by LENA DIAZ,
She glanced at him, saw him make some kind of signal back toward the street, then quickly drop his arm when he saw her looking.
“I thought about offering them lunch earlier,” she said, referring to the white Crown Victoria parked a block down from her house. “But I didn’t know how they’d feel about me blowing their cover.”
“You knew they were police officers?” He had a surprised look on his face.
“It’s a small neighborhood. This is a dead end street. I knew that car didn’t belong, so I watched it for awhile through my kitchen window and figured it out. Besides, no one could sit in a car around here for more than twenty minutes without Mrs. Fogelman interrogating them. She’d have called the cops long ago if the men in that car weren’t policemen.”
“You aren’t angry?” He walked with her up the driveway toward her house.
“I was, at first. After all, I refused police protection, yet, here they are. But . . .” She held up her hand to stop him when he looked like he was going to interrupt. “I do feel safer knowing they’re here, as long as they don’t show up in a marked police car.”
When they reached her kitchen door, Logan reached past her and opened it, then waited for her to precede him into the house. Murmuring her thanks, she stepped inside and bent down to get a fresh dish towel from the cabinet beneath the sink. She placed it on the counter alongside the liquid soap.
When she turned around, he was standing with his back against the door, staring at her with an unreadable expression on his face. He slowly crossed the kitchen floor, reminding her of a powerful panther. Her eyes widened at the heated look in his eyes and she moved out of the way.
As he washed his hands, he said, “Who’s Mrs. Fogelman?”
“The self-appointed neighborhood-watch lady. I’d be willing to bet she already knows your men’s names, badge numbers, and the names of their wives and kids.”
He finished drying his hands and refolded the dishtowel, leaving it exactly where she’d placed it. “If she got all that information, I’ll fire them. They should be able to give her a cover story to get her to leave them alone without revealing they’re cops.”
“I hope you give them decent severance pay,” she smirked.
He rolled his eyes and leaned back against the sink, his long legs braced out in front of him and his palms resting on the countertop edge.
She laid his jacket over the back of a kitchen chair and smoothed an imaginary wrinkle out of the material, enjoying the clean masculine scent that clung to the fabric.
The silence grew and she looked up, surprised to see him frowning at her.
“You’ve been crying,” he said.
She wiped her eyes self-consciously. After hanging up on her sister, she’d given in to her emotions. “Nice of you to say so,” she grumbled.
“Why were you crying?” he pressed.
“Why are you so nosy?”
A slow grin spread across his face. “You’re a real smart ass, aren’t you?”
The comment should have annoyed her, but the way he said it with that slow, sexy grin made it sound like a compliment. “Excuse me if I don’t kowtow to you like your men do. Sorry if that bothers you.”
“I didn’t say it bothered me.” His grin widened.
Unable to hold that intense stare for long, she looked away and pulled more hair over her right shoulder to better cover her scar.
“Why do you do that?”
She froze, her fingers still tangled in her hair. “Why do I do what?”
“You’re a beautiful woman. You don’t need to hide behind your hair.”
Beautiful? If anyone else had said that, she’d think they were making fun of her. But Richards didn’t strike her as a cruel man. The way he was looking at her was the way men used to look at her, before her face was ravaged. Confused and increasingly uncomfortable beneath his scrutiny, she asked, “Why did you come here?”
“I’m supposed to ask if you’ll speak to an FBI agent about your abduction.”
She noted the tension in his jaw, the tightening of his fingers against the edge of the countertop. “Supposed to? You don’t want me to talk to him? Or her?”
“Him. Of course I do. But I want you to speak to me first.”
“Since I don’t want to talk to either of you, there really isn’t an issue, is there?”
He shrugged and glanced around the kitchen. She looked around too, wondering how it appeared to the eyes of a stranger. It was her favorite room in the house—bright and sunny, with a soothing, creamy yellow covering the walls.
It was an eat-in kitchen with plenty of space and a terra-cotta tile floor that perfectly complimented the color on the walls. She would have preferred it to open up into the living room like the newer houses—instead of opening into the foyer—but it was homey.
She looked back at him and frowned, wondering why he wasn’t making any move to leave, not that she didn’t enjoy the view. Her fingers itched with the desire to touch him, and she hadn’t drawn a proper breath since he’d held her against him. The unfamiliar feelings made her uneasy and unsure of herself. She didn’t want to be attracted to him, not when the sight of him standing there so tall and strong reminded her of her own vulnerability.
“Chief Richards—”
“Logan.”
She sighed. “I’m not trying to be rude, but if you came here to ask me whether I’m willing to speak to the FBI, you have your answer. Was there something else you wanted?”
His gaze shot to hers, shocking her with its heat. Then he looked away and she wondered if she’d imagined that spark of attraction that had flared between them.
“I should go.” He strode forward and reached for his jacket.
“Wait.” His arm muscles jumped beneath her fingertips and they both looked down at her hand on his arm. She’d touched him without even realizing she’d done it.
She snatched her hand back, already regretting that she’d stopped him, but good manners wouldn’t let her be so brusque. “Wait. Please. You were nice enough to help me with the trash, and you’ve been nothing but kind to me, concerned about my safety. The least I can do is offer you a drink. How does iced tea sound?”
He studied her with those unfathomable dark eyes, and for a moment she thought he’d refuse her offer. Then he nodded. “Tea sounds good. Beer sounds better.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Are you off duty?”
The corner of his mouth tilted up in a wry grin. “As much as a chief of police is ever off duty.” When she raised her brow, he added, “One beer won’t impair my driving. Promise.”
She crossed to the refrigerator and pulled out two bottles. “I hope this brand is okay. It’s the only kind I buy.”
He looked at the label and that lopsided smile appeared again, making her wonder what he was thinking.
“This will do.” He took both bottles from her, twisted the cap off the first one and handed the bottle to her. Then he twisted the cap off his and they both sat down at the table.
When he tilted his bottle and took a drink, she was mesmerized by the sight of his throat working to swallow. She forced herself to look away and she searched for something to say to fill the silence. “I’m guessing you’re on your way home. Where do you live?”
He set the bottle on the table and seemed to consider her question. “I was living in an apartment near the station, but as of this evening Cypress Hills is home. I’ve been renovating a house there. Other than finishing a downstairs half-bath, everything else is ready.”
She was surprised a police chief could afford to buy a house in Cypress Hills. It was an affluent area, known for its beautiful wooded lots and gently sloping lawns. If she remembered correctly, most of the houses were set back on land that bordered a tributary with access to the Gulf of Mexico. “Cypress Hills. That’s a beautiful area. Are you doing all the work yourself?”
“Most of it. I hired a roofer and an electrician. Other than that, I did the rest. It’s not the first one I�
�ve done, kind of a side hobby.”
“You flip houses? You’re not keeping this one?”
“I’ve flipped a few, made a nice profit. But the real estate market isn’t great right now and this house is . . .” He shrugged, making her wonder why he’d paused. “It feels like home. My sister and mom came down from New York a few months ago and spent a fortune of my money decorating it. They were worried I’d end up with a house full of electronics—and no furniture—if they didn’t help.”
She smiled, picturing strong, masculine Logan Richards at the mercy of two women taking over his house. “I take it your mom and sister aren’t into gadgets?”
“Not at all,” he said. “Unlike you.”
Her fingers tightened around her beer bottle. “Unlike me?”
“I noticed this morning that you have a fondness for electronics. Your TV is state-of-the-art. Your computer is top-of-the-line. Instead of a typical printer you have an all-in-one. If I had to bet, I’d say you probably have the latest cell phone with all the options, too.”
“I don’t have a cell, actually.” Not anymore. Who would she call? “But you noticed everything else in the ten minutes you were in my living room?”
“I noticed a lot about you this morning.”
Her eyes widened at his comment and she took a nervous sip of her beer. When she set it back on the table, she realized he was watching her with one of those unreadable expressions again. “What?” she demanded, a little too forcefully.
Unfazed, he said, “I guess I’m trying to figure you out.”
A spark of panic shot through her. “There’s nothing to figure out.”
He cocked his head. “Why did you come back to Shadow Falls when your only living relatives are in Tennessee? Did something happen between you and your sister when you stayed with her after the attack?”
She froze at the mention of Heather. It wasn’t fair that he knew so much about her just because he was a cop. “That is none of your business,” she snapped.
“You’re right. It isn’t.”
Her irritation faded at his quick reply. She sighed and decided to answer his question. “I was born in Shadow Falls, spent most of my life here. My parents are buried here. It’s home.” She shrugged. “Besides, I couldn’t impose on my sister forever.” Especially when she wasn’t welcome. “When I left Tennessee, I couldn’t imagine going anywhere else, so I came here.” Besides that, Dana was here. There was no one else to visit her grave and leave fresh flowers. Amanda owed her that much.
She pushed thoughts of Dana away and looked across the table at Richards. “What about you? Why did you move back? I remember reading about you in the newspaper when you took over from the last chief. They said you started your career here, then moved to New York. Do you have family here, or did you leave them all behind when you moved back here?”
He grinned. “Touché. No, I don’t have family here.” His smile faded and his eyes took on a distant expression. “Everyone I care about is in New York.” He quickly finished his beer, then stood and glanced around the kitchen with the empty bottle in his hand.
“Under the sink,” she said in answer to his unspoken question.
He rinsed out the bottle, then opened the cabinet and tossed the bottle in the blue recycle bin. When he straightened, he looked around as if in indecision. Then his gaze met hers and he sighed. “Not that one beer is going to make someone my size impaired, but I’d rather not hit the road right after drinking one. I could spend a few minutes checking your home security if you want. It would make me feel better about you not being under police protection.”
He didn’t look like he wanted to stay another minute in her house. As soon as he’d mentioned leaving his loved ones in New York he looked miserable. So why had he offered to check her security system? “I’ve got protection outside in an unmarked car,” she reminded him.
“It would be better if someone stayed with you inside the house.”
His words filled her mind with images of Logan staying in her house, watching over her, protecting her . . . sleeping on her couch. She forced the images away. He wasn’t offering to stay and protect her and she wouldn’t let him even if he did. She wasn’t willing to give up her privacy and she hadn’t decided yet if she was really staying in town, now that the killer was back.
Part of her wanted to pack her things and get on the next plane to anywhere but here. But another part of her was just as determined not to let the killer chase her away again. She’d worked so hard to rebuild her life. She didn’t want to start over. “I don’t want someone staying in my house with me.”
“What about work?” he asked. “My men said you didn’t go to work today, but when you do, you’ll need protection.”
She smiled. “No one is going to attack me at work.”
He raised a brow. “You seem confident about that.”
“All I have to do to get to work is walk from my bedroom to the living room. I’m a computer programmer. I work remotely from home.”
“Well, I guess you put me in my place.” He softened his words with a smile, the first real smile he’d given her since he’d called her a smart ass.
For a moment, she was frozen by the approving look in his eyes, the way his gentle smile transformed his face and made him look like a charming rogue instead of the intimidating police chief.
The silence stretched out. Time to send him on his way. He didn’t want to be here anymore than she wanted him here.
“So, how about it? Want me to check your doors and windows?” he asked.
No. “Okay.” Damn. Why had she said that?
He nodded. “I’ll start in the living room. I remember seeing a set of sliding glass doors in there. If they aren’t properly secured, someone could easily pop one of them off the track and walk right in.”
“I doubt that.” She led the way into the living room. “I replaced the doors when I moved in. The company that installed my alarm recommended it.”
She watched him check out the security bar and the locks, and examine the alarm sensors, all the time wondering why he seemed so edgy.
“You’ve got hurricane glass, and you can’t take one of these doors off the track from the outside, at least not easily,” he said. “Good locks. I’m impressed.”
“You seem surprised.”
“I shouldn’t be, given your past. You obviously take your safety seriously. Most people don’t.”
Crossing to one of the windows that framed the fireplace, he checked those locks as well, then glanced at her computer before moving to the second window. “I’ve never met someone who worked from home. Is it a nine-to-five type of job?”
He finished examining the locks and security sensors, so she led him down the hallway to the first spare bedroom, a room she used mostly for storage. “My schedule is flexible. I work for a consulting company and I choose which contracts I want to take on. I just finished a six-month stint. I haven’t decided yet when I’ll take on the next contract.”
He dusted off his hands after checking the only window in the bedroom. Then he moved toward the door where she was standing.
Embarrassed about the dirt on the windowsill, she said, “Sorry about the dust. I rarely use this room.”
He gave her a droll look. “I’m a guy. I don’t think I’ve ever dusted anything.”
She laughed and led him to the second bedroom. He was sweet to try to make her feel less embarrassed, but as particular as he was about his appearance, and as shiny clean as his car was, she didn’t believe for a second that his house was anything less than pristine.
The door was already open, so he stepped inside. His eyes widened as he looked around at all the exercise equipment. “A professional gym would be envious of what you have here.”
A picture of him shirtless and sweaty after a vigorous session of weight lifting crossed her mind. She absently toyed with the hem of her shirt. “I don’t get out much—have to work off the occasional Haagen-Dazs indulgence somehow.”
His gaze slid down her body in a slow, leisurely caress, as if he was evaluating the effects of her workout routine. When his eyes met hers again, the heat in his gaze nearly scorched her. She wanted to encourage him, wanted to throw back some kind of flirty comment to let him know the attraction was mutual.
She couldn’t.
She was too scared, but not of him. She was scared of herself. In the years since her attack she’d built a solitary, safe life. Until Logan, she wasn’t tempted to enjoy the companionship of a man again. Now that he’d awakened all those dormant feelings, she didn’t trust herself.
Could she act like a normal person with him? What if he tried to hold her, kiss her? Would she welcome his touch or would the image of her attacker loom in her mind and send her screaming from the room? Seeing him look at her like she was crazy would hurt even more than when people looked at her scar and flinched.
She couldn’t bear it.
Deciding it was time for him to leave, she pivoted on her heel and hurried back to the kitchen to usher him out.
He followed her, stopping behind her, close, but not touching. “Amanda, look at me.” His deep voice was patient, soothing. “Please.”
She blew out a frustrated breath and turned around, looking up into his eyes as she leaned back against the same countertop where he’d leaned earlier.
“I’m sorry I scared you,” he said.
She shook her head. “You didn’t scare me. You don’t scare me.” And it was true. She felt so safe with him she wanted to wrap herself in his arms and lock out the rest of the world. She barely knew him. He was powerfully built and no doubt could easily hurt her if he chose. She was alone with him, with no one else to help her if he did want to harm her. So why wasn’t she afraid of him? It didn’t make any sense.
“No?” His searching gaze held hers. “Then why did you run?”
She sighed and automatically started to pull her hair forward, then stopped self-consciously when she remembered what he’d said about her hiding behind her hair.
“Amanda—”
“I’m sorry. Really. I can’t . . . it’s just that I . . .” She blew out a frustrated breath.