Deadly Sins (6 page)

Twelve-year-old memories surged through Logan’s sleeping mind, bathing the night in a bloody hue. Time seemed to be locked in slow motion as blood spilled from the deep, gashing wound the monster had sliced into Jaymi’s side.

She wasn’t crying, though. Instead, she was looking over Rafer’s shoulder, whispering, “Tye’s come for me, Rafe. He’s here. Tye’s here.”

Her deceased husband.

In her pain and fear it was the man she had cherished above all others whom she had conjured up to take her from the reality she was suffering.

Rafer was screaming as he fought to hold the wound closed, to push her blood back inside her body, begging her to hold on.

Begging her not to leave him.

After all, who else would ever accept him as she had? Who else would look beyond the ravages of the cousins’ past and see more than three cursed young men?

As Logan crashed through the night after Crowe and the serial killer who had made Jaymi his sixth victim, he could feel the sorrow, the grief, and the horrifying knowledge of what this night could bring creeping through him.

Each of the six women who had been killed throughout the summer had been tied to the cousins. Each of them had either slept with one of them or was sleeping with one of them at the time of her death.

Logan had lost two past lovers, Crowe had lost three, and now Rafer had lost the woman who had helped him find a measure of peace in the past year.

As Logan reached Crowe, crouched in the dirt next to a mountain trail, his cousin’s hands and face stained with blood, he drew to a stop. Chest heaving for breath, failure thick in his senses, he watched the tears that welled in Crowe’s eyes as he lifted them to him.

“Damn. Damn. He got away.” Crowe’s breaths heaved as harshly as Logan’s now while his voice filled with pain. “Fuck him. Damn him, he got away.”

Logan stared at his cousin’s hands as he turned them up. They both stared at the blood before Crowe lifted his face to Logan, a tight, savage smile contorting his expression. “He’s carrying my fucking knife buried in his gut,” Crowe snarled. “He won’t live much longer.”

Jagged blade, sharp and deadly, Crowe’s knife was meant to kill, and he had ensured that it had served its purpose.

They were too young for this, was a hazy thought. Yet here they were, and there was no escaping.

“Jaymi’s dead.” Logan helped him to his feet as Crowe staggered, his gaze bleak as he leaned heavily against Logan for precious minutes.

Grief tore at Crowe’s voice as well. “Fuck. Logan, we’re all screwed tonight.”

They hadn’t been fast enough. They hadn’t saved Jaymi, and now they would be lucky if they could save themselves.

As they entered the clearing to see their youngest cousin, Rafer, rocking Jaymi in his arms, his tears falling into her hair, Logan knew that night could well end up being the last night of their freedom. If not of their lives.

Logan watched solemnly as Rafer leaned his head further against Jaymi’s and continued to rock her.

Tall, broad, Rafer dwarfed the much smaller woman. She looked far too petite, too delicate, in his arms. And much too still.

Too still because the cousins had failed to protect her.

Rafer had sworn to his best friend, Jaymi’s deceased husband, that if anything ever happened, then he would protect Jaymi with his own life. That he would watch out for her. That he would care for her.

Yet the cousins hadn’t been able to save her from a madman.

Logan stared at Rafer’s blood-soaked clothes and hands and turned his gaze to the flames of the fire that seemed to build. Laughter began to echo, and as Logan jumped to save Rafer from the knife that suddenly sank into his side he felt the cold bite of steel as it penetrated his own back.

*   *   *

Logan jerked awake with a suddenness he had become used to over the years.

As he lay there, though, his senses on high alert, a sound so out of place with the night as to cause him to stiffen penetrated the silence of the room.

Irritation strained his patience as he clenched his teeth against the need to curse. Son of a bitch, was sleep a frickin’ sin in this damned county?

For the fourth night in a row he’d awakened to the knowledge that something or someone was prowling the night outside his home.

Usually, it was the sound of the little squatter Saul Rafferty had dumped in his backyard. The one he still hadn’t been able to find yet another home for.

Tonight there was more, though. Something larger, something quieter, no, some
one
, moving with deliberate stealthiness.

Logan was a cranky bastard when someone messed with his sleep. He could feel his fingers tingling, the need for the fight he could sense brewing around him beginning to irritate his knuckles, to make them ache for the hard, powerful force that only came with a good fistfight.

It was a mood that had followed him since the night he’d forced himself to send his delectable little neighbor back to her empty bed.

Hell, since he’d returned to his own empty bed, only to find the couch more bearable.

Hell, it was more bearable, but he heard every fucking sound outside. He was too well trained not to.

Each night he awoke to the knowledge, not so much a sound, that someone was sneaking outside his house, that they were moving around it as though probing at Logan’s security.

Between his late-night awareness that someone was outside and the pup whining and scratching pitifully at the patio door, aware he was only feet away, Logan hadn’t managed much at all in the way of sleep.

Day or night.

Tilting his head to catch the sound again, he found himself hearing only the pup’s whines. Logan finally gave up all thoughts of lying there undisturbed to stare at the ceiling another night.

Hell, if that awareness of something invading his space hadn’t awakened him then his nightmare would have.

That was no good.

He was damned if he wanted to relive that night again.

Instead, he listened to the sound of the puppy whining as she scratched against the door again. A second later, it wasn’t so much a sound he heard. His senses were just so well-honed that the knowledge of the familiar sounds of the night to the side of his house weren’t there. The owl wasn’t whooing, crickets weren’t calling. Something or someone was disturbing them.

There was a sense of danger, a sense of intrusion. The trespasser hadn’t yet caused harm, but Logan could feel the intent that was there.

Fuck.
The little scrap that refused to be owned by anyone else was too small, too delicate, for where she was currently camped, especially with the enemies the Callahans had. And now, with something or someone stalking the night, there would only be increased danger.

She was still far better off there, though. With the impression of being ignored, than with the certainty that there was something Logan Callahan cared about, it would only save the pup’s life in the long run. His reputation for having no friends, no lovers, no ties, was so well known that so far no one had suffered for having being associated with him.

The sound of the pup’s questioning little whimper had him staring at the ceiling in irritation.

Did people on this street forget the rumor that the Callahans were lazy, shiftless bastards? That they needed their damned sleep?

No doubt it had to be a neighbor looking to find a way to irritate him. To find a weakness. To add to the tension that everyone hoped would run him from his home and cause him to default on the trust.

Fuck. They could give him a break. His intruder could give a single night a break and the nightmares could surely evaporate for one night and allow him to enjoy the fantasies of the luscious little neighbor whose kiss still burned through his body.

Moving his hand silently from where it rested against his abdomen, he slid it to where he had tucked the handgun at his side earlier that night. Logan forced himself from the comfortable position he’d fought to find over the past hours, blowing out a silent breath as he did so.

He should shoot the trespasser just for irritating him. Or maybe just beat the shit out of him.

If he could catch him this time. So far, he’d just been shit out of luck. Whoever it was had been slick enough to run before Logan could get to him.

Holding the weapon securely, Logan sat up before sliding his feet, still shod in leather sneakers, to the smooth hardwood floor of the dining room.

His cousins Rafer and Crowe had laughed when Logan had begun sleeping on the old couch. He didn’t explain why, and he wasn’t about to. His eldest cousin, Crowe, was already concerned about the neighbor.

As though he knew Logan well enough to know exactly where his fantasies lay.

There were no fewer than four large bedrooms with attached bathrooms upstairs, all with large beds, Crowe had commented. When he had, his expression had stilled and a single memory seemed to haunt all three of them.

At one time, three Callahan couples had lived in this house, along with their children. Three boys, Crowe, Logan, and Rafer, and one infant daughter. The first daughter born to the Callahans since before they’d immigrated from Ireland.

They had come together for the sake of their children’s safety. For their own safety as they planned to set in motion their final vengeance against the three powerful men trying to destroy them.

There wasn’t always safety in numbers, though, and the innocent didn’t always persevere. The Callahan men and their wives had learned that one snowy, miserable night on a mountain road as they made their way back from Aspen. With them had been an infant daughter. Bright-eyed, dark-haired, and just beginning to smile. She too had been taken from life far too soon.

Placing his feet silently on the floor, Logan rose slowly from the couch. The memory of the infant’s baby sounds drifted through his mind as he held the weapon at his thigh and moved through the dining room, keeping close to the shadows.

Pushing back those long-ago memories, Logan concentrated on the lack of sound that processed along the side of the house. He was listed as a medic with the special forces, inducted from the marines, but he’d been far more than that. Just as his cousins had been.

Logan had been expecting problems since he’d returned to the house nearly six months earlier.

Another sound drifted into the house. The sound of tiny growls, immature and fierce. The sound had a silent snarl of fury curling at Logan’s lips.

The little squatter camped on Logan’s patio outside the living area was already fiercely territorial, even for her small size. The pup was an innocent bystander in the war beginning to heat up between the Callahans and the patriarchs of the three ruling families of the county. The Barons, as they were called. Logan’s, Crowe’s, and Rafer’s grandfathers had set out to destroy the sons of their only daughters the moment those daughters had died.

Logan could see that particular little ball of fluff being harmed just for the hell of it. He knew Saul Rafferty had brought it simply to torment him. He’d done it to give Logan something to care about so she could be taken in the cruelest way possible.

Just because she was small enough, innocent enough, and because enemies would assume it belonged to Logan.

If only someone could convince her to actually come to them or take a treat from them, then they could harm it. Thankfully, the little female pup refused to associate with anyone but Logan.

Hell, trying to get the little squatter to come out from the sheltering evergreens that bordered each side of the yard as well as the side of the house had proved difficult even for Logan’s neighbor each time he caught her attempting it. Hopefully, the little invader would stay out of the way while Logan took care of the intruder slipping through the night. Because every time Logan walked out to the yard, the first thing the pup did was try to sleep on his sneaker.

The pup was silent now, hidden in the evergreen and mass of plants bordering the side of the house. The knowledge of that assured Logan that the intruder was coming much closer.

Fuck.
Logan didn’t need this. Not another death on his conscience. Not an innocent pup, an innocent
woman or friend.

Please, God.
How much more guilt was he supposed to carry?

A second later there was another fierce little growl and puppy yap.

As though someone was trying to entice the tiny invader from her hiding spot in the bushes next to the door.

For what reason? To make her pay perhaps for the perceived sins of the home’s owner?

He wasn’t even going to consider it. He sure as hell wasn’t going to allow it.

Hell no!
If anyone was daring enough to even try to harm her, then Logan promised himself he was going to get the fight Logan been brewing since moving back into the house earlier in the year.

A tight, hard curve curled his lips. He hoped whoever was out there
was
brave, daring. Or just plain stupid enough to let Logan catch them, because he had years of pent-up fury that had brewed inside him.

Sneaking along the wall to the glass doors, silent, his senses open and alert. Logan watched the shadows outside the glass carefully.

Then, surprisingly, a shadow moved into view.

The moonless night didn’t help to identify who crouched at the side of the house, or their intent.

Their position, movements, and the darkness that filled the inner yard aided the intruder, and they were reaching for the pup.

Before they could slide beneath the sheltering evergreen, Logan jerked the door open before gripping the back of their neck and jerking them inside.

Who was more surprised, herself or the intruder, he wasn’t certain.

He couldn’t have expected it, and he sure as hell couldn’t explain the anger that rose inside him at the sight that met his eyes.

“What the hell are you doing?” he growled.

Shoving the weapon into the waistband of his jeans, he reached down, gripped the young woman trying to rise from the floor under her arms, and dragged her to her feet.

“Hey, bully!” Surprised and not the least bit happy, his trespassing little neighbor stumbled back before staring up at him with a glare on the pert features of her gamine little face. “What’s your problem, Logan?”