Explosive Engagement

“You’re not going to kill him,” she said with a meaningful glare at both of her brothers. “We are not going to ruin our father’s funeral.”

And that was the only reason that she wouldn’t let them kill him here—in the dark church with its dingy stained-glass windows and scratched up tile floor. It wasn’t as pretty and bright as the church he’d just left—the one his mother had bought and turned into a wedding chapel and reception hall.

“You don’t think he’s ruining it,” one of the brothers asked, “by showing up here in a freaking tuxedo?”

Regret flashed through Logan, but he’d been so damn angry—and with damn good reason—that he hadn’t considered how he was dressed before he’d rushed over from one church to another. “Sorry, I didn’t have a chance to change between my brother’s wedding and getting shot at.”

“If you were shot at during your brother’s wedding, maybe it had something to do with him or his bride,” she said. “Why do you automatically assume it had anything to do with me or my family?”

“Because it did,” he said with total certainty.

She shook her head. “We can’t be the only enemies you’ve ever made.”

Probably not, but he wasn’t about to admit that to her. “Usually people appreciate what I do for them.”

“You expect us to appreciate you keeping our father in prison?” she asked, her gray eyes widening with shock and outrage.

“Let me kill him,” one of the brothers pleaded with her.

She was younger than them, but she was definitely the one calling the shots, literally, in the Kozminski family. She stared at her father’s body lying in the bronze casket and shook her head. “Not here, Garek.”

Not “no,” just “not here.”

“And you wonder why I think it’s you behind the attempts on my life...”

“Attempts?” she repeated.

The one she’d called Garek laughed. “And there’s your proof that it’s not us,” he said. “We wouldn’t have had to try more than once to kill you.”

“I own a security firm,” he reminded them. “I will not be easy to kill.”

“I don’t know...” the other brother, Milek, mused as he walked around Logan. “You showed up here alone.”

“He’s not alone,” a deep voice very much like his own announced from the back of the church.

Of course Parker would have figured out where he’d gone. But he hadn’t come alone, either. Their little sister had tagged along like she always had when they were kids. She hadn’t outgrown that annoying habit yet. Fortunately, one of Payne Protection Agency’s most loyal employees had come along, too. Candace Baker stood next to Parker, her hand beneath her jacket, probably on her holster.

Instead of being grateful for the backup, Logan was incredibly annoyed with the interference. And the doubt. He could take care of himself and them, and he had proven that again and again.

“What the hell are all of you doing here?” he demanded to know.

“Mom sent us,” his twin replied.

“Of course she did.” Their mother had a problem remembering that he ran Payne Protection—not her. Logan had overlooked her interference when it had involved her matchmaking his brother with his new bride. But he didn’t want her interfering in his life. “She had no right...”

“That didn’t stop you,” Stacy bitterly remarked.

“I had no right to what, dear?” Penny Payne asked as she joined them in the church. Unlike him and Parker who wore the wedding tuxedos, she’d changed from her bronze-colored mother-of-the-bride gown into a black dress. She hadn’t been on the steps to see off Cooper and Tanya. She must have been changing then—as if she’d always intended to attend the funeral of the man who’d murdered her husband.

“Why are you here, Mom?” he asked. He doubted he would ever understand her, but neither had his father. It hadn’t stopped Nicholas Payne from loving her, though. And it wouldn’t stop Logan, either, unless he wound up like his father: dead at the hands of a Kozminski.

Out of respect for Mrs. Payne, Stacy motioned her brothers back, but they were already stepping away from Logan. They wouldn’t touch him now—not in front of his mother. She couldn’t promise they wouldn’t exact some revenge later.

Even now she wondered...

Could one of them have fired those shots at the wedding? Her heart pounded heavily with dread and fear. She couldn’t lose one of them like she’d lost her father—to prison. They had both already spent too much time behind bars.

And she couldn’t lose Logan Payne, either. Not for herself. She didn’t care about him. But his mother loved him. And it would kill her to lose a child like she’d lost her husband.

Mrs. Payne swung her hand toward that child’s face. His reflexes weren’t fast enough to stop her palm from connecting with his cheek. It wasn’t quite a slap but a very forceful pat. “Why are you here?” she asked him.

“You must have heard the gunshots outside the church,” he replied. “Somebody tried to kill me again.”

Her hand trembled against his cheek, and she sucked in a shaky breath before asking, “Again?”

He groaned as if in regret at his slip or embarrassment of her concern. “Mom...”

Stacy’s lips twitched at how close Logan Payne came to sounding like a petulant child. Even when he’d been a child of just seventeen at her father’s trial, he had already seemed like a man. Strong. Intimidating. Independent.

“You don’t need to be concerned,” he assured his mother. “I’m putting a stop to it now. That’s why I’m here.”

“How is coming here putting a stop to anything?” Mrs. Payne asked, her usually smooth brow furrowed with confusion.

“You know how,” he said.

“No, I don’t.” She shook her head.

“It’s one of them,” he insisted, but his gaze focused on Stacy.

“I don’t understand,” his mother continued. “Did you see one of them with the gun?”

Logan shook his head now.

“Then you have no business coming here today of all days,” she said, “unless you’ve come to express your condolences and pay your respects.”

“Is that why you’re here?” he asked, his deep voice vibrating with betrayal. “Are you here to pay your respects to the man who killed your husband...who killed my father?”

Stacy’s heart lurched with the pain in his voice. He was wrong about who’d taken his dad, but he’d still lost him, even sooner than she’d lost hers. At least she had been able to see her father the past fifteen years even though it had been behind bars.

“I am here for Stacy,” Mrs. Payne replied, and her arm came around Stacy’s shoulders.

She’d tried so hard to be strong—to be tough like her brothers and like Logan. But Mrs. Payne’s warmth and affection crumbled the wall she’d built around herself so many years ago. Her shoulders began to shake like her knees had earlier.

“Is it okay with you that I’m here?” Mrs. Payne asked. “If it’s too difficult, we’ll all leave...”

“That would be best,” a woman chimed in.

Stacy glanced up to see her aunt and uncle walking down the aisle toward them. Aunt Marta was tall and thin with frosted blond hair and a frosty personality. Uncle Iwan’s hair had thinned while his body had widened. He was a big, imposing man, but he smiled at her. Aunt Marta glared. That look wasn’t meant for Mrs. Payne but for Stacy. She’d been on the receiving end of it many times, but she was not yet immune to the coldness and shivered.