Page 132 of When He Plays

“I told you I was compiling evidence. Certainly didn’t have enough to get any sort of conviction, not on my own.” Not like the proof the CIA and Jezebel had been able to access. Future note—the CIA had some serious reach. “But I did learn that my father found out you were involved in a drug trade. A big distribution to the southern states. He didn’t like that, did he? He wanted out. Wanted away from you.”

“Logan, Logan, stop this.”

“My mother never worked for you. Honestly, I don’t think she ever liked you.” He could remember how his mother would tense whenever Freya came around. “What were my parents going to do? Were they threatening to go to the police?”

“I’m not telling you a word!” Freya snapped.

He nodded. Because she’d just confirmed the truth. “Instead of having your world crumble, you decided to destroy them. To make my world explode.” Something he would never forgive. I loved my parents. “Guess what, Freya? Your world is crumbling. You’re losing everything, and I have it on very good authority that you will spend the rest of your life behind bars. Hope you enjoy the new lifestyle. It’s going to be quite different from what you’re used to.”

Rage twisted her features.

But he was done. The past—over. Time to follow the advice he’d been given and focus on the future. He turned to Charlotte. “Ready to go, sweetheart?”

“Absolutely.” She took his hand and they walked away.

They were just about to exit the holding area when Charlotte snapped her fingers. “Oh, no. I think I forgot my bag.”

Logan frowned at her.

“Wait here, will you?” Charlotte flashed him a bright smile. “I’ll be right back.”

She hadn’t forgotten her bag. Not like a bag could be taken into holding. But Charlotte zipped away from him. She waved to the guards. To the cops. She made her way back to Freya’s holding cell.

The other woman was slumped on the cot.

“A final word, if you don’t mind,” Charlotte said, voice polite.

Freya’s head whipped up. “You.”

“Yes, it’s me.” Not so polite. “You killed his parents.”

“I’m not making some confession! This is preposterous! I’ll get out, I’ll⁠—”

“We have proof. Your first husband provided authorities with the murder weapon.” Something she’d learned on the way over for the meeting with Freya. “Not very smart to keep it. Except, I don’t think you even knew he had it, did you? You thought he’d gotten rid of it, but really, he hid it from you. Kept it as insurance. Sometimes, people do that. When they believe that, one day, they’ll have to save their own asses.”

Freya paled. “What do you want from me?”

“You took away people who mattered very much to Logan.”

“He’s fine. Grew up fine. I won’t cry for him⁠—”

“I don’t think you cry for anyone. That’s probably part of your problem. But I’m not here to talk to you about tears. I’m here so that you understand.”

“Understand what?”

“I will have eyes on you in the prison that will eventually become your home. I will make sure you are always watched. You will never get out. You will pay for what you did.”

“Why do you even care?” Spittle flew from Freya’s mouth. “You were just pretend! Some FBI agent or some undercover cop! You don’t care about him! Nothing was real with you!”

“You don’t know me. And as far as why, it’s simple. Nothing that involves me and Logan is pretend. He is mine. No one hurts what is mine.”

She heard the scrape of a shoe behind her. Charlotte whirled.

Logan stood there. Head tilted to the right. Eyes on her.

“Did you find your bag?” he asked her. All courteous.

Her tongue swiped over her lower lip. “I think it’s in the limo.”