by Amy Gamet
You’ve been living on borrowed time, and I just called in your loan.
Logan highlighted the sender and filtered the inbox, looking for more emails from this person. It came up with fifty-six matches.
The first set the tone for the rest.
I saw you in the paper the other day, getting an award for your years of faithful service to our community. They think you’re a hero, but I know better. You let guilty men go free, and you will pay for it.
Each email was another commentary on Royce’s supposedly shady character and the fact that he’d been bought and sold instead of issuing justice when it was due.
Each of you swore allegiance to this country. You from safely behind a bench like the coward you are, my brother from the battlefield. But when he needed you to speak up for truth on his behalf, you abandoned him, let his killers go free, and you will pay.
This sure sounded like the HERO Force case, and Garrison Cole’s brother Stewart was looking more and more like the sender.
He leaned back in his chair, wishing he’d been privy to all of Royce’s conversations with Jax and Cowboy. Logan knew what he wanted to search for next. He opened the filter window and typed JAX.
His fingers hovered over the keys. If he had a question about Jax’s communications with Royce, he should just ask.
But that wasn’t what he was going to do.
He hit enter.
A short list of emails popped up on the screen and Logan clicked the most recent, sent from Royce to Jax the day before the explosion. It was just a few lines long.
Someone has been sending me emails threatening my life. He knows.
He says if I don’t make it right he is going to kill me. Have you two received anything like this? He doesn’t mention your names directly, but he alludes to knowing you are involved on some level. We need to talk. I’d like to do this in person. Are you free this week?
“Holy shit.” His eyes skimmed back over the passage, looking for the two words he needed to read again.
Jax and Cowboy were just as guilty as he feared.
Movement on the monitor caught his attention—headlights coming toward him down Gemma’s street. It was a pickup truck, and it pulled to the side of the road two cars behind Logan.
This area was a mix of commercial and residential properties, but they were right at the end of the block on a Sunday night. From the location of that truck, he could only be heading to one building—Gemma’s.
Logan cursed under his breath as he ran through his options. The HERO Force van was completely blacked out. The man in the truck wouldn’t be able to see he was in here. He grabbed his tactical duffel bag and quickly changed into dark camouflage before moving back to the monitor.
He zoomed in on the cab of the truck. A man was clearly visible, fat and middle-aged, and looking through binoculars aimed at Gemma’s apartment.
Logan considered his options as he called Austin for backup. He could walk over there and ask the bastard what he was doing. He wouldn’t get an answer, but he’d surely scare the other man away. Unless he was really bad news, in which case he might have a weapon.
What he really needed was to get a plate number and warn Gemma. The night vision camera picked up on the reflective material of the license plate, making it appear completely white. He’d have to get the plate number the hard way.
As Logan watched, the man leaned forward, peering at Gemma’s apartment. Logan clenched his jaw. He couldn’t wait for backup. It was go time.
He opened the monitor app on his smart watch and selected the view of the truck driver, dimming the brightness to its lowest level. He grabbed his holster and weapon and flipped a switch, throwing the interior of the van into darkness before carefully sliding open the van door.
His vehicle shielded him from the driver’s view, so long as he didn’t catch the other man’s attention by rocking the van.
He crawled on his hands and knees, fisting his left hand to protect his burned palm as he moved past the car that separated him from the pickup truck.
It was too dark to see the plate number. He stopped and withdrew his cell phone, taking a picture he hoped he could enhance later.
The sound of the gun being cocked made his head snap up, half expecting to see the weapon trained on him. His heart stammered, but the man was nowhere to be seen.
Logan tapped his watch, the screen coming to life. The man in the truck pulled a ski mask over his face and opened his door, the squeak in Logan’s ears matching the image on the tiny screen.
Logan pulled out his Glock.
He could clearly see the man’s feet as he walked to the front of the vehicle. Surprise was his ally, and Logan launched himself at the man, clocking him in the head with the butt of his weapon.
The man lost his footing but recovered quickly, trying to train his gun on Logan. In a split second Logan had to decide whether to fire or attempt to disarm the other man.
His leg came up in a roundhouse kick, sending the firearm flying. The metallic click of a switchblade registered on his consciousness. The man swung at him, and in a reflex action Logan held up his hand to defend himself.
The blade sliced into his already burned palm.
Pain blossomed, hardening his reserve. He trained his sight on the other man and fired.
The man’s eyes widened and his hand went to what was left of his ear. He turned to run and Logan grabbed him from behind. They were locked together, wrestling for control, the smell of blood and acrid sweat hanging on the air between them.
Logan was slammed against the cab, his skull bouncing so hard on the metal his vision blurred, the man now more a shadow than anything. Logan’s knee came up hard, catching the man in the balls and doubling him over.
The truck door opened and Logan wrestled to keep it shut.
He gripped his gun tightly.
Shoot him.
He hesitated.
Shoot him now.
Somehow the man made it into the truck and the door started to close. Logan’s left hand shot out, the steel frame of the door and truck body cracking the bones in his fingers.
The truck started, Logan barely getting out of the way before the tires peeled over his feet.
He stared at the blurry taillights as they drove out of sight, self-rebuke taunting him. He should have pulled the trigger. His knees started to give out and he forced himself to walk.
Gemma.
The stairs to her front door were a mountain. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to clear his vision. He used his right hand to guide himself up them as he cradled his left hand against his chest.
He rang the bell.
The sound of footsteps on the stairs and the light came on overhead. “What are you doing here?” She gasped. “Oh my God, what happened to you?”
“I got in a fight with the guy watching your apartment. Lucky for you, I was watching it, too.”
16
Gemma wrung the bloody washcloth out in the bathroom sink and exhaled a shaking breath.
Logan’s hand was badly cut and bruising in the same area he’d burned trying to rescue Barbara Royce. It made her stomach turn to look at it, but nonetheless she cleaned it and bandaged him up.
Thank God he was here.
What would have happened to her if he hadn’t been?
She’d foolishly felt safe once she’d reached her apartment and bolted the door, but Logan’s account and injuries frightened her to the core.
She clearly remembered the helplessness she’d felt when the man had tackled her on the sidewalk. She’d been stupid to push it from her mind so easily.
She found the supplies Logan had asked her to gather and returned to him at the kitchen table. Two of his fingers were broken and he guided her through splinting them.
“Are you really a doctor?” she asked.
“MD and a PhD. You can call me doctor doctor.”
She smirked. “Like that song.”
“What song?”
Her face fell.
“It was before your time, I guess.” She finished taping his splints in silence. “Tell me why you had Royce’s computer.”
“He gave it to HERO Force. Someone was sending him threatening emails and he wanted to know who it was.”
“When was this?”
“The day he was kidnapped. It happened right outside HERO Force headquarters.”
“Which is why you were there, and tried to help Barbara.”
“Yes. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I knew Royce. It was work. It didn’t seem right to tell you.”
She met his stare. “You want complete honesty from me, but you filter your own story.”
“I won’t do it again.”
She released his hand. “You’re as good as new.” It wasn’t true. Not even close. He’d been hurt protecting her, and she felt that truth like a debt. “I shouldn’t have come back here,” she said.
“You were angry.”
She shook her head. “I was scared. I didn’t know if I could trust you.”
“You believe me now?”
“Yes.”
“Then no more secrets. Tell me what they want from you.”
She bit her lip. Her attacker had been very clear. She wasn’t to tell anyone.
Logan leaned forward. “You’re safe now, Gemma. I’ll protect you.”
She believed he would. He already had. “He wants me to throw a verdict. To convict, no matter if the evidence supports it.”
“Isn’t that up to a jury?”
“Not if the men waive their right to a jury trial, which they have.”
“The men?”
She met his stare head on. This was the hardest part, and even as she spoke the words, she prayed she wasn’t killing Royce. But she needed help. She couldn’t figure this out on her own. “I’m the judge assigned to the HERO Force case. The men the kidnapper wants me to convict are your coworkers, Jax Andersson and Leo Wilson.”
“Oh, fuck.”
“And if I don’t do it, Royce will die.”
He pinched the skin between his eyes. “When does the trial start?”
“Tomorrow.”
“Damn it. Can you postpone?”
“I might be able to stall, but not for long. The suit was filed months ago by the brother of the deceased.”
“Are you going to find them guilty?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know. I’m holding out hope the evidence will prove they did it.”
“They’re men of integrity.”
“You’re saying they’re innocent?”
Logan only stared at her.
“I’ll have to make a decision when it’s time for my verdict.” She stood and moved to the sink, picking up the dish soap and squirting some onto a sponge. “I certainly can’t do it now.”
Her voice sounded meek and she hated herself for her own weakness. One way or another, she was responsible for the fate of three men, and she suddenly wondered if she was capable of making such a judgment.
Logan walked up behind her and hugged her. “It’s going to be okay. We’ll find him.”
She frowned, her mouth pulling down hard at the corners. “And if you don’t, I’ll have to decide who lives and who dies. I could be disbarred. No, I should be disbarred for even considering this.”
“Shh.” He kissed between her shoulder blades.
“And you. What am I doing with you? You work for a company that’s being sued in my courtroom. I’m practically old enough to be your mother.”
“Not quite.”
“Close enough. You’re thirty-one. I’m forty-four.”
“The age difference doesn’t bother me.”
“You’re not the one everyone would refer to as old.”
“Hey.” He turned her around to face him. “I like you. I think you like me, too. There’s something good between us.”
She lifted wary eyes to his. “It’s just sex.”
“It could be more, if you wanted it to be.”
She sighed. “I’m sorry, Logan. This isn’t going to work. You must see that. And even if I weren’t, I can’t deal with a relationship right now. Not in the middle of the worst few days of my life.”
He nodded. “Come on. We need to go back to my place. It isn’t safe here.”
She hung her head and covered her eyes with her hand. She didn’t trust herself at his apartment, but knew he was right.
“You can have the guest room,” he said.
“Okay. Now I just need to have enough resolve to actually sleep in it.”
17
“Come on, you son of a bitch, show me what you’ve got.” Logan changed the resolution parameters on the computer program. He’d scanned in the photo of the license plate from the truck outside Gemma’s apartment, and was trying to get his computer to sharpen the image by making smart choices about the next pixel in line. So far, all he’d gotten was fuzzy gibberish.
Without that plate number, he had no way of learning who was watching Gemma.
She was sleeping in the guest room after an especially quiet drive over to his apartment, and he was doing his damnedest not to think about her.
Why did it bother him so much that she didn’t want to date him? He already had her attention in bed. Did he really need her to say she wanted more from him?
The problem isn’t sex. The problem is you want to hold her while she’s sleeping almost a much as you want to fuck her senseless.
He sighed loudly.
He was pathetic.
With fast fingers he copied the image layer and tweaked the algorithm again, as if solving the license plate problem was as good as solving the problem of Gemma.
Lots of women liked younger men, but she seemed to think his age was a liability. His eyes went to the guest room door which had been closed for the better part of an hour and a half.
Clearly, she wasn’t coming back out to tell him she’d changed her mind, and could she please sleep next to him tonight. He pulled his eyes back to his computer screen and made more minor adjustments, copied for image layers.
He stayed awake until his eyes were crossed just staring at the screen, because that way he could put off making a decision about Gemma tonight.
He stood and put his hands on his hips, staring at the guest room door for a long moment. “Fuck it.” He took off his glasses, plugged in the computer so it would keep working, and pulled his shirt over his head.
He rapped lightly on her door.
No response.
He tried the handle, pleased to find it open, and crawled in bed behind her. He put his arm around her midsection, the smell of her freshly-washed hair surrounding his face.
He could tell the moment she woke up, her body stiffening. “If you want me to leave, just say so.”
She threaded her fingers through his, her body relaxing once more, her breath deepening until he thought she was asleep.
“It’s too easy to like you,” she said quietly.
He nuzzled her back, inhaling her scent through his T-shirt. “It’s too hard to stay away from you.”
“I meant what I said, Logan. I can’t deal with a relationship right now.”
He reached around her middle and cupped one breast. “You said it was just sex.”
She hummed lightly and arched her back, her ass pressing against his pelvis. “Yes, but you disagreed.”
“I was wrong.” He kissed her neck. “I take it all back.”
She giggled and rolled onto her back, looking up at him. “Isn’t that convenient.”
He shifted, moving his leg between hers. “It is.” He kissed her lips and hugged her body, her skin toasty warm from sleep. Her hands touched his chest and moved up to his arms, kneading his muscles.
She lifted her face to his and kissed him. “Just for tonight.”
He nodded. “Whatever you say.”
18
Gemma clasped her hands together, clammy and cold. She was standing at the closed door to her courtroom, unable to cross the threshold. Dizzy, she
leaned against the wall.
On the other side of that doorway the trial of her lifetime awaited, and it had nothing to do with the case. She was being tested, her commitment to the law coming face-to-face with her concern for another human being.
She turned the doorknob, propelling herself into that other dimension before she could stop.
All rise.
She made her way to her seat behind the bench and sat down. Could they see what she was going through? The stress that threatened to crush her, that nearly stopped her breath?
The bailiff was speaking. Gemma’s eyes finally lifted to meet those of the defendants, Jax Andersson and Leo Wilson. Logan called him Cowboy. They looked like military men, fit and trim with short hair and steely faces.
Men with integrity, Logan said.
Unlike herself.
She wanted to be sick.
It’s not too late. You can call the FBI and put a stop to this miscarriage of justice before it begins.
But there was another man to consider. Royce’s life hung in the balance, and one wrong move could cause his abductors to kill him.
Please don’t let it be glaringly obvious that I’ve been corrupted. Please let there be at least some convincing evidence of their guilt.
The lawyers began opening arguments. They went by quickly, and Gemma felt like a passenger on a roller coaster going down a steep hill with no power to stop the ride.
You can stop it.
All she had to do was speak up.
But what about Royce?
He was a judge himself, one of the highest in the state. He of all people would sympathize with her dilemma. She imagined Royce in her predicament. What would he do in the same situation?
All you have to do is interrupt the proceeding.
She picked up her gavel, her fingers gripping the wooden handle tightly. It felt foreign, somehow strange beneath her hand and she turned it in her palm.
Crudely engraved into the wooden handle were three words.
WE’RE WATCHING YOU.
She dropped the gavel as if she’d been burned. She stood. The prosecutor abruptly stopped talking. A hush fell over the room.
Her eyes scanned the courtroom, going from face to face. There were too many people, too many sets of eyeballs staring back at her, and at least one of them was a monster.
