the last woman he’d slept with before his life had turned to complete and utter shit, but it was also more than that. They’d shared something pretty special and he’d meant to track her down and do it all over again. How, he didn’t know, as she’d only told him her first name, but he would have found her somehow. Except he’d never gotten the chance. “I don’t know what she wants.”
Except she’d wanted him.
Against her better judgment he was guessing. He was coming down from the shock of seeing her and his curiosity was rising. Shit, his fantasy girl. “Something,” he said. Hopefully helping him relive a few of his fantasies. If Rory hadn’t turned up he’d be deep inside her right now. That thought wasn’t helping his hard-on go away. “But we didn’t get around to discussing it.”
Rory sat himself down on the sofa and rested his head back, while Logan poured them both a scotch. He handed one to his dad, took the seat behind the desk, and sipped his own drink.
“Where the hell have I seen her before?” Rory muttered, eyes narrowed in concentration.
Rory knew a lot of people, many of them seriously dodgy. Logan hoped that wasn’t the case with Abby, as he’d sworn off dodgy years ago. No way was he ever getting involved in anything related to his father’s old life.
Rory McCabe was now totally legitimate, but that hadn’t always been the case. The family business had been started up by Rory’s father and built on illegal gambling, drugs, and prostitution. Rory had decided to go straight after marrying his second wife, Judith, a rich American socialite who had refused to have anything to do with him unless he turned his life around. Declan, Logan’s half brother, had been groomed to take over and show a respectable front to the world. Logan hadn’t resented his getting the position—Declan did it so well. Logan was never going to convince anyone he was respectable and he had no intention of ever trying. He knew what people saw when they looked at him.
He was a product of Rory’s first marriage to an exotic dancer who he’d knocked up. They’d married because of Logan but couldn’t stand each other and had quickly separated. Logan had lived with his mother until he was ten, used as a bargaining chip to get money out of his father. Finally, Rory had gotten so pissed off he’d made her a one-off offer she couldn’t refuse and he’d gone to live with him. He occasionally saw his mother. Made sure she was okay. She wasn’t all bad. She’d just hated Rory more than she loved him. He could sort of understand that, but the whole experience had left him with a less than rosy view of marriage.
He’d called his father Rory, not Dad, right from the start. But he liked him. They were similar and got on well together. He’d welcomed Logan into the family, and he’d never felt like an outsider. But no one had ever tried to make him perfect like Declan. By then it had been way too late anyway.
He knew Rory felt guilty about his time in prison. Rory had never done time, though not for want of trying on the law’s part. All through Logan’s childhood, they’d harassed the family, looking for anything they could use against Rory. Well, they’d never gotten anything on him; he was too canny. Unlike Logan, who’d been a total hotheaded asshole and deserved everything he got, if only for his stupidity.
He didn’t blame anyone but himself.
Rory had written the nightclubs over to him when he’d gotten out, and he’d immersed himself in making them successful. He wasn’t a businessman like his brother, or rather like Declan had been. Mr. Perfect Businessman had recently had a midlife crisis, and about time. He was now off exploring the world on a Harley with the love of his goddamn life. It made Logan grin every time he thought about it. He didn’t believe in happy ever afters, but if anyone could make it, Declan and Jess would.
“Does she have a name?” Rory asked.
“Abigail Parker.”
Rory shook his head. “No. Rings no bells. Fuck, where have I seen her before?”
Logan wasn’t worried; he had a hunch she’d be back, and if she wasn’t, he knew where to find her. He had to go out of town today—he had a meeting in Glasgow about a club he was on the point of purchasing—but as soon as he got back, he was paying her a visit.
“It will come to me,” Rory said.
“You’re losing it, old man. Senile decay.”
Rory grinned. “Fuck you. You wait. I have a memory for faces and this will come back to me.”
“Well, let me know when it does.”