“What?” he asked, clearly confused.
“When we were together, it might’ve been different. I’d at least try to understand if you spoke up on my behalf like that, but you gave up that right when you walked out.” She rushed ahead of him. The world whirled in front of her, and she instantly regretted it.
“Skyler, wait.” He hurried up beside her and steadied her. She could barely abide his touch, but it was either his hand or a face-plant on the concrete.
“I’m sorry,” he said sincerely. “I wasn’t trying to talk for you—I just didn’t like the way he kept stopping you from getting to the hospital.”
She twisted to stare up at him, sending a breath-stealing jolt through her head. Or was it his nearness after all these years that took her breath away? Seeing his eyes up close. Smelling his expensive cologne. Remembering their time together, always remembering.
He didn’t pull away or say a word. His gaze locked on hers.
“Skyler,” he finally whispered as his hand lifted to her face. He brushed his fingers lightly over her cheekbone, his touch feeling like a branding iron. “I’m sorry for everything I put you through. I never wanted to hurt you.”
Her heart leaped at the open regret in his voice, but his comment also reminded her of the lonely nights she’d spent at home after the Christmas holidays, longing to see him. She shook off his fingers and forced herself to move back. “As you said, now’s not the time for such things. I really need to see that doctor.”
He frowned and gestured down the street. “My car’s at the end of the block.”
His car. Here in Portland. Not in Chicago.
“When were you going to tell me you were back in town?” she blurted out before she thought better of continuing their personal discussion. “Or weren’t you planning to contact me?”
“I haven’t moved back here, Skyler.”
Disappointment she didn’t want to feel lodged in her throat, and she swallowed hard. “Then why are you working the bank robbery?”
“I was successful in solving a similar robbery spree in Chicago, so the bureau assigned me to head up this investigation.”
Something in his tone led her to believe he wasn’t being completely forthright with her. Not a surprise. He’d kept the job opportunity in Chicago from her for a month before telling her he was leaving, and he had even less reason to be candid now. But it still hurt. Would continue to hurt. Which was why she needed to give her statement and be done with this investigation.
He clicked the remote and unlocked his rental car. She jerked open her car door before he could get it for her as he’d frequently done in the past. She’d always considered him the perfect gentleman. He may still be a gentleman, but she now knew he was far from perfect.
She slid onto the buttery soft leather seat as he settled behind the wheel. He soon merged the car onto Twenty-third Avenue, but she didn’t even notice the bustling traffic for the tension filling the car.
Thankfully, the hospital was nearby.
At a red light, he turned the knob on a portable police scanner. Right. His emotions weren’t tainting the air. Only hers. He didn’t feel the same distress. As usual, he was thinking about the job.
Good. His choice served as a reminder to be far more careful with her emotions around him.
He twisted his head around to check for cars, then switched lanes. “I’d forgotten about the crazy traffic in this neighborhood.”
Small talk. Had they really come to this? “I’m sure Chicago has a trendy area with shops and restaurants like this,” she replied.
“I don’t get out much, so I couldn’t say.”
Not surprising. He probably ate all his meals at work or his apartment. It took time to make friends. To do things with them. Precious time he’d devote to getting ahead at the FBI.
How had she ever thought the two of them made a good couple? That she and anyone made a good couple? Her parents, with all their bickering and unhappiness, proved that marriage wasn’t a good idea. With them as role models, how could she even think about finding lasting happiness in a relationship?
She stifled a sigh and stared out the window.
He glanced at her. “Tell me about the robbery.”
Thankful to have a safe topic, she recounted the details. “I have a feeling Bonnie and Clyde are both into drugs. Marty’s teeth screamed meth user. Both their eyes were glazed, and they seemed to be coming down off something.”
“The autopsy will confirm that.” He clicked on a blinker. “Did you notice anything odd about their physical appearance?”
“Odd?” She thought for a minute, wincing when visions of Marty’s angry eyes glaring at her over the gun barrel came roaring back. She took a deep breath and forced herself to replay the entire incident. “I remember thinking Nicole had a perfect complexion, which is odd for a drug user.”
“Makeup.”
“Excuse me?”
“She was wearing a prosthetic nose and heavy makeup to throw us off.”
“Really?” Skyler swiveled to look at him. “How interesting.”
“I’m guessing Marty wore theatrical makeup, too. But you didn’t notice it up close?”
“No.”
“What did you see?”
“Nothing. At least nothing else that I remember.”
“You must’ve noticed something.”
“Don’t be so sure. All cops like to think we’ll be cool and calm under pressure, but when your life is on the line...” She shrugged.
“Maybe it would help if you closed your eyes to visualize the scene.”
She never wanted to close her eyes again. Never wanted to replay the memories of Marty and relive that fear. But if doing so aided in bringing Marty to justice, she’d try it.
She rested her head on the seat back and forced her eyes to close. Her other senses shot to life. She felt the cool air-conditioning blowing over her face. Smelled Logan’s sandalwood cologne mingling with the car’s pine air freshener. Heard the bustling traffic. But her mind refused to go back to the bank.
Calm down, she told herself and pressed her fists against her knees.
Logan settled his hand over hers.
She jerked it free, her eyes flashing open.
“Relax,” he said. “You’re safe here.”
Ha! She wasn’t safe. At least not emotionally. Her reaction had nothing to do with the robbery and everything to do with him.
“Close your eyes again,” he continued soothingly. “Concentrate on Marty. His clothes. His smell. His accent.”
She closed her eyes but kept her hands out of Logan’s reach. She dredged up Marty’s voice as he talked to Nicole. “He didn’t have an accent. Not even regional.” Thinking about his smell, she flashed forward to the end when he’d forced her to put her arms around him. “He smelled like powder. Not baby powder, but like face powder. Maybe from the makeup.”
“What about his body? Did he have a tattoo or other identifying marks?”
“Not that I remember. Plus, if he was