He Kills Me, He Kills Me Not

his deep, long strokes.
    “Logan!” She screamed as her climax rippled through her and she convulsed against him. He joined her a few moments later, as waves of ecstasy consumed them both.
    He collapsed on top of her, his chest slick with sweat, heaving with each ragged breath. The wiry hairs brushed against her swollen breasts sending tiny ripples of pleasure through her.
    “That was—”
    “Amazing,” he said, finishing her sentence.
    She was going to say incredible , but amazing worked, too.
    Just when her heartbeat was returning to normal and she could finally breathe without rasping, she felt the stirrings of his growing erection deep inside her. “You can’t possibly—”
    “I’m not finished. Not even close,” he said, and proceeded to prove it.
    It wasn’t until much, much later when she was drifting off into an exhausted sleep in the tiny twin bed—where they’d managed to move the third time they’d made love—that she felt a twinge of unease.
    She’d told him she loved him.
    But he hadn’t told her that he loved her .
    J ust before sunrise, Logan carried a nearly comatose Amanda to the much more comfortable bed in the master bedroom. He tucked her in and stood watching her for several minutes, awed by the ethereal picture she presented.
    She looked like an angel with her full pink lips curved in a delicate smile, and her hands clasped together beneath her soft cheek as if in prayer. Her glorious hair surrounded her like a halo, but he knew what lay beneath that cherubic exterior.
    She wasn’t an angel. She was a tigress. A demanding woman who’d surprised him yet again with the depth of her passion. Little dark circles beneath her eyes attested that he hadn’t been able to keep his hands off her all night.
    When she told him she loved him, he was so overwhelmed he went crazy, showing her how much he loved her by wringing out every ounce of pleasure from her that he could. The last time they’d made love, he’d brought her to climax three times before she cried out for mercy and he plunged inside her, joining her in ecstasy in three quick strokes.
    He marveled at the way they made love as if their bodies were created solely for each other, fitting together so perfectly with every thrust, every kiss, every slide of her skin against his.
    She was nothing like Victoria, nothing like his preconceived notions of what he wanted in a woman. And yet, she was absolutely perfect for him.
    At the doorway, he turned back to make sure she was still sleeping peacefully. When she was this tired, the nightmares usually didn’t come, and for that he was grateful. He hoped one day he could banish those nightmares forever.
    Confident she would sleep a few more hours, he showered and dressed in one of the guest bathrooms. He called Pierce from his study to make sure he was on his way. Pierce answered his cell phone on the first ring and assured Logan he would be there in about twenty minutes.
    Yearning for coffee but not wanting to brew any for fear the aroma would awaken Amanda, he drummed his fingers on his desk.
    He started to straighten some papers and the Northwood case file caught his attention. There were only a few pages left in the thick folder for him to review. Might as well do it now. He pulled the folder toward him and flipped it open to the section he’d marked with a paper clip to keep his place.
    One of the papers was an interview with the motel manager. Anna Northwood had worked as a maid at the motel where she was murdered. The brief interview was light in details and didn’t tell Logan anything he didn’t already know.
    He read two more reports before turning to the end of the folder. The last page was clipped to a clear plastic envelope with a CD inside. Curious, Logan unclipped the piece of paper. It was a far more in-depth bio than he’d seen in the folder until now. This one was recorded several days after the murder by a detective whose name he didn’t recognize.
    Listed on the top of the form was the full name of the victim, Anna Katherine Northwood.
    Logan froze, the blood chilling in his veins as he read the name again. Anna. Katherine. Northwood. Next to her full name was a box marked “nickname.” Inside that box were four letters, K-A-T-E. Her family had called her Kate.
    The same name Amanda’s attacker had called her.
    It had to be a coincidence.
    Because anything else would destroy him.
    His hands shook as he unclipped the CD holder and read the Post-it note