by LENA DIAZ,
“I should have locked it in my drawer as soon as I got home,” Logan said, shaking his head. “I knew something was off, since it was mailed directly to the station. Amanda’s given me permission now to open all her mail at the station. I’m going to forward it there from now on.”
Amanda rubbed her hands up and down her arms. She certainly wasn’t in any hurry to open any more mail, not after the surprise she’d had tonight. The note had echoed her attacker’s words all those years ago, “He kills me, he kills me not,” with “he kills me” underlined as if the decision had already been made.
“I’ll have Nelson run the evidence to the FBI lab tonight,” Pierce said. “Maybe we’ll get lucky and they’ll find a fingerprint. We could have a suspect by morning.”
“I don’t believe in luck,” Logan said.
“Unfortunately, neither do I.” Pierce clapped him on the back and took the evidence envelopes containing the thorns, rose petals, and note. He paused beside Amanda’s chair. “We’ll catch this guy, Ms. Stockton. Count on it.”
She nodded. “Call me Amanda, please. And thank you for your help.”
Pierce nodded and walked to the door with Logan.
Amanda looked away as unshed tears stung the backs of her eyes. The cowardice she’d shown at the cabin had to end right now. The one thing she hadn’t told Logan yet was exactly what the killer had done to her, and the horrible thing she’d done to Dana. Neither of those seemed relevant to him catching the killer, but she couldn’t take that chance any longer. The killer had just announced his intentions. She had to fight back. Telling Logan the truth was the only way she knew how to fight.
“You know I’ll keep you safe, don’t you?”
She glanced up. Logan had come back in the room so quietly she hadn’t heard him. “I know you will. You’re a good man and you’re fighting hard to help me.” She swallowed against the lump in her throat. “You’re fighting more than anyone else ever has. It’s time I did the same.”
He crouched down next to her. “What do you mean?”
“I’m ready to tell you what really happened four years ago.”
After what felt like an eternity later, but was really only a few minutes, she was sipping a glass of wine that Logan had insisted on getting for her. She didn’t really care for wine, but she wasn’t going to tell him that since he was trying so hard to help her. In typical male fashion, he had to do something to fix things when sometimes there was no fix.
He moved the coffee table out of the way and slid a matching recliner in front of hers. If she needed him, all she had to do was reach out.
He leaned forward, worry creasing his brow. “What did you mean, what really happened?”
She hugged her arms around her waist and tried to prepare herself for the moment when he would shrink away from her in disgust. “I never told you what the killer did. What I did.” She closed her eyes, partly to avoid seeing the condemnation on his face that would soon be there, partly to put herself back in the cabin as she tried to remember anything that might help.
“He took off our clothes that first day. With a knife. The floor was slippery with blood by the time he’d finished.”
Logan didn’t say anything. She took a deep breath and continued. “There was only one bed. An iron bed, bolted to the floor. He made Dana sit on the floor, shackled her arms to the foot rail. He threw me on the bed—”
“You don’t have to tell me this,” Logan said, his voice sounding strained.
“—but he didn’t rape me. I don’t think I . . . excited him . . . in that way. Instead, he cut me. When he was . . . finished . . . he did the same things to Dana. And then he left. We spent the night tied to a blood-soaked bed in a pitch dark cabin with boarded up windows, crying and holding onto each other, wondering if we’d make it out of there alive.”
“Concentrate on him, not on what he did to you. I know he wore a hood, but you saw part of his face, his hands. Can you describe those? Did he have any tattoos, rings?”
“His eyes were . . . black. Almost. Dark with hate.” She swallowed, cleared her throat. “He didn’t have any tattoos, birthmarks, jewelry. God, I wish I could have seen something that would help, but I didn’t. Nothing.”
“That’s enough. You don’t need to say anything—”
“The second day was worse,” she interrupted, determined to finish. She didn’t want to talk about it later. She wanted this over with. After tonight, she’d never talk about it with anyone else ever again. “He got . . . creative, like he was testing out a new set of knives. He sat on my back, carved me up, flipped me over and cut me some more, over and over. I have scars, big ugly scars—”
“Stop it, Amanda.”
“Then he did the same to Dana. When that mad look left his eyes, he’d take us outside, one at a time, and hose us off like he was washing a dog. It burned, all those open cuts. He’d take us back inside and he’d sit for hours on the floor, looking off into space while we huddled together on the bed. He hummed that eerie tune.” She shook her head. “I can’t believe I’d forgotten that part.”
“That’s because you didn’t want to remember and you didn’t think it was important. You’ve been through enough for one night. We can talk about this some more tomorrow,” he urged, his tone pitched low as if he were trying to soothe her.
But it wasn’t working. Not this time.
“He’d sit for hours, then he’d turn and that mad light would come back into his eyes, and he’d start the whole thing all over again.”
Logan gently shook her shoulders. “You don’t have to do this. The interview is over.”
She opened her eyes and stared into his haunted ones. “I didn’t know until later, of course, in the hospital, but he took away any hopes I had for a family.” Her voice broke and he reached for her, but she shrank back from his touch.
“Stop talking about this,” he entreated.
She laughed bitterly, knew she was close to losing it, but she didn’t care anymore. Once she’d started she couldn’t stop. “But you haven’t heard the best part. I have to tell you about the game. The one with the rose. The thorns.”
“I know about the game, Amanda. It was in the reports.”
“No, you don’t know everything about the game, Logan.”
He grew very still. “What do you mean?”
“You were right all along. I did hold something back. Not on purpose, not at first when everything was so jumbled in my mind. Later, I felt so guilty, I couldn’t tell anyone.”
A sob escaped her lips and she pressed a fist to her mouth. Logan reached for her again and she slapped his hand away.
She ignored the hurt look in his eyes and twisted her hands in her lap. “When he showed up that last day, he brought two long-stemmed red roses. He played the game with each of us. When it was my turn, he made me lie down on the floor. He sat on my stomach, held up the rose, twisted off a thorn. Do you know what he said?”
“Yes. It’s in the report.”
“He said, ‘He Kills Me’. Weird how he talked about himself in third person, don’t you think?”
Logan stared at her, his mouth pressed firmly shut, his fists clenched where they rested on top of his thighs.
She laughed again. “Then he twisted another thorn off and dropped that one too. He said, ‘He Kills Me Not’.”
Logan blanched white but didn’t try to touch her again.
“He sang his little chant until he’d twisted off all of the thorns but one. He left that one. Don’t know why.”
“Amanda, the interview is over. He played his sick little game and ended with “He Kills Me” for Dana and “He Kills Me Not” for you. You were very lucky that he gave you a chance and you were able to escape.”
Another hysterical giggle bubbled up from her lips and she shook her head violently. “Oh Logan, you don’t get it, do you? It was the other way around. Dana was supposed to live. I was supposed to die.”
Chapter Eleven
Logan swore
beneath his breath and reached for Amanda. She tried to push his hands away, but he ignored her attempts, scooped her up in his arms and carried her out of the study.
She shouldn’t let him carry her like she was helpless, but it felt so good to be held that she wrapped her arms around his neck and snuggled against his chest. If the man didn’t care that her tears were soaking through his shirt, she wouldn’t care either.
He carried her into the master bedroom. After gently laying her down on the cool cotton sheets, he disappeared into the bathroom. She heard the sound of running water and a moment later he sat on the edge of the bed, wiping her tears away with a warm damp washcloth.
His eyes had darkened to a deep forest-green, and she wondered what he was thinking. He’d heard her confession. Even without knowing the details of how she’d gotten away, he knew she had and that she shouldn’t have. “You think I’m a horrible person, don’t you?” she whispered as she hiccupped into the pillow and breathed in the clean familiar scent of the soap he used.
The washcloth continued its slow, comforting strokes across her cheeks, her brow. “I think you’re a wonderful person,” he whispered.
She shook her head “no” but she didn’t have the energy to argue. She was so tired. Her eyelids felt sandpapery, heavy.
Something else kept niggling at the edges of her mind, a shadowy memory that struggled to surface. Finally, she remembered. As her eyes slid closed, she murmured, “He called me Kate.”
He called her Kate?
Logan didn’t know the significance of that, didn’t really care at the moment. He was still reeling from everything she’d told him. The torture and devastation she’d suffered were far greater than he’d imagined from reading the police reports. And after she escaped with her life, the cruelest punishment of all was that she could never bring another life into this world, never have children.
He never should have asked her to talk about her abduction. Putting her through that again was too much to ask of anyone. He’d give anything to take it back, but he couldn’t. What was done was done, and all he could do now was help her in any way possible.
He continued the gentle strokes of the washcloth until he was certain she was asleep. He set the cloth aside and stared down at her pale, tear-streaked face, her brow delicately knit with tension even in sleep. Her fists were knotted in the sheets, clutching them to her chest like a security blanket.
Stroking one of her clenched fists with the pad of his thumb, he murmured soothing words like he’d done for his little sister when she’d had bad dreams. Madison’s nightmares were the typical stuff of a small child, full of dragons and other imaginary monsters. He suspected Amanda’s nightmares were about real monsters, the kind that didn’t go away when you woke up.
When the lines of worry smoothed out on her brow and she relaxed into a calmer, deeper sleep, he moved to the chair next to the bed. He ran a shaky hand through his hair as he thought about what she had, and hadn’t, told him both tonight and that day back at the cabin.
Most of what she’d said he already knew from the police reports. That the killer hummed was new. It didn’t seem like a significant piece of information, but it had been rattling around in the back of his mind ever since she’d told him. He knew he’d heard something like that before. Maybe not humming, specifically, but something about a killer and music.
It would come to him eventually.
That the killer had called her Kate seemed far more significant. Tomorrow, finding out who Kate was would become a top priority for his detectives. If anyone they had even remotely identified as a person of interest had a Kate in their lives, their name would move to the top of the list.
Amanda’s breath caught and she mumbled something in her sleep. He started to go to her but she calmed and snuggled back into the pillow.
He didn’t know how she did it, how she functioned each day with the memories that roiled around inside her mind, knowing the man who did those horrible things to her was still out there, stalking and murdering other young women. Just the suspicion that the killer Logan had let go had probably killed other women made it hard for him to function some days. Considering what Amanda carried around in her mind every day, he was amazed she functioned at all.
His fingers dug into the soft cloth of the arms of the chair as he remembered the hospital pictures of her after the attack. It was difficult enough viewing them before he’d met her. Thinking about them now sent a jolt of fury coursing through him. How could anyone, no matter how sick, look at that angelic, heart-shaped face and want to hurt her?
The killer had better hope he was captured by someone other than Logan, because the way he felt right now he knew he’d kill him, probably with his bare hands. It would be a pleasure to smash his fist into the bastard’s face, feel the bones crunch beneath his knuckles. Unprofessional, petty, sure . . . but it would make Logan feel a hell of a lot better.
Later, when Amanda knew the killer could never hurt her again, would she be able to go on with her life? Could she be happy again? The picture he’d pieced together of her past was of a woman who had withdrawn from the world, done everything she could to avoid human contact and lock herself away in her safe little cocoon.
He understood her need to be alone, to do everything she could to avoid being hurt again. Leaving Shadow Falls ten years ago was his way of withdrawing, of running away from his problems. None of the other officers seemed to blame him for his mistake, but it wasn’t his peers he’d run from. He’d run from himself. It took him a full decade to realize that.
Looking back at her, he watched the gentle rise and fall of her chest, her dark curls framing her delicate cheeks and falling across the bed like a satin drape. There was no denying there was something special about her, a kindred spirit he’d recognized the moment she’d crushed his foot in her door. Everything he’d learned about her since then had only deepened his respect for her.
When her parents died, she was legally entitled to half their estate. She was struggling financially at the time. The money would have made her life much easier. Instead, she’d given it all to her sister to fund her education.
He’d called Amanda’s sister, Heather, as part of the investigation. Heather painted a picture of a big sister who’d always looked out for her, although they’d had some kind of falling out that Heather wouldn’t elaborate on.
Logan couldn’t imagine how Amanda must have felt, still mentally healing from a horrendous attack, the only family she had left had abandoned her, turned away in her moment of need. And yet, she sent generous checks to her sister on the anniversary of their parents’ death and Christmas, using some bogus excuse about proceeds from a trust.
Alone, she’d done everything she could to keep the ugly world at bay, to isolate herself. And yet, once she knew the killer was back in Shadow Falls, she’d insisted on staying, to help in any way that she could to find the killer.
Most women he knew would have left, not given a second thought to helping the police. Amanda was scared, but she’d done everything she could to help. She had the same desire for justice that he had, the same sense of family loyalty.
She was resting comfortably now, so he tucked the covers around her and pressed a soft kiss to the top of her head before shuffling off to the guest room where he was staying.
An hour later, he was awakened by a scream so chilling he was certain the killer had broken in and was torturing Amanda. He grabbed his gun and ran into her room, expecting to see a man standing over her with a knife. Instead, he found her in the bed, alone, whimpering in her sleep. He stroked her arm, whispered soothing words until she calmed. She let out a soft sigh before snuggling back under the covers.
He’d just reached the doorway when she let out another agonized scream.
Rushing back to the bed he stood in indecision. She whimpered and thrashed back and forth, her face a mask of fear as her legs kicked at the covers.
“Ah, hell,” he swore. He checked the safety on his gun and
put it in the nightstand drawer before climbing into the bed and laying down on top of the covers next to her. Crawling under the covers would be far too tempting. Circling his arm around her slim waist, he pulled her tightly against him and spooned his thighs behind hers. She immediately calmed and snuggled into his embrace, her fingers entwining with his.
She would probably be furious in the morning when she discovered him in bed with her, but if he heard one more of those blood-curdling screams, he’d be the one having nightmares.
When she wiggled her bottom against his groin, he gritted his teeth. It was going to be a long night.
The smell of bacon had Amanda hopping out of bed and rushing through her shower the next morning. She couldn’t imagine Karen cooking breakfast, but her nose told her otherwise.
After last night’s grueling interview, she didn’t relish the idea of being alone to relive the vivid memories that were already swirling through her mind this morning. So even though she wasn’t particularly hungry and wasn’t much of a breakfast person, she hurried through her morning routine.
Glancing at the clock before she left the bedroom, she was glad to see it was after eight. Logan would have left for the office a few hours ago, giving her time to gather her defenses before she saw him again. She didn’t know how she would face him, what she would say, and she needed time to think about it.
He’d seemed so concerned about her last night, tucking her into bed, staying with her until she fell asleep. She had vague impressions of nightmares but she hadn’t woken herself up screaming like she usually did when those disturbing dreams haunted her. She’d slept the best she could remember in a long time.
As she descended the last step, she called out, “Karen, you should have waited. I could have helped you cook.” She walked into the kitchen and came to an abrupt halt when she saw who was standing in front of the stove.
Logan turned around and even though Amanda’s stomach flipped as she realized she’d have to face him earlier than she’d hoped, she couldn’t help but smile at his ensemble.
