The temptation was too strong. Logan had tried sitting around and gaining some rest. He had at least considered spending the night to think it over. The problem was, every time he closed his eyes, he only saw Amber. His heart began to beat like a drum, and then he was restless.
It was time to visit the woman.
The name on the card was Helen Beck, and he supposed she looked like a Helen. But it was the address that interested him – it was printed on the black card in gold text, highlighting some sort of nightclub that was simply titled Beck’s.
Logan found it with no trouble, quickly finding a quiet street to park on, then waiting in line just like everyone else. The line smelled like cheap perfume and fruity drinks. The kids were barely twenty-one, dancing and yelling like Logan used to. It pulled him back to a memory of his wife. He and Rebecca had sometimes spent their weekends crawling from club to club. Dancing was how she’d always let off steam, and as long as he wasn’t on duty, he was always happy to be with her. Drinking by the dance floor but never dancing.
It took a half hour to reach the front of the line. By then, one of the two bouncers put out a flat hand to Logan’s chest. It was firm, and the bald, black guy with an earpiece and a clipboard stared daggers at him.
“What’s your business here?” he asked.
Logan looked down at his chest, then stared back at the guy. “I came here to shake my booty, obviously.”
“A big guy like you? Get out of here.”
“I came here to see Helen Beck.” Logan took a short step forward, forcing the bouncer back. Another nearby bouncer – a tall and skinny white guy with a receding hairline – saw the commotion and came over. His sleeves were already rolled up.
“You’ll have to turn around and go right back where you came from,” he said.
“Not a chance. You’re going to let me in,” Logan told them.
“Or what?”
“Look, I’m getting in one way or another. I had an invite”—he flashed the card—“and I’ve been waiting in line like a good boy. Now, I’ll ask you this one more time: let me in.”
The bouncers looked at each other, glints in their eyes. They wanted this. This was the kind of action they could tell the boys about over a beer and laugh about how they worked together to overpower the big guy. Logan hated fighting, but he would do whatever it took to get into that club, even if it meant breaking some bones.
“All right, let’s get you out of here,” the white man said.
They both rushed forward. The crowd parted and gasped. The bouncers each nudged at one of his shoulders, but Logan didn’t budge. Laughter erupted around them, and then the white bouncer’s face flushed red. They tried again, harder, this time knocking him back a couple of inches. Logan, starting to feel impatient at this pathetic display of bravado, clenched his fists and steeled his frame. As much as he hated to do this, there was no other way.
He had to get inside.