Tennessee Touch, Sisters of Spirit #6 (26 page)

Logan had warned her about believing everything she read; he said too much of it was in the mind of the writer and not actual fact; but she still felt compelled to read. She spotted an inconsistency with what he had told her right off, and almost put the magazine down.

It gave statistics on him which meant absolutely zero to her as she had nothing to compare them with. It did mention his hospital visits and work with MD patients, and his help with juveniles who had landed in court. It also mentioned his association with the former Miss America, Jennette Kitsinger, and speculated briefly about their future relationship.

 That she hadn't wanted to read.

The photo of him and Jennette showed them on the edge of a swimming pool, the beautiful blonde gazing longingly into Logan's eyes.

Nuts. Was he still seeing this gorgeous woman? And did this prove that he sought out only women who were good-looking? Jennette put Alison's quiet beauty to shame; she had a sparkle that conveyed a shining happiness, apparent even in the black and white photo.

"Here's one of Jake and Logan together," Chantal said, and handed her a magazine with a photo of the two standing on the sidelines, helmets in hand, watching a play.

It was exciting, seeing photos of someone you knew so well displayed in national magazines. The two women stayed up late, looking at the different pictures and articles. "There's bound to be more, if we went out and looked for them," Chantal said.

"This is plenty. No wonder they looked so beat up now and then. Look at these photos." They showed a sequence of a player being blind-sided, putting him out of the game. "I wonder how their wives stand it. It must be worse than being married to a policeman."

"How about all the wives of servicemen during wartime?"

"But they don't have any choice. Logan and Jake chose this job."

"So what?"

"So, Logan asked me to marry him."

"
Today?
" Chantal squealed. "And you didn't mention it till now?"

"I told him no...for now."

"Are you out of your mind?"

"No—"

"What's wrong? Is it 'cause he plays football?"

"Some, but that's not all. I just don't feel I know him well enough. And I don't know if I can take watching him go into game after game, knowing he can get permanently injured."

"Well, there's only one way you'll ever find out."

"Which is...?"

"We'll go see one of their games...if we can get tickets. It's impossible to get in to some of the games. If you have time off during the Christmas vacation, I'll ask Jake if they can get us any for the upcoming play-offs."

"No, don't. Let's see if we can get them some other way first. I'd like to surprise Logan if I can."

"But why? Their tickets would be free. And sometimes surprises can backfire. They'll have their plans and not be expecting us."

"They usually fly out here two days after the game, right?"

"Right."

"So, we'll just fly back with them."

 "I don't know—"

"I'd like to show an interest in Logan—in his job—as a surprise to him. Come on."

"Okay. We can always ask Jake for tickets if we can't get them some other way. He could keep it a secret. I'll call my dad; he'll know how to get some if there are any available."

"What about your job?"

"Two—three days won't matter. Once I get the main Christmas displays in place, I usually don't change them. My main rush is right now; before the holidays."

"School will be out so I'll have two weeks, but tell your dad to get them for any game he can and I'll be there."

Jake hung up after talking to Chantal. He leaned back in the reclining chair, taking things easy. All the players were staying close to home, and he and Logan had been doing the same. But the team wasn’t playing on Thanksgiving week, so they were going to Seattle.

“Alison calling tonight?” Jake asked.

“She said around ten.”

“Which is 1 AM for us.”

“I’ll set my alarm.” Logan locked the front door and looked at the slider. “We need a better lock on this.”

“Use a broomstick.”

“Too long.”

“A yardstick then.” Jake got up and pulled it out of the closet, dropped it in place.

“Kinda flimsy.” Logan remarked.

“It’ll do.”

A knock on the door had them both looking at each other. Logan jumped up and answered it.

Outside a young man stood with a suitcase in his arms. “Are you Josh Logan?”

“Yes.”

“Here’s your suitcase. Would you sign for it please?”

Logan looked closer at the case, which had been strapped together. It was his, the one Jake had sent to Anchorage. It had finally found him.

“Yes, that’s mine.” He signed for the case and brought it inside.

“Who was it?” Jake asked.

“My suitcase. The airline sent it over.” He said goodnight and carried it upstairs to his bedroom and looked inside. Not much was left. He shrugged and got ready for bed. He’d check it out more in the morning.

The alarm went off at one AM at the same time the phone rang. Logan had a hard time waking up. Unusual for him.

He staggered to his feet, then dropped to the floor as hot black smoke surrounded him.

12

Logan scrambled across the floor on his hands and knees, out the door and into the smoke-filled hall. He held his breath, turned down the hall, found Jake’s door and threw it open.

The smoke was not so thick in here and he stood up and shut the door behind him. “Jake!”

A heavy sleeper, Jake muttered and tried to take a swing at Logan as he rolled him out of bed and onto the floor.

“Wake up! The house is on fire!”

“What?”

Logan pulled his friend toward the window. No fire showed on this side, but the smoke coming under the door showed Jake it was not a joke.

Logan started tying sheets and blankets together and knotted one end around the leg of the bed closest to the window while Jake struggled to open it. It had stuck during the summer and Jake had never opened it, afraid of breaking it. He gave up, grabbed a book off the nightstand and threw it through the glass.

Logan was coughing hard, as he had not had his door closed completely during the night.

“You first,” Jake said, throwing a pillow across the glass shards and then helping him out.

He went down rapidly, like doing a rope climb at the gym, dropped the last few feet and moved over as Jake came swinging down behind him.

Logan, clad only in pajama bottoms, saw that Jake had taken the time to pull on some sweats and shove his feet into some shoes. He wished he had shoes too, but the smoke had been too thick in his room.

The nearest neighbor was a quarter mile away. Jake took off running while Logan picked his way barefoot around the house, trying to discover where the fire had started.

When he reached the driveway, a truck backed up, spun around and drove off. It had no lights on until halfway down the long drive, too far away for Logan to see.

It would have to pass Jake.

Fearing for Jake’s life, Logan took off after it, yelling, coughing, sprinting down the drive. He could see Jake, spotlighted in the headlights, running ahead of the truck.

The truck fishtailed as the driver stepped on the gas, but Jake was running for his life and high-jumped over the five-foot rock wall at the entrance. With a squeal of tires, the truck swerved, straightened and sped away.

Breathing hard, Logan joined his friend. “I’m glad you’re a fast runner.”

Jake gasped for breath. “Not as glad as I am.”

“Did you get the license number?”

“It was mudded over.”

They both turned and looked back at their rental house, engulfed in flames.

“I liked that house,” Jake said.

“Me too.”

They walked to their neighbors, who brought them in, gave them blankets and warm coffee while they called the authorities, Alison and Chantal, and then a couple of teammates.

Coach Dobb showed up right after the fire trucks, writing both of them checks to buy clothes and meet other expenses until they could get re-established. The police came next, and they spent an hour giving their stories.

“Did you see anyone earlier? Anyone hanging around?”

“Just an airline employee who delivered my suitcase.”

“Anything unusual about that?”

“No. Well, yes. My luggage tag said Verne Logan on it. And he asked if I were Josh Logan.”

“What airline?”

Logan told him, along with the approximate time of delivery.

“If he’s an airline employee, it might be how he jumps from state to state so easily. Why don’t you talk to the FBI? See if they’re investigating this. Mention the airline connection and have them check it out.”

They spent the rest of the night with their two teammates, who loaned them some clothes for the next day. They went to the FBI offices in Green Bay and were quickly flown to Washington DC. where an agent was already working on the case.

Once there they were directed to Agent Mark Stone, who had been gathering the information on all the “accidents” and attacks over the last three years. He had put it onto a spreadsheet and graphed different aspects.

“One of the Dallas policemen brought this to my attention early this year,” Mark said, bringing up the spreadsheet for them to look at. “He realized that each city was doing its own investigation, and hadn’t connected the dots.”

“That’s what we thought,” Logan said.

“You notice it’s getting more violent and more often,” Mark pointed out.

“Can you spot a pattern?” Jake asked.

“No. I’m hoping you two can. You know the players and the teams better than I do.”

Logan looked at the sheet. Some men he hadn’t even heard of. But one thing he noticed. “A lot of these players were having exceptional years.”

“But other players had good years and they weren’t targeted. So what was different about these players?” Mark asked.

Jake drummed his fingers on the desk. “Like you said, Logan. These guys were having exceptional years. They hadn’t been having good years, then they started playing very well. I know quite a few of them.”

“Could it be a fan of one of the teams, making sure his team won?” Logan asked.

“That’s what I thought at first,” Mark said. “But over the three year period all the teams have had someone targeted.

“A player reducing the competition before a game?”