His stomach dropped as he fought to keep his eyes connected with hers. “You’re right. It’s best if we keep everything strictly business.”
“I agree.” Her gaze said something different. “I have to protect this heart of mine.”
She was teasing him, and damn if he didn’t like it.
“So what should I do about the pictures?” Veronica asked, brushing her hands up and down her arms.
“Shred them.” Logan exhaled heavily, wishing he could ease her worries. “And trust that I’ll find this guy before he gets the chance to take more.”
Chapter Nine
The grinding sound of a lawn mower woke Veronica from her slumber. Moaning, she buried her head under her pillow and pulled the edges down over her ears to block the noise. At her feet, Cocoa meowed, then meandered onto the pillow on top of her head. She was too tired to tell her only friend that her pillow was not a new cat bed, so she reached up and stroked the cat’s back. Veronica was tired and drained from having pulled two all-nighters in a row. Her eyes ached and her brain was fuzzy. All she wanted was another hour of sleep. Just an hour. Maybe two.
It was Saturday, for crying out loud. Who mowed their lawn at daybreak on Saturday?
The swaying groan of the lawn mower as it came closer, then faded away, made her back teeth grind. It sounded as if it was coming from outside her window, but that couldn’t be right. She could almost imagine Logan mowing his lawn, shirtless, his muscles flexing as he pushed the machine across the lawn and back. If it wasn’t for the irritation growing in her belly, she might’ve fallen back asleep and had very good dreams about his muscles flexing while he was performing other hard labor. She may not have wanted to have anything serious with Logan, the player of the year, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t fantasize about the downright delicious man.
A dog barked. There were shouts. It was Logan’s voice, rough and commanding. He was definitely the mowing culprit. The dog barked again, over the sound of the grass-chewing machine. God, she hated canines in every form.
How long was Logan going to mow? Another hour? He didn’t have that much lawn.
“I have a patch of grass you can mow,” she mumbled with a smile, and tried to fall back into that kind of a dream.
They’d been together all week, and although Veronica never would’ve thought it, Logan was a great help. He’d gone with her to every appointment, had stayed out of the way while she took care of business, and for lunch and dinner he’d taken her out. They’d gone dutch on all the bills so far, although he’d fought hard each time to absorb her portion. She didn’t have to worry if the werewolf following her was going to show up—she felt safe with Logan at her side. He was always on watch, always on alert.
It was an odd feeling…trusting someone to take care of her when she was used to taking care of herself.
She’d received an envelope with notes and pictures every day in the mail. Some of the pictures were of her car in front of a restaurant she’d visited for dinner one night. Others were of the outside of her office building, the photo zoomed in through the open blinds of her office window. The more pictures showed up, the edgier Logan became. She had the distinct feeling he’d never taken this long to solve a problem like this.
She still couldn’t believe that the ink analysis results on the letters had come back as blood. Now, before she took the mail out of her box, she put on gardening gloves. And shuddered when she looked at the darkening shades of red. The mere thought of someone writing the notes in blood was appalling. Seriously sick and twisted.
The mowing continued, grating on her last nerve. Sleep was no longer a possibility.
“That’s it. No more.” Veronica slid Cocoa off the pillow and jerked the covers off. Sliding out of her cocoon, Veronica fumbled down the hallway, into the front room, and yanked open the front window. The sun was blinding. She gasped when she peeked beneath her lids. Logan wasn’t mowing his lawn. He was mowing hers. “Logan!”
That clumsy old dog was jumping up and down frantically, barking at the base of the mower each time his fat paws hit the ground.
“Hey!” Veronica pinched her eyes shut. “Logan!”
The engine of the mower died.
“Morning, Sunshine!” he called out. He was close to her window.
She backed away. “What are you doing? Your lawn is over there.” She scrubbed her eyes, but couldn’t open them. Not yet. If she kept her eyes shut and only mumbled the words, she wouldn’t wake up completely. She could go back to bed and pretend the day hadn’t started yet. She could slip right back into the dream where Logan was beside her, stroking her to another climax.
“I know where my lawn is, but thanks for pointing it out. I finished mine, noticed that yours could use a run-through, and thought you wouldn’t mind.”
“What I wouldn’t mind is another hour of sleep.”
“Rough night?” Why did his voice sound shaky, like he was holding back a laugh?
“Yeah, you could say that.” She swallowed cotton. She needed water. “I was up all night fixing the favors.”
“I offered to help.” Logan’s dog barked, and Veronica swore it was so loud that it busted her eardrums. “Redoing two hundred favors had to suck.”
She cringed at the memory that was too fresh in her mind. The bride had changed the color of the ribbons from sky blue to turquoise and had decided she wanted mints stuffed into the tiny plastic champagne flutes instead of almonds. She would’ve asked Heather to help, but she was busy tweaking the seating arrangements for the reception. The bride came back with a few “minor” changes that of course ended up being major. Certain people RSVP’d last-minute and needed room where there wasn’t any, some couldn’t sit by the speakers, others by the bathroom, yada yada.
Another hour of sleep. That’s all it would take to make those favors a distant memory. “How much longer until you’re finished?”
“You have to leave soon, so another fifteen minutes maybe? Ten?”
Her eyes shot open at the words. Logan was shirtless. And sweating. And his muscles looked even larger than yesterday. Maybe that was because she could see them flex and bulge as he toyed with the mower handle and flicked the brake lever thingy. Or maybe it was the way the rays of the sun streaked over his body, casting an even tan across his skin.
“What time is it?” Backing away from the window, Veronica squinted at the time on the wall clock. Noon. “Shit!”
She’d slept in. Big-time.
She had so much to do before the wedding at two. She had to get ready. Drive to Everett, to the Nightshade hotel, drop off the favors, and check the setup of tables and chairs. She had to race to the church, make sure everyone was in their place, tweak a few decorations, then talk to the bride and groom.
Veronica slammed the window shut and ran down the hall to her room. Outside, the mower hacked and sputtered, and caught once more. She passed the bathroom on the way to the wardrobe. At the glimpse of her reflection, she skidded to a stop. And backtracked.
“Noooo!” Gasping, Veronica stared at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. She had pink glitter glue smudged all over her face and blue glitter glue swirling in a swishy pattern across her forehead. Black bags drooped below her eyes and her chocolate-colored hair was frizzy, sticking up all over the place, and completely out of control. God, she looked like the Bride of Frankenstein! “No wonder Logan was laughing! Ugh.” She slapped her hand to her forehead. “Total disaster.”
She showered as quickly as she could—and cut herself while shaving around her knees—then slathered a hell of a lot of lotion over her body. She didn’t have enough time. She wasn’t going to be able to get to Everett, a town thirty minutes north of Seattle, with enough time to spare.