“Yeah. Make him suffer.”
CHAPTER THREE
S
hortly after eight thirty A.M., Alex ambled into the kitchen to let six sleepy mutts into the backyard for their morning ritual and retrieve the pile of newspapers on the front porch. She’d spent a frustrating night tossing and turning. Every time she closed her eyes, she relived those disturbing, disjointed moments inside the minivan. Her father had often told her she had a vivid imagination, but nothing about yesterday’s experience seemed imagined.
She had no hope of coming up with an explanation, other than maybe she’d become so focused on lusting after Logan that she somehow projected herself into his shoes, which was ridiculous, because if she were going to do that, she would project herself into his
pants
. . .
She pushed the thoughts aside, deciding to add the mystery to the list of other disturbing things that had dogged her imagination since she’d gotten shot and almost died. It shouldn’t have surprised her, after all, that such an intense brush with death had changed, and sharpened, her perception of the world around her.
After pouring herself a cup of coffee and grabbing a protein bar from the cupboard, she ambled over to the table. Idly sipping, she shifted the newspapers around to take in the day’s front-page news according to
The Miami Herald
and
The Tampa Tribune
.
War. Death. Destruction. Economic trouble.
Same old, same old.
As she sat, she pulled
USA Today
out from under the
Orlando Sentinel
and scanned the front before flipping to the next page. When she reached page five, she almost bobbled her coffee. There, in full-color newsprint, John Logan materialized out of a swirl of black smoke, a tiny little girl clutched in his able arms. The sight struck her breathless, not because the national media had picked up her photo, but because the country’s biggest newspaper declared Logan a hero.
Grinning so hard her cheeks ached, she picked up the phone and called the managing editor at the
Lake Avalon Gazette
.
“Mac Hunter.”
“It’s Alex. Have you seen
USA Today
?”
“Hell, yeah,” he said with a booming laugh. “I was just getting ready to call you. I told you that picture was a headliner.”
The pleased tone of his voice made her grin even more. They’d been good friends since her father had hired him at the newspaper a few years ago. Mac had had a rough time lately, just as she had. “So how’s it going?”
His sigh gusted over the line. “You don’t have to check up on me, you know.”
“I’m not. I called to gloat.”
“Yeah, right. Don’t worry, okay? I’m doing great.”
She didn’t believe him. He hadn’t been “great” since before they’d ended up in the hospital at the same time, victims of the same psycho who’d targeted her sister. Mac’s skull fracture had healed, but he was still dealing with a lot of stress—work and personal—that had Alex worried. “You know you can talk to me any time, right?”
“Yep. You’ve told me several times already.”
“Just making sure.”
“You don’t have to rescue me, Alex. Besides, you already have your hands full with all those furballs you’ve saved from uncertain fates. Are you coming into the office later?”
“Nope. I’m off the next two days. Going over to help Charlie in the garden.”
“Enjoy the time off. And try not to gloat too much.”
She hung up with a smile, then headed for the bedroom to don her jogging clothes. Five minutes later, she hit the pavement, her trusty, blind German shepherd at her side in his harness and short leash. She’d started running a couple of weeks ago to rebuild her strength and stamina since the shooting. The time outdoors and quality time with Dieter, the latest addition to her growing menagerie, never failed to put her in a good mood. Today, it gave her time to think about her upcoming date with John Logan, Lake Avalon’s man of mystery.
She didn’t know a lot about him, other than the sight of him in his police uniform put a hitch in her heart rate. She didn’t normally have a thing about men in uniform—just
this
man in uniform. And that thing had started the moment they’d begun flirting at the scenes of crimes, accidents, fires and other newsworthy events that she’d photographed for the next day’s newspaper while he kept order. From day one, the day he’d started as Lake Avalon’s newest police detective two years ago, she’d thought he was beyond hot. And he just kept getting hotter the more she got to know him.
Now, finally, they were going to go on a date. Soon, she would know whether this intense attraction extended beyond flirty conversation.
Dragging her attention outward, she made kiss-kiss noises at Dieter, who kept an even pace at her side, trusting her implicitly to guide him. Kind of funny, considering he had been a guide dog before he developed cataracts. His tail kept up a constant wag, his ears perked and nose twitching.
As they paused at an intersection to let a car pass, she rubbed his ears. “You’re a good friend, Dieter.”
She could swear he grinned up at her in response.
As they neared home at a leisurely pace, she perused the neighborhood she loved. Nothing fancy. Just older, simple, one-story homes in various pastel shades of stucco lining narrow streets with gravel shoulders and no sidewalks. Large trees—royal palms, jacarandas, holly and banyan—crowded the yards, arching over driveways, roofs and streets. The delighted screams of playing kids at a nearby school filled the air, complemented by the occasional barking dog or lawn mower.
On her block, she turned Dieter loose for his routine mad dash to the house. He knew what came next: breakfast. He
loved
breakfast. Alex laughed as she jogged toward the driveway that led up to her peach stucco house nestled among the trees. The two-bedroom home was small, but it had a large screened-in back porch and an even larger fenced-in backyard, perfect for the pooches.
A sharp bark startled her, and her steps faltered. Dieter barked only when he thought it necessary: an unusual noise outside or a stranger in their midst.
She broke into a run. “Dieter?”
She was halfway up the driveway when she saw the source of the shepherd’s excitement: John Logan was laughing his ass off as Dieter pinned him to the stucco with both paws on his shoulders and licked at his face with a sloppy tongue. Logan balanced a flat box of Krispy Kreme doughnuts on one palm as he scrubbed at the dog’s ears with his free hand.
“Dieter, down!” Alex exclaimed, horrified.
The dog obediently dropped back to all fours and loped over to her, pink tongue dangling as he happily panted.
Alex flashed Logan an embarrassed smile. “Sorry about that. I think he likes you.”
“It’s good to be liked.” Logan grinned at her, looking good enough to devour. Freshly shaved. Hair still damp from a shower. Tall and broad-shouldered, tan and handsome in an untucked white T-shirt, khaki cargo shorts and well-worn Nike running shoes. He held out the iconic white and green box. “Hot doughnuts now.”
Accepting the box pleased Alex more than two dozen roses ever could have. She loved doughnuts as much, if not more so, than Dieter loved breakfast. “A whole dozen? You’re the best.”
Logan’s lips twitched. “I was hoping you’d share.”
She pretended to ponder that idea. “What’s the occasion?”
“You made me a star.”
“
You
made you a star. I was just lucky enough to be there with a camera.” She gestured him inside. “Do you mind putting on fresh coffee while I feed the mutts? They get cranky if they have to wait. Everything you need is above the coffeemaker.”
Inside, she headed for the screened-in porch that branched off from the kitchen. While she prepared doggy breakfasts, Logan rinsed out the coffee carafe and filled it with fresh water.
As he scooped coffee into a clean filter, he listened to her talking to the half-dozen strays she’d rescued over the years.
“How’s your morning going, Raquel? Are you getting anything done? Must be tough to accomplish anything with Gus sniffing your butt all the time.”
Logan shook his head and chuckled. He could listen to her talk to her best friends all day, her smoky, contralto voice smoother than the best jazz. And, to be honest, he was relieved to find her cheerful and brimming with energy this morning. He easily could have waited until tonight to acknowledge the fantastic photo she’d taken of him doing his job—or he could have called. But he’d wanted to see her in person, to reassure himself that no ill effects lingered from that odd moment when they’d touched at the scene of the accident and she’d gone catatonic.
Alex’s conversation in the other room resumed. “Where’s Artemis? Oscar, have you seen Artemis? Did you chase her into the closet again?”
Logan pictured the shy cocker spaniel cowering in the back of the closet to escape the aggressiveness of a high-energy wiener dog with a back so bad his hind legs had been paralyzed for years. The dachshund used his front legs to pull himself around on a tiny cart, but that didn’t stop him from stalking the other pooches in his version of playtime.
During Logan’s first visit after she’d been released from the hospital, Alex had availed him of the cruel history of each of the pack. He admired the way she’d taken them in when no one else wanted them and loved them with all she had, gradually healing their wounds and their hearts. A part of him wondered whether he was drawn to her because he sensed she could do the same for him.
Her triumphant voice interrupted his thoughts. “There you go, Artemis. You’re so brave. Look out, Dieter, you just tripped Gus. Geez.”
Logan couldn’t help but smile as he pictured the playful German shepherd who’d just accosted him in the driveway getting in the way of Gus, a beagle-bloodhound mix with a shiny red coat and one eye. Squirrel-chasing incident, Alex had told him with a tender smile as she’d stroked Gus’s ears.
Raquel, a brown and white corgi, had lost her floppy ears and half her tail while alerting her family to the fire fast-consuming their mobile home. Her family survived thanks to her, but the fire rendered the family homeless, including Raquel. Alex took her in the instant she heard the story and nursed the dog back to health.
Phoebe, a brindle greyhound who was small for her breed at only fifty-five pounds, had lost her front right leg to amputation after a bad break at the dog track. That didn’t stop her from running like a jack rabbit, especially when a squirrel was involved.
Alex returned to the kitchen then, curls caught in a bouncy ponytail and cheeks flushed from her morning jog. Her joy of life seemed to emanate from every pore, and damn, if he didn’t find that even more sexy than the toned curves of her compact body.
“Mm, that coffee smells divine.” She gestured at the table. “Have a seat.”
As he settled onto a chair, he took in the massive spread of newspapers. “Not much of a newshound, are you?” he teased.
She grinned as she turned with coffee cups in hand. “More like a news whore.”
While she grabbed napkins from a drawer, he flipped open the doughnut box. “You’re good enough to work for
National Geographic
, you know.”
She beamed as she sat across from him. “Really?”
“Hell, yeah. Have you ever sent them your portfolio?”
She shook her head as she reached for a doughnut and sank her teeth into it all in one fluid motion. “I like it here,” she said as she chewed.
The way she enjoyed the warm, gooey doughnut, her pink tongue chasing the sugary glaze clinging to her top lip, fanned a hunger inside him that had nothing to do with food. Jesus, this woman would drive him crazy if he didn’t get to kiss her soon.
She stopped chewing suddenly and cocked her head. “What?”
He realized he’d been staring. But how could he not? A flushed, sexy woman in shorts and a tank top . . . okay, focusing now. Or trying to. “Uh—”
“Do you think it’s weird that I like it here?” she asked.
“Why would I think that?”
“I’m a small-town girl with small-town dreams and no desire to flee my family. Very uncool.”
“Your devotion to your family and Lake Avalon is one of the things I like best about you.”
“Really?”
“Yes. Besides, I like it here, too.”
She reached for a second doughnut. “What made you want to be a cop?”
The change of subject threw him at first, but then he shrugged. “I wanted to help people. Make a difference.”
“That’s not very specific.”
He took a sip of coffee. No one had ever expressed a desire for more information than that, which had always suited him just fine. “I don’t know. It just happened. Why did you want to be a photojournalist?”
“Dad gave me his old Nikon one day when I was bugging the crap out of him and let me loose. I don’t think Mom was too happy when I started coming home covered with grass stains and dirt from crawling around on the ground trying to get the perfect shot of a squirrel. Or from falling out of a tree while snapping a pic of the neighbor’s cat stalking a bird it had no hope in hell of catching.”