The Sheriff's Daughter

by Jessica Andersen

He turned to her, lifted a hand to stroke her cheek then let it fall to his side, knowing he shouldn’t touch her at all. “You’ll be safe in here. Don’t leave the penthouse and don’t let anyone up. I’ll be back in a few hours.”

  He expected her eyes to flash with annoyance, or maybe defiance, but she simply nodded. “I won’t. Don’t worry about me.”

  But he would, damn it. Every moment he was away from her, he’d wonder whether she was okay. Whether she was still in the penthouse or had gone off on her own.

  She wasn’t the sort to stay meekly behind.

  “Promise me,” he pushed. “Promise you won’t leave the penthouse until I get back.”

  She surprised him by nodding. “I promise.” Then her eyes softened, her voice dropped. “Go find William Caine and don’t worry about me. I’ll stay put. This time.”

  This time. He felt his lips quirk at the modifier that told him exactly what he’d suspected, that Sam had no intentions of sitting idly by while the others worked to find the assassins.

  “Thank you.” He touched his lips to hers before either of them was prepared for it. The jolt of electrical current was way out of proportion for a simple touch, and Logan saw his own surprise mirrored in her eyes when he pulled back. “Sorry,” he said, “bad idea.”

  “Yeah.” She nodded and touched a hand to her throat. “Real bad idea.” She took a step away. “Be careful, okay?”

  He lingered a moment more, not quite ready to step outside the richly furnished penthouse and descend back to the place that had become his own personal hell. Then the elevators dinged in the hallway and Cage cleared his throat.

  It was time to go.

  Logan wanted to drag Sam into his arms and kiss her properly. He wanted to promise her something she could hold him to when he got back, though he had no idea what it might be. He wanted to turn his back on Cage, shut the door and take her to bed, bury himself inside her and tell himself the rest of it would go away if they locked the penthouse and never came out.

  He wanted…God, he didn’t know what the hell he wanted anymore. Didn’t even know who he was.

  So he turned on his heel and left without another word, feeling the warmth stay behind in the penthouse with Sam.

  In the elevator, Cage briefly sketched out the plan for rescuing Stephen. It was simple, full of holes and hinged on cooperation with one of the least predictable factions involved in the current Tehruvian civil war.

  Poor Nancy, Logan thought. Then he remembered his phone. “Here.” As the elevator reached the ground floor and the men stepped out, he pulled the phone from his inner pocket and handed it to Cage, unwilling to bring the familial link when he went to find William. “Have the security guard bring this up to Sam, will you? Better yet, take it yourself. I made her promise not to let anyone into the suite.”

  “Sure.” Cage took the phone, then gripped Logan’s shoulder. “You sure you’re okay with this?”

  “What choice have you left me?” But Logan’s question held little bitterness. There was no better plan and they both knew it.

  And Cage knew some of what had happened, some of how it had made Logan feel. Because of it, he’d put Logan on an enforced vacation for the duration of the trial.

  That the time away had been a disaster was no fault of Cage’s. The blame rested squarely on Viggo and his organization.

  Because of it, Logan returned Cage’s gesture. “I’ll be fine.”

  “Call me as soon as you get back to the penthouse, okay? Better yet, take this with you.” Cage handed him an operations phone. One of HFH’s neatest gadgets, it was fitted with everything from a global-positioning tracker to a small explosive charge with a miniature timer.

  “Thanks.” Logan tucked the unit into his inner jacket pocket and felt a measure of security. He hadn’t carried such things undercover—they would have marked him as an operative.

  Carrying one now took him one degree away from the man he’d become in Trehern’s employ.

  “Good luck.” Cage sketched a wave and returned to the elevator so he could bring Sam the phone.

  Logan could have brought it to her himself, but he’d said his goodbye already. Seeing her again would only make it harder.

  So he took the second elevator down to the garage and was careful to watch the shadows as he unlocked the truck. He slid onto the bench seat, shut the door and fired the engine.

  A voice spoke from the back seat. “Looking for me?”

  Logan’s gut iced as a gun barrel pressed into the skin behind his ear for the second time that night. “William.” The name was barely a whisper.

  The other man’s voice dropped to ice. “We need to talk, but not here. Drive.”

  Logan’s heart thumped double-time and cool sweat prickled as fear washed over him. He’d wanted to meet with William, true, but not here. Not like this.

  Not with Sam so close by.

  Intent on getting away from her, he slammed the transmission into reverse and navigated out of the parking space using only the rearview mirror. Blood hammered in his ears, his legs vibrated with the desire to run. Escape. “Where are we going?”

  “I’ll tell you when we get there.”

  Chapter Eight

  Sam held it together until the door shut behind Cage for the second time, leaving her standing alone in the grand apartment with Logan’s cell phone in her hand.

  It was still warm and she fancied it was from his body heat. She touched the small device to her cheek and prayed for his safety.

  She could deal with veterinary emergencies in the middle of the night, with prissy pets, obnoxious owners, and even with Horace Mann and his shotgun. But she didn’t know how to deal with this situation, didn’t know how she could possibly help.

  Logan was on his way back to a place that had wounded him deeply. She had sensed it in his expression when he’d talked about his time undercover, she’d heard it in his voice. He didn’t want to go back there. But he was doing exactly that. For her safety. For his.

  In this, but in nothing else, they were a couple.

  “Urgh!” Frustrated with her thoughts, and the way they kept circling back time and again to the taste of his kiss and the press of his body, she turned away from the door and forced herself into the kitchen, where she started a pot of coffee.

  It was going to be a long night.

  While the coffee perked, she flipped open her own phone and dialed home.

  The clinic line rang. And rang. And rang. Panic gathered beneath her breastbone and bubbled to the surface. Oh, God! Something had happened to Jennifer. She was hurt, she’d been kidnapped, she—

  “Hello?” The voice was breathless and laced with a giggle.

  “Jennifer?” Worry gave over to instant confusion. “What’s going on?” The rumble of a familiar male voice served only to increase Sam’s bewilderment. “Is somebody there with you? Are you okay?”

  To her knowledge, Jen hadn’t looked at a man since escaping her marriage. She’d focused on getting healthy, on getting stronger. On making a new life. So what the hell was going on?

  “I’m fine.” The lilt in Jen’s voice was unfamiliar. Young. Almost sexy. “Jimmy and I are just finishing up the animals for the evening.”

  “Jimmy?” Always before, it had been Sheriff Donahue this and Sheriff Donahue that. Come to think of it, Jen had said the two words an awful lot, almost like a woman with a crush.

  Or a woman in love.

  What the hell was happening in Black Horse Beach? Sam wondered. She had been gone for a day and her best friend had hooked up with her…other best friend?

  She turned inward and looked for a spark of jealousy. She found only a faint sadness.

  “Sam?” Jimmy’s voice came on the line, not laughing, but also a little out of breath. “What’s going on up there? Are you okay? Is Hart behaving himself?”

  “I’m not sure you’re in any position to ask that at the moment, James,” she said with irritation borne of a twinge of envy. Then she stoppe
d and took a breath. “Sorry.”

  There was silence on the other end, then Jimmy’s voice, very serious. “Is this going to be a problem for us, Sam? I mean, I know you and I had talked about dating and all…but—”

  “No problem,” she interrupted firmly. “We discussed this the other day. It was never going to happen between us. On paper, we should have worked. But in real life, I think we make really, really good friends. Okay?”

  His sigh of relief carried down the line. “Okay. That’s what I thought, but I wanted to make sure. It’s just that I’ve sort of had this thing for Jennie for a few years now, but with you and I circling around each other, and everything she’s been through…well, when I ran into the clinic yesterday and thought for a moment that she’d been hurt, it let me know a few things. And one of those things was that it was time.” His voice softened, and it was clear to Sam that he wasn’t talking specifically to her anymore. “Lucky for me, Jen agreed.”

  There was a quiet moment. Sam imagined them kissing, and felt a phantom brush of lips across her own, an echo of electricity that quickly faded in the empty apartment.

  When Jimmy came up for air, his voice shifted to that of the Black Horse sheriff. “So tell me what’s up.”

  She sketched out what had happened that day, and where they stood, leaving out the parts about Logan’s sister, because that information was private and it didn’t relate to Trehern or the shooter. She ended by saying, “Is everything okay there? Have the state cops figured anything out?”

  “Everything’s fine,” Jimmy answered. “You’ve only had a couple of calls—one from Izzy and one from that racetrack barn, Bellamy.”

  “Doc Sears called to apologize?” she asked, surprised.

  “No. The farm manager. He asked where you were, but I played dumb. We’re not telling anyone where you went, just in case. The guy didn’t leave a message, so I guess it wasn’t important.”

  Or they’d asked one of the vets farther north to help instead, Sam thought with a twist of dismay. Damn it! How had things gotten so complicated?

  “Your truck’s been salvaged,” Jimmy continued, “though salvage may be an optimistic term. It’s a real mess.” Sam tried not to let the dollar signs add up in her head, but she winced nonetheless. Jimmy continued, “The brake lines were cut, all right. The funny thing is that the lab boys said it was a pretty messy job. Didn’t look professional at all, which doesn’t fit with what Logan said about Trehern’s operation. Same with the shooting. We’ve dug slugs out of the front of your house that came nowhere near either of you.”

  A quiver of nerves strung itself through Sam’s stomach. “What are you saying?”

  “I’m not sure what I’m saying.” Jimmy’s frustration jangled down the line. “The evidence we have down here doesn’t seem like it lines up with the information Logan’s giving us.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning watch your back, okay? I’m not sure we have this all figured out yet.”

  A shiver worked down Sam’s spine as Jimmy’s hunch combined itself with the note Trehern’s enforcer had delivered. “Same to you. Take care, and take care of Jen, too.”

  There was a new note in his voice when he said, “I will.”

  Sam disconnected the call and leaned up against the kitchen counter, coffee forgotten.

  What if Trehern hadn’t sent the killer? What then?

  It meant that Logan had another enemy. One he wasn’t watching out for. She didn’t even bother to consider the alternative, because who would want to kill her?

  She was nobody.

  The phone rang at Sam’s elbow, startling her. She grabbed it. “Hello?” As silence hummed on the line, she realized she’d just answered Logan’s phone, not her own. She scrambled to cover the mistake. “Logan Hart’s phone. May I help you?”

  “This is his sister, Nancy. Who is this?” The soft, feminine voice held a hint of steel, a quiver of strain.

  “You don’t know me. My name is Samantha Blackwell. I’m Logan’s…landlady.” That seemed a safe enough answer.

  “Where’s Logan?” The quiver became a crack. “He’s not hurt, is he?”

  “No,” Sam answered quickly, “No, he’s not hurt. He’s…out. He’ll be back in an hour or so.” Please, God, let him be back in an hour or so. William Caine had seemed cold and fierce, not the sort of man to be torn by loyalty and friendship, as Logan was.

  “Then I’m coming up.”

  The words took a moment to penetrate. Another moment to register. “You’re what? Where are you?”

  Cage had said Logan’s sister was safe on the base. Far away. Nowhere near Boston, Viggo Trehern and his desire to punish Logan for crimes other people would consider justice.

  “Downstairs in the lobby. Tell the guard to buzz me up, will you?” And the connection cut off before Sam could protest.

  Don’t let anyone up, Logan had said. He’d made her promise. But he couldn’t have guessed his sister would fly in from the Midwest, could he?

  He’d want her to let Nancy up. She was sure of it.

  But even after Sam called downstairs and spoke with the guard, nerves feathered through her body.

  She heard the cheerful ding of the elevator, heard the doors slide open in the hallway, heard a footstep that sounded heavier that she’d expected.

  Panic skittered through Sam’s belly.

  And she hoped to hell she hadn’t made a huge mistake.

  “PARK HERE,” William said, using the muzzle of his gun to indicate a sand lot beneath an overpass. Probably a leftover from Baston’s last construction project, it was deserted now, and dark from the concrete shadow above. The gun disappeared from Logan’s peripheral view, though he knew it was nearby. William’s voice ordered, “Get out and keep your hands where I can see them. I imagine you remember the drill.”

  There was a twist of resentment, of anger in the last.

  Logan did as instructed, his gut churning with conflicting urges. Part of him wanted to punch William out, lunge back into the truck and drive away. But part of him knew this was why he’d left the apartment complex in the first place.

  William had information he needed.

  So he schooled himself to stillness as he slid from the truck and walked to the center of the black shadow beneath the overpass, hands well away from his body. Unarmed.

  He’d thought about bringing his weapon, but knew William was faster on the draw and more accurate. More importantly, William could have shot him easily earlier that day.

  But he hadn’t. That told Logan the organization wanted him alive, not dead.

  Which made no sense.

  “Turn around.” William’s order came out of the deeper darkness near the concrete pylon.

  Logan obeyed, feeling a light sweat break out across his lower back. He’d joined HFH looking for an excitement that he’d found lacking in transplant medicine, but this was more than he’d ever bargained for. More than he’d wanted.

  And where the hell had that thought come from?

  “Okay. You can chill.” William waited for Logan to drop his hands and stand at ease before he said, “What do you want to know?”

  The question startled Logan, though he tried not to let it show. There was something different about William tonight, though he couldn’t quite pinpoint it. Didn’t even try to as he asked, “Who is after me?”

  “To my knowledge, nobody.”

  “Bull!” Logan took an aggressive step toward the other man’s voice and pulled up short when a slice of headlight illumination from above glinted on the barrel of the semi-automatic. The overpass hummed with the passing vehicle, then fell silent.

  In the distance, a church bell tolled the hour. Midnight.

  Though motorists rolled along overhead, Logan felt very isolated. Just as he’d been undercover.

  Some of the blackness he’d learned during that job descended on him and he stepped forward again, into William’s gun, until the muzzle pressed a small circle just beneath hi
s heart. “Tell me who is trying to kill me, William. You know something, or you wouldn’t have brought me that bogus note.” He swallowed, the motion clicking against the strain in his throat. “Who is trying to kill me?”

  “I told you. I. Don’t. Know.” William enunciated each word very clearly. “But it’s not Viggo or Viggo Jr. Understand? It’s not. I promise.”

  The last two words lit a raging fire within Logan, sparking off the twist of anger and the guilt of a death. “Why should I believe anything you say? Anything? You’re a murderer and a thief, and turning state’s evidence doesn’t change that.” He still couldn’t believe they’d let William go in exchange for testimony. The betrayal burned, the memory of Sharilee’s dead, staring eyes flared in his mind.

  “Easy, Doc. You don’t know everything.”

  The calm measure of his tone only served to enrage Logan further. He leaned in and shouted, “And now what? You’re an errand boy for Viggo Jr.? His paid liar? Damn it, I liked you!” Ignoring the gun, he grabbed William by the collar and shook him. “Don’t lie to me! Tell me who’s trying to kill me!”

  William dropped the gun, shoved Logan back with two hands, then punched him in the temple with a short, precisely placed chop.

  Instant incapacitation.

  Logan’s legs folded beneath him, his vision dimmed from shadows to night, and he fell to the sand.

  THE FOOTSTEPS in the elevator lobby weren’t heavy because she’d been tricked into buzzing up a killer, Sam learned moments later. They were heavy because Logan’s sister was pregnant.

  Hugely so.

  The woman’s face, so like Logan’s only packaged in a more delicate, feminine manner, brightened with a small smile that did little to lighten the obvious strain. “Surprise?”

  “You shouldn’t be here.” Sam blocked the doorway with her body, not even sure she had the right. “Cage said you were safe on the base.”

  Hazel eyes a shade lighter than Logan’s looked up at Sam, who was startled to realize she topped Logan’s sister by a good four inches. “Cage doesn’t know everything, and neither does Logan. I wanted to be here, in case…” She shrugged and moisture gathered in her eyes. “Just in case. They’ll fly Stephen here for debriefing first. I want to be here the moment he arrives. So I’ll wait.” She tipped her head toward the rooms beyond Sam. “Can I come in? I’ve stayed here before, when Logan has been in between assignments. I was here just a few weeks ago.”