North Country(96)

“We’ll do it first thing in the morning.” Holt nods. “Thank you, Emery, for your help.”

I check my watch. “I should head home. Isla’s game is about to start—”

“You can put it on here, can’t you?” Logan nods toward his television.

“Yeah, yeah, go ahead. I’m leaving, anyway.” Jon collects his laptop. “Gotta help put the kids to bed.”

I press my lips to hide my smile. Jon’s version of “helping put the kids to bed” is lying down next to Egan with Goodnight Moon and promptly falling asleep.

“I’m gonna head back too. It was a long day.” Holt crouches to give Duke a pat. After conducting a leisurely sniff investigation around Logan’s apartment, the dog found a warm spot by the woodstove. He looks content to stay there for the night. “See you in the mornin’, Logan.” He gives his son a look that could mean so many things, and then he disappears down the stairs after Jon, pulling the door shut after him.

Logan eases off his stool with a stretch that lifts the hem of his T-shirt, revealing the taut skin across his belly. I swear, he chose those pants to torture me. “Hungry? Thirsty?” He angles for his fridge.

“No, I’m fine, thanks.” I’m far from it. I’m more nervous now than I ever have been in the dozens of dangerous situations I’ve faced in all my years on the force. Because in this situation, I’m walking into it knowing I’m a goner.

He pulls out a water jug .

“You finally have food,” I note. Shelves of fresh produce, yogurt, salads. The last time I was here, there was only a six-pack of beer.

“I’m getting a paycheck now.” He pours himself a glass. “And I swore, once I got out, I’d never eat anything that comes out of a can again.”

“Wow. You’re like a real grown-up.”

“I’m trying. Grew this beard and everything.”

“I hadn’t noticed.” I keep my expression even.

A slow smile stretches across his face. “Bullshit. You’ve been dying to say something all day.”

I laugh. “Maybe.”

He smooths his hand over his jaw. “I always wondered what I’d look like with one.”

“And?”

“I think I like it.” He pauses. “This guy in the cell next to me was obsessed with Chris Stapleton. You know, that singer?”

“Yeah, I know the one.”

“He wanted to be him, sang his songs out loud until other inmates would yell at him to shut up. Kind of looked like him too, based on what I saw of the guy on TV. He had this big beard that he had a medical exemption for. Got away with it until the guards caught him hiding benzos in it. The prison barber chopped it off, sending him into a deep depression.”

“Is this your way of telling me you plan on growing a big, hairy beard?”

He chuckles, touching his face again as if to confirm it’s still there. “Nah, I’ll take it off in the spring. I just wanted one better than Jack’s. It’s better than his, right?”

“Are you fishing for compliments?”

“I could use one that isn’t from my mother.”

I laugh. “Fine, it suits you.” I add after a beat, “And it’s better than Jack’s.”

“I can’t wait to tell him.” Logan chugs half a glass of water, his Adam’s apple bobbing with the hard swallows. I remember having my mouth on that very spot, along with so many other spots on that perfect body of his. Heat rushes through my core. It’s impossible for me to be around him for any length of time without this yawning ache growing.

“So, you really think it was Robbie?”

“Huh?” I fix my ponytail while I quickly regain my composure. “I mean, he’s the most obvious person and the first one I’d talk to.”

Mischief twinkles in Logan’s eyes. “Come on, Em. Relax. It’s just me.”

“There’s never been anything ‘just’ about you.” And I guess some things don’t change, not even with so many years gone by. He’s always been able to read me like he has an Emery how-to manual.

“You’ve gotta stop looking at me like that.” There’s a mixture of a plea and longing in his voice.

“Or what?” I don’t mean it to sound like a challenge.

He cocks his head, his eyebrow arching.

My heart starts racing. I’m acutely aware how close his bed is. “Isla’s game is about to start.” I duck past him and cut across the room to settle on the couch. “Let’s see if I can do this.” Isla taught me how to cast on our television at home, but each one is different.

“Sorry, I can’t help.” Logan drops onto the other side of the couch. “I keep locking myself out of my phone. I have to ask my twelve-year-old nephew to fix it for me. We can probably call Thomas.”

I fiddle with the settings until finally I manage to link it to my phone. The live stream to Isla’s game comes on just as she wins the first face-off.

“She really loves playing, doesn’t she,” Logan says.

“Yeah, she does.” I reach back to work at the knot in my neck. “It’s not as good as watching it live, but it’s better than not watching at all.”