He Kills Me, He Kills Me Not (26 page)

She laughed. From the look on his face she guessed that wasn’t the reaction he’d expected. “You can’t be serious. I know the man who attacked me was wearing a hood, but his body type was nothing like Frank Branson’s. There’s no way he could be the killer.”

“Pierce seems to think you wouldn’t be able to judge the killer’s height accurately.”

“Because I was on my back most of the time?”

He grimaced. “Yeah, that pretty much sums it up.”

“Well, that’s just stupid. I can tell if someone is tall or short even without standing next to him. Even if I were off a few inches, there’s no way he’s the killer.”

“Maybe, maybe not. Riley and Pierce are convinced he’s their man.”

“And you’re not?”

He shook his head. “No. I don’t think Branson is the killer.”

“Good. I know you’ll figure out who he is and you’ll catch him. If anyone can, you can.”

His gaze shot to hers. “Thank you.”

She smiled. “You’re welcome. I’m relieved it was Mr. Branson who left the notes, though. At least I know the real killer isn’t the one who was stalking me.” Her smile faded. “Poor Mr. Branson. He came to see me at the hospital after Dana’s death. He wanted to know anything I could tell him about Dana’s last days.” She rubbed her hands up and down her arms, suddenly feeling chilled in spite of the hot summer night air. “He was really angry with me. I think he believes if I hadn’t escaped, Dana would still be alive.”

“It’s not your fault. You know she would have been killed regardless of what you did, don’t you?”

She shrugged. “Probably. I don’t guess I’ll ever know for sure.”

He shook his head, his jaw tight with strain. “You’re a good person, Amanda Stockton Jones. You need to let go of all that guilt. Nothing that happened to you or Dana was your fault.”

Her throat suddenly felt tight as she looked up at him, saw the trust and faith in his eyes. “Thank you,” she whispered.

“You’re welcome.” He started to lean forward, and for a moment she thought he might kiss her. But then he pulled back. She swallowed her disappointment. Part of her wanted him so badly, but she understood his reluctance, considering she’d acted so crazy when he’d kissed her before.

“It’s getting late,” he said. “I’d better take us on in.” He reached for the key to the ignition, but she stopped him with a hand on his arm, reluctant to let the evening end.

“You spent the whole evening talking about me, finding out every boring little detail. I haven’t learned hardly anything about you.”

“What do you want to know?”

“Something, anything. What’s your favorite color?”

“Blue. Midnight blue. With little blue-green flecks around the edges.”

He’d just described her eyes. A delicious feeling settled in the pit of her stomach but she tried to ignore it. Determined not to let him get her off track she continued with her questions. “How old are you?”

“Old enough to know you don’t want to know my age or my favorite color—”

“Yes, I do.”

“—and that you’re trying to work up the courage to ask me something else. Go ahead. Ask.”

“You won’t tell me your age?”

“Thirty-five. Now what do you really want to ask me?”

Dropping her gaze to the picnic basket on the floor between their seats, she fingered the rough, wicker handle. She thought about that day at her house when he’d talked about the loved ones he’d left behind, the raw, far-away look in his eyes. A mom and a sister wouldn’t make a man look like that. “Who did you leave behind in New York?”

He sighed and looked out at the dark water, toward the light burning on the end of the dock as the boat rocked gently on the current. Jasmine scented the warm breeze. “I’m divorced, Mandy.” He turned back and looked at her. “It was for the best. I know that now.”

Mandy? Her heart did a little flip, hearing her old family nickname on his lips. Her pleasure was tempered by the unwelcome image of him putting a ring on another woman’s finger, pledging to love her and protect her.

“Do you want me to tell you about her?” he asked.

“No. Yes.”

He laughed, his deep voice rumbling in his chest.

“Did you love her?” she asked, immediately regretting her question.

“Yes, I loved her. It’s a long story. Are you sure you want to hear this?”

He loved her
. A sick feeling twisted Amanda’s stomach, but she’d started this. She wasn’t going to back down now. “I’m sure.”

He let out a long sigh. “When my father died, he left a hefty insurance policy and a hell of a 401(k). My mom had a decent retirement pension already, so she insisted that my sister and I split the insurance money and the investments between us. Madison and I put a third of the money into savings for my mother, in case she ever changed her mind. We invested the rest.”

He grinned wryly. “To put it mildly, the investments did well, very well. Madison had champagne tastes. She bought her way into the upper social circles in New York, and dragged mom and me with her. We made appearances at Madison’s parties when she badgered us enough, and that’s where I met
her
.”

“What was her name?”

“Her name is Victoria. And if you ever meet her, don’t call her Vicki. Not if you care for that pretty little hide of yours.”

His backhanded compliment had her face heating with a blush. “She sounds like a snob.”

He laughed. “Not really. She liked the high life. I fell for her, hard, married her a few months later.” He looked out over the dark water. “I wanted children. When it didn’t happen, we both got tested. There was nothing wrong with either of us, except that she hadn’t gone off the pill. Turns out she wanted kids, too, just not with me.”

He wanted children. She thought back to what he’d said about adoption earlier and wondered if he was the kind of man who could be happy not having his own children. “What happened to her?”

He frowned and tapped the tops of his thighs. “She married another cop. Last I heard she had two kids and had moved to the suburbs.”

“That’s why you left? To get away from her?”

“It was one of the reasons.”

She cleared her throat and brushed an imaginary speck of lint from her shorts. “It’s getting late. We probably should get back.”

The silence stretched between them but she refused to look up, afraid he’d see the yearning in her eyes. Imagining him as a husband, a father, had her thinking all kinds of thoughts she had no right to be thinking. He was everything she ever thought she’d want in a man, but she knew she wasn’t everything he wanted in a woman. She was damaged goods. Her scars were far more than skin-deep, and she was a fool to hope for what could never be.

Finally, he started the engines and turned the boat toward the dock. When they were back on solid land again, he led the way with a flashlight and guided her through the path in the woods back toward the house.

Tension coiled inside her as they crossed the footbridge. They would be back at the house in just a few minutes, and this feeling of closeness, of intimacy, would be gone. He’d go into his study and work on the case. She’d spend another night alone, watching TV or reading a book in the living room, wishing her computer algorithm had been more successful.

And she’d go to sleep, wondering what would have happened if she hadn’t panicked when he’d kissed her by the creek. Suddenly she didn’t want to wonder anymore. She wanted to know, needed to know. And the only way to know was to try again.

She stopped at the end of the bridge where the moonlight shined through a break in the trees overhead. She could see Logan’s surprise, his concern, and she hated that the killer had made her such a victim. She wanted Logan to look at her with desire, not pity. “Kiss me,” she whispered, stepping close, wanting to touch but afraid to in case he turned her away.

His nostrils flared and she heard the sharp intake of his breath as he stared down at her. His hands shook as he reached out his fingers and slowly ran them down the sides of her face, a slow, soft caress that feathered lightly across her scar, a scar she almost never thought about anymore when she was with him. Almost.

“Are you sure?” he asked, his voice as soft as hers, but deeper, huskier than she’d ever heard him before.

“Yes.” She closed her eyes, shivering when his thumb caressed her bottom lip.

He cupped the sides of her face. “Mandy,” he whispered, his voice hoarse, rough. “Look at me.”

Her eyes flew open and she stared questioningly at him. As she watched, he slowly, ever so slowly slid his fingers into her hair, his intense gaze holding hers, never wavering.

The first prickling of panic squeezed her chest. She reached up and grabbed his forearms.

He stopped, but didn’t remove his hands. “Trust me,” he whispered. “Look into my eyes. Trust me.”

She wanted to, so much, but suddenly her boldness of a moment ago was gone. She was afraid again, afraid she would shatter into a thousand pieces, afraid she would run screaming like a crazy woman if he didn’t stop.

“Mandy, fight. Don’t let him win.”

She stared into his eyes, her chest tightening as confusion roiled within her.

“Breathe, Mandy. Breathe with me, look into my eyes. Don’t close your eyes.”

She took a deep breath, felt some of the tightness ease in her lungs. His hands still cradled her face, his gaze locked onto hers, a lifeline to the panic rippling through her. He was so patient, and he was looking at her with desire, not pity.

Forcing her fingers to relax their grip on his arms, instead she wrapped them around his waist. He was so warm and hard. She shuddered as her fingers splayed out across his back. Her eyes slid closed. . . .

“Open your eyes. Don’t close your eyes.”

She forced her eyes open, stared into his, watched him as he leaned down and pressed an achingly sweet kiss to her lips. Then he pulled back, just far enough for her to focus on his eyes again.

“Have I told you how incredibly beautiful you are?” he murmured. His eyes locked on hers as he told her, in vivid detail, exactly how beautiful he thought she was. Then he leaned down and pressed a whisper-soft kiss against her lips. She shivered and flexed her fingertips against his chest, reveling in the warmth of his skin that radiated through the soft cotton fabric of his shirt.

“There, now, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” he asked.

She blinked, realizing his hands were buried deep in her hair. She waited for the panic but it didn’t come. Suddenly they were wrapping themselves up in each other. His mouth clamped down on hers and she struggled to pull him as close as possible. He growled low in his throat and lifted her up against him so she stood on her toes, her core centered against his firm ridge. The kiss went on and on, hotter and hotter until she was shaking with need.

When she shifted her legs to cuddle him more intimately against her, he tore his mouth free and shuddered. “We have to stop.”

Disappointment flared inside her but she knew he was right. He was probably afraid she would have a flashback again. She pulled out of his arms and started back down the path.

He caught up to her quickly, put his hand through hers to guide her as he lit the way with a flashlight. “Don’t you want to know why I said we had to stop?”

“I’m not an idiot, Logan. I know you’re worried I’ll freak out again. To tell you the truth, I’m worried, too. You were right to stop us. I shouldn’t have allowed myself to dream, to hope that we could . . . share ourselves in that way. I probably couldn’t handle it, no matter how much I want to.”

They stepped out of the trees and onto the soft, springy grass of his back yard. She increased her strides, anxious to get back into the house, to forget this incredibly wonderful evening had ever happened. She couldn’t allow herself to dream of a future with Logan. It hurt too much, knowing it could never be.

“Amanda, wait.” He caught up to her on the back deck. He gently turned her around, pressed his hand beneath her chin, forcing her to look up into his eyes. “I didn’t
want
to stop, Mandy. I
had
to stop. Karen went home to have dinner and spend a few hours with her husband, Mike, but she’s coming back.” He glanced at his watch. “She’ll be here in a few minutes. They’re transferring Branson to the county lockup tonight to avoid the press. I have to be at the lockup to sign the paperwork when he gets there.”