Pheromonal: One Night With the Alpha-Chapter 66: Talking it Out

"Explain. Now." I fix Logan with a steely glare, my patience wearing thin.

Logan’s jaw clenches. "There’s only so much I can say."

"Try harder." I cross my arms, acutely aware of my nakedness but refusing to let it diminish my determination. "Let’s start simple. Are you rich?"

A flicker of amusement crosses his face. "My family is."

The way he says it, like he’s distancing himself, piques my curiosity. But I file that away for later. "Okay, fine. Then tell me this: why me? Of all the people at work, why approach me about those murder cases?"

Logan’s gaze drops, his fingers tracing patterns on the rumpled sheets. "Your name was given to me. As someone to... keep an eye on."

Ice floods my veins. "What?"

His eyes snap back to mine, earnest and pleading. "I swear, I had no idea who you were that night at the bar. None."

I want to be furious, but the raw honesty in his expression melts my anger almost immediately, even if... Well, it would be a lie to say I’m okay.

I’m reeling.

But I’m not angry.

"Okay."

Relief washes over his features, but I’m not done.

"This faction that’s so invested in you—do they have something against me?"

"No!" The vehemence in his voice startles me. "It’s not about you, exactly. It’s more... who you’re connected to."

My mind races, piecing together fragments of information. A horrible suspicion takes root. "Logan," I say slowly, "did you know about my relationship with Scott because of something he said, or—"

"I knew before we met," he interrupts, his voice tight. "But seeing you again... it took me a bit to put it all together. I was... distracted."

The intensity in his gaze leaves no doubt as to what—or who—distracted him. Despite everything, a flush of heat crawls up my neck.

I shake my head, trying to clear it. "So, what? Scott was involved with these people somehow?"

Logan’s silence speaks volumes.

"Jesus." I scrub a hand over my face. "Was anything in my life real? Was I getting married to some sort of mafia boss?"

"No. Nothing like that." He sits up, pulling me into his arms, and I let him. "Look, it’s not as terrible as you think. We weren’t looking into Scott. We were looking into his family." fɾēewebnσveℓ.com

Sighing, I wrap my arms around his waist. "So—these murders. They’re his family?"

"No."

I groan. "This doesn’t make sense."

"There are two separate cases. There are the ones revolving around you, and then there are other ones that have nothing to do with you. That’s the best I’ve figured out, anyway."

I sigh, feeling as if everything’s just turning my brain into a pretzel. "Was there ever really a mole?"

Logan’s eyes meet mine, a flicker of guilt passing through them. "No. There wasn’t."

My stomach drops. "So that was all just... what? A ruse?"

"An attempt to see if Scott was involved in the murders." Logan’s voice is low, almost apologetic. "We needed to gauge his reaction, see if he’d slip up and run to his... family member."

I pull away from him, needing space to process. His nearness makes my brain slower. "And the names I was given? All those files with Scott’s name plastered all over them?"

Logan rubs his jaw. "That’s where things get... complicated. Those files, those names—they have nothing to do with our original case."

That makes sense, actually. "But then why would I be given those names?"

"They have everything to do with you, Nicole."

I feel a chill run down my spine despite the warmth of the room.

"But why me?"

Logan’s gaze is intense, searching. "That’s what I’ve been trying to figure out. There’s something about you, Nicole. Something that’s caught the attention of some very powerful people. It isn’t easy to get to Jonathan Fernsby."

My stomach drops.

"Okay. Well, since we’re spilling some beans together, I have something to tell you."

He arches a brow in silent invitation for me to continue.

"Do you remember when I told you about the panther shifter? The one from the mountain, that totaled my car? The one you couldn’t find, and then killed Officer Nancy?"

He nods. "Of course."

I take a deep breath, steeling myself. "He broke into Penelope’s apartment one night. To talk to me."

Logan’s reaction is immediate and visceral. His eyes flash with a dangerous light, a low growl rumbling in his chest. "He did what?"

"Broke in. To talk." I repeat, watching the anger build in Logan’s expression. "He didn’t hurt me, but—"

"That doesn’t matter," Logan snarls, his hands clenching into fists. "He had no right. No right at all."

I reach out, placing a hand on his arm. The muscles beneath my fingers are taut with tension. "Logan, calm down. I’m fine. We’re fine."

He takes a deep breath, visibly trying to rein in his anger. "What did he want?"

I hesitate, unsure how to explain the bizarre conversation. "He told me things. About myself. Things I didn’t understand."

Logan’s eyes narrow. "What kind of things?"

"He called me a Catalyst." The word feels strange on my tongue. It’s important to him, whatever it is, but I still don’t understand why.

Logan goes very still, his expression unreadable. "A Catalyst?"

I nod. "Does that mean something to you?"

He doesn’t answer immediately, his gaze distant as if he’s piecing together a complex puzzle. "I see."

"You see what?"

He grimaces. "I can’t tell you."

"Excuse me?" I sit up a little straighter, rolling my shoulders back. My voice goes dangerously soft. "You can’t tell me? When this is literally about me? About my life and my safety?"

Holding up his hands in defense, he clarifies, "I want to tell you, but I can’t tell you." His left eyelid flickers, like he’s trying to wink at me.

"If you wanted to tell me, you would."

"I want to say something, but I can’t," he stresses, his left eyelid flickering even faster. Then he coughs.