Shadow Protector. Jenna Ryan
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Chief. Rain’s coming.” The man shambling past, sprinkling tobacco in a rolling paper, barely spared them a glance. “It’s my night for poker if you feel like letting us win back some of our hard-earned cash. Wouldn’t blame you a mite, though, if not. She’s a real pretty lady.”
Sera would have grinned if she hadn’t caught the edge of a rut and almost snapped her ankle in two.
“Horses, poker and holes big enough to swallow small children. I’m charmed.” She cast the man who’d caught her a sideways look. “Chief.”
“It’s a label. Means nothing.”
“Uh-huh. It only signifies that you’re in charge of a town containing five thousand, six hundred and twenty-seven souls. Which would make sense at this point in Sig’s life. But everything about you screams big city cop to me.”
His lips quirked again. “You might want to check your inner voice, Doc. Cities and me don’t get along these days.”
Meaning they had once? Interesting, she reflected, as they reached the diner’s porch. But it wasn’t as interesting as the fact that he knew her name and undoubtedly her story.
Several feet behind them, Sig sucked smoke into his lungs at an alarming rate. Because her arm was tingling, Sera eased free and strove for an unimpeded look at the man called Logan.
He was tall and rangy, with sleek muscles, long legs and dark hair that curled well below the back of his hat. He needed a cut and a shave. And she needed distance because not only was her skin tingling, but also her pulse was doing an erratic tap dance.
Food would help, she decided, plucking at the front of her top. “Is Nadine a good cook?”
“Best down home in Blue Ridge.”
“He means if you’re expecting art on a plate, you won’t get it here.” Sig studied the black clouds massing over the distant Big Horns. “Those coming this way?”
“Joe says they are. He’s usually right.”
“Then we should get down to business.”
Sera arched guileless brows. “We’re doing business? I thought we stopped here for answers and a hearty meal.”
“I’m stopping, Doc. Got something different in mind for you.”
Where was a control button when you needed one?
“Sig …”
“You’re not stopping, Sera. You’re staying.”
Prepared for that response, she met his hard stare and simply asked, “Why?”
“Because I trust Logan. He’s the best, and as bad as I wanted that bastard Blindfold Killer before, I want him doubly bad now. He’s murdered sixteen people over the years. That includes his most recent victims, your friend and my partner. You saw his face, Doc. I know it, and so do you. Unfortunately—and this is where my faith in Logan comes in—one hell of a vicious killer knows it, too.”
Chapter Two
“Your captain told me about the Blindfold Killer, Sig,” Sera said. “No one’s sure why he ties a white bandanna over his victims’ eyes. He’s killed eleven people over a seven-year period, all in the Bay area. The San Francisco Police arrested a suspect four years ago, but they were forced to release him on a technicality.”
“Illegal search of his living quarters,” Logan said. “The officer in charge assumed a warrant was en route. He was mistaken.”
“Said officer has since been demoted and put in charge of a desk,” Sig added gruffly. Then he brightened. “Ah, here we go. Food.”
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