Fugitive Page 7

  “Then keep the place.”

  “That’s not such an easy thing to do either.” She walked across the room, pulled back the curtain and let sunlight stream in.

  “It’s as easy as you want it to be, Laney.” He stood behind her, looking out over the pastures and orchards that made up the farm. All of it was overgrown and snow covered now, but he remembered the years that he and Laney had worked the fields together, given tours of the orchards and pretended that the beauty on the outside of the house matched what was inside.

  He’d done it for her.

  He’d thought about running so many times, but he’d stuck it out because he couldn’t imagine leaving Laney.

  Now leaving her was all he could think about.

  “I’d like to borrow one of your dad’s old cars. Is that okay with you?”

  “Do you think any of them will be working after all this time?” She turned, her body brushing his, quicksilver heat racing through him.

  He stepped away, his body humming and his pulse racing.

  No way would he let himself think about what that meant.

  Not when there was so much riding on his ability to walk away. “It’s worth a try.”

  “That’s fine, but you’d better wait until the sun goes down. I’m pretty sure the police have been watching me these past few days, and it would surprise me if they stopped now that I’m in Green Bluff.”

  “Have you had trouble with them?”

  “Not really. There wasn’t any evidence in my Jeep, and I don’t have anything at my place in Seattle that matched what was used to start the fire at the cabin. I think they suspect that I was there, but they can’t prove it.”

  “But you think you’re being watched?”

  “There’ve been cars parked on the street outside my house in Seattle every night.”

  Surveillance for sure, and they’d wanted her to know it.

  Intimidation tactics?

  “I’ll wait. If I can get a car started, I may need to siphon some gas for my ride out of town.”

  “Whatever you need, Logan. You know that.”

  “We’re not back to you owing me, are we?” He tucked a long strand of hair behind her ears, and his fingers lingered, brushing velvety skin, sliding through silken curls.

  Big mistake.

  Longing speared through him, and he knew Laney felt it. Her cheeks went pink, and she stepped back.

  “I’m going to get the rest of my things out of the car. If the police are watching, it’s best if I do what I normally would, right?” She nearly ran from the room, her feet tapping on the wooden stairs.

  He followed more slowly, as anxious for some space as Laney seemed to be.

  She’d left the front door open, the bitter wind blowing powdery snow from the porch into the foyer. Mildred would have hated that. The thought amused him more than it probably should have. He wouldn’t find thoughts of the overly anxious and spiteful woman nearly as amusing if he found out that she was the one responsible for ruining his life.

  Tit for tat?

  That had seemed to be Mildred’s philosophy of life.

  She’d been charismatic and charming when she’d wanted to be. Her posse of friends was loyal and tight, but Mildred had also had a way of blackballing any one of those friends who’d crossed her.

  Logan had crossed her big-time.

  And he’d never been her friend.

  As a matter of fact, he’d have been a lot happier if he could have found evidence to connect her to the death of the teenager who’d frozen out in the Mackeys’ barn during a raging winter storm. Logan’s interview with another foster kid who’d been there at the same time had proved Josiah’s cruel abuse but hadn’t implicated Mildred. She’d served less than four years in a local women’s prison and had been released on good behavior after that.

  He’d wanted her to spend a lifetime locked up for what she’d done to Laney, but he hadn’t wanted to drag Laney into the mess, hadn’t wanted her to testify against her parents or be thrown into the foster system. When she’d disappeared, her parents had done exactly what Logan had known they would—told everyone in town that they’d sent her to live with a relative because she’d been making bad choices and they were afraid for her.

  By the time Logan had the evidence he needed to bring them down, Laney was eighteen. Free and clear to live her life any way she’d wanted to.

  It had all been part of the plan, and it had gone off without a hitch.

  Until now.

  It seemed almost inconceivable that Mildred would be seeking revenge so late in the game.

  He slipped into the kitchen and splashed his face with cold water, feeling better than he had in days. A little food, and he’d be ready to head out. The sooner he could do that, the better. Laney’s return to Green Bluff was probably the biggest news in town since Logan’s arrest and conviction. As much as he loved his adopted hometown, he knew its weaknesses. Gossip was one of them, and there was no doubt that every man, woman and child was plotting a way to be the first to welcome Laney home.

  “Want something to eat?” Laney walked into the kitchen, a duffel in one hand and a paper bag in the other. Faded jeans hugged her slender hips, and a soft blue sweater peeked out from under her black parka. No makeup, but she had a hint of pink in her cheeks from the cold.

  Breathtaking, and he’d never even noticed when they were kids.

  “Sure. What do you have?”

  “Soup and crackers. I’d offer more, but I didn’t want to spend much time at the store. I was afraid people might recognize me, and I didn’t feel like talking.” She lifted the thick fall of hair from her neck, tying it back into a ponytail and revealing the ragged edges of a silvery scar that ran from behind her ear to her jaw. He remembered the day she’d gotten it, the pool of blood under her head. The way his stomach had churned with impotent rage as the ambulance crew lifted her to a gurney and took her away. Mildred had simpered and moaned and cried as if she’d really cared that her daughter was unconscious and hurt, but all the acting skills in the world hadn’t convinced Logan. If he’d witnessed whatever had happened, Mildred would have been in jail that day, but he hadn’t, and Laney had been too steeped in the abuse that she’d lived with her entire life to tell the truth.

  “Soup and crackers are fine.”

  “I have soda, too. Root beer. You still like that?” She pulled a bottle out of the bag, and he took it from her hands. Funny how it seemed like they’d never been apart, their movements in sync as she pulled out a pot and started the soup and he grabbed glasses and filled them.

  “Yeah.” His voice sounded thick and rougher than he’d intended.

  “The soup shouldn’t take long. If you want to grab some spoons from the drawer—”

  “Did you hear that?” Logan cut her off.

  “What?”

  “An engine.”

  “I didn’t hear anything. Maybe it was—”

  “Shh!” Logan pressed a finger to Laney’s lips, and her pulse jumped, her thoughts flying away as she looked into his eyes and felt something deep in her heart open up, begging to allow him in.

  It was that hole that he’d left, waiting to be filled again, but she couldn’t allow it.

  The rumble of a car engine, faint but growing louder, filled the silence.

  “Someone’s coming,” she whispered.

  “Go see who it is. I’ll wait in the attic.”

  “What if—”

  “No one knows I’m here. Whoever it is is coming for you. Just keep cool, and everything will be all right.” Logan smiled reassuringly, grabbed his glass and jogged up the stairs.

  The doorbell rang, and she jumped, dashing for the door but slowing as she neared it.

  Walk, Laney. Ladies always walk.


  Mildred’s voice seemed to echo from the bowels of the house. So many memories, so many reasons why she shouldn’t have come and why she shouldn’t even consider keeping the property.

  But the wood gleamed beneath layers of dust, the house echoing with more than just memories that her parents had made. Other Mackeys had lived here, loved here, filled the huge house with love and laughter.

  The doorbell rang again. She peeked out the peephole and saw a uniformed officer standing on the porch. Every thought of what she could do, should do, would do, fled, her mind focused on the silence of the house, the empty feeling of it.

  Had Logan made it to the attic?

  Had he hidden himself away there?

  The officer rapped on the wood, and she couldn’t put it off any longer.

  She unlocked the door and prayed that she wouldn’t look nearly as nervous as she felt.

  EIGHT

  Cold air blew in and swept more snow across the hardwood floor. If her mother were around, she’d be in a screaming frenzy by now, the wet splotches on the dust-coated wood driving her to the brink of madness.

  It was so much easier to think about that than to look into the eyes of the man who stood on the porch.

  She had no choice, though.

  He had crisp auburn hair cut short and blazing blue eyes, with fine lines radiating out from them.

  It was not someone she knew, but his uniform—dark blue with a police badge pinned to the chest—made her stomach twist.

  Great.

  “Can I help you?” she asked and was happy with the steadiness of her voice and the smile she offered.

  “I’m Officer Tanner Parsons with the Green Bluff Police Department. I’m here to see Laney Jefferson.”

  “That’s me, but I just got in, and I’m in the middle of unpacking. Maybe you could come back tomorrow?”

  “I’d rather speak to you today.” He put his hand on the door. His stance was not aggressive, but Laney was pretty certain that he didn’t plan on leaving until she let him inside and answered whatever questions he had for her.

  “That’s fine, then. Come on in.” She led him into the parlor, wishing she’d had time to pull the plastic off the furniture. It crackled as they sat and crackled again as she shifted uncomfortably.

  “I’m assuming you know why I’m here.” Officer Parsons took out a notepad and pen and settled in for what Laney hoped would not be a long visit.

  “You want to question me about my husband’s cabin?” She knew that was not the reason, but she’d let him believe that she thought it was.

  “Actually, there’s something else that I’d like to discuss with you.”

  “What’s that?”

  “People around here say that you were good friends with Logan Randal when you were a kid.”

  “That’s right.”

  “I guess you’ve heard that he escaped from a police escort that was bringing him to the state prison. An SUV ran the cruiser off the road and a gunman opened fire.”

  “I heard.” She kept her answer pithy, afraid that if she said too much, he’d hear the truth in her tone.

  “You haven’t had any contact with him recently?”

  “No.”

  He stared at her, his aqua-blue eyes seeming to see right into her soul.

  Please, God, don’t let him see the truth. Don’t let him hear Logan.

  If he did, they’d both be in jail by sundown.

  “We have reason to believe that Logan was injured during his escape.”

  “Really?” Her voice was an octave too high, and he raised an eyebrow.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Yes, I just... Logan helped me when no one else would. I hate to think of him injured and alone.” True, every word, and she relaxed a little, leaning back against the sticky plastic cover.

  “I’m not happy about the idea either. Here’s the deal, and I’m going to give it to you straight. One of the officers who was escorting Logan to prison died. The other is clinging to life. We have him under twenty-four-hour guard, and he’s been able to say a few things that lead us to believe that Logan was the target of the attack. That it wasn’t an escape attempt, but rather an attempted murder.”

  “I—”

  “We’re investigating, and as the officer recovers, we’re hoping his testimony will be enough to reopen the case against Logan. If you happen to see him or hear from him, give him that message, will you?”

  He closed his notebook and stood.

  “That’s it?”

  “Unless you have something that you want to share with me.”

  She was almost tempted to confess everything, but maybe that was the plan—make her think that he was on Logan’s side, then take them both down.

  “I don’t.”

  “Give me a call if that changes.” He handed her a business card and stood, looking around the once-opulent parlor. “You’ve got quite a place here, Mrs. Jefferson.”

  “It’s the family estate. My father left it to me.”

  “I heard you’re selling.”

  “I... That’s the plan.”

  “You’ll probably get a pretty penny for it, but if it were me, I’d hold on to the place. It’s not often that a family can boast something like this.” He glanced around the dusty room, and she had to bite her tongue to keep from telling him just how little her family had to boast about.

  He probably already knew.

  He’d known about her relationship with Logan, after all.

  “It is a nice place, and I’ve got to get to work cleaning it out. So, unless there’s something else...”

  “No.” But, he cocked his head to the side, seemingly listening to the house.

  Don’t move, Logan, and whatever you do, don’t walk up or down those attic steps.

  If only she could send the mental message to Logan.

  “Logan was responsible for getting your father thrown in jail, wasn’t he?” For someone who’d said he had nothing else to discuss, the officer sure seemed to have plenty of questions.

  “That’s right.”

  “What was your dad convicted of?”

  “Fraud. Negligent homicide. Reckless endangerment. Abuse. Neglect.”

  “He passed away a few months ago?”

  “Yes.”

  “And your mother?”

  “I don’t know.” She didn’t care either. A couple of years ago, Mildred had tried to make contact, but Laney had refused the overtures, turning away the private investigator who’d tracked her down.

  “Interesting.”

  “What?” She thought she heard something move upstairs, but if the sheriff noticed, he didn’t give any sign of it.

  “Your story.”

  “You wouldn’t be saying that if you were the one who’d lived it.”

  “You’re probably right. I’d better head out. You remember what I said, okay?”

  “I will.”

  “And, if Logan happens to show up here, keep in mind that you’re harboring an escaped felon if you allow him to stay.”

  He walked to the front door, taking his time doing it.

  She wanted to show him out but just opened the door and smiled. “Thanks for stopping by.”

  “Call if you need anything, and be careful. You’re a long way from anyone.”

  His warning hung in the air as he walked down the porch stairs and got into his cruiser. Laney could hear it long after he disappeared around a curve in the road. She closed the door, locked it and slid the bolt home.

  “Good job, Laney,” Logan said as he walked downstairs.

  “You should have waited in the attic until you knew he was gone.”

  “I was never in the attic. I was in the office.”


  “Are you nuts? What if he’d asked to search the house?”

  “He didn’t.”

  “It was an officer of the law, Logan. He could have had a search warrant. He might have—”

  “Now you’re going to lose your cool?” He pulled her into his arms, his hands sliding under her coat, their warmth seeping through her sweater.

  She wanted to stay there, let her head rest on his chest and her arms wrap around his waist. She wanted it so badly that she pulled away and ran a shaky hand over her hair. “I’m not losing my cool. I’m just pointing out the obvious.”

  “I know Tanner. He’d have come with more than one officer if he planned to search the place.”

  “You know him?”

  “I told you, Laney, I was deputy sheriff of the town for five years. Tanner joined the force three years ago. We’ve been friends since.”

  It made sense, and if she’d been thinking more clearly, she wouldn’t have needed the explanation.

  Unfortunately, thinking clearly seemed to be a problem when Logan was around. “If you were friends, how did you end up being accused and convicted of a crime you didn’t commit?”

  “Evidence. That’s what law enforcement is all about. Gather enough of it, and you can prove someone’s guilt. Even if he’s innocent. There was plenty of it stacked against me. That had nothing to do with Tanner.”

  “He knows you were injured. He says that one of the officers who was shot is still alive.”

  “I’m glad. Camden Walker is a good man and a good officer.”

  “The sheriff also said that the officer’s testimony might be enough to make them reopen your case. They believe you were the target of the attack and that someone was trying to kill you rather than free you.”

  “That’s good news.”

  “My mother came up.”

  “I’ve been thinking about her, too.”

  She didn’t ask why.

  She didn’t want to know.

  But she did know, of course.

  She knew exactly what Logan was thinking and what the sheriff was probably thinking.

  “She tried to contact me a couple of years ago. She sent a letter with a private investigator she’d hired to find me.”