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 amusent 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 this: why ? Of all the people at work, why approach about those murder cases?"

Logan’s gaze drops, his fingers tracing patterns on the rumpled sheets. "Your na was given to . As soone 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 lts my anger almost imdiately, 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 sothing against ?"

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

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

"I knew before we t," he interrupts, his voice tight. "But seeing you again... it took 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 sohow?"

Logan’s silence speaks volus.

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

"No. Nothing like that." He sits up, pulling 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."

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 et 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 mber."

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

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

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

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

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

"But why ?"

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

My stomach drops.

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

He arches a brow in silent invitation for to continue.

"Do you rember 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 apartnt one night. To talk to ."

Logan’s reaction is imdiate 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 , 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 things. About myself. Things I didn’t understand."

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

"He called 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 an sothing to you?"

He doesn’t answer imdiately, 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 ?" I sit up a little straighter, rolling my shoulders back. My voice goes dangerously soft. "You can’t tell ? When this is literally about ? 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 .

"If you wanted to tell , you would."

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