Capture Me

by Amber Thielman

  “Oh, God,” Kass groaned. She shivered with pleasure, panting, unsure of how much longer she could hold on. Logan's thrust became even quicker, burying himself in her, and that's all it took. Not even a few moments had passed as Kass felt her body let go, reaching the breaking point. She dropped her hands from his shoulders, exhausted, feeling her head swim with ecstasy. Logan slowed his pace, breathing heavy, and she realized that he, too, had released. He bent his head down to kiss her gently. He was smiling, and it made her all the happier as he rolled gently off her body and settled into the mattress next to her.

  “You're incredible,” Logan said, and Kass found herself scooting into him, allowing his arms to embrace and hold her. She was no longer broken. Meeting Logan had been the first step to recovery. She would no longer be tainted or bent or alone. With him, she was whole. With him, she was desirable. But when Kass was with Logan, she could see the attraction in herself—no longer did she look in the mirror and hate the woman she saw. Now she could look at herself and see a confident girl—a beautiful girl who had been to hell and back and still came out kicking. Not only did Logan see that in her, but he made her see it in herself.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Kass was sore. Not in a bad way, though. She was sore in a very, very good way. For the first night in a long time, her sleep had not been restless. She hadn't tossed and turned or had nightmares. She hadn't even thought of Ryan. She had lain sound asleep, instead, warm in Logan’s arms, a feeling in her gut so new, so exciting—so unlike anything she had ever felt with Ryan.

  But had that been love? No, she didn't think so. Not anymore. Was this love? Probably not. They had only known each other for days. But lusting after Logan was so different than loving Ryan. It was a feeling she couldn't shake—like seeing a celebrity on TV and knowing you could never have them, but wanting them, anyway. It was a feeling of not knowing how she had lived without him for all those years.

  The sound of a slamming door woke her in the dark. Her eyelids fluttered open, and she stared up at the ceiling for a moment, tangled in blankets and sheets. A moment of confusion overtook her, and she strained to see something—anything—in the dark. She saw only tiny dots of light in her vision. She wasn't warm anymore. She was rather cold.

  Something was wrong.

  “Logan?” Kass sat up abruptly, feeling a moment of panic flutter in her chest. The clock on the nightstand read 5:43 AM. She leaned over, feeling around in the dark for reassurance. Her hand grasped a coat of short, mangy, non-human hair. The dog. She leaned over and clicked on the lamp, dread filling the pit of her stomach. Looking over, she saw Vegas curled up next to her, now filling the spot Logan had been only hours ago. His tail thumped against the bed as she stared, but he didn't bother getting up. The rest of the room was empty and quiet. Too quiet. Kass swung her legs over the bed and stumbled towards the bathroom, hoping--praying--that she was wrong. She pulled it open and peered in, sick with a feeling of emptiness. The bathroom was dark. There was nowhere else to go.

  Logan was gone.

  Kass closed her eyes, feeling nauseous as she closed the door and retreated to the bed. On the nightstand, lit up by the alarm clock, was her cell phone. Under that, a hand-scribbled note. She scooted the phone aside, her fingers trembling as she picked up the piece of the paper and read it.

  There was no other way.

  Your credit card is in the pocket of your jeans.

  Rent a car and go home, be safe. Take care of the dog.

  Break up with that piece of shit.

  I'm sorry for everything.

  Logan

  She put a hand over her mouth, fighting back the tears. Why was she crying? Wasn't this what she wanted—to be free of him? It seemed like only hours ago that she had wished death on him. This deranged, psychopath who had put a gun to her and forced her away from home, away from her family, away from her life?

  Kass tossed the note aside and picked up her phone, pushing the power button to wake it up. On the main screen, thirty-two missed calls, eighteen voicemails, and fifty-four text messages bombarded her. Without checking them, she set the phone back down and took a steadying breath, fighting the pain that pressed at her lungs. Had she loved him? No. Fine, she loved Ryan. She was marrying Ryan. Lust and love were different. Maybe she loved Ryan and just didn't know it yet. What was this to her? What had this fiasco with Logan turned into? A story.

  Yes, a story to tell the grandkids.

  Kass turned the phone off without checking any of the notifications. She couldn't bring herself to do it. Not yet. She couldn't handle the guilt—the shame.

  Kass slipped it into her pocket instead and double-checked the Levi's holding her credit card. Then she picked up the local phone book and skimmed through it, searching for the car rental company. With a steady hand, she dialed the number from the landline and reserved a car, all the while fighting to keep her voice steady. The nice woman on the other line even offered to send someone to pick her up at the hotel. She replaced the receiver and stood up, gathering what little belongings she had with her. On the dresser, soaking in a beer bottle full of water, were the roses, the ones Logan had bought her the night she'd realized what he meant to her, the night they'd spent in Mesquite. She touched a red petal gently, observing the brown beginning to form on the delicate leaf. She picked up the bouquet, gave them one last smell, and tossed them into the closest trash can.

  “So long,” she said. “It's been nice knowing you.”

  Nevada skies were beautiful. He could give the shitty state that much credit. Miles and miles of city streets and tourists laid out in front of him, but the image of the sun coming up over the horizon was mesmerizing. If he could wake up to a sky like that every day, he'd be a happy, happy man—well, almost. He wasn't sure if a beautiful sky could replace the woman he'd left lying back on the bed. Nothing was as beautiful as her, not even this.

  Logan leaned down to click on the radio for some background noise, hoping to drown out the sound of Kass's voice in his head. Yes, he was an asshole. He was a prick. He was a bad person. He'd left her lying there, sleeping like an angel, her complexion washed by the moonlight that had been coming in through the window. He'd left her there, abandoned her after everything he'd put her through. He was no better than her fiancé, the one she spoke of so bitterly, the one who had played her all those years, forced her to feel like shit. She'd tried to hide it, of course, but he'd seen right past it. Kass was unusual, guarded. She was so, so guarded. And yet, he could still see straight into her soul. And she could into his. Nobody had ever done that—nobody had ever made him feel that way Kass had made him feel in the moments he'd been around her.

  That had been the scariest part of all. Never in Logan’s life had someone read him as she had. Never had someone pointed out his flaws or challenged him as she did. He was a flawed human —he had his difficulties and good days and bad days—but man, she had made that clear to him. She had told him what she thought of him, the good, the bad, and the ugly.

  Logan ran a hand through his dark hair, making a mental note to chop it when this was over. Over. Was it going to be that simple? Was his intention to waltz straight up to Laurel and say, “I don't know if you remember me, but I'm the son of the man you killed. I'm the one you blamed it on, remember? So, let's be fair—wanna tell the cops everything?”

  Yeah. That would blow over.

  Jesus, how had he gotten himself into this? And beyond that, how had he even gotten this far? He was sitting in the middle of Las Vegas Boulevard with a hostage back in the bed, and he was still home free. A part of him wasn’t even prepared for this. He'd planned on being caught and hauled away halfway to Nevada, where he would have then begged and pleaded and tried to convince them he wasn't guilty. Now, here he was, in the city still driving a stolen car and still thinking about the woman who had turned his life upside down.

  Why was it that life never seemed to go as planned?

  Kass stared at the road in front of her, tappin
g her fingers rhythmically on the wheel of the rented Pontiac. Trust Ryan to come out the hero in the end. It had been he who had convinced her to put ten percent of every paycheck into savings. Thanks to him, she'd had the money to rent this fancy red car and go home. Even after the car, she'd still have enough left in her savings to get a room for the night—even two. And a fancy dinner. Yes, a fancy dinner. She wouldn't miss fast food and diners, that was certain.

  The cell phone on the dash was a black screen of nothingness. She couldn't bring herself to turn it back on, couldn't face that most of those texts and missed calls and voicemails would be from the one person whom she was supposed to care most about in the world. She couldn't bring herself to look at those messages, in fear she would feel nothing for them—for him. She thought of her fiancé, envisioned his handsome face and charming smile. She imagined his strong arms around her, holding her, his laugh—such a good laugh. A comfortable laugh.

  And that's where it ended. Comfortable. A comfortable laugh, a comfortable hug, even a comfortable kiss.

  A familiar relationship, actually, because comfortable was giving Ryan too much credit. It had not been comfortable with Logan. It had been terrifying. Demanding. Overwhelming. Compelling. When Logan had touched her, her skin had burned with tension. When he'd kissed her, her lips had tingled, and her body craved more. During the time spent together, it had become clear to her then that some people bring out the worst in you, and others bring out the best—and then there are those remarkably rare, addictive ones who just bring out the most. They make you feel so alive that you’d follow them straight into hell, just to keep getting your fix. That's who Logan was to her. He was her drug. He was her addiction.

  Could she let him go now? Just let him leave, unsure if she would ever see his face again? What would he do? Would he find Laurel? Get his confession? Would the police get him first? This woman, this murderer, was she--dangerous? Would he get hurt—or worse—killed? Was he innocent? Yes, she believed he was. She believed that he was innocent. But would he make it out of this? And if he did, what would happen to him then? The idea of never seeing his face again, never feeling his skin against hers, made her dizzy with dread. She was walking away from all of it. Hasta la vista, baby. Catch ya on the flip side.

  See you fucking later.

  “Stop judging me,” Kass said. She looked over at the passenger's seat, at Vegas, who was staring her down with those sappy brown eyes. His tail thumped against the seat, and he whined at her. “He left me. You got the short end of the stick, dude. I don't do dogs.”

  Vegas whined again and laid down on the seat, resting his head on his paws. She rested one hand on his head, thinking of the night Logan had found him in the bushes. That was the night they had grown closer, become something more to each other than two perfect strangers. That was the night she had fallen for the stranger in the rain.

  Cursing herself, Kass leaned down to turn the radio on, hoping the music would avert her attention elsewhere, off Logan—away from his beautiful face and his charming smile and his cute laugh. Away from the way she felt when she was around him, both physically and emotionally.

  “But I would walk five hundred miles, and I would walk five hundred more…”

  Kass didn't know how far outside of Las Vegas she was. Everything looked the same to her here, but she spotted what looked like an abandoned telephone booth on the side of the freeway off in a graveled divot. She cranked the wheel to the side and stepped on the break so pull off, shading her eyes from the sun that pounded in on her, her skin lighting up with heat as she pressed the receiver to her ear, listening to it ring.

  “Seattle Police Department, how can I direct your call?” The woman's voice sounded congested as if she had a bad cold. Kass caught the receiver between her ear and shoulder and turned to peer out the window of the phone booth, admiring the way the light from the sun made the fiberglass shimmer. From the car, Vegas was watching her intently, as if terrified he would be abandoned again—just as she had been.

  “Hi,” Kass said, turning away. “I'm not sure who to talk to, but I'm an old friend of Laurel Ryder's.” She paused, resisting the urge to throw up all over the booth. “I lost contact with Laurel a few years back and am trying to get a hold of her. I heard about the accident with her husband Malcolm and her sweet step-daughter Ashley—I was hoping I could get some contact information for Laurel.” There was a slight pause on the other end of the line, and Kass felt her stomach churn.

  “Are you a family member of Mrs. Ryder?”

  “No. Not family. We went to school together,” Kass caught her breath, wondering how convincing she sounded. “I know she must be going through a tough time, and I wanted to offer my comfort and condolences personally. I hope you understand.” She slapped a hand over her forehead as the woman on the line sighed, feeling like a complete and total idiot.

  “Do you have information pertaining to the case?”

  “No, no I don't.” She cleared her throat, tempted to hang up the phone so she would stop humiliating herself. “I did hear though—about the son. What a tragedy. I hope you catch him.” She rested her head against the cool pane of the fiberglass window, closing her eyes. Thinking about him made her body heat up, and she felt as though she was on fire. “Listen, if you don't have any information, that's fine, I just—”

  “I can't give out her whereabouts, ma'am, but I do have a contact number that may help you,” the woman said. “Will that work?”

  Smiling, Kass pulled the folded piece of paper from her back pocket, the paper that Logan had left her with his abrupt goodbye scribbled on it. She unfolded it, grabbed a stray pen, and flipped it to the blank side.

  “That would be fantastic, thank you.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Logan gazed up at the building in front of him, overwhelmed at the mere sight. Trust Laurel to pick the most expensive hotel in Vegas. He knew she was in there, because her drug dealing fuck-buddy had a yearly business conference, and some helpful sources in prison told him that, more than likely, she’d be with him, just as she had been for the last seven years.

  Outside the main doors of the hotel lobby, a valet and a bellhop were making quiet conversation. They were dressed impeccably, in tight, ironed red and gold suits and tacky top hats. As Logan leaned back against the wall of a building across the street, scoping the place out, the two men kept glancing in his direction, looking almost amused. A man like him didn't belong there; a man dressed in dirty jeans and a stained white T-shirt. He was lucky if they would even consider him letting through the front doors. It was funny to him in a sick, twisted way that the money Laurel had used to get herself into a hotel like this was money that rightfully belonged to Logan and Ashley. Not anymore. Ashley was gone, and Logan was in trouble—and Laurel had it all. Her wish had come true. The brats were gone, and the husband was dead. She had it all.

  Logan pulled a pack of cigarettes out of the back pocket of his pants and lit one up, inhaling deeply. It made him think of the first night he'd met Kass, the moment she'd bummed one off him—she'd looked so pissed off that night. She'd probably just had a fight with Ryan. He'd thought nothing of her then—she had merely been any other woman he'd ever come across. She had meant nothing to him—nothing. And then he'd seen the flashing lights on the cop car, and he'd panicked. And that one tiny moment of failed judgment had landed him—them—in this position. No longer was she the girl in the car he didn't care about; now she was everything he had left behind—the one that got away—a memory. Soon nothing but that.

  A memory.

  Outside the Four Seasons Hotel, a group of older, glitzy women were piling into a red Corvette, a car much too quick and stylish for such a group. They were giggling, tipsy from lime margaritas, holding onto their stupid, over-sized hats as they tipped the valet and drove away, their laughter carrying back to him.

  Despite growing up in a family of privileged Americans, Logan had never been fond of the rich-bitch, glitzy type. Rich people
were snobs. They were prudes. They were mean and judgmental, and he'd sworn to himself at an early age that he'd never grow up to act like that. His mother hadn't been like that, but Laurel had. He didn't want to be that snobby guy with a lot of money, and a heart of stone. His father had been such a sad, angry man—money had been what he'd worshiped, and everything else had fallen apart around him. So, Logan stayed away from the money—he stayed away from the drama that came with the money.

  Logan had been his own person once, an outcast. At least, that's how he'd been seen in the eyes of his father and Laurel. Ashley had been different to him, accepting of his ways, and understanding of his flaws. Though she'd always embraced the money, her respect for society never faded, even into her twenties. She had been a good egg, that one. He wished he'd turned out half as decent as his sister had.

  Logan stubbed his third cigarette out under his toe and reached for another. He didn't know why he was so nervous. All he needed was a confession from Laurel. Just one simple confession and his life would almost be back to normal.