A Dead Man's Pulse

by Samantha A. Cole

  “She’s my daughter. Can I see her?” The man’s voice broke, and it wasn’t until that moment that Logan realized her father was terrified he’d almost lost her. But that still didn’t mean he could make her feel as if she’d let him down.

  The doctor nodded. “For a minute and then you’ll have to wait until she’s out of surgery.”

  Gavin Swift moved toward the entrance to the trauma room, then paused, glancing over his shoulder at his son and Logan, his expression somber. “Gerry, grab whatever-his-name-is and come with me. She’ll need to know you’re both here for her too.”

  Dakota winced as she tried to get comfortable in the hospital bed. She couldn’t wait to get the hell out of there. Three days of being constantly monitored and prodded was worse than getting whipped and shot in the first place—well, almost. At least the nurses had removed the damn urine catheter last night. She still had the on-demand morphine drip hooked up to her IV, but she didn’t want to push the button, even though the wounds from the whip burned white-hot. The drugs made her woozy, and she wanted to stay alert for when Logan woke up. He’d been glued to the recliner in her room since she’d come out of surgery, only disappearing to use the bathroom or take a quick shower down the hall. The nurses had taken pity on him and allowed him to use it after one of his teammates had brought him a change of clothes.

  She studied him from her bed. His dirty-blond hair could use a trim, and whiskers covered his jaw and lip. She kind of liked the scruffiness—she’d always been a sucker for the bad-boy look as long as the persona didn’t go with it.

  Yesterday, he’d filled her in on everything that’d happened. She was still shocked, as everyone else was, that the Kink Killer had been working at The Covenant under their noses all this time. He’d been hired as a bartender about a year after the club had opened, but hadn’t been in the lifestyle before that. He’d started training to be a Dom a few months after he’d started working there.

  “They found a shit-load of evidence at his apartment,” Logan informed her while he held her hand, as if he couldn’t bring himself to release her for a mere second. “Apparently, three women on the missing persons’ list had been his first two kills and a recent one—Lily Stokes. According to a journal he kept, he’d dumped their bodies out in the gulf and regretted it afterward. He found he got a greater thrill when the other bodies were discovered. As for Stokes, she died faster than he’d expected. He was pissed about it so that’s why she wasn’t posed in public like the others.”

  “Do they know what started it all? Usually there’s a trigger.”

  He shook his head. “Not that they’ve found yet. Dr. Suki Ralston and Parrish are pouring over everything they can find on him, but they still don’t know what set him off. Suki said they may never know. It’s almost like the lifestyle—some people don’t know why they need it, they just do. Same goes for sociopaths.

  “Hardwick called his victims his masterpieces. Believed he was immortalizing them or something. You could have been one of them.”

  Logan swallowed hard as he stared at their joined hands, and she cut him off before the next words flew out of his mouth. “If you apologize for shooting me one more time, Cowboy, I’m going to hit you over the head with the bed pan.” She’d been hearing “I’m sorry” from him for the past three days—ever since she’d awakened after the surgery. “I never would’ve gotten hit if I hadn’t been scared out of my mind that he was going to shoot you. It happened. I’m still alive because of you, while he’s not. I love you and don’t blame you, so cut the bullshit and stop feeling guilty.”

  “Yes, Ma’am,” he replied with a grin. “And I love you too.”

  “Now that, you can repeat as many times as you want,” she said with a saucy smile.

  He leaned over and gently kissed her lips. “I love you; I love you; I love you. But you still deserve some punishment for kneeing me in the balls.”

  “Jeez . . . you mean shooting me doesn’t make us even?”

  “Hey, you’re awake.”

  Her gaze met Logan’s drowsy one. “So are you. I don’t know how you can sleep in that chair.”

  “I’ve slept in worse places.” He stood and stretched the kinks out of his back and neck. “How do you feel?”

  “Like I’ve been tenderized.” She was glad to see her lame joke made him smile as he stepped over and took her hand. Dr. Trudy Dunbar had been in to see her this morning at Ian Sawyer’s request. It was a given Dakota was going to have some PTSD issues for a least a while over her experience and the psychologist had agreed to take her on as a client after she was released from the hospital. Maybe she and Logan could have side by side desensitization therapy—or not.

  She and Logan wouldn’t be the only ones with lingering issues over the case. Brody Evans was apparently giving himself hell for not finding something in Hardwick’s background that would point to him being a serial killer, but there hadn’t been as far as anyone could tell. He’d had a normal childhood with doting parents and two sisters, all of whom were horrified at the man he’d become. Dakota felt sorry for them—since the killer’s name had been released, his family had needed to go into hiding from the press and threats from people who thought they should have known their loved one was a sociopath.

  A knock on her door had them both looking up to see her father enter the room, and Dakota tensed as she had for the past few days, every time he came to see her. She was waiting for him to say “See, I told you so,” knowing it was coming sooner or later.

  Her father nodded at Logan before turning his attention to her. “Hi. How’re you feeling?”

  “Okay. Just ready to get out of here.”

  A small grin spread across his face, and Dakota realized he looked much older since she’d gotten shot. “You’ve got the same energy your mother had. She could never sit still for long either.” He held up a brown paper bag as he stepped closer to her bed. “Got you some muffins. I wasn’t sure what flavor you liked so I got a few different ones. I know how much hospital food sucks.”

  It wasn’t surprising he didn’t know her preferences, but she was caught off guard by the fact he’d brought her anything in the first place. “Um. Thanks.”

  He placed the bag on the bedside tray, then stuffed his hands in his pockets and rocked back and forth on his feet. Silence filled the room as the three of them stared at each other, but then her father’s gaze fell to the floor. “Listen. I . . . um . . . I know I’m not good at expressing myself—never was. I still have no clue what your mother saw in me. I . . . uh . . . I just want you to know that I’m . . .” His water-filled eyes lifted and met her dry ones. “. . . I’m proud of you, Dakota. I’m sorry I never told you that before. You’re a damn fine cop and I couldn’t be prouder if I tried.”

  Dakota’s jaw dropped as Logan gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. “Dad . . .” Tears welled up in her eyes and a lump formed in her throat. “I thought you hated me being a cop . . . didn’t think I should be one.”

  “Are you kidding? No, I guess you’re not. I don’t think that at all, sweetheart. I love that you followed in my footsteps . . . I wish Gerry had too. But I was also afraid for you. In this day and age, with the blue line all having targets on their back, I worry. When they knocked on my door the other night, and I opened it to see the two captains standing there, I almost had a heart attack. I thought you were dead, and I wouldn’t let them say anything at first because I was so afraid I’d lost you.” Tears rolled down his weathered cheeks. “I haven’t been the greatest of fathers—I know that—but that doesn’t mean I don’t love you. I’m so sorry, Dakota. I’m so, so sorry I failed you as a father.”

  She began to sob as she reached out with her free hand, beckoning him closer. He took it, then cupped her cheek, wiping her tears away while ignoring his own. “I’m so sorry, baby. I don’t know how, but I swear I’ll find a way to make it up to you. I love you.”

  That just made her cry harder and her heart clench. “It—It’s okay, Dad. I love
you too.”

  With another squeeze of her hand, Logan stood and silently left the room, giving the father and daughter some time alone. When the door closed, the elder Swift gestured toward it. “By the way, he’s a keeper. But don’t tell him that.”

  A half sob/half laugh burst from her lips. “I won’t.”

  E

  PILOGUE

  Three weeks later . . .

  With one arm in a sling and her free hand clasped with Logan’s, Dakota walked beside him in reverence of the vast size of Arlington National Cemetery. Photos and videos didn’t do it justice. A light breeze on the sunny day brought with it the scent of freshly mowed grass and the mournful notes of “Taps.” Logan raised their joined hands and pointed far up on a hill to their right where a funeral was taking place and a lone bugler was standing off to the side, welcoming another deceased veteran to hallowed ground. As a police officer, it was the one song that never failed to bring a tear to her eye, having heard it at far too many law enforcement funerals over the years.

  They’d arrived early so he could take her to watch the changing of the guards at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier, which had been breathtaking, before heading back past the parking garage toward where his teammates were buried. Tomorrow, she was going to meet his parents and sister for the first time, and she was nervous as hell since the last time a lover had introduced her to his family had been many years ago. Tara Reese had recently gotten engaged to her longtime boyfriend, and on Saturday, there would be a large engagement party for the happy couple. But today, Logan had wanted to introduce her to someone special—but he’d refused to tell her who, insisting it was a surprise.

  As they followed the road past rows of white stones, Logan stopped sooner than she expected. “Is this it?”

  He shook his head. “No. Just wanted to stop and pay my respects to this kid for a moment.”

  Dakota read the stone. Brian Chadwick. Cpl. US Army. “My God, he was only twenty when he was killed in Afghanistan. A baby.”

  “Not old enough to drink, but old enough to lay down his life for his country.” He tugged on her hand. “Come on, beautiful. Don’t want to be late.”

  He’d been calling her beautiful since he’d noticed her frowning at her reflection in the hospital. Slash wounds and bruises had covered her head, torso, and arms, in addition to the bullet wound. The black and blues had faded to purple and yellow before disappearing altogether, while the marks from the whip were taking a little longer to heal. She’d hoped they’d be completely unnoticeable for when she met Logan’s family, but a little makeup might be needed to hide the last of them.

  A little further down, on the opposite side of the roadway, she noticed a couple in their thirties standing amongst the white markers, but it was the little boy, about seven years old, with them who caught her attention. He was facing one of the graves, his legs shoulder width apart, his head bowed in respect, and his hands clasped at his lower back—a near-perfect parade rest posturing. She glanced up to see Logan smiling as he also realized what the boy was doing. As they approached, no one said a word as Logan let go of her hand and positioned himself to the boy’s left, mimicking his stance.

  “Attention!” Logan ordered, and he and the boy brought their left feet to meet their right, shoulders back, hands cupped loosely at their sides, chins up, and eyes front. “Present arms!”

  Dakota watched in awe as they both lifted their right arms, bringing their flattened hands up, fingers together, angled toward their temples. A few seconds passed as they saluted the graves, before Logan gave the command, “Order arms!” and they both returned to the “attention” stance. “Parade rest!” Once they were in their original positions, Logan chuckled before giving the final commands. “At ease and fall out.”

  “Logan!” The little boy leaped into the man’s arms and was rewarded with a big hug.

  “How’re you doing, Charlie? You grew a few inches!” Shifting the boy to his hip, Logan grinned at him. “And you’ve been practicing a lot.”

  “Daddy’s been teaching me. Was it good?”

  “It was perfect.”

  The boy’s mother smiled as she and her spouse stepped closer. “Logan, this is my husband Paul.”

  Logan shook the other man’s hand. “Nice to finally meet you.” He waved Dakota over. “This is my girlfriend Dakota Swift—she’s a Tampa police officer. Dakota, this is Paul and Dawn Roberts. Paul is also on-the-job in Alexandria, just outside of D.C. And this is my little buddy, Charlie.”

  After shaking hands with the boy’s parents, Dakota took hold of his as well. “It’s nice to meet you, Charlie.”

  “It’s nice to meet you too.” He turned his attention back to the man holding him. “Are you one now, Logan? Are you?”

  To Dakota’s amazement, Logan blushed and shrugged before glancing her way. “I think you better ask Dakota that question, buddy. She’s not only my girlfriend, but she was also my partner for a while.”

  Her eyes narrowed in confusion. “What are you both talking about?”

  “Is Logan a hero yet?” his idol-worshiper asked.

  There was obviously some story behind this, and she’d get it from Logan later, but for now she answered the boy’s question, knowing her man was uncomfortable calling himself a hero. “Yes, he is, Charlie.” She gestured toward her injured shoulder. “I was shot and Logan saved my life.” Of course, she left out the part about the bullet coming from Logan’s weapon. “He also made sure a really bad guy would never hurt anyone again.”

  Charlie threw his arms around Logan’s neck. “I knew it! I knew you were a hero like your friends and my daddy!”

  After patting him on the back a few times, Logan lowered the boy to the ground. “You sure did, buddy.”

  “‘Kota? Do you know Logan’s friends?” He pointed to the graves.

  The boy’s smile and joy was infectious. “No, Charlie. I never had a chance to meet them, but I’ve heard a lot about them.”

  “They’re heroes, too.” Starting at the grave they’d originally saluted, he patted each stone belonging to Logan’s teammates. “This is Clutch and Gunny and Flipper and Kandy and Pluto and Preacher and Scooby and Hammer.”

  At Logan’s stunned expression, Paul laughed. “He’s had them all memorized since you emailed what each of their call-signs were. Every time we come to visit his grandfather’s grave, he stops here and makes sure he has them all correct.”

  Swallowing what had to be an emotional lump in his throat, Logan held up his hand. “That’s awesome. High-five, Charlie!”

  “High-five! Oh, and Logan’s call-sign is Cowboy!” he told everyone, just in case they hadn’t already known.

  The glee and wonder Dakota saw in her lover’s eyes warmed her from head to toe. With each day that passed, he was enjoying life more. He’d never forget his teammates and what they’d all gone through, and a part of him would always feel some guilt that he’d come home when they hadn’t, but he was learning to live with it. He would continue to honor their memories by being the best man he could be and would do it with her at his side. She’d never expected to fall in love with him, but it definitely had happened. She almost couldn’t remember the woman she’d been before she’d met him; they’d both grown . . . for the better. Her relationship with her father was on the mend, although she was certain it would be a rocky road ahead for both of them.

  As for her job, she’d been shocked when Ian Sawyer had offered her a position with Trident. After discussing it with Logan, she’d turned the job down. Her career was with Tampa P.D., and after she was cleared for full duty again, she was permanently assigned to the Special Ops Division. But Sawyer’s offer hadn’t been the only surprise in the past week. The second one had come when Logan had asked her to move in with him. While things were still new between them, she hadn’t hesitated to say yes. He’d gone from being her partner, to being her friend, lover, and Dom, and she couldn’t be happier. She wanted to be in his bed every night and wake up to his arms wra
pped around her every morning. He’d told her that someday he was going to get down on one knee and ask her to marry him . . . when the time was right. For now, they were both content to let their love grow between them.

  “‘Kota! Stand next to Logan. It’s time.”

  Charlie’s command brought her back to the present to find everyone was lined up in front of Clutch and Gunny’s graves. “Time for what?” she asked as she joined them to Logan’s left.

  “It’s time to salute them again and then we’re going to lunch.”

  As the small group honored Logan’s teammates, the somber notes of “Taps” floated through the air once more. Another hero was being laid to rest, but this time, instead of shedding a tear, Dakota’s heart felt lighter. One day, Logan would be laid to rest here, of that she was certain, but until then, she was going to cherish him and every day they had together. And maybe someday, they’d have a little girl or boy who would look at Logan with the same adoration as Charlie was looking at him now . . . after all, he was a true American hero.

  The End

  As many of my readers know, I don’t normally include a play-list in my books (I usually have the TV on in the background). However, I’d be remiss if I didn’t include the song that was the inspiration for the Arlington scenes. “Last Band of Brothers,” by Keni Thomas, is a song that rarely fails to bring a tear to my eye. If you listen to the words, you’ll understand why. When I was first writing Logan visiting his teammates’ graves, I had no idea little Charlie was going to walk up to him. But like most of my characters, he emerged from the depths of my mind, surprising me, and became an amazing part of the story. This book is dedicated to all those who have served this great country I’m honored to live in. To those who never came home and those who came home different than when they left, I thank them. Their sacrifices will never be forgotten.