He Kills Me, He Kills Me Not (32 page)

“But you’re hurt. My God, you’re bleeding.” Blood was pouring from a cut on his cheek but running like they were—continually zigzagging—she couldn’t reach up to check how bad it was.

The next shot wasn’t as close as the last one. It drove into the dirt a few yards to their left but it was close enough for her to realize that none of the shots seemed directed at her.

The shooter wasn’t aiming at her.

He was aiming at Logan.

They reached the creek and just as he was pushing her toward an opening in the trees on the right side of the path, she saw the silhouette of a man deep in the pines on their left, raising his arm and aiming his gun straight at Logan.

This close, there was no way he would miss.

She ducked beneath Logan’s arm and twisted around to his left side, wrapping her arms around his waist just as a shot rang out.

Logan lunged with her toward a clump of palmettos, anchoring her to his chest as they rolled on the ground until they were securely off the path.

She squealed when a shadow broke away from a tree behind him, but Logan pressed his hand against her mouth to silence her. Without turning around he said, “It took you long enough.”

“Excuse me, Daniel Boone. I don’t know these woods and had to double back to find an opening.”

Amanda relaxed in relief when she recognized Pierce’s voice.

Logan dropped his hand from her mouth. “What were you thinking? Why did you throw yourself in front of me?” His voice was low and angry, his eyes dark, almost black.

“He was shooting at
you
. Not me.”

“Don’t you think I know that?” he said, exasperation evident in his voice.

“Then why didn’t you let me go so you could use your gun to defend yourself? I would have been okay. He wasn’t trying to shoot me.”

“I couldn’t risk it. You would have been too exposed.” He turned to Pierce. “Do you think you got him?”

“I only got one shot off. If I didn’t hit him, I came damn close. He knows there are two of us now. He’s probably on the run.”

“Call for backup.”

“Already done.”

“Then take this little spitfire back to the house before she gets herself killed.”

She gasped in outrage and sat up. As she wiped the pine needles from her shirt, she said, “I can take myself back to the house. I don’t need Pierce’s help.”

“I’ll be sure and tell Logan you said that when he gets back.”

She looked up, stunned to see that Logan wasn’t there. Instead, Pierce was standing over her with his gun in his right hand, pointed away from her. He held out his left hand to pull her to her feet.

“Where did he go?” she demanded as she accepted his help and stood.

“To catch the bad guy.”

“Shouldn’t you be helping him?”

“Yes. And just as soon as I have you safely in the house, I will.”

She felt the blood rush from her face as she realized Logan’s prediction had come true. She was a liability. Cold fear settled in her stomach. She turned and ran with Pierce faster than she’d ever run in her life, praying she could get to safety quickly enough for Pierce to help Logan before it was too late.

L
ogan squatted next to Frank Branson’s still-warm body. The bullet had gone clean through his temple. Since Logan hadn’t fired his gun, either Pierce had made one hell of a lucky shot earlier, or the real killer had just claimed another victim, execution-style.

Easing back into the trees, he scanned the thick forest around him, searching for signs of the shooter. Adrenaline pumped through his veins making it difficult to remain still and quiet, when he wanted to rush into the trees and find the bastard who’d hurt Amanda four years ago. He desperately wanted to eliminate this threat to her so she could live her life out from under the cloud of fear that had loomed over her for so long.

The soft crack of a twig sounded from the copse of trees directly in front of him. A slow smile spread across his face as he made his way deeper into the woods.

A
manda and Madison sat in two Adirondack chairs in the corner of the deck, watching the dwindling army of policemen and FBI agents. The men left in small groups, each one stopping to check in with Logan or Pierce before getting in their cars to drive back to town.

The wait earlier this morning had been excruciating. She and Madison were forced to sit in an interior hallway away from any windows, guarded by a pair of Shadow Falls police officers. When she complained they’d be more comfortable in the study or the living room, the older of the two shook his head and insisted they were safer here, and proceeded to tell her he valued his life far too much to take any chances with hers.

From the goofy grin on the other police officer’s face and Madison’s burst of laughter, Amanda wondered if the whole police force had figured out that she and Logan were sleeping together.

She didn’t appreciate her personal life being made public knowledge, but that wasn’t what bothered her the most. What bothered her the most was waiting to find out whether Logan was all right.

She’d paced the hallway for what seemed like hours, and every time she asked one of the officers whether Logan was okay, he simply told her what she already knew: that several other officers had gone into the woods to assist him, including Special Agent Pierce Buchanan.

Finally another officer came to let them know the perimeter was secured, and they were free to move about the house.

She and Madison had taken that order to its extreme and sneaked out onto the back deck. They sat in a corner on the far left side to watch what was going on.

Minutes later a group of officers emerged from the forest. They were carrying a stretcher with a white sheet draped over it. Amanda clutched Madison’s hand as she watched that stretcher, and prayed like she’d never prayed before that it was the shooter—not Logan—lying there.

Relief flooded through her when another group of men stepped out of the trees, and even from this distance she could see Logan and Pierce standing several inches taller than those around them.

Her relief was short-lived, however, when he got close enough for her to see the blood on his face and shirt. She would have run to him right then, but he glanced over at her and the look in his eyes kept her in her seat.

He was furious.

At her.

But why?

An EMT pulled him toward one of the ambulances in the driveway while the stretcher was loaded in the other one.

Pierce stepped onto the deck and approached their table.

“Is Logan okay?” Amanda asked.

“He might need a few stitches. The blood is from the tree bark that exploded near his face when one of the shots got too close. He’s fine.”

“Can I go see him?” Amanda asked.

“I wouldn’t recommend it right now. An EMT is sewing him up, and then he’ll be busy for a while.”

“EMT? Why doesn’t he go to the hospital?”

“He refused, says he doesn’t have time.” Pierce shrugged. “He’s a stubborn man.”

Madison squeezed Amanda’s hand beneath the table. “Who was on the stretcher? Did Logan get the shooter?”

He hesitated. “The dead man is Frank Branson, but Logan didn’t shoot him. He was dead when he found him.” Pierce spoke to them for a few more minutes before he left to direct his agents and speak to Riley, who was overseeing the detectives.

Hours later, with most of the police gone—except for a contingent who were patrolling the edges of the property—Amanda and Madison remained at the table, waiting for a chance to speak with Logan about what was going on.

“After being willing to sacrifice his own life for mine this morning you’d think he’d want to stop and check on me at least once today,” Amanda complained. Logan stood on the opposite end of the deck, near the stairs that led to the driveway and garage. Pierce and Riley were talking to him, and it seemed like he was making a concerted effort not to even glance her way.

“I think this is where I’m supposed to reassure you that he’s probably just really busy. But even I can’t lie that well,” Madison said. “Pierce didn’t have a problem updating us several times today, and he’s got at least as many responsibilities as Logan. He is a federal agent, after all.”

Amanda glanced at her friend and raised a brow. “Well, well. Interesting. Pierce did go out of his way to reassure us today, but now that I think about it, he spoke mainly to you. Not me.”

Madison grinned. “He’s a hottie. I flirted outrageously with him this morning over bagels before you showed up and ruined the fun.”

“Ouch. Sorry. I was furious with Logan. Now, I just want him to talk to me.” She looked at him and willed him to turn her way.

“He’s mad about something all right,” Madison said. “He was furious this morning too. I could tell by the tic in his left cheek. Have you ever noticed that?” Not waiting for Amanda’s answer, she continued. “But now he’s moved on to that dark and moody stage all men devolve into at one time or another. Yep, no doubt about it. He’s pissed at you about something.”

“Great.”

Madison shrugged. “You still have the advantage. You’re sleeping with him. Just don’t put out until he makes nice again.”

In spite of Amanda’s sour mood, she laughed out loud.

Logan glanced over at her, but quickly looked away without a smile or even a nod. It was as if she didn’t exist.

It hurt.

Too damn much.

L
ogan watched Amanda go into the house with Madison. It was difficult not going to her and grabbing her when he came out of the woods and saw her sitting next to his sister. But he was so angry he couldn’t trust himself to speak without yelling, so he tried the opposite approach. He’d ignored her, not an easy task when she sat outside in that sexy white tank top and khaki shorts that revealed far too much skin. The way that glorious dark hair of hers spilled over her shoulders to curl around her hips was damned distracting. He’d caught several of his patrolmen gawking at her today.

They wouldn’t make that mistake again.

“Logan? Are you listening?” Pierce punched him in the arm.

“What?” Logan asked.

Pierce rolled his eyes. Riley laughed.

“You know you’re going to have to speak to her, tell her why you’re so upset,” Pierce said.

“Upset? She threw herself in between me and a bullet. I wear a vest, for God’s sake, and she’s out there in a tank top and she throws herself in front of me. Is she insane?”

“She seems to like you. That probably qualifies as a kind of insanity,” Pierce conceded.

Logan shoved him, then crossed his arms and leaned back against the railing. “Riley, when you get the bullet out of Branson, put a rush on the ballistics. I want proof it didn’t come from Pierce’s gun.” He glanced at Pierce. “You do have another gun you can use for now, don’t you?”

“Of course.”

“I’d like to know how the shooter found this place. I always drive the long way home and make sure I’m not followed.”

“What about Karen?” Pierce asked.

“Karen doesn’t live far from here. She drives between here and her house. There’s no reason for someone to follow her, since she never goes into town these days. And other than you,” he gave Pierce a pointed glance, “no one else has come here from town.”

“Except your sister,” Pierce said. “She did say she looked for you at the police station. How many people know she’s your sister?”

“Ah, hell. Everyone. She’s not exactly the meek and mild type. She’s like a cyclone blowing into town. Everyone in a ten-mile radius of the station probably knew she was there. And if someone was following her, she certainly wouldn’t have noticed.”

“Do you want me to take Amanda to the safe house tonight or wait until morning?” Pierce asked, glancing up at the darkening sky.

Logan sighed heavily. “Riley, how many men are patrolling the property?”

“Four. They’re keeping in contact via radio every fifteen minutes. I’ll rotate them out in the morning around eight o’clock with a fresh team.”