Illusions of Death Page 11

  Karlyn wrapped her arms around his waist. The scent of his leather jacket and cologne surrounded her like an invading army. She surrendered to the demands of his hungry mouth. Time stood still. There was only his kiss. His scent.

  His lips moved to her neck, to that sweet spot that made her pulse jump as his hands caressed her arms. Then he slipped the buttons through the holes and had her blouse open, his lips trailing to the valley between her breasts.

  Logan peeled her shirt away. Then her lace bra.

  “Beautiful,” he murmured as he gazed at her. His mouth came down on her nipple and began laving and sucking. Her insides flipped as if she’d gone upside down on a roller coaster. She whimpered. A throbbing began, raging out of control. Karlyn thought she would come then and there.

  Logan’s mouth deserted her a moment. He whipped off the leather jacket and drew the polo shirt over his head. Her first jumbled thought was that a Greek statue had come to life. She glimpsed sleek muscles and a fine layer of dark hair on his chest before he pressed against her again.

  “Hot,” he panted as he returned to her breast.

  The heat of his mouth coupled with his body scorching hers lit her on fire. She latched onto him, kneading him, wanting more. Now.

  She must have voiced that aloud. He paused. Gave her a crooked grin. Bent to peel her jeans down her legs, his tongue trailing the newly-exposed skin. He got them off and yanked on her thong. It snapped apart in his hands. His eyes met hers, a mischievous look dancing in them. He threw the ruined thong over his shoulder.

  And then his tongue went to work.

  Karlyn leaned against the door, gasping, her heart pounding, as he worked a spell on her like no other man had. She gripped his shoulders as he burrowed closer, his tongue never ceasing, causing her to lose all inhibition. Suddenly, she was jerking, moaning in pleasure, crying.

  Then spent.

  Logan’s mouth worked his way back up her trembling body. It arrived at the starting point, kissing her deeply as his thumbs wiped the tears from her cheeks. She shook with emotion from his unselfish lovemaking.

  He stopped and glanced over his shoulder.

  “You know, we did pay for the bed. Maybe we should check it out.”

  She bit her lip. Nodded in approval.

  He swept her up effortlessly and placed her on the bed. He shed his own jeans and boxers. Logan could give Michelangelo’s David a run for his money. As he stood there, she smiled.

  “You look like you’re ready for Round Two,” she teased, hoping she could accommodate his large erection.

  Thankfully, she did. And then some.

  They checked out of The Cavalier three hours later. It hadn’t all been sex. Logan appreciated the in-between pillow talk as much as their robust physical activity. She talked about the publishing world. He shared about growing up in the Springs and playing ball in college. Blushed as she joked with him how he knew he’d get lucky multiple times when he pulled out a few condoms from his wallet.

  “A Boy Scout learns to be prepared. That’s the life lesson scouting taught me. I like to go into every situation knowing I have options.” He laughed. “Even if it meant driving to Fountain Valley to buy a box of condoms to avoid hometown gossip.”

  They showered and dressed again. He’d already paid in cash when they registered. They both decided they should return to their own beds tonight.

  After he got her to promise that a repeat performance would be scheduled soon.

  Logan thought sex with Felicity had been good. His ex had a nice body and lots of stamina—but sex with Karlyn had been off the charts. He didn’t know if it was the newness of the relationship, but the connection between them sparked emotions he’d never experienced.

  It was enough to make a man fall head over heels in love.

  Which he couldn’t do. She was newly divorced and not looking for anything permanent. She wouldn’t leap into a relationship with someone she barely knew.

  But enjoying sex on a regular basis? It was a start.

  He was a planner by nature. And the plan now was to win Karlyn Campbell’s heart. However long it took. He could be patient. He would be patient.

  She would be worth whatever wait.

  They climbed back on his Harley. Logan couldn’t believe how much had changed in the space of a few hours. He cut down a few back roads before arriving at the one leading to the Springs. They rode in silence until he slowed the bike and brought it to a stop.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  Logan cut the engine and got off. “Something caught my eye.” He pointed to a grove of trees. They heard movement more than saw it, due to the lateness of the hour. They both headed in that direction.

  A whine tore at his heart.

  “It’s a dog!” She ran ahead.

  “Wait! Don’t touch it,” he warned.

  He caught up with her. A chain attached the canine to a tree. It held the most pitiful pup he’d seen. No tags. Bone thin. The dog cowered.

  “Someone left him out here to die.” She bent and touched the dog’s head. He whimpered again.

  Logan managed to get the chain off and scooped the pooch up. A wave of emotion rolled through him. Pure love. He didn’t know if the animal would survive, but he would make every effort to see that it did.

  “Will you keep him?” she asked softly as she rubbed the dog’s ears.

  “Yeah.” He stroked the pup, whose heart pounded wildly. “I’ll take him into Jesse Alpine tomorrow. He can check for ticks and clean him up. Give me an idea if this little guy’ll make it. But he’s coming home with me tonight.”

  They returned to his motorcycle. He cradled the puppy as Karlyn slipped her arms around him. Logan suddenly experienced longings he’d shut out long ago when he’d given up Boomer to Felicity in the divorce.

  He wanted a dog. A home. Not a couple of rooms over the diner. A place where he could mow his yard and grill steaks and watch his kids play.

  There, he’d finally thought about it. Kids. He wanted kids again. No child would ever replace Alex and Ashley, but he could open his heart and let another in.

  And another wife. Logan longed to be married again. He wanted to share his innermost thoughts with a woman. He wanted to love and laugh and live.

  He realized this half-dead Heinz 57 mutt made him decide to join the land of the living again. Logan wanted the dog.

  And the woman behind him.

  Chapter 20

  Logan awoke to heat along his side. The scraggly pup refused to stay in the box lined with an old flannel shirt. He’d given up and let the dog sleep with him. He scratched the soft belly. The mutt gazed at him with adoring eyes. He’d gotten the dog under a warm shower last night and scrubbed gently. He hoped the vet wouldn’t find any little critters on him.

  His cell buzzed. He answered it.

  “This is Dr. Alpine’s office,” said a robotic female voice. “We received your message and have a cancellation at eight-thirty this morning. Would you like that appointment, Mr. Warner?”

  Logan agreed and rolled out of bed. “Looks like you’ve got a date with destiny,” he told his scruffy new friend. “Let’s find you something to eat while I shower. Without you, this time, I might add.”

  He rummaged through the refrigerator and came up with the tail end of some meat loaf. The dog devoured it and looked up expectantly.

  “Hmm. Cheese made Boomer fart, so let’s don’t go there. All I have left is yogurt and pinto beans. We’ll get you some dog food today. And me some people food.”

  Logan dressed in nice black slacks with a sharp crease and a sports shirt he’d ironed last night when he got home. He hoped he looked ready to impress as he launched his campaign into full swing today. He grabbed the petition sheets, scooped up the dog, and went downstairs.
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  “Where on earth did you get that . . . thing?” Nelda Van Wormer exclaimed.

  “He—or she—is my new best friend. Clean but scrawny. We’re headed to Jesse Alpines’s for a check-up.”

  “I guess I never shared the part about no pets allowed,” Nelda said wryly.

  “I’ve decided to buy a house. This little friend has spurred me into action.”

  “I’m not running you off, Logan,” Nelda protested. “You can keep a dog upstairs. I was only kidding.”

  “It’s time, Nelda.” He winked at her. “Doesn’t mean I won’t stop eating here even when I do move out.”

  He left the diner and put his dog down. He scurried to a nearby tree.

  “Be glad you didn’t need a poop bag.”

  Logan wheeled and saw Seth Berger. “Or you’d ticket me?”

  Berger shrugged. He indicated the sheaf of papers in his hand. “Gotta see if anyone in the diner wants to sign for their next police chief.”

  Logan pushed aside his anger at Berger’s needling. He drove to Jesse Alpine’s office, a converted one-story brick home from the late sixties. Alpine had taken over the retiring vet’s practice upon graduating from vet school a couple of years ago.

  He climbed the steps, admiring the large porch filled with rockers. He guessed on a busy day clients waited outside.

  He entered and saw the receptionist frown. She pointed to the sign. “All animals on a leash.” She squinted a moment. “Why, he doesn’t even have a collar.”

  Logan groaned inwardly. It was the monotone voice from earlier. “I found him last night, ma’am. I’ll outfit him today with the works—leash, collar, toys, bowls.”

  “Your name?”

  Logan told her.

  “The dog’s name?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know yet.”

  The receptionist glared. “I must have a name for my records.”

  “I’ll tell you one as soon as we have it.”

  She sniffed. “Room two,” and indicated a door.

  He happily escaped and closed the door behind him. He placed the dog on the steel table and stood next to it, talking softly, trying to reassure the pup. Less than a minute later, a young man in his late twenties sporting a dark goatee entered.

  “Good morning. Jesse Alpine. And you’re Logan Warner and the nameless beast, according to my receptionist.”

  Logan shook the offered hand. “She’s not pleased with me.”

  Alpine snorted. “She’s never pleased with me, and I sign her checks. I inherited her along with the practice. Every Sunday in church I pray she’ll tell me she’s retiring, come Monday. Hasn’t happened yet, but it’s made me a regular at First Baptist.”

  The vet turned his attention to his new patient. “Well, hello, little one,” and ran his hands over the dog, feeling the ribs, checking inside the ears. “So your message says you found”—he paused and looked under—“her on the highway.”

  “Yes. Someone chained her and abandoned her. I tried my best to clean her up and get some food in her.”

  Alpine continued his exam. “She’s about four months old. A little on the small side, but with good food and a lot of love, she’ll be fine. She’s a mix, for sure. Some cocker. Maybe even golden retriever. I think she’ll be good-natured, though.”

  He looked at Logan. “Let me keep her till this afternoon. Give her some shots, a medicated bath, trim and fluff her up a bit. We carry the food she’ll need to be on.”

  “Can I wait on her name till I pick her up?”

  “Only if I let you sneak out the back door. Ramona is all policy and procedure. I’ve never met a more by-the-book person.” He laughed. “Come around three, and you can have this little sweetheart back.”

  The vet picked up the dog and led Logan down a hallway. “Here’s your exit.”

  Logan chuckled at their subterfuge and thanked him. He headed to his car and met Jonas Watkins coming up the sidewalk.

  “Hello, Jonas. Hugo. Here for a check-up?”

  “Hugo needs his yearly shots. Everything okay at Jesse’s?”

  Logan grinned. “Found a stray last night. Scrawniest mutt ever and a real heartbreaker. I couldn’t pass her by.”

  He patted Hugo’s head. “If you’re out walking later, stop by the square. I’m running for police chief in the May election. I’d appreciate your John Hancock on my petition.”

  “Will do.”

  Logan drove to the center of town. He popped the trunk and removed a card table and two folding chairs he’d loaded last night and set up under a shady elm.

  Show time.

  Karlyn pulled on her visor, ready to run. Her cell rang. It was Alicia.

  “About time you called. What do you think of the screenplay?”

  “That you have a knack for it,” her agent said. “No one would guess this was your first attempt.”

  Karlyn laughed. “I credit Chris Stevenson for pushing me. He’s amazingly talented.”

  “He thinks highly of you. His agent told me Chris has an offer to write an original screenplay for Scorsese, based upon a story idea by the great man himself. Chris wants you as his collaborator. If you’re free.”

  “You’re kidding!”

  “I never kid about business. Chris is polishing another project first, so he thinks he’ll be ready to start in early September. That’s when Scorsese wants to meet and discuss the characters and direction of the story.”

  “That gives me from now through summer to finish my novel and outline my next Matt book. Tell him yes, Alicia.” Karlyn did a quick happy dance, holding in her squeal of joy.

  “I’ll do that. I wanted to ask with summer coming, are you vising me in the Hamptons?”

  “Probably not. I’m planning to relocate to Walton Springs. I’ve got to buy a car and find a place to live. I don’t think at thirty-two I should be living with my mother.”

  “I can understand wanting to get away from New York and Mario. By the way, that SOB contacted me twice, wanting your mother’s number. I told the cheating bastard to go to hell.”

  “That’s because I changed my cell number. He called. Wanting money. How could he already be broke?”

  “You must not get the tabloids in magnolia land. Mario’s seeing some high-strung model. I think she’ll bleed him dry and move on. Either that or she’ll drop dead. Rumor has it she’s big into drugs.”

  “He won’t squeeze another cent out of me. Switching subjects, what do you think about true crime?”

  “It doesn’t sell well, Karlyn. By the time an author researches, writes, and gets into print, the crime and trial are old news, thanks to the Internet and Court TV. Why?”

  “I’m interested in a serial killer in Atlanta. The Rainbow Murders. Roy G. Biv. I thought they might be challenging to write about.”

  “Stick to your familiar guns, darling. Original crimes and original characters. That’s what’ll keep you on the best seller lists. Besides, you’ve got your budding screenwriting career to consider. Listen, I’ve got to run. I’ll contact Chris’s agent now and tell him you’re in on the Scorsese project. Ciao.”

  No one wanted her to get involved in the Rainbow Murders.

  She decided to finish her current work-in-progress and then give Roy G. Biv a long, hard look to see if he would be worth her time.

  Chapter 21

  Logan smiled. Ninety minutes into getting signatures, and the petition was almost complete. Mayor Vick beamed at him like a proud troop master at an Eagle Scout ceremony as he signed his name. Chief Risedale told passersby what a great cop Logan was and what a better chief he’d make.

  Antique store owner Anne Stockdale emerged and crossed the street. “I’d be happy to sign your petition, Logan. I know your parents are so proud.” />
  He handed her a pen. “Thanks, Anne. Would that mahogany dining table and chairs still be available?”

  “Yes. Are you interested?”

  “Mark ‘em sold if you can house them for me for a while.”

  Anne smiled. “For our next chief of police? Happy to do so. I want to remain on your good side.”

  “I’ll stop by Monday with my checkbook. Thanks for your signature. Be sure to vote—for me—in May,” he reminded her.

  “Bring a campaign sign for my front window. The square gets lots of activity, so it’ll be seen a lot. See you later, Logan.”

  “I’d like a sign for my front yard.”

  Logan grinned hearing the familiar voice. “Why, Miss Galaway. Good to see you. How are integers these days?”

  “Since you have plenty of practice putting signs in my yard, Logan Warner, you may place one of yours there. Just keep the For Sale signs out of the mix this time.”

  His face reddened at the memory of his middle school prank.

  “And integers are lovely these days, as are coefficients. Now let me sign your petition.”

  He teased, “Sorry I don’t have a red pen. I seem to remember it’s your favorite color. I saw plenty of it on my papers.”

  Miss Galaway’s sniffed and scrawled her name. “I don’t grade in red anymore. I mark papers in green felt tip now. I’d say I’m good for another ten years. Maybe more.”

  Logan laughed. “I’ll bring a sign by as soon as I have some,” he promised.

  “I’ll take a sign for my yard,” Bridget Marley said, stealing the pen. “How are you, Logan?”

  “Good. How’s—”

  “—your little one, Bridget? Heard Doc Warner went over to treat the child for chicken pox.” Casey Attaway nosed in and waited for an answer.