He Kills Me, He Kills Me Not (27 page)

“Oh.” She was still stuck on the part where he’d said he didn’t want to stop. Her gaze lowered to his mouth and she licked her suddenly-dry lips. “Well, then, ah . . . thank you for a . . . wonderful evening.” She turned and ran into the house.

L
ogan didn’t make it to the county lockup. Neither did Branson.

Pierce walked up beside Logan and stood shoulder-to-shoulder with him as they both watched the detectives collecting evidence from the road surrounding the crumpled Ford Explorer and the T-boned patrol car.

“The officer at the scene didn’t tell me much on the phone. Can you fill me in?” Pierce asked.

“I’ll tell you what he told me, which probably isn’t much more than he told you. Two officers were transferring Branson to county lockup. It’s only ten miles from the station. When they didn’t show and didn’t respond to dispatch, another officer was sent to look for them and this is what he found.” He nodded toward the mangled cars.

“How many victims?”

“Two, that we know of. Both Branson and the driver of the Explorer are unaccounted for. The two officers who drove the patrol car are both in the hospital.”

A muscle ticked in the side of Logan’s cheek. One of the officers, Redding, a young rookie, was in a coma. Logan had met the officer’s young wife at the academy’s graduation ceremony a couple of months ago. He remembered her name was Julia.

The rookie’s partner was Clayton. Although he was unconscious at the scene, his vital signs were strong and steady. The EMTs were optimistic about his prognosis.

“This is a busy road. Someone had to see the crash.” Pierce glanced at the line of cars being diverted onto the shoulder of the rural highway to get around the scene.

“Not as busy as you think. This traffic is unusual, mostly curious kids with nothing better to do than to see where all the fire trucks were going when they sped through town.”

“Knowing you,” Pierce said. “I’ll bet you’ve got a theory already.”

Logan crossed his arms and shrugged as a tow truck arrived to take one of the cars away. “You can look at this several ways. The most obvious is that it really was an accident. The driver of the Explorer panicked when he realized he’d hit a police car, so he took off. Branson saw an opportunity to escape and he took it.”

“Sounds reasonable.” Pierce cringed at the ear-piercing shriek of metal on metal as the tow truck driver, with the aid of some firemen, began pulling the two vehicles apart. “But you don’t think that’s what happened.”

“Do you still think Branson is the killer?”

“No. I don’t,” Pierce said.

“Earlier today you were adamant that we had the right man.”

Pierce raised a brow. “Is this where you say I told you so? Even I can’t swallow a coincidence this big. We arrest a man for the killings, and he just happens to be involved in a traffic accident and is able to escape? Nope. Not buying it. I’ll lay a hundred to one odds the Explorer is stolen and it was driven by the real killer.”

“There’s hope for you after all.”

Pierce gave him a good-natured shove. “We’re back to ground zero. Branson’s either dead or will be soon, and we don’t have any leads on the real killer’s identity.”

“We know more about him than we did before,” Logan countered.

“Such as?”

“He probably saw the press conference and didn’t want someone else taking credit for his kills. He may not want to be caught, but he doesn’t want someone else taking the glory, either. That’s why he took Branson.”

Pierce raised a brow. “Are you suggesting we bait a trap?”

“That’s exactly what I’m suggesting. Use his ego against him. We can make a fake arrest, announce we’ve caught the real killer. Can you bring in a Fed to play the role of our suspect?”

“I can. We’ll have to work out the logistics, how to leak his whereabouts without being too obvious. Set up a stakeout. It’s worth a shot.”

Logan nodded. “I’ll leave the details to you. I’ve got to go to the hospital to check on my officers.” He stopped and looked around. “Have you seen Riley anywhere? He should have been here by now.”

“I heard he called the station, said he couldn’t make it. Car trouble.”

Logan frowned. Riley’s car was practically brand new. What kind of car trouble would he have?

Chapter Fifteen

A
fter spending the entire night at the hospital, sitting in the waiting room with the families of the two police officers who’d been hurt, Logan took a quick nap at home. Then he showered and headed back to the office. Other than a quick greeting, he didn’t get a chance to speak to Amanda.

He knew it bothered her, especially after the way he’d left her so abruptly after that scorching kiss last night, but it couldn’t be helped. He went back to the hospital and stayed until he was certain both his men were going to be okay. Then he went to the station for a full day of meetings, reviewing interviews and evidence, brainstorming with his men, trying to find a new angle. The elusive clue he needed to make the puzzle pieces fit seemed to be just beyond his reach.

There were only a handful of lights on in the house by the time he got home. Karen met him at the door, and after a quick report about her day watching over Amanda, she rushed to her car to get home to her husband. Logan felt guilty for keeping her so late and decided he’d ask her tomorrow if she wanted to switch bodyguard duties with someone else for a while.

He flipped the deadbolt on the French doors and set the alarm, then leaned back against the wall. He blew out a frustrated breath and closed his eyes.

“You look tired.”

Logan slowly opened his eyes at the sound of Amanda’s soft voice. Then he promptly forgot how to breathe.

She stood in the opening to the breakfast nook wearing one of his dress shirts. It hung to mid-thigh. The sleeves were rolled up to keep from flopping over her wrists. The thin material clung to her breasts. Logan’s mouth went dry when he saw the dark shadows of her nipples thrusting against the fabric.

His eyes dipped lower and it was all he could do not to rush forward and carry her off like a conquering barbarian when he saw the slightest hint of a shadow at the juncture of her thighs.

“I hope you don’t mind me wearing one of your shirts. I need to do laundry and ran out of night gowns.”

Logan reluctantly dragged his gaze up to meet her eyes. He had to clear his throat twice before he could speak. “You can wear anything of mine you want.”
Wear me
.

She frowned and looked away, crossing her arms over her breasts. “I didn’t get to see you much today. I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

He silently cursed himself for staring at her. He’d obviously made her nervous, and that was the last thing he wanted to do. Having her panic or be afraid of him wasn’t something he could stomach. He wanted her, desperately, but he wanted her to want him just as much, and he didn’t want to scare her.

He smiled and slowly walked toward her, hoping to keep her from looking down. If she did, she wouldn’t have any doubts about what he was really thinking. “Why don’t you go sit in the living room and I’ll grab us a couple of beers?”

“Sure. Sounds good.” She returned his smile and turned away.

Logan ran a shaking hand through his hair and slowly counted to ten.

S
o much for her pathetic attempt at seduction.

Amanda felt like an idiot.

She had plenty of clean nightgowns, but she’d purposely chosen one of Logan’s silky shirts because she thought it might look sexy on her. It worked in the movies. Why hadn’t it worked for her? When he’d stared at her so long without making a move toward her, she’d started to feel self-conscious. Maybe he thought she looked ridiculous in his oversized shirt. She didn’t have a clue what he was thinking and she’d crossed her arms self-consciously, turning the conversation to hide her embarrassment.

He walked into the room, carrying two beers. After handing her one, he sat down beside her on the couch. They faced each other, each with a leg drawn up and an arm resting on the back of the couch.

They both took a few sips of their beers, then set them down on the coffee table. She put her hands in her lap and waited for him to say something. He stared at her so long she started to feel nervous again.

“Karen told me there was an accident last night, but she didn’t give me many details,” she finally said.

He blinked as if to bring her into focus, as if he’d been deep in thought. “The accident. Yeah, it had to do with Branson, actually. A car T-boned the police cruiser that was taking him to lockup.”

She fisted a hand against her chest. “That’s terrible. Was anyone hurt?”

“Two of my officers, but it looks like they’re going to be fine. We don’t know about the driver of the other car though. It was a hit and run.”

“What about Mr. Branson?”

He loosened his tie and unbuttoned his collar. “Frank Branson is missing.”

“Oh, my gosh. I can’t believe he escaped. That’s so weird that something like that happened. What are the odds, huh?”

He gave her a funny look as if he was surprised at what she’d said. “Yeah, what are the odds?”

She drummed her nails against her thigh and looked toward the dark, empty TV screen. She thought about turning it on but she really didn’t want to watch anything. She wanted to
do
something, but apparently she was the only one.

His warm hand gently closed around hers, stopping her nervous tapping. “Is something wrong?”

She looked up, hoping to see some hint of the passion he’d displayed last night, after their kiss in the moonlight. But instead he was looking at her with concern. She clenched her fists in her lap. Had she really thought he would still want her after having time to calm down and think? She wasn’t beautiful, and she was damaged, inside and out. She was foolish to think he would ever really want to make love to her. “Nothing’s wrong. I guess I’ll head up to bed now.”

“Me, too.” He stood at the same time she did. He moved back to let her pass ahead of him, and she walked toward the stairs with as much dignity as she could, knowing the thin shirt revealed more than it hid, and knowing that he didn’t want her now.

She held her head up, refusing to worry about the peep show she was probably giving him as he followed her up. After living for years by herself with no prospects for a love life she didn’t exactly have any sexy underwear. Her purchases were ruled by comfort and her pocket book. Tonight, rather than wear sensible white cotton panties, she’d worn nothing.

Let him look. She didn’t care.

Midway up the stairs she thought she heard him groan. She stopped and turned around. His gaze jerked up to meet hers and he gave her a tight smile.

She turned back around before he saw her answering grin. He certainly wasn’t looking at the stairs when she’d turned around, and his jaw was clenched so tight when he smiled it looked more like a grimace.

Maybe wearing his shirt wasn’t a bad idea after all.

She hurried up the last few steps, knowing the shirt would bounce higher that way.

Logan cursed behind her and it sounded like he’d stumbled on the stairs.

At the top she turned. “Are you okay? Did you lose your footing or something?”

“Or something,” he mumbled. He climbed the last few steps and swept his hand out for her to precede him down the hallway.

She was still ensconced in his master bedroom, which meant he would be going into the guest room he was staying in.

Unless she did something about it.

Now that she knew he was affected by her display, she was going to press her advantage. At the entrance to the guest room, she stopped and turned. She raised a hand high on the doorframe and leaned a hip against the wall.

His eyes widened and his gaze dipped down where the shirt rode high on her thigh. Sweat broke out on his forehead as he jerked his gaze back up to meet hers. “Goodnight, Amanda.” His voice was raspy and hoarse.

“Aren’t you going to give me a goodnight kiss?”