But was it really over? Lowry’s final words had been a warning that he hadn’t been working alone. Had he been telling the truth, or trying to ensure, as the sheriff believed he was, that the Callahans never had any peace? No evidence of a partner had ever been found.
Moving quickly along the sidewalk and crossing to the next, he came up on Skye as she walked along the well-lit streets.
Damn, she had an ass.
He had to grit his teeth, had to restrain the urge to reach down and shift his erection just a little to the side.
That cute little rounded butt made a man’s hands itch to cup it, to clench his fingers in the rounded curves and drag her closer to him.
Or to have her legs wrapped around his hips, his hands filled with those lush curves as he buried—
Hell no. He wasn’t going there.
But he could still watch her ass shift and sway, and he would have kept his eyes there if he hadn’t noticed her lower back suddenly tense.
She might appear as though she was walking unhurriedly to the casual observer, but Logan could now see the slight tension in her shoulders.
“You’re not supposed to walk home alone, Miss O’Brien. The square has a good two dozen posted warnings about leaving the square on your own,” he said when he was close enough that she would hear him easily.
Pausing, she turned back to him, her dark eyes suspicious as she waited for him to catch up to her.
“Now, Callahan, I’m sure axe murderers have better things to do tonight than pick on me,” she quipped.
Any amusement he might have felt instantly evaporated. “And you should have better sense than that.” Monsters existed and she should know it.
Monsters sometimes carried knives and drugs. They incapacitated their victims, raped them mercilessly, then tortured them by slicing a little here, a little there, before finally cutting an innocent woman’s throat.
Long dark hair dipped across her face as she inclined her head, suddenly somber. “You’re right; I didn’t mean to sound so flippant. And I would appreciate some company.” She rubbed her arms briskly. “The back of my neck was starting to itch the minute I crossed the street on the other side of the square. I was about to turn around and come back for one of those carriage rides home when you spoke up. The comment was more contempt for my own nervousness than an attempt to make light of it.”
There was an edge to the night, he’d felt it himself and couldn’t seem to shake it. But hell, his neck had been itching for well over a week now. He let his gaze carefully sweep the area. “Did you see anyone?”
His hand settled at the small of her back as they began walking again.
“Not really.” He felt her shoulders shift in a light shrug. “Your normal culprits. A raccoon in Mrs. Jakes’s yard and Mr. Jakes peeping from his window.”
“There’s not much crime on Social weekends,” he told her quietly. “Those not attending keep a careful eye out. The cameras installed on the corners help to ensure culprits are identified. If anything happens, it’s usually in the more rural areas. And the courts are damned hard on anyone caught attempting to take advantage of the families attending. But those from outside of town don’t always attend on a regular basis, so it’s never easy to predict who’s going to be where.”
“The Socials are more a ‘town’ party then?” She looked up at him, seeing the dark, almost forbidding cast on his face as he watched the night.
“Pretty much.” He nodded slowly. “Though ’most everyone is welcome.”
’Most everyone. She knew from the investigation Amy had made into the Callahans’ history a dozen years before that the Callahans hadn’t exactly been welcome.
It had been during one of those Socials that Amy had died just outside town, her body left at the base of Crowe Mountain, the highest peak in the county and owned by Crowe Callahan himself.
Skye crossed her arms over her br**sts. That chill was racing over her again.
“Here, you’re cold.”
Logan stopped, drew the long-sleeved over-shirt he wore off and helped her ease her arms into it.
Chivalry wasn’t dead after all.
“Sure you don’t need it?”
He snorted at her question. “I wear it just in case some little girl is too forgetful to wear her own.”
She had to laugh at that. He was gruff and rarely talkative, surprising her with the fact that he was actually doing more than saying “yes” or “no” to her questions.
“What are you doing in this county, Skye?”
The serious, quiet question almost managed to throw her off guard. She’d expected it long before now to be honest. She was surprised he’d managed to hold off through the months she’d all but ruined the solitude he seemed to seek while he was home.
“It’s as good a place to work as any,” she told the partial truth. “And I needed someplace to hide for a while, I guess.”
And she wasn’t going to talk about it. She had her reasons for being here, and one of them really was to hide for a bit. She was on a forced leave of absence, paid thankfully, while she dealt with a few nightmares from her last case. A case that had touched too close to her sister’s death and the unresolved injustice of it.
But tell Logan Callahan that and he would withdraw so fast it would make her head spin.
“Hiding from choices or a person?” he asked as she pulled the shirt more firmly around her.
“Choices, I guess.” She glanced up at him again with a slight smile. “Sometimes we don’t make the right choices, do we?”
“So why come to Corbin County to hide?” There was still that edge of suspicion.
“I could go wherever I wanted. Besides I have a friend here from school. My last year of private school I was a mentor to a first-year student, Anna Corbin. She suggested I check Sweetrock out and I loved it.”
He tensed, as she had expected him to. “Know Anna well, then?” The question was voiced carefully as though he were now doubting his choice to speak with her, let alone walk with her.
“As well as possible considering her granddaddy hates me.” She gave a light, unconcerned laugh. “An orphan with no connections and few prospects isn’t exactly the type of contacts the Corbins want for their children or grandchildren.” He should know that well enough.
“Ah, yes, the life of privilege,” he drawled. “The princess must have the right sort of friends.”