1 Chapter One

A sharp piercing light escaped through the partially closed drapes; Logan hissed at the pain as it attacked her sleepy vulnerable eyes.

Falling asleep on the sofa was never a good idea, so why did Logan persist in forgetting that she felt like shit after waking up on the cramped black leather couch, and her bed was far comfier. However, it was rare if she ever made it up to her bedroom; most nights were spent on the sofa to do that, she would have to walk up the stairs, and when half drunk and more dead to the world than alive, that was hard to achieve.

It was even worse than when she slept at the office; at least the sofa there was comfier, one day, she promised herself she would switch couches, and her office would get this hard offering of seating.

Logan stretched, groaning as her muscles ached, and her joints clicked loudly, grimacing at the feel of discomfort. Her eyes gazing around the room at the utter mess. She had to cancel the woman who came in once a week to clean because she simply couldn't afford it, and she had to cut down on certain expenses.

Work had been slow recently.

Too slow, the agency had turned into a tortoise.

Logan's eyes drifted to her cell phone, her eyes widening when she saw the lateness of the time. In a rush, she stood up and quickly advanced to the stairs but ended up on the floor howling holding her bare left foot in her hands.

When Logan looked up from her dramatics, she found her attacker. A lone Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle had escaped from his shelf above the tv. The brunette let out a chuckle and picked up the figure, placing him back on the shelf with his friends. "Try to be less problematic Michelangelo, please, there's a good boy."

She'd have to tidy when she returned home from work; Logan needed a shower, and Logan needed to leave for work so she couldn't be late, not again.

Rushing Logan leaped into the shower soothing the soap lather over her toned body. When she was done, she jumped out and dried, throwing on some jeans and a casual white shirt. Rolling her sleeves up to reveal her skull tattoo on her left forearm.

Starting at her wrist and ending at her elbow, it depicted a skull with butterflies; it was first black ink but occasionally held bits of color on the butterflies' parts.

Logan stared into the bathroom mirror, grimacing at the sight of her messy hair; the best part of having short hair was it dried easier. She'd deal with it when she got to the office, and it was adequately dry, so after brushing her teeth and performing her morning routine, Logan was down the stairs searching the narrow hallway for her shoes before slipping out the door.

The house sat in a cul de sac, a mini-estate that was situated behind a primary school. The school mornings were full of traffic from parents early getting their children to school, kids shouting filled the air with unrest, and whatever hangover Logan had gained was further agitated by their noise.

She'd been left the house in Flower, and Dean walk by her Grandfather as a gift for taking over his Private Investigator agency upon retirement.

Each house sat in a square, no home looking the same. It was like the architect had been drunk and had forgotten how he had designed the first houses. Some were long and slim, just like Logan's home, and others were short and fat.

None ever honestly looked alike.

It was indeed the result of a mad scientist.

In front of every front garden were flower beds of every description, small white daisies to decapitated sunflowers mourning their once glorious days reaching for the sun until the inevitable happened and the head fell off.

Logan had moved into the house after her break up, and she was left without a home. Roisin hadn't been keen on keeping her around the home they had bought together, not that Logan could blame her. The Private Investigator had not been in the best of places.

The empty space out front where her beloved motorbike once stood haunted her, she should have done more to save her baby, but that is what happens when you give a very bitter ex-wife the news her husband is marrying the younger woman he left her for. She'd taken her rage out on the poor bike.

Liam had to hold her back that day from killing the woman. Logan had been seething with rage to watch her beloved metal baby be attacked so brutally.

However, Logan had made sure the woman paid for the repairs, and a month later, her precious bike was still at the garage.

Logan's attention was distracted by the front door opening to the house across the street; every morning when someone chose to leave their home or stand outside for no apparent reason, Mrs. Button decided to open the door to claim something.

This morning it was her newspaper.

Mrs. Button was a woman in her mid-forties with short-cropped dark brown hair and eyes that would put the fear of God into the devil himself. Logan put her head down and pretended to be engorged in her cell phone.

"Hello." It didn't work; Mrs. Button was strolling towards her with purpose.

"Good morning," Lena replied, cursing her own stupidity for being late and having to endure this torture.

The older woman smiled that familiar smile that she leveled at Logan, and a few other ladies in the estate Logan had noticed. Still, she seemed cordial with her husband. Her eyes just wandered around a lot.

"Not sure what kind of day it's going to be today." The woman said, her eyes drifting down to Logan's chest.

Eyes up here, lady! "It's going to do what it's going to do. I have to get to work."

"Of course, stay safe now." The older woman called Logan hurriedly moved away.

"Yeah, sure, of course."

Luckily the office of the Luther Detective Agency was only five minutes away. Feeling for her wallet in her jeans pocket, happy she had remembered it, she'd need to have her caffeine fix so she could get into gear and look a little less zombie-like.

The usual morning crowd flooded the streets seeking out employment places like half-awake sluggish snails who staggered along the pavements with no real purpose, buses buzzed past loudly, and cab drivers made sure their horns bellowed loudly.

There were times when London really was the worst place to live; outside Starbucks, the line flooded outside the door and into the street. Logan groaned. She had no time to wait the five hours this required, and so with a heavy heart and full soulful hazel eyes, Logan passed the coffee store and headed straight to work.

The only bright side was the streets weren't awash with puddles anymore.

Logan pushed open the doors to the building her offices were located; her Grandfather had won them in a poker game twenty years before and used them for the only thing he was ever good at. Detecting crime. Only it turns out he found he would be searching for more cheating spouses and lost cats. The odd missing person there had never been any real crime.

While for Logan, trouble followed her everywhere.

But she liked her office; it opened out into a balcony that looked over London, it made her feel somewhat important when she stood there and surveyed those beneath her. The Thames looked so small that it was more like a piece of string than a river.

When the lost whales swam randomly into the river Thames Logan had watched with keen interest, her mind going wild with theories as to how and why they'd get lost.

It never helped most; poor creatures were doomed to be the victims of man's stupid greed and selfishness.

Stepping into the elevator, Logan waited the few minutes it took to land on her floor, bringing out her cell phone and checking her messages. Her mother was messaging her again.

Logan, dinner is at seven o'clock tomorrow. Your brother is coming with the children.

Logan rolled her hazel eyes; of course, Jackson was the good mommy's boy and attended the rehearsal dinner.

"Ah, Logan, you're here," Meena said as soon as the younger woman staggered through the doorway. Meena had been employed by Nick Luther the first day he opened the agency, and Logan had no desire to change that.

"I see the judgment in your eyes, I overslept okay," Logan said, holding her hands in the air. I was innocent, this time.

Meena rolled her eyes. "Your grandfather was never late; he said it was unprofessional."

"My Meena, that is a beautiful Sari you're wearing today." Logan smiled.

"Logan Luther, your charm does not work on me, young lady." Meena chastised the younger woman.

"Worth a try, and my Grandfather was only ever late for his many weddings." Logan shrugged. "Is Liam in yet?"

"No, he called; he's still sick," Meena replied. "Something about bumps."

"Of course he is, nothing to do with his internet girlfriend." Logan planted her hands on her hips.

"He's young and in love." Meena reminded Logan. "And you will be sensitive when he does come in, he has the first of his assessments in a few days."

Logan rolled her eyes. "I know that."

"So let him enjoy being young and in love," Meena replied.

"Normal people stick with people who have a time zone in common." Logan sarcastically replied. "Any messages?"

"Yes, your mother called to remind you about the wedding rehearsal tomorrow. Your brother called to remind you of the wedding rehearsal tomorrow, and your grandmother called to remind you about the wedding rehearsal tomorrow." Meena said nonchalantly.

Logan rolled her eyes. "Of course, I mean anything important."

"Roisin called." Meena raised an eyebrow as she waited.

"What the hell did she want?" Logan snapped. Also, tell me what she wants.

"She did not leave a message." Meena shrugged.

"What Was the point in calling then? what's with the woman today." Logan was not going to dwell on the woman's call; that never worked out well for Logan.

"She is your ex-wife Logan." Meena rolled her eyes.

"Exactly ex means we are legally required to not call each other." Logan sighed, taking out her cell phone and typing out something Meena couldn't see, but the secretary knew what it was. "Stupid woman has my cell phone number, and she's calling my work number."

Meena let out a knowing chuckle. "Yes, ex-wife indeed."

"Tell me about the chick coming in today," Logan said, pocketing her phone.

"Jennifer Steele is the chick as you call her; she is forty-five years old married to Larry; they have two daughters Camilla and Alice." Meena read from her computer screen. "She thinks her husband is up to no good."

"That old chestnut." Logan chuckled. "Remember the last one, I found him in a BDSM dungeon in a private club getting his ass whipped by a six-foot amazon in leather with a cat-o-nine-tails." Logan laughed. It had been funny at the time; the wife, however, had not been very impressed.

"They are devoted to each other," Meena said, defending the couple.

"Yeah, last time I heard that I found the husband shot in the back of the head, dead in his rose bushes," Logan said, amused.

"Huh?"

"Devoted wife shot him dead." Logan pointed to the secretary. "Devoted is a code word for, I'm going to kill you one day, but no one will suspect it."

"Oh, you're a pessimist."

"Nope, I am a realist." Logan smiled as brightly as she could at ridiculous o'clock in the morning.

"Coffee is on your desk," Meera called after the woman,

The sight of the tall, dark caffeine intoxicated coffee was too good to be true; the scene gently wafted through the air and drew Logan near.