Logan’s stomach clenched at the memories that assaulted him. Memories of a scared, skinny kid standing in a seedy bar just like this one. A kid coming to drag his drunken father home while his mother lay dying of cancer. Logan blinked to clear his vision, clouded by smoke and pain. He spotted Candi in a booth at the other end of the room and headed toward her, ignoring the belligerent looks thrown his way. In no mood for a bar fight, he avoided eye contact with the other patrons. Logan slid into a seat opposite Candi and she threw him a nervous smile. “I was afraid you wouldn’t make it,” she said. “You’re in trouble. I want to help.” He gave her a reassuring smile and glanced at his watch. He wanted and needed to be with Doriana. But he had a job to do. “Got a hot date later?” Candi said, arching an eyebrow. Logan laughed. “Hardly.” A waitress whose time-worn face still held some semblance of youthful beauty came over to take his drink order. “Ginger ale,” he said.
