He Kills Me, He Kills Me Not

killer is caught, I’d feel much better knowing you were at my home, guarded by Karen or me, rather than trust someone else to protect you.”
    She shivered and wrapped her arms around her waist. “All right. I’ll stay, for a few more days. Then we can reevaluate.”
    “Thank you,” he whispered. Unable to resist the urge to touch her again, he pressed a tender kiss against her forehead and quickly pulled back before he made her panic.

 
     
    Chapter Thirteen
     
    “N ice. You’d think someone would pick up around here once in a while,” Riley said. His lips curled in disgust as he kicked a discarded fast-food bag out of the way, and stepped over the ant trail that led to some indefinable sticky mass on the stained concrete.
    The stakeout had finally yielded results. Pierce’s men had called in to report that Branson showed up at his apartment less than an hour ago. Pierce, Riley, and Logan were hoping to surprise him.
    Following behind Riley, Pierce stopped to rake his shoe on the edge of the concrete. Logan didn’t ask what Pierce had stepped in but he could guess any number of unpleasant things.
    Riley knocked on the rusted front door that might once have been white but now was a mixture of blistering, yellowing paint and grimy black handprints. He made a show of wiping his hand on his pants as if to wipe off any germs he’d picked up from the door. Logan gave him a warning look.
    The door creaked open and a disheveled Frank Branson greeted them with bloodshot eyes and several days’ growth of stubble on his face. The khaki shorts and white cotton t-shirt he wore were horribly wrinkled but appeared to be clean.
    Logan braced himself against the urge to slam his fist into the other man’s face. Instead, he extended his hand. “Mr. Branson, I’m Chief Richards.”
    Branson eyed his hand as if it were a serpent. “What do you want?”
    Logan was more than a little relieved that he hadn’t had to shake Branson’s hand. “We’d like to ask you a few questions, and thought it would be easier to meet you here than to haul you back to the station. May we come in?”
    Branson pursed his lips as Logan’s veiled threat sank in, just as Logan had intended. He planned to haul Branson back to the station, anyway, to get his fingerprints, but he wanted inside his apartment to see if the man was foolish enough to leave evidence lying around. If Branson let him in without a warrant, it would save them all time.
    Branson shrugged and left the door open as he retreated inside and plopped down on a vinyl recliner positioned in front of a tiny TV set.
    He didn’t bother to turn off the TV, which was currently tuned to a rerun of CSI Miami . Logan thought that was an odd choice for the father of a murder victim, but he knew Amanda liked the same show, and God knew she had every reason not to. People were complicated.
    The apartment consisted of a small kitchen separated from the main room by a cracked laminate countertop. There were two doors set into the wall and Logan guessed those led to a bathroom and a bedroom. The apartment was tiny enough to be an efficiency, but there was no sign of a bed or even a futon where Branson could sleep out in this main room.
    It was cleaner on the inside than Logan had expected, given the way it looked outside, but not by much. Dirty dishes overflowed the sink and discarded clothes littered the floor in small piles as if Branson had undressed and left them wherever they happened to land.
    The only place to sit besides the recliner was a stained brown couch with piles of dirty clothes scattered across it. Branson didn’t offer to clear a place for them, and Logan wouldn’t have sat if he did.
    Instead, he leaned down and turned off the TV, then stood beside Riley in front of the screen. Pierce strolled around the apartment, quietly studying everything.
    Branson frowned and tossed the remote on the Walmart-variety end table next to him. “What do you want to ask me? Hurry up. I’m missing my favorite show.”
    “It’s a rerun,” Riley offered. “The limo driver did it.”
    Branson’s face grew red and Logan gave Riley a warning look. “Mr. Branson, where were you yesterday morning, around eight-thirty?”
    Branson’s eyes opened wide and Logan thought his face paled a bit beneath the stubble on his cheeks. “I was at work.”
    “That’s interesting, since the trucking company you work for hasn’t seen you in quite some time. Did you get a new job?”
    “That’s