Authors: Lora Leigh
She was trying to identify the Sweetrock Slasher. And he was willing to bet his life that good ole Logan Callahan had no idea little Miss O’Brien was using him just like good ole Amy Jefferson had been.
He didn’t mind killing her. It would be a pleasure.
But it had to be done carefully. He had to take her without witnesses. Not even witnesses that thought he might be Callahan. Without anyone being the wiser. Especially his boss. She could just disappear.
Unfortunately, his boss had made a major mistake twelve years ago when he targeted the governor’s daughter just because he didn’t like the politician and because she was
friends
with Logan Calllahan.
She wasn’t his lover. She had just been his friend.
Carter Jefferson held a grudge. If they dared to strike against his foster daughter, then all hell was going to break loose in Sweetrock.
He would follow her tonight as he was ordered.
He’d chitchat, mingle, be himself, and decide the next move to make.
The one move he hesitated to make, though, was the one his boss was demanding.
Kidnap Skye O’Brien and hold her for him.
He shook his head as he moved closer.
That wasn’t a very good idea.
Carter Jefferson was a very, very bad enemy to have, whether he knew who you were or not.
He wasn’t an enemy he wanted to make.
Not even the unlimited license to kill that he’d been given was payment enough.
She had a headache.
A headache, a strained muscle in her neck, and she was riding low on sleep.
That was what she got for watching the video cameras for most of the night. Now her ass was dragging as she walked to the town square the next night and her enthusiasm for her volunteer night at the community center was lagging.
Seven- to twelve-year-olds.
She loved children dearly, but tonight all she wanted to do was curl up in bed and sleep away the feeling that no matter what she did, what she said, no matter which way she turned, Logan still wasn’t there, and he wasn’t going to be there.
She couldn’t give up. She was in too deep for that. The fact that there were already two different operations being run in Corbin County was a damned good sign that sooner or later this place was going to explode from the inside out.
Turning the corner and heading up the sidewalk, she smiled at the sound of the music rolling from the center of the square and the people milling around.
They could bitch all they wanted about the subtle blackmail the town placed on attendance, but once they arrived, they had a damned good time. It wasn’t as though everyone was just sitting around morosely and putting in their time before leaving.
Hell no.
Small groups were forming, the food and drinks were flowing, and the sound of laughter was echoing from the square. Glancing up the street at the small group who had amassed on the corner, she couldn’t help but grin.
She called them the Second Avenue and Main Street greeting party. Every week she could count on finding them on the corner of Second and Main. They sat on the knee-high stone wall that bordered the Baptist church, greeted everyone walking in from that direction, and kept a watch on parking along the three streets there.
Jack Townsend and his wife, Jeannie, had just reached the corner, while Sheriff Tobias was already there, to Skye’s surprise, with Crowe, who was leaning against the streetlight. Tobias’ new deputy, John Caine, was cutting across the churchyard, his hard face and narrowed gaze giving him a dark appearance. Amory Wyatt, the Social Services director, was moving across the opposite corner with a wave and smile toward Skye as he joined the group while County Attorney Wayne Sorenson crossed from the town square to the corner as his Amelia and Anna Corbin parked their car in one of the reserved slots on Second Street.
“There she is,” Jeannie called out, a smile creasing her face as Skye neared them. “I didn’t figure Logan would let you come out and play tonight.”
She snorted at the thought and rolled her eyes. “I didn’t ask permission to go out and play. Was I supposed to?” She blinked back at Crowe innocently.
“Probably,” Crowe drawled as he leaned against the steel support to the streetlight. “You know how he gets when he’s got a burr pricking his ass.”
Her brow arched. “I’m not hard to find if he needs to see me.”
She turned back to Jeannie to see her and Jack both watching in amusement.
“I kind of doubt Logan would venture out here to drag you back,” Jack consoled Skye. “He hates these things, but he never tried to cause a scene.”
“I think they’re a wonderful idea.” Perhaps some of her enthusiasm was returning.
Music was drifting around them as the band prepared for the night, and the town square was starting to fill up.
“A wonderful idea, yes, but one Logan doesn’t necessarily subscribe to,” Crowe stated, his brown eyes dark and quiet as he pulled two thin cigars from the pocket of his vest and handed one to Archer.
Accepting the tobacco, Archer brought it to his nose, inhaled, then let a little sigh of pleasure pass his lips.
Lighting it, then handing the lighter to the sheriff, Crowe continued to stare around, watching the crowd and the incoming attendees silently.
Was his neck tight and filled with the same tension as hers?
That tension that assured her she was being watched. Though admittedly, it had finally eased up several blocks before she turned up Second Street.
“Amelia, Anna, I have the toddlers to the twelve-year-olds tonight.” Skye turned to the two girls. “Stop in and see me if you have time.”
The two women volunteered often in the Community Center and always gravitated to the younger children and those difficult enough that most parents tended to ignore them.
“Definitely,” Anna promised as she slid a look from her friend, Amelia, to the silent Crowe.
Watching her head turn and the look on her face, Skye almost frowned thoughtfully, then caught herself.
Amelia was watching him with a hint of anger, and though Skye would have loved to know why, still, this was the wrong place and time to question it.
She wasn’t the only one who must have noticed something off about Amelia’s mood, though. As Skye left, Crowe was watching as well.
Turning back to her before she could hide the fact she was observing him, Crowe narrowed his gaze on her. Evidently, Logan wasn’t the only one pissed off at her.
“Time for me to go,” Crowe finally stated quietly as he straightened from his slouched position. “It’s time to head home and make sure that wolf bitch hasn’t managed to get back into the house.”
“I thought you fixed that dog door?” Jack asked in some surprise.
“I did,” Crowe informed him. “Didn’t help. She’s heavy with pups and somehow found her way back in. If I don’t watch her ass she’s going to end up having those pups there in my living room, right in front of my fireplace.”
The story had been told for weeks about the wolf Crowe had pictures of slipping into his house. There were even pictures of her circulating on the Internet now after someone had convinced Crowe to send the photos to them.
What Skye was certain very, very few people knew was that Crowe had raised the she-wolf from an orphan of only a few weeks of age.
“Look at it this way,” Jack suggested. “A momma wolf is better than a guard dog.”
“Yeah, but the guard dog would let me in my own house,” Crowe drawled ruefully. “Sleep in my own bed. All that good stuff.”
“I could send Animal Control, Crowe,” Wayne Sorenson suggested in concern. “They’d get her out for you and take her to one of the wolf preserves.”
The offer surprised Skye. It was the first time she’d heard of anyone outside the very small circle of Callahan friends offer to do a damned thing for them.
“Naw, I wouldn’t like it much if she were locked up that way.” He shook his head. “Let me see if I can’t figure something else out first. But thanks for the offer.”
Wayne nodded his graying head, his gaze thoughtful. “Let me know if you change your mind.”
“I’m heading out of here too. Later.” Throwing a friendly wave to the group, Skye moved quickly across the street, up the sidewalk on the other side, passed the gazebo where the band had set up, and moved quickly to Central Street on the opposite side of the small park and to the community center. The two-story brick and yellow building housed a large central kitchen with scattered eating and amusement areas on one side and the other side set up with dozens of cots and a few cribs. Upstairs were meeting rooms; in the back were offices, a cinema room, and a nursery.
There were dozens of kids between six and twelve years old whose parents had dropped them off for the weekend or were volunteering in other areas. The kids were divided up; those in the main room were those who weren’t interested in watching the movies being played in the cinema room or being with their parents outside.
Skye had two hours’ babysitting duty. Then rather than staying for the party, she was seriously considering heading back home and perhaps playing with the cameras some more until daylight.
She’d accidentally fallen asleep through the night as she watched the cameras the night before, and not just her neck was paying for it.
The nightmares that had visited her through the night had seemed stronger than ever, the memories always more graphic than the reality of the operation and always spiraling out of control until she became the victim and the pain and fear began overwhelming her.
Moving through the large room to acquaint herself with the kids, she noticed the teenagers there to keep the younger kids entertained. The high school’s program for extra credit for the students volunteering had been a wonderful idea. But there were times when the teenagers were more involved with one another than the jobs they had taken on.
Moving through the large room to the kitchen prep area where two of the teenagers were currently standing next to the counter, more involved with themselves than their jobs, Skye resisted the urge to shake her head at them.
There were currently six young girls from the school’s home economics group and three varsity basketball players looking for that extra credit.
Johnny Ridgemore, the captain of the basketball team, and Callie Brock, the president of the Future Homemakers of America, were more involved with their conversation than the kids whom they were assigned.
“Do you need that extra credit you get for performance this weekend, Johnny?” Skye asked the teenager as she moved up to them.
Just showing up wasn’t enough to earn that credit; the teens had to actually have performance points to get that extra credit.
Johnny turned to her, though Callie’s expression was frankly thankful, as though being there with Johnny wasn’t her preference.
Johnny’s pale blue eyes gleamed with irritation as he stared back at Skye, his expression turning insultingly mocking as he faced her with a bravado and youthful arrogance that she simply wouldn’t deal well with.
“Yeah. So?”
“So, Callie’s not six to twelve years old,” Skye reminded him.
Sneering at Skye, he turned back to Callie. “You can call me Daddy anytime, babe.”
Callie flushed in embarrassment and the look she shot Skye was faintly relieved, until she moved to leave.
It was then that Skye realized Johnny was holding on to Callie’s wrist, and if the look of the grip was anything to go by, then her wrist was going to be bruised.
“Let her go, Johnny,” Skye warned him.
Johnny let the girl go before swinging back to Skye, his head bending until he was almost nose to nose with her. “Look, bitch, do you know who I’m related to?” His lips twisted in snide disbelief.
“Johnny, I really don’t give a damn who you’re related to,” Skye assured him coolly. “All I care about is that you do what’re supposed to to earn that extra credit. Now, I can give you a nice report for my two hours on duty, or I can fill out a complaint against you instead. You choose.”
“My uncle’s the county attorney,” Johnny snapped at her then. “No Callahan whore tells me what to do.”
Skye could feel the boy preparing himself, gathering his courage to actually do to her as he’d done to Callie and attempt to intimidate her with strength.
Oh, she was just waiting.
“Do you hear me?” he snarled, his lips pulling back from his teeth.
“Let’s see if the Callahans can’t convince you then.”
As Johnny was lifting his hand to push her away, Skye was tensing, preparing. He was eighteen. He was responsible for his own actions. But it was Logan who laid his hand on Johnny’s shoulder, while the boy winced and paled.
Not that Skye could tell Logan was doing anything but laying his hand there as though in camaraderie as Logan lowered his head to the boy’s ear.
“I think you want to apologize to the lady,” Logan suggested, his voice low as he used his body to block anyone from seeing what was going on.
“Sorry, Ms. O’Brien,” Johnny said in a voice strained but with only a hint of anger. The boy looked directly between her eyes rather than meeting her gaze in any semblance of respect.
“Thank you, Johnny,” she said softly, as though she actually had some hope that he understood the lesson Logan was trying to teach him.
But she doubted it. She doubted it very seriously. She could see it in his eyes, and she could see it in his expression.
When Logan let Johnny go, he stepped far enough away that he believed Logan couldn’t jerk him back before he turned back to them.
“I don’t give a damn what you write on that report,” he told her, and she could see the rage burning in his expression. “And I don’t give a damn about this fucking place either.”
As he glanced at Logan, a sudden spark of fear gleamed in Johnny’s eyes for just a second before he turned and hurried to the exit, leaving so quickly that the door slammed closed behind him.
“He’s nothing like his mother or his uncle,” Skye said softly as she felt Logan move behind her.
“Oh, I don’t know,” Logan said behind her. “I remember when Wayne wasn’t much different. When it comes to Callahans, you’ll learn, Skye, any respect they show is only skin deep.”