It was after midnight before Big Boy could get out of the house unobserved. He needed another look at the Bayou Motel and didn't want Sugar all up in his business. So, he'd waited until she'd taken her nightly dose of sleeping pills and passed out.

The air smelled fresh from the passing storm. The tree frogs were starting to tune back up, but the cicadas were still silent. The tiny niggle of concern that he'd be found out was digging in like a tick on a fat dog. He had committed many sins in his life, but he'd always gotten away with it. This time felt different. It was the first time he knew what it felt like to be hunted.

He started his car, then eased out of the driveway. Once out on the streets, he headed for the Bayou Motel via neighborhoods, rather than down Main.

A skinny hound slunk back into the shadows as he passed, and a few blocks down, he braked for a raccoon waddling across the street. He’d probably been digging in someone's garbage.

Big Boy had his own sense of what was right and what wasn't, and didn't see the irony in the fact that he chose not to run over a raccoon, but was willing to end a human life.

He came into the motel parking lot from the alley with his lights off, and again, stopped near the back beneath the live oaks.

God, but he wanted this over.

The lights were out in 4A. He thought about setting off the alarm on that Hummer to bring her out again, but that would bring everybody else outside as well, and he couldn't have witnesses. He sat with the cold air blasting in his face, waiting for an epiphany.

After a while, he came up with a plan. If he was already here when she came out of the room in the morning and used the silencer on his handgun, he could pop her right on the threshold without anybody hearing a thing. She'd drop, and he'd be long gone before anyone discovered the body.

The more he thought about it, the better he liked it. Satisfied with his plan, he headed home. Then to assure himself that he would get out of the house again unobserved, he slept in his downstairs recliner with his cell charging on the table beside him, the alarm set for six a.m.

It was sundown in Dallas before Wade got home from the jobsite. He’d stayed late to be on hand to receive a rush order of flooring to replace the shipment that wound up in the wreck at the I-35 junction.

He was tired, filthy, and hungry when he reached the bathroom and started to strip. While he showered, he debated with himself as to whether he was too tired to eat, or too hungry to wait until morning. By the time he’d dried off and dressed in gym shorts and a t-shirt, he felt better. He went barefoot to his kitchen to make his go-to meal—a three-egg, cheese and jalapeno omelet.

As always, his thoughts went to Logan. She'd been upbeat when they’d spoken earlier, but he couldn't let go of a looming sense of dread.

He finished cooking the omelet, turned it out on a plate, and carried it to the table so he could go through email while he ate. He inhaled the first three bites with relish before opening the email and responding to the ones that needed answers while reading and deleting others. He didn't find Logan's email until he'd finished eating, but when he saw it and the words For Safekeeping in the subject heading, he opened it immediately.

The message consisted of a one-page explanation of what she wanted him to know, and how important it was for someone else to have the info in case something happened to her. A cold chill ran through him as he read the last paragraph.

I have a tattoo on my belly. It is the date of Damon's death and how to find where I buried his body. But to find the grave, you need to read them in reverse. Start at the city limit sign on the north side to begin the count. Reading in reverse, the first number is how far north you drive on the highway. Turn west. The second number is how far you go on the westbound blacktop road. Then, once you stop, you have to walk south the last quarter of a mile into the swamp. The land didn't used to be fenced, which was why it was a bit difficult for me to locate. However, when you get to the inlet of the bayou, you will see a grouping of old cypress trees to your left. Find the one with the X marked on the back.

---

I buried Damon in front of that tree.

---

His skin crawled.

The reason she was telling him this now was because she had accepted the fact that she might not live long enough to see this to the end. He read through the information that followed, stunned by the attention to detail.

He was sick to his stomach as he sent the email to the printer, then went to retrieve the hard copies from his office.

He put it all in a file folder and left it on his desk before going back to the kitchen to clean up.

He was equal amounts heartsick and pissed by the time he got to bed, certain he'd never sleep. But instead, he fell asleep immediately, dreaming of the night he and Andrew had first seen Logan working the lunch shift at a café near their job site.

---

Wade pulled into the parking lot of the Bluebird Café and parked.

"Looks pretty full. If there aren't any tables open, I'm not waiting. We can go through a drive-thru somewhere on the way back, okay?" Andrew said.

"I don't care one way or the other," Wade said, and got out.

It was a chilly November day and had been spitting a mix of snow and sleet all morning, but at least the work they had left on their latest build was all interior finishes.

"I'm going for some chili," Wade said.

Andrew nodded.

"Me, too. It'll be quick to serve, and we'll be back on the job, ASAP."

They headed for the door with their shoulders hunched against the cold and their heads tilted sideways against the sleet.

Warm air met them at the entrance, along with enticing aromas coming from the kitchen. They were looking for a place to sit when they saw the young, long-legged waitress moving confidently among the tables.

"Oh man, would you look at her," Wade said.

Andrew's eyes had narrowed.

"Dibs," he said.

"No way! I saw her first," Wade said.

Andrew turned and looked at his best friend.

"I said, Dibs."

Wade couldn't remember ever seeing that look on his friend's face. He took a deep breath and then let it go.

"Whatever, man. Do your thing."

Even as they sat down in her section, Wade kept watching the cat-like pace of her stride, and the way her body moved as she walked. It took him a few moments to realize how young she was, and at that point, let go of the momentary vision he'd had of waking up beside her for the rest of his life.

When she stopped at their table, he watched Andrew make the biggest play for a woman he'd ever seen. Wade also ignored the twinge of heartache he felt when Andrew reeled her in.

In the dream, he was standing beside Andrew, watching her coming down the aisle, and reliving the pain of giving her up for good when he awoke.

Logan dreamed of Damon all night long. Everywhere she went in her dream, he was with her, helping her search for a red door in a very large house. She knew if she could find the right door, the answers she needed would be behind it. In the dream, she turned a corner and finally saw it at the end of a hall. She was running toward it when she woke, then rolled over in bed and groaned.

"Damn it, Damon. Why didn't you just tell me his name? I need this over with."

She glanced at the clock. It was just after seven. She'd eaten fruit and cheese the night before and wasn't in the mood to snack again this morning, so she got up and headed for the shower.

A short while later, she was dressed and putting on her boots, getting ready to go eat breakfast at Barney's. She picked up the Colt and, instead of wearing the holster, dropped it in her purse, slung it over her shoulder, and headed out the door with her keys.

When the alarm on Big Boy's cell phone went off at six a.m., he groaned. It felt like he'd just closed his eyes. Still wearing what he'd worn last night, he grabbed a bottle of Coke from the refrigerator for caffeine and slipped out of the house. When he reached the car, he checked to make sure his gun was still beneath the seat, then got in and took a big swig of the cold Coke. He would have rather had coffee, but this would have to suffice.

In the bright light of day, the good idea he'd had last night seemed like a joke, but he had to do something and this was it. He took another drink of pop as he traveled through neighborhoods still asleep and winced when he saw the road-kill ahead. Looked like the raccoon had made one trip too many across the street.

When he finally got to the alley behind the motel, he eased up into the back of the lot and parked with an open view of her door. Once she came out, he would have a clear shot.

It occurred to him as he was waiting that he hadn't taken any kind of security cameras into consideration and quickly scoped out the site.

Old lady Doolittle, who owned the motel, was obviously too tight to put up cameras, or else she'd purposefully omitted them to maintain the anonymity of her pay-by-the-hour guests. His tinted windows were dark enough that no one could see him sitting inside the car, so he pulled the gun out from beneath the seat and cradled it in his lap before reaching for the Coke.

Logan walked out into the sunlight, aiming the remote control toward the Hummer to turn off the alarm, when something hit her in the back so hard it threw her forward against the front fender. There was a sharp flash of pain and then everything went black.

The unending screech that erupted as Logan Talman fell against the Hummer was an unexpected explosion of sound. Big Boy groaned. He'd forgotten about the alarm. Damn it. He should have let her turn it off first.

"Son-of-a-holy bitch!" he muttered, threw his car into reverse, backing out of the lot into the alley, before speeding away toward home.

This wasn't what he'd planned. She'd come out of her motel room so abruptly that he’d shot before he thought, and then when the shot had hit her in the back, the impact of her body falling against the vehicle had not only set off the alarm, but he’d had to leave without waiting to see if she was dead. His heart began hammering so hard it hurt to breathe, and he was still driving home when he figured out that his hammering heart was not part of his panic. He grabbed at his chest with one fist, feeling the heavy, erratic thud of his own heartbeat and moaned.

"Oh hell, oh no! I am not having a heart attack. I am not. I am not. I just need to get home."

Snot was running down his upper lip, even though he wasn't crying, and he was mumbling to himself over and over, trying to convince himself everything was okay.

There had been no shot to be heard, and he’d gotten out of the parking lot before anyone had come out to see what had set off the alarm. He was fine. He was fine. No one had seen him there. And even if someone had seen him in his car driving too fast through the streets of town, he would just be speeding, not a suspect in a shooting.

He reached home with a huge sigh of relief, and was already in the house before the first ambulance arrived on the scene at the motel.

T-Boy was dressed and about to leave last night's 'date' in the motel bed to sleep it off when he heard the alarm.

He'd seen Logan Talman's Hummer in front of her door as he and Francie were going into their room around one a.m. The fact that he was only two doors down from the female he'd spent his teenage years trying to screw gave him a hard on, and Francie hadn't complained about it. As for T-Boy, he’d closed his eyes and pretended it was Logan he was fucking, not his forty-dollar whore.

His hand was on the doorknob when the alarm went off. He'd already heard about what happened to Robicheau, and was wondering whose ass was on the line now when he heard a car peeling out of the parking lot. He grabbed for the door, wanting to see who it was, but was stopped by the safety chain. By the time he’d gotten the door open, the car was long gone. That's when he looked toward the Hummer, saw Logan crumpled up on her side and the spreading pool of blood beneath her, while the alarm continued to scream out a warning that had come too late.

He ran to her, kneeling in the spreading blood. The bullet hole in her back was impossible to miss, and when he rolled her toward him to check for an exit wound, he groaned. The front of her shirt was blood-soaked, too.

"No, no, girl. You do not end like this!" he muttered, and grabbed his cell and dialed 911.

"What is your emergency?"

"A woman has been shot in the parking lot at the Bayou Motel. Send police and an ambulance and hurry. She's bleeding out."

Then Francie came stumbling out of their room.

"T-Boy, what's going on?"

"Bring all the towels from the bathroom!" he shouted, as he rolled over into a sitting position against the front fender, pulled Logan's bleeding body up between his legs, letting her head rest against his chest as Francie turned and ran. Seconds later, she was back, her face as white as the towels she was holding.

T-Boy grabbed one towel and pressed it against the entrance wound, and another towel on the exit wound, then pushed against them as hard as he could, sandwiching her body between them.

By now, people were spilling out of their rooms. The motel owner, Bea Doolittle, came flying from her room behind the office, trying to be heard above with the blasting car alarm.

"What's going on?" she screamed, and then came around the back end of the Hummer and saw for herself. "Oh my God! Is she dead?"

"I don't know," T-Boy said, but he was in a cold sweat. The muscles in his biceps where already burning from the pressure he was exerting, and there were tears on his face. "Where the hell is that ambulance?"

When he finally heard a siren, he looked down at the woman in his arms.

"Hang on, girl. I've got you. You're gonna be okay!" he said, and then pushed even harder against the wounds.

Wade had just driven up to the jobsite and was getting out of the truck with coffee in hand, when he was hit with a pain in his shoulder so sharp that he staggered. The coffee slipped out of his hand, splattering all over his work boots.

"What the hell?" he said, and then Logan's face flashed before his eyes.

Trying not to panic, he grabbed his cell phone and called her. The call rang and rang and rang and then went to voicemail. He called again, and then again, and then again, and by the seventh call, he was already on the way back to his truck.

He called off and on all the way home with the same result, then dropped the phone in his pocket upon arrival and went inside to pack. He didn't know what had happened, but when she hadn't answered her phone, he’d known she was in trouble. He was on his way to his bedroom when his cell rang. He stopped in the hall, his whole body shaking with relief as he looked down, expecting to see her name. Instead he saw, “Unknown”.

Aw hell.

He was shaking as he answered the call.

Everybody in Bluejacket heard the sirens.

Police, fire, and ambulance all had different sounds, but when they heard all three at once, they began making calls. Within minutes, more than half the town knew the woman in the Hummer had been shot in the parking lot of her motel.

Johnny Baptiste was outside about to leave for work when he heard them. He stopped on the porch steps, looking to the sky to see if he saw smoke, which would indicate someone's house was on fire.

Caitlin came running out the front door.

"What's happening?" she cried.

"I don't know," Johnny said.

"Call Arnie at the police station and ask," she said.

"Oh hell, Caitie. I don't want to bother them when—"

"Call him!" Caitlin screamed.

Johnny blinked. He hadn't seen her this way since the night she’d found her Mama floating in the family pool. He made the call.

"Hey Arnie, it's me, Johnny. What's going on?"

"All I know is Logan Conway got shot in the parking lot of the motel."

Johnny staggered and then grabbed hold of the porch post.

"No way? Is she dead?"

"I don't think so. The call came in that she was shot. That's all I know. I gotta go," Arnie said, and disconnected.

Caitlin was standing in the doorway, as pale as the white blouse she was wearing.

"Is Logan dead?" Caitlin asked.

Johnny frowned.

"How did you know the sirens were for her?"

Caitlin moaned and dropped to her knees.

"Oh my God, oh my God," Caitlin cried, and covered her face.

"No, baby, they didn't say she was dead. They just said she was shot. Come back into the house. We'll say a prayer for her, okay?"

He was helping her up when she suddenly tore free and ran inside.

"What's going on?" he asked, as he followed her into their bedroom.

"I promised Logan if anything happened to her I would call her friend," Caitlin said, as she dug through her purse for the paper, then remembered she'd zipped it up in one of the pockets.

"You mean she thought this would happen?" Johnny asked.

Caitlin ran for the phone, the paper clutched in her hand. Her fingers were trembling as she made the call, and then she took a deep breath and closed her eyes, trying to calm herself enough to speak.

When the phone began to ring, she said a quick prayer. Then she heard him answer.

"Hello."

"Is this Wade Garrett?"

Wade's heart sank.

"Yes."

"This is Caitlin Baptiste. I'm Logan's best friend from high school. She told me to call you if anything happened to her, and I'm sorry to tell you this, but she was shot in the parking lot of her motel this morning."

"Oh Jesus," Wade said, and grabbed onto the wall for support. "Is she alive?"

"We don't know. All they would tell us was that she was shot. They didn't comment on her condition. I'm so—"

"Thank you," Wade said, and disconnected, then called a friend who worked at a private airfield in Dallas.

"Pony Express Airways, this is Junior."

"Junior, this is Wade Garret. I have an emergency."

"Hey bro, what do you need?"

"I need to get to Bluejacket, Louisiana ASAP. Logan Talman was ambushed this morning in a motel parking lot. I need to get there now."

"The hell you say!" Junior said. "Of course I'll help. I'll go service up the Bell Jet. She's a fast little bitch. By the time you get out here to the airfield, I'll be ready."

"Thank you, Junior. I'll be there within the hour."

He disconnected on the way to his bedroom, made one more call to the job site as he threw clothes and a shaving kit into a suitcase, listening to it ring and ring. When it was finally answered, he didn't give his man time to say hello.

"McGuire, this is Wade. Listen carefully. I don't have much time to talk. Logan's been shot. She was ambushed this morning as she came out of her motel. I don't know if she's dead or alive. I'm flying out to Louisiana within the hour. Text or call if you need me, but for now, I am putting you in charge. Spread the word among the work sites, and tell the crew bosses to contact you for troubleshooting."

"Holy crap, Boss. I can't believe this," McGuire said. "Yes, yes, I'll take care of everything, and we'll say prayers for the boss lady."

"Thanks," Wade said.

The last thing he packed was the file he'd printed off last night, then he left the house on the run.

The ambulance arrived a car length ahead of the police and the EMTs exited running. The car alarm was still a raucous screech, exacerbating the chaos of the scene as they reached the victim.

Chief Evans and both on-duty officers came racing into the parking lot, all three skidding to a stop. The chief had one brief glimpse of T-Boy holding Logan's unconscious body, both of them bloody as hell, before the EMTs took over.

By the time Josh Evans got out of his cruiser, T-Boy was leaning against the outer wall of the motel with his hands on his knees, almost as bloody as the woman on the ground. He was bent over as far as he could go to keep from passing out, with his dreadlocks dangling in front of his face.

"What happened here?" Josh asked.

T-Boy shook his head, his words coming in jerks and stops.

"In a room two doors down...heard that car alarm go off. Trying to open the door. Heard a car peel out of the lot. Then I got out of the room and found her. She was shot in the back, but I never heard a gunshot. I think she set off the alarm when she fell against the Hummer. Jesus, Chief. What's going on here? Who would do this to her?"

Josh was sick. He’d known something bad was connected to her return when he'd seen her standing over Robicheau with that big revolver, but he hadn't expected anything like this.

He shook his head, then turned to both his officers.

"Someone silence that damn alarm and bring me the keys. Cordon off this parking lot. No one comes in or goes out except the ambulance, then start looking for shell casings and maybe some tire tracks. A witness said he heard a car exit fast enough the driver laid rubber." He turned around, surveying the layout of the parking lot. "She was shot in the back, so the shot had to come from that direction."

"Yes, sir," they said.

Moments later, the alarm was silenced. Evans gathered up her purse and keys as evidence at the scene of the crime, while the officers scattered. One began walking the perimeter of the parking lot and quickly found a spent shell, which he bagged and tagged, while the other began going through the crowd one-by-one, taking statements.

Logan was floating somewhere between earth and sky, trying to find an anchor. There was a hot, burning pain in her shoulder, and the feeling she'd left something undone. She kept hearing a scream, but it wasn't her. Damon was with her again, but too far away to talk to.

Help me. Help me.

No one heard. Or else they didn't care, because no one came. Then Andrew was standing beside her.

Where did you go? Why did you leave me?

He didn't answer. Maybe he couldn't hear her, either.

There was a dark, rolling cloud coming toward her, and she couldn't move, couldn't run. Damon was gone. Andrew had disappeared. There was only the darkness—coming to take her under.

The ambulance was backing into the unloading zone at the local hospital when a doctor and a handful of nurses came running out to meet them.

An EMT jumped out of the back, and then everything began happening at once. There was already one IV in Logan's arm as they wheeled her into the ER. Although both entrance and exit wounds had been packed, she was still bleeding profusely.

"What are her stats?" Dr. Venable asked.

"BP is 110 over 40 and dropping. Pulse is weak. She has one bullet wound in the back with an exit wound near her collarbone. Her breathing is shallow. Blood type was in her personal effects: O positive. Blood loss on the scene was massive," one EMT said.

They began cutting her clothes from her body to look for other wounds and revealed the tattoos on her belly.

"Does anyone know her name?" the doctor asked.

"Logan Talman. She used to be Logan Conway. She once lived here," someone offered.

"Hell of a welcome home," the doctor muttered.

A nurse cried out.

"Doctor! Her blood pressure is dropping fast!"

He looked up at the readings.

"She's going to crash. Notify surgery that she's coming up. Who's on duty?"

"Dr. Silas is already scrubbing," the nurse said, and grabbed a phone to notify the surgical unit.

"Get her to surgery, STAT," the doctor said.

Moments later, she was wheeled out of ER as quickly as she'd come in.