"Trevor's probably thinking the same thing," Allison murmured.
Logan's nostrils flared. "If that bastard so much as-"
The officer cleared his throat noisily. "I'll head back to the station and plug your info into our system. We have plenty to hold him on, until the FBI gets here. They'll make sure he goes away for a long time."
"Not long enough," Logan muttered. "We'd all be better off if the schmuck was d-"
The officer coughed an interruption. "I'll get in touch the second we know something."
"Thanks, Pratt." Logan spoke to the man familiarly.
"Save it until we have him behind bars."
"If you need me to call in any favors-"
"Take care of your girl, Stone. We'll handle the rest." He pointed a stern finger at Logan's chest. "And don't go all commando on me, either."
Logan's eyes flashed.
"I mean it, Stone."
After a moment of internal debate, Logan gave a tight nod.
Allison didn't quite believe him. He and Trevor were too similar in makeup to let someone else do the dirty work. She hoped the police got to Trevor first, or he might not be the one behind bars when this was through.
*
The first two days after the attack, Allison slept. Logan took off work and monitored her vigilantly. He woke her up at intervals for liquid hydration. Unused to being cared for like this, she was grateful for his kindness.
The third and fourth day, he insisted she stay in bed. He expressed concern about symptoms of her concussion and the baby's health. He checked her temperature, shined a flashlight into her pupils, pressed ice packs to her cheek, quizzed her constantly about how she felt, and engaged her in deep discussions to ensure her memory was still sharp. Not to mention the frequent foot massages and back rubs. He pampered her like crazy.
During one of his divine massages, she sighed softly. "Forget security. You missed your calling as a masseuse."
He grinned. "Just wait until you get my bill."
The weekend drifted by in a lazy, gentle blur. Unfortunately, they received no word from the police regarding Trevor.
Concern festered inside her like a leaky wound.
Monday, the week after her incident, Logan still stayed home. Very uncharacteristic. He thrived in an environment of constant stimulus and action. The lack of forward-focus drove him into irritable funks. She urged him to go to the office for a few hours. While his attentiveness was sweet at first, the longer they were cooped up in the house together, the more his attention became smothering. He treated her like an invalid, incapable of feeding herself properly, doing right by her body and the baby. She could barely go to the bathroom without supervision.
They both suffered from a serious case of cabin fever. Outside snow piled up and temperatures plummeted. He made those his excuses for not leaving her side. She often caught him in unguarded moments, when he wasn't on the phone for work, pacing with pent-up frustration.
By Tuesday afternoon, she needed to do something. She clicked off the television, bored to pieces. Despite his thousands of channels there was nothing worth watching.
She went to the kitchen, snacked a little, and wandered into the foyer. Her gaze lingered longingly on the front door. Fresh air might do wonders. She was beginning to feel restless, trapped. She didn't dare let those feelings build. She didn't want her anxiety and claustrophobia to mount a misplaced attack on Logan after he'd been so good to her.
The sound of heavy weights clanking filtered up from the basement. He worked out for hours to take the edge off. She had no such luxury. He barely let her lift a finger.
Going to the hall closet, she donned her coat and ventured outside. The crisp air singed her nostrils and filled her lungs.
Invigorating . She went down the steps and stood marveling at the winter wonderland.
The bare trees were stark and beautiful against the blue sky. They cast purple shadows across sheets of crusted snow that glittered with blinding intensity. Squirrels scampered busily harvesting their underground reserves. A cardinal flew past and perched on a nearby branch, its scarlet feathers a delightful contrast to the wintry landscape. She inhaled deep and sighed with contentment.
Until the front door burst open.
Squirrels scattered and birds took flight. She turned to find Logan glowering. His hair and clothes were damp from exertion, muscles glistening and powerful. "What the hell are you doing?"
She blinked. "Getting some fresh air."
"You shouldn't be out here."
"Why? It's beautiful." She smiled.
He stared at her stonily. "Inside. Now."
She rolled her eyes. "What, is an icicle going to get me?"
He didn't share her amusement. "You'll catch a cold or slip on the ice. Or worse."