I don’t know how I feel about Logan Davenport at this very moment. He has just told me that he loves me, and I could feel his love in the kiss and the way he held me. And the way he made love to me. But then he left. Off to somewhere mysterious in the middle of the night. After receiving a mysterious call from his other phone. What. The. Fuck?

Who the hell conducts business so late at night? What kind of business is this that requires him to have another phone? No, all of his perfect explanations are just that. Too perfect. I don’t buy them. They’re bullshit. But what else could it be?

I change out of the bathrobe and into my yoga pants and light t-shirt. Before I really know what I’m doing, I grab the key to the room and follow him out.

A million thoughts rush through my head. He isn’t telling me the truth. And I want to – have to – find out what is really going on. If he’s having an affair, then I need to know that so I can dump his sorry ass.

I walk passed the business center. I peek in through the little window on the door. It’s completely empty.

Shit, I lean back against the wall. He’s lying. Of course, he is. You know this already. So why are you so surprised?

Because a huge part of me, all of me, in fact, wants to believe him. Why can’t he just be this wonderful guy who’s in love with me? Why does he have to be a liar?

I take a deep breath. Suddenly, another thought enters my mind. What if he’s not having an affair on me? What if I’m the affair? What if he’s married and I’m the other woman?

No, he isn’t married. Dolly would never set us up if he were married. Though, he could have a girlfriend, and he could be cheating on her with me. I mean, why else would he have another phone? And have it password protected?

I have to find him. But how? I have to see if he left the resort at least. Go to the parking lot and see if the car is there.

I head outside. The car we used earlier is there. But then again, he could’ve rented another car. Or maybe this isn’t our car at all. We were in it for like a second and haven’t used it since arriving at the resort.

I’m at a loss as to what to do, so I head around the building and toward the water. I don’t want to walk past the business center again and not see him. I need time to reflect on this, and out by the water is probably the best spot.

I welcome the ocean breeze in my face, allowing it to cool off my scorching body. It’s hot and humid, even at night, but my blood is boiling for other reasons.

I make my way past our suite and then another and another. By the time I reach the last suite, I’m pretty certain of the fact that Logan is cheating on me. It’s hard to comprehend all of the conflicting emotions that I’m experiencing at the moment. I hate him. I’m angry with him. I want to punch him. And yet, I want him. I know that what we shared less than an hour ago wasn’t a lie. It felt real. And, when he told me that he loved me…that couldn’t be a lie as well? Why would he go out of his way and say that? I didn’t bring it up. This is only our third date. There’s no pressure on him at all. Why would he say that to me, if he didn’t mean it? And why would he say it to me if he were cheating on me?

I trip on a piece of driftwood and fall down, head first into the sand. Shit. When I look around to get my bearings, I see the shadow of a man who looks a lot like Logan. Carefully, I get back on my feet. My ankle hurts a little, but it’s not really injured. I limp toward the closest palm tree and hide in its shadow. From there, I squint to get a better view.

Yes, it’s Logan. I’m certain. I don’t see his face, but his deliberate way of walking is very familiar. I look around the patio and inside the suite. This isn’t our place. What is he doing here?

The lights inside the suite are off, and the bed is illuminated only by the light of the television screen. As my eyes adjust a little more, I make out a large fat figure, probably a man, lying in bed. Logan walks through the open patio doors and toward the bed.

What the hell is he doing? I wonder. I need to get a better look. Quietly, I tiptoe toward a closer palm tree and again hide behind it.

Logan grabs a pillow off the sofa at the foot of the bed and takes it between his hands. He walks up to the man and puts it over his face.

What!?

I peer into the darkness just to make sure that I’m seeing what I think I’m seeing. The man’s legs and arms flail around as he struggles for life. But Logan doesn’t give in. He leans over him more and presses the pillow harder into him.

I need to yell out. Scream. But I’m frozen in time and space. I grasp onto the palm tree with all of my might, and I can’t let go.

And then it just comes out. This blood-curling scream. It sounds so primal.

“Aghhh!” I scream at top of my lungs. It’s so loud that when I do stop, my ears continue to buzz.

Logan stops and stares in my direction. Suddenly, the front door to the suite opens. Logan lets go of the pillow and pulls out a gun. He aims and shoots. It hardly makes a sound, but the man drops to the floor. He points the gun at the man he was suffocating with the pillow and shoots him as well.

He turns to head back toward me, but three more men come in through the front door. That’s as much as I can handle. My body takes off before my mind even realizes what it is doing. I run back to the suite as fast as my legs can carry me. I fall a couple of times, landing with my legs and knees in the sand, get up and continue running. When I finally reach the suite, I lock all doors and windows and grab my suitcase. I don’t dare to turn on the lights out of fear of being found. I throw every article of clothing that I see into it and zip it up as quickly as I can. I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t have a plan. All I know is that I can’t stay here.

Downstairs, I don’t bother to wait for the cab. Instead, I ask the concierge to drive me two hours to the airport and pay him extra so that he doesn’t tell anyone where he took me or that he saw me at all. At first, he’s reluctant to take my $700, but I convince him that he has to. He promises to not tell anyone about my whereabouts and I believe him.

As I wait at the empty Cancun airport, I pace nervously near the gate. Please, let me get on this plane. Please, please, please. When I’m finally on the plane and the gate closes, I take a deep breath. I’m on my way home. But as the plane takes off, I realize that I’m not anywhere close to being safe. I just saw Logan murder someone. And not just someone, two people. He killed two men as if it was no big deal. And who knows what the hell happened with the other three who came in just as I left. Something tells me that either he is dead or they are all dead.

My hands go numb. My feet feel incredibly cold. I feel my forehead and there are sprinkles of cold sweat all along my brow-line. Who the hell is Logan? A serial killer? A murderer? Well, he is definitely that.

Oh my God. Suddenly, it occurs to me, he knows where I live! And he knows where I work! What am I going to do when I get home? I don’t just live in an apartment. I can’t just pick up and leave. What about my customers? How am I going to make a living? One thing’s for sure, I can’t go back home. He’ll find me there for sure.

My worries about my ex, Cal, all of a sudden seem like a walk in the park. Yes, he tried to choke me, but Logan is a whole other deal. He’s a murderer. And he knows that I’ve seen him kill someone. What the hell is he going to do to me to make sure that I don’t tell anyone? There’s probably nothing that he wouldn’t do.