by Lisa Childs
“He never denied it,” Robert pointed out. “He never proclaimed his innocence.”
No. He hadn’t. And there was only one reason for that. “He was protecting someone,” Logan said. “You must have suspected that, too.”
Robert nodded. “That is why I kept visiting him. I wanted him to tell me. But he never admitted anything to me.” The retired cop turned toward Stacy. “Did he ever tell you anything?”
She shook her head. “I already told you that he refused to talk to me about that night.”
“Even the last time you saw him?” Robert asked. “He didn’t even tell you on his deathbed?”
“No,” she said. “He still wouldn’t talk about what happened.”
“He didn’t say anything about my father at all?” Logan asked. If Patek Kozminski really had killed a man and was about to die himself, wouldn’t he want to make amends? Penance? Beg for forgiveness? But an innocent man had no reason to ask for forgiveness…
Could Stacy have been right all this time? Her father had been stuck in prison for a crime he hadn’t committed. Logan had wondered before if he could forgive her for what her father had done. But could she forgive him for helping keep an innocent man in prison?
“He didn’t talk about your father,” she said.
And he was grateful that she’d at least revealed that much about the words over which she had been so secretive.
“So he didn’t say anything about who else was there that night?” the ex-cop persisted.
“No.”
“He died protecting whoever else had been there,” Logan said. So it had to have been someone close to him. Someone he’d loved…
Stacy must have come to the same realization because the color left her face, leaving her skin translucent except for the dark circles beneath her smoky-gray eyes. Because if her father had loved that person enough to protect him, she probably loved that person, too.
“He didn’t say anything. But did he leave you anything?” Robert asked. The cop had retired a few years ago, but apparently he had not forgotten how to interrogate a suspect.
But Stacy wasn’t a suspect. There was no way that she had been there that night. She would not have let her father go to prison for something she’d done.
“Was there anything in his personal effects?” Robert probed. “A letter? A journal?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. I haven’t gone through his stuff.”
“Did the bomb destroy his things?” Robert asked.
She shook her head. “No. I didn’t bring his effects home with me.”
She hadn’t gone home from the prison. She’d gone straight to a friend. And she must have brought her father’s stuff with her.
Her eyes widened again, as if she’d followed Logan’s train of thought, too. If there was something in her father’s stuff, some kind of confession or evidence, then whoever had that stuff was in danger. She grasped Logan’s arm and murmured, “We need to leave.”
“Where are his things?” Robert asked.
Logan covered Stacy’s hand with his and squeezed. He didn’t want her to say anything else in front of the old cop. “It’s okay,” he told the man. “We’ve got it from here.”
The retired cop stepped forward so abruptly that he nearly stumbled down the porch stairs. “No. You can’t cut me out of this investigation. I’ve been working this case for fifteen years.”
“No, you haven’t,” Logan said.
Robert pointed toward the log printouts in Stacy’s hand. “You saw my visits. You know I have been trying to get to the truth.”
“No,” Logan repeated. “A real cop would have included everything he’d seen in his report and his testimony.”
“And then Patek Kozminski wouldn’t have gone to prison.”
Stacy gasped.
“No,” Logan said. “He’d still been caught in the commission of a felony. A man had died during that felony. He would have gone to prison for those charges, but the real killer wouldn’t have been free the past fifteen years.”
“You think Kozminski would have given him up in some kind of plea deal?” Robert asked.
Logan shook his head. “No. But I would have been looking for the killer. And I wouldn’t have stopped until he was brought to justice.” And he wouldn’t stop now.
He opened the passenger’s door for Stacy. But she hadn’t yet slid into the seat when the shots rang out. Logan reached for his weapon and turned toward the older man. But Robert Cooper wasn’t firing. His shotgun was still slung over his shoulder.
The shots came from behind the already battered SUV—from the street. They had been followed from the prison. Logan pushed Stacy into the vehicle and drew his gun. But the window of the passenger’s door shattered as the shots nearly struck him. He had no protection. No time to return fire.
No time left…
Chapter Sixteen
Stacy couldn’t stop shaking. Those shots had been so close, but not to her. Like always, Logan had protected her. But he wouldn’t have been able to protect himself. He’d had no time to take cover. No time to draw his weapon.
Fortunately, the old cop had fired his shotgun. Tires had squealed as whoever had followed them sped off. Tires squealed now as Logan rounded one of the curves around the lakes.
She braced one hand on the dashboard and clutched the armrest with her other hand. “You’re not going to catch them.” Not with all the hairpin turns and two-track roads running off the main street. “They could have gone anywhere.”
“I knew we were followed from the prison,” he said, berating himself.
The only people who’d been able to follow him so easily were her brothers and whoever had driven them off the road the night before. As Logan had pointed out, her father had been protecting someone the past fifteen years—someone he’d loved. His brother or his sons?
She shook her head. It couldn’t be any of them. Her family wouldn’t have let her father spend fifteen years in prison for something he hadn’t done. It had to have been someone else—someone who’d killed once and would have willingly killed again if any of the shots had struck Logan or her or if either bomb had exploded…
Bomb? What if one had been set at her friend’s house? Hopefully the bomber hadn’t figured out where she’d been staying since her father’s death. But what if she’d been followed…
She reached for Logan’s arm again, grasping it tightly as she gave him the address. “You have to take me there.”
“Why?”
“It’s where I left my father’s things—the things the warden gave me that Dad had had at the prison.”
“The letter or journal?”
“I don’t know what was in the box,” she said. “I didn’t look through it.” There could have been evidence in it—a deathbed confession. But she cared less about that and more about her friend’s safety.
“Whoever’s trying to kill you doesn’t know that,” Logan said. “They think your father told you something or gave you something.”
“Right now the important thing is making sure my friend is safe.” She reached inside her purse for her cell phone. The screen was black, the battery completely dead. “Damn it.”
“You left your charger at your friend’s,” he surmised.
It wasn’t the only thing she’d carelessly left there. “I thought I’d be going back there after the funeral.”
Logan fell silent, but he kept driving just as fast as he had earlier—as if he were pursuing someone. Or running from someone. He was ignoring her now, but he hadn’t ignored her last night.
Heat flashed through her at the memories of their lovemaking. She had no regrets about making love with him. Her only regret was putting her friend in danger.
“Please hurry,” she said.
But he shook off her grasp. Then he handed her his cell phone. “Mine’s charged. Call your friend.”
She punched in the number she’d memorized long ago. But nobody answered. “It went to voice mail.”
<
br /> What if there was a reason for that? What if there had been another bomb? Tears of fear and concern stung her eyes. “I will never forgive myself if something’s happened…”
Amber Talsma was more like a sister than a friend. They would have been sisters—if she and Milek hadn’t broken up instead of getting married.
Panic clutched her stomach as Logan turned onto the suburban street. What if the house was gone? Obliterated?
But then there would have been a police barricade and reporters. And there was nothing like that. The house stood in the middle of the well-maintained green lawn. With its fieldstone and shake siding, it had an open floor plan and several big bedrooms. That was how Amber had convinced Stacy to stay with her—because she had so much room.
Stacy hoped that Amber wouldn’t regret having her stay. She hoped that she hadn’t endangered her and the other person who lived with Amber and her little dog. The minute Logan pulled the car into the driveway, Stacy threw open her car door and ran for the house.
The front door opened and a child greeted her, propelling his small body into her arms. There was no man in Amber’s life; just a boy.
“Are you okay?” she asked him, love warming her heart as she pulled him close. “Is your mother okay?”
“She’s in the shower,” the four-year-old replied. “I’m ’kay, Aunt Stacy.”
“No, you’re not,” his mother said as she crossed the foyer. “You’re in trouble for opening that door, mister.” Amber’s smile froze and she reached for the towel she’d wrapped around herself as she stared behind Stacy.
She turned back toward a clearly shocked Logan. She probably should have corrected his misassumption earlier about her friend being male. And she probably should have warned him about her nephew. He looked nearly as shocked as if she’d opened the door to a bomb.
*
AFTER A THOROUGH search, they concluded there was no bomb. Logan had cleared the house of explosives before they’d left Amber Talsma and her son. And now, as they drove away, Stacy was clearing the box of belongings Warden Borgess had given her.
“Is there anything in there?” he asked, glancing over at her. But then he returned his attention to the rearview mirror and the road ahead of them.
She uttered a broken sigh. “Nothing about your father’s death.”
He glanced over again to the stack of photos and cards through which she was thumbing. “He saved them all?”
“Yes, all of them,” she replied, her voice shaky with tears. “Every card and picture I ever gave him.”
“Did you give him pictures of his grandchild?” Logan asked. “That boy is your nephew, right?” Not only had he called her “aunt” but he was a gray-eyed blond-haired miniature of her brothers while the child’s mom had red hair and green eyes.
She hesitated as if considering lying to him. “He might just call me that because his mother and I are such good friends.”
Before he’d learned Amber was a woman, he had thought they were more than friends, and he’d been ridiculously jealous. Because of the boy, they actually were more than friends; they were family. “Is he Garek’s or Milek’s son?”
She sighed and held up a picture of a pudgy baby. She had given her father photos of the child. “Milek, but he doesn’t know.”
“That’s one hell of a secret to keep.”
“Amber has her reasons.”
“What are yours?” he asked, appalled that she would keep such a secret. Maybe she wasn’t as loyal to her family as he’d thought she was. “He’s your brother. You should tell him. I would tell Parker if he had a kid.”
She chuckled. “If Parker’s reputation is to be believed, he probably does.”
He nearly chuckled at the thought of his twin with a kid. “There’s no way. He would never be that careless.”
But then it suddenly occurred to him that he had been that careless. He hadn’t protected her when they’d made love. And if they had made a child together, he wondered if she would tell him. Or would she keep that secret as she had kept so many other secrets?
“Milek was careless,” she said, “with Amber’s heart. He broke it when he broke off their engagement. She didn’t want to use her pregnancy to keep him. She didn’t want to trap him into marriage.”
He knew Stacy really didn’t want to marry him at all. If she were pregnant, she was as unlikely to share that information as her friend. He would have to make certain that no matter what happened between them that they stayed in touch.
“They wouldn’t have had to marry for Milek to be part of the boy’s life,” Logan said. “He could still spend time with him—still support him.”
“Amber’s a lawyer,” she informed him. “The assistant district attorney, actually. She supports herself.”
“Is she really going to get a warrant for the visitor logs of the prisoner who killed your father?” he asked.
Stacy nodded. “Definitely. She knows how important it is that we find out why my father was killed.”
“Because someone had wanted him silenced.” Someone had been afraid that he might finally reveal who’d really killed his father. And if that someone was willing to have one relative killed, they were definitely willing to kill another. He shouldn’t have brought her with him.
He should have asked Parker or one of the other bodyguards of the Payne Protection Agency—besides Candace—to keep her safe. But Stacy had insisted on coming along. She had even refused to give him the address he’d needed unless he brought her along.
“We’re here,” she said as he pulled onto a city street.
This wasn’t a residential area of River City. It was the warehouse district, and none of these warehouses had been converted to condos as far as he knew.
“They really live in one of these?” he asked.
She pointed toward one. It was brick instead of the cold-looking metal of the other buildings. But it still looked more industrial than residential.
He pulled the SUV to the curb and parked. But before he could slide out from behind the wheel, Stacy grasped his arm. “You can’t tell Milek that he has a son,” she said.
“It’s not my secret to tell,” he told her.
“It’s not mine, either,” she said.
“Do you think Milek is going to be okay with that when he learns the truth?” he asked. “And he will someday. He’s going to be furious with you.”
She sighed. “He’s going to be furious with me anyway.” She glanced toward the warehouse. “I’m not sure I can do this.”
“Then let me,” he offered. But he wasn’t eager to face her brothers, either—at least not Milek. It wasn’t his secret to keep or expose, but he wished to hell that he’d never found out.
Stacy followed him to the front door, though. Or at least he assumed the electric overhead door was the front. It rolled up when Stacy pushed a button. There was a foyer of corrugated metal and brick and off that interior foyer was another door that opened as they approached it.
Garek filled the doorway. “Why did you bring him here?”
“Why shouldn’t she have brought me?” Logan wondered. “Afraid I might check serial numbers and find some stolen property?”
Garek uttered a particularly crude curse.
“Hey, I’m going to be your brother-in-law,” Logan goaded him.
“She might have fallen in love with you, but I haven’t,” Garek said.
Stacy’s face flushed with bright color, but instead of addressing her brother’s comment, she ignored it to ask, “Is Milek here, too?”
Logan hoped he wasn’t. But the other man appeared behind Garek.
“I’m here,” he said. “What’s going on? Did you set a date for this farce of a wedding?”
Logan would rather plan a honeymoon than a wedding. The thought of a honeymoon—of several nights of making love like they had—filled Logan with need. If only they had been able to go away—just the two of them…
But it would never be just the two of them. Ther
e would always be their past and the secrets between them.
“We’re still not safe,” Stacy answered her brother.
“There have been more attempts on your life?” Garek asked with a glare at Logan. “I thought you would keep her safe!”
“Obviously he has or I wouldn’t be here,” Stacy defended him.
“But it has to end,” Logan said with a pointed glare of his own at Garek. He still couldn’t look at Milek. “It has to end now.”
“You really think we would hurt our sister?” Milek asked, his voice gruff with disappointment and hurt.
How would he feel when he learned he had lost three or four years of his son’s life? Logan hated secrets; he’d had to keep clients’ secrets before but Stacy wasn’t paying him to protect her. She wasn’t his client.
She was his fiancée, though. And after last night that felt more real than fake. And fiancée probably trumped client. So he had to keep her secret, too.
But she grabbed his hand and squeezed it in warning—as if she suspected he was tempted to tell the truth.
“People will take desperate measures to protect themselves,” he said. “So maybe you would hurt your sister to protect yourself.”
“Protect myself?” Milek repeated. “Nobody’s trying to kill me.”
“Protect yourself from going back to jail,” Logan clarified.
Garek stepped back. “Check all the serial numbers you want. We’re not criminals.”
Logan wasn’t so sure about that but he begrudgingly gave them the benefit of the doubt. “Maybe not anymore…”
“You just can’t let go of the past, can you?” Garek said. “I don’t know how you ever fell for Stacy. Our dad was hers, too.”
Panic clutched his heart as he realized that her brother was right. He had fallen for Stacy. But he wasn’t sure how, especially when he knew that he couldn’t trust her.
“I’m not so sure that your father was the one who killed my father,” Logan conceded.
Milek chuckled. “She really has gotten to you.”
More than she knew…
“I kept telling you that Dad wasn’t alone that night,” she said.