True Colors (28 page)
In his arms, Alex shifted, drawing him out of his sex-stirred thoughts of love and romance. The taut tension in her body surprised him. He’d probably been holding her too tightly. He couldn’t deny that he didn’t want to ever let her go. He wanted to stay like this, naked and together, for as long as possible.
“You okay?” he asked, pressing a light kiss to her damp temple.
She didn’t answer for a moment, and a tap of concern grew into a nudge as a slight tremor passed through her body.
“Alex?”
She drew in a shaky breath. “I’m fine.”
He didn’t like the sound of
that
. Rolling from his side to his back, he urged her to turn toward him, but instead of snuggling into him as he hoped, she sat up and scooted to the edge of the bed.
that
. Rolling from his side to his back, he urged her to turn toward him, but instead of snuggling into him as he hoped, she sat up and scooted to the edge of the bed.
“Alex, what’s the matter? Talk to me.”
“I’m going to take a shower,” she said.
She didn’t look at him as she walked, naked and, Jesus, gorgeous, into the bathroom and shut the door. Braced on his elbows, he stared at the closed door.
What the hell? They’d just said they loved each other. Shouldn’t they have cuddled—reveled—at least a little longer? Did the fact that had even occurred to him make him the woman in this relationship?
And, well, shit, she was “fine” again. He hated it when she was “fine”—except when she really
was
fine, of course. Thank God that psycho hadn’t done anything more, physically, than tie her up. The bonds alone made him want to strangle the bastard, but things could have been so much worse, and the thought of those things made Logan shudder. And the fact that he, a
cop
, was shuddering . . . Damn it, he should have pressed her more for details. She’d given him a name, albeit not the man’s actual name obviously, since he was, or at least Logan
hoped
he was, Brian Lear’s brother, and Logan had run with it, thanking his lucky stars that it had been that fucking easy.
was
fine, of course. Thank God that psycho hadn’t done anything more, physically, than tie her up. The bonds alone made him want to strangle the bastard, but things could have been so much worse, and the thought of those things made Logan shudder. And the fact that he, a
cop
, was shuddering . . . Damn it, he should have pressed her more for details. She’d given him a name, albeit not the man’s actual name obviously, since he was, or at least Logan
hoped
he was, Brian Lear’s brother, and Logan had run with it, thanking his lucky stars that it had been that fucking easy.
His cell phone started to ring again in the other room, and he got out of bed and strode into the living room to retrieve it from the coffee table. The caller ID flashed the name Phil Packard. Excellent. The mystery of Butch McGee was about to be solved.
“Yeah, Phil.”
“Butch McGee isn’t an alias.”
Logan’s hand tightened on the phone. “What?”
“He’s for real. Social Security number. Michigan driver’s license. Credit cards. Bank accounts. An apartment address in Detroit. I found his fucking birth certificate in public records.”
“But Brian Lear—”
“Didn’t have a brother. Neither does McGee. Or sisters, for that matter.”
“But Lear is the only man I’ve ever killed. There has to be a connection there.”
“I’ll go by his apartment on my way to work,” Phil said. “I’ll make it look like a break-in. I’m assuming you’ve got fingerprints at your end.”
“Fingerprints, DNA, security photos. He wasn’t careful about the evidence he left behind.”
“He’s got balls.”
“Or confidence that we don’t have him in the system. I should hear from the crime scene techs here before noon. I have a feeling the perp swiped McGee’s identity.”
“You’re probably right. You want me to e-mail the info I got on him?”
“Yes. [email protected]. I’ll forward it to the detective in charge of the investigation. Do you have a copy of McGee’s driver’s license with the photo?”
“Yeah. I’ll scan it in and send it along.”
“Thanks, Phil. Oh, wait, hey, did you check that other name I gave you? Tyler Ambrose.”
“Oh, yeah. Interesting hit on that one. Seven-year-old boy kidnapped thirty years ago at a mall in suburban Chicago. He was never found. How does he fit into all of this?”
Logan shook his head, confused on that one. “I have no idea. I don’t suppose there was a picture.”
“I couldn’t find anything other than his name in a database of missing kids. He disappeared before the age of high-tech record keeping. FBI might be able to help out on that.”
“Right. Good idea.”
They signed off, and as Logan headed back to the bedroom, he checked his missed-calls list to discover the call he’d blown off earlier had been from Justin Parker. Luckily, the teenager had left a voice mail.
Logan’s stomach seized when he heard the trembling voice. “It’s me. Justin. I, uh . . . Do you think . . . Well, could you maybe meet me at the usual place, behind the Iguana? Like, in an hour or two? I, uh, I’m sorry I wasn’t there last time. I swear I’ll be there this time. I swear.”
The call ended, and Logan checked his watch. He needed to consult with the crime scene techs as well as Don Walker and Noah to see what they’d turned up at the storage unit and with the Mustang, as well as what they found on the security cameras at the rental car counter and the storage facility. Nothing had turned up that was an emergency, apparently, or he would have heard from Noah or Don by now. But he really didn’t have time for anything else.
Yet . . . Justin was counting on him, and Logan didn’t like the tremor he’d heard in the boy’s voice. The kid had clearly reached the end of his rope.
He tried to calculate how much time it might take to stop to see Justin then head to Noah’s office. But what would he do about Alex? He didn’t want her staying here, or anywhere, alone. Until they found the guy who’d kidnapped and terrorized her, he didn’t plan to leave her unguarded. Hell, he didn’t want to be away from her,
period
.
period
.
As if his thoughts summoned her, she exited the bathroom wrapped in a short white robe, her hair damp and curling around her flushed face. Her eyes looked glassy and red, and the realization that she’d been crying jolted him. He almost asked if she was okay, but knowing he’d get her usual pat answer stopped him.
Instead, he watched her go to the duffle Charlie had packed for her that was on the floor next to the dresser. As she pulled on underwear, a pink, form-fitting T-shirt and white knit shorts, he appreciated the view of smooth pale legs toned from daily workouts. He loved her legs, especially when they clamped around his waist, strong and insistent. He loved her arms, too. Loved trailing his tongue along the inside of her elbow until she squirmed. Loved her breasts, the way her nipples reacted to his slightest caress. And her mouth. God, her mouth. Whether stretching into a wide smile or sucking him blind . . .
Damn, he was getting hard. When would this incessant need for her back off?
Never, he hoped.
He slid off the bed and walked up behind where she stood at the mirror combing out the tangles in her hair. When he smoothed his hands down her arms, she tensed and stilled. He caught her gaze for only an instant in the reflection before it skittered away. Something was definitely off. And he had no clue what to do to set it right. Or even if he could do
anything
.
anything
.
So, for now, he stuck to business. “I don’t want you going anywhere alone until we track down McGee and put him away.”
She didn’t protest, not that he’d expected her to. That was one of the many things he loved about her: She wasn’t stupid.
“I need to see Charlie,” she said.
The rasp in her voice—more evidence of a crying jag in the shower—twisted the muscles in his chest. He hoped this sudden shift in her emotions didn’t have anything to do with her so-called psychic ability. She hadn’t mentioned empathy since she’d proclaimed herself cured at AnnaCoreen’s. He hoped that meant she’d let that implausible idea go. Of course, AnnaCoreen would accuse him of being in denial about the whole thing. And, hell, maybe he was. Denial had been his middle name for years.
“How about you call Charlie to see if she can meet you at Noah’s office?” he said. “I need to consult with him on a few things.”
“You don’t have to go to work?”
“I’ve been ordered to take a few days off to keep me away from the investigation.”
Alex’s lips quirked. “How’s that going so far?”
He grinned, heartened by her teasing. “As expected.”
“I also need to figure out how to deal with the dogs if I’m going to be away from home much longer.”
“Charlie and Noah went over several times yesterday, and I went early this morning to take them for a long walk.”
“Someone should have gotten me up for at least some of those trips. I could have—”
“We all agreed that you needed to sleep and regroup.” He tucked a strand of damp hair behind her ear. “Let us take care of you for a change.”
She gave an acquiescent nod, though her smile was wan. “Thank you.”
“Come on, Alex, what’s going on?”
“Nothing. I’m just tired.”
“I’ve seen you ‘just tired.’ There’s something more, but I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me.” If she brought up empathy, they’d deal. He loved her, and no way in hell would he let some fucking psychic ability tear them apart.
“I’m not ready, Logan. I’m sorry.”
“You can’t dodge me forever, you know.”
“I don’t plan to.”
He sighed. She’d given him no choice but to let it go, so he would. For now. “On the way to Noah’s, there’s someone I need to see real quick. Is that okay?”
“Works for me.” She started to slip past him, but he put a hand lightly on her arm to stop her. Her questioning gaze swept up to meet his, and he kissed her, slow and thorough, trying to tell her with his lips and tongue that they’d work through all the crap.
No matter what.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
W
ho are we going to see?” Alex asked.
ho are we going to see?” Alex asked.
Logan glanced sideways at her. Cruising toward downtown Lake Avalon with her next to him in his truck had all the marks of normalcy. Sure, she was a bit subdued, and tense. Jesus, she was tense, had been even as they’d grabbed quick bowls of Frosted Mini-Wheats in Charlie’s kitchen before hitting the road. But she’d initiated conversation when he assumed she’d prefer to stick with her own thoughts.
“His name’s Justin Parker,” he said. “Or at least that’s who he says he is. I’m guessing sixteen or seventeen.”
“And he’s a runaway?”
“For a couple of weeks now. Noah and I have been taking turns keeping an eye on him. Justin asked me for help a couple of days ago, then vanished. I was hoping he’d gone home, but then he called and asked to see me.”
“What’s up with his parents?”
“From the little he’s said, it sounds like his mother doesn’t know how to help him and his father won’t tolerate his screwups. Justin’s I-don’t-give-a-fuck attitude doesn’t help.”
“You seem to really understand him.”
He shrugged. He preferred to think that, more than anything, he was doing his job. “I’ve made the effort.”
“Do you see yourself in him?”
Logan kept his gaze on the road even though he’d braked for a stoplight. “I was a foster kid, and he’s not, but, yeah, I do.” His own honesty surprised him. But, then, he was talking to Alex. He’d always found it easy to talk to her. “Would have been nice if someone had tried to save me from myself sooner.”
“How much sooner?”
He glanced at her in question. “What do you mean?”
“What did you have to go through before Officer Mike came along?”
Logan took the opportunity presented by the green light to focus on the road. “Enough.”
“Interesting.”
Her flat tone had him looking at her again to see her lips compressed in an unhappy line. “What?”
“I find it interesting,” she said, “that when you skirt a subject you don’t want to talk about, it’s okay, but when I do, I’m dodging.”
“That’s because you are.”
“But you do it, too. You don’t see me getting bent out of shape about it.”
“When did I get bent out of shape?”
“Just because you don’t say anything doesn’t mean I don’t know you’re irked.”
He didn’t speak for a long moment as he turned the truck onto the Green Iguana’s street. He wasn’t sure how to deal with a defensive and challenging Alex.
When the silence stretched on, she sighed. “Now you’re trying to figure out how to handle me.”
“Well, yeah. I’m not sure where we’re going here.”
“All I’m saying is that sometimes I don’t want to talk about what I’m feeling or thinking.”
Since when did Alex not want to talk? She
loved
to talk. “Okay,” he said anyway.
loved
to talk. “Okay,” he said anyway.
“Just like you don’t like to talk about your past. There’s no difference.”
“Actually, there’s a big difference. My past is over. This is the present. And no matter how often you say you’re fine, I know damn well that you’re not. You
can’t
be after what just happened to you. And I’m not
irked
that you won’t talk to me, Alex. I’m
worried
. If you’re really so psychic, how come you don’t know that?”
can’t
be after what just happened to you. And I’m not
irked
that you won’t talk to me, Alex. I’m
worried
. If you’re really so psychic, how come you don’t know that?”
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