He Kills Me, He Kills Me Not (39 page)

The horror of what she’d done filled Amanda. She’d killed a man who was trying to help her. “He was trying to save me,” she whispered. “From you.”

Riley’s hand tightened around her waist, and he leaned down and kissed her forehead. He pulled back, and this time Amanda saw the mad light in his eyes, the same one she’d seen four years ago.

“No, Riley, please. Don’t.”

“I never really wanted to hurt you, Kate. I just wanted to be left alone.”

She shook her head vigorously. “No, Riley. I’m not Kate. I’m Amanda. Remember? Amanda.”

He shook her violently. “Don’t look at me like I’m crazy. I’m saner than you or anyone else. I see things you don’t. I know things. You can call yourself Amanda all you want. I know the real you, the evil that’s inside you. You got away once before, but that’s not going to happen this time.”

Sunlight glinted off the knife that was suddenly in his hand. Amanda sucked in a sharp breath and jerked back. Too late. Fiery, burning pain shot through her side as the knife slipped in between her ribs, once, twice. He let her go and she crumpled to the ground next to Pierce.

The burn faded quickly, replaced by a numbing coldness that crept through her body. She lay there, feeling her lifeblood draining away. She could see Riley beyond Pierce, standing with his gun behind his back, in a deceptively casual stance beside the path where Pierce had emerged only moments earlier.

She realized he was waiting for Logan. Pierce wouldn’t have come looking for her without Logan. Did Logan know Riley was the killer? Or would he see Riley and let his guard down, until it was too late?

She had to warn him. If she could draw a deep breath, she could scream, but that might make Logan rush into the clearing, into Riley’s trap.

She blinked her eyes to clear her vision and looked at Pierce. Was he breathing? She couldn’t tell. She blinked again, trying to refocus. Was that Pierce’s gun, lying next to him? Could she reach it? If she did, would she have the strength to fire it? She stretched out her fingers, inching her hand toward the gun.

Muffled footfalls echoed through the trees.

Oh, Logan. Stop, please don’t come. Stay away. Stay safe.

A smile of satisfaction lit Riley’s face. He slowly raised his gun. “He kills me,” he said, his voice a macabre echo of the voice she’d heard so long ago.

“He kills me not, you bastard,” Amanda cried out.

Riley whirled around just as Amanda fired Pierce’s gun. Her aim was true. The bullet slammed into Riley’s forehead, right between the eyes. He jerked backwards and fell to the ground, his eyes rolling up in his head.

The gun dropped from Amanda’s numb fingers.

Cold, she was so cold.

A shadow fell across her face. Someone grasped her shoulders. Was Riley back? Had she only imagined shooting him? “No,” she whispered.

“Hush, sweetie, it’s Logan. It’s okay. You’re safe.”

She went limp against him and he scooped her up, lifting her onto his lap.

She looked up and her vision cleared. Joy filled her at the sight of his beautiful face, his alive, beautiful face. “I won,” she whispered. “I finished the game, and I won.”

“Yes, you did. You won.”

His cheeks were wet. Puzzled, she reached up her hand and wiped away the wetness. He gently pulled her hand to his lips and kissed her palm, then held it against his bristly cheek.

“You always need to shave,” she whispered.

“Hang on, baby. The ambulance is on its way. Hang on.”

“L . . . Logan,” she said. “I can’t see you anymore.”

“Oh, God.” His voice broke. “Stay with me, Mandy, hang on.”

“So c . . . cold.”

Something hot and wet splashed onto her cheek and Logan awkwardly wiped it away. “Fight, dammit. Don’t you dare leave me. I love you.”

He’d finally said those three words. Joy spread through her, but the blackness called to her again. “What took you . . . so long . . . to—”

She wanted to ask what took him so long to realize he loved her, but it took more energy than she had to finish the sentence. Her last memory would be of his beautiful voice telling her he loved her. She smiled. It was a good memory to hold and treasure as she died.

Chapter Twenty-Two

T
he funeral was three days later.

Nearly everyone on the police force was there, except for the skeleton staff required back at the station. A good number of the town’s citizens were in attendance as well, although they were forced to stand behind the rows of Shadow Falls’ finest, well back from the tent that covered the grave site.

Even the mayor was there. After all, it wasn’t every day a police officer was killed in the line of duty, at least not in Shadow Falls.

The color guard lifted the flag that was draped over Karen Bingham’s coffin, and slowly folded it, end over end, into the traditional triangle. The leader of the guard took the flag and neatly tucked the edges in, smoothed the wrinkles. He turned to Karen’s husband, handed him the flag. Then he lifted his white-gloved hand and saluted.

Mike cradled the flag against his chest and nodded his thanks to the young man. He jerked in surprise from the sound of gunfire. Logan put his arm around his shoulders and gently turned him to watch the next two volleys from the seven guns that made up the twenty-one-gun salute.

When it was over, the crowd began to disperse. “Karen was a good officer and a good friend,” Logan said. “We’ll all miss her.”

Mike smiled that sad, haunted smile Logan had seen far too often in the past few days as Mike shuffled back and forth from one hospital room to the next. Even though Karen had died during surgery, Mike was a constant shadow in the hospital as he waited to see whether Pierce and Amanda would be okay. He told Logan it’s what Karen would have wanted him to do.

Pierce would definitely be okay, but Amanda was still fighting for her life in ICU. The doctors didn’t know if she would ever wake up. She’d lost so much blood.

“I hear Special Agent Buchanan might be discharged tomorrow. That’s good news,” Mike said, as he walked toward his car with Logan by his side.

“Yes, sir. He wanted to be at the funeral, but the doctors wouldn’t let him leave. He also wants to stay and wrap up the investigation, but his boss sent another agent to replace him, and ordered him to go home. One of my men will drive him back to Jacksonville once he’s released.”

“He’s going to be okay, though, isn’t he?”

“He’s too stubborn to let a cracked skull slow him down.”

Mike sighed as he stopped beside the police car where an officer waited to drive him home. “You kept your promise, chief. You caught Karen’s killer. Thank you.”

He extended his hand and Logan shook it, although he felt uncomfortable accepting praise he didn’t deserve. He’d worked with Riley, trusted him, and even though Logan had some suspicions toward the end, he’d never fully accepted that Riley could be that twisted, that evil inside.

Turns out, Bennett had been far more aware of Riley’s evil than anyone else, and he’d spent his life keeping an eye on his brother. He’d never quite succeeded in helping any of Riley’s victims, but he’d tried, and if he hadn’t been half-crazy himself, he might have been able to prevent some of those deaths.

Riley had cleverly hid his tracks, falsifying HR records so his vacation days didn’t always match the dates of the murders. Pierce’s team of agents had found the evidence of his tampering only after knowing Riley was the killer. Too bad they hadn’t dug deeper before Karen and Amanda paid such a horrible price.

The police officer opened the passenger door and Mike slid into the seat, cradling the flag in his lap. The officer closed the door and Mike looked out the window, his eyes riveted on the tent that covered Karen’s grave, as the car drove away.

Logan’s cell phone vibrated again. It had vibrated several times toward the end of the funeral but he’d ignored it. He reached into the pocket of his suit jacket and pulled out the phone. The number on the screen sent a foreboding chill curling through his gut. “Richards here.”

After a brief introduction, the nurse on the phone said, “I was told to call you if Ms. Stockton’s condition changed.”

Logan swallowed the bile rising in his throat as fear clutched at his chest. “Yes? What’s wrong?”

“Oh, no, nothing’s wrong, sir. She just woke up.”

L
ogan paused in the doorway of Amanda’s hospital room. It was still a shock to see so many tubes and machines hooked up to her, even though he’d seen them for the past three days.

She was pale, her skin nearly translucent, and her eyes were closed. Her doctor had assured him she had indeed awakened from her coma, but that she was sleeping now. A natural sleep, not the terrifying deep sleep of a coma.

She was still connected to a ventilator, its obscene hiss the only sound in the darkened room.

He crossed to her bed and sat in the familiar chair next to it. Careful not to bend her arm and interfere with her IV, he entwined his fingers with hers and leaned down and kissed the soft skin of her hand. He listened to the rhythm of her breathing, watched the rise and fall of her chest.

She was a survivor, one of the toughest women he’d ever known. It was because of her remarkable will that she was still alive after suffering not one, but two horrible traumas in her life.

No thanks to him.

Oh, he knew people were calling him a hero, saying that even though Amanda had fired the fatal shot, if Logan hadn’t tracked her down she wouldn’t have had the gun in the first place. Riley would have killed her and he’d still be out there killing other women.

But those people didn’t know the whole story. They didn’t realize if it weren’t for him, Riley would have been caught ten years ago. Dana Branson, Carolyn O’Donnell, Karen Bingham, and five other women wouldn’t have died. Amanda wouldn’t have been attacked, wouldn’t have nearly died—twice—if he’d done his job, if he’d followed procedure.

Or if he’d listened to Amanda when she’d tried to show him her list of suspects.

So many women dead. One woman scarred for life, inside, where it mattered. Countless families torn apart.

If things were different, if Amanda could have forgiven him, he might have been able to forgive himself eventually, move on. But he’d looked deep into her eyes when he played that damn CD. He saw the devastation and the horror wash through her, watched her turn away from him, knew they would never be able to navigate the ocean of hurt that lay between them.

And then she’d said those words in the woods, words that stabbed his heart like a knife.

What took you so long?

He didn’t blame her for feeling that way, for resenting that he took so long to find the killer, to find her. She’d suffered far too much because of his failings.

In spite of everything, even though he deserved nothing, he wanted the pleasure of seeing her beautiful eyes one last time. But he knew that could never be. He couldn’t bear to see them filled with hate or condemnation, and he knew she wouldn’t want to see him anyway. Instead, he would remember the way they were filled with awe the first time they made love. He would carry that picture in his heart and it would be enough, would have to be enough.

He pressed a warm kiss against her fingertips and carefully laid her hand on top of the white sheet. He pulled an envelope out of his suit jacket pocket and set it on the side table next to her bed. Then he walked out of her life, and didn’t look back.

A
manda’s throat was raw, dry. When she tried to swallow it was as if someone had sandpapered her tongue.

When she’d awoken earlier, the doctor explained she had a tube down her throat, a respirator, helping her breathe. That was why her throat was so sore. It would remain in for at least another day until he felt she could breathe adequately on her own.

The doctor told her she’d been unconscious for three days, but he didn’t tell her anything else. She tried to ask him questions but couldn’t speak with the tube down her throat. When he brought her a pad of paper and a pen, she couldn’t grasp the pen to write down her questions. She was still too weak.

After giving her a sympathetic smile and assuring her she was on her way to recovery, he’d left the room, leaving her frustrated and anxious.