Page 48 of Savior
“I can take care of myself.”
Ignoring her, I pocket my phone. “I’m also going to have a couple uniforms drive by every half hour just to check on things, make sure you’re okay.”
“Logan, you don’t have to do that. I’m fine.”
I trace the bandage still on her forehead with a finger. “You’re tough as nails, I don’t doubt that, but I’m not doing this for you. I’m doing it for me. I’ve got to go and do my job, and I won’t be able to do that if I’m worrying about you. Please. For my peace of mind. I’ll go crazy worrying about you.”
Her internal battle is written across her face. Finally, she sighs. “Fine.”
“Don’t answer the door for anyone you don’t know and don’t let your gun out of your sight. Stay here until I get back. Promise me.”
“Logan.”
I kiss her softly. “When I get back, we’ll finish what we started here.”
She softens underneath my hold. “You don’t have to—”
“I want to.”
“I’ll wait up for you tonight.”
I let her go and holster my gun. Keys in hand, I turn back. “Keep Rocky with you.”
“I will.”
I hesitate and then say, “We’re going to have to do some digging into what happened in Miami. I want to find out if this is your ex one way or another. You mean something to me, so I don’t want to do it behind your back.”
Her arms go around her waist. “I understand.”
“I’ll bring something to eat on the way back.”
She starts to protest but then swallows it back. When she speaks, her voice sounds small. “Thank you.”
“Lock the door behind me.”
On the drive to the crime scene, I can barely manage to get my anger under control. I drive too fast, brake too hard, and nearly miss the exit for the local state park.
Three times.
Three women who’ve been assaulted.
Three is three too many.
And based on the current victim, the offender is either escalating or exacting revenge for being interrupted with Sienna.
I meet Colson at the entrance. A couple black and whites are parked behind him with their lights still flashing. It feels like a carnival in the middle of the woods, lending an otherworldly quality to the scene. Colson is a sight of his own in beat-up, ancient jeans and an oversized cowboy hat. Since he’s as skinny as a pole, he cuts an off-balanced figure.
“What happened?” I ask as I cross the parking lot.
His lips twist, as if the words themselves have a bad taste. “Same MO as the last attack and the one with your girls. Public park, but an otherwise secluded area of the trail. Single woman who is approached by a man and then attacked. This one was different, though.”
“In what way?”
He jerks his head toward the sidewalk, and I follow him down a way. There are techs and other officers processing the scene, but I don’t need their evidence markers to know what happened.
For one, there is blood everywhere. On the ground, on the trees, in the bushes. It’s like he tried to imitate a morbid Jackson Pollock painting.
Thinking of Sienna and how close she came to this conclusion, I hiss, “JesusChrist. How is she?”