go inside, sit for a minute, see if we can find … Logan!” Relief colored his tone. “Am I happy to see you.”
“I forgot a file. What are you doing?”
“Recreating,” Sera said over her shoulder. She wanted to look at him, but that would destroy any chance she had of resurrecting the memory.
“Maybe we should …” Logan must have silenced Fred because he trailed off.
Sera continued to circle. “I saw a man’s hand and part of an arm. He was wearing a watch with a chrome band. It was scratched and corroded in spots.”
“Not a Rolex then,” Logan said from the front of the truck.
“Tell him about the music,” Fred suggested.
“I heard a song, or part of one, as this—I think this—truck drove past us.” She bit her inner lip, drummed the box. “Might’ve been Bob Marley.”
“‘One Love’?”
“Maybe.” But the title didn’t trigger anything more. She made a flitting motion. “Sorry, it’s gone. There was a watch, though, and it wasn’t high end.” She rubbed her wrist. “I saw a glove, too, but that’s a given.”
This time when Logan spoke, he did so from directly behind her. “What color was the glove?”
Her heart gave several hard thumps, which she controlled before turning. “Black. His fist was clenched, and it was striking something. A hard surface, possibly my desk.”
“So this striking happened in your office.”
Sera’s head began to throb, but she pushed through it. “My office door was open. Andrea was in Reception when the security guard found her. I hit my head on my own desk, so I must have run in there.” Leaning back against the side of the truck, she waved her hat in front of her face. “Sorry again, Logan, but that’s all there is.”
“It’s more than you had before.”
“Must be the mountain air.”
She was doing it, she realized suddenly. Looking at him. Getting sidetracked. A baby step away from fantasizing about what it would be like to have that incredibly sexy mouth of his on hers.
Pushing off, she said, “Okay, that’s it. Sun’s frying my mind and my skin.”
“Do you want to come inside?” he asked. “Meeting shouldn’t take more than an hour.” Then he pulled a ringing cell phone from his waistband. “Logan,” he answered with a trace of impatience.
Easing away, Sera searched her shoulder bag for the sunscreen she’d bought during one of Sig’s filling station stops.
Logan’s quiet, “When?” brought her head up and Fred away from his inspection of the four by four’s front tires.
“Where?”
“Oh, hell.” Her fingers stilled as a feeling of dread crept in.
“I’ll get back to you, Captain.” Logan broke the connection.
“He’s dead, isn’t he?” She said it simply and without inflection. But it hurt. It cut deep and it bled.
Fred looked from one to the other. “Who’s dead? Someone in Blue Ridge? “
“His name was Sig Rayburn,” Sera revealed. “He brought me here. He was a good cop with good instincts, but instead of being shot in the leg, this time he’s dead.”
Logan’s eyes were steady on hers. “It’s not your fault, Sera.”
“Not directly,” she agreed. “But indirectly—well, you decide.” Removing her hand from her shoulder bag, she opened it. “I have his lucky rock.”
HE’D DIED IN an alley. Like his partner, there’d been no bandanna, but every cop worthy of his badge knew who’d pulled the trigger.
That made it personal, Logan thought. Now, not only was he going to keep Sera safe, but he was also going to get the bastard who’d killed Sig and make damn sure he never saw the light of day again.
With his mallet, he drove a fence post deep into the ground, then gave the baling wire he’d been stringing a yank and secured it to the top.
He’d come to Blue Ridge to get away from this kind of crap—the gang leaders cops could never manage to touch, the targeted shootings, the senseless murders, all the garbage and destruction city life had to offer.
He’d been born and raised in a small town. He was where he wanted to be, doing what he wanted to do. And he still couldn’t escape the urban nightmare.
He took a swing at another post and felt the impact race along his arms to his shoulders. He wouldn’t let Sig or Sera down. But damn the woman, she was getting to a part of him he’d half forgotten existed.
Yes, she was beautiful. So were plenty of other females in the world. Surface meant nothing—he’d learned that lesson early on. And hormones tended to get in the way of good judgment.
Another slam, another shoulder-numbing jolt. It was after 7:00 p.m. According to the medical examiner, Sig had died around 8:30 a.m. He’d taken a single bullet to the throat, preceded by a sharp blow to the left side of his skull.
Fixing the last length of wire, Logan swiped an arm across his forehead. He knew she was behind him before he turned. She smelled like jasmine and late summer roses. She was every man’s gypsy fantasy.
Except for the sea-green eyes. Those were pure, storybook siren.
Without looking, he took a final pull from his Bud. “I’m not feeling chatty right now, Sera.”
“I didn’t think you would be.” Coming around him, she dangled a half-done bottle of bourbon with an overturned shot glass on the top. “My uncle does trauma clinics on Sunday nights. He says sometimes we need a little poison to kick-start a difficult emotional process.”
Logan drew his work gloves off with his teeth. “Sounds more like something you’d say.”
“I just did.” She glanced away. “Logan, I’m really sorry about Sig. I teased him a little—actually, a lot—for being superstitious. Now he’s gone, and I have his rock, and who knows, it’s a big universe, maybe there was something to his belief.”
“Uh-huh.”
Although her lips turned up, her eyes remained on the trees. “Figured you’d say that. But whether I believe in Sedona rocks or not, Sig did, and that’s the point. What I don’t understand is why he left town without it.”
Logan downed the bourbon in a single swallow. When his throat reopened, he poured another. “Did he give it to you?”
“Only to hold.”
“If he didn’t ask for it back, he wanted you to have it.”
“I was afraid you’d say that.”
The
