He Kills Me, He Kills Me Not

killed in the line of duty, at least not in Shadow Falls.
    The color guard lifted the flag that was draped over Karen Bingham’s coffin, and slowly folded it, end over end, into the traditional triangle. The leader of the guard took the flag and neatly tucked the edges in, smoothed the wrinkles. He turned to Karen’s husband, handed him the flag. Then he lifted his white-gloved hand and saluted.
    Mike cradled the flag against his chest and nodded his thanks to the young man. He jerked in surprise from the sound of gunfire. Logan put his arm around his shoulders and gently turned him to watch the next two volleys from the seven guns that made up the twenty-one-gun salute.
    When it was over, the crowd began to disperse. “Karen was a good officer and a good friend,” Logan said. “We’ll all miss her.”
    Mike smiled that sad, haunted smile Logan had seen far too often in the past few days as Mike shuffled back and forth from one hospital room to the next. Even though Karen had died during surgery, Mike was a constant shadow in the hospital as he waited to see whether Pierce and Amanda would be okay. He told Logan it’s what Karen would have wanted him to do.
    Pierce would definitely be okay, but Amanda was still fighting for her life in ICU. The doctors didn’t know if she would ever wake up. She’d lost so much blood.
    “I hear Special Agent Buchanan might be discharged tomorrow. That’s good news,” Mike said, as he walked toward his car with Logan by his side.
    “Yes, sir. He wanted to be at the funeral, but the doctors wouldn’t let him leave. He also wants to stay and wrap up the investigation, but his boss sent another agent to replace him, and ordered him to go home. One of my men will drive him back to Jacksonville once he’s released.”
    “He’s going to be okay, though, isn’t he?”
    “He’s too stubborn to let a cracked skull slow him down.”
    Mike sighed as he stopped beside the police car where an officer waited to drive him home. “You kept your promise, chief. You caught Karen’s killer. Thank you.”
    He extended his hand and Logan shook it, although he felt uncomfortable accepting praise he didn’t deserve. He’d worked with Riley, trusted him, and even though Logan had some suspicions toward the end, he’d never fully accepted that Riley could be that twisted, that evil inside.
    Turns out, Bennett had been far more aware of Riley’s evil than anyone else, and he’d spent his life keeping an eye on his brother. He’d never quite succeeded in helping any of Riley’s victims, but he’d tried, and if he hadn’t been half-crazy himself, he might have been able to prevent some of those deaths.
    Riley had cleverly hid his tracks, falsifying HR records so his vacation days didn’t always match the dates of the murders. Pierce’s team of agents had found the evidence of his tampering only after knowing Riley was the killer. Too bad they hadn’t dug deeper before Karen and Amanda paid such a horrible price.
    The police officer opened the passenger door and Mike slid into the seat, cradling the flag in his lap. The officer closed the door and Mike looked out the window, his eyes riveted on the tent that covered Karen’s grave, as the car drove away.
    Logan’s cell phone vibrated again. It had vibrated several times toward the end of the funeral but he’d ignored it. He reached into the pocket of his suit jacket and pulled out the phone. The number on the screen sent a foreboding chill curling through his gut. “Richards here.”
    After a brief introduction, the nurse on the phone said, “I was told to call you if Ms. Stockton’s condition changed.”
    Logan swallowed the bile rising in his throat as fear clutched at his chest. “Yes? What’s wrong?”
    “Oh, no, nothing’s wrong, sir. She just woke up.”
    L ogan paused in the doorway of Amanda’s hospital room. It was still a shock to see so many tubes and machines hooked up to her, even though he’d seen them for the past three days.
    She was pale, her skin nearly translucent, and her eyes were closed. Her doctor had assured him she had indeed awakened from her coma, but that she was sleeping now. A natural sleep, not the terrifying deep sleep of a coma.
    She was still connected to a ventilator, its obscene hiss the only sound in the darkened room.
    He crossed to her bed and sat in the familiar chair next to it. Careful not to bend her arm and interfere with her IV, he entwined his fingers with hers and leaned