CHAPTER FIVE

 

 

LOGAN WAS JUST about to hang up when he heard a muffled scream quickly followed by a loud clatter. Then nothing.

“Presley!”

No answer.

Logan’s gut clenched. Cursing, he shoved his cell phone in the pocket of his jeans and floored the pedal on the Hummer, running a red light to get through the intersection. The other drivers honked their horns as they squealed to a stop, but he ignored them. There was no way he was going to let Presley die.

Five minutes later, he slid into the parking lot outside her apartment, running over an ornamental fence and a flower bed to come to a screeching halt a few feet from the front door. Jumping out of the SUV, he ran around to the back and grabbed his duffel bag full of gear. Throwing it over his shoulder, he raced up the steps and charged through the door into the building, scaring the hell out of two women carrying laundry baskets.

“Where are the stairs?” he demanded, not wanting to waste time with the elevator.

The women timidly pointed around the corner.

Logan didn’t thank them as he ran in that direction. He hit the steps hard, taking them three at a time. Once on the fourth floor, he ran down the hall, checking the room numbers on the doors as he went. When he came to the right apartment, he didn’t even bother to slow down. Instead, he kicked the door in as hard as he could, reaching into his bag for his shotgun as the frame splintered.

He looked left and right as he entered the apartment, but there was no sign of Presley. Logan’s blood ran cold at the scene that met his eyes. The living room looked as if a cyclone hit it. The couch and throw pillows were sliced to shreds, stuffing still floating through the air. The coffee table was lying on its side, as were the two end tables. The standing lamps alongside them had been on them were smashed to pieces along with practically everything else in the place. Even the walls had been slashed.

What the hell…?

“Presley?” Logan called.

“In here.”

Logan followed the sound of her voice until he came to the kitchen. Presley was standing in the center of the room inside a wobbly drawn circle of salt, ready to throw a handful of something in his face. She sagged with relief at the sight of him, letting the stuff in her hand trickle out onto the floor. That was when he realized she was holding a big container of oregano.

“Is he gone?” she whispered.

“I don’t know. Come on. I’m getting you out of here.”

He didn’t wait for an answer, but simply slung the shotgun over his shoulder by the strap, then walked into the kitchen and swung Presley up in his arms.

She put one of hers around his neck. “Is it safe for me to leave the circle?”

“Yes. I’ll keep you safe. Trust me.”

Apparently, she must have believed him because she wordlessly cuddled the container of oregano close to her body and relaxed against his chest.

“You did great with the salt circle. It saved your life without a doubt,” he said. “But what’s up with the oregano?”

She looked at him with big, blue eyes. “Isn’t it what you use to get rid of ghosts?”

His mouth twitched. “That’s sage and garlic. You can ditch the spaghetti spice.”

“Oh,” was all she said.

Resting her head on his shoulder again, she let the container of oregano tumble to the floor, then put that arm around his neck, too.

Giving the place one more look to check for Del Vecchio, Logan carried her out of the apartment and right past the alarmed neighbors who’d come out into the hallway to see what the ruckus was all about. Logan imagined they got their money’s worth seeing a big guy with a shotgun and a duffel bag slung over his shoulder carrying a beautiful woman in his arms. He abruptly realized he probably should have taken a few minutes to let Presley grab some clothes. But then the lights in the hallway flickered and he decided he could get her whatever she needed later. Right now, all he wanted to do was get Presley someplace safe. And he knew exactly where to take her.