Page 50 of When He Plays

Another chance for her to get eyes on her suspects. Another chance to capture the attention of the killer.

“Gonna tell me how the CIA came up with its suspect list?” Logan asked as he lounged beside her. He wore a tux that seemed to have been made just for him. Probably because it had been. No doubt, it was some mega expensive purchase. The tux stretched across his shoulders, hugged his body in all the best ways, and he looked like some kind of debonair James Bond type as he relaxed near her.

Meanwhile she was really James Bond. Or, Charlotte Bond.

Whatever.

“The suspect list?” Logan prompted. “Pretty sure Jezebel gave you permission to bring me in the loop at our last meeting. But, alas, I still feel very unlooped even as we journey for another dangerous rendezvous with your potential killers.”

He was right. Jezebel had done that very thing. Or, before she’d left Logan’s suite, she’d said that Charlotte could use her discretion to update Logan. That she could tell him need-to-know intel.

“How did you pick the individuals that you thought just might turn out to be sadistic killers? I am dying to know. Also, should I be offended or honored that I didn’t make the list?”

She raised her brows. “Are you a sadistic killer?”

“Well, I am a killer. Morris Hart is in a Vegas morgue. Detective Reece was back, dodging my steps earlier today. She certainly seemed suspicious of me.”

Yes, the Vegas detective had made an additional appearance. Meredith Reece had found out about the high stakes game that Logan had hosted, and she’d wanted a list of all players in attendance.

Logan had refused to give her that list.

In return, the detective had promised to come back with a warrant.

Good luck with that. Logan’s response.

“I’m a killer,” Logan said again, “so I guess the question is just…am I sadistic or not? Do I get off on giving pain to others? Is torture my drug of choice?”

“It’s not.” She leaned forward and peered through the side window. The invitation to this event had been delivered in person, straight to Logan.

A private party was being held on the other side of Vegas. A party hosted by Ares.

“You don’t think I’m into torture? Aw, come now. Maybe I get off on a little BDSM.”

Her head turned toward him. “You didn’t torture Morris. You defended yourself.”

“I defended you.”

Her hand flattened against the top of her thigh. The silk of her dress was incredibly soft against her palm. He’d gotten the dress for her. Gotten it in a blink. She had no idea where he’d purchased it, but the dress must have cost an incredible amount. It felt expensive. “As far as you being into BDSM, I don’t know your kink of choice. That’s your business.”

“I could imagine handcuffing you,” he mused. “But I would never want to give you any pain. Anything that involves hurting you? Count me out. Honestly, I’d just be down for some basic fucking. Me, you. Me in you.”

“Logan, seriously, you’ve got to⁠—”

“We’re going to be acting like lovers tonight, Charlotte. You have to get used to being with me. Sexual talk, sexual touches—they will happen. You’re good at your covers. You have to be good in order to succeed at the CIA.”

She was good. When the situation called for it, she could be a top-notch actress.

“I know you can fake wanting to fuck me. So do remember, that’s the game tonight.”

She didn’t have to fake it.

“Glad you didn’t bring the glasses,” he murmured. “That will make it easier when I don’t have to fight some jerk who tries to break them because he thinks you’re filming everything.”

She wasn’t wearing the glasses, and she wasn’t hooked up for filming or audio recording. The environment for the upcoming meeting was too unpredictable. The invitation had arrived at the last minute, and it had sent her scrambling.

Logan hadn’t wanted to accept.

She’d insisted. No way did she want to miss out on the opportunity for another up close look at her best suspects. “Why do you think Ares is inviting us to his penthouse tonight?”