Sam looked at Chad and Zach and felt tears prick at the back of her eyes and that stupid telltale burning at the sides of her nose that always seemed to precede a good cry. She shut that down and raised her chin, though.
When she got downstairs, she found Logan had propped himself up at the back of the basement, leaning against one wall. He had the throw over his legs and the pillow behind his head. He stared across the room, through the short hall, at the door to her house.
He hadn’t turned the lights on, and even though it was only six in the evening, very little light came in through the small window next to her front door. The basement room he sat in had no windows so darkness nearly engulfed him.
Samantha flicked the switch for the lights and stared at him. She debated briefly the wisdom of telling him she wouldn’t be able to sleep without him upstairs with her, but every cell in his body was clearly screaming at her to go away. From the clenched fists to the tick in his jaw as he ground his teeth together. Every muscle seemed tensed for battle.
Fine. She’d go away. But not before she’d gotten him some help. Because there was no way she was going to let him do this to himself.
He was shutting down, closing them all out. She had watched him start the battle back to life during the last few weeks, and she wasn’t about to let him throw that aside now.
She stalked over to where he’d tossed his phone down next to him and picked it up.
“Samantha,” he said, drawing it out with a note of warning.
His voice held the fierceness of anger, but there was more buried underneath that. There was anguish. His eyes told her she was playing with fire. Well, screw it. She could handle a few burns. She’d handled worse in the last few days.
He didn’t stop her as she brought up his contacts and sent a text to Ernie.
It’s Samantha Page. Logan is at my house. Please come.
She typed in her address, hit send, and tossed the phone back down, walking out of the room without a word.
She heard him curse behind her, so presumably he’d read the text, but he didn’t follow her. She just hoped he didn’t tell Ernie not to come. Logan needed a lifeline right now and she’d get it for him.
Sam took the stairs two at a time and went to cook dinner. Cooking relaxed her, and Chad and Zach had been happy to wolf down huge quantities of food over the last two days. Maybe if she cooked up a storm and got a little something in her stomach, she could sleep for just a few hours.
She laughed to herself, but there wasn’t any mirth in the gesture. Maybe she needed to talk to Ernie. Because every time she closed her eyes, she saw the man who’d held her down and cut her. She heard the sick laughter as he’d watched her struggle, listened to her cries, and saw her blood spill out of her breasts.
She smelled him, tasted the fear in her mouth and the bile that raced up her throat. She felt the helplessness all over again, and all she wanted was to curl up and make the images, the memories, go away.
Yeah. Maybe she needed Ernie as much as Logan did.
* * *
Logan could have texted Ernie and told him not to come, but he didn’t. He knew Sam and she wouldn’t give up, so he might as well appease her, for now. He’d let Ernie come, talk to him a bit, then they’d make sure Sam was safe and he’d move on. Out of her life.
He would go upstairs later and find out what she’d meant when she’d said she had figured out who was after her. Right now, he needed a minute to get his shit together. He needed to spackle his fucked-up walls back together. That woman just kept knocking away at them and if he stayed up there with her, she’d have them down before he knew what happened.
She looked so fragile, it scared the crap out of him. Sam wasn’t a fragile woman. She was tough as hell. She had her insecurities. Who didn’t? But, right now, she looked worn out at the seams. He wanted to reach out and pull her in tight, wrap her up in his arms and not let another soul near her until … well, until ever.
And that scared the crap out of him. So, he shoved her away. She said she couldn’t sleep without him in the house? Fine, he’d be in the house. But, he wouldn’t—couldn’t—be with her.
Logan ran his thumb over the grip of his gun, letting the familiar feel of it soothe him. How messed up was he that his gun had a calming effect on him? His body tensed when a knock sounded on the front door. He drew himself up, gun in hand at his side, coming out into the front hall and glancing up the staircase to see that Chad stood guard, watching his back.
“It’s Ernie,” Chad called down and Logan figured Chad had seen him approach through the kitchen window upstairs.
He still used caution when opening the door, checking behind Ernie to be sure no one else lingered. The reporters seemed to have given up, at least for the day.
Logan looked down to see a leashed dog by Ernie’s side. Some kind of lab mix, by the look of it. The yellow dog stared calmly back at Logan. Leave it to Ernie to have the world’s calmest dog.
“Here.” Ernie thrust the leash into Logan’s hand. “Hold him for me.”
Logan looked down at the leash and took a few steps back. The dog followed him. He supposed that made sense since he was holding its leash, but his steps had been more of an attempt to get away than an attempt to get the dog to follow him.
It wasn’t that he didn’t like dogs. He did, actually. He just wasn’t at all interested in engaging with anything or anyone right now. And that included Ernie and his dog. Sam invited him over. She could hang out with him.
“Sam’s upstairs,” Logan said.