He Kills Me, He Kills Me Not

up her mail for her. She hadn’t even thought about her mail since she’d temporarily moved into Logan’s house.
    She picked up the stack and flipped through it. Bills, loan offers, the usual assortment of junk mail. The last envelope didn’t look like the others. It had her name on it, but it was addressed to the police station. Why would someone send her mail there? Curious, she ripped open the envelope and pulled out the small folded piece of paper inside.
    L ogan threw some water on his face and stood gripping the sides of his bathroom sink as if it was a life preserver. He’d been trying to convince himself that his fascination with Amanda was just physical, but her innocent remark about the football game had made him start to panic. They had so many things in common. They liked the same foods, the same beer, the same movies, and now he knew they both had the same favorite football team.
    By now he’d almost grown used to the way his body reacted every time she walked into the room, the way he hardened and ached for the relief that he instinctively knew only she could provide. But tonight, his constant desire for her had paled next to his desire to see her smile finally reach her eyes, to hear her laugh, to hold her close and keep her safe. He’d caught a glimpse of the carefree woman she once was and he wanted more.
    He pitched the towel on the countertop and shut off the water. There were only two things he should be focusing on right now: keeping Amanda safe and finding the killer. He was letting his concern for her cloud his judgment, affect his decisions.
    The man in the mirror stared back at him and Logan knew he couldn’t ignore his duty anymore. Amanda hadn’t told him everything that day at the cabin. She was holding something back about her abduction, something that he sensed could be the missing piece of information that would make everything else fall into place. It was time to confront her and get her to tell him the truth.
    After changing his clothes, he started down the stairs, but he paused halfway down. The house was quiet. Too quiet. The light blinking on the alarm panel by the front door should have reassured him, but it didn’t. Something was wrong. He could feel it.
    His gun was out of its holster before he reached the bottom step. As quietly as possible, he made his way to his office, praying harder than he’d ever prayed before that he hadn’t let Amanda down, that he hadn’t missed something, and that she wasn’t now paying the price for his mistake.
    Careful not to step on any of the boards that were prone to creaking, he crept to the open doorway. Amanda was sitting in one of the overstuffed brown leather recliners beside the dark, rarely used fireplace, her feet curled up beneath her. Relief filled him as he realized she was okay, that no one else was in the room. He holstered his gun before she saw it and stepped through the doorway.
    He was shocked when she turned to look at him and he saw how pale she was. He rushed over to her chair and dropped to his knees. When he took her hands in his he was alarmed at how cold they felt.
    “What is it? What’s wrong?” he asked.
    She took a ragged breath. “He found me,” she whispered, her voice breaking on the last word.
    Logan looked down at the envelope in her lap and saw the rose petals and thorns.

 
     
    Chapter Ten
     
    A manda sat in the recliner, watching Pierce sitting at Logan’s massive desk, studying the note. Logan hovered over him, his frown creased with worry whenever he glanced over at her, which was often.
    She was wrapped up in a blanket, Logan’s endearing attempt to comfort her even though it was the middle of summer.
    Thank God for air-conditioning.
    Even with the blanket, she couldn’t suppress an occasional shiver, which was why he’d wrapped her up in the first place.
    But she wasn’t cold.
    She was scared.
    Pierce grasped the note between his latex-gloved fingers and held it up to the light.
    “You think it’s him?” Logan asked.
    Pierce shrugged. “Hard to say. There’s no history of the killer threatening any of his victims before he abducted them. It’s certainly not what I would have expected.”
    “But you think it’s him.”
    He pursed his lips and considered the question. “If I had to say one way or the other, I’d say yes, but only because whoever sent this note knows about the game. Very few people do, unless the killer’s a police officer. I’ve considered that