He Kills Me, He Kills Me Not (8 page)

“It would be better if someone stayed with you inside the house.”

His words filled her mind with images of Logan staying in her house, watching over her, protecting her . . . sleeping on her couch. She forced the images away. He wasn’t offering to stay and protect her and she wouldn’t let him even if he did. She wasn’t willing to give up her privacy and she hadn’t decided yet if she was really staying in town, now that the killer was back.

Part of her wanted to pack her things and get on the next plane to anywhere but here. But another part of her was just as determined not to let the killer chase her away again. She’d worked so hard to rebuild her life. She didn’t want to start over. “I don’t want someone staying in my house with me.”

“What about work?” he asked. “My men said you didn’t go to work today, but when you do, you’ll need protection.”

She smiled. “No one is going to attack me at work.”

He raised a brow. “You seem confident about that.”

“All I have to do to get to work is walk from my bedroom to the living room. I’m a computer programmer. I work remotely from home.”

“Well, I guess you put me in my place.” He softened his words with a smile, the first real smile he’d given her since he’d called her a smart ass.

For a moment, she was frozen by the approving look in his eyes, the way his gentle smile transformed his face and made him look like a charming rogue instead of the intimidating police chief.

The silence stretched out. Time to send him on his way. He didn’t want to be here anymore than she wanted him here.

“So, how about it? Want me to check your doors and windows?” he asked.

No
. “Okay.”
Damn.
Why had she said that?

He nodded. “I’ll start in the living room. I remember seeing a set of sliding glass doors in there. If they aren’t properly secured, someone could easily pop one of them off the track and walk right in.”

“I doubt that.” She led the way into the living room. “I replaced the doors when I moved in. The company that installed my alarm recommended it.”

She watched him check out the security bar and the locks, and examine the alarm sensors, all the time wondering why he seemed so edgy.

“You’ve got hurricane glass, and you can’t take one of these doors off the track from the outside, at least not easily,” he said. “Good locks. I’m impressed.”

“You seem surprised.”

“I shouldn’t be, given your past. You obviously take your safety seriously. Most people don’t.”

Crossing to one of the windows that framed the fireplace, he checked those locks as well, then glanced at her computer before moving to the second window. “I’ve never met someone who worked from home. Is it a nine-to-five type of job?”

He finished examining the locks and security sensors, so she led him down the hallway to the first spare bedroom, a room she used mostly for storage. “My schedule is flexible. I work for a consulting company and I choose which contracts I want to take on. I just finished a six-month stint. I haven’t decided yet when I’ll take on the next contract.”

He dusted off his hands after checking the only window in the bedroom. Then he moved toward the door where she was standing.

Embarrassed about the dirt on the windowsill, she said, “Sorry about the dust. I rarely use this room.”

He gave her a droll look. “I’m a guy. I don’t think I’ve ever dusted anything.”

She laughed and led him to the second bedroom. He was sweet to try to make her feel less embarrassed, but as particular as he was about his appearance, and as shiny clean as his car was, she didn’t believe for a second that his house was anything less than pristine.

The door was already open, so he stepped inside. His eyes widened as he looked around at all the exercise equipment. “A professional gym would be envious of what you have here.”

A picture of him shirtless and sweaty after a vigorous session of weight lifting crossed her mind. She absently toyed with the hem of her shirt. “I don’t get out much—have to work off the occasional Haagen-Dazs indulgence somehow.”

His gaze slid down her body in a slow, leisurely caress, as if he was evaluating the effects of her workout routine. When his eyes met hers again, the heat in his gaze nearly scorched her. She wanted to encourage him, wanted to throw back some kind of flirty comment to let him know the attraction was mutual.

She couldn’t.

She was too scared, but not of him. She was scared of herself. In the years since her attack she’d built a solitary, safe life. Until Logan, she wasn’t tempted to enjoy the companionship of a man again. Now that he’d awakened all those dormant feelings, she didn’t trust herself.

Could she act like a normal person with him? What if he tried to hold her, kiss her? Would she welcome his touch or would the image of her attacker loom in her mind and send her screaming from the room? Seeing him look at her like she was crazy would hurt even more than when people looked at her scar and flinched.

She couldn’t bear it.

Deciding it was time for him to leave, she pivoted on her heel and hurried back to the kitchen to usher him out.

He followed her, stopping behind her, close, but not touching. “Amanda, look at me.” His deep voice was patient, soothing. “Please.”

She blew out a frustrated breath and turned around, looking up into his eyes as she leaned back against the same countertop where he’d leaned earlier.

“I’m sorry I scared you,” he said.

She shook her head. “You didn’t scare me. You don’t scare me.” And it was true. She felt so safe with him she wanted to wrap herself in his arms and lock out the rest of the world. She barely knew him. He was powerfully built and no doubt could easily hurt her if he chose. She was alone with him, with no one else to help her if he did want to harm her. So why wasn’t she afraid of him? It didn’t make any sense.

“No?” His searching gaze held hers. “Then why did you run?”

She sighed and automatically started to pull her hair forward, then stopped self-consciously when she remembered what he’d said about her hiding behind her hair.

“Amanda—”

“I’m sorry. Really. I can’t . . . it’s just that I . . .” She blew out a frustrated breath.

He reached out his hand toward her but dropped it when she jerked backwards. She awkwardly folded her arms over her chest, her automatic reaction reminding her she was right. She couldn’t handle a relationship, no matter how tempting.

His eyes were sad as he looked at her. “Don’t apologize. My actions were inappropriate. I don’t know what got into me.” His eyes took on the far-away look he had earlier when he talked about his loved ones in New York. “I really don’t.”

He shrugged into his jacket, then pulled a small white card from his pocket and laid it on the kitchen table. “My business card. If you change your mind about speaking to the FBI, call me.” His gaze captured hers. “Even if you don’t change your mind, if you need someone to talk to, about anything, call me. No strings.”

He crossed to the side door, gave her another one of those heart-achingly sad smiles, then stepped out onto the carport.

By the time the taillights on Logan’s car faded in the distance, Amanda was shaking so hard she had to sit down at the table. For a few minutes tonight, Chief Richards—Logan—had made her feel attractive again. She’d forgotten how good it felt to have a man look at her with hunger in his eyes.

Not that it mattered. She couldn’t encourage any kind of relationship between them. Her own seesawing emotions were too much to deal with.

Let alone his.

At times tonight, he’d looked like he was scared to death of her.

L
ogan shook his head in disgust, tilted his beer, and took a long, deep drink. He slammed the empty bottle down on the top rail of his back deck, mildly surprised the glass didn’t shatter. The gold label sparkled up at him in the porch light, mocking him, reminding him Amanda drank the same brand of beer.

They both had the same brand of TV, the same kind of computer. About half of the DVDs in the rack beside her TV were the same movies he had next to his—action movies, not chick flicks.

He wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead and looked down at the picture frame he held in his left hand. Victoria’s soft brown eyes stared up at him with that adoring look she’d once reserved only for him. God, how he’d loved her. He still couldn’t believe she was no longer his. They’d been happy together, or so he’d thought, until she asked for a divorce so she could marry someone else.

In the year since the divorce he’d been convinced he could never love another woman like that. He’d never meet someone and again feel that hot rush of attraction, that sense of connection when he looked in her eyes, as if he’d known her forever. He never thought another woman could make him burn for her, yearn for her, the way he’d once burned for Victoria.

Until he met Amanda.

The moment he’d looked into those haunted blue eyes he was lost. He’d wanted to pull her into his arms, protect her, ease the hurt that caused the shadows in her eyes. Even now he wanted nothing more than to rush back to her house and make sure she was safe, even though his men were outside watching over her.

He cursed and crossed the deck to the set of French doors and went inside. He set the alarm, discarded his beer bottle in the kitchen, then glanced at his watch. He should have been in bed long before now, but he was too keyed up to sleep. He needed something to take his mind off Amanda, because no matter how much he might want her, he couldn’t have her. Might as well do what he did most nights when he couldn’t sleep, which was often. He headed toward the front of the house to his study.

The top of his desk was covered with stacks of files. Aside from the cold cases his former team in New York occasionally sent to get his advice, he now had files from both the O’Donnell case and the Branson/Stockton case piled across his desk. He grabbed the nearest folder and flipped to the first page, but the words swam in front of him, making no sense. He couldn’t focus, couldn’t concentrate, not with thoughts of Amanda still swirling through his mind.

She was a witness in a murder investigation. Logan knew he had no business even thinking about getting personally involved with her. If he couldn’t concentrate now, it would only get worse if he allowed this insane attraction to go any further. What if he missed something important and another woman died? At least with his rookie mistake, he could tell himself maybe the killer hadn’t killed again. Maybe the killer knew his victim and it was a crime of passion, a one-time thing.

Carolyn O’Donnell’s killer was different. He’d killed before and he would kill again. He was probably already stalking his next victim. Logan had to do everything he could to stop the killer, or the next woman’s death would be on him. There wasn’t any room in his life for a relationship right now, especially with Amanda.

Even if he didn’t have the case to worry about, Amanda had been horribly brutalized, both physically and emotionally. She wasn’t ready for a relationship either, as evidenced from their discussion earlier tonight. The best thing for her right now was for him to respect her wishes, treat her professionally, and find the killer who’d nearly destroyed her four years ago.

He shuffled through the pages in the current file, pages he’d already read dozens of times today without seeing anything new. What he’d really like to have is the Anna Northwood file to look through. Looking through the case he’d screwed up ten years ago would give his mind a break, free his subconscious to work on the details of Amanda’s case to look for a pattern.

Unfortunately, his search for the file earlier today in the department’s online database had yielded only one line that read “archived to off-site storage.” The file was too old, had never been keyed into the online system. He’d have to pay a visit to the storage warehouse sometime soon and find that file, but for tonight, he’d just have to review the Branson case again.

He sighed and flipped another page.

K
ate was back.

He could barely believe it, even though he knew it was true.

She’d never come back that soon before.
Damn it
. Why wouldn’t she leave him alone? He’d found peace, blessed peace, and he’d hoped it would last this time.

She’d called herself Carolyn earlier, and she’d been so perfect, so sweet, that he’d believed maybe, just maybe, she’d finally go away for good this time like she’d promised. He’d foolishly hoped she might finally let him live his life without fear, without worrying she’d find him again.