He Kills Me, He Kills Me Not

settled in her stomach. She turned and ran with Pierce faster than she’d ever run in her life, praying she could get to safety quickly enough for Pierce to help Logan before it was too late.
    L ogan squatted next to Frank Branson’s still-warm body. The bullet had gone clean through his temple. Since Logan hadn’t fired his gun, either Pierce had made one hell of a lucky shot earlier, or the real killer had just claimed another victim, execution-style.
    Easing back into the trees, he scanned the thick forest around him, searching for signs of the shooter. Adrenaline pumped through his veins making it difficult to remain still and quiet, when he wanted to rush into the trees and find the bastard who’d hurt Amanda four years ago. He desperately wanted to eliminate this threat to her so she could live her life out from under the cloud of fear that had loomed over her for so long.
    The soft crack of a twig sounded from the copse of trees directly in front of him. A slow smile spread across his face as he made his way deeper into the woods.
    A manda and Madison sat in two Adirondack chairs in the corner of the deck, watching the dwindling army of policemen and FBI agents. The men left in small groups, each one stopping to check in with Logan or Pierce before getting in their cars to drive back to town.
    The wait earlier this morning had been excruciating. She and Madison were forced to sit in an interior hallway away from any windows, guarded by a pair of Shadow Falls police officers. When she complained they’d be more comfortable in the study or the living room, the older of the two shook his head and insisted they were safer here, and proceeded to tell her he valued his life far too much to take any chances with hers.
    From the goofy grin on the other police officer’s face and Madison’s burst of laughter, Amanda wondered if the whole police force had figured out that she and Logan were sleeping together.
    She didn’t appreciate her personal life being made public knowledge, but that wasn’t what bothered her the most. What bothered her the most was waiting to find out whether Logan was all right.
    She’d paced the hallway for what seemed like hours, and every time she asked one of the officers whether Logan was okay, he simply told her what she already knew: that several other officers had gone into the woods to assist him, including Special Agent Pierce Buchanan.
    Finally another officer came to let them know the perimeter was secured, and they were free to move about the house.
    She and Madison had taken that order to its extreme and sneaked out onto the back deck. They sat in a corner on the far left side to watch what was going on.
    Minutes later a group of officers emerged from the forest. They were carrying a stretcher with a white sheet draped over it. Amanda clutched Madison’s hand as she watched that stretcher, and prayed like she’d never prayed before that it was the shooter—not Logan—lying there.
    Relief flooded through her when another group of men stepped out of the trees, and even from this distance she could see Logan and Pierce standing several inches taller than those around them.
    Her relief was short-lived, however, when he got close enough for her to see the blood on his face and shirt. She would have run to him right then, but he glanced over at her and the look in his eyes kept her in her seat.
    He was furious.
    At her.
    But why?
    An EMT pulled him toward one of the ambulances in the driveway while the stretcher was loaded in the other one.
    Pierce stepped onto the deck and approached their table.
    “Is Logan okay?” Amanda asked.
    “He might need a few stitches. The blood is from the tree bark that exploded near his face when one of the shots got too close. He’s fine.”
    “Can I go see him?” Amanda asked.
    “I wouldn’t recommend it right now. An EMT is sewing him up, and then he’ll be busy for a while.”
    “EMT? Why doesn’t he go to the hospital?”
    “He refused, says he doesn’t have time.” Pierce shrugged. “He’s a stubborn man.”
    Madison squeezed Amanda’s hand beneath the table. “Who was on the stretcher? Did Logan get the shooter?”
    He hesitated. “The dead man is Frank Branson, but Logan didn’t shoot him. He was dead when he found him.” Pierce spoke to them for a few more minutes before he left to direct his agents and speak to Riley, who was overseeing the detectives.
    Hours later, with most of the police gone—except for a