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
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
“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.
She’d slept in.
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.
She was taking too long and running out of time.
“Damn it.” No time to squeeze into her Spanx. Dashing to the closet, she yanked a black dress off a hanger. It reached mid-thigh and ballooned a bit at the bottom. With a ballerina neckline, three-quarter-length sleeves, and seams that lined the sides, the dress fit her body perfectly, playing up her curves and flattening her stomach. It was her go-to classy number. It had a tie that was supposed to wrap around her waist, but it wasn’t on the hanger, so she ditched it. Running to the bathroom, Veronica fought her way into the dress, tugging the soft fabric down her thighs as she turned the corner into the bathroom.
“Veronica! You about ready?”
“Yeah, I uh…” She pulled her hair into a ponytail, cinched the tie tight, and smoothed down the sides. It didn’t work. Her hair wouldn’t tame. She yanked down her hair, ran a brush through it and tousled the sides. She hated leaving her hair down when she was working, but she couldn’t walk around with wild strands of hair jumping from her ponytail. “How’d you get in?”
“I knocked, but you didn’t answer,” he yelled from the living room. “I tried the door and it was open.”
She must’ve left it open last night when she let Cocoa back in. That wasn’t like her, but going to bed after three in the morning wasn’t like her either. No wonder she wasn’t firing on all pistons. She rubbed lotion over her face—no time for foundation—lined her eyes with Charming Charcoal, and smoothed strawberry-pink lip gloss over her lips.
“You really need to keep your doors and windows locked,” Logan said. “The last thing you want to do is give this guy easy entry into your house.”
“I know, I know! It’s not like I meant to leave it open.”
“You wouldn’t even know that he was in your house until it was too late.”
“The postcard said he was going to meet me at the wedding,” Veronica said, stealing one last look in the mirror. She looked horrible. As if she’d had very little sleep, couldn’t get her hair to cooperate, and didn’t have time for makeup. Ugh. Nothing worse than starting off the morning on the wrong foot. “He’s not going to break into my house.”
Logan mumbled something about being overly confident, but she couldn’t quite hear him. She threw on her work heels—a pair of strappy sandals she could miraculously walk around all day in without getting blisters.
“What was that?” she asked, racing down the hall.
Logan faced the kitchen with his back to her, and when he spun around, Veronica lost her breath. He was completely put-together, dressed in a black-and-white tux that fit his frame flawlessly. The trim coat hugged his chest and clung to the muscles on his arms, then tucked into his slacks, showing just how lean his waist really was. He was standing tall, his shoulders pulled back—his perfect posture no doubt attributed to his time in the Marines—and his dark hair was a styled mess, made darker by the gel streaking through it.
“You look”—his jaw slacked as he gave her the once-over—“stunning.”
“Thanks.” Veronica smiled from the inside out. She didn’t want to be close to Logan—any closer and the spark she already felt for him could inflame into an inferno—but the fact that he thought she looked stunning made her squirm with giddiness. He’s a player, she reminded herself for hundredth time. A player who isn’t looking for anything long-term.
