by A. C. Arthur
“By framing me.” It was starting to make sense to her now, sordid and sadistic sense. “You thought if you made me believe I could be arrested for murder that I would come to you and beg you for help. That I would offer you anything just like Fiona did, to stay out of jail.”
“You would have. You were just taking too long. I couldn’t wait any longer. I watched the wedding tonight and I wanted you with me. I. Need. You. With. Me!”
He came closer to her screaming the last word into her face. It dawned on her then that the elevator had moved and stopped, but the doors did not open. A fresh wave of panic soared through her.
“I don’t need you.” Cheyna said the words so quietly she wasn’t sure they’d actually been spoken. “You wanted to be needed and loved but I don’t know how to do either of those things. You know that? You know it because you don’t know how to do those things either?”
He lowered his head, shaking it as his forehead touched her shoulder.
“You don’t know me.”
But Cheyna was afraid she did. She was afraid that she knew him all too well.
“I don’t need you to kill for me.” Her voice was surprisingly steady. “I don’t need you to protect me. I’m not capable of loving you. But you’re not capable of loving me either. We’re unlovable, don’t you know that? No matter who you kill or who I fuck, we will never be worthy of love. Anything we do is a futile attempt.”
“Nooooo!” The word slurred in his loud voice. He slammed his fist that still held the knife against the wall just inches away from her face.
Cheyna gasped at the glint of the weapon she could see in her peripheral vision.
“We can be all things to each other. We’re just alike so we have to be meant for each other. We. Have. To. Be!”
He was screaming now and Cheyna was praying. All her life she’d relied solely on herself. She’d taken self-defense classes and had gone to school. Everything she’d done had been with the goal of being self-sufficient. She didn’t need anyone. Her life was her own. But tonight she needed someone out there to be looking for her. She needed them to figure out where she was and to be on the other side of that door whenever this maniac put the elevator in motion again.
“You’re going to stay with me now. We’re going to be together.”
He’d started to grind his pelvis into her. Cheyna’s stomach roiled. She let her head fall back against the wall and closed her eyes. This could not be happening again. Not to her. Not again.
“It’s going to be you and me. And you’re never going to leave. I’ll bring you roses. Pretty red roses.”
He talked and pressed into her, the bulge of his erection moving over her until she wished for some magic spell that would take her out of this body and to another place. He lifted his head and kissed her shoulder through the material of her dress.
“You’re going to be my everything and I will be yours. Cheyna and Ram.”
No! The word roared through her head and before Cheyna could think of another plan, she eased her arms up between them and pushed him in the chest with all her strength. Caught off guard, Ram stumbled against the doors of the elevator.
“Bitch! I told you not to test me again! I told you! I warned you!”
He came for her then, arm lifted, knife aimed directly at her. Cheyna didn’t care. If she died, so be it, but he wasn’t touching her again and she definitely wasn’t going anywhere with him. She charged forward and screamed in agony the moment the blade sliced through her skin.
Logan and Evan stepped off the elevator.
“We might get about six to ten inches. Buffalo’s getting slammed with a predicted three to four feet between tonight and tomorrow.” Evan loved snow.
He hadn’t stopped talking about it since they dropped the boxes off at the DJs truck and went to get Logan’s car. Logan hadn’t invited Evan to walk through the parking garage with him or to ride shotgun down to the front of the building, but the guy’s chatter didn’t bother him as much as it would have last night at this time.
The change in Logan’s mood was solely attributed to seeing and talking to Cheyna. When he’d walked into that conference room at the hotel he’d wanted to run to her and gather her in his arms. He wanted to hold her so tight and so close that she would never consider walking away from him again. But that would not have been considered a gentle approach. Logan had given her time. Two weeks to be exact. He hadn’t showed up at her job or her apartment and he’d kept the business contact to only a few calls and emails. And he’d tried like hell not to be pissed off at the situation that had separated them. It was a herculean effort, one in which he prayed was about to pay off.
“Cheyna said the office is closed until after the first of the year.” Logan joined in Evan’s solo conversation. They walked through the foyer headed toward the ballroom.
“Yes indeed! I cannot wait. Eleven days of doing nothing but eating and sleeping,” Evan spoke with a heavy dose of glee.
“And the way this storm is going a few of those day might keep everyone snowed in.” Logan found himself joining in Evan’s snow giddiness at the thought of being locked in an apartment with Cheyna while the snow accumulated outside.
“Yes, there is a god,” Evan quipped.
They entered the ballroom and Logan suddenly stilled. He didn’t see Cheyna near the DJ table.
“Where’d she go? The DJ is waiting out front with the vehicles so none of us get towed.”
Logan wasn’t listening to Evan’s words this time. He was looking around the room, walking quickly across the glossed floor as dread seeped through his veins.
“Cheyna?” he called to her. “Cheyna?”
“She might be through that back door. Sarah put a box of leftover favors and programs in there and we were supposed to take them to the office.” Evan began walking toward the door marked “staff only” that was about ten feet away from the DJ table.
Logan followed him, calling out to Cheyna again. Each time she didn’t answer his chest constricted. Evan went to the door but Logan stopped a few steps away from the box containing the cords that Cheyna said she was going to get together. His curse came quick and loud as he stared down at the rose on the floor.
“What the hell?” Evan asked as he came back through the door to look at Logan.
“Logan?” Sam called from behind him.
Logan spun around. “It’s Volker. He’s got Cheyna!”
“Volker? Zeke Volker? Was he invited to the wedding? I didn’t see his name on the guest list,” Evan continued until Logan shot him a look that shut him up instantly.
Sam and Devlin ran across the room.
“It’s not Volker,” Sam said coming to a stop and staring down at the rose Logan pointed to.
“What the hell do you mean it’s not Volker? There’s a rose that wasn’t here when I left. Cheyna was here and now she’s not. It’s Volker making his move just like you predicted he would.” Logan felt the fury building in deep waves that crashed against every part of his body.
“Fiona Watson was just picked up leaving an apartment in SoHo. When officers checked the apartment they found Zeke Volker’s body. His throat had been slit.” Devlin Bonner spoke in slow and exact words that echoed in Logan’s head.
“Then where is she?” Logan was afraid of the answer. He was afraid that they’d overlooked something or someone that had been staring them right in the face all along.
“A glove was found in the alley where Boyd Stubbing’s body was found. The NYPD had missed too many clues for my liking so when we found the glove I sent it to a friend I have at the FBI. He rushed the DNA testing as a favor for me. It’s a cop. Lieutenant Ramsey Sinclair,” Sam told him.
A cop. A fucking cop!
Logan’s fists clenched at his sides.
“I got her!” Bailey came running into the ballroom. “She pocket-dialed Monica. When Monica answered all she could hear was screaming and cursing so she hung up and called Bree. We pulled up our private surveillance sys
tem and the GPS on her phone says she’s still in the building.”
“Split up and look everywhere,” Devlin ordered.
“No, they went this way,” Evan told them. “I was coming back to tell you that I found her earpiece in the hallway back there but then everybody started cursing and talking about Volker and dirty cops.”
Logan pushed past him. He ran to the door, busting through it and into the hallway. There was nobody here. But there was an elevator.
“Somebody get downstairs to whatever is the last floor for this elevator. This is their only way out of the building,” Logan yelled.
Devlin and Bailey ran back through the ballroom, but Logan went to the doors of the elevator. He slammed his palms against them and then pushed the button to call it to this floor.
“It’s stuck between floors,” Bree told them. She was looking down at a small hand-held device. “I can see it right here through the building’s security feed. They’re two floors below us.
Logan didn’t wait for a directive. He ran back into the ballroom and to the Exit stairs. Sam, Bree and Evan were right behind him.
“Here!” Bree yelled just before Logan could pass another doorway.
He turned and yanked open the door tearing down the hall until he saw the service elevator. His hands were on the doors instantly, fingers pressed into the seam as he attempted to pull it open. Sam reached above him, lending his strength to the doors as well. The second they had a small crack Logan was easing his shoulder through until they were able to push the doors totally open.
The elevator car was trapped between this floor and the one beneath so that there was about a three foot opening through which they could see Cheyna in a struggle with Ramsey Sinclair.
“Override whatever error is holding the elevator still,” Logan heard Sam yell to Bree.
However, Logan was already moving. He’d dropped to the floor putting his feet through the opening to the elevator and jumped down into the car. At that exact moment Cheyna slammed the heel of her hand into Ramsey’s chin. She was most likely aiming for this throat, but Ramsey was taller and much broader than she was. Still, it sent the man reeling back, right into Logan’s grasp.
“You sonofabitch!” Logan roared and threw the man into the wall.
Sinclair was cop. He was trained to apprehend suspects and in some cases to kill. He immediately stepped up throwing his first punch at Logan.
Logan easily dodged the punch. He was a brand coordinator. And a boxer. He was trained in hand-to-hand combat which was exactly what was about to take place in this elevator. He landed a punch to the corner of Sinclair’s jaw as he danced around the bigger man in the tight space. Sinclair didn’t try for a punch this time, he raised his arm with the knife and lunged. Logan was smaller and faster. He moved out of the way again, grabbing Cheyna’s arm at the same time, pulling her down to the floor and out of Sinclair’s range.
Logan used a common tactic when dealing with a bigger opponent, he went for the kidney body shot. Sinclair’s body seized before he could make another move. Logan knocked the knife out of Sinclair’s hand and then aimed at his face, punching him over and over again. The elevator began to move and Logan lost his footing momentarily. Cheyna was standing now. When Logan was against the wall he looked over to see her and felt the rage that had already been funneling through his body explode like an active volcano.
Cheyna had been stabbed. Blood was pouring from what looked like her shoulder. It was hard to tell because her dress was black, but blood was dripping from the edge of the dress at her wrist onto the floor.
“I’m gonna kill you!” Logan charged Sinclair who had been leaning against the wall of the elevator, holding the right side where Logan had punched him.
There was noise and commotion. Logan thought the elevator had stopped again, but he did not. He was punching Ramsey Sinclair. The big guy had fallen to the floor of the elevator but Logan did not stop. Wherever he could land a punch he did, seeing in his mind every reason he had for beating the crap out of this crooked cop.
For all the police brutality incidents that made it to national news but not into a courtroom. For killing Liam Edison and Boyd Stubbing who may not have been the greatest men, but didn’t deserve to have their throats cut by a man like Ramsey Sinclair. For every other woman who had come across Sinclair’s path, because Logan was betting this wasn’t the first time the man had abused his power to get what he wanted. And finally, for Cheyna. She was afraid and hurt, bleeding and going pale and it was all because of him.
Cheyna.
Logan could hear her voice through the thick haze of anger. He thought he could smell her perfume, but no, that was blood. Rage rose again, fueling his every swing, until Logan felt as if he were in motion, his swinging now futile.
“We got him, man. We got him,” Devlin was saying after he pulled Logan out of the elevator and backed him up against a wall. “We got him.” Devlin said one more time as he locked gazes with Logan.
Logan stopped moving. He let his arms fall to his sides, his fists still balled.
“You hear me? We got him.”
Logan did hear him now. Loud and clear. His chest heaved as Devlin gave a curt nod. The motion was asking if Logan was cool. If he was going to go after Sinclair again once Devlin backed away. Logan nodded in response. Devlin took a slow step back, his gaze trained on Logan. But Logan didn’t move. At least not toward Sinclair. He hadn’t even looked to see where the guy was at this point. He only wanted to see Cheyna.
She was sitting on the floor, her back to the wall. Evan was on one side of her, Bree on the other.
“Hold this right here and apply pressure,” Bree was telling Evan.
Sam’s sister had taken off her jacket and Evan was now pressing the dark material to Cheyna’s right shoulder.
“Paramedics are on the way,” Bailey yelled.
Sam slammed Sinclair face-first into another wall and yanked the man’s arms back so that he could attach handcuffs. Logan couldn’t move. He knew he should go to her, to see if he could help, but all he could see was the blood that had dripped down onto the floor and was smeared against her neck on the side of her face. His arms shook, his fists still clenched so hard his blunt-tipped nails were now digging into his skin.
“Logan.” She called to him. “It’s over, Logan. Look at me, baby, it’s over.”
He nodded. He heard her words and he knew that she was right. It was over. But she’d still been hurt. He’d promised not to let anything happen to her and she’d been hurt.
Logan took a step toward Cheyna. He was going to get her out of here. But first…he turned to his left and ran quickly over to where Sam had just turned Sinclair around. He punched the guy so hard this time his head snapped back, blood shooting in a gruesome red arc onto the floor. Devlin had taken a step toward Logan, but Logan shook his head at him.
“Take that piece of crap away. I’m done.” Logan walked away from Sinclair and did not look back. He bent down and picked Cheyna up off the floor, cradling her in his arms.
“It’s over, baby. It’s over,” he repeated to her over and over again as he walked down the hall to an area where there was a couch and other chairs.
He sat down, holding her in his arms, her face was pressed against his chest, his chin rested on the top of her head. “It’s over,” Logan told her again. He repeated that as he rocked her in his arms. They stayed that way until the paramedics arrived and drove them to the hospital.
Chapter 17
Pain medication was sent directly from heaven.
Cheyna lay in her bed not feeling one bit of pain but recalling everything that had happened last night and realizing that she was lucky to be alive. She turned her head and looked at the clock on her nightstand. It was one o’clock in the afternoon. Logan had brought her home after she’d received twenty stitches in her shoulder at the hospital and a bag full of pain medication. She closed her eyes and remembered Logan taking very good care of her when they arrived.
He’d carried her again, setting her lightly on the side of her bed closest to the window, telling her to, “Keep still.”
He went into the bathroom, came out and went into the kitchen. He came out of the kitchen carrying a pot and Cheyna had frowned as she wondered what he was doing. Logan went into the bathroom again and came out with the pot full of warm soapy water and a clean washcloth he’d found in the linen closet. He’d removed the hospital scrubs the nurse had helped her into after her dress had been totally destroyed while the paramedics and then the nurses at the hospital had worked on her.
When she was sitting on the bed wearing only her panties, Logan bathed her. He used gentle strokes to scrub the blood away from her skin.
“Third drawer on the left,” she told him when he’d asked about her pajamas.
He pulled out the loosest fitting nightshirt he could find and eased it over first, her good arm and then the injured one. He fluffed the pillows and pulled back the comforter and sheet and helped her ease beneath them. When she was comfortable and tucked in he returned the pot to bathroom. He came out holding his shoes in his hand. Setting them on the floor on the other side of the bed, he removed his pants and shirt. The tuxedo jacket had disappeared sometime between them leaving the ballroom in the ambulance to when Cheyna was being wheeled out to the waiting room.
Logan had turned out the light when he was down to his boxer briefs and eased beneath the covers with her. He was careful not to pull on her body too much, but he’d pressed up against her so close that he could wrap his arms around her.
“Get some rest,” he’d whispered in her ear. “I’ll be right here when you wake up.”
And he was. After Cheyna looked at the clock she turned in the opposite direction and saw Logan. He was sleeping soundly so she took a deep breath and eased off the bed. The doctor warned about too much movement of her arm, so she’d worn the hospital-issued sling. Moments later she realized how hard it was to use the bathroom with only one working arm. When she returned, Logan was sitting up in the bed.