Loving the power she holds over him, Catherine eventually relents. Moving to stand in front of Logan, the kiss she gives him is as torturous as her touch. So deep and suggestive, her tongue, teeth and lips drive him wild. “Now,” she groans into his mouth, and Logan doesn’t need to hear any more.
Hitching her up against the wet-room wall, he plunges into her like a man possessed. There is no finesse, and Catherine doesn’t want any. “Harder…,” she groans, her hands fasten on his shoulders and her brilliant blue eyes urge him on. Her legs tighten around him as her body begins the climb of ecstasy.
“Now, Catherine…now!”
The wet-room echoes their joint cries of release, no mere sighs of pleasure but guttural screams that reflect the powerful joining of their bodies. As the waves continue to course through them, they sink together in a tangle of arms and legs to the floor.
Neither speaks as the shower continues to rain down on them; both dragging in oxygen like marathon runners at the end of a race.
Catherine surfaces first. “Logan…?” He gives an answering, “Mmm,” the dreamy response drawing a satisfied smile from her. “Did you ever experience anything like that before?” she asks shyly, then adds, “With anyone else, I mean?”
When his brown eyes open to regard her, they are dark with residual passion. “Hand on heart,” and moves to place it there, “I have never experienced the power of lovemaking that I have with you – but then, I’ve never loved anyone the way I love you.”
Can a woman ask for any more than that?
They share a tender kiss then Catherine breaks away laughing. “If we don’t move our arses will look like prunes – just look at my fingers,” she shows him to prove her point.
He kisses them then moves to pull her up with him. “I’m going to have a freshen-up and you can keep your hands to yourself, you pervert,” he tells her with mock severity.
It makes Catherine laugh as she moves across to the basin and begins doing her teeth. Looking up into the mirror after rinsing her mouth, Catherine studies her reflection. She looks different somehow.
“Are you looking for wrinkles?” Logan teases, coming up behind her to look in the mirror. “You won’t find any; I’ve banished all your frown lines away and replaced them with smiles,” and kisses the top of her head.
“That’s it,” she tells their reflection, “I was trying to figure out what is different about me, and it’s that easy,” she turns and put her arms around his waist, “I’m happy.”
That simple statement tears at him. He hates that she has suffered so much when his own life has been so easy in comparison. Logan enfolds her in his strong arms and makes a silent pledge to make his Catherine smile at least once every day. “And so am I,” he tells her.
By the time they have dressed and talked about their plans for the day, it is getting on for eight o’clock.
Catherine sniffs the air. “I smell bacon and eggs,” she tells Logan before heading out of the bedroom door.
“That’ll be Mrs Baines; she’ll be here for most of the day today.” He follows Catherine down the stairs and out into the conservatory having said good morning to his housekeeper along the way. “When are you planning to call Inspector Harper?” he asks Catherine as she pours him a cup of filter coffee.
“I’m not sure,” she replies while pouring a cup for herself. “I need to check my emails. Ben said he’d send anything he found in an email and I’m hoping it will include Arthur’s guest list.”
Logan frowns, not just at the mention of Ben, but also at the suggestion that he might have gotten hold of a copy of the guest list. “When did he go to see Arthur – or his secretary?”
“Err…I don’t think he was planning to ask them for it…exactly,” she says quickly, then stuffs another fork full of eggs and bacon into her mouth so that she won’t be able to answer any more questions for a while. Logan does not say a word and eventually she does have to swallow. “This is really good; you should eat yours before it goes cold.”
“Catherine…?” is all he says, but it’s enough to make her squirm.
Shit!
“Well it’s not like he’s going to get caught,” she defends Ben’s decision to hack into Arthur’s secretary’s computer. “Ben’s as careful as I am, and it’s not like he did it for fun,” she states waving her fork at Logan. “He took a risk for me, to help me catch that butchering bastard!”
He’d bet Ben was clamouring to offer his services, and making himself out to be a big hero, Logan thinks sarcastically, but is wise enough to keep his thoughts to himself. “So, are you planning to hand the list over to the Inspector? You’ll hardly be able to tell him from where you obtained it.”
She can tell he is really pissed. His ‘Etonian’ voice becoming more pronounced when he is. “I’m hardly likely to do anything as dumb as that, but yes, I’ll make sure he gets a copy of it.” Shovelling in the last mouthful, Catherine jumps up taking her coffee with her. “You finish off, I just wanna get my laptop,” she mumbles through her breakfast, and then she is gone.
Logan sits, pushing his food around his plate until Mrs Baines asks him if he is finished. “Sorry, not much of an appetite,” he explains lamely.
“Not coming down with something, I hope?” Mrs Baines is a motherly sort, and as Logan doesn’t have one of his own, she finds herself stepping in now and then.
“Just a touch of Benitis,” he huffs sitting back in his seat, “but I’ll take care of it.”
“I bet you will,” she tells Logan, surprising him when she laughs. “With my Larry it was Carlitis, a young man I met at uni’,” and laughs again when Logan’s eyebrows shoot up. “Yes, I went to university,” she tells him proudly, “I wasn’t always an old widow-woman.”
“What did you study?” he asks, forgetting his own troubles for a while.
“Well, I started off doing art and design,” she smiles broadly, “it was all the rage in the sixties.”
“Ahh,” Logan chuckles teasingly, “you were a flower child.”
“For a while I was,” she admits while clearing the pots, “and then life took a more serious turn and I decided to change my degree to Psychology and worked with very young troubled children for many happy years.”
“So, how did Larry take care of his Carlitis?” Logan asks intrigued.
Mrs Baines actually blushes and turns in to the kitchen, ostensibly to put the pots next to the sink, but taking the time to compose herself as well. “My Larry was a jealous man,” she explains, “and not at all given to violence,” she defends her late husband. “He just came across Carl and me talking on campus one afternoon, and lost it – punched his lights out right then and there,” and she demonstrates with a fist smacking loudly into her open palm.
Logan is laughing heartily, amazed that this lovely woman has worked for him for the last five years and he’d had no idea about her. “So what happened after – did you and Larry walk off into the sunset, as it were?”
“We did not!” she bristles, her face a picture of disdain. “I gave Larry a piece of my mind and tended to Carl as best I could. Poor lad had a broken nose on account of me and Larry should have known better.”
“But, I thought…?” Logan frowns in confusion, trying to fathom out what he missed.
Mrs Baines gives him an indulgent smile. “Well of course I looked after Carl, but there was never anyone but Larry for me.” She chuckles mischievously then says, “I let him stew for a while, just to let him know I didn’t hold with violence, and then I let him sweet-talk me into going out with him again.” A blush steals in to her cheeks again as she says, “Truth be known, I was quite flattered to think Larry would do such a thing over me, but then he always was a romantic soul.” Her face has become winsome with remembering.
Logan watches as Mrs Baines returns to the kitchen, her thoughts miles away with ‘her Larry’. He has just stepped into the hallway when he hears his name called from the lounge.
“There you are,” Catherine says as he enters the room, “I just ran up to your office looking for you – surely you haven’t been eating breakfast all this time?” Then Catherine remembers why she has been looking for him. “Bloody hell, sorry Inspector, Logan’s here now so we can carry on.” Glad that it isn’t a video phone, she rolls her eyes and sits down.
“Ah, right you are then,” Inspector Harper’s voice comes out of the phone’s speaker, “good-morning to you Mr Sayers.”
“Good-morning to you too, Inspector,” Logan replies in kind, “but just Logan will do fine.”
Catherine interjects the stiff formalities grating on her. “Ok, let’s get down to it,” she demands briskly, “you’ve had a chance to look at the list from the party, are there any names on it that match with your own enquiries?” Logan perches himself on the arm of her chair, and Catherine takes his hand with both of hers and holds on tight with fearful anticipation.
“As a matter of fact, there is a name of interest,” Inspector Harper confirms, but does not seem inclined to enlighten them further.
Catherine squeezes Logan’s hand even tighter, her nerves jangling waiting for the Inspector to tell them who it is. When he doesn’t say anything more she looks up at Logan, totally bewildered. “Do we take your silence to mean that you don’t intend divulging that name?” Logan asks stonily.
The thought has Catherine shooting out of her seat. “Well fuck that,” she shouts angrily before the Inspector can reply. “We’re the ones who found Harriet Leavesden, and we found the cluster of similar assaults on young males in Glywyth,” she rants as she strides up and down the room, “and we also found out that Llwyd was fucking born there!” Her anger has risen to a storm of indignation and the volume of her rant has risen along with it.
Logan reaches over to close the lounge door, fearing Mrs Baines might come running in at any moment.
The Inspector clears his throat then attempts to explain. “I cannot give out the name of someone who might well be innocent.” Catherine makes to protest but Logan puts up a hand and shakes his head.
“Do you really believe, Inspector, that after all the hours we have put in to finding this man, we would be so indiscreet as to risk warning him?” Even Logan’s normally mild manner is being tested it seems to Catherine.
The Inspector blusters an apology. “Not at all. Not at all,” he assures them, “but I can’t go round accusing people before I’ve even investigated the matter.”
“And what about Catherine?” Logan asks his tone now crisp and demanding. “While you are busy protecting a likely murderer, who is going to protect Catherine if he comes after her next?”
Catherine lets out a sharp gasp, a hand going to her throat.
“Bloody hell,” Logan borrows one of Catherine’s familiar oaths and crosses the room to put his arms round her. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think,” he tells her as she slumps against him, “I was just trying to make the point that we really need to know.”
Having heard what was being said, the Inspector asks them to be patient. “I promise, I will get back to you in the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours, but there are things that I need to look into,” he affirms. “Just give me that long to be sure, and if it is him I will get back to you right away.”
Catherine and Logan look at each other and nod their resigned acceptance. “Alright, Inspector,” Logan tells him, “we’ll be waiting.
Logan’s home office has become a hive of activity. He is working his way down a copy of Arthur’s guest list finding out the whereabouts of each guest during the time of either Sara Colson’s or Harriet Leavesden’s murders. It means lots of phone calls to various friends and business contacts, and calling in a few favours to get things done.
Then there is Ben – Logan himself suggested calling him in. They are so close to finding this monster, that Logan will take help from the devil himself if it means keeping Catherine safe. Ben and Catherine split the guest list in half and are both using their considerable computer skills to find any and all information on each person on it. Even Logan agrees it’s worth the risk if it will help find the crazy bastard.
Ever since the phone discussion with Inspector Harper, Logan has felt a nervous tension in his gut. He had only suggested that the murderer might come after Catherine to force the Inspector’s hand in revealing who his suspect is, but the idea has taken hold and Logan can’t shake it.
“Jesus,” Ben rubs a hand over his tired eyes and rolls his head to ease out a few kinks, “I can’t believe the lifestyle of some of these rich bastards – they run their lives like robots, always this place on that day and at a certain time,” he moans. “I mean,” he continues to no one in particular, “look at this guy; he’s got over twenty million in the bank and all he does is eat work and sleep. The highlight of his year appears to be a two week holiday in France, and he’s been there for the last three years, at least.”
What a moron.
Logan’s head comes up. “You’re looking back three years in their financials?” he asks Ben, “Why?”
“Actually, I’m going back twenty,” Ben replies. “Their financials leave a trail of where they are at any one time, and that’s what we’re looking to prove, right? These people rarely use cash,” he explains, “and their credit cards leave a data trail that’s child’s play to follow.”
“So, have any of them been in Glywyth, Sheriton or Moorsden at the times in question?” Logan, too, is feeling tired and his tone is more belligerent than he realises.