by Lora Leigh
Or something wasn’t, and Logan was damned sure he didn’t want to know what it was.
Weariness, guilt, sorrow. The emotions flashed through him as he fought the knowledge he could see in the sheriff’s gaze.
A knowledge that hell was about to revisit.
“What’s happened?” Logan asked as he turned and poured the coffee, more to give himself something than out of any need for the caffeine. Setting the two cups on the center counter, Skye’s counter as he now thought of it, Logan crossed his arms over his chest and waited.
“We’ve talked to your neighbors,” Archer sighed. “No one will say one way or the other if you were here Saturday night/early morning or not, if you left or if they saw you at all.” There was a growl in his voice, an edge of anger as Logan felt himself tensing.
Archer needed an alibi for him.
No one was going to stand up for him here, though, in other words, and it was obvious he was going to need it.
He found it strange, though, that they weren’t swearing whatever the hell they thought would get him in the most trouble.
“And I haven’t finished installing the security system either,” Logan stated.
That was a lie, but he had no intentions of revealing the extent to which the inside of the house had been wired. It was the outside he hadn’t yet gotten around to. He’d only reveal the fact that the inside was done though, if he had no other choice.
“Do you have an alibi for Saturday after midnight, Logan? Specifically, between three thirty and five?”
Logan paused as he lifted the coffee to his lips. His gaze locked on Archer’s before he completed the motion, brought the cup to his lips, sipped, then lowered it.
“Does it matter?” he finally asked.
Skye O’Brien hadn’t been happy when she’d left the other night, so he wasn’t certain she would attest for his whereabouts that night.
“It fucking matters, Logan,” he snapped as the detective beside him shifted, his hand lying on the butt of his weapon, a secondary at his hip. Logan set his coffee on the counter and recrossed his arms over his chest.
“Do you have anyone who will go on record as having seen you between three thirty and five that morning?” Archer’s tone was sharp now.
Logan gave a mocking laugh. “What do you think? Why don’t you just tell me what the hell is going on?”
“This is bullshit, Sheriff,” the detective growled then. “Why are you wasting your time? You have the DNA evidence and it matches. Stop fucking around.”
Logan felt something in his stomach clench as the words “DNA evidence” filled the room.
“Archer, what the hell is this?”
The sheriff slapped his hat against his thigh as his jaw clenched, fury raging in his gaze.
“A rancher found Marietta Tyme out by Wiley’s Creek early yesterday morning,” the detective stated coldly before Archer could speak. “She’d been raped, tortured, sliced in so many areas she looked like a cutting board, and her throat sliced. A witness places you at her home at three Saturday morning, putting her in that black pickup parked in your garage. You tore your jeans on a thorn bush, Callahan, and forgot a glove. We have your fingerprints and we have your DNA, on scene. I want you to lower your arms and turn around, we’re taking you in for the murder of Marietta Tyme.”
Logan wanted to sit down.
He needed to sit down.
He wanted to give in to the need to ram his fist down that arrogant detective’s throat, then find a way to accept what he was being told.
Instead, he stood silent and still and just stared back at both men.
He wanted to convince himself this was just another nightmare, that somehow he’d manage to slip back into sleep and find himself once again enmeshed in the tortured dreams he found there.
“The Slasher?” His voice was even but now harsh with fury. He could hear it, and he knew the two men watching him warily now heard it as well. “There’s no way my DNA was there, Archer.” But mistakes like that weren’t made. If Archer was there, and he wasn’t denying it, then there was no mistake.
“You’re going to have to come in with us, Mr. Callahan,” the detective repeated. “Let’s not make this difficult.”
“Was it the fucking Slasher, Archer?” he snarled back at the man he liked to call “friend.”
“Same MO, same type blade.” Archer nodded. “We found your fingerprints at her apartment as well as a leather jacket you’re known to wear, also with your prints.” Archer swallowed, glanced away for a second before his gaze returned. “Several feet from her body we found a piece of torn denim, there was enough perspiration to run DNA. It was unmistakable, Logan. It was yours. As were the prints on the glove we found.”
Logan’s teeth were going to crack, he was clenching them so hard.
“I left the jacket there last month.” He breathed out roughly as he met Archer’s gaze. “It was the last time I saw her. It was the only time I was at her house.”
But she had called a few times. Laughing, flirty, inviting.
He’d ignored the invitation and hadn’t returned for his jacket.
And now she was gone.
“I need an alibi, Logan,” Archer said again.
“He doesn’t have an alibi, Sheriff,” the detective bit out with icy rage.
Logan let a harsh, mocking sneer curve his lips as he watched the sheriff. “Because myself and my cousins haven’t been targeted to be framed again, right?”
Archer sighed wearily. “One of her neighbors became worried when they hadn’t seen her in the past four days. He called her employer, found out she hadn’t been to work, then reported it to Missing Persons. The report came in to Detective Staton yesterday morning. He was on his way down here to question you when Tim Robbins called. He owns that little place on Wiley Creek? He reported a naked female who appeared dead at the creek’s bank about a mile from the main entrance to his place. I sent my deputy, John Caine, out to check on it.”
Logan nodded slowly, fighting the truth of what he was hearing as Archer continued. “Staton and I drove straight out there as soon as he contacted me, and the detective confirmed her identity. But Caine had already found her ID. We came straight here from the crime lab, Logan.” Archer shook his head. “It was bad. The coroner puts her death between three thirty and five Sunday morning, and her killer put her through hell first.”
Between three thirty and five Sunday morning. Yeah, Logan had an alibi, but he doubted very seriously Ms. O’Brien would stick her neck out for him. No one else on the fucking street was willing to do it.
“Logan, you have to give me something,” Archer demanded. “Something to at least give me some room to maneuver. If I don’t arrest you on this, then the Barons, the mayor, and the city council will have my ass. Give me a fucking alibi, man.”
The Barons. John Corbin, Marshal Roberts, and Logan’s grandfather Saul Rafferty. The city hall was made up of their puppets, and no doubt the mayor may not have given in to the pressure to target the Callahans yet, but Logan had faith he wouldn’t hold out much longer.
“Who is your alibi, Logan?” Archer was clearly running out of patience.
“He obviously doesn’t have shit, Sheriff,” the detective sneered. “Or he would have given it. And any alibi he could have would only be a suspect in the crime.” He pulled the cuffs free from the back of his jeans. “Now, how are we going to do this?”
Logan had parted his lips to order the sheriff to go straight to hell when a determined, clearly imperious knock sounded at the back door.
He knew who it was. He would know the attitude behind that summons anywhere in the world.
His guts tightened in the knowledge that she was going to be drawn into this.
That the one person in his life whom he’d managed to protect from his own personal hell, would now be thrown smack in the middle of it.
It didn’t matter if she lied or if she told the truth, she would be drawn into it.
She
would become a part of his nightmare, and there was no way he could keep her out of it.
The knock came again.
Logan stared back at the sheriff coldly. He wasn’t about to open that door and invite Skye into the confrontation beginning to heat up between him and a detective Logan couldn’t even blame for his arrogance.
Unfortunately, Archer wasn’t nearly as stubborn. Before Logan could stop him the sheriff stepped to the door and jerked it open.
The first thing Logan heard was a hard, furious puppy snarl.
What started it, Skye’s surprise or the puppy’s sense of the tension, Logan wasn’t certain.
A second later the puppy had nearly managed to jump from Skye’s arms. Archer jumped to catch the puppy, dragged her against his chest, then gave a surprised yelp as two tiny canine teeth raked his neck before he could shove the bundle of fur back to Skye.
The dog didn’t want Skye. A puppyish, furious bark emitted from her immature throat, a furious part wiggle, mostly jump, and she was out of Archer’s arms.
A tiny little bundle of apricot fur and too-delicate bones was heading for the floor.
Logan jumped to catch her, reaching out for her and managing to catch the still-snarling little heathen before she managed to bounce to the floor.
And did she wiggle around wanting to be petted? As Logan set her on the floor, hoping Skye would just leave, he found out fast that being petted or helped, unless by him, wasn’t on the pup’s agenda.
Logan stared down at his shoe as the pup plopped next to him, laid her little snout on the toe of his sneaker, and stared back at the world, utterly content, if a bit drowsy.
The first pup he’d owned had been calm and laidback. This one was anything but.
“You are going to have to do something about her.” An imperious feminine finger pointed to the dog as Skye stood at the doorway, clearly displeased.
“Really?” Logan’s brow arched mockingly. “I’ll get right on that. You can run on home now.”
He wanted her out of here; he did not want her involved in this.
“Oh, can I?” Delicate fingers spread out on her hips as one cocked and a tiny fragile foot pointed out confrontationally. “Well, that just sucks for you, Callahan, because you owe me. That little monster has made my life hell.”
“I didn’t tell you to take her out of here.” For the briefest second, Logan almost forgot about the detective determined to take him out in handcuffs.
“The hell you didn’t,” she argued fiercely. “That’s exactly what you told me.”
“So I’m an asshole,” he reminded her, keeping his voice cold. “Now, can you come back later, I’m a little busy here.”
“She has not allowed me to sleep since I took her Saturday night. She destroyed a new pair of designer jeans, a silk blouse, and nearly gnawed the leg of my antique coffee table in half. I must have been insane. She has tried to destroy everything in my home in her attempt to get to you. What do you do? Bewitch females? I will never, ever make such a decision again at three in the morning unless there’s a gun to my head.”
Skye was incensed. Until Logan looked into her eyes and saw, rather than anger, a cool, determined purpose.
As though somehow, she knew exactly what was going on.
Logan bent, picked the puppy up by her scruff, and, holding her back from him, stared into the dark brown eyes as the apricot pup hung from his grip.
Who would have figured? He’d ignored the animal for a week, other than providing food and water. Now she was the key to proving that once again, he hadn’t killed anyone. Because Skye had just informed both of them that she had been with him, the night, the hour, he needed an alibi for.
Wiggling in his grasp, the little mutt stared back at him with eyes he could have sworn were almost wise and a canine smile of bliss.
Shaking his head at the irony of it, Logan set the animal back on the floor, unsurprised when she flopped on her belly at his feet and laid her wrinkled little face on the toe of his sneaker.
“Sheriff Tobias, Detective Staton, meet Skye O’Brien,” Logan introduced them as he met Archer’s gaze intently before glancing back at Skye.
“Nice to meet you.” She blew away the introduction before turning back to Logan, an expression of frustrated feminine fury creasing her brow, but it sure as hell wasn’t filling her eyes. “Look, she wants you; not me. Now, you can take her and love her or you can watch her die of a broken heart on your back porch. Your choice. Five days of this is more than enough for me.”
“Five days ago at three in the morning?” Archer’s tone was harder now. “Was this Saturday night, Ms. O’Brien?”
“Drop it—”
“Yes, it was; why?”
Skye crossed her arms over her breasts and glared back at Logan.
Her gaze flicked back to the puppy as she lay at his feet, the cute little face relaxed in bliss as she watched everyone with drowsy unconcern now that she lay where she wanted to be.
“Ms. O’Brien, could you and Mr. Callahan possibly discuss the pup later?” Impatience could be heard in the detective’s voice as he glanced at her, his gaze definitely irritated.
Irritation seemed to be the normal attitude when dealing with Logan Callahan.
She could definitely understand it.
“Or you could tell me what you meant by being here at three in the morning five days ago,” the sheriff ordered.
He expected her to lie; she could see it in his face. If she were going to lie, then she shouldn’t have run here the second her contact had informed her of what was going on.
Skye cleared her throat, as though comfortable, looking between the two men. “What did you do, turn me in for trespassing?” She doubted it. “Hell, Callahan, you didn’t seem the vindictive type to me.”
“Go home, Skye,” Logan snapped, and she could see the anger beginning to burn in his gaze.
Now wasn’t it just too bad that he was getting all angry with her?
Archer’s lips quirked. “I promise I’ll stop him short of vindictiveness. Now, if you would just tell us where Logan was about three o’clock Saturday morning, then we could just leave the two of you alone.”
“Like hell,” the other man murmured.
She pressed her lips together in irritation.
“Specific times, if you don’t mind,” the detective stated then, causing Logan to shoot him a warning look.
One the detective ignored.
Skye wanted to roll her eyes, but the look on the sheriff’s face wasn’t exactly inviting.
“Times.” Cocking a hip, she glared back at Logan before turning to the sheriff again. “I left my house at two o’clock Saturday morning and slipped around Mr. Callahan’s, then into his side yard, hoping the puppy wouldn’t bark at me like she usually did when I trespassed.” She pretended to glare at Logan. “I don’t know what time I made it to the back porch, but I was there, playing with the puppy, when He-Man here jerked me into the house about three thirty. We had coffee, sniped at each other a few minutes, long enough to learn he doesn’t like puppies or babies. He does kiss like a pirate though, I was able to reaffirm that.” Archer seemed to almost choke. “Daylight was just coming over the mountains when I left for my house.” She glared at the puppy then. “With the Tasmanian Devil there.”
The puppy yawned before blinking back at Skye innocently from the toe of Logan’s sneaker.
The sheriff let out a sigh that sounded amazingly relieved as Logan, arrogant male that he was, simply glared at her as though she had just committed a crime.
“I so can’t believe you turned me in to the sheriff,” she muttered, shooting him another one of those mocking glares. “That was such a sissy move, Callahan.”
His brow arched instantly as his eyes gleamed with a moment’s amusement. “Sissy?”
“A man does not call the sheriff over piddling trespassing episodes,” she accused Logan in irritation. “Besides.” She turned to the sheriff. “It was a humanitarian act. He was
letting his puppy lie under the patio and cry all night.” She pointed to the little hellion. “If he continues to be a crybaby over a little trespassing, then I may press charges for animal cruelty.”
Logan’s eyes narrowed warningly as the sheriff seemed to have a scratch in his throat that caused him to cover his mouth to cough. The detective just looked even more pissed than he did when she arrived.
And she had no doubt he was. She knew exactly what was going on. Her own contact, the only person in the county who was aware of her background, had just gotten off the phone with her as Archer and the detective showed up.
“This has nothing to do with trespassing,” Logan finally assured her with icy disdain. “I needed an alibi.”
She saw it then. That glimmer of some emotion in his gaze that she hadn’t been able to truly decipher until now.
And it was sorrow.
“An alibi?” She frowned among the three men as though completely in the dark. But she knew his sorrow. “What sort of an alibi?”
“A friend was killed this morning,” Logan stated, his expression tightening as the grief in his gaze darkened the green further. “She was murdered.”
Skye blinked back at him. “And they believe you did it after this town’s history of attempting to frame you?” she asked incredulously before turning to the sheriff, then the detective. “Are you insane? Have you heard of lawsuits? Do you know he could sue the entire county for such harassment after the past he and his cousins have with this place? Archer, I’m completely disappointed in you.”
“She’s lived here six months and already knows our entire history,” Logan growled to the sheriff then. “This town is like a fucking information sieve. They can’t keep shit to themselves.”
“That’s any town, small or otherwise, in any part of the world,” she informed him as she turned back to the sheriff confrontationally. “Rumor has it you’re his friend, Sheriff. Shame on you for coming here accusing him.”
“I wasn’t accusing him, ma’am. I was the one trying to save his ass.” Archer frowned at her before glancing at Logan once again. “I just needed to know where he was. That’s all.”
