Chapter One

LOGAN

Logan opened the door to the apartment, and his heart sank.

It was dark. Empty.

He called out, "Ryan? Are you home?"

No answer.

"Goddammit," he cursed, tossing his briefcase to the floor. His long stride took him across the living room of his penthouse apartment toward Ryan's bedroom. Floor-to-ceiling windows provided a sweeping vista of the city, but he failed to notice the beauty of the glittering lights. Logan had one thing—one person—on his mind.

"Ryan, where the fuck are you?" Logan muttered, anxiety and anger twisting in his gut and growing with each step.

Maybe Ryan did something drastic . At that alarming thought, Logan slammed open the bedroom door, not knowing whether to be relieved or furious that no one was there. He checked the bathroom. Empty as well.

Fear clawed through his belly, and he strode to his bedroom, holding out hope Ryan would be there.

He knew what was going on in Ryan's head. Two days earlier, Ryan had received notification from the State Bar that his law license would not be reinstated. Not that Ryan had told him— Logan had come home from an out-of-town business trip and found the crumpled letter next to Ryan's bed, resting beside an empty bottle of vodka.

Ryan was nowhere to be found, and neither was Logan's gold watch or the cash he kept in the drawer of his nightstand. For the past forty-eight hours, Logan had done nothing but wrack his brain, trying to figure out where Ryan might be, and hunt through the city in a fruitless search.

His mind working furiously, Logan sank to his empty bed. It wasn't as if he knew Ryan's old haunts. They'd only had that one night at the Marquee before Ryan's troubles caught up with him. Logan hadn't run in Ryan's circle of hard partying. He'd already seen enough of how the city could chew you up and spit you out if you weren't tough enough. Maybe it was a sure sign he was getting old, but he preferred to think of it as growing wiser.

There was no one from Ryan's former life Logan could call or text; Ryan had told him all his old law-firm associates treated him like a pariah—something Logan could've told him would happen. People loved a winner, but it was much more fun to kick a dog when he was down. He hadn't made any friends at the maintenance job where Logan had run into him five months earlier. Hoping to salvage Ryan's job after he disappeared, Logan had put in a call to the hotel's maintenance office to say Ryan had the flu.

Logan spun the phone around in his hands, staring at the screen. He couldn't lose another person this way; he had to do something…anything. He wracked his brain thinking of the name and number of someone who could possibly help.

It might be a call Ryan would be furious at him for making, but knowing his fragile state, Logan couldn't stand by and watch him destroy everything he'd worked toward in the past year.

"Dex, hi, it's Logan Silver. Ryan Matson's friend?"

"Yeah, hi."

Not the most welcoming of greetings, but Logan didn't need a best friend. He needed to find Ryan. Immediately.

"Uh…Ryan's in trouble. I was hoping you could help." He explained the situation.

Dex sucked in a sharp breath. "Shit. No, I have no clue where he could be. Ryan rarely comes to meetings. I've tried to encourage him, but he's pretty stubborn when he doesn't want to do something."

"True," Logan agreed. "But I thought he was attending regularly?" He'd even picked up Ryan a couple of times after meetings.

"No. If I see him once a month, that's a lot."

Dammit . If Ryan had lied to him about going to meetings, what else was he lying about?

Dex said, "As his sponsor, I've tried to encourage him to talk, suggested we meet for coffee, anything so I could understand him better, but as I'm sure you know, he keeps things pretty close to the vest."

"Fuck," Logan swore, knowing Dex told the truth. Ryan was the type to sit and observe but not speak. Logan could relate. He was the same.

"If he calls or comes to the next meeting, could you let me know?"

"I mean…" Dex seemed to hesitate. "I'm there for Ryan, not to report back to you. And the meetings are confidential."

"He's in trouble, Dex, and I'm afraid he might start using again. I just need to know he's all right."

"Sorry, Logan. Best I can do is try to talk to Ryan, gauge his state of mind and help him, however I can."

"Thanks." For nothing. Logan ended the call. Thinking hard, he searched his memory. There was another person at the meetings Ryan had mentioned talking to… He started pacing. What the fuck was his name? Eddie…Eric…no…Emerson. That was it. This Emerson had called Logan a month or so ago, when Ryan had left his phone behind in an AA meeting, and he'd stopped by the apartment to return it. Logan searched through old calls and found the number. Ryan had mentioned Emerson as someone he considered a friend. Emerson understood Ryan's situation. As a transplant from a small town upstate, he'd fallen prey to the temptation of the city. Ten years sober, he was an inspiration to Ryan, and Logan could understand their connection.

"Emerson? It's Logan. Logan Silver."

"Hi."

Logan shifted the phone to his other ear. "I'm calling about Ryan."

"Ryan?" His even-tempered voice turned wary. "What about him?"

"Ryan received notification from the State Bar that they're rejecting his reinstatement appeal. He'd been hoping that the time he's worked at the hotel, and especially after being promoted to maintenance supervisor, would show the committee he'd changed and could be trusted enough to get his license reinstated and practice again."

"Yeah, he was cautiously optimistic."

"I wasn't," Logan said flatly. "I had no desire to squash his dreams, but the reality is, he's never going to practice again. He has two felony counts on his record. That's about as impossible to come back from as death."

"Damn, that's rough. I hope you've been supportive."

"If I knew where he was, I would be. He's gone."

"Gone? What do you mean?"

"What don't you understand?" Logan snapped, on edge.

"I mean, maybe he went for a walk, or he's having dinner with a friend."

Logan restrained himself from throwing the phone across the room. "No. I was away and came home to an empty bottle. That was two days ago, and I've heard nothing from him. He hasn't been home and hasn't shown up for work. I gave them the excuse that he's got the flu, but fuck, I don't know where to go anymore. In between seeing my clients, I've been spending my time looking for him. I was hoping you might have some ideas."

"And you've tried calling him."

"Obviously." Logan's lips thinned. "He's either turned off his phone or sold it to buy drugs or booze." He slammed his fist on the bed. "I can't believe this. Everything he's worked for, all gone to shit."

"Maybe he just needs some time away to think. He could be staying with a friend."

"Ryan doesn't have any friends. Not anymore."

"Well, I'm his friend, so maybe you don't know as much about him as you think."

Logan thought for a moment. "No. I knew about you. When his shifts ended at work, he'd come straight home, and we'd stay in. On the weekends I'd make sure to be with him."

"Were you doing that because you wanted to be with him, or because you didn't trust him?"

Startled by the insightful question, Logan opened his mouth to argue but then decided it wasn't Emerson's fault he saw right through Logan's behavior. "Maybe a little of both," he admitted. "I mean…I was trying to protect him. It's a natural response. If we'd go out to dinner, he'd be surrounded by people drinking. Going out to clubs was way too much temptation, and frankly, that's not my scene. I was doing it to try and make it easier for him."

"Sometimes a friend thinks they're helping, but what they do is make the person feel as though they can't be without them or they'll fail."

"I'm hardly Ryan's savior."

"That's good, because Ryan doesn't need a savior. He needs someone to believe he can beat this, not a warden to lock him up in a room to keep out all the evils of the world."

"Okay," Logan snapped, his patience frayed to the breaking point. "I get it. I suck, and I was wrong. But right now, I have no idea where he is. He could be in an alley getting high, or he could be hurt…" The possibilities were too gruesome to dwell on.

"Where have you looked?"

"All the bars in midtown toward Hell's Kitchen and the river." He swallowed. "The Lincoln tunnel."

Emerson expelled a harsh breath. "That's where—"

"I know who's there and what goes on. But if he's pawned my watch and used the cash he stole from me to buy whatever shit he's putting into his body, he's going to need more money. Fast. And that's the quickest way."

"But he wasn't there."

Lightheaded from the worry twisting inside him, Logan pressed his fingers to his temple. "No. I showed his picture around, and no one had seen him. If you can think of anyplace else I should look, or if he's ever mentioned anything in your group sessions…I know they're confidential, but—"

"There's a meeting tonight."

A horrible-sounding laugh burst from him. "Yeah, I doubt it, but you never know. Maybe he'll think about what he's going to lose."

"You'd walk away from him when he needs people the most?"

"What Ryan needs is help. And now I see it's more than I can give him. I gotta go. If I find anything, I'll let you know." He ended the call.

In the shower, he stood with his head bowed and let the hot water beat down on his tired muscles. In the two days since he'd come home and found Ryan gone, he'd gotten little sleep, staying out till almost two a.m. both nights, haunting the seedy streets by the Lincoln tunnel, seeing more of the ugly underbelly of the city than he'd cared to imagine existed. It shocked and saddened him to see young men and women peddling their bodies, which made him redouble his efforts to find out if Ryan was on the walk. When no one recognized his picture, Logan had been relieved Ryan wasn't there, yet also scared that he was still out there, alone.

He dressed, knowing it would be another long night of searching a city that was proving once again to be a place where, if someone didn't want to be found, they wouldn't be. His apartment in Tribeca wasn't far from the Marquee. Knowing that club had always been a draw for Ryan, Logan set out into the night.

The scene when he walked through the front door was as he remembered—flashing lights, pounding music, and people. Lots of people. Something he detested. Sweaty faces and damp bodies pressed against him, and he recoiled. As he walked the perimeter, he scanned the people dancing, drinking, and slipping away to the nooks and shadowed corners.

Logan leaned on a post, that evening almost two years earlier washing over him, so fresh he could still smell Ryan's skin and taste his kisses. He closed his eyes, remembering. He'd never let himself go so spectacularly.

Was it his third Scotch or fourth? Who the fuck knew or cared? His father was dead, and he was alone. Even worse, he was lonely. Every lover was the same, every kiss was one of good-bye.

Nothing mattered.

He finished his drink while watching the dancers, Ryan Matson in particular. It was impossible not to notice him—he glittered like gold in a sea of darkness. The man had the face of an angel but a mouth of temptation and pure sin. Sweat glistened on his skin, and he gyrated in time to the pumping beat. For years he'd noticed Ryan at various bar association meetings and events or across the conference table when their firms had represented clients with competing interests. There had been times Logan lost his concentration, too busy focusing on Ryan's lush mouth and blue eyes with lashes so long, they touched his brows. Broad shoulders tapered to a lean, muscled body Logan wanted under him. Over him. He wanted to lick him everywhere.

Now there he was, in his direct line of sight, hips undulating, chest heaving. No longer married, now free for the taking. Wild desire spiraled through Logan, and his dick stiffened.

The song ended, and Ryan and his friends left the dance floor, passing by him. Logan put a hand on Ryan's shoulder.

"Want a drink?"

Hazy blue eyes met his, and Ryan brushed the sweaty blond hair off his brow. The smile he gave Logan was pure devilry.

"Yeah. You wanna buy it for me?"

Logan grabbed his hand, and they walked toward the bar, but halfway there, Logan pushed Ryan up against the wall and kissed him. Moaning, Ryan melted into him and sucked his tongue, rubbing up on him like a cat. Logan's control slipped, and he attacked Ryan's mouth, devouring his lips. He bit and licked, teeth clashing, tongues thrusting until Ryan broke free and lay gasping for air on his shoulder, fingers clutching at his waist.

"Fucking hell. Do it." His hands fumbled with Logan's belt.

"Not here," he growled. Nearly blind with lust, Logan had the sense to pull Ryan down the hall, where they passed other couples who had the same idea. Logan didn't care. He wanted Ryan, and he was going to have him.

In a corner, he pulled Ryan into the shadows and took his mouth in another brutal, possessive kiss. Hearing Ryan's groans and sighs of pleasure spurred him on, and before he knew what he was doing, Logan had his cock out and was unzipping Ryan's pants. He shoved his hand inside Ryan's briefs and caressed his hot dick from root to sticky tip.

"Yeah, do it, come on," Ryan urged, eyes gleaming, lips swollen, red and wet. "Fuck. Do it. Do it now."

Logan took their cocks in his hand and, with Ryan humping him, again plunged his tongue into Ryan's delicious mouth while rubbing their shafts hard and fast. This was going to be quick and dirty. Logan had no clue what had come over him, but he didn't care. Ryan writhed beneath him, and with his face flushed and gasping for air, he was beautiful as his climax hit.

"Oh, fuck me, oh yeah," Ryan choked out and came, spurting sticky liquid over his fingers, and Logan's orgasm burst through him a moment later. They remained pressed together, both of them trembling and breathless, Logan's lips pressed to Ryan's neck. He could've stayed there all night, but voices penetrated his postorgasmic bliss. Frantic at the thought of being caught with his dick out in public, he scrambled away from Ryan, wiped his hands on his shirt tail, and zipped up. Ryan watched him through hooded eyes.

"That was hot." His crooked smile was charming, and Logan had the urge to stroke his cheek.

Instead, he pointed at Ryan's still-open pants. "Better zip up."

Then he walked away.

"Hey, handsome." Logan blinked back to the present. Arms slid around his waist from behind, groping him, and he froze. "Wanna dance?" Hot, wet lips kissed his neck, and questing hands reached for his crotch. "Or we could go somewhere private."

Logan turned and grabbed the stranger's wrist. "Get your hands off me." His warning growl, famous at the law firm, would've set any first-year associate quaking in their shoes, but here, where people's blood beat hot with whatever cocktail—legal or not—they chose to indulge in, Logan's obvious displeasure was met with a laugh.

"Don't be like that." The man was around thirty, his eyes glittering like chips of malachite, catching all the colors of the flashing lights. His perfectly sculpted lips curved in a wicked grin, and he rubbed up on Logan, purring in his ear. "Come with me. Let's get high." His gaze flickered to Logan's hand, which still grasped his wrist. He lifted Logan's hand and licked it. "You like it rough? I wouldn't mind a little discipline from you…" He paused. "Daddy."

Logan didn't know whether to be disgusted or amused, but he released the man. "I'm not going anywhere with you. I'm looking for this man. Have you seen him?" He pulled up a picture of Ryan, and the guy shrugged and nodded.

"Yeah. He was here last night. We got high together. So what?"

At those words, bitterness stole a piece of Logan's soul. "Do you know if he's here tonight or planning to be?"

The man's lips thinned. "Do I look like his personal assistant?" His eyes narrowed. "You a cop? Why're you asking?"

Ignoring the man's question, Logan kept his eye on the entrance, but Pretty Boy was insistent, saying, "He was in pretty bad shape."

"He was? What do you mean?"

"What do you think? Guy was high as a fucking kite. Kept mumbling he was sorry." Pretty Boy shrugged.

"And you just walked away from him?"

"I'm not his fucking mother. If you care so much, why don't you know where he is?" He stalked away, disappearing into the sea of bodies.

For the rest of the night, until three a.m., Logan waited, but Ryan never showed up.