“I’m sorry to startle you,” he said, drawing her out of her reverie.
Realizing her hand was still on her chest, she lowered it. “Oh, it’s not your fault. I was reviewing a report and must’ve been absorbed in it.” She felt her lips curve in response to his smile.
“I was here debriefing with the officers on site,” Logan said. “We were discussing new operating procedures in view of what happened the day before yesterday. I wanted to fill you in and see if there were any new developments on your end.”
She shook her head. “No. We’ve closed the file on that incident. Have the two women been charged?”
“Oh, yeah!” He gave her that appealing smile. “So do you have a few minutes or do you need to get back to your report?”
She glanced at her watch.
“We can do it some other time,” he suggested. “If you’re busy right now.”
Ariana realized she didn’t want him to go, and it wasn’t just professional curiosity as to what the SDPD’s new procedures were. “No, that’s okay. I’m ready to call it a day. Come in.”
Logan dropped his arm and took a step forward, but paused, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Since you’re calling it a day, why don’t we get out of here? I’ll buy you a coffee or, better yet, a drink. We could probably both use one.”
Ariana was about to agree. Then his conversation with his girlfriend, Becca, came to mind. She opened her mouth to decline.
“We can discuss the procedures,” he said quickly before she could respond, and cast his gaze around her small, sparsely furnished office. “But in a more comfortable environment. If you don’t already have plans, I’ll throw in dinner to sweeten the pot.”
There was that smile again. Ariana laughed. “No need for dinner, but okay to getting out of here.” It was going to be a business discussion, that’s all. She routinely had coffee or lunch with men in the course of her duties—her profession was male-dominated. Why would it be any different with Logan? Whether he had a girlfriend or not was irrelevant. The butterflies in her stomach aside, it was going to be nothing more than business. “Let’s go have a coffee,” she said.
BY THE TIME they reached Ariana’s car, Logan had somehow convinced her to have a drink with him instead. He suggested Buster’s Beach House Bar.
Ariana had never been there, but Logan must have frequented the place, if the number of people who said hello or had a quick word with him were any indication.
He motioned for her to precede him to the back of the room, and she slid into a corner booth. A waitress appeared almost before he sat down.
“Hey, Carly,” Logan greeted her.
“Good to see you, Jagger. The usual?” she asked and gave him a flirtatious smile. It made Ariana wonder about the relationship Logan and the waitress had. She felt guilty about her curiosity as soon as Carly turned an equally warm and welcoming smile on her. “And for you?”
Ariana found herself smiling back. “What’s his usual?”
“Corona, with a slice of lime, straight from the bottle.”
“I’ll have the same but with a glass. Thanks.”
“Sure thing,” Carly said, placing two cardboard coasters on the scarred wooden table.
“I was wrong,” Logan said after Carly left.
“Wrong about what?”
“I would’ve bet a month’s salary that you’d be a wine drinker. A white—smooth and well-chilled.”
Ariana laughed. “You’re not wrong. I’ve been known to have a glass of chardonnay or sauvignon blanc now and again. Working in the field that I do, beer has become an acquired taste. Hanging around so many men, I’ve learned to enjoy a frosty glass of Corona as much as a glass of wine. So, tell me, how’d you get the nickname Jagger?”
Logan cleared his throat and his eyes darted around the room. He seemed uncomfortable with her question and appeared relieved when the waitress returned.
“Appreciate it, Carly,” he said, when she placed the bottles and glass, along with a small bowl of nuts, in front of them.
“I like adaptability in a person,” he said with a chuckle when they were alone again, gesturing to her beer.
Obviously he wanted to change the subject.
He raised his bottle and clinked it to Ariana’s glass, then took a long, slow sip. “What made you choose security as a career?” he asked.
“I thought you wanted to discuss your new procedures.”
“I do. It doesn’t mean we can’t get to know each other a little first. With Brody gone, we’re likely to be working together again.” He flashed her a smile.
Ariana placed her glass back on the coaster, reached for a candied nut, popped it in her mouth. Okay, they could play it his way. She was curious about him, too. “It matters to me to make a difference. Keeping people safe is important.”
“And why the airport?”
She tilted her head. “I’ve been fascinated by airplanes since I was a kid. My father was an engineer. He went to school in England, where his father was from. I learned about mechanics and laws of physics from an early age, but to this day I remain in awe of the fact that we can get a nearly four-hundred-thousand-pound, one-hundred-and-fifty-or sixty-foot wingspan piece of machinery, loaded with people and cargo, into the air, and it stays there over great distances.” She laughed. “Silly, I know, but flying fascinates me.”
“I never thought of it that way.” He watched her for a few moments. “If you don’t mind me saying, you don’t look British.”
“My grandfather was English. My grandmother, Brazilian.”
His long, contemplative gaze caused all sorts of odd sensations inside her.
“That explains it,” he said, and surprised her by touching the back of her hand. “And it explains the color of your hair. But where does the eye color come from? Your father?”
She chuckled. “My mother’s side. She’s blonde and blue-eyed, as mostly everyone is on her side of the family. American for generations, but her ancestry is Swedish.”
“That’s an interesting combination. Do your parents live in California?”
“No. They moved back to England a couple of years ago. Enough about me,” she interjected before he could ask her more questions. She didn’t want him digging any deeper, even though she found it effortless to talk to him. “What about you? Why did you become a cop?”
“I wanted to make a difference,” he said with an easy smile, echoing her own words. “I wanted to contribute in a positive way to people’s lives. And it runs in my family. Both my father and grandfather were lifers on the job. My father was the chief of police for Burbank.”
She thought his eyes were clouded with sorrow for a moment.
“My parents, my mother in particular, might have wanted for a different career for me,” he continued. “Maybe a doctor or a lawyer, but that wasn’t happening. I wanted to be a cop as far back as I can remember.”
His comment made her think of her own childhood dream of becoming a police officer, but she pushed it aside. “If you’re from Burbank, what brought you to San Diego?”
He raised a shoulder, let it drop again. “My dad was a hero. A figure larger than life. As much as I loved and admired him, I didn’t want to live in his shadow.