My eyes widen as I take in the tall, imposing man on my front step. Logan looks sharp in his navy suit, crisp white shirt, and light blue tie. His pale arctic eyes pop against his dark hair, creating a striking combination. My eyes roam his face, taking in every detail in the morning light. Every fiber of my being reaches for him, aching to be folded in his strong arms.
Several long seconds stretch out as we take each other in. Logan turns his face away, hiding his scars from view, and I hate that. I don’t want him hiding from me.
Clearing his throat, Logan rubs the back of his neck. “Sorry to bother you so early.”
He keeps his gaze averted, and for some reason that bothers me. I want his eyes on me.
“You can bother me anytime, detective.” I smile, leaning against the door frame, and cross my arms.
His eyes snap back to mine, a look of surprise flitting across his face. His expression turns serious again a moment later. “I came to make sure you were okay.”
Puzzled, I regard him. Looking closer, I realize he’s tense, on edge. Something’s wrong.
“Why?” I ask.
“There was an animal attack close to here last night. The victim fits your description.”
I straighten up from the doorframe, my arms dropping to my sides. “What?”
Logan shifts on his feet, just a slight movement. The tension rolling off him draws my attention. His icy blue eyes are fierce, so many emotions warring within—relief, anger, desire, sorrow, and need.
He wants me, but he doesn’t want to want me.
When he doesn’t answer, I ask, “Where?”
“Not far. It happened on the walking trail about five miles from here. A girl was mauled.”
“Is she okay?”
Logan turns his face away again, burying his hands in the pockets of his pants. “No.”
“Is she alive?” I whisper, a feeling of dread washing over me.
“No.”
My stomach drops, and my mind frantically tries to think what could have happened. Was it the thing I sensed last night, watching me? Did it go after easier prey?
I watch as Logan squats down and picks up Ghost, and my mouth drops open. I figure the best course of action right now is to ignore the fact he just picked up my cat. Whom, I might add, is not a real cat, but a spirit of sorts. Ghost just showed up one day and refused to leave. It wasn’t until Felix came over that I realized Ghost was, well, a ghost. No one else has been able to see her or touch her.
Logan’s hand runs over Ghost’s back, making the cat purr in pleasure. “I just needed to make sure it wasn’t you before I attended the–” Abruptly, he stops speaking and swallows.
I reach out my hand and rest it on his arm. He flinches, and my heart pinches in response. I drop my hand and look down at my feet.
“Sorry,” I whisper.
“It’s fine. I better go.” His response is quick as he puts Ghost down.
“Okay.”
I watch as he turns and jogs down the stairs and over to his car. When a breeze sweeps through the door, I realize I’m in my lazy clothes, which just so happen to be some loose track pants and my favorite white t-shirt, which is so old it’s completely see through. Embarrassment heats my face, and I shut the door quickly, but not before I catch a whiff of his scent lingering in the air.
Crisp whiskey and aged oak . . .
Chapter Seven
Logan
Ihatemurderscenes.I can’t imagine there are many people who enjoy them, but it is by far the worst part of my job. Even though this has been classed as an animal attack, I have a gut feeling it’s more than that. A nagging sensation telling me to look closer. Over the years, I’ve learned to trust that feeling.
