Jenna Ryan - Shadow Protector

Their dinner arrived courtesy of a buxom fifty-something blonde. It might not be gourmet, but it looked delicious. Almost as delicious as the man seated across from her.

Although she’d braced herself for sexy, Sera hadn’t anticipated the punch of desire that had rocked her when he’d removed his hat.

And then, out of nowhere, a tweak of familiarity. But the sensory whisper came and went too quickly for her to capture it.

Sidestepping, she set her mind back on the man himself. To call his features arresting would be a serious understatement. And she couldn’t imagine any woman not being wowed by the smoke-gray eyes that caught and held hers far too often for comfort.

One look at Logan’s face, however, and she’d known he wouldn’t be an easy read. Whatever haunted those mesmerizing features, he’d buried it deep and very, very well.

Sig dug into his steak. “What else do you know about our killer, Doc?”

Refocusing quickly, Sera sampled one of the wedge fries. “Two and a half years went by after the suspect’s release. Nothing more happened. Then he vanished, and it started all over again. The killer has committed five new murders, including Leo, in the past eighteen months. His MO is consistent, but his motive remains a mystery.”

When Andrea’s lifeless face appeared in her head, Sera reached for her wine.

“There’ve been two witnesses to his crimes. Number one vanished five years ago, before the police could bring him in. That makes me the best hope you’ve got of identifying this guy. Unfortunately, because I hit my head while I was struggling with him, I can’t tell you if his description matches the original suspect’s or not.”

Logan swirled his beer and sent a lazy look into the mug. “You don’t remember the guy’s face, but you do remember struggling with him.”

Surprise halted the wine at her lips. The image reformed instantly. “He blindsided me,” she recalled. “I fell against the edge of my desk.”

“Anything else?” Sig asked.

She thought for a moment but couldn’t pull any details from the blackness. “Sorry, the rest is still a shadow.”

Around them, the diner, really a roadside bar and grill, began to buzz as groups of dusty workers in steel-toed boots filed in.

Sig tapped an unlit cigarette on the table. “New construction in town?”

With his eyes on Sera’s face, Logan took a drink of beer. “West end. Developer from Cheyenne’s building a—resort.”

The amusement that climbed into Sera’s throat felt good. “Translation—he’s building a resort-style fishing and hunting lodge.”

Sig tucked a pack of matches into his jacket pocket and scraped his chair back. “I can’t think in the throes of a nicotine fit.” He gave Sera’s arm an awkward pat. “Keep poking at that memory, Doc. This killer’s slick and slippery and far as we can tell random in his selection of victims. Logan.” Cigarettes in hand, he made his way through the crowd toward the door.

“He didn’t finish his dinner,” Sera remarked.

Logan speared one of her fries. “Sig seldom finishes any meal that doesn’t start with the prefix Mac.”

“How old is he?”

“Fifty-six.”

“He acts older.”

“Drawn-out investigations do that to cops.”

Leaning in on her forearms, she absorbed his unfathomable stare. “I’m sure I’ve seen.” she began, but the fleeting sense of familiarity vanished again. “Is that why you left?” she asked instead.

“Nope.”

Door firmly closed. She picked up her wine. “How long have you been in Blue Ridge?”

“Two years, three months, give or take.”

“And you became chief of police when? “

“Same answer.”

Pulling teeth would be easier, she reflected, but nowhere near as challenging.

“How long have you known Sig?”

“Longer than most.”

“You’re not giving me much in the way of answers, Logan.”

His gray eyes glittered. “Should tell you something about the questions.”

Undeterred, she ran a finger around the base of her glass. “You don’t like small talk or, apparently, polite conversation. No problem. I don’t need to know your history, and you certainly don’t need to know mine.” She made a visual circle of the increasingly noisy diner. “This whole take- the-witness-with-the-faulty-memory to Wyoming deal was Sig’s idea. It had nothing to do with me. I have relatives in Phoenix, Skagway, Tulsa and yes, Bugs, even Albuquerque. I have a cousin who’s a law enforcement officer and an exmilitary aunt who flies supplies from Washington state to central Alaska. I could have gone to any number of people for help, but I went with Sig and wound up here. Why? No idea, but hey, you put your life in someone else’s hands, who knows what’ll happen.”

“Are you done?” Logan asked.

“My uncle Jeffrey says I’m never done, but as a shrink, I’m supposed to be a good listener, so the floor’s yours.”

He held her gaze. “What you’re supposed to be—what you should be, Sera—is scared.”

She summoned a faint smile, glanced away. “Believe me when I tell you, if I wasn’t, I wouldn’t be anywhere near you, your outlaw horses or your town.” A shiver danced along her spine. “Nothing personal, Logan, but I get along very well with cities. Violent death, however, rattles me. I watched my partner’s ashes being entombed last week. I watched her father break down and her mother lose a hard-fought battle to a bottle of cognac. I saw Sig lose a friend he’s worked with for twenty of his thirty years on the force. I did all that with the knowledge that lurking somewhere in my head is a killer’s identity. If I can retrieve it, no one else will have to suffer at his hands. So, yes, I’m scared, but not as much as I am determined to watch the person who’s responsible—and whose face I swear I’m going to remember—fry.”

Unexpected humor glinted in Logan’s eyes. “You must have some outlaw blood yourself, Doc. I’ve never met a shrink who wanted to see anyone fry.”

Her first reaction was to defend the remark. Her second was to cover a smile with a bite of chicken. “I won’t tell you what my uncle says about my mouth. I will tell you I’m sorry I dumped all that on you when we’ve known each other for less than sixty minutes.”

He moved a shoulder. “Dumping’s what people do on cops, town, city or state. It rolls off unnoticed after a while … Nadine?” He spoke to the blonde who was balancing six main courses. “You mind wrapping these dinners up for us? “

Sera’s brows elevated. “Are we leaving?”

“Unless you want to get hit on by every guy here, yeah.”

For the first time since Sig had gone outside, she looked around the room. Not every male eye was turned in their direction, but more than half were.

She let the amusement blossom. “Because I assume they’re not staring at you, I’ll go out on a limb and speculate that you don’t get many female strangers in this town.”

Logan picked up his hat. “Oh, we get plenty of strange females, just not many you’d call witchy.”

The blonde returned with their bagged dinners. “You want the steak wrapped, too, Logan?”

He finished his beer. “No point. Give your dogs a treat, and put the dinner on my tab.”

The woman flipped a dishtowel over her shoulder. “Your friend beat you to the punch there. He paid the bill on his way out.”

Something unpleasant snaked through Sera’s stomach. Although she recognized it for the blend of dread and certainty it was, she settled for a mild, “He’s gone, isn’t he?”

Logan assessed her as he returned the hat to his head. “He told you he wasn’t staying, Sera.”

“And I’m just supposed to go with that? With this?” She fixed her gaze in the general vicinity of his eyes. “With you? No questions asked or really answered, and no choice in the matter?” Her control slipped a notch and she leaned forward. “Logan, Sig broke a mirror at the safe house and freaked over it for days. We were driving east within an hour of his partner’s death. ‘Gotta leave fast,’ he said. Yet, he went ten minutes out of his way because he wouldn’t go past the path lab where his partner’s body had been taken. Said he’d rather walk under a dozen ladders. He also didn’t tell anyone in the department where we were going, and I know his captain personally. He’s a forty-year man with commendations as long as my arm.”