Too Many Brothers

“Has anyone said you do a fair job of talking someone’s leg off yourself?” Logan noted dryly, doing his best to shove Daphne out the door. “I’m locking up after you leave. Don’t mention me to any neighbor you meet along the way, either. Tap softly three times when you return. I’m serious about this. If anyone hears you banging on the door, they’ll come out to investigate. The fewer people who know you’re entertaining a strange man in your apartment, the better. I get the feeling it’s not the norm for you. And it’d only take one well-placed question for our pals out there to pinpoint my location.”

Daphne stopped short of the door, digging in her heels. “You think I’m a blabbermouth and someone incapable of getting a date?” The truth was she didn’t date much. Hardly ever, in fact. But she’d be darned if she’d admit that to a man who probably had only to crook his little finger to have scores of dates falling in his lap.

“Go!” Logan opened the door and in spite of Daphne’s resistance, shoved her out. He sighed a huge sigh as he bolted the door behind her, thinking if he escaped and remained alive, it’d be a miracle. He was the solitary type, and Daphne Malone hadn’t stopped talking since they crawled into that joke she called a car.

A beer would hit the spot. He glanced at his watch and was surprised to see that the afternoon was nearly gone. It was ten to six. Ordinarily he didn’t drink alcohol on the job—only if an undercover assignment made it necessary to appear social. But Daphne’s offer of a beer bounced around inside his head.

Logan opened the fridge door and at once recoiled from the smell. Plugging his nose, he searched for and found one source of the problem. An open carton of milk that had gone bad.

No wonder, he mused, pouring the curdled mess down the drain. According to the carton, the milk was two weeks beyond its expiration date. After rinsing out the carton and setting it aside, he returned to the fridge. He had to reach past a basket of strawberries to get to the six-pack of beer. Logan noticed a layer of furry mold covering a majority of the exposed fruit. Extracting the beer can, he let the door swing closed. Then he opened it again and removed the spoiled berries. They followed the curdled milk down the garbage disposal. He ran water from the tap for five minutes before taking up his former station near the window where he could spy on Bill Holt’s cronies. The men appeared to be settling in for the night.

Logan savored the brew, realizing he hadn’t touched one in weeks. No one in the organization was allowed to imbibe, since Holt believed that booze impaired his people’s abilities to do the job. And there were stories about what happened to men who didn’t follow his orders to the letter. If Logan had any sense at all, he’d be shaking in his shoes.

Looking down, he smiled as he saw he was still barefoot. Macabre humor played better at times like these than dwelling on what Billy Holt would do if he ever laid hands on him. If the man tortured his hirelings for minor infractions like having a beer, imagine what he’d do to a spy in their midst.

Someone exited the car in question. Logan’s heart pounded unexpectedly. He drew back fast, then edged out little by little to see what the guy was up to.

Just stretching. Phew! Logan blotted the sweat that had popped out on his forehead. Where was Daphne? He glanced at his watch again. She’d said it might be a while, but did she think she could take all night? Blasted woman had been down there for a full fifteen minutes.

Goon one was a nasty assassin by the name of Lobo Morales. He sauntered to the end of the block and moseyed back past Daphne’s VW. His eyes darted from passersby to people entering the building, to the interior of Daphne’s car.

Logan figured people were coming home from work about now and those who were driving slowly by were looking for parking spaces.

Daphne’s cell phone rang. Logan nearly jumped out of his skin. Of course his inclination was to answer. He didn’t dare. But, he wished whoever the hell it was would give up and stop letting it ring and ring and ring. Her apartment wasn’t that large. Was Daphne in the habit of not answering her phone?

Ah! It finally quit. Belatedly, Logan realized he’d lost track of Lobo. “Dammit!” He set his beer on the counter. And because Daphne had turned on a lamp in the living room before she left, he got down on hands and knees and crept up to the window. Once there, he eased his head up by inches, attempting to discover where Morales had gone. It was possible he’d climbed back in his car while Logan was focused on the phone. Long shadows stretched across the street, and he couldn’t see anything but the top of the gang’s car.

He was preparing to creep back out of sight, when Daphne’s lock clicked open, and her door swung inward, causing Logan to whirl in panic—still crouched on all fours. He barely managed to get his feet under him and was ready to spring on his unknown assailant when he recognized her.