Chapter One - Logan Dunn
His face is his most remarkable feature. At once, deep, threatening, evasive and direct. He has a square jaw, high cheekbones, and dark hair combed back from his face so that all of his intensity assaults you from the start. Sometimes he wears a pencil-thin mustache and a day’s growth of beard along his chin line. For a time he’ll keep the beard and trim it close, defining the lines and the swatch of hair at the cleft of his chin. Some days he’s clean-shaven. Everything depends on his mood—or what he needs in order to do his job.
It’s safe to say that he is a paradox. His eyes draw you in and send you away at the same time, making him uncomfortable to be around…until he smiles. Then the lights go on and the charm weaves its magic and sucks you in for good. You have the feeling that it might be impossible to get away.
He startles you; fools you into thinking that he’s naturally good-natured, the nice boy down the street, with a smile and a merry twinkle in his eye for every girl he meets. Other days, he fools you into thinking that he has no heart. He’s just that cold.
One morning not too long ago, he walked into a Houston high-rise, looking casually chic, not like the men in suits that darted through the halls like dark bugs in a maze. For that reason he stood out from the rest of the working crowd, and drew the eye of nearly every woman who passed. His jet-black pants had pressed pleats; his shirt was a crisp white, open at the neck, and the leather bomber jacket had a worn, elegant look. Despite his casual air, he was on serious business.
He took the stairs rather than the elevator since he was only going up four stories. He needed the exercise after so many days driving—from Seattle to Houston this time.
He fingered his business card as he leaned into the counter above the receptionist’s desk.
“Mr. Arthur Riggins, please?”
“May I tell him who’s here?” the pretty redhead asked. Her cheeks looked a little rosier for having been drawn inside this visitor’s aura.
“Logan Dunn. You can give him my card.” He tossed it to her and stepped back from the counter, gazing around at the executive offices of Riggins& Worthy. Blue. There was a lot of blue and teak-colored woodwork: desks, chairs, paneling. Nicely done, he thought.
The pretty receptionist should have asked him for more information, but what was written on his business card was enough to get her attention and send her scooting toward an office in the back.
Moments later, a balding man about fifty-five appeared, walking his way. He’d removed his coat earlier in the day, and loosened his tie as if he were hard at work. He stopped twice on the way to talk with his employees, then greeted his visitor with an amiable handshake. “May I help you, Mr. Dunn?”
“I think we should probably talk in private,” Logan told him.
“Yes, certainly.” Mr. Riggins nodded, his demeanor suddenly nervous and suspicious.
Behind the closed door of Riggins’ office at the far end of the fourth floor, Logan Dunn went directly to the point. He was detached, cool and somber enough to make the dead quake. “You have a Marcia Rayburn working here?” he asked.
“Yes. Yes, we do. Marcia, yes. She started here about, hum…seven months ago, January. Yes, it was January. I remember now, right after the first of the year. She’s a very good employee. Lovely, girl. Keeps to herself, but pleasant enough. Why?”
Logan Dunn didn’t seem to care about his opinion of the woman, he moved on quickly. “Mr. Riggins, I have reason to believe that your Marcia Rayburn is not wh
