Shadow Protector

Jenna Ryan

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Epilogue

Copyright

About the Author

JENNA RYAN started making up stories before she could read or write. Growing up, romance alone always had a strong appeal, but romantic suspense was the perfect fit. She tried out a number of different careers, including modelling, interior design and travel, but writing has always been her one true love. That and her long-time partner, Rod.

Inspired from book to book by her sister Kathy, she lives in a rural setting fifteen minutes from the city of Victoria, British Columbia. It’s taken a lot of years, but she’s finally slowed the frantic pace and adopted a West Coast mindset. Stay active, stay healthy, keep it simple. Enjoy the ride, enjoy the read. All of that works for her, but what she continues to enjoy most is writing stories she loves. She also loves reader feedback. E-mail her at jacquigoff@shaw.ca or visit Jenna Ryan on Facebook.

To Samoa and Serendipity.

Part of the new Lucky Seven.

Prologue

The dream unfolded piece by resistant piece in Serafina Hudson’s sleeping mind.

She heard disembodied voices overlapping inside a viscous black fog. They murmured words like “death” and “danger” and “serial killer.”

The mood altered. The voices grew louder. Fear slithered in, making the blackness cold.

Where was she? Sera wondered. Why couldn’t she see?

“We look inside too much, Sera. That’s our problem and our burden. It isn’t all about the mind …”

Andrea’s voice joined the mix. But that was impossible …

Because corpses couldn’t speak!

Reality swept in, churning, swirling, spinning the black into blood red. Like the pool of blood her friend and colleague had been lying in on their office floor.

Sera remembered a slow, painful rise from dark to light. There’d been people everywhere, most of them wearing uniforms, all of them unfamiliar to her. Except for Len, the security guard. And Andrea.

Click into clinical mode. She was a doctor. She’d seen blood before.

Just not pooled around a body.

She swore three times. The hands vanished. Lights flashed red and blue. She’d be fine, a stranger promised. As for Andrea …

The voices stopped abruptly. The lights blurred. Her mind stuttered then seemed to wink out.

“Try to remember, Dr. Hudson …”

The mental prod repeated with an eerie echo. A man’s face, hazy at first, solidified. He had creased, careworn features. He looked sixty and tough, yet she sensed an underlying kindness.

She also knew a cop when she saw one.

“I’m sorry your colleague’s dead, Doctor. I wish I could change that, but I can’t. Neither can you.”

Had she thought the man was kind?

“You need to concentrate,” he pressed. “We found a white bandanna at the murder scene. It’s the signature of a serial killer. A phantom. You saw the person who did this—we’re sure of it. You called Security. You screamed. The guard was down the hall, less than ten seconds away. He thought you were both dead when he found you …”

His voice trailed off. This really was a nightmare, Sera decided. Maybe if she did as the cop suggested and concentrated, she could erase some of the more gruesome aspects.

Determined, she willed the man away, shut out the blurred lights and, because she knew it was important, concentrated on the throbbing pain at the base of her skull.

For a heartbeat, the world went dark.

When it relit, she was being ushered through a door. And, damn, there he was again. The careworn cop.

“You’ll be safe here, Doctor. Leo and I have been partners for twenty years. We haven’t lost a witness yet.”

She was a witness? Her mind snapped to attention. Had she seen Andrea’s killer? Please, God, no, had she watched her die?

The walls and fixtures distorted. Two men spoke in the distance.

“Captain thinks there’s a leak at headquarters, Leo. I agree with him.”

“You’re a pair of old ladies.”

“She saw him. I know she did. If we can buy her enough time, she’ll remember, and we’ll have that bastard Blindfold Killer cold …”

The image of a white bandanna floated in. It fell over Andrea’s lifeless, staring eyes.

Sera’s mind gave a single convulsive shudder that had her surging upright in bed.

“Sera!”

The cop’s voice cracked the night shadows like a whip. He caught her by the shoulders, held her steady and stared into her eyes. “Are you awake?”

Was she?

Sera’s heart settled as the image of Andrea’s rigid features faded.

“Yes.” She breathed in, then out. “I had a nightmare.”

“You only had the beginnings of one, Doc. Worst part’s still to come.”

Instinct had her bracing. “There’s worse than my nightmare?”

“There’s a leak in the department. I’ve suspected it for a while. I’m sure of it now. My partner’s been killed. This place isn’t safe.”

Questions raced through Sera’s head, too many to ask. She wanted this to be part of her dream, but she knew it wasn’t.

Two people were dead, and if the man who’d murdered them had his way, she’d be joining them. She’d been there the night he’d murdered Andrea. She’d seen his face.

All she had to do now was remember it.

Chapter One

“You’re the psychiatrist, Doc. You tell me what’s going on in this guy’s pathetic excuse for a brain.”

Sig Rayburn pushed on his forehead as if to compress his thoughts. Pain, worry, even a hint of fear had clouded his eyes during the two-day drive from San Francisco. The long, hot drive that currently had them blasting along Wyoming’s I25 in his rusty brown Ford.

Sera searched for another vent. “Murderers usually have agendas, but that’s not a given. I worked with a man once who liked watching people die. He said it gave him a buzz.”

“Sexual?”

“Probably, although victim gender didn’t matter. Neither did age or appearance.” She paused, sat back, sighed. “Sig, where are we going?”

He pushed harder. “Tenth time you’ve asked me that since we left the motel this morning. I’m still not gonna tell you.”

“Which says to me you don’t know yourself, you think your car’s bugged or you’re weirdly superstitious. You’re too good a cop to drive a bugged car, and you strike me as a man who always has a destination in mind, so I’ll go with superstition and point out that wearing the same ratty T-shirt for three days straight at the safe house still didn’t help the Giants win their series against the Dodgers.”

“Got ‘em close, though. Final game, eleventh inning. One little error in the outfield and poof, streak done.”

The clouds rolled through his eyes again. Reaching over, Sera squeezed his arm. “I’m really sorry about your partner’s death.”

“Not your fault, Doc. You didn’t fire the bullet that took out the back half of his skull. Didn’t slit your friend’s throat either.” He slanted her a speculative look. “You know who did, though. That’s why we’re doing this. You need time, distance and a safe place to unlock what’s hidden inside that pretty head of yours. No offense,” he added gruffly. “I know you have impressive credentials.”

“None taken, and they’re not as impressive as Andrea’s were.” Setting aside a twinge of guilt, Sera fanned her face with a Wyoming road map. “I’m pretty sure it won’t jinx anything if you tell me our destination.”

Sig waved at a buzzing fly. “You’re wrong, Doc. Leo carried a lucky rock from Sedona the whole time we worked together. Kept it in his pocket with his loose change. When we found him in that alley, the change was there, but the rock wasn’t. Don’t talk to me about jinxes.”

“Yes, but …”

“My nephew gave him that rock. Gave me one, too. Only time I left it behind, I took a bullet in my right calf.”

“Where’s your rock now?”

He jerked his head. “Backseat. Jacket pocket.” When she didn’t respond, he cocked a brow. “You think I’m nuts, don’t you?”

“I don’t analyze every idiosyncrasy, Sig.”

“Uh-huh.” But the challenge lingered. “You gonna tell me you don’t have a quirk or two?”

“Oh, I have lots.” She smiled. “But, no, I’m not going to tell you about them.”

A rusty laugh preceded a gruff, “One thing’s sure, Doc. Leo’s gone, and he shouldn’t be. No one better in the country at spotting or shaking a tail than him. Except …” With a glance at the distant Big Horn Mountains, he lapsed into silence.

Sera left him to his thoughts. His partner and friend was dead. Who better to understand how he felt than her? Even though …

She and Andrea hadn’t been friends so much as friendly rivals. They’d known each other since they were five years old, but it was circumstance that had truly defined their relationship. Coincidence had also played its wily hand. From where they’d started—not a pretty picture—to where they’d ended up—as psychiatrists who’d obtained their degrees within months of each other—the outcome read like a small universal anomaly to Sera.

She closed her eyes and let the memories in. The murderer had left Andrea face up and staring at the shadowed ceiling. Through a swarm of police and medical workers, she’d looked like a broken doll—her skin chalk white, her features frozen in a mask of astonished horror.

Pain stabbed, swift and sure, and made her open her eyes.

“You’re doing it again, aren’t you?” Sig demanded. “Trying to smash down that wall in your brain.”

She regarded the impressive peaks of the Big Horns. “It’s like I’m in an all-black room and there’s a strobe light flashing at random intervals. I get split-second glimpses of things I don’t understand, then it’s back to black, and I want to scream, because no matter how hard I try, I can’t make sense of them.”

“Could be you’re trying too hard.”

She slid him a vaguely humorous look. “Your name’s Rayburn, right, not Freud?”

“What, you’ve never said that to a patient?”

“Not any more.”

Sig went back to pushing on his forehead while Sera contemplated the landscape. The scenery was magnificent, as was the clear, blue sky. July in Wyoming was all about pine forests, spectacular mountain ranges and wide-open vistas that possessed a beauty all their own.

She felt a tease on the edge of her brain and tipped her head from side to side in an effort to center it. One image, that’s all she needed to extract. Unfortunately, research suggested that forcing a resistant memory tended to be as effective as striking a nail with a feather.

She watched a pair of hawks glide in a wide arc beneath a cloudless stretch of sky.

“What’s that look for?” Sig asked.

“I have a look?”

“Like you’d rather be riding a cable car.”

A smile tugged on her lips. “My face isn’t that readable, Detective.”

“Hell it isn’t. You’re sleek, sophisticated and polished. You probably wear high heels to the grocery store. I don’t mean to sound patronizing, but I have to warn you, where we’re headed, the only place you’ll see five stars is in the night sky.”

Sera’s smile widened. “Putting on your bad cop hat, huh?”

“Doc, you haven’t seen anything like bad yet. When we get—aw, hell, what’s this?”

“It sounds like a siren.”

“Was I speeding?”

“Unless the limit’s upward of ninety, yes.”

“Crap.” He slowed and pulled over.

The officer who approached the car did so with long, easy strides. He rested a forearm on the roof while Sig stretched back to snag the jacket behind him.

“Is there a problem, Officer?”

“Not unless you make one. Got your license with you?”

“Got better than that.” Sig fished in the pocket, handed Sera what she assumed was his lucky rock and produced his badge with a flourish.

“San Francisco, huh?”

She caught a trace of humor in the other cop’s drawl. His surprisingly sexy drawl, she thought. As for his features, she couldn’t see them under the brim of his hat.

She knew he glanced at her before pushing off. “Out of the car, please, Detective Rayburn.”

“Have I done something wrong?”

“Depends how fast you get out of the car.”

“Don’t move,” Sig told her. He had to shove twice on the door to open it. “You’re starting to piss me off here, Officer. I’m a detective with the San Francisco Police Department, homicide division. Who are you to be ordering me around like a common criminal?”

Sera saw the flash of a surprisingly attractive smile. “I clocked you at ninety-six miles an hour as you flew past Moss Creek.”

Sig’s balled right fist drew an even wider smile. A second later, her companion went from a short punch on the other cop’s shoulder to a backslapping hug.

It figured. Sera breathed out but couldn’t bring herself to be annoyed. It was such a predictable male game.

“I’m damn glad to see you, Logan.” Sig drew back, grinned. “How’d you know? License plate give me away? “

The taller man glanced from side to side. “This isn’t a car, Sig—it’s dented metal on wheels. One of a kind.” Without looking or pausing, he asked, “Does she know?”

Sig shook his head.

That did it. Shouldering her door open, Sera slid out. “Excuse me, gentlemen, but ‘she’ has a name. It’s Sera, and the reason she doesn’t know is because the man with the San Francisco badge refuses to tell her anything.”

“It’s for your own …”

“Protection. Got that one yesterday, Sig. But six diners, five gas stations and one truly crappy motel later, I think I’ve earned the right to know not only where we’re going, but also why a police officer in another state is better informed than I am.” She sent them a placid smile over the roof of the car. “If it’s not too much trouble.”

Apart from his badge and the lights on his Explorer, nothing about the man in front of her said law enforcement officer. He wore jeans and a short-sleeved black T-shirt. His boots were dusty, his hat was decidedly more cowboy than cop and if he was carrying a gun, Sera couldn’t see it.

Sig matched her smile as he turned to his friend. “Handful,” he said.

“See that,” the man replied. He nodded forward. “Nadine’ll be serving dinner about now. Her place is on the edge of town. You can follow me.” Although his eyes were shielded, Sera felt his gaze across the top of the car. “Nadine runs her grandfather’s diner, Dr. Hudson. You can ask your questions while we eat.” Nudging his hat forward so the brim hid the entire upper portion of his face, he added, “Assuming once they’re answered, you still want to eat.”

She wouldn’t react, Sera promised herself. That would be counterproductive. Instead, she let Sig concentrate on the road that wound away from the interstate through a majestic expanse of pines, boulders the size of city buildings and a steady stream of out-of-state trucks.

Five miles in, the truck traffic thinned, the boulders softened and houses began to appear. Farmhouses at first, followed by larger, turn-of-the-century homes that ambled back from tree-lined streets.

A rustic sign with a hand-carved mountain peak rising above a lake welcomed them to Blue Ridge, Home of the Happy Mountaineer. Population five thousand, six hundred and twenty-seven.

Sig glanced in the rearview mirror. “Do you see my smokes back there?”

“No, and I’m not digging through a pile of old food wrappers and napkins to find them. You’re a rolling health hazard, Detective Rayburn. Cigar stubs, cigarette butts and God knows how many million bacteria, all alive and thriving inside your vehicle. You inhale coffee like air, pour enough grease into your arteries to kill an elephant and probably haven’t gotten eight hours of smoke-free sleep since you joined the force.”

He chuckled. “You’re a shrink, Sera. What does a head doctor know about high cholesterol, lung disease and sleep deprivation? “

She lifted the dark hair from her neck. “Among other things, my uncle does a weekend medical clinic in Haight-Ashbury. I help out when he needs it, which is often because he tends to be overrun and doesn’t like to turn anyone away. How do you know him, Sig?” she asked after a brief pause. “The cop with the …” She started to say sexy mouth but changed it to “… black hat?”

He peered into the setting sun. “Oh, Logan and me go way back.” A finger tapped the windshield. “Is he pulling off the road? All I can see is dust.”

“Gravel parking lot.” She let her hair fall. “My skin hates you.”

“Your skin’s gorgeous, as, I trust, are your manners. Five stars …”

“Yes, I know. Only in the night sky. As long as the food’s recognizable, I’m good.”

And more than ready to stop, she realized, stretching her back as she slid from the car seat.

Every article of clothing she wore, from the pale-green linen halter to the white capris stuck to some part of her body. And it was going to be an adventure navigating the unpaved, pothole-filled parking lot in strappy three-inch heels.

A collection of trucks and SUVs sat at odd angles outside the weather-beaten one-story building whose sign read Frank’s Diner.

She stopped stretching to do a humorous double take down the side. “Are those horses?”

“The bay’s Billy the Kid. The black is Jesse James.”

She suppressed an urge to jump when the cop in jeans wrapped his fingers around her arm.

“Nadine’s grandfather swears one of his ancestors was related to Jesse.”

“So he named a horse after him.”

She caught the quirk of his lips in profile. “No one you know’s ever been named for a dead relative?”

“Not a notorious one, Officer …”

“Leave it at Logan.”

“Evening, Chief. Rain’s coming.” The man shambling past, sprinkling tobacco in a rolling paper, barely spared them a glance. “It’s my night for poker if you feel like letting us win back some of our hard-earned cash. Wouldn’t blame you a mite, though, if not. She’s a real pretty lady.”

Sera would have grinned if she hadn’t caught the edge of a rut and almost snapped her ankle in two.

“Horses, poker and holes big enough to swallow small children. I’m charmed.” She cast the man who’d caught her a sideways look. “Chief.”

“It’s a label. Means nothing.”

“Uh-huh. It only signifies that you’re in charge of a town containing five thousand, six hundred and twenty-seven souls. Which would make sense at this point in Sig’s life. But everything about you screams big city cop to me.”

His lips quirked again. “You might want to check your inner voice, Doc. Cities and me don’t get along these days.”

Meaning they had once? Interesting, she reflected, as they reached the diner’s porch. But it wasn’t as interesting as the fact that he knew her name and undoubtedly her story.

Several feet behind them, Sig sucked smoke into his lungs at an alarming rate. Because her arm was tingling, Sera eased free and strove for an unimpeded look at the man called Logan.

He was tall and rangy, with sleek muscles, long legs and dark hair that curled well below the back of his hat. He needed a cut and a shave. And she needed distance because not only was her skin tingling, but also her pulse was doing an erratic tap dance.

Food would help, she decided, plucking at the front of her top. “Is Nadine a good cook?”

“Best down home in Blue Ridge.”

“He means if you’re expecting art on a plate, you won’t get it here.” Sig studied the black clouds massing over the distant Big Horns. “Those coming this way?”

“Joe says they are. He’s usually right.”

“Then we should get down to business.”

Sera arched guileless brows. “We’re doing business? I thought we stopped here for answers and a hearty meal.”

“I’m stopping, Doc. Got something different in mind for you.”

Where was a control button when you needed one?

“Sig …”

“You’re not stopping, Sera. You’re staying.”

Prepared for that response, she met his hard stare and simply asked, “Why?”

“Because I trust Logan. He’s the best, and as bad as I wanted that bastard Blindfold Killer before, I want him doubly bad now. He’s murdered sixteen people over the years. That includes his most recent victims, your friend and my partner. You saw his face, Doc. I know it, and so do you. Unfortunately—and this is where my faith in Logan comes in—one hell of a vicious killer knows it, too.”

Chapter Two

“Your captain told me about the Blindfold Killer, Sig,” Sera said. “No one’s sure why he ties a white bandanna over his victims’ eyes. He’s killed eleven people over a seven-year period, all in the Bay area. The San Francisco Police arrested a suspect four years ago, but they were forced to release him on a technicality.”

“Illegal search of his living quarters,” Logan said. “The officer in charge assumed a warrant was en route. He was mistaken.”

“Said officer has since been demoted and put in charge of a desk,” Sig added gruffly. Then he brightened. “Ah, here we go. Food.”

Their dinner arrived courtesy of a buxom fifty-something blonde. It might not be gourmet, but it looked delicious. Almost as delicious as the man seated across from her.

Although she’d braced herself for sexy, Sera hadn’t anticipated the punch of desire that had rocked her when he’d removed his hat.

And then, out of nowhere, a tweak of familiarity. But the sensory whisper came and went too quickly for her to capture it.

Sidestepping, she set her mind back on the man himself. To call his features arresting would be a serious understatement. And she couldn’t imagine any woman not being wowed by the smoke-gray eyes that caught and held hers far too often for comfort.

One look at Logan’s face, however, and she’d known he wouldn’t be an easy read. Whatever haunted those mesmerizing features, he’d buried it deep and very, very well.

Sig dug into his steak. “What else do you know about our killer, Doc?”

Refocusing quickly, Sera sampled one of the wedge fries. “Two and a half years went by after the suspect’s release. Nothing more happened. Then he vanished, and it started all over again. The killer has committed five new murders, including Leo, in the past eighteen months. His MO is consistent, but his motive remains a mystery.”

When Andrea’s lifeless face appeared in her head, Sera reached for her wine.

“There’ve been two witnesses to his crimes. Number one vanished five years ago, before the police could bring him in. That makes me the best hope you’ve got of identifying this guy. Unfortunately, because I hit my head while I was struggling with him, I can’t tell you if his description matches the original suspect’s or not.”

Logan swirled his beer and sent a lazy look into the mug. “You don’t remember the guy’s face, but you do remember struggling with him.”

Surprise halted the wine at her lips. The image reformed instantly. “He blindsided me,” she recalled. “I fell against the edge of my desk.”

“Anything else?” Sig asked.

She thought for a moment but couldn’t pull any details from the blackness. “Sorry, the rest is still a shadow.”

Around them, the diner, really a roadside bar and grill, began to buzz as groups of dusty workers in steel-toed boots filed in.

Sig tapped an unlit cigarette on the table. “New construction in town?”

With his eyes on Sera’s face, Logan took a drink of beer. “West end. Developer from Cheyenne’s building a—resort.”

The amusement that climbed into Sera’s throat felt good. “Translation—he’s building a resort-style fishing and hunting lodge.”

Sig tucked a pack of matches into his jacket pocket and scraped his chair back. “I can’t think in the throes of a nicotine fit.” He gave Sera’s arm an awkward pat. “Keep poking at that memory, Doc. This killer’s slick and slippery and far as we can tell random in his selection of victims. Logan.” Cigarettes in hand, he made his way through the crowd toward the door.

“He didn’t finish his dinner,” Sera remarked.

Logan speared one of her fries. “Sig seldom finishes any meal that doesn’t start with the prefix Mac.”

“How old is he?”

“Fifty-six.”

“He acts older.”

“Drawn-out investigations do that to cops.”

Leaning in on her forearms, she absorbed his unfathomable stare. “I’m sure I’ve seen.” she began, but the fleeting sense of familiarity vanished again. “Is that why you left?” she asked instead.

“Nope.”

Door firmly closed. She picked up her wine. “How long have you been in Blue Ridge?”

“Two years, three months, give or take.”

“And you became chief of police when? “

“Same answer.”

Pulling teeth would be easier, she reflected, but nowhere near as challenging.

“How long have you known Sig?”

“Longer than most.”

“You’re not giving me much in the way of answers, Logan.”

His gray eyes glittered. “Should tell you something about the questions.”

Undeterred, she ran a finger around the base of her glass. “You don’t like small talk or, apparently, polite conversation. No problem. I don’t need to know your history, and you certainly don’t need to know mine.” She made a visual circle of the increasingly noisy diner. “This whole take- the-witness-with-the-faulty-memory to Wyoming deal was Sig’s idea. It had nothing to do with me. I have relatives in Phoenix, Skagway, Tulsa and yes, Bugs, even Albuquerque. I have a cousin who’s a law enforcement officer and an exmilitary aunt who flies supplies from Washington state to central Alaska. I could have gone to any number of people for help, but I went with Sig and wound up here. Why? No idea, but hey, you put your life in someone else’s hands, who knows what’ll happen.”

“Are you done?” Logan asked.

“My uncle Jeffrey says I’m never done, but as a shrink, I’m supposed to be a good listener, so the floor’s yours.”

He held her gaze. “What you’re supposed to be—what you should be, Sera—is scared.”

She summoned a faint smile, glanced away. “Believe me when I tell you, if I wasn’t, I wouldn’t be anywhere near you, your outlaw horses or your town.” A shiver danced along her spine. “Nothing personal, Logan, but I get along very well with cities. Violent death, however, rattles me. I watched my partner’s ashes being entombed last week. I watched her father break down and her mother lose a hard-fought battle to a bottle of cognac. I saw Sig lose a friend he’s worked with for twenty of his thirty years on the force. I did all that with the knowledge that lurking somewhere in my head is a killer’s identity. If I can retrieve it, no one else will have to suffer at his hands. So, yes, I’m scared, but not as much as I am determined to watch the person who’s responsible—and whose face I swear I’m going to remember—fry.”

Unexpected humor glinted in Logan’s eyes. “You must have some outlaw blood yourself, Doc. I’ve never met a shrink who wanted to see anyone fry.”

Her first reaction was to defend the remark. Her second was to cover a smile with a bite of chicken. “I won’t tell you what my uncle says about my mouth. I will tell you I’m sorry I dumped all that on you when we’ve known each other for less than sixty minutes.”

He moved a shoulder. “Dumping’s what people do on cops, town, city or state. It rolls off unnoticed after a while … Nadine?” He spoke to the blonde who was balancing six main courses. “You mind wrapping these dinners up for us? “

Sera’s brows elevated. “Are we leaving?”

“Unless you want to get hit on by every guy here, yeah.”

For the first time since Sig had gone outside, she looked around the room. Not every male eye was turned in their direction, but more than half were.

She let the amusement blossom. “Because I assume they’re not staring at you, I’ll go out on a limb and speculate that you don’t get many female strangers in this town.”

Logan picked up his hat. “Oh, we get plenty of strange females, just not many you’d call witchy.”

The blonde returned with their bagged dinners. “You want the steak wrapped, too, Logan?”

He finished his beer. “No point. Give your dogs a treat, and put the dinner on my tab.”

The woman flipped a dishtowel over her shoulder. “Your friend beat you to the punch there. He paid the bill on his way out.”

Something unpleasant snaked through Sera’s stomach. Although she recognized it for the blend of dread and certainty it was, she settled for a mild, “He’s gone, isn’t he?”

Logan assessed her as he returned the hat to his head. “He told you he wasn’t staying, Sera.”

“And I’m just supposed to go with that? With this?” She fixed her gaze in the general vicinity of his eyes. “With you? No questions asked or really answered, and no choice in the matter?” Her control slipped a notch and she leaned forward. “Logan, Sig broke a mirror at the safe house and freaked over it for days. We were driving east within an hour of his partner’s death. ‘Gotta leave fast,’ he said. Yet, he went ten minutes out of his way because he wouldn’t go past the path lab where his partner’s body had been taken. Said he’d rather walk under a dozen ladders. He also didn’t tell anyone in the department where we were going, and I know his captain personally. He’s a forty-year man with commendations as long as my arm.”

“What’s your point, Doctor?”

Did she have one? Right then, Sera’s thoughts were too scattered to collect, let alone organize.

It had to be exhaustion combined with a touch of hysteria that made her want to laugh. “You know what?” She pushed back. “I haven’t got a clue what I’m saying or why I’m even talking. I need air, space and no more Willie Nelson for at least twelve hours.”

She also needed to be away from the man across the table. The ridiculously sexy cop who disliked cities and personal questions and quite possibly his old friend Sig at this moment.

Standing, Logan drew her to her feet. “You look overwhelmed.”

“You think?’

“If it helps, Sig left your bags behind my truck.”

“Sorry, Chief, not feeling any better here.”

The shadowed look he cast her brought a sigh coupled with a strong desire to bolt.

“Okay, fine. Message received. Sig’s trying to keep me safe, as a person and as a potential witness. What I’m still trying to process is why he brought me to you. He talked about a potential leak within the department, but please don’t tell me he suspects his own captain.”

“Twenty years in homicide, ten in vice, what can I say, he’s jaded.”

“You sure you don’t mean paranoid?”

Pressing a hand to her hip, Logan eased her behind him as he forged a path to the door. “Sig’s a cautious man, Sera. He wants to keep you alive, and this was the best place he could think of to make that happen.”

A man with no bottom teeth winked and offered her his drink.

Logan’s unruffled, “Doctor, Billy,” had the leer fading to a scowl and the man scuttling backward so fast he almost knocked the plates from Nadine’s loaded arm.

Sera tapped his back. “Care to explain that reaction?”

“Billy’s father turned ninety-eight last June. Doc Prichard said he needed a vitamin shot. The old man died that night.”

“Uh—well, hmm.” Unsure how to respond, Sera tried not to grin. “Ninety-eight, huh? Billy doesn’t really believe it was the vitamin shot—” She let an oblique hand motion finish the question. “Does he?”

“Yeah, he does, and he’s not alone. Most of the people you’ll meet around here are perfectly normal, but for every fifty, there’s a Billy or a Jessie-Lynn. Rumor has it aliens grabbed Jess twelve years ago after the Founder’s Day parade.” Logan opened the door—and closed it in the face of a large, hairy man whose hand had been mere inches from Sera’s breast.

Removing his hat, he placed it on her head and smiled just enough to momentarily steal her breath. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, Dr. Hudson, but you’re not in Kansas any more. And while you might think the Emerald City is a little off the map—be warned, it has nothing on Blue Ridge, Wyoming.”

HE SHOULDN’T HAVE said that, Logan thought as he started his Explorer. But, dammit, he didn’t want the burden of a targeted witness’s safety riding on his shoulders. Add in the fact that she was a jaw-dropping female of—what had Sig told him—twenty-nine, with credentials that shouldn’t be possible for someone her age and a body just made for trouble, and yeah, you could say he was pissed off. Mostly at himself for reacting the way he was, but partly at Sig for putting him in this position.

He knew she didn’t remember him. Why would she? They’d never met face to face. Their one and only patch of common ground involved the age-old cop versus shrink battle. Was the suspect the police had arrested for a brutal crime fit to stand trial or not? On their particular patch, a trio of shrinks, whose number had included Sera, said no.

Now, the way Logan saw it, he could let old resentments fester or, for Sig’s sake, put the past in its place and deal with the current situation.

One glance at her face in profile, and he knew where he’d be going with that.

Although she had to know his thoughts weren’t running along pleasant lines, she opted to keep their conversation relevant and, for the most part, impersonal.

“The suspect was under surveillance when he disappeared, wasn’t he?” she asked.

Logan shoved the Explorer in gear and his emotions in line. “His name’s Hugh Paxton, and yes, he was. He dropped out of sight a few months after I came to Blue Ridge.”

She regarded him from under the brim of his hat. “Did you hear about that from Sig, or did your alien abductee return from the mother ship a gifted clairvoyant? “

Humor stirred. “Jessie-Lynn has her moments, but the answer’s no on both counts. Remote as this town is, we have a local newspaper, and believe it or not, Internet access.”

Pushing the hat back, she lowered her sunglasses. “I’m not a snob, Logan, whatever you might think—and God knows it probably isn’t flattering. I’m just a little—no make that a lot—out of my element here. I don’t usually see horses grazing outside San Francisco diners, and unless we wander into the wrong area of the city, big, hairy men seldom make a habit of grabbing women’s breasts.”

“So, no conquest for Charlie, then. He’ll be bummed.”

She laughed, and the sound of it sparked a sensation Logan didn’t need to feel in his groin. Keeping his eyes on the road, he returned to topic. “Paxton walked because the arresting officer screwed up, but he was the Blindfold Killer. Every cop on the coast knew it.”

Sera regarded the dying orange glow in the western sky. “He’d have known the police were watching him, ergo, for a while at least, his desire for freedom must have outweighed his need to kill. Either that or he’d achieved his initial goal of eleven people dead. It’s possible his more recent victims are unconnected to the first group.”

“No one ever established a connection between the first eleven victims.” Logan chose to ignore the out-of-town driver who whizzed past in a mud-spattered four by four. “Any thoughts on that, Doc?”

“Without getting inside his head, no.” But as he’d expected, after a moment she ventured to ask, “Were the victims primarily female or male?”

“Eight female, three male.”

“Ages?”

“The youngest was twenty, the oldest forty-seven.”

“And Paxton’s age at the time of his arrest was?”

A smile touched the corners of Logan’s mouth. “That’s the sticking point. No one knows. He has no official record of birth and the kind of appearance every cop hates.”

“Changeable?”

“Big time.”

“Which explains why Sig showed me multiple versions of ten different men, more than a hundred shots in total. I figured there were disguises involved—but, big surprise—Sig refused to explain. He said the less he told me, the less chance that my memories, when they did return, would be colored. All he really needed to say was that the suspect took his cue from Lon Chaney.”

Logan sent her a brief smile. “It’s not a bad comparison. Twenty pounds more or less, from dreadlocks to buzz cuts, stubble to mustache to beard, tooth caps on or off, contact lenses in or out—Paxton knows how to alter his appearance. It’s one of the reasons he was so difficult to nail in the first place. The other was the obvious lack of credible witnesses.”

“I assume that’s how he slipped under the radar. In disguise.”

When the radio squawked, Logan reached down. “Probably, but I was gone by then, and Sig was so disgusted that they’d lost him, he wouldn’t talk about it.”

Her eyes slid to his, but she said nothing, and he pressed the Receive button. “Problem, Fred?”

“The Bulley boys are at it again, Chief.”

“Home or town?”

“Home now, but they came through town on a big old tear. Near as I can tell, they’re riled up over the workers who are camped out—quite legally, I might add—on their farm. Did some pushing and shoving on Main, went into Tommy Gray Wolf’s bar, had a shouting match, punched someone, then took off for home when Tommy threatened to call it in. Which he did anyway ten minutes before Edgar Bulley did the same. Old Edgar says there’s no point sending deputies. The boys’ll just threaten to gore them and carry on ‘til you show up.”

Logan glanced over. “I’ll be there in five. Tell Edgar to fire a couple rounds of buckshot into the barn wall. Might take the edge off.”

“Always a first time,” Fred returned cheerfully. “Good luck, Logan.”

As the sun dipped below the mountaintops, he switched on the lights and siren. “How are you at following orders, Doc?”

She dropped his hat on the seat between them. “The mood I’m in, spectacularly bad. Did I hear the word ‘gore’?”

“It’s the Bulley’s word for ‘stab.’ Used to be a kid’s game involving plastic horns. Now it’s a drunken threat when they’re feeling ornery.”

“Sounds like your Bulley boys have serious anger management issues.”

“You could say,” he agreed. “Their grandfather grazes a stingy herd of cattle, but the number’s been dwindling over the years, so the boys, six of them, have been forced to find other ways to augment their income.”

“Ways you smoke or drink?”

“Drink mostly. We’ve dismantled three stills since late March. Last one was five days ago. Supply’s probably running low, so Bulley logic would dictate that they down the last of it and take their anger out on someone else.”

“Like deputies and campers.”

“They’ve also been known to fire warning shots at trespassers.” Logan slowed as the lights of a ramshackle farmhouse came into view. “Challenge is to see how close they can come without actually hitting the person. Fortunately,” he flicked off the siren, “they’re not in love with firearms. Knives tend to be their weapon of choice.”

Braking behind a stand of pines, he reached for his rifle, stuck the hat back on his head and caught her chin between his thumb and fingers. “Whatever happens, Sera, keep the doors locked and the engine running. Anyone who isn’t me shows up, don’t check for blood, just turn the truck around and head back to Frank’s Diner. You got that?”

“Every word,” she said. “Uh, tell me, are two of the Bulley boys tall, wiry and left-handed?”

A brow went up when her eyes touched on a point over his shoulder. “Coming from behind?”

“Faster than speeding bullets.”

Anticipation glimmered. Releasing her chin, he reached for the door handle. “This is gonna be fun.”

Chapter Three

“Logan?” As amused as she was amazed, Sera worked her way over the console to the driver’s seat. She stared into the rapidly expanding darkness. “Forget Jesse James. Houdini must be one of your ancestors.”

No matter which direction she looked, she couldn’t see him. He was gone, and so were the two men. Obviously they’d vanished into the trees, but talk about witchy people—this place had it all over San Francisco—and that was saying a lot.

She was searching for the lock control when a face popped up at the driver’s side window. A split second later the door flew open and a pair of grimy hands, one of them wielding a knife, shot inside.

Startled, Sera jumped back. She gave the passenger door a shove and the man’s wrist a kick.

Spying Logan’s gun, she grabbed it and tumbled from the truck.

It was hardly surprising that her heels unbalanced her and she landed on the ground. But she didn’t spend three nights a week at the gym for nothing. She was on her feet before the man could wriggle through the interior.

His lips peeled back when he got his first good look. “Hoo-ee, you are a pretty thing, aren’t you, baby doll?”

On her feet now, Sera raised the gun. “Don’t make me shoot,” she told him. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

He hopped out, snickering when her hand trembled. “You sure you got the right end pointed at me?”

“Do you want to find out?”

He didn’t stop completely, but she saw him hesitate. He was drooling, she noticed. And limping slightly.

She kept her arm extended, and flicked her gaze down then back to his face. “How old were you when you broke your right leg? “

Shock halted him in a way the gun hadn’t. “How’d you know about that? You Jessie-Lynn’s cousin from Casper?”

“No, I’m …”

“A witch then.” His already small eyes narrowed. “Gramps says there’s a bunch of them living up Buffalo way.”

“He means Wiccans.”

“Don’t matter what he means. How’d you know about my leg? “

“It wasn’t set right so the bone didn’t heal properly. I’m guessing you were young and still growing. Maybe ten or eleven? “

“Twelve.” His lip curled. “You a doctor?”

“Yes.”

He made a sound of disgust and spit to the side.

Sera kept her tone and expression calm. “I see.”

“You’re a jackass like Prichard.”

“Only on weekends in Haight-Ashbury. Don’t make me shoot,” she said again when he lurched forward.

The snarl became a sneer. “Doctors don’t go round shooting people, now do they, baby doll? Anyway, I think you’re lying. Saw me limping, took a lucky guess.”

Still fifteen feet away, Sera could smell the alcohol on his breath. He whipped out a taunting arm, then laughed and feinted forward.

Double handing the gun, Sera put pressure on the trigger. “You really don’t want me to do this.”

“Want it more than you do, I figure. Come on, baby, show Benny what you got.”

When he moved again, she fired. Missed him by several feet, but the shock of it had him hopping backward.

“You ain’t no doctor, lady.” Then he stopped. “You ain’t no kind of shot either.” His eyes gleamed as he recovered lost ground. “Grab her, Danny.”

She heard a twig crack. Waiting a beat, she plowed her elbow into the stomach of the man behind her, then spun away to fire a second shot. The bullet thwacked off a tree. From her knees—when had she lost her footing—she squeezed again.

The Bulley with the bruised stomach bared his teeth.

Sera knew she couldn’t win this. Both men were advancing, both were drunk and she had a feeling it was the heel of her shoe snapping off that had landed her on the ground.

“Looks like we got a she-cat on our hands, Benny,” the bigger Bulley growled. “How ‘bout I …”

The rest of his sentence emerged in a whoosh of air as he hit the tree behind him with enough force to send him slithering down the trunk.

Swinging around, Logan used the butt end of his rifle on the other man’s jaw. Benny pivoted in a slow half circle before dropping like felled timber.

“Might want to take your time getting up,” Logan suggested. His eyes were on Sera as he spoke. Holding out a hand, he drew her to her feet. “You hurt? “

“No more than if I’d been working out with Hulk Hogan in his prime.” She waved the tip of his gun between the two prone men. “Do you do this sort of thing often then?”

“Often enough.” Raising his voice, he said, “Lloyd and Jake are cooling off in the barn. They were smart enough to ditch their knives when they spotted me.”

“Didn’t mean no harm, Logan.” Benny’s words were muffled by the dirt beneath his face.

“You threatened the lady with a weapon. It’s called intent. On your feet, both of you, and into my truck.”

“Come on, Lo …” But one look and Benny dropped his face back into the dirt. “Yeah, sure, whatever you say.”

Danny worked himself into a squat. “I’m supposed to be stocking shelves at the grocery store tonight, Logan. Miguel won’t be happy with you.”

Ignoring him, Logan indicated the gun in Sera’s hand. “I hope you pointed that a good long way off target.”

“I did. Here.” She handed it over.

“Her bullet came closer to my crotch than my knife did to any part of her,” Benny called out. “Maybe I wanna press charges myself. Against you for bringing her here and her for almost shooting my balls off.”

“Right.” Sera extended her hand. “Give it back.”

Logan grinned. “He’s just pissed because he’s going to be spending a couple nights in jail.”

She wiggled her fingers. “Give it. I promise, I won’t shoot them.”

Clearly intrigued, he relinquished the weapon.

“Hey, wait a minute,” Benny spluttered.

“Don’t move,” Sera said and, taking aim, sent one of the pebbles on the ground between his spread feet zinging into the bushes behind him.

AN AMUSED LOGAN said little on the drive into town. That was fine with Sera. After changing her shoes, she climbed into his truck and let Etta James drown out the Bulley boys’ gripes.

Apparently, the police chief planned for her to stay in his home. It made sense, but it hardly set her mind at ease. The more time she spent with him, the stronger the feeling that she should know him.

They hadn’t met—she’d have remembered that in a minute. Seen his name then? Possibly. She could see it well enough on the lighted dash.

Michael Richard Logan. And, ding, there went another bell. Had her memory been more compromised than she realized?

Unable to answer that, she returned to the moment.

The Bulleys’ grumbles grew louder the closer they got to Blue Ridge. Inside the station, Logan handed them over to his deputy, Toby, a young man with bright red hair. “Separate cells,” he said and tossed the young man the keys.

The deputy looked like he’d rather drink arsenic. “Uh, Logan, er, Chief, I’m not sure—I mean, they’re my cousins. I can’t just, you know, put them behind bars.”

Logan searched through a drawer. “Don’t sweat it, Toby. You’re only the messenger.”

“But don’t messengers get shot sometimes?”

“Hang around here long enough, you’ll get shot one way or another,” Danny Bulley snarled. “Do what you gotta, Toby. Just know you won’t be getting no freebies for a good long while.” At Logan’s raised brow, he added, “Dinners.”

All in all, Sera spent less than fifteen minutes at the station. Ten more, and they were pulling up outside a very old, very large house that Logan informed her had come with the job.

Sera sensed his stare as he removed her bags from the back of his truck. With her skin prickling, she swung to confront him.

“What?” she demanded and received the kind of slow smile she really didn’t need to see right then. “Is it the gun?”

“Yeah, but it can wait until we’re inside.”

As he spoke, a drop of rain from clouds she’d failed to notice plopped onto her head.

“You’ve got about five seconds to decide … or not,” he amended when the night sky simply opened up.

If this had been San Francisco and she’d been going to work, Sera would have run. But here, in the middle of nowhere, with the lights of town a distant blur and her clothes already streaked with dirt, she simply lifted her face to the warm rain.

“I have to tell you, Logan, this qualifies as one of the strangest days of my life, and I’ve had some really bizarre days.”

He set his hat back on her head and picked up the heavy bags. “Courtesy of your patients?”

“Not even close.”

Hoisting her carryall, laptop and purse, she preceded him up a short walk to a porch that appeared to wrap around the entire farmhouse. She counted three floors, plus an L-shaped jut and an attic.

Lamps burned in three of the first floor windows. A dog barked deep inside.

“Her name’s Ella Fitzgerald. She’s a two-year-old golden retriever who thinks she’s a lap dog. Can you handle that?”

She smiled. “I love dogs.”

“Good, now how are you with …”

The door opened before he could finish and a small, thin woman with a frizzy gray bun whisked them inside.

She looked cranky, made rough tutting noises and, with a single sharp look, held them on the hallway mat.

“Moon Flower.” Logan caught the towels she tossed from the closet. “Also came with the job.”

“Use it.” The woman pointed downward. “I waxed the floors today.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Call me Flo. You’d be Dr. Hudson, then. Sit, Ella. Her room’s ready, like you wanted, Logan—the one across from yours. If you have a moment, Doctor, my sister’s foot’s been troubling her. And before you ask, she drinks plenty of milk.”

Sera had no idea what to say. “I’m uh, glad to hear it.”

Logan hung their towels on the doorknob and removed the dripping hat from her head. “She’s not that kind of doctor, Flo, and she’s not here to work in any case.”

“I see. Fine then. Babe can just hobble around until that knot head who calls himself an MD decides to practice human rather than simian medicine. Room’s this way, Doctor.”

“Sera’s good.”

“You know, Babe can hardly walk some days. Doesn’t matter how much milk she drinks.”

“Phone’s ringing, Flo.” Logan nodded into the living room. “I’ll take Sera upstairs.” When the woman bustled off, he said, “Don’t ask. She was part of the original hippie movement. She lived in a bus for three years. The engine died after one. She met my dispatcher Fred thirty-seven years ago. They got high, got married and started their own business in Sacramento.”

“Would that be a hemp shop?”

He indicated a set of stairs that jogged to the right halfway up. “Fencing mainly, and not the white picket kind.”

“So thirty some years later, it’s only natural they’d be working for the chief of police in a northern Wyoming town.”

“Life meanders, Sera. Why don’t you tell me your shoot-’em-up story?”

Wet and dirty, with a big dog nosing her hip and a too-sexy man on the stairs behind her, Sera opted for the abbreviated version.

“An adopted aunt whose father was a Texas Ranger thought every girl heading to college should know how to fire a handgun. I put her off for two months. Then I got mugged and decided she had a point. Now can I ask you something? Or—no, I’ll rephrase. Will you answer a question for me? “

He walked behind her down a surprisingly homey corridor. “I might.”

She aimed a humorous look over her shoulder. “You said for every Jessie-Lynn there were fifty normal people in Blue Ridge. My question is, when do I meet one of the fifty?”

THE DRIVE THAT had taken Sig Rayburn two days going took him less than thirteen hours on the return trip. Fueled on bad coffee and hoarse from two and a half packs of cigarettes, he called his captain as he crossed the bridge into the city.

Ten minutes and a great deal of cursing later, the clearly out-of-sorts captain told him to report to his office at 9:00 a.m. and disconnected sharply.

Sig felt the sting but didn’t care. Sera would be safe in Blue Ridge. Logan would see to that. He’d done the only thing he could, the right thing, he was sure. All he could do now was wait and hope her memory would return.

Unlike Wyoming, it was misty and cool in San Francisco. Fog slunk around the piers and the lower half of the city. He had time to grab breakfast, thirty minutes of sleep and a hot shower. By eight-forty he was back in the alley where he’d parked his car. He gave the dented roof a pat and the door a kick to open it.

A man in a black hoodie plodded past, drinking from a bottle in a bag. Sig spared him an uninterested look, then sighed at the interior of his Ford. He’d be swimming in trash soon.

He heard the sound behind him as he started to slide in. The blow to the side of his head stunned him—almost as much as the sight of the man who’d delivered it.

“You,” he managed to croak.

Grinning nastily, the man stuck a gun in his throat. “No bandanna for you, cop.” He shoved the tip in deep. “I’m saving it for the shrink.” His face floated closer. “You’re gonna tell me where she is.”

“Go to hell,” Sig managed to gurgle. “She’s safe, and she will remember.”

“Oh, I’m sure of it. What she won’t do is live to testify.”

“I’m not telling you squat.”

“Not verbally,” the man agreed. His gun made a quiet popping sound as the bullet discharged into Sig’s throat. “But there are other ways, my friend.” He folded his latest victim’s body into the car, located his wallet and eyed the trash on the seat and floor. “Plenty of other ways.”

Chapter Four

Sera could have slept for twenty-four hours. The twelve she got ended with a rough shake from Flo.

“Chief has to go to Casper for a meeting. You need to get up.”

She stuffed Sera’s clothes into a laundry bag, then picked up and examined her broken shoes.

“I can wear heels like this, but not Babe. She can hardly …”

“Walk some days. Got that, Flo.” Sera fought off the effects of her latest nightmare. She was sliding from the surprisingly comfortable bed when the stack of suitcases caught her eye. “You unpacked for me? “

“I don’t like ironing. What kind of doctor are you if you don’t do feet?”

“I can do feet.” In her dove-gray drawstring pants and white tank, Sera bent to look out the partly shaded window. “Will it be hot again today?”

“It’s July, isn’t it?” Flo dangled the strappy shoes. “You want me to see about getting these fixed?”

“Thank you.” Biting back a smile, Sera offered the expected trade. “Would you like me to look at your sister’s foot?”

“She’d appreciate that. But you tell Logan it was your idea. He said I wasn’t to pester you.”

“I will.”

Cinching the canvas bag, Flo started for the door. “Logan’ll be by in forty minutes. I’ve got flapjacks and blueberry syrup in the kitchen. Coffee too.” She paused on the threshold. “When?”

Rocking the tension from her neck, Sera headed for the bathroom. “If you’re talking about Babe, I can examine her when I get back from Casper, where I’m apparently going whether I like it or not.”

Flo gave a satisfied nod. “Do your whatevers fast, and I’ll feed you. Otherwise you’re at Logan’s mercy, and potato chips make a fine meal to him.”

“It’s a miracle cops live to retire.”

“That last word’s not one we use much in these parts, Doctor.”

Why wasn’t she surprised? Sera mused.

Still wondering where the normal people lived, she went into the bathroom to shower away her latest dream image—that of the Blue Ridge police chief’s enigmatic face.

“DON’T LET HER out of your sight, Fred.” Logan handed Sera a white hat with a braided black band, trapped her jaw and stared straight at her. “No guns, no clever tricks, no tricky questions. Agreed?”

She pulled free and smiled. “You have a very low opinion of me, Chief.”

“Must be the city cop coming out. I mean it, Sera.”

“Yes, I know. Go on.” She tried the hat for size and was pleased to discover it fit. “I won’t ditch your dispatcher.”

“Dispatcher slash senior deputy,” the man called Fred corrected. He gave his boss two thumbs up. “Don’t you worry, Logan. Me and the pretty doc’ll get on just fine till your meeting’s done.”

Sera turned to examine the window of a small shoe store. Why couldn’t the chief be more like his deputy? Huge, bald and in his late fifties, with a bull neck, a big belly and a smile as wide as the Platte River.

“You wanna walk, talk or shop, Doc?”

Fred’s question brought a teasing smile. “You’re okay walking the streets of the county seat in the company of a marked woman? “

“No killer with half a brain’s gonna shoot up a busy street at midday, Doctor—sorry, Serafina. That’s a pretty name, by the way. Mean anything special?”

The sun glinted off the roof of a white delivery van. Sera popped her sunglasses on. “It means my mother had high hopes for my future. Didn’t happen. I like Sera now.”

He regarded her from under his own hat. “You and your ma at odds then? “

“Fifteen years worth and counting. There’s no middle ground for us,” she added before he could press. “We didn’t see eye to eye on my future, so now we don’t see each other at all.”

“That’s a shame, and I can say that because Flo and me have a girl, maybe six years up on you. We see her, but every time we do, it’s either behind glass or on our doorstep in the middle of the night. She’s an addict. Addiction’s made her a thief. Thieving’s sent her to jail four times. Guess we shouldn’t throw stones considering our past, but we straightened out. I’m starting to think she never will. She owes money now, so I’m hoping against hope she won’t show up at Logan’s place. We live there, you know.”

“With Logan? No, I didn’t know. Or maybe I just didn’t think. It’s a big house.”

“Came with …”

“The job, I heard.” Hooking his arm, she asked, “Where does your daughter live, Fred?”

He snorted out a laugh. “Wherever the wind blows her. Like her ma and me that way. But you got your own problems, Doc. You don’t need ours heaped on top of them. Word is you’ve got someone after you, someone who likes to kill. Any thoughts on why a person would do that over and over again?”

“A few, but nothing that really works. Whoa …” Raising her sunglasses, she ogled a purse dangling near a shop entrance. “That is one über cool bag. Bet it costs a fortune.” She slipped around him and inside to flip the price tag. “Oh, yeah, fortune. Fourteen-ninety-five.”

“That doesn’t sound …”

“Fourteen hundred, Fred.”

When he gaped, she caught his shirt and drew him back out. “Breathe deeply. The feeling will subside.”

“Fourteen—fifteen hundred dollars? For a purse?”

“Well, it’s leather.” She glanced past him. “Dolce and Gabbana.”

“But that’s …”

“I know.” Aware of the sun’s increasingly strong rays, she steered him toward an outdoor café. “Do you like iced latte?”

“What?”

She grinned, then tugged on his shirt. “Coffee, cold, yummy. We can sit. You can tell me how you wound up in Blue Ridge and what it’s like to work for Logan.”

Fred ran a hand over his face. “Logan, right. Well, it’s good. Best straight job I’ve ever had. You probably know that Flo and me have done some shady things.”

“We all have a past, Fred. The present matters more, don’t you … think?” The last word emerged on a frown as a picture suddenly streaked through her head. Swinging away from the street, she pressed her fingers to her temples, trying to recapture it. “No, don’t hide. Let me see you.”

Fred came up behind her. “Are you okay? You want me to get Logan? “

Ignoring him for the moment, Sera struggled with the hazy image.

“Music,” she said at last and, pivoting, searched for the source. “There was music playing in the background the night Andi died.” She closed her eyes. “There’s something behind it.”

Fred sidestepped. “I’ll get Logan.”

“I need to hear it again.” When he started off, she trapped his arm. “I’m good, Fred, really. I just need the music back. I saw something for a second. A hand, I think. And some kind of motion.” She zeroed in on a muddy four by four truck. “That might be where it came from.”

“You sure it was music, Doc, and not what you were saying?”

She started for the truck. “What were we talking about, do you remember?”

“Coffee, wasn’t it? Or purses.”

She cut across the street, skirted a group of people waiting to board a Greyhound bus and wound up back at the sheriff’s office, where the truck was parked.

The cab of the vehicle was empty, but she made a slow circle around the hood.

Fred caught up and mopped his face with a red bandanna. “It’s awfully hot, Doc. We could 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 ghost of a grin appeared as the liquor worked its magic. “Seems we’re a step ahead of each other tonight.” He handed her the glass. “To Sig,” he toasted and raised the bottle to his lips.

Her eyes glinted before she tossed the liquor back. It amazed him that she only gasped once. “Med school,” she explained at his prolonged look. “Real ass of an anatomy professor. His students, Andi and I among them, plotted his dissection at a dozen off-campus bars.” Moving closer, she used her index finger to tip his hat back. “I’ll be honest with you, Logan. You scare the hell out of me, and that’s a big admission for me to make because I of all people know how to deflect this kind of fear.”

“Yeah?” Capping the bottle, he set it and the glass on the post beside him. “So what say we do this now, and get it out of our systems.”

It might have been surprise that flitted through her eyes. Whatever it was, the gleam behind it chased it out. She almost jerked when he caught her jaw in a light V. But then she relaxed and went with it—as he drew her closer and crushed his mouth to hers.

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