Why couldn’t she remember details from the brothel? She recalled feeling fear. Queasiness. Rage. But nothing more substantial, nothing concrete.
At last, the same tiny thought swam out of the chaos in her mind as it had every other time she’d pushed herself to remember. She’d gone to read to Suzanne, one of Mattie’s girls, a woman who’d contracted the same illness that had killed Megan’s mother. Megan had gone to the brothel to offer what small comfort she could.
But why had Cole sought her out, specifically? She’d been there on an errand of mercy.
Before confusion overtook her, she made herself focus on the story once again. According to Sheriff Scott, Cole had attacked her, probably assuming she was one of Mattie’s girls. All signs revealed that Megan had fought back, at one point pushing the man so hard he’d hit his head against the stone fireplace. But the blow hadn’t been what killed him. The sheriff was positive Cole died of a chest wound.
“Someone jammed a knife straight through Kincaid’s black heart,” he said.
How many times had Megan heard the same series of events, told in the same sequence, always with the same conclusion? A man was dead and his blood was on her dress, as well as on her hands before she’d cleaned them. But no matter how deep she searched her mind, Megan couldn’t corroborate any of the sheriff’s findings.
Hugging her knees tighter, she fought the familiar fog trying to grip her mind once again. It came anyway, thick and impenetrable.
Logan let out a low hiss when Sheriff Scott began detailing the murder scene. Megan jerked her attention back to the conversation. Catching Logan’s hard expression she easily understood why Sheriff Scott had recommended him for the U.S. Marshal position. Not out of loyalty alone, but because Logan could be ruthless when he wanted to get to the truth of a matter. She shivered.
Would he be her ally now? Or her judge?
At last, the sheriff came to the end of the tale.
Logan’s conviction was stronger than before. “Nothing you’ve said changes my mind about Megan’s innocence. She couldn’t have murdered Kincaid.” He tossed her a quick, reassuring look. “Not in the way you just described. You have to let her go. You—”
“Slow down, Logan.” The sheriff held up his hand between them. “It’s too soon to form any conclusions.”
“I said,” he clenched his jaw so hard a muscle jumped in his neck, “Let. Her. Go.”
“Stop and think,” the sheriff suggested. “If someone else murdered Kincaid that means Megan probably saw him.”
She shook her head fiercely. “I remember no one.”
Neither man acknowledged her.
“Logan.” The sheriff’s tone turned low and insistent. “He won’t know she’s lost her memory. She could be in grave danger.”
Logan drew in a sharp breath. “Is that why you locked her in here? To keep her out of his reach?”
“It’s one of the reasons.” The sheriff gave Megan a sad smile, one filled with unmistakable remorse. “But not the only one.”
Without warning, Logan lurched forward. He grabbed the sheriff by the lapels and then slammed him against the wall behind him. “You might have kept her safe from a killer, but you’ve also broadcasted to the world, including Kincaid’s gang, that you think she’s the murderer.”
Looking cool and composed, Sheriff Scott responded with an even tone. “I’m sorry, Logan, but the truth of the matter is she could be the murderer.”
Logan shoved his forearm under the sheriff’s chin in a brutal choke hold. “You might as well have drawn a target on her back,” he growled, ignoring the sheriff’s last comment. “Men like Kincaid never travel alone. His gang will want retribution.”
As though he knew Logan needed to vent his anger, the sheriff still didn’t try to move. Or fight back. “I stand by my decision.”
Several heartbeats passed. And then several more.
“Logan, think this through with your brain and not your emotions. Megan is in danger. Whether she committed the crime or witnessed it, she’s safer here than anywhere else in town.”
After one last shove, Logan threw his hands in the air. Breathing hard, he pressed his palm against the back of his neck and rolled his shoulders. There was such sorrow in his eyes, maybe a twinge of remorse. But mostly Megan noted ruthless determination in his gaze. He’d come to a conclusion.
What was he planning to do?
“No, Logan,” Sheriff Scott warned. “I won’t let you release her. It’s too dangerous.”
Logan dismissed the words with a hard flick of his wrist. “We’ll discuss that later.”
With careful movements, he sat beside Megan on the cot. The springs gave a series of loud creaks before settling underneath the additional weight.
He touched her wound, then dropped his hand to her shoulder and squeezed. “Have you seen a doctor yet? Did you suffer any other…injuries?”
He spoke so slowly, so carefully. She could tell he was trying not to frighten her but he couldn’t contain the fear in his own eyes, fear for her, fear for what might have happened when she was alone with Cole.
In that, at least, she could relieve his mind.
Swallowing back a wave of shyness, she forced herself to hold Logan’s gaze. “Dr. Shane cleaned the cut on my neck and then he gave me a tonic to help me sleep. But I…” She shook her head again. This time the gesture sent tiny white dots across her vision. “…can’t sleep.”
“Logan, don’t do this now,” the sheriff urged. “She doesn’t remember. She’s been—”
Logan held up a hand to stave off the interruption. “I want to hear the rest from her.”
Nodding in agreement, she pressed her hand to her stomach. She knew how hard this was for him. It was hard for her, too. But they had to speak of this now. And then never again. “He didn’t hurt me in any other way.” At least not physically.
Cole hadn’t forced himself on her. There would have been signs. But that didn’t mean Megan had escaped free of harm. In truth, she feared the consequences of her night with the outlaw were far worse than cuts and bruises.
Exposed only indirectly to her mother’s sinful lifestyle, Megan had thought she understood the gift she’d been given as a resident at Charity House. The gift of escape. The gift of respectability.
Now, as she faced Logan for the first time in five years, she could no longer dodge the one question she’d avoided since Sheriff Scott had locked her in this cell. Because of this single incident, would she end up like her mother, alone and desperate, with no one to love?
Logan followed Trey outside the jailhouse and onto the planked sidewalk lining the street. Night closed in around him like a menacing presence, taunting him. He hardly noticed. Anger still rode him hard, but he forced himself to focus on the facts first. No emotion. No giving in to despair. Just cold, hard logic.
“All right, Trey.” He spun around to face the other man. “Tell me the rest, the part you couldn’t say in front of Megan.”
Trey rubbed a weary hand down his face and then leaned back on one foot. “You’ve heard most of it.”
Not by half. “The blood on her dress. Is it hers or Kincaid’s?”
“Mostly Kincaid’s.”
Logan’s breath caught in his chest. Megan had been attacked. By a very