Her Temporary Bodyguard

(Part 2) Chapter One

"Hey, it's me. Man, I wish you'd answer your damn phone. Look, you have to find Tara. I can't explain right now, but you have to find her. Keep her safe. I -- I gotta go. I'll call when I can."

Listening to the voicemail for the hundredth time did little more than further aggravate Logan. He kept hoping that he'd hear something new each time he listened to the edgy panic in Jason's words. He wished he hadn't missed the call. Then he could have told his friend to find someone else to do the job. In the three days since he'd first heard the message, Logan had alternated between attempts to contact his business partner and cursing Jason for dumping this in his lap. Regardless of his thoughts on the matter, Logan had done what he did best. He found Tara. It had not been his easiest job, but he'd done more with less. Now he was in New Orleans, in a bar called The Red Cat, waiting to see if Jason's younger sister would make an appearance.

The address he'd pulled from her last known employer had led him to a rundown building in a seedy neighbourhood. After knocking on her front door hadn't garnered a response, he'd checked the only other obvious point of access: the fire escape. It had taken very little effort on his part to pop the flimsy window lock and climb into the apartment. Nothing had seemed out of place, so Logan had chosen to take that as a sign that Tara was still alive and well. A flyer taped to the refrigerator had advertised Wednesday night entertainment at The Red Cat and, with nothing else to go on, Logan made his way to the bar.

He scanned the crowd again, looking for a petite woman with dark hair. The copy that he'd made of her driver's license put her at two inches over five feet with black hair and green eyes but the photo was at least five years old. For all he knew, she could have changed her appearance with a trip to the salon and she could walk right past him without him being aware. She was off the technological grid, so a basic online search of her had left him empty-handed. These days everyone had some sort of online presence in at least one social media format, but apparently Tara Barclay was not like other people her age. He would have really appreciated a more recent photograph of her to make this task a little easier, but that was why Jason had called him. If you wanted someone found, you called former Navy SEAL turned private investigator Logan Gilbert and he found them. As a bodyguard, however, Logan questioned his friend's choice. As reluctant as he was to admit it, his track record in that department was less than stellar and a part of him couldn't help but feel that Jason was taking a big gamble with his sister's life.

"You look like you could use a friend, Sugar," the pretty blonde bartender drawled as she leaned against the polished bar top. She tucked her arms under her ample bosom to help lift it up out of the scooped neckline of her shirt. Logan looked at her over the rim of his glass, his gaze direct and cool.

"You volunteering?" He asked, taking a drink of the smooth bourbon. A touch of pink highlighted her cheekbones. She wasn't nearly as worldly as she would like to believe, he surmised. Still, she was pretty enough with her bleached hair cut short to curl around her heart-shaped face, enhancing her cheekbones and big brown eyes. He wondered if he should ask her if she knew Tara. It was possible that The Red Cat was a place that Tara frequented, as it was only a couple of blocks from her apartment.

"How about a bowl of our gumbo? It'll stick to your gut and fill in all the cracks." The bartender suggested, not so smoothly switching tactics. Logan bit back a wry grin. He was used to drawing the attention of women, though once they made eye contact they were usually dissuaded. There was a hardness to him, brought about by the accumulation of all that he had seen of the world, that let them know he was not what they were looking for. That suited him just fine. Logan didn't have the sort of tolerance required to play the dating game these days.

"Is that why this place is so packed tonight? The gumbo?" He asked. The bartender rolled her eyes skyward.

"You're definitely not from around here, are you Sugar?" She poured him another drink. "The gumbo isn't what draws them in like flies to honey. Not on Wednesdays."