Chapter Eight

LOGAN

It had been over two months since he'd last seen Ryan, and though he'd returned to work full-time, Logan hadn't stopped thinking about him. That one text he'd received from Ryan more than a month ago, saying he was alive, did little to soothe his worries. Yes, he was happy Ryan had contacted him, but it was like tasting a delicious dish only to have it snatched away. Where was he? What was he doing to survive? Logan had questions.

He'd always known it was possible to fade into the blackness of the city—after all, eight million people and a maze of buildings, houses, and subway tunnels made it a veritable treasure trove of hiding places.

Not one to be put off, Logan decided to show up at the church again and wait for the AA meeting to end. A long shot for sure, but what else did he have these days? His inability to help Ryan gnawed at his bones. When the meeting broke, he scanned the faces of the men and women exiting the building. He spied Emerson and stepped in his path.

"Hi, Emerson."

The man's brows flew up, and a flush crept over his cheeks. "Uh, h-hi. Logan, right?"

"Yeah." Not that he gave a shit, but Emerson appeared to be the type to pee in his pants if he became too agitated. Logan could be nice. If he tried hard enough. "I went to your apartment to talk to you a few weeks ago, but you weren't there."

"I-I was away."

Something seemed off, but he couldn't put his finger on it. Yet. Maybe if he talked to Emerson long enough, he'd find out.

"How have you been?"

"F-fine. I guess." He blinked. "Uh, Ryan wasn't at the meeting." Emerson was as nervous and jumpy as a deer caught in headlights.

"I know. I was hoping you and I could talk. You know, maybe put our heads together."

"I-I don't know. I have to be somewhere…" Emerson fumbled with his jacket sleeve, as if to look at a watch, but Logan put a hand on his arm.

"Please. I could really use your help." He gazed deep into Emerson's eyes and smiled. "Please."

He heard the sharp intake of Emerson's breath. Logan had zero remorse for using the weapons in his arsenal, in this case flirting and charisma, to get what or whom he wanted.

Ryan.

"Okay." Emerson nodded, and Logan took his arm. Damp heat radiated from Emerson, and Logan forced himself not to grimace.

"How about the Smyth across the street?" He waited, and Emerson blinked rapidly.

"Y-yeah. Sure."

They were seated, and Emerson removed his jacket. Patches of sweat stained his armpits. Logan continued to stare at him, and Emerson shifted in his chair, clearly uneasy being his bug under the microscope.

"You're a good person, Emerson. I can tell."

"I don't know about that."

"I do. You're kind and caring. I know you're concerned about Ryan."

The server came by, and Emerson ducked his head. "Just a soda—Coke, please."

"I'll have a club soda," Logan added.

"You don't have to abstain because of me."

"I don't want to make you uncomfortable. How about something to eat? It's late, and you must be hungry."

"Thank you, but I can't. It's one of the nights I'm on the help line at the center. My roommate makes us dinner when we get home." Emerson shrugged. He drank more of his soda.

Logan peered at him through lowered lashes and decided to press.

"Tell me about the center you work at."

Interestingly enough, Emerson avoided the question with one of his own. "Have you heard from Ryan at all?"

That took Logan by surprise. "I got a brief text a few weeks back, which didn't tell me much, so I'm still worried. Have you?" he asked pointedly.

"Uh, no. Maybe he's left the city. You know, new life and all that." Finished with his soda, he crunched the leftover ice cubes. "I should really get going."

"To your help line?"

"Uh, yeah. It's in Brooklyn, and it takes a while to get there."

That triggered a memory of him sitting in this very same hotel bar with a doctor…Logan couldn't remember his name but did recall he was a former model. He had his card in his wallet. The man was a psychologist who worked at a center where they helped people. Parts of the puzzle began to click, but he needed more.

"Why do you think Ryan's left the city?" Logan wondered if Emerson was deliberately hiding something from him. "Did you hear something?" An almost frightened expression crossed Emerson's face, and Logan, never one to be denied, went for the kill. "Tell me."

Emerson's brows flew up, and he stuttered, "N-no, just that, I mean…it's been a while, and if he wanted you to know where he was…wouldn't he tell you?" He jumped out of his seat. "I have to go," he flung over his shoulder as he fled.

Unwilling to wait for the server to get their check, Logan tossed out a few bills to more than cover the cost plus a hefty tip, and followed Emerson. He watched the man get into a cab, and he grabbed one of his own from the line of taxis waiting outside.

"Follow that cab. He's going to Brooklyn."

"I don't like going to Brooklyn," the cabbie grumbled.

"Ask me if I care. Just drive and don't lose him. There's an extra hundred off the meter for you."

"Yeah?" The cabbie met his eyes. "Okay. I follow."

"I bet you like Brooklyn now." Logan's smile was grim, and he settled into the seat. With the usual bridge traffic, it took almost half an hour to arrive at…

"Where the fuck are we?" Logan muttered as he peered out of the windows.

"Red Hook. Not so good around here. Don't take out your money. Except for the hundred you owe me. See? Whoever you were following got out of the cab. He's going into that building." He held out his hand.

Logan gave him the fare plus the extra hundred. "Thanks."

"No problem."

He watched the cab speed away, then walked to the building. Home Away From Home Clinic . Color him intrigued. Logan pushed open the door and walked inside. A man in his late forties, in a button-down and slacks, glanced up from the front desk. His brow furrowed, but from behind his glasses, his eyes looked kind.

"Can I help you?"

Damn . What the hell was he supposed to say? "I, uh, I heard there was a help line, and—"

"Do you need help?"

The weight of grief and guilt sat heavily on his shoulders, and to his horror, his throat tightened and he could barely respond. "I'm not…no. But I know…" He put a hand to his eyes and gave the man his back.

Fucking hell. Would it ever stop hurting?

The man came from behind the desk and put a hand on his shoulder. "Come sit."

Like a child, Logan allowed himself to be led to the row of chairs in the waiting room and sat. "I'm sorry. I'm not usually this emotional."

The man's smile was gentle. "You can be anything you like here. I'm Dr. Tash Weber, one of the psychiatrists here at the center. Did you come because you're in crisis? Do you need help?"

Logan barked out a pitiful laugh. "Don't we all?" He shook off the doctor's hand. "I'm fine, thanks. Really." At Weber's dubious expression, he offered, "I've had people close to me suffer from addiction problems."

"I can see that it's affected you as well."

"From only a few sentences?" The words tumbled out before Logan realized what he'd said. Embarrassed, he ran a hand through his hair. "I'm sorry. I didn't come here to talk about me."

"Don't apologize. Do you have anyone you can talk to—a therapist or a doctor?"

"No," Logan said abruptly. "Like I told you, I'm not here about me."

"I see." Weber gazed at him, eyes serious and thoughtful, but Logan felt probed to his soul. He squirmed a bit, a foreign concept to him. "Why are you here, then?"

He had to think fast because he couldn't come out and say, Well, I suspected that someone who ran away from me might work here, so I followed his friend from their addiction recovery meeting.

That didn't sound creepy or stalkerish at all, did it?

Surprisingly enough, Weber's calm presence had him revealing far more than he'd intended. Maybe he sensed the doctor was the nonjudgmental type.

"A little over two months ago, a friend who was living in my apartment received bad news that caused him to fall off the wagon. He then ran away, and I haven't heard from him since. I'm very worried for his safety. I've looked for him everywhere, but with no luck."

Weber gazed at him steadily. "I'm sorry to hear that. But I'm still not seeing the connection."

Logan figured he had nothing left to lose. "I know he and Emerson are friendly, so I followed Emerson here, hoping…I don't know what. Hoping maybe Ryan was here. But I guess that's a ridiculous assumption." He stood. "I'm sorry to have wasted your time."

Something subtle shifted in Weber's face. Maybe someone less perceptive wouldn't have noticed, but Logan did.

"No, not ridiculous at all. When we're desperate enough, we'll look for any clue. Most people connected with the clinic have suffered some kind of sexual or emotional abuse or addiction, so it was a natural assumption. I'm sorry we couldn't help you." Weber rose to his feet.

Sensing Weber itched for him to leave, Logan tried to drag his feet. He wanted to delve deeper into this shift of attitude. "I spoke to a doctor from here. I think I have his card." He dug out his wallet. "Yeah. Noah Strauss."

Weber's face brightened. "Yes. Noah works on the help line. Along with his husband, Oren."

"The lawyer."

"Yes. Do you know him?"

"We've never met, but I know the firm he works for."

"Ash, then."

"Our firms have done business over the years. Divorce, contracts…that sort of thing."

A cool wind blew inside as someone entered the building.

"Logan Silver, to what do we owe the honor and pleasure? Did you decide to cross the bridge to personally talk to me about case we're going to be working on together ? Must be a big fish to get you all the way out here."

Ash Davis's slight Southern drawl drew his attention away from Weber. Ash leaned his broad frame against the doorway, and Logan's lips twitched.

"Hello, Ash. No, that's not why I'm here. I'd hoped maybe someone I knew worked here, but it was a silly thought."

Weber extended his hand to Logan. "It was nice to talk to you. Don't be a stranger." They shook, and then, to Logan's surprise, Weber hugged Ash. "See you this weekend? Brandon wants to have all of you over at the house for brunch."

Ash's frown lines smoothed out. "We'll be there."

Dr. Weber disappeared down the hall, leaving Logan alone with Ash, and that silvery gaze pierced him as Ash strode closer and sat by his side. "Care to tell me who you think you might know who maybe works here?"