Page 33 of Savior

He studies me. “Is that what you’re doing here? Turning over a new leaf?”

“Trying to.”

“I’m not going to ask, but I’m here if you need to talk about it.”

I look down at my plate, afraid his finely tuned senses can read my eyes. “Thanks. Same goes, apparently.”

“Make sure to tell Aunt Diane about this conversation. She thinks I interrogate you every chance I get.”

I surprise us both by laughing. “I’ll do that.”

“What made you come to Nassau?” he asks.

“Ben’s cousin Chloe. We’re friends. I used to own a travel agency out of Jacksonville.”

“Used to?” His eyes are intense and assessing. I remind myself to be careful with details. It’s easy to let down my guard around him, to forget he’s also a cop.

I lift my shoulders in what I hope is a casual gesture. “She is managing owner now. I was ready for a change.”

“So you’re from around Jacksonville?” He shifts, and I spot an arm going under the table and the happy slurps from Rocky. Logan looks back at my incredulous expression. “What?”

“Are you trying to teach him bad habits?”

He grins. “Are you trying to avoid the question?”

“Don’t feed him from the table. He’ll learn to beg whenever I’m eating if you keep it up.”

“I’m going with my gut, and I’m gonna say if you’re not originally from Jacksonville, you’re at least from Florida. Am I right?”

To cover my surprise, I take another bite of casserole. Another drink. He sees far too much. “Your aunt was right to think you interrogate me.”

“Not an interrogation.” The implied “yet” doesn’t need to be spoken. “Just neighborly conversation.”

“Originally Alabama, but I’ve lived in Florida, yes.” There, close enough to the truth. Not specific enough to point to my real identity.

“There? That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

“Why do you care so much?”

“Natural curiosity.”

“Is that why you became a cop?”

“Partially.”

I raise my brow when he doesn’t elaborate. “Now who’s dodging questions?”

“Touché.”

Plates cleared, he stands and takes them to the sink and surprises me by washing them instead of leaving them for me. I let Rocky out back, where I’ve staked off and electronic fence to keep him from wandering. Then, out of sheer habit, I leave Logan in the kitchen while I check the locks on the doors and double check that the windows are secure. When I return, I find him watching me with his patient gaze as he sips from another glass of sweet tea.

“Making yourself at home?” I tease.

“Afraid of something?” he counters, and my smile falls.

He sets his empty glass on the table and crosses the room to where I’m standing. Everything inside me goes on alert. With a man like Logan, I would have to be dead not to respond. For a long time, I thought I was, but as he grows closer my whole body comes back to life.

“What are you doing?” I ask. The words are barely discernible over the loud rush of my breathing.