GETTING MARRIED MAY BE MORE DIFFICULT THAN COMPLETING HIS MISSION.

Nothing has fazed Logan Payne in his entire career as a bodyguard. That is, until he’s tasked with protecting his biggest enemy. Stacy Kozminski isn’t too thrilled about having to work with Logan either, but when attempts are made on her life, she knows he is her only hope if she wants to survive.

Soon, a target is placed on both their backs, and they have no choice but to stage an engagement to protect one another. Logan won’t let Stacy out of his sight. But is it because he doesn’t want to fail his assignment…or because he’s come to care for the gutsy and gorgeous woman—the only woman who’s ever gone toe-to-toe with him?

Noise erupted in the room.

Gasps. Shouts. Even a scream. But she could barely hear them for the blood rushing through her head, roaring in her ears. Her pulse pounded madly with adrenaline and attraction. Had it been so long since she’d been kissed that any man could affect her like this? It couldn’t be just because it was Logan. She couldn’t want a man that she hated as much as this one.

No man had ever kissed her the way he was kissing her—with so much passion and desire that her knees weakened and her head swam and she completely forgot why she’d kissed him in the first place.

When he pulled back, she was panting for breath, and her heart was beating so quickly that it pounded against her breasts. Against her lips, he murmured, “What the hell are you up to?”

For a moment she couldn’t remember. Then it came back to her: the plan—his mother’s outrageous plan.

She whispered back, “I’m saving your life.” Then she turned toward her stunned family and announced, “Logan Payne is my fiancé. We’re getting married.”

For my family—with great appreciation for all your love and support. Love you all!

Explosive Engagement

Lisa Childs

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Bestselling, award-winning author LISA CHILDS writes para-normal and contemporary romance for Mills & Boon. She lives on thirty acres in Michigan with her two daughters, a talkative Siamese and a long-haired Chihuahua who thinks she’s a rottweiler. Lisa loves hearing from readers, who can contact her through her website, www.lisachilds.com, or snail-mail address, PO Box 139, Marne, MI 49435, USA.

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CAST OF CHARACTERS

Logan Payne—The former detective and CEO of Payne Protection needs a bodyguard himself after attempts on his life. Instead he winds up with a fiancée.

Stacy Kozminski—She has hated Logan Payne for keeping her father in prison, so he’s the last man she would marry—until murder attempts leave her no other option but to propose.

Patek Kozminski—The former jewel thief took his secrets to his grave, but someone thinks he may have shared them with his daughter—which puts her in danger.

Garek Kozminski—Stacy’s brother has done prison time, and he’s not above breaking the law again...this time for revenge.

Milek Kozminski—Stacy’s other brother has also had scrapes with the law. Like Garek, he’ll do anything to protect their sister—even kill....

Iwan Kozminski—Uncle Iwan was Patek’s partner in the jewel thefts, but he never went to prison...and he’ll do anything to make sure he never does.

Marta Kozminski—She enjoys the lifestyle her husband Iwan provides, and she’s not going to let his brother’s children and Logan Payne mess that up.

Candace Baker—The bodyguard is so in love with her boss that she would give her life for his. She might also take a life—that of his fiancée.

Robert Cooper—The retired police officer was Logan’s dad’s partner and the key witness in Patek Kozminski’s trial, which puts him in danger too.

Parker Payne—Being Logan’s twin has already put him in danger, but he would gladly take a bullet for his brother.

Nikki Payne—The baby and only Payne sister, Nikki is determined to prove she’s just as tough as her brothers.

Penny Payne—The Payne family matriarch is not part of her children’s security business. As a wedding planner, she believes in another kind of security—happily ever after—and she’s not above taking advantage of a situation to ensure her kids are happy.

Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Extract

Prologue

The bomb was set, so he carefully closed the door. When it opened again, the timer would activate—giving the victim mere minutes before the explosion. He exited the back door and breathed a sigh of relief that he was out of danger.

No. He wasn’t out of danger yet—not until the bomb claimed its intended victim. He didn’t enjoy killing, but he’d done it—more than once—out of necessity. He’d had to do it to protect himself.

That was all he was doing now—making sure that no one was left alive to link him to his crimes. Then, after all these years, he might finally have peace.

Chapter One

The sun shone brightly, setting the white bricks of the church aglow. It was a great day for a wedding. But Logan Payne couldn’t forget that a funeral was also taking place today. He’d thought it might finally bring him some peace that his father’s killer was dead. But it seemed more like an injustice that the man had lived for only fifteen years of his already too short sentence.

Maybe it was that sense of injustice that had made Logan uneasy. Or maybe it was the recent attempts on his life.

But he pushed aside that uneasiness and focused instead on the bride and groom. He lifted his hand, with birdseed stuck to his palm, and waved off his younger brother and his new bride. Nobody deserved happiness more than the two of them—especially after the hell they had endured to be together.

His sister, Nikki, glanced up at him through the tears glistening in her warm brown eyes. “Getting emotional, big bro?” she teased. Their family relentlessly teased each other.

The tears were all hers, but he played along. “Birdseed got in my eye,” he said with an exaggerated blink. But then he squinted at a random glare and glanced toward the street where his brother’s decorated SUV sat on the curb. Nikki had written Just Married across the back window and tied strings of pop cans to the rear bumper. A car slowly passed it, and as it did, a barrel protruded out of the dark tinted driver’s window.

The SUV shielded the bride and groom, but Logan and his sister and his twin were exposed on the steps of the church. As the shots rang out, he knocked Nikki down and lunged at Parker, knocking him over the railing.

The shots weren’t meant for any of his siblings. He knew that. But he had been standing too close to Nikki. And his twin was identical—same black hair, same blue eyes, same features. Today they were even both wearing black tuxedos. Logan covered Nikki’s petite frame, shielding her with his body. And he tensed, waiting for the bullets to find their target in his flesh.

Tires squealed as the car rounded the corner and drove off. After a glance over his shoulder to make certain the shooter was gone, Logan helped his sister to her feet. She trembled with fear in his arms, but she was unhurt. Miraculously, Logan hadn’t been hit, either.

The bride, Tanya, turned away from the SUV and ran back to the church. The groom, Cooper, was right beside her, yelling the name of his missing brother. “Parker!”

A hand rose above the shrubs on the side of the church’s wide front steps. Cooper clasped it and pulled Parker from the branches and foliage.

“You okay?” Cooper asked him.

“Yeah, yeah,” Parker replied as he brushed off his tux. “Logan knocked me over and pushed down Nikki.” He waited—probably for Logan to make some smart-aleck comeback. That was the way the Paynes handled stuff—emotional stuff, dangerous stuff...with gallows humor.

But Logan couldn’t find any humor in this situation. The grudge he’d been carrying, and how he’d acted on that grudge, was what had nearly killed his family. And these weren’t the first attempts made on his life and Parker’s, who must have been mistaken for him then, too.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

His new sister-in-law’s voice trembled with concern as she said, “I thought it was over. Mr. Gregory is dead.”

Logan had been the one who’d taken the shot that had ended the life of her grandfather’s lawyer. The man had been trying to kill her so that no one would discover that he’d embezzled her inheritance.

“This isn’t about you,” Logan assured the beautiful blonde bride. Guilt twisted his guts into knots. He hated that this shooting—that his problem—had marred what had finally been the perfect wedding for Tanya and Cooper. “This is about me. And revenge...”

Cooper’s eyes, which were the same blue as his and Parker’s, narrowed with suspicion, and he accused him, “You know who it is.”

Anger, more intense and overwhelming than his guilt, surged through Logan. He knew who was behind all these cowardly shootings. He knew and he was damn well going to put a stop to it.

* * *

FOR THE FIRST time in fifteen years, Stacy Kozminski didn’t have to go through prison security to see her father. All she had to do was walk up the aisle of the dimly lit church to where he lay in a casket before the altar. But that walk was the most difficult she had ever taken. Her knees trembled with each step she took, shaking more the closer she got to the altar.

To the casket...

The lid was open, but she needed to take a few more steps to see past the flower arrangements. Her knees shook even harder, threatening to give out beneath her. Maybe she would have crumpled right there, but a strong arm wrapped around her waist in support.

She uttered a sigh of relief that at least one of her brothers had showed up...because she had been the first and only family member to arrive at the church. With a smile on her lips, she turned her head, but the smile froze when her gaze collided with Logan Payne’s.

His blue eyes icy hard with anger, he stared down at her.

He was mad at her? She was the one who should be angry—furious even because he had no right to show up at her father’s funeral at all—let alone wearing a tuxedo. Her heart skipped a beat before the rate sped up. He looked damn good in the black tux with the pleated white shirt. The black bow tie had already been undone and the once-white silk shirt was a little smudged and rumpled. But still...

She hated him; she reminded herself of that as she jerked away from the unsettling warmth of his long, hard body. “What the hell are you doing here?”

And why had he put his arm around her? He was the last person from whom she would ever expect support—especially today.

“I think you know,” he replied, his deep voice vibrating with anger.

She shook her head. “I have no idea...unless you want to make sure that he’s really dead...”

With a trembling hand, she gestured toward the casket and toppled over one of the flower arrangements. The vase rolled across the tiled floor, leaving a trail of multicolored petals and water behind it. She gasped at what she’d done.

But Logan Payne didn’t react. He was staring at the casket. Maybe she had been right about his reason for coming.

She followed his gaze to her father’s corpse. She’d already seen it when he’d died. She had made it to the prison in time to say goodbye. Wasn’t that supposed to have given her closure?

Stacy felt no calm acceptance. No gratefulness. She felt nothing but anger—all toward Logan Payne. So she turned back to him, and then she turned on him. Literally lashing out at him in her anger, she swung her hand toward his unfairly handsome face.

The man had some crazy reflexes, because he caught her wrist, stopping her palm just short of one of his chiseled cheekbones. Despite not slapping him, her skin tingled—maybe with the need to slap him yet. Maybe because he was touching her, his long fingers wrapped easily and tightly around her narrow wrist.

“I can’t believe even you are such a heartless bastard that you’d show up at my father’s funeral,” she said, lashing out now with her words. “And in a tux, no less.”

He glanced down at himself, as if he’d forgotten what he was wearing.

“But then I guess this is a celebration for you,” she continued. “Do you intend to dance on his grave at the cemetery, too?”

She would make damn sure of it that he never got the chance—even if she had to throw him out herself since no other mourners had arrived yet. Where the hell were her brothers?

They had always been there for her when she needed them most. Until today...

“I’ve already been dancing,” Logan replied.

She struggled against his grasp; she didn’t want a man capable of such a hateful comment touching her.

“At my brother’s wedding,” he continued.

That explained the tux.

“But then somebody tried to kill me,” he said. “Again.”

That explained his white shirt being smudged and rumpled and his thick black hair disheveled, as if he’d been running his hands through it. What would it feel like? Coarse or soft? Not that she cared to ever find out. She didn’t want to touch Logan Payne, and she sure as hell didn’t want him touching her.

So she tried again to wriggle free of his hold. “Why are you telling me this?” she asked. “Do you think I care?”

“I think you’re behind it,” he said.

“Me?” She hadn’t even been able to slap him. “How am I supposed to have tried to kill you?”

“You shot at me,” he said.

“I don’t own a gun.” Her brothers had tried to give her one for protection, but she’d refused. Her protection had a threatening growl and a mouthful of sharp teeth to back up his threats. Too bad she hadn’t been able to bring Cujo to the funeral.

He snorted derisively, as if he doubted her. Of course he doubted her; Logan Payne doubted everyone.

“You’re doing it again,” she said. “Accusing someone of a crime they didn’t commit.” She turned back to the casket. Her father was only in his early fifties but he looked much older. Prison had turned his brown hair white and etched deep lines in his tense face. Wasn’t he supposed to look peaceful, like he was sleeping? But even in death, her father had found no peace—probably because of Logan Payne.

“I didn’t accuse your father,” he reminded her. “He was caught at the scene. He was tried and convicted.”

“Of murder,” she said. Shaking her head yet at the injustice, she added, “My father was not a murderer.”

Patek Kozminski had been a lot of things—by his own admission—but he could have never taken a life. The judge and jury had come to the wrong conclusion.

“He killed my father,” Logan said with all the rage and anguish as if it had just happened yesterday instead of fifteen years ago.

She shook her head again.

“My father caught him in the commission of a felony...”

Logan Payne was no longer a police officer, but he still talked like one. His father had been a police officer, too, who’d caught her father robbing a jewelry store.

“He resisted arrest,” he continued, “they struggled over the gun. And my father wound up dead.”

“My father did not kill him.” The man she’d known and loved wouldn’t have resisted arrest; he wouldn’t have fought with a police officer. He wouldn’t have wrestled the gun away from him and shot him with it. There had to have been someone else there that horrible day, someone else who’d really committed the crime...

“My father is dead,” Logan said.

“And now so is mine,” she said, gesturing again to the casket, but this time she was careful not to knock over any flower arrangements. “Are you happy?”

Logan sighed. “No.”

“No, of course not,” she hotly agreed. “You would have rather he lived many, many more years and spent every one of them behind bars. That’s why you showed up at every parole hearing to make sure he didn’t get out.”

“He killed a man!” Logan said.

Tears stung her eyes, and she shook her head. “No, no, he didn’t...” There had to have been someone else...

“The judge and jury convicted him,” he said it almost gently now, as if Logan Payne had any concern for her feelings.

He hadn’t, or he would have stopped showing up at the parole hearings; he would have let her father get out of prison. If not for Logan fighting it, her father would have been granted parole. He had been a model prisoner.

He had been a model father, too—even from behind bars. Now she had no father at all. She could almost relate to Logan’s rage, but hers was directed at him.

“He wasn’t convicted of murder, though,” he said, correcting her earlier comment. “It was manslaughter.”

“Which is why he had been up for parole already four times.” And why he would have been released...if not for Logan Payne.

“It should have been murder,” he said. “The charge was too light. So was the sentence...”

“The sentence wound up being death,” she said. “You gave him that sentence.”

“I didn’t—”

“If you hadn’t showed up at those hearings, he would have been released. He wouldn’t have been there for that crazy prisoner to stab. He wouldn’t have been behind bars with animals like that!” She swung her other hand now. But his damn reflexes were so fast that he caught her wrist again. She struggled against his grasp and cursed him.

But Logan didn’t even blink at her insults. His gaze remained steady and intense on her face. He was always so damn intense. Despite her rising temper, her flesh tingled and chilled, lifting goose bumps on her skin—even skin that was covered by her new black sweater dress.

“What the hell’s going on?” a familiar voice demanded to know.

“Get your damn hands off her, Payne!” another voice chimed in.

Her brothers had finally arrived. She’d wanted them earlier—to be there for support over her father’s funeral. But now she felt a rush of fear as they ran down the aisle toward her and Logan. She was actually afraid for Logan because her brothers were very protective of her—to the point that they had even killed for her.

Were they about to do that again?

Chapter Two

Logan released her—so abruptly that Stacy stumbled back. He would have reached for her again, just to steady her, but one of her brothers caught her. The other one reached for him. Garek or Milek—he didn’t know who was whom. They weren’t twins, but they looked nearly as much alike as he and Parker did. These guys were tall, too, but with blond hair and gray eyes.

Stacy had the same smoky-gray eyes—with thick lashes she kept blinking. Not to flirt with him—he was the last man she’d ever flirt with—but to fight back tears over her father’s death. Her hair wasn’t as blond as her brothers. It had streaks of brown and bronze and gold.

He jerked away from whichever brother was grabbing at him. Then he dodged the fist the man swung, even more easily than he had dodged Stacy’s attempts to slap him. Maybe he should have just let her hit him. Maybe then she would have gotten the revenge she sought.

No. He doubted her quest for revenge would be satisfied until he was as dead as their fathers.

She might have been telling the truth about not owning a gun. But she didn’t need to; she had brothers who would do anything she told them and that was the same as pulling the trigger.

He reached beneath the tuxedo jacket for his gun.

“Really?” Stacy asked, her voice shaking with anger. “You’re going to pull a gun at my father’s funeral?”

He paused with his hand on his holster. “Would you rather I just let them kill me?” He mentally smacked himself for the dumb comment. Of course she would rather he just let them. That was the whole point of trying to murder him.

“They’re not going to kill you.”

“Don’t lie to him, Stace,” one of them said.

“You’re not going to kill him,” she said with a meaningful glare at both of her brothers. “We are not going to ruin our father’s funeral.”

And that was the only reason that she wouldn’t let them kill him here—in the dark church with its dingy stained-glass windows and scratched up tile floor. It wasn’t as pretty and bright as the church he’d just left—the one his mother had bought and turned into a wedding chapel and reception hall.

“You don’t think he’s ruining it,” one of the brothers asked, “by showing up here in a freaking tuxedo?”

Regret flashed through Logan, but he’d been so damn angry—and with damn good reason—that he hadn’t considered how he was dressed before he’d rushed over from one church to another. “Sorry, I didn’t have a chance to change between my brother’s wedding and getting shot at.”

“If you were shot at during your brother’s wedding, maybe it had something to do with him or his bride,” she said. “Why do you automatically assume it had anything to do with me or my family?”

“Because it did,” he said with total certainty.

She shook her head. “We can’t be the only enemies you’ve ever made.”

Probably not, but he wasn’t about to admit that to her. “Usually people appreciate what I do for them.”

“You expect us to appreciate you keeping our father in prison?” she asked, her gray eyes widening with shock and outrage.

“Let me kill him,” one of the brothers pleaded with her.

She was younger than them, but she was definitely the one calling the shots, literally, in the Kozminski family. She stared at her father’s body lying in the bronze casket and shook her head. “Not here, Garek.”

Not “no,” just “not here.”

“And you wonder why I think it’s you behind the attempts on my life...”

“Attempts?” she repeated.

The one she’d called Garek laughed. “And there’s your proof that it’s not us,” he said. “We wouldn’t have had to try more than once to kill you.”

“I own a security firm,” he reminded them. “I will not be easy to kill.”

“I don’t know...” the other brother, Milek, mused as he walked around Logan. “You showed up here alone.”

“He’s not alone,” a deep voice very much like his own announced from the back of the church.

Of course Parker would have figured out where he’d gone. But he hadn’t come alone, either. Their little sister had tagged along like she always had when they were kids. She hadn’t outgrown that annoying habit yet. Fortunately, one of Payne Protection Agency’s most loyal employees had come along, too. Candace Baker stood next to Parker, her hand beneath her jacket, probably on her holster.

Instead of being grateful for the backup, Logan was incredibly annoyed with the interference. And the doubt. He could take care of himself and them, and he had proven that again and again.

“What the hell are all of you doing here?” he demanded to know.

“Mom sent us,” his twin replied.

“Of course she did.” Their mother had a problem remembering that he ran Payne Protection—not her. Logan had overlooked her interference when it had involved her matchmaking his brother with his new bride. But he didn’t want her interfering in his life. “She had no right...”

“That didn’t stop you,” Stacy bitterly remarked.

“I had no right to what, dear?” Penny Payne asked as she joined them in the church. Unlike him and Parker who wore the wedding tuxedos, she’d changed from her bronze-colored mother-of-the-bride gown into a black dress. She hadn’t been on the steps to see off Cooper and Tanya. She must have been changing then—as if she’d always intended to attend the funeral of the man who’d murdered her husband.

“Why are you here, Mom?” he asked. He doubted he would ever understand her, but neither had his father. It hadn’t stopped Nicholas Payne from loving her, though. And it wouldn’t stop Logan, either, unless he wound up like his father: dead at the hands of a Kozminski.

Out of respect for Mrs. Payne, Stacy motioned her brothers back, but they were already stepping away from Logan. They wouldn’t touch him now—not in front of his mother. She couldn’t promise they wouldn’t exact some revenge later.

Even now she wondered...

Could one of them have fired those shots at the wedding? Her heart pounded heavily with dread and fear. She couldn’t lose one of them like she’d lost her father—to prison. They had both already spent too much time behind bars.

And she couldn’t lose Logan Payne, either. Not for herself. She didn’t care about him. But his mother loved him. And it would kill her to lose a child like she’d lost her husband.

Mrs. Payne swung her hand toward that child’s face. His reflexes weren’t fast enough to stop her palm from connecting with his cheek. It wasn’t quite a slap but a very forceful pat. “Why are you here?” she asked him.

“You must have heard the gunshots outside the church,” he replied. “Somebody tried to kill me again.”

Her hand trembled against his cheek, and she sucked in a shaky breath before asking, “Again?”

He groaned as if in regret at his slip or embarrassment of her concern. “Mom...”

Stacy’s lips twitched at how close Logan Payne came to sounding like a petulant child. Even when he’d been a child of just seventeen at her father’s trial, he had already seemed like a man. Strong. Intimidating. Independent.

“You don’t need to be concerned,” he assured his mother. “I’m putting a stop to it now. That’s why I’m here.”

“How is coming here putting a stop to anything?” Mrs. Payne asked, her usually smooth brow furrowed with confusion.

“You know how,” he said.

“No, I don’t.” She shook her head.

“It’s one of them,” he insisted, but his gaze focused on Stacy.

“I don’t understand,” his mother continued. “Did you see one of them with the gun?”

Logan shook his head now.

“Then you have no business coming here today of all days,” she said, “unless you’ve come to express your condolences and pay your respects.”

“Is that why you’re here?” he asked, his deep voice vibrating with betrayal. “Are you here to pay your respects to the man who killed your husband...who killed my father?”

Stacy’s heart lurched with the pain in his voice. He was wrong about who’d taken his dad, but he’d still lost him, even sooner than she’d lost hers. At least she had been able to see her father the past fifteen years even though it had been behind bars.

“I am here for Stacy,” Mrs. Payne replied, and her arm came around Stacy’s shoulders.

She’d tried so hard to be strong—to be tough like her brothers and like Logan. But Mrs. Payne’s warmth and affection crumbled the wall she’d built around herself so many years ago. Her shoulders began to shake like her knees had earlier.

“Is it okay with you that I’m here?” Mrs. Payne asked. “If it’s too difficult, we’ll all leave...”

“That would be best,” a woman chimed in.

Stacy glanced up to see her aunt and uncle walking down the aisle toward them. Aunt Marta was tall and thin with frosted blond hair and a frosty personality. Uncle Iwan’s hair had thinned while his body had widened. He was a big, imposing man, but he smiled at her. Aunt Marta glared. That look wasn’t meant for Mrs. Payne but for Stacy. She’d been on the receiving end of it many times, but she was not yet immune to the coldness and shivered.

Mrs. Payne wrapped her arm more tightly around her, as if protecting her. She had done that in court fifteen years ago. A new widow then, she had still found sympathy for the daughter of the man convicted of killing her husband. Mrs. Payne had attended other court dates in Stacy’s life—offering her support when Milek and Garek had faced their charges.

Stacy clutched at the older woman’s waist. “Please,” she murmured through the emotion choking her, “please stay...”

Mrs. Payne nodded. “Whatever you need, honey...”

Logan reached out a hand for his mother as if to tug her away from Stacy. He did not have Mrs. Payne’s forgiving soul and warm heart. He was full of hatred and bitterness. But then his fingers curled into his palm and he pulled back his hand.

“We’ll discuss this later,” he said.

Stacy knew he spoke to her, not his mother, and his words were a threat. He still considered her and her family responsible for the attempts on his life. And she wasn’t entirely convinced he was wrong, especially with the way her brothers eyed him. He wasn’t the only one in that church who was full of hatred and bitterness.

For the next hour those feelings were put aside, though, for grief and loss during the funeral mass and burial. While the others left for the funeral luncheon at what had been her father’s favorite pub, she stayed behind at his grave site.

But she was not alone. She stared down at the fresh dirt covering her father’s grave. A light breeze fluttered the leaves in the trees and tumbled the loose soil across the grave. She shivered at the cold, but it wasn’t the breeze chilling her. It was the loss.

“I’m sorry,” Mrs. Payne said. She hadn’t gone with the others to the pub. She had stayed behind with Stacy, continuing to offer her support and sympathy. If only Stacy’s own mother was as loving and affectionate...

But she was like Aunt Marta—she loved money and herself more than anyone else. Even her own children...

Stacy shook her head. “You have no reason to apologize.”

“I am apologizing for my son,” Mrs. Payne explained.

Knowing how much Logan would hate that, Stacy smiled and finally pulled her gaze away from the ground to face the older woman. “He’s thirty-two years old. His mother should not be making apologies for him any longer.”

Mrs. Payne smiled, too. “She has to when he’s too stubborn to do it himself.”

“He doesn’t think he has a reason to apologize,” Stacy pointed out. “He thinks he’s right.” He always thought he was right.

“You are not responsible for those attempts on his life,” Mrs. Payne defended her.

The woman’s faith in Stacy warmed her heart. Not many other people in her life had trusted her so fully.

“No, I’m not,” she said. Just like her father, she was not a killer.

Mrs. Payne’s eyes were warm and brown but they had the same intensity of her son’s blue eyes as her gaze focused on Stacy’s face. “But you’re not entirely certain someone in your family didn’t fire those shots.”

Stacy sucked in a breath of shock. Had Mrs. Payne really been offering her support, or had she been manipulating her into betraying her brothers?

“I can see your doubts.”

Like her, they blamed Logan for their father’s death. He hadn’t put the shiv in him, but he had made certain that he stayed in prison long enough that someone else had. Her brothers had even suggested that Logan might have hired the other inmate to commit the murder. She didn’t believe that; she knew Logan hadn’t wanted her father dead. He’d just wanted him to suffer. And he hadn’t cared that she’d suffered, too. Her brothers had cared, though—maybe too much.

But in reply to Mrs. Payne’s remark, Stacy shook her head again in denial. She would not betray her brothers. She owed them too much: her life.

“I don’t expect you to admit it,” Mrs. Payne said. “You’re too loyal for that—too protective of them.”

She wasn’t nearly as protective of them as her brothers were of her. They had sacrificed so much to keep her safe. She would do the same.

“And you’re protective of your son,” Stacy said. She’d seen how shaken the woman had been that there had been attempts on his life. “Is that why you’re here?”

“I’m here for you,” Mrs. Payne insisted. “But if Logan is right...” She shuddered. “I can’t lose him like I lost his father.” She reached out again and took Stacy’s hand in hers. “And I don’t want you to lose your brothers, either.”

Tears of frustration stung Stacy’s eyes. “I can’t...”

But as Mrs. Payne had seen, she already doubted them. Even if they weren’t the ones attempting to kill him, they could be picked up on suspicion because they’d been so angry and so vocal about their hatred of Logan. She swallowed a lump of emotion. “I’ll talk to them, make sure that they’re not behind the shootings.”

Mrs. Payne sighed. “It’s too bad you have to have that conversation—that you have to show them you doubt them, that you think they could be responsible, that you think they could be killers.”

After all they’d done for her, she didn’t want to hurt them any more than they were already hurting. They had lost their father, too. “Then what do I do?”

Mrs. Payne squeezed her hand. “You marry him.”

“What?” She couldn’t have heard her right. It was like the words her father had uttered on his dying breath— incomprehensible.

“Your brothers would never do anything to hurt you,” Mrs. Payne said. “So if they believe you’re in love with Logan, they won’t hurt him.”

“I—I can’t convince them of such a blatant lie...”

“You can if you marry him...”

Marry the man she despised more than any other? It just wasn’t conceivable. She wasn’t the only one shocked and appalled at such a terrible union.

A deep gasp drew her attention away from Mrs. Payne to her son. Logan stood near a monument behind her. His blue eyes were wide with shock and horror at his mother’s outrageous suggestion. Then his lips began to move. But no words were uttered, or if they were, the shots drowned out his voice.

Gunshots reverberated throughout the cemetery, echoing around the monuments and trees. The sudden loud noise sent the birds flying from the tree limbs to form a dark cloud in the sky above them.

Not only had Logan Payne intruded on her father’s funeral but so had his killer. Mrs. Payne’s plan was never going to happen, because Stacy would probably wind up burying him before she could ever marry him.

Chapter Three

Pain gripped Logan’s shoulder, but he ignored the hot streak down his arm as he reached for his holster and drew his weapon. “Get down!” he shouted.

His mother had instinctively ducked behind a cement monument. But Stacy stood still at her father’s freshly dug grave, so when he knocked her down, she hit soft ground. Her breath left her lips in a gasp of warm air that caressed his neck.

And her soft curves cushioned his fall. She always acted so strong that he had expected her to be hard and cold. But she was soft and warm. She was also smaller than her big personality and more fragile than her tough attitude.

“Are you okay?” he asked as the shots continued to ring out, knocking leaves and twigs from the trees so they rained down on them like debris during a hurricane. For some reason he felt as though he were in the middle of a storm and not just of gunfire but of emotion.

Had his mother really suggested what he’d thought he heard? No. He must have misconstrued her words. Not even she was a big enough matchmaker to consider a marriage between him and Stacy Kozminski at all possible.

Stacy stared up at him through gray eyes wide with shock but hopefully not pain.

“Were you hit?” he asked. “Are you hurt?”

Eyes still wide, she finally moved as she shook her head.

“Mom?” he called out. “Mom?”

“I—I’m okay,” she replied, but her voice cracked with fear. As usual, it wasn’t for herself as she anxiously asked, “Are you and Stacy okay?”

“Yeah...” He shifted, moving to roll off Stacy and return fire now that he knew she and his mother were safe. But Stacy gripped his shoulder, and he flinched in pain.

“You’ve been shot,” she said, her voice breaking with urgency and concern. For him?

He shrugged his shoulders, but there was a twinge of pain. Maybe more than a twinge. He grimaced and lied, “I’m fine.”

“You’re bleeding,” she said. Her palm smeared with his blood, she lifted it toward his face as if presenting him with evidence.

He didn’t need to see it; he could feel it, sticking his sleeve to his skin. He glanced down then and noted the tear in the shoulder of his tuxedo jacket. Oh, Mom was going to be annoyed that he’d ruined another one...

“Are—are you hurt?” his mother asked, and unconcerned about her own safety, she began to rise from behind the monument.

“Stay down,” he warned her.

“The shooting stopped,” she pointed out.

But that didn’t mean that the shooter was gone. He could have just been biding his time until he got a clear shot. And if someone really wanted to hurt Logan, he or she could do that most effectively by hurting his mother.

“Stay down,” he told her again. “Don’t move until we get backup.” Maybe he shouldn’t have convinced Parker and Nikki and Candace that he didn’t need their protection. Maybe he should have let them stay with him like they’d wanted. Knowing them, they might have ignored his wishes—like his mother usually did.

Sirens wailed as police cars approached, lights flashing through the tree branches.

Stacy stiffened beneath him. Apparently, she had inherited her family’s aversion to law enforcement. “Your backup has arrived.”

To him, backup was his family and employees. But the police would do. He doubted they would apprehend the shooter, though. His mother was right; he was gone. He’d gotten away again.

He rolled off Stacy and stood up. Then he extended his uninjured arm to her. She stared at his hand before putting hers into it. Her hand was small and delicate inside his but not so delicate that she didn’t have calluses.

“Maybe there will be an ambulance, too,” she said.

“I don’t need one.”

“You were shot.”

“You were shot?” his mother asked, her voice shrill with alarm as she rushed over to him.

“I was just grazed,” he assured them. “There’s no bullet in me.” This time. But every attempt got a little closer, a little more successful. The shooter wasn’t going to stop until Logan was dead.

* * *

STACY WAS FURIOUS and for once her anger wasn’t directed at Logan Payne. Her heels clicking against the slate floor, she stomped across the crowded pub to the knotty pine-paneled back room where her family was drinking a farewell toast to her father.

Or was their farewell to Logan? Was one of them the shooter? Did he realize that he’d hit him? Maybe he thought he’d killed him.

He could have killed Mrs. Payne, too. Hell, with as wildly as he’d been firing, he could have killed her. If Logan had ducked faster, the bullet that had hit him might have struck her instead. His reflexes had slowed at the wrong time for him, but the right time for her.

She shuddered but refused to give in to the fear that had paralyzed her at the cemetery. Anger was better; it made her stronger.

“Stacy!” Milek greeted her with a hug, his eyes bright with the sheen of inebriation. He was the lightweight of the family and could only handle a drink or two.

She slammed her palms into his chest, shoving him back with such force that he nearly fell over. But Garek, also standing at the bar, grabbed him and kept him upright.

“What the hell!” he protested.

“What the hell!” she yelled back at him. She didn’t care if she hurt their feelings now. She was so pissed over getting shot at that she actually understood Logan Payne intruding on her father’s funeral. “Which one of you idiots shot up the cemetery?”

“What?” Garek asked.

“I nearly got shot,” she said.

“What! Are you okay?” Milek asked, grabbing for her again.

She jerked back. “I’m fine.”

“It must have been Logan Payne,” Milek murmured. “He must have shot at you...” A look passed between him and his brother—a look of rage and revenge.

“No,” she said, in response to that look as much as her brother’s statement. “Logan Payne is the one who got shot!” As if they didn’t already know that...

“What’s going on?” Aunt Marta asked. “This is inappropriate talk for a funeral...” She sniffed her disdain of her husband’s niece and nephews. She had never approved of them because they were a convict’s children. Her own husband was a criminal but since he had never been caught, he wasn’t as unseemly as his brother and his offspring—mostly because of the lavish lifestyle his actions afforded her.

“Is Payne dead?” Milek asked.

Stacy’s stomach pitched as she remembered the blood on his tuxedo. She shook her head. “No.”

His mother had forced him to go to the hospital to make certain that the bullet had only grazed him as he’d claimed. Mrs. Payne had wanted Stacy to ride along—probably so that she could propose marriage between Stacy and her son again. Even if she talked Stacy into her outrageous plan, there was no way in hell that Logan would ever agree to become her husband—even if it were only pretend.

“That’s too bad,” Milek murmured with regret that Logan lived.

Had Milek been the shooter? Was that why he was drinking so heavily? Or was drinking his way of mourning their father?

Stacy wanted to mourn their father, too, but she’d hardly had the chance between Logan and the shooting. Before she could say anything else to her brothers, Aunt Marta grasped her arm and tugged her aside. Probably for another lecture on funereal etiquette.

“Why are you so angry with your brothers?” she asked.

Why was she so angry? Was it because if they were the shooters, they were risking prison again? Or was it because if they were the shooters, they were trying to kill Logan Payne?

She shook her head. “I’m not...”

“They are struggling with your father’s loss,” Aunt Marta said. “They didn’t get the chance to say goodbye that you got.”

“They could have stayed behind at the cemetery.” She suspected at least one of them probably had...

“At the prison,” Aunt Marta said. “The warden called you to see your father...”

She almost wished she had been spared seeing him like that, but he had asked for her. He had wanted to talk to her. She shuddered now as she remembered seeing him as she had, in so much pain, his life slipping away from him...

“What did he say to you?” her aunt asked.

Stacy tilted her head in confusion, uncertain that she’d heard the older woman correctly. They had never been close—at her aunt’s choosing. She was hardly going to share any secrets with the woman now. “Why do you care?”

“I’m just curious...”

The woman was too self-absorbed to be curious about anyone but herself. She only wanted to know about things that might affect her. Why did she think Stacy’s father’s last words might concern her?

Stacy had no intention of satisfying the woman’s morbid curiosity, so she turned away from her. But Aunt Marta grasped her arm in her talonlike fingers and asked again, “What did he say to you?”

The woman was persistent, or as Uncle Iwan would admit when he had too much to drink, a nag. She wasn’t going to give up until Stacy gave her an answer. Any answer might do...

So she shook her head. “I couldn’t understand him...”

Aunt Marta expelled a little breath—as if she were relieved. Had her brother-in-law taken one of her secrets to his grave?

Stacy had actually misled her aunt. She’d understood what her father had said, she just hadn’t understood why he’d said it. When he’d spoken them, Stacy had put no credence in her father’s last words. She’d blamed the strange statement on the painkillers they’d given him to make him comfortable because they hadn’t been able to do anything else to treat his injury.

She still didn’t understand why he’d said what he had...

“Son of a—!” Garek said as he turned toward the entrance to the pub’s back room.

Logan Payne walked in as if he’d been invited. But Garek had been right to stop himself from finishing his curse. Mrs. Payne was the sweetest woman Stacy had ever met—the most forgiving and generous woman—and probably one of the smartest, as well.

“I thought you got shot,” Milek drunkenly murmured. Had he thought that because of what Stacy had said or because he’d thought he’d hit him?

Logan probably wondered the same thing, because his eyes narrowed with suspicion. He gestured toward the tear in the shoulder of the tuxedo he still wore. It was even more rumpled and smudged with dirt and blood now. “The bullet barely grazed me,” he replied. Then, with a sneer that was somehow both infuriating and sexy as hell, he added, “Somebody’s a lousy shot.”

Garek chuckled. “Then it can’t be any one of us who’s shooting at you. We would have hit you by now.”

Despite her brother’s bravado, neither he nor Milek were expert marksmen. They weren’t killers, either, even though they had actually killed before. And if Logan kept goading them, they might kill again—right here.

Stacy had to do something to diffuse the potentially dangerous situation. It wouldn’t be just dangerous for Logan, who was outnumbered, it would be dangerous for her brothers, too, because if they hurt him—or worse—they would go back to prison.

“Why the hell do you keep showing up where you’re not wanted?” Aunt Marta demanded to know. This time her disdain was for the intruder. She usually considered her brother-in-law’s children intruders, too, even though they were blood.

“He’s wanted,” Stacy said suddenly. She’d realized what she had to do back at the cemetery, maybe even before the gunshots had rang out. But in this moment, she made the quick decision that she was actually going to go through with it. “I want him here...”

Curving her lips into a big smile, she crossed the room to where he stood. His long body was tense. His face tight, he looked stunned, as if he’d been shot again—and that was just from what she’d said. She had no idea how he would react to what she was about to do. Maybe he would stop her before she could even act, like he had when she’d tried to slap him. But he just stood there when she wrapped her arms around his neck.

Why hadn’t he stopped her? Why hadn’t he caught her arms and pushed her away? He stared down at her, his blue eyes intense and watchful as he waited for her next move.

Could she...?

Bracing herself for what she had to do, she drew in a deep breath. Then she rose up on tiptoe and pressed a kiss to his hard-looking lips. But they weren’t hard. They were surprisingly pliant and sensual and fuller than they looked in the tight line of disapproval into which they were usually drawn.

Now she was the one who was stunned—because he kissed her back. He clamped one arm, probably his uninjured one, around her back and pulled her tightly against him. Then he parted her lips and deepened the kiss.

Noise erupted in the room. Gasps. Shouts. Even a scream. But she could barely hear them for the blood rushing through her head, roaring in her ears. Her pulse pounded madly with adrenaline and attraction. Had it been so long since she’d been kissed that any man could affect her like this? It couldn’t be just because it was Logan. She couldn’t want a man that she hated as much as this one.

But no man had ever kissed her like he was kissing her—with so much passion and desire that her knees weakened and her head swam and she completely forgot why she’d kissed him in the first place.

When he pulled back, she was panting for breath. Against her lips, he murmured, “What the hell are you up to?”

For a moment she couldn’t remember. Then it came back to her—the plan, his mother’s outrageous plan.

She whispered back, “I’m saving your life.” She turned toward her stunned family and announced, “Logan Payne is my fiancé. We’re getting married.”

Chapter Four

Logan’s heart pounded so hard that it was the only sound in the sudden silence that had fallen after Stacy’s insane announcement. He knew his mother had initially proposed this crazy engagement, but he hadn’t expected that Stacy would ever agree to it. She hated him.

But he hadn’t tasted that hatred on her lips when she’d kissed him so convincingly that even he had forgotten it wasn’t real. He knew that she didn’t really want him; she just didn’t want her brothers going to prison for killing him. She was protecting Milek and Garek—not Logan.

So then she couldn’t be behind the attempts on his life. Or maybe she had been, but his mother’s idea had convinced Stacy to change her plan for revenge to one for marriage. But then marrying him might be more vengeful than killing him.

Not that he was going to fall in with his mother’s crazy plan. He wasn’t about to get coerced into marriage with a woman he couldn’t...

Stand? More like resist. Why had he kissed her back? To punish her for the game she was playing? He’d like to think that but he had enjoyed it too damn much. Her mouth was so sweet and so damn sexy when it moved over his.

“What the hell is going on?” one of her brothers, his face flushed either with alcohol or temper, demanded to know. “Just a couple of hours ago you were mad at him for crashing Dad’s funeral and now you’re engaged?”

Her other brother’s eyes narrowed, he glared at Logan. “He must be threatening her.”

“He saved my life at the cemetery,” she said. “He took a bullet for me.”

He was pretty sure that bullet had been meant for him and that one of her brothers had fired it. And that was the only reason he was refraining from calling her on her lie. As her fake fiancé, he had access to her family—hopefully enough access to gather evidence. Like the damn gun they kept firing at him...

She continued, “It was all very sudden.”

“It’s all B.S.,” he whispered back at her.

She grabbed his hand and squeezed it. Hard. And he was surprised again that she had calluses on her small hands. What did she do for a living or for fun that had produced such calluses?

They were engaged and yet he hardly knew Stacy Kozminski.

“I’m surprised myself at the feelings I have for—” her throat moved, as if she were choking on his name or maybe just on her lie “—Logan.”

Despite that kiss, he doubted her feelings had changed. She still hated him.

One of her brothers—Garek—voiced his sentiment. “You hate his guts, Stace.”

She shook her head. “That’s not true.”

“You’ve said over and over that you hate his guts,” Garek persisted. “Why are you lying about it now? What’s he got on you?”

What did he think Logan could have on her? Proof that she and her brothers were responsible for the shootings? He hoped like hell he had it, then he could call her on her lie and end this nonsense. Then he could call the police...

“My gratitude,” she said. “He saved my life.” She turned toward him and glanced up. Maybe her gaze was supposed to be adoring, but she just looked miserable. “He’s my hero.”

Garek snorted. “And that just erases everything else he’s done to our father?”

Her snotty aunt added, “To our family? You’re betraying your father. Your uncle. Your brothers...”

Ignoring her aunt, she replied to her brother only, “I understand why he’s done what he has.”

“I don’t understand what you think you’re doing,” Logan murmured. Her family was never going to buy that she’d had such a drastic change of heart over him.

“If the situation was reversed,” she continued as if he hadn’t spoken, “we would have done the same. Or more...”

“He killed our father,” Milek said, his words slurred. He had definitely been drinking. “And you’re rewarding him for it.”

“Logan did not kill Dad,” Stacy defended him. “Some gang member did.”

“He wouldn’t have had the chance if your boyfriend—”

“Fiancé,” she corrected her brother. “And stop. Just stop...all of it.” She turned toward Logan. “It’s been a long day. Please, take me home.”

Did she mean his home? He wasn’t about to bring her there. She would probably set it on fire. And he had no idea where she lived. But instead of asking any questions in front of her resentful family, he escorted her out of the pub.

“Have you been drinking with your brother?” he asked as he opened the passenger door for her.

“I’m not drunk,” she said. Her gray eyes were clear as she glared at him.

“Then why on earth—”

“We can’t talk about it here,” she said. “There are cameras in the lot.”

Her paranoia lifted his brows with surprise. “And you think your brothers would look at the footage?”

“I don’t know about them,” she said. “But I wouldn’t put it past my aunt.” She stepped on the running board of his SUV, but her heel slipped and she fell back against him. His arms closed around her, and he lifted her easily onto the seat. Maybe she was as exhausted as she’d claimed because she didn’t fight him. Or maybe she was just worried about what her aunt might see on the security cameras.

“Okay, I’ll drive you home,” he said.

She waited until he rounded the front bumper and slid behind the wheel before she replied, “It’s the least you can do since I’m saving your life.”

“So you admit my life is in danger because of you?” His suspicions had obviously not been unfounded. He pushed aside the guilt he’d been feeling for interrupting her father’s funeral to confront her. And it wasn’t just his mother who’d made him feel guilty but Stacy had, too—with all the pain he’d seen in her gray eyes.

She was mourning. He understood that; he’d spent the past fifteen years mourning the loss of his father. Hers was to blame for that, but she wasn’t. Maybe for the first time in fifteen years he realized that.

She emitted a soft, shaky sigh. “I’m not admitting anything, Detective Payne.”

“I haven’t been a detective for a few years.” Not since he’d started Payne Protection Agency.

“I think you’ll always be a detective,” she replied.

“If I was, I wouldn’t have to ask where you live,” he pointed out. “I would already know.”

She arched her brows in surprise. She must have assumed he knew. But Logan was just realizing how very little he actually knew about his fake fiancée. He had been so focused on what her father had done that he’d never paid attention to what she had done. Or what she was doing...

What was she doing? And not just with her life but with him? Why was she willing to pretend she was in love with him? What was her real agenda?

“I’ll tell you where I live,” she said. “But we have to stop somewhere else first.”

Maybe her agreeing to his mother’s plan was just a ruse for her to get him alone—somewhere that she would have no witnesses to her killing him.

* * *

WONDERING WHICH ONE would attack first, Stacy studied the two alpha males with which she shared the relatively small confines of the SUV. Cujo sat on the backseat, but the German shepherd’s black-and-tan body was so long that his head reached over the console. She scratched him behind his droopy ear, and he whined and licked her face.

“I missed you, too,” she murmured.

“Why’d you have him at the kennel?” Logan asked. He had obviously been surprised that was the place she’d had him stop before taking her home.

“Because I’ve been staying with a friend since my dad died,” she said.

“And that friend didn’t want Cujo staying, too?” he asked with a derisive snort.

The German shepherd whipped his big head toward Logan and nudged his shoulder with his nose. The SUV swerved a little before Logan gripped the wheel more tightly. “What he’d do that for?”

She chuckled. “That’s his name.”

“Cujo?”

The dog barked and then nudged him again. Logan held his hand between them, letting the canine sniff him before petting his head. If Cujo had been a cat, he might have purred.

“Traitor,” she teased him. The dog had apparently conceded which one of them was the true alpha male. She wasn’t surprised it was Logan. Since he was the boss of the family business, his brothers and sister must have conceded he was the alpha male, too.

“That’s probably what your family is saying about you now,” Logan said. “That you’re the traitor.”

Her stomach churned with nerves. They were the only thing in it. She hadn’t been able to eat since she’d seen her father in the prison infirmary. “Probably.”

“So why did you claim to be my fiancée?” he asked. “Because you know your brothers have been trying to kill me?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know any such thing.”

“Liar,” he softly accused her.

She should have been offended but liar was the least of his insults. He thought she was a killer, too. “You really think I put out a hit on you and hired my brothers to do it?”

“You wouldn’t need to hire them,” he replied. “They’ll do whatever you tell them to.”

That was what she was counting on—to keep them from killing Logan Payne. “If I wanted you dead, why would I tell them that I’m going to marry you?”

“You want to be able to collect my life insurance,” he suggested, “as my widow.”

“Hmm,” she mock-mused, “I hadn’t considered that.” She nodded as if committing to the idea like she was going to try to make everyone believe she was going to commit to him. “At least then I’ll get something out of this marriage.”

He glanced at her, his blue gaze hot and intense. “If we were actually going to get married, you’d definitely get something out of it.”

Her heart flipped. “Are you flirting with me, Logan Payne?”

“Isn’t that what a fiancé is supposed to do?”

She shrugged. “I have no idea. I’ve never been engaged.” She didn’t even date that often. That had to be why kissing him had affected her so much.

“Me, neither,” he said.

“Why not?” she asked.

His mouth curved into a grin. “Do you think I’m way too handsome to still be single?”

Yes. But she would eat Cujo’s kibble before she would ever admit that she found Logan Payne attractive. But she always had. Even during her father’s trial, her brothers had accused her of having a crush on him because she hadn’t been able to stop herself from staring at him.

But she replied with an insult, “I think you’re pretty old to still be single.”

He laughed. “You’re only a few years younger than I am. Starting to feel like an old maid at twenty-nine? Is that why you jumped at my mother’s crazy idea to marry me?”

“Your mother.” Unable to help herself, she smiled with genuine affection for Mrs. Payne. “She’s another reason I’m surprised you’re still single. She’s a wedding planner.”

“And a matchmaker.” He sighed. “She’s the reason my brother just got married.”

“She manipulated him into it?”

He nodded.

“I feel badly for the bride, then.” She could commiserate with that whole manipulation thing.

“Why?” he asked. “You don’t even know my brother Cooper. He enlisted in the marines out of high school and just came home a few days ago.”

“Cooper? He’s the one who was named after your father’s partner?” She shivered at just the thought of implacable Officer Robert Cooper and how his testimony had helped seal her father’s fate.

A muscle twitched along Logan’s jaw and he nodded.

She shouldn’t have brought up his father again. Even fifteen years later, he still felt the loss. So she had no hope of her grief ever lessening. But she would deal with that later—when she wasn’t worried about losing her brothers, too.

“I don’t know your brother,” she agreed. “But I feel sorry for his bride because he doesn’t love her.”

“Oh, he loves her.” Logan chuckled. “He’s been in love with her since they were in high school together.”

“So your mother really didn’t manipulate him into marrying her, then.” Maybe the woman wasn’t some matchmaking mastermind.

“Oh, she did,” he said. “Cooper’s so stubborn he probably would have never admitted to his feelings.”

“Stubborn or cowardly?” she asked.

Logan chuckled. “He’s a highly decorated marine.”

She shrugged. “Even a brave man can be a coward when it comes to love...”

“Sounds like you have a story about that,” he mused. “Is it about your friend?” He’d said “friend” as if it meant something more than friendship and almost as if he was jealous that it might be.

“Why would you ask that?” And why would he sound jealous when he asked?

“I didn’t see any friends at the funeral,” he explained almost nonchalantly, “just your family.”

“That’s why my friend couldn’t come,” she said, “because of my family.”

“He has a problem with your brothers, too?”

She nodded but didn’t bother correcting his misconception about the gender of her friend. Maybe she had only imagined his jealousy, but if he actually was, she liked it—which was odd since she didn’t like him. Sure, she found him attractive—maybe she was even attracted to him—but she still didn’t like him.

“Even if I agreed to it, my mother’s plan would never work,” Logan warned her.

She was afraid of that, too, because she would have to convince her family that she loved a man she really couldn’t stand. And she was no actress—she’d never even been very good at lying.

“And really, all you have to do to stop them from trying to kill me is to tell them to stop,” he said, “because they’ll do what you tell them to.”

If only that were true...then she wouldn’t have to fake an engagement, or heaven forbid, a marriage, if it actually came to that. And it might take marriage to convince her family that she was committed to Logan Payne.

“I’m not so sure about that,” she reluctantly admitted.

“Then even you realize they’re dangerously out of control,” Logan said.

“I never said that!” she exclaimed, horrified that she might have inadvertently implicated her brothers. And, like Logan, she had no proof they were behind the attempts on his life. But thanks to Logan and the threats they’d previously made, she now had doubts.

“They’ve already tried to kill me. More than once,” he insisted. “They need to be brought to justice.”

“You have no evidence,” she reminded him.

“I’ll find it,” he warned her.

“I buried my father today,” she said, her voice cracking with the emotion that overwhelmed her. “Isn’t that enough justice for you?”

Cujo whined and nudged her with his head, as if trying to comfort her. Surprisingly, he wasn’t the only one because Logan’s hand covered hers on the dog’s fur.

“I’m sorry you’re hurting,” he said.

But he wasn’t sorry that her father was dead and he was determined to arrest her brothers. He wasn’t sorry about any of that...

She pulled her hand out from beneath his. If she couldn’t stand his touch, how was she going to convince her family that she loved him? But then she’d had no problem with his touch earlier when he’d kissed her. Her lips still tingled from the electricity of that contact with his.

“We’re here,” she said with a sigh of relief as she just realized that he’d stopped the SUV outside her building. The street side of the ground floor held the storefront for her jewelry business, her workshop was in the back, and her apartment was above it. It wasn’t the greatest neighborhood; that was why she needed Cujo. Even now a car alarm blared and police sirens whined in the distance.

Logan peered through the window and murmured, “This is really where you live?”

She’d never taken Logan Payne for a snob. “You mean because I’m the daughter of a jewelry thief and I live above a jewelry store?”

“I’m surprised you admit he was a thief,” he said.

“He was a thief,” she said. He’d always been honest about that. “But he wasn’t a killer...”

Logan rubbed his temple and groaned as if sick of hearing it. But maybe if he heard it enough he would come to believe it. “I was actually referring to the dangerous neighborhood,” he said as he continued to look around like a cop assessing the potential dangers of his beat. “Now I understand why you have the dog.”

“Your mother is actually the one who brought me Cujo,” she said. After the older woman had heard about her store being robbed, she’d talked an old friend of her deceased husband into giving the German shepherd to Stacy. “He was a K-9 cop.”

“He doesn’t look old enough to have been retired,” Logan said as he scratched behind the dog’s ear, which Cujo loved.

“He was shot,” she said. “In the shoulder...” Like Logan had been shot. No wonder the two alpha males had come so quickly to an understanding. They were actually quite alike. Cujo wasn’t always that nice or polite, either. That was why her friend hadn’t wanted the dog staying with her, too—especially since he might have thought her Pomeranian was a squirrel. Cujo really hated squirrels.

Logan leaned his head against the dog and imitated the way Cujo nuzzled the few people he actually liked. “You’re a hero,” he praised the canine cop.

“He saved his partner,” she said.

“That’s what a partner is supposed to do,” Logan murmured.

Somehow she suspected he wasn’t talking about the partnership of their proposed marriage. “You’re not going to do it, are you?”

“Marry you?” He shook his head. “It’s a bad idea. And as I already pointed out, it would never work.”

He was probably right. But she couldn’t agree with him without a fight. She’d been fighting with Logan Payne too long to concede defeat. “That’s your fault,” she accused him.

His mouth curved into a sexy grin. “Are you saying that kiss wasn’t convincing?”

If she said it wasn’t, he might kiss her again—might try to prove how convincing he could be. She was tempted to lie because she was tempted...to kiss him again. But instead she shook her head and clarified, “It’s your fault for being such a jerk all these years that they would never believe I could actually fall for you.”

“And so they’ll keep trying to kill me.”

“Is that why you didn’t give me up as a liar back at the pub?” she asked. “You were afraid you weren’t going to get out of there alive?”

“I’m not afraid of your brothers,” he said with a snort of disgust.

She was afraid of what they might do, of what they might have already done. They would do anything for her, and even though she hadn’t asked them, she’d given them every reason to think she wanted Logan Payne dead. She needed to give them a reason to leave him alive—like their fake engagement.

She glanced around as Logan had, but she was looking for her brothers. They might have followed them from the pub. “You need to walk me to my door,” she said.

“I thought you had the dog to keep you safe,” he said. “Not that you’re the one in danger...”

“I don’t want you to keep me safe,” she said. She wanted to keep him safe. Actually, she wanted to keep her brothers safe from themselves. “I want my fiancé to walk me to my door.”

He uttered an exasperated-sounding sigh. “Stacy, I’m not playing along with my mother’s plan.”

“Do you want me to tell her—?”

“You can tell her—”

“—that her son is not enough of a gentleman to walk a lady to her door,” she continued as if he hadn’t interrupted her.

He groaned. But he opened his door and walked around to open hers.

Cujo jumped down with her and led the way to the back stairwell. She fumbled in her purse before unlocking the door. Cujo’s ears perked up, and a low growl emanated from his throat.

“He smells something,” Logan said, and he was already pulling his gun from beneath his jacket, wincing only slightly at the strain on his wound. “Someone may have broken into your place.”

“And locked the door behind himself?” she scoffed. “I doubt that.”

The dog hurried ahead—with Logan in hot pursuit. “Stay outside,” he ordered her.

But she didn’t take orders from Logan Payne. He wasn’t her boss. He had even refused to be her fake fiancé. So she followed. And then saw what Cujo had found: a pipe bomb sat on her kitchen table, red numbers blinking as the timer quickly counted down.

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