Deadly Sins (2 page)

Logan stared back at his cousin askance. “Which pie?”

“That apple cobbler, a’ course.” Crowe grinned, though the curve of his lips belied the ice in his eyes. “You know I like me some cobbler, cuz.”

It wasn’t pie his cousin was fond of, but perhaps he was a little too fond of the baker of that pie.

“Good luck on that one,” Logan snorted. “How much did you spend last week trying to win that cobbler?”

“Between the three of us?” Crowe growled. “Probably close to three hundred bucks.”

“And this weekend?” Logan asked.

Crowe grinned to that one and leaned closer. “I had Jeannie Thompson, the sheriff, and that new deputy, John Caine, buy my tickets. I’ll get it this time.”

He was pissing in the wind and leaning on luck. Because only a blind man reading braille would actually call out the correct numbers drawn. That one was rigged from the start.

But hell, it was Crowe’s money and his right to spend it wherever he wanted to spend it.

Moving off, Logan followed his own temptation, knowing he was making a mistake, but being too dumb to stop himself.

Was it safe? It was a question that raged through his mind day and night. Supposedly, the copycat Sweetrock Slasher who had struck out several months ago against his cousin Rafer was dead.

His name had been Lowry Berry. He had tried to kill Rafer’s fiancée, Cami, and had nearly succeeded, too. He’d killed one of Rafer’s ex-lovers and thought he would take Cami out as well. Instead, he had ended up dead himself.

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 breasts. 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.”

“Or so her family believes.” She gave another light laugh. She had to be careful here.

She didn’t want to trip any alarms with this man. Logan Callahan had the ability to dig deep into a person’s background, uncover all their secrets. If he managed to uncover even the slightest deception, he would completely distance himself. She couldn’t afford that. Not if she wanted to learn the identity of a killer.

“You mentioned you’re an orphan…?” he finally asked as she felt him glance down at her.

“My parents are dead.” She shrugged. “They were killed when I was young.” She didn’t want to discuss it. Not here and now.

His hand tightened at her back, slid to her hip and drew her closer.

“Yeah, you’re right, John Corbin would strenuously protest your friendship with his granddaughter,” he said, mercifully changing the subject. They crossed another street and stepped onto the street they both lived on.

“Corbin, his son, his daughter-in-law, his cowboys, their wives, their children, their business associates.” She couldn’t help but laugh.

“Sounds like the Corbins,” he agreed. “Hell, it sounds like the barons, period. Not one of those families has much worth where decency is concerned.”

And he should know. He was the grandson of one of those barons. His grandfather, Saul Rafferty, along with John Corbin and Marshal Roberts, Rafer and Crowe’s grandfathers had disowned the three of them. They had nearly destroyed them and it had only been in the past year that they had won the twenty-year-old battle for the inheritance that each of their mothers had left them.

“Yeah, well, I don’t have to deal with them, thankfully. And Anna’s different. At least, so far. She’s still a good kid.”

But she worried, Skye admitted. Anna was still young, still impressionable, and possibly so very easy to turn into the puppet John Corbin wanted, under the right circumstances. Or with the right betrayal.

“Looks like we’re home.”

She walked beside him as he led the way to the thick, tall evergreens that all but created an impenetrable curtain across the large side yard the two houses shared.

The bricks of the patios were less than thirty feet apart on the other end of the house where another heavy line of the thick evergreens grew. It created a hidden oasis between the houses. The one point that couldn’t be spied upon unless the spy were in one of the rooms facing it.

“Thank you for walking me home.” She slid his shirt from her arms, though she didn’t comment on the friends.

She didn’t want to appear the least bit curious about him or his family, let alone the friends of his parents. The curiosity ate her alive sometimes, but she had to be careful or she could destroy six months of dedicated work to get close to this man, to get close enough to make herself a target. If the Sweetrock Slasher had a partner who was still at large, Skye intended to draw him out.

She had never believed that Lowry Berry had been working alone, and from what the new deputy, John Caine, had learned, she was right.

Logan took his shirt slowly, his expression still, his gaze considering as he watched her.

Skye pulled her keys from her pocket and unlocked her door. She hesitated for a moment, then gave him a quick smile and a wink.

“Sleep well, cutie,” she drawled before turning to go inside.

“Skye, stop this game you’re playing.”

Before she could evade him, his fingers curled around her arm and he pulled her back to him.

Skye found herself suddenly flush against him, staring up at him in shock as the hard imprint of his erection pressed into her lower stomach.

Swallowing tightly, the feel of the heavy shaft beneath his jeans sent a spike of trepidation racing through her. She now had proof that he wasn’t exactly small in that department.

“What game?” Oh God, who knew that finding the strength to sound innocent would be so hard?

Then he was pushing the fingers of his free hand into the back of her hair, clenching, sending sharp spikes of sensation racing across her scalp, he tugged until she was staring up at him, eyes wide.

“Logan, you’re acting strange.” The accusation was nearly laughable. He was almost, just almost, doing what she wanted him to do.

Kissing her.

His lips were just a breath from hers. The scent of him, the taste of him, so close.

But she was not making that first move.

He had to want her bad enough.

He had to be unable to resist her.

But he hadn’t reached that point yet. But he was so close.

Then he released her—slowly. His fingers loosened in her hair reluctantly as if he had to force them to do so. Soon he was stepping away from her.

“You’re playing with fire,” he growled.

She had to resist the urge to smile. “I never play with fire, Logan. Getting burned sucks.”

And that was no more than the truth. She had no desire to fall in love with him, but she wouldn’t mind sharing a bed with him for a while. Besides the fact he was hotter than hell, and the fact that he drew her as no other man ever had, there was no way she could accomplish her goal if she didn’t get into his bed.

She was setting herself up as bait. To do that, she needed to be Logan’s lover.

CHAPTER TWO

He was making a mistake and he knew it.

Each time Logan made his way to the patio door and looked out toward the soft light glowing from Skye’s living room window, he knew it was a mistake.

A week had gone by since the Social. She hadn’t shown up at the town’s weekly get-together, and Logan had returned early because he was sick of waiting on her.

What a hell of a mess.

He was thirty-three years old and he’d managed to never let a woman get past his guard.

Definitely in the past twelve years he’d made damned certain no woman pierced the shield he kept around his heart.

It was a requirement, keeping his heart solitary, yet, here he was, watching her. And that was just one of his problems.

His dick was spike hard, throbbing with a hunger that was damned hard to deny, and he was standing there like a fucking teenager staring into his best girl’s window.

Son of a bitch, he was coming to a pitiful end and he knew it.

He’d told her to stop playing games, and she’d done just that, if she had been playing one at all. He wasn’t so sure anymore.