Chapter Eleven


	Simon put down the phone and frowned.  Brandon had news.  News he did not
want to discuss over the phone.  It meant returning to Tucson as soon as possible.  
Simon glanced at Logan over his shoulder. 
	“Good or bad?” she asked. Having heard him call Brandon by name it was an
easy assumption that the lawyer had something to say about the case, but from the look
on Simon’s face she wasn’t able to determine what. 
	“I’m not sure, but whatever it is he knows, he insists on telling me in person.”
	“When?”
	“As soon as possible.”
	Logan nodded slowly.  “So, you have to make a trip to Tucson,” she said, then
shrugged and smiled.  “There’s plenty of time left in the day yet.  The driving should be
good.”
	He nodded.  “We should get going right away.”
	Logan looked surprised.  “Brandon wants me there too?”
	Simon sighed.  “I don’t really care what Brandon wants.  I won’t leave you here
alone until I know you’ll be safe.”
	Until.  The word almost made him wince.   But the fact remained that once his
duties of watching over her were done, he would have to walk out of her life.  It was the
only thing to do.  The past few days had been bliss, pretending they were lovers on
vacation; spending their days touring the countryside and taking photographs, and their
nights in each other’s arms in her bed.  It had been almost a week since he’d brought
her home, and he wasn’t naive enough to think the bubble wouldn’t break sooner or
later.  Judging by Brandon’s tone, it might even be sooner.  Until that happened,
however, he wanted her with him.  Day and night.
	“You know I can't go, Simon,” Logan was saying, frowning slightly and shaking
her head.  Over the last few days Simon had poured over hundreds of Logan's photos,
picking out what he considered the best of the best.  The pictures had been scanned
into an online portfolio, and sent to one of the most influential men in the business, with
Simon's endorsement.  A telephone meeting had been set up for later that very day.  It
meant the difference between a career in the type of photography Logan had always
dreamed of, and remaining at the portrait studio in the department store taking pictures
of spoiled brats and screaming babies.  Simon had felt it was the least he could do for
her considering the wonderful way she had been making him feel the past few days, and
the fact that her photographs amazed him.  He knew how much this meant to her, but
he hated to leave her behind.
	 “I’m sure I’ll be fine,"  she assured him. "There’s been no sign of anyone
snooping around here at all, they’re probably long gone and don’t have any intention of
coming back.  For all we know, they could have even been picked up by now.  Maybe
that's what Brandon wants to talk to you about.  Maybe this whole ordeal is finally over.”
	Simon brooded over her words.  “I don’t know, McCoy, but I don’t like it.”
	She smiled. “I promise not to leave the apartment.  I’ll just curl up and read a
book while I’m waiting for the phone call.  Let’s face it, Simon, you can’t stay with me
every hour of every day for the rest of our lives.”
	Why not?
	The words formed in his head and shocked him, but he did not speak them. 
Instead, he frowned deeper and sighed.  “I’ll be back before night.  I promise.”
	Logan nodded.  The idea of staying alone was bothering her more than she
wanted to let on, but she knew it was something she had to do.  Simon had a life, he
couldn’t stay guarding her forever.   One day he would have to leave, and she would
have no control over that.  The fact that she loved him wouldn’t be enough.  He would
move on and she would save the memories of their time together in a soft spot in her
heart.  At least they would be happy memories, with no regrets of not following her heart. 
But for now, it would be good for her to spend a few hours alone.  It would prepare her
for when he left her for good. 
	Reluctantly, Simon headed for Tucson alone.  In order to meet with Brandon and
Hector, and still make it back to Phoenix in good time, he had to leave right away.  He
hated the idea of leaving Logan unattended for too long, and consoled himself the entire
drive by remembering her smile as he had left her. 
	Brandon was waiting for him when he arrived at the Shellington’s.  The look on
the lawyer’s face when they greeted each other, however, did nothing to put Simon at
ease.  “Let’s get straight to the point, Brandon,” Simon urged, and Brandon nodded.
	Brandon nodded.  “We’ve been able to piece together the sequence of events
leading up to the cancellation of the project.”
	“So go on,” Simon said impatiently.
	Brandon glanced at Hector cautiously, then began to recount what they had
learned.   Apparently Jake Zimmerman, with the help of an unknown accomplice, had
basically misappropriated funds that were earmarked for the Colorado Plateau Project.  
The unknown man worked for The University of Arizona, in Tucson, and knew of the
large sum that Hector had donated toward the project through that university.  Jake
Zimmerman had been selected from the staff of the Northern Arizona University in
Flagstaff, because of his knowledge of the region.  Both men had pushed for an internal
photographer, a graduate student at NAU, and had been opposed to hiring Simon for
the job.  Hands were tied, however, because Hector’s money and Simon’s contract went
hand in hand.  Without Simon, there would be no money, without the money there would
be no project. 
	The plan, apparently, had been to re-route the funds into an anonymous bank
account, then claim that the project had eaten up more money than was expected and
force the universities to pull out.  Then, after Simon was gone, Jake Zimmerman would
resurrect the project, claiming a new, anonymous benefactor.   His partner at the U of A
would endorse the project once again, and the third university would be enticed back
into the fold with claims that the new project would be more viable, financially, without
the baggage of an expensive photographer, namely Simon Crestwater.
	What they hadn’t realized was that Simon’s services were being virtually
volunteered.  The fee he was charging was minimal, and in fact, probably less than what
it would cost Zimmerman to pay the other photographer and pay off his accomplice. 
	They also hadn’t counted on Simon’s personal connection with Hector
Shellington.  Because of Simon’s initial phone call to Hector, and Hector’s immediate
calls to the universities, the plan had basically fallen through almost before the crew had
left camp.  Zimmerman’s silent partner, however, had still wanted his cut, but Jake was
too skittish to go anywhere near the money he’d stashed away for fear he was being
watched. 
	The truth of the matter was, he was indeed being watched, and eventually the tail
had paid off.  Just two days ago Jake had been seen at a secret meeting in Flagstaff
with a man matching the description of the one that had been sitting on Logan’s couch,
and two other men.  One of the men had been picked up for questioning shortly after,
and had been co-operating ever since.  From his testimony, police had managed to
piece together much of the information Brandon had yet to tell Simon. 
	“There’s only one snag,” Brandon said, glancing sideways at Hector and wringing
his hands together. 
	“Police tracked down the man from Logan’s apartment and picked him up last
night.  He eventually admitted to having broken in to her place, and named his
accomplice.  The movements of that man were being tracked and a pretty good lead
placed him north of Flagstaff this morning.”
	“Doesn’t sound much like a snag to me,”  Simon remarked.  “What aren’t you
telling me, Brandon?”
	“At the moment, we don’t know where Jake Zimmerman is,”  the lawyer said
flatly.
	“You don’t know?”  Simon stared at the man in disbelief. 
	“No.”  Brandon shot a cautious expression toward Simon. “He was under
twenty-four hour surveillance.  He slipped his tail this morning, about a half hour after
you left Phoenix.  We lost him in Mesa.”
	Simon swore under his breath.  Both men knew that Mesa was far too close to
Logan for anyone to feel comfortable.  “I shouldn’t have left her there! Why didn’t they
just pick him up when they had the chance!” Simon demanded, and Brandon’s face
clouded over more as he cleared his throat. 
	“Dammit, Brandon, what else aren’t you telling me?”
	The lawyer cleared his throat again.  “Apparently Jake wasn’t the kingpin.  Our
talker last night named names, and Zimmerman was only the man who was supposed
to put the plan into action.  The man on the inside, so to speak.  He was working for
someone else, and we’d been hoping he would lead us to that person.  We were pretty
sure that was going to happen today, but they lost him.  I got the call about an hour
before you arrived.”
	“You realize McCoy’s there alone.”
	“As soon as we found out Jake had given the slip we called to see if you had
already left Phoenix.  Logan told us what time you had left.  She was fine, Simon.”  It was
Hector who spoke, but the information did nothing to ease the churning that was going
on deep in Simon’s gut.  
	“But that was almost two hours ago.  Has anyone gone over to check her place
out?”
	“The police were sending someone over right away,” Brandon assured him, and
Simon swung around and picked up the phone.   Several minutes later, after a
deafening silence during which none of the men said anything, he slammed the receiver
down and glared at his companions.  “She’s not answering.”
	“Maybe she’s just stepped out,” Brandon suggested, and realized his mistake
when Simon’s expression got even more angered
	“She promised not to leave the apartment all day.  She was expecting an
important phone call, she wouldn’t have gone anywhere.  Not of her own free will
anyway!”
	“Well, maybe she’s in the shower? Maybe — ”   Brandon started, but Simon
wasn’t listening.  He was already half way out the door heading toward his SUV and
within minutes he was squealing out of Hector’s driveway onto the street.
	
	The noise outside her front door caught Logan’s attention more for its quietness
than anything else.  It had sounded like a scratching, like a tree branch rubbing against a
wall in the wind or something.  But it wasn’t the wall, it was her front door.  Then, as she
looked up trying to make out what the sound was, she could see the shadow of a figure
passing in front of her front window.  She watched in terror as the shadow moved slowly
from one side of the window to the other, then cupped hands to the face and pressed up
against the window to peer inside.  Instinct told her to scream, but she had the foresight
to clamp her hand over her mouth and keep quiet instead,
	Her thoughts  immediately went back to the two men she’d found in her home
the week before, and then to the false sense of security she’d tried to cling to earlier
when she had assured Simon that she would be okay if he went to Tucson without her. 
Suddenly she wished he were just in the other room, that she could just called out his
name and he’d come to her rescue.  Instead, she was all too aware of being alone, and
vulnerable.  It was a safe bet that this intruder was probably connected to the last ones,
and that this time he — or they — wouldn’t be quite so easy to get away from.  And
Simon wouldn’t be back for several more hours.
	The sight, and sound, of the doorknob turning brought her back to her senses
with a thud. She  knew the door was locked, but that was only a smoke screen for
anyone who truly wanted to get in.  Quickly she moved into the kitchen, her heart
pounding so hard she thought it would hammer it’s way right through her chest.  She’d
just reached the back door and was fumbling with the lock with trembling fingers when
she heard the front door click, then open slightly.  Another scream was stiffled before it
managed to escape, and she stood perfectly still, eyes on the door in the front.  Nothing
moved.
	“I know you’re in there, Logan,” the low, taunting voice  reached her ears and she
let out an involuntary gasp.  She recognized that voice.  It was Jake!  He’d heard her, for
she heard a chuckle, then the front door began to push open slowly.  “I hear you. You’re
cornered like a mouse, Logan.  There’s no use in hiding, I will find you.”
	At that moment she finally managed to unlock the back door, and with a dexterity
drawn from some unknown reserve, she opened the door, slunk around it and slipped
out, pulling it silently closed behind her. 
	“Logan?  I know you’re alone.  Your Loverboy isn’t here.  Why don’t we just get
to know each other a little better while we wait for him to come back, hmm?”
	Logan could hear his voice as she stood precariously perched on the back steps,
and his intent made her cringe.  Clearly she’d have to get away without him seeing her. 
She’ took one step down and stopped, looking back over her shoulder.  Jake’s voice
could still be heard, taunting her from within the apartment.  Another step took her closer
to the ground, then a third, and she made a dash for the corner of the building knocking
over a flower pot on the way.
	“Trying to run away, little mouse?” The back door was  thrown open and Jake’s
voice rang in her ears, much too close for comfort.  She stood pressed against the wall
just around the corner and waited.  As if sent by an angel a stray cat lept from under the
steps and ran across the yard with a loud Tomcat yowl.  “Just a mangy Tomcat,” Jake 
grumbled, then she heard the door close, the sound of footsteps moving around in the
kitchen again, and the phone start to ring. 
	There goes my phone call! she thought to herself with a frown, for who else
would be phoning if it wasn’t the call she’d been waiting for.  The phone continued to
ring, and Jake  ignored it, calling out to her that he was going to find her wherever she
was hiding. Crouching beneath window level, Logan crept along the side of the building
until she reached the front.  For all she knew, there could be others waiting out front,
standing guard, she thought, and she peeked around the corner. 
	“I’ll find you, little mouse,” she’d heard Jake’s voice through the window above
her head — her bedroom window.   “I hope you’re in here, then we won’t have far to go
to get started.”  Then after a pause, his voice quieted slightly, as if he were talking to
himself.  “But if you’re not here, I can wait ‘til you get home.  I’ve got all the time in the
world.”  And then he laughed, and she felt her skin crawl.

	The drive back to Phoenix was like a blur for Simon.  All he could think about was
getting back to Logan.  All the horrors of his childhood were replaying in his mind and he
just knew he couldn’t live it all over again. 
	As he listened to the whirr of his tires on the pavement he kept hearing his
mother’s screams and the loud bellowing voice of her husband as he beat her.  The
sounds were muffled, by hands, or pillows, or whatever there was at hand at the time,
but they were always the same. They always ended with his stepfather collapsed in a
drunken stupor and his mother sobbing.  That was, until the day that the beating ended
in complete silence.
	 Simon couldn’t remember his real father.  His mother had five children and each
one had a different father.  He remembered only the last two, and neither had been any
great prize, but Randell had been by far the worst.  Sober, he was a decent enough
man, but when he drank, which was often, he would drink all day then come home and
beat his wife until he tired of it.  
        On that particular day Simon and his cousin Jules had been in the shed behind
Simon’s house on the reserve when they had heard Randell come home and stumble
up the steps into the house.  Simon had just turned eleven, and Jules was only a few
months older.  Jules didn’t live on the reserve, his father being white, but his mother was
Simon’s aunt and he hung out with his cousins on the reserve most of the.  He knew of
Randell’s drunken rages as well as Simon did, though he’d yet to witness it.  
	“Margie!”
As they had listened, Randell had bellowed for his wife, and as he drove like a
madman along the highway toward Phoenix, Simon couldn’t rid his mind of that sound. 
That, and the muffled sounds that had ensued, and the sounds of yelling and slapping
and hitting, and crying.  
        “You gotta do something,” Jules had insisted, but Simon had cowered in the
darkness of the shed. When they were out prowling, getting into trouble as gang of boys,
Simon was bold and brassy, but when faced with this man, he hid.  Randell terrified him. 
The man towered above him and his rage was strong when fortified with alcohol.  Simon
remembered Jules shaking him and yelling at him to do something, anything at all, but
he was frozen and helpless. There was nothing he could do. Nothing.
	It was Jules who had torn out of the shed and raced into the house.  Jules who
had dashed at the big man and tried to stop him, but he had been no match for Randell. 
Simon remembered the sounds of the big man yelling at the boy to get out of the way. 
Then the strangest sound of all came after Jules, having run outside to grab a shovel he
had seen on his way into the house, had swung at the man with all his might.  
	Silence.
	The silence had been stifling, and Simon had finally crawled out of the shed. The
scene that had greeted him in the house still haunted him all these years later. Jules was
gone, having taken off like a bolt of lightening to his own home to get his mother; Randell
lay motionless on the floor with the broken handled shovel laying close by, and Margie
lay silent and lifeless in a pool of blood a few feet away.
	“If only I’d done something!”  Simon cursed.  He’d just reached Logan’s
apartment and screached to a halt, hurtling from the SUV without closing the driver’s
door.  Her front door was open, and he ran inside calling her name. The scene was
almost as shocking as that day all those years ago.  And now I’ve let life repeat itself! 
Why did I leave her here alone? Why must every woman I love be taken from me?  Why
must I always  fail them!
	“Mr. Crestwater.”  The voice penetrated from behind and he turned around to see
Officer Bracken,  one of the police officers who had investigated the original break-in. 
His face bore no smile and his voice was solemn.
	“What happened here?  Where is she?  Where’s McCoy”  he demanded.
	The officer shook his head.  “We don’t know.”
	“You don’t know!  What do you mean you don’t know, dammit?”
	Simon looked around the room.  Every piece of furniture had been overturned
except the couch, which had the seat cushions tossed on the floor.  He strode to the
bedroom, ignoring the policeman’s call, and threw open the door.  The scene was the
same.  Drawers were open or pulled out and tossed on the floor, clothes were tossed
about.  The place had been turned completely upside down, but Logan was nowhere to
be seen.
	“I want some answers!” he demanded, turning on the officer once again.
	“We got a call to come over here and check up on Miss McCoy.  When we got
here, the front door was open and the place was like this.  We haven’t been able to find
any clues.  Our men have been combing the neighbourhood.   We’re doing everything
we can.”
	Doing everything we can.  The words rang in his head and he leaned against the
wall like a defeated man.  Why hadn’t he done everything he could? Why hadn’t he
done something all those years ago instead of running away every time Randell came
home?  Sitting at his dieing mother’s bedside just wasn’t enough to bring her back.  It
was too little, too late.  And now, it was the same.  Logan was gone.  He’d known he
could bring her nothing but trouble.  He should have just left her alone in the first place. 
He was bad for her and he knew it.  
But driving like a maniac from Tucson to Phoenix he’d realized how much she
meant to him.  Why must every woman I love be taken from me?   The words
hammered at his brain again.  He did love her.  He’d never loved any other woman, and
just like his mother, he'd failed her.  He’d failed them both. 
	But Logan might still be out there, somewhere, he reminded himself as he looked
around the ransacked room.  She might still be safe, and he vowed to find her.  He had
to make things right, and then he’d walk out of her life forever and return to his cabin in
the north.  She didn’t need his kind.  Because he loved her, it was the only thing to do.