CHAPTER 1

Logan groaned as he rolled over and looked at the numbers on his clock, glowing in the early morning darkness. "Why can’t I ever sleep *in*?"

The massive pewter-gray tomcat stretched out next to him stared at him in reproach, then yawned and went back to sleep.

"Why?" Logan demanded again. The alarm wasn’t set to go off until six but it didn’t matter. His body was a creature of habit and stubbornly insisted on waking up at the usual time, whether it actually needed to or not. He rolled onto his back and threw his forearm across his eyes, hoping, but not really expecting, to go back to sleep.

Ten minutes later, he gave up and threw the blankets back, dislodging the cat in the process. He rolled to a sitting position on the side of the bed and sat there for a few minutes, running his fingers through his short dark hair and close-cropped beard. "Ok, Hinx. We might as well get up," he informed the disgruntled feline.

He got up and stretched, then shuffled downstairs to the bathroom, trying not to trip over the cat expertly darting between his feet. "Hinx, cut it out," he ordered with a jaw-splitting yawn. "Knocking me down the stairs isn't going to get you fed any faster."

He flipped the switch on the bathroom wall, and blinked against the bright vanity lights. He really needed to put in lower-wattage bulbs, he thought, as he did every morning. Maybe he would put that on his list for the afternoon. He finished with business and pulled his robe from the hook on the back of the door, deciding it was still a bit nippy for the cotton pajama bottoms he was wearing. Enveloped in the thick navy robe, he headed for the kitchen area of his loft and the siren call of his coffee maker.

Reaching into the cupboard, he pulled a filter from the stack on the shelf, pressed it to the sides of the filter basket and filled it with three healthy scoops of Gevalia’s Breakfast Blend. He ought to invest in an automatic coffeemaker, too, he thought as he added water and pressed the start button. But he probably wouldn't, not until this one wore out.

Continuing mechanically with his morning routine, he switched on the radio, half-listening to NPR on his way to the front door for the daily newspapers. As he bent over to pick them up, he heard the faint jingling of metal tags against a studded collar.

"Morning, Joe," Logan said as he straightened, papers in hand. "Attila," he said acknowledging the German Shepherd at his neighbor's side.

"Good morning, Logan," the security guard replied as he picked up his own newspaper.

Even though Joe was coming in from a long night outdoors, Logan could still smell the faint musky scent of his drugstore cologne, now mixed with the nose-wrinkling aroma of wet dog. "Is it still raining?"

"No, it stopped a couple of hours ago. I don't mind the rain, though. It makes for a quiet night. I am ready for some shut eye, though," he added. "I hope that damn mouse doesn’t keep me awake today."

"That's a problem in these old buildings," Logan agreed. "You need to get a cat."

"Like yours?" Joe laughed as Hinx sauntered into the hall, sat down and began ostentatiously washing his face. "I don't think so. Attila is bad enough with Hinx across the hall. I don't think he could handle one like that sharing an apartment with him."

"You could start with a smaller one. And don’t even think about it," Logan added to Hinx as the 100-pound dog cowered against his owner's legs, his eyes never leaving the 20-pound cat. "Go back inside and leave that poor dog alone." He used his foot to gently push the cat back inside the apartment and Hinx uttered an indignant protest as he disappeared inside.

“See you in the morning, Logan," Joe said as he unlocked his door. "Come on, Attila. Let's get inside before the mean cat eats you."

Logan laughed. "See you in the morning, Joe. Have a good day."

"You, too," Joe replied as he pushed the door closed behind him.

"You should be ashamed of yourself," Logan admonished as he entered his own apartment. "Picking on a poor dog like that. No, don’t even try that innocent look with me. You’re a menace." Hinx meowed proudly and then brushed imperiously against Logan’s calf, as if demanding that he get to more important matters, like feeding the cat.

Logan went back to the kitchen, glancing over the headlines of the top newspaper as he walked, deftly dodging furniture without looking up and Hinx darted ahead to wait impatiently by his food bowl. the man continued his routine by dumping a cupful of dry food into the empty dish where the tomcat pounced on it as though he hadn’t eaten for days.

Logan flipped to the classified section of the paper and laid it on the kitchen island while he poured his first cup of coffee. He savored the potent brew as he reviewed the job listings, circling anything that looked like it might have possibility.

He had another cup of coffee and a bowl of cereal with the second newspaper, but it didn’t take long for him to eat and realize that the job offerings were as slim as always. Hell, they were almost skeletal. The demand for investment brokers had plummeted with the advent of online trading. With a sigh, he neatly folded the papers and set them aside for recycling before slotting his mug, bowl and spoon into the dishwasher and heading for the shower. Once showered and dressed in worn, faded jeans and a black, long-sleeved Henley, he poured himself another cup of coffee and headed for his workroom.

Unlike the open, airy living space in the main part of the loft and the spacious master bedroom upstairs, this room was small and confining, designed to encourage work. One wall was lined with ceiling-to-floor bookshelves, filled with a wide array of material on many subjects, both hardcover and paperback, fiction and non. Between his books and the Internet, much of his research material was right at his fingertips. More came from the public and university libraries, as evidenced by the neat piles of books stacked along the “L” of his oak desk. Next to them were the notebooks filled with his own personal research and observations.

At precisely 7:00, he opened his laptop and went directly to several stock sites to check on his accounts and do background checks on new possible investments. Hinx immediately jumped on the desk and lay down on the keyboard. "Move, Hinx," Logan ordered as he scooped the cat up and dropped him on the floor. "You know you can't lay there while I'm working."

Hinx promptly jumped back up and sat down next to the laptop, looking over the screen as if he were reading it. He apparently approved, for he batted at the cursor a couple of times, then laid down and went to sleep.

"Good thing you aren't choosing our investments," Logan said as he frowned at the first company on his list. The once promising stock had started a downward spiral that wasn't improving with time. "Loser," he decided and scratched the name of the company off his watch list. "We would have lost a lot of catfood on that one by now," he informed Hinx, glad he had listened to his gut and not invested.

He allowed himself an hour of stock time before he turned his attention from the black and white world of numbers to the creative venue of words. A few clicks later, he found and read what he had written the day before. He pursed his lips in concentration, made a few changes, and was finally satisfied - for the moment. He wondered if he would ever be 100% happy with anything he wrote. "You are your own worst critic," he informed himself, but fixing what he perceived as errors was far better than having them pointed out by someone else.

Satisfied with his latest changes, he launched into typing while the prior day's work was still fresh. Soon, he was engrossed in his work, all thoughts of the market and his lost career buried by the muse which, lately, had been much kinder than the investment world.

His fingers flew across the keyboard, almost of their own accord, as he channeled the thoughts in his head. He lost himself in his writing, rewriting and reworking, pausing occasionally to check a fact or do simple research; research that was in addition to the high-level facts he had both scribbled in notes and saved in electronic files on his computer. Several books from the nearby shelves covered his desk, now lying open to a particular chapter or page. He pulled another book from the stack and ran his finger down the index in the back, then flipped to the appropriate page. He leaned back in his chair, brow furrowed, as he concentrated on finding the information he was looking for.

As soon as Logan made his lap available, Hinx jumped onto his thighs, mashing his nose against the man's hand. Logan absently petted him with one hand while he held the book open with the other. The hum of the computer and the rumble of Hinx's purr were the only sounds in the room, the near-silence creating the atmosphere Logan needed to lose himself in his work.

A persistent buzzing finally broke through his concentration and he stared dazedly at the small alarm clock on the shelf above his desk. Eleven o’clock already? The morning had gone by fast but he had gotten a lot done. Some mornings were spent staring at an obstinately blank screen, not a good omen for his deadline. He made a few notes for the next day, saved and backed up his work and set the laptop to hibernate. Dumping Hinx on the floor, he stood up and stretched luxuriously, loosening muscles made stiff by their long inactivity.

Followed by the faithful cat, he went to find something to quiet his growling stomach. Happy to see sunshine flooding the loft when he entered the great room, he decided to take his lunch to the park. Dallas was often there at this time of day and Logan still wasn't sure that he was on the right track in his research. Maybe the young man could point him in the right direction.

As he spread lunch ingredients over the ceramic-tiled island, he congratulated himself again on the best investment he had made in a long time - his loft. The location was ideal for his work and he had pounced on the purchase when he found it. The turn-of-the-century warehouse had been all but abandoned before the owner had sold it to a brilliant young builder who made a fortune in renovating old buildings in low-rent districts.

The loft was smaller than his old house but he loved the clean lines and more casual layout. He had the great room, with its huge ceiling-to-floor windows, plus his workroom, guest room and bath on the main floor, while the loft overlooking the living room made an excellent bedroom for himself. Instead of carpet, he had opted for hardwood floors with a few small rugs scattered about that accented his comfortable leather furniture. He had grouped the few pieces of furniture in small islands and done away with a lot of clutter. It was more logical for one man living alone and much easier to manage without a cleaning lady.

He bagged his sandwich, chips and cookies and put them in his day pack along with the two books he was taking with him, put his utensils in the dishwasher, and got his list from under the magnet on the refrigerator. "Grocery store," he read out loud. "Another trip to the library, the post office and…" he tapped the edge of the bar as he thought about other errands he needed to run while he was out. Coming up empty, he added, "Nope, I think that will do it. Well, aside from picking Dallas’ brain a little."

He was looking forward to spending some time with the man he had grown to know in the local park. The young prostitute was able to answer most of the questions Logan had and if he couldn’t, he could almost always find out from friends. Dallas was a better source of research than any of the books lining the wall of his workroom.

Aside from the research, Logan enjoyed talking to Dallas. He had a love of reading that Logan found surprising for a man who hadn't completed high school and their discussions frequently ranged far beyond the research Logan was doing. He smiled as he wondered, not for the first time, if he sometimes used the research as a plausible excuse to talk to the captivating young blond.

Logan took a seat at his regular picnic table, enjoying the warm sunlight as he unpacked both books and his lunch. The sun had dried the concrete seat and tabletop and he laid aside the book for Dallas and read the other as he ate his sandwich and apple. When he had finished, he neatly packed up his trash and threw it away. Returning to the table, he looked at his watch and frowned. It wasn't like Dallas to be so late. He was as fond of routine as Logan was. He returned to his book, glancing around the park every few minutes, unwillingly distracted by Dallas’ absence. Five minutes became ten, then fifteen and he absently tapped his paperback against the table, thinking about what he should do.

A squirrel scampered past and paused hopefully, looking for a handout. "What the hell am I thinking?" he asked the small animal. "It’s none of my business where he is."

As he watched the startled squirrel scurry away, he was reminded of the first time he had met Dallas. He had seen the man around the neighborhood several times but had never spoken to him before. On that day, he had been eating lunch and reading as usual and, without thinking, had tossed his bread crusts to the squirrel waiting expectantly near his feet.

"You shouldn’t feed them, you know."

"I beg your pardon?" Logan asked the young man standing by his table. He tried not to stare at the lean, tan midriff peeking from under the cutoff t-shirt with its strategically placed slashes or at the lightly tanned shoulders and biceps exposed by the missing sleeves.

"You aren’t supposed to feed them,” the young man repeated, flicking his wheat-blond hair out of his eyes with a small shake of his head. “It teaches them to be dependent on humans."

"Sorry." Logan smiled. "They’re like my pets."

The man half-smiled as he said, "You should get a cat."

"I have one," Logan replied, "but he doesn't like bread crusts."

"Really? What's he like? What’s his name?"

"He’s a gray tomcat named Hinx. And I'm Logan." He held out his hand as he waited for the usual questions people asked when he gave the name of his cat.

To his surprise, the young man didn't assume he had said Minx or comment on how odd the name was or ask him to repeat it.

"Dallas," he replied, shaking hands. "Is he named after Sir Walter Scott's cat?" Despite his recent admonition, Dallas bent over to pick up a piece of bread and toss it closer to the squirrel. He wiped his hands off, brushing them against his tight blue jeans, and then finger-combed the hair where it had fallen into his eyes. His jeans were faded to very soft blue with a rip in the knee and some strategic fraying near the crotch which drew attention to a very nice package. Logan suspected that when he turned around there would be a nice rip that accentuated the curve of his butt, too.

"Yes, and I’m impressed,” Logan said, referring to more than just Dallas’s knowledge of Sir Walter Raleigh. “Most people don't know where the name came from."

"I read it somewhere," he replied simply, perching on the table and placing his sneakered feet on the bench. "I’ve seen you around."

"Yeah. I like to come here to relax. People watch."

"What are you reading?" Dallas tipped the book to read the title and raised one eyebrow. "Jack the Ripper? Should I be worried?"

Their friendship had taken off from there.

Glancing at his watch again, Logan decided to give up for the day. He had errands to run. Nevertheless, he found himself thinking about Dallas, watching for him as he walked to the library and post office and then to the grocery store and back. There wasn't any reason for the sense of foreboding, he assured himself. The man was allowed to miss a day in the park without someone calling the cops.

Back at the loft, he found himself still thinking of Dallas as he put away the milk and cereal, and again as he cleaned the bathroom and emptied the litterbox.

"What's the matter with me?" he asked Hinx, who was sitting on the counter supervising the refilling of his box. "Why am I obsessing about him just because he didn't show up at the park one afternoon? Maybe I need to get out of the house more. Maybe date more often. I could call Todd and see what he's doing tonight."

Hinx leaped from the counter to the litterbox, dug a hole and expressed his opinion of Todd.

"Fine, I get the idea. You don't like him. God, I must be senile, letting a cat choose my dates. He shook his head in disgust as the cat hopped from the litterbox, delicately shook each paw and then stalked into the kitchen. He followed along and obediently poured cat food into the empty bowl. "There's your dinner. I'm going out to get mine. Alone, since you don't seem to approve of my choice in men. I'll see you later. "

He put on his shoes, pulled on a lightweight leather jacket and headed outside. After a quick look around the deserted park as he passed it, he headed up the street a few blocks to a local Italian restaurant. Family-owned and operated, Mama Rosa's was warm and cheerful. The bell on the door jangled as Logan entered and Mama Rosa smiled broadly from her usual seat behind the register.

“Logan, so nice to see you,” she beamed.

“Mama.” Logan returned the greeting with a warm smile. “I needed a home-cooked meal and I knew you wouldn’t let me down.”

“You’re right about that,” she said, her Italian accent barely softened by twenty-plus years in America. “A couple just left your favorite table.”

She handed him a menu, even though he knew its contents as well as she did, and he made his way past the other patrons to his usual booth. He slipped into the seat, smoothing a wrinkle in the red-checked tablecloth and adjusting the candle in its warm red jar.

"Hey, Logan." A dark-haired young man set a basket of warm, crusty bread and a carafe of the house red on the table. "Would you like your usual or one of today's specials? We have Veal Parmigiana or Chicken and Gorgonzola Penne Pasta. Grandpa was in a good mood today."

"The veal, I think," Logan decided as he poured himself a glass of wine.

"Ok. I'll be back with your salad in a few minutes."

As he left, Logan glanced automatically at the wall to his left where a family portrait showed the young man in high school cap and gown, surrounded by beaming relatives. Similar portraits and paintings covered the other walls, showing off the Montini's children and grandchildren. If he looked around, he could see most of them in the flesh as well. The pretty young girl pictured in the prom dress was currently taking an order across the room while the Little League batter was clearing tables, and he knew that the two handsome men grinning over a giant swordfish were in the kitchen, creating delicious meals under their father's tutelage.

The restaurant was buzzing with activity and filled with the usual sounds of forks clinking against plates, ice bumping in glasses and dinner chatter. It didn’t take Logan long to finish off the salad Tony brought but he took his time over the veal, savoring it as he enjoyed the warmth and cheerful company. He did need to date more, he thought as he watched a couple leave, the man's hand resting possessively in the small of the woman's back. He was too much of a hermit these days.

Feeling a little melancholy, he finished off his wine and went to pay his check. Chatting with Mama and admiring the toddler perched on her knee returned him to his good mood and he whistled softly to himself as he headed for home. He glanced around occasionally, half-expecting Dallas to step from the shadows whenever a car slowed nearby. He didn't spot the errant young man, but he did see a street hooker that he knew fairly well. She was standing on the corner with a friend, enjoying a lively conversation as they kept an eye out for customers, and Logan impulsively approached them.

"Hi, Angel," he said to the blonde dressed in skintight black pants and a leopard-skin top that showed off an impressive amount of cleavage. “Have you seen Dallas today?"

Her friend, also blonde, answered first. "Hi, I'm Candy." She held out a hand, her seductive smile somewhat marred by the snapping gum. "Dallas isn't around but I can do anything he can. Better."

"Uh, no, thank you." Logan shook the offered hand and eyed the bright blue nails with interest, nails so long they were starting to curl like talons. "I'm looking for Dallas."

"But--"

"Forget it, Candy. He isn't interested." Angel said bluntly. "I haven't seen him since last night, Logan. He was waiting to be picked up by a client - for a party, I think. Maybe he's still sleeping it off."

"Do you know where he lives?"

"He has an apartment on Grant Street. The building that used to be a warehouse. You know the one I mean?

"Sure," Logan replied. The builder who had designed his loft had also created a number of low-income apartments a couple of blocks away. "Thanks. I appreciate it."

He walked on, torn by indecision, as Angel and Candy went back to their conversation. The logical move would be to go home. Dallas was probably sleeping it off, just as Angel had suggested, and he wouldn't appreciate Logan intruding or checking up on him. Or worse, he might take it as an invitation that Logan didn't intend to make.

Caught up in his mental argument, he didn't realize where his feet were taking him until a couple of teenagers pushing past him made him look up and he found himself standing in front of the building Angel had told him about.

"Excuse me," he called to a heavy-set, middle-aged man coming out of the building before he could change his mind. "Do you know if a guy named Dallas lives here?"

"No, sorry," the man replied shortly, ducking his head as he crossed the street.

Unsure whether to be disappointed or relieved, Logan turned toward home.

"Hey! You want to know about Dallas?" A girl of about 16, struggling with a toddler, an infant and two plastic bags of groceries, eyed him speculatively. "You a cop or a client?" she asked shrewdly.

"Neither one. I'm just a friend."

She looked him over again and came to a quick decision. "Here." She thrust the groceries at him. "Carry these in for me and I'll tell you where he lives."

Logan took the bag as she efficiently hitched the infant higher on her hip and grabbed the little boy's hand. "Don't eat that, Jimmy. It's dirty." Ignoring the anguished wail, she led the way into the building. "He's on the second floor," she told Logan as she opened the door to her apartment and pushed Jimmy inside. "Number 25. Thanks." She stepped inside, took the groceries from him and closed the door in his face.

Once again Logan hovered indecisively. It wasn't too late to go back home. But since he was already here... Finally, feeling like a fool, he took the stairs to the second floor.

Squinting in the dimly lit hallway, he strained to read the numbers on the doors as he passed them. Maybe he should offer them his vanity bulbs, he thought flippantly as he searched. 21... 23... 25 was the third door on the right, although the five swung upside down by a single nail in the bottom of the number, making the number look more like a deformed 22. He stood in front of the door, took a deep breath, and gave a tentative knock.

His tap on the door was met with silence and he knocked again. "Dallas? Are you there? It’s Logan," he called. No sound came from inside and Logan let out the breath he had been holding unconsciously. He was turning away when he thought he heard a low moan. "Dallas? Is that you?" he asked, turning back to the door. He reached out and tentatively turned the doorknob, not sure he was doing the right thing.

The door swung open easily and he peered inside. "Dallas?" The glow of the streetlight shining through the window clearly delineated the form lying sprawled across the floor. "My God, Dallas!" Logan groped for the light switch and flipped it up, flooding the room with light. "What happened to you?"