“I don’t want to go to a clinic or a hospital. Thank you for helping me.” Her shoulders dropped a little with the words, with the reality of what could have happened if he hadn’t come to her rescue.
“Thank you so much.” Stay strong, strong, strong. “But I’m fine.”
He stepped back and ran his hand though his hair, placed his other hand on his hip, and paced. His shirt was untucked from the fight, his jacket torn at the shoulder, and when he spoke, his tone softened—not at all like the seductive man he’d been in the bar. It was like he’d switched into caregiver mode. How did a person do that? Seductive one minute, savior the next, followed closely with compassion?
“My brother’s a doctor. He’ll check you out free of charge. Let me at least take you there. Head injuries are never good.”
She shook her head, still unwilling to give in and be trapped in a car with him. “I don’t even know you.”
“What does that have to do—” He held his hands up again. “I’ll have him come here to check you out.”
The bar. Oh God, my job. Her eyes shot to the door. She’d been out here so long Dylan must have thought she’d taken off.
Logan scrubbed his face with his hand, and his gaze softened. “Look…I’m a private investigator. I know Dylan Bad, the owner of the bar. I’m not going to kidnap you.”
She desperately wanted to trust him. She wanted to trust someone. It was exhausting being strong all the time. He’d saved her. He was offering to bring his brother here to check her out, and he knew Dylan?
“Fine,” she relented.
His smile smoothed all his sharp edges. “Good. Great. Let’s get you inside, and I’ll call my brother Heath. What’s your name?”
Stella made a habit of not giving out her real name except when she had to. Dylan knew this about her, as she’d been asked her name many times at the bar. She debated giving her real name to Logan. After all he’d done for her, didn’t she at least owe him that?
He draped a protective arm around her shoulders, and she bristled, pulling out from underneath it and eyeing him cautiously. Just because he’d saved her didn’t mean she was his to possess. She’d come too far to slip backward.
“Stormy. My name is Stormy Knight.”
Chapter Three
LOGAN DIDN’T KNOW what to make of Stormy Knight, but one thing was for sure, she was running from something, or at the very least, hiding from something—or someone. The question was, was she hiding out of fear, or was she hiding because she was on the run from the law? The private investigator in him had his theories, and he was chomping at the bit to do a little investigating. But the man in him had seen that flash of vulnerability beneath the sassy, strong exterior she’d projected in the bar, and it piqued all of his protective urges and something deeper that he couldn’t put his finger on.
Logan couldn’t stand still. He was barely able to remain trapped in the office in the back of the bar long enough to explain to Dylan what had happened. He had tunnel vision again—and it was aimed at finding the jackass who had attacked Stormy and making sure he never went near her, or any other woman, again.
“That guy you followed to the bathroom?” Dylan’s dark eyes turned fierce. Logan had known Dylan since they were kids. They’d gone to school together, as had their siblings. With surnames like “Wild” and “Bad,” they were destined to become fast friends, and had remained so throughout the years.
“Yeah. You know him?” Logan paced, eyes locked on Stormy. She had a tight look on her face, arms crossed over her chest. Her hair was tousled, her eyes cold and distant, but beyond that there were no visible scars to reveal the vicious attack she’d just endured. She stood tall, shoulders back, with the same confidence she’d conveyed earlier in the evening, as if she’d compartmentalized the attack and moved past it. Logan knew that moving past something so traumatic could be handled that efficiently only with practice, and that bugged the hell out of him.
“No. Never seen him before.” Dylan turned to Stormy. “Jesus, are you okay? How long until Heath gets here?”
“I’m fine. I’m ready to finish my shift,” she insisted.
“Like hell you are.” Logan didn’t have time to soften his tone before the words escaped. “Heath will be here any minute.”
“I’m fine, and you’re not my father, for God’s sake. You saved me, but you don’t own me.”
Touché. “It’s not about owning you. It’s about what you’ve been through.”
“I’m fine.”
“Whoa, guys.” Dylan stretched his hands out between them. “Let’s not argue about this. He’s right. You can’t go back to work after something like that, and, Logan…” He lifted his thick dark brows. “Dude, I’m the boss around here, not you.”
Logan scoffed, then steadied his gaze on Dylan. “She needs to report this to the police.”