by Renee Ryan
“What does Mattie Silks have to do with this?” he asked.
It was not the first question Megan would have expected from him. The madam had been uncommonly kind to her, wonderful even. But would Logan understand?
When Megan didn’t answer the question right away, Sheriff Scott responded for her. “The murder occurred in Mattie’s brothel. In her private suite of rooms.”
Logan recoiled. Not enough for the sheriff to notice, but Megan felt his reaction even as he set her gently away from him. She thought she heard him mutter something about the difficult woman and her maddening games, but couldn’t be sure. He’d spoken just below a whisper.
Fearing what she might find, she ventured a glance into his eyes. He looked stunned. Indignant. Furious.
Megan had never seen him so angry. She was sure of it. But just as the thought materialized a distant memory triggered a peculiar stinging in her throat. She instinctively backed away from him. One step. Two. The third brought her legs up against the cot.
She sat. Quickly, before she collapsed.
Shivering, she rubbed her hands over her arms. Beneath the thin fabric of her sleeves her skin felt clammy, as though the ugliness of death had attached itself to her and wouldn’t let go.
At last, the shadows in Logan’s gaze shifted from anger to sorrow to resolve. He turned to glare at Sheriff Scott. “Tell me everything you know.”
With slow, precise words the sheriff recounted the events in Mattie’s boudoir as he knew them. His smooth, deep baritone lulled Megan into a comfortable daze.
Only half listening, she pulled her feet onto the cot and hugged her knees to her chest. She didn’t mind that they were discussing her as though she wasn’t in the room. She found it oddly comforting to listen to her story from the viewpoint of an outsider. But as the events unfolded around her, Megan had to swallow back another round of panic.
Why couldn’t she remember details from the brothel? She recalled feeling fear. Queasiness. Rage. But nothing more substantial, nothing concrete.
At last, the same tiny thought swam out of the chaos in her mind as it had every other time she’d pushed herself to remember. She’d gone to read to Suzanne, one of Mattie’s girls, a woman who’d contracted the same illness that had killed Megan’s mother. Megan had gone to the brothel to offer what small comfort she could.
But why had Cole sought her out, specifically? She’d been there on an errand of mercy.
Before confusion overtook her, she made herself focus on the story once again. According to Sheriff Scott, Cole had attacked her, probably assuming she was one of Mattie’s girls. All signs revealed that Megan had fought back, at one point pushing the man so hard he’d hit his head against the stone fireplace. But the blow hadn’t been what killed him. The sheriff was positive Cole died of a chest wound.
“Someone jammed a knife straight through Kincaid’s black heart,” he said.
How many times had Megan heard the same series of events, told in the same sequence, always with the same conclusion? A man was dead and his blood was on her dress, as well as on her hands before she’d cleaned them. But no matter how deep she searched her mind, Megan couldn’t corroborate any of the sheriff’s findings.
Hugging her knees tighter, she fought the familiar fog trying to grip her mind once again. It came anyway, thick and impenetrable.
Logan let out a low hiss when Sheriff Scott began detailing the murder scene. Megan jerked her attention back to the conversation. Catching Logan’s hard expression she easily understood why Sheriff Scott had recommended him for the U.S. Marshal position. Not out of loyalty alone, but because Logan could be ruthless when he wanted to get to the truth of a matter. She shivered.
Would he be her ally now? Or her judge?
At last, the sheriff came to the end of the tale.
Logan’s conviction was stronger than before. “Nothing you’ve said changes my mind about Megan’s innocence. She couldn’t have murdered Kincaid.” He tossed her a quick, reassuring look. “Not in the way you just described. You have to let her go. You—”
“Slow down, Logan.” The sheriff held up his hand between them. “It’s too soon to form any conclusions.”
“I said,” he clenched his jaw so hard a muscle jumped in his neck, “Let. Her. Go.”
“Stop and think,” the sheriff suggested. “If someone else murdered Kincaid that means Megan probably saw him.”
She shook her head fiercely. “I remember no one.”
Neither man acknowledged her.
“Logan.” The sheriff’s tone turned low and insistent. “He won’t know she’s lost her memory. She could be in grave danger.”
Logan drew in a sharp breath. “Is that why you locked her in here? To keep her out of his reach?”
“It’s one of the reasons.” The sheriff gave Megan a sad smile, one filled with unmistakable remorse. “But not the only one.”
Without warning, Logan lurched forward. He grabbed the sheriff by the lapels and then slammed him against the wall behind him. “You might have kept her safe from a killer, but you’ve also broadcasted to the world, including Kincaid’s gang, that you think she’s the murderer.”
Looking cool and composed, Sheriff Scott responded with an even tone. “I’m sorry, Logan, but the truth of the matter is she could be the murderer.”
Logan shoved his forearm under the sheriff’s chin in a brutal choke hold. “You might as well have drawn a target on her back,” he growled, ignoring the sheriff’s last comment. “Men like Kincaid never travel alone. His gang will want retribution.”
As though he knew Logan needed to vent his anger, the sheriff still didn’t try to move. Or fight back. “I stand by my decision.”
Several heartbeats passed. And then several more.
“Logan, think this through with your brain and not your emotions. Megan is in danger. Whether she committed the crime or witnessed it, she’s safer here than anywhere else in town.”
After one last shove, Logan threw his hands in the air. Breathing hard, he pressed his palm against the back of his neck and rolled his shoulders. There was such sorrow in his eyes, maybe a twinge of remorse. But mostly Megan noted ruthless determination in his gaze. He’d come to a conclusion.
What was he planning to do?
“No, Logan,” Sheriff Scott warned. “I won’t let you release her. It’s too dangerous.”
Logan dismissed the words with a hard flick of his wrist. “We’ll discuss that later.”
With careful movements, he sat beside Megan on the cot. The springs gave a series of loud creaks before settling underneath the additional weight.
He touched her wound, then dropped his hand to her shoulder and squeezed. “Have you seen a doctor yet? Did you suffer any other…injuries?”
He spoke so slowly, so carefully. She could tell he was trying not to frighten her but he couldn’t contain the fear in his own eyes, fear for her, fear for what might have happened when she was alone with Cole.
In that, at least, she could relieve his mind.
Swallowing back a wave of shyness, she forced herself to hold Logan’s gaze. “Dr. Shane cleaned the cut on my neck and then he gave me a tonic to help me sleep. But I…” She shook her head again. This time the gesture sent tiny white dots across her vision. “…can’t sleep.”
“Logan, don’t do this now,” the sheriff urged. “She doesn’t remember. She’s been—”
Logan held up a hand to stave off the interruption. “I want to hear the rest from her.”
Nodding in agreement, she pressed her hand to her stomach. She knew how hard this was for him. It was hard for her, too. But they had to speak of this now. And then never again. “He didn’t hurt me in any other way.” At least not physically.
Cole hadn’t forced himself on her. There would have been signs. But that didn’t mean Megan had escaped free of harm. In truth, she feared the consequences of her night with the outlaw were far worse than cuts and bruises.
Exposed onl
y indirectly to her mother’s sinful lifestyle, Megan had thought she understood the gift she’d been given as a resident at Charity House. The gift of escape. The gift of respectability.
Now, as she faced Logan for the first time in five years, she could no longer dodge the one question she’d avoided since Sheriff Scott had locked her in this cell. Because of this single incident, would she end up like her mother, alone and desperate, with no one to love?
Logan followed Trey outside the jailhouse and onto the planked sidewalk lining the street. Night closed in around him like a menacing presence, taunting him. He hardly noticed. Anger still rode him hard, but he forced himself to focus on the facts first. No emotion. No giving in to despair. Just cold, hard logic.
“All right, Trey.” He spun around to face the other man. “Tell me the rest, the part you couldn’t say in front of Megan.”
Trey rubbed a weary hand down his face and then leaned back on one foot. “You’ve heard most of it.”
Not by half. “The blood on her dress. Is it hers or Kincaid’s?”
“Mostly Kincaid’s.”
Logan’s breath caught in his chest. Megan had been attacked. By a very bad man. He wasn’t sorry the outlaw was dead, but there were too many details that needed explaining. And Megan couldn’t remember what had happened to her. That left them with very little to go on.
At least one thing was clear in Logan’s mind. “She didn’t kill Kincaid.”
“We don’t know that for sure.”
“Yes, we do.” A lump rose in his throat. He shoved it down with a hard swallow. “From what you described—the knife’s angled position through bone and flesh, the direction of the blade’s entry from above not below—she’s obviously innocent. Even if Kincaid had been on his knees, she’s not strong enough to have stabbed him in that manner.”
Trey looked out in the distance before answering. When he turned his head back to Logan, his gaze was filled with remorse. “Under ordinary circumstances, I would agree with you. But Megan was brutally attacked. The will to survive, the power of the moment, fear, any of those factors could have come into play and given her the strength to defend herself.”
“With a knife to the man’s chest? Through bone? No. That doesn’t make sense.”
“You know it’s possible. Not probable, but possible.”
Logan recognized the unbending look in Trey’s eyes as he spoke. The other man wasn’t going to draw any conclusions about the murder until he had concrete information. That did not bode well for Megan’s immediate freedom. Unacceptable.
“Release her into my custody.”
“No.”
“I have the perfect place to take her, a place where she’ll be safe.”
“She’s safe enough here.”
“Not as much as she would be with me.”
“Look, Logan, I know the situation seems bleak right now, but all is not lost. God has not abandoned Megan. Or you. Have patience, my friend. Pray for guidance. The Lord will direct your way.”
Right. He was supposed to stand around and wait for God to free Megan. The same God who’d allowed the attack to occur in the first place.
Logan didn’t have that much faith.
And now he was through taking the passive route. He was through shoving his emotions aside in the name of reason. To what end? To stand around and talk about a silent God who didn’t seem to care what was happening here?
“Release Megan into my custody,” Logan demanded again.
“I said, no.”
Logan went for Trey’s throat. But this time the other man was ready. At the last moment, he shifted to his left. Logan stumbled into empty air. Before he caught his balance, Trey spun him around by the shoulder and slammed him back against the wall, securing him in place with the same choke hold Logan had used earlier.
He fought against Trey’s grip. “If I wasn’t so angry you wouldn’t have gotten the chance to subdue me like this.”
“But you are angry.” Trey tightened his hold. “Allowing your emotions to rule your actions is what gets a man shot.”
Logan was in no mood for a lecture, especially from Trey Scott. “This? From you?”
“You know I speak from experience.” Trey rolled his right shoulder, reminding them both of the time he’d taken a bullet when he’d confronted Ike Hayes over the cold-blooded murder of his first wife. Trey had been bent on revenge and had lost his perspective. Logan had saved the man’s life because he’d been the rational thinker.
Now Logan was the one losing perspective. He dropped his chin and let out a long breath. “I can’t leave her in jail. Let me take her away from here. I’ll keep her safe.”
“I know you will.” Trey released his hold and stepped back. “But we need answers first.”
Absently, Logan rubbed his throat. “We have to find Kincaid’s real killer. Before he finds Megan.”
“Right now, all we have is supposition. We need more information.”
Then Logan would get them more. And he knew exactly where to start. “Promise me you won’t let Megan out of your sight, not for any reason.”
“That goes without saying.”
Logan took two steps in the direction of Market Street but Trey blocked his path. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“To Mattie’s.”
“Waste of time. You know the woman will run you around in circles if she decides to speak to you at all.”
“She’ll talk.”
Trey tried a different tactic. “My deputy has been there for several hours, looking for any clues we may have missed earlier. You’ll just be in the way.”
“I don’t plan to interfere. I plan to get answers.” From the most likely source, Mattie Silks herself. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
He shoved past Trey.
This time, the man didn’t try to stop him.
With each step he took, Logan calculated how best to go about questioning Mattie. There was no room for emotion now. Only harsh, unyielding intent. Someone in that den of iniquity had seen the real killer. Someone besides Megan.
And Logan wouldn’t rest until someone started talking.
Chapter Four
By the time Logan rounded the corner onto Market Street, the wind had taken on a nasty bite. He turned up his collar against the cold and instinctively increased his pace. Hollow laughter rang out in the distance, followed by the slam of a door.
He hated this time of day. In the eerie, predawn light, when the world stood poised between night and day, a desolate sheen seemed to cover everything. The oppressive stench of rotting garbage and stale liquor added to his already bleak mood.
A shadow slithered across his feet, then disappeared.
He turned quickly, scanning the area with a narrowed gaze. He found nothing more than a stumbling drunk and a scrawny mutt digging for scraps in the frosted earth.
Frowning, Logan resumed his trek toward Mattie’s. Every few steps he stabbed a covert glance over his shoulder. He couldn’t shake the notion he was being followed, yet he didn’t get a sense of imminent danger.
Puzzling over the contradictory sensations, he arrived at his destination. The most elegant house on the block, the brothel’s pale pink stucco, sweeping ivy and heavily sloping roof presented an inviting picture of hearth and home.
It was a lie, of course. The temporary pleasure offered in this house only resulted in despair. For all parties involved.
What Logan couldn’t fathom was Megan’s decision to come here at all. What had she hoped to accomplish with her charity work? What had been worth putting herself in harm’s way?
When and if the time was right, he would ask her.
For now, he lifted the ornate knocker and let it drop with a loud bang. The abrupt sound helped focus his thoughts on the matter at hand.
He would get his answers this morning. Calmly. Methodically.
One question at a time.
The door swung open. Jack, Mattie’s notorious bodyguard, stood j
ust inside the gaudy foyer. He stared at Logan with an unreadable expression on his round, scruffy face. With more brawn than brains, Black Jack O’Malley was as much Mattie’s lapdog as her protector. Nevertheless, the man had always shown Logan respect.
Logan would return the favor now. “Jack,” he said in a courteous tone. “Is Mattie here?”
Jack nodded. “She’s been expecting you.”
“Of course.” Logan didn’t bother hiding the frustration in his tone. The woman could have given him vital information when he was here before, but she had chosen to send him away with a head full of confusion and worry.
Games inside games.
When it came to Mattie Silks, some things never changed.
As though sensing his annoyance, Jack stepped aside and motioned Logan forward.
“I’ll let Mattie know you’ve arrived.” The big man circled around him. “Wait here.”
Logan remained in the foyer a total of five seconds before he’d had enough of cooling his heels. He strode past the entryway and looked around the main parlor.
Nothing had changed in his five-year absence. And yet everything about the decor seemed more…sinful. Alone, each piece of furniture might be able to pass for tasteful, but together the red velvet divans, ornate paintings and gold filigree defined decadence.
Megan did not belong in this house. For any reason. Logan would have to make sure she understood why she could never come here again.
A movement in the back of the room cut off his thoughts. Mattie Silks had arrived in all her overstated grandeur. Arms outstretched, a flirtatious smile pasted on her lips, she glided to a spot in the center of the room then relaxed into a scandalous pose. Typical Mattie Silks behavior. Control the situation simply to prove she could, even if that meant hurting people in the process.
Logan knew his role in this particular drama. He was supposed to take a moment and admire the woman.