“She never loved you. It was Stockholm syndrome.”
Caleb’s gaze goes to me. “If you think that, then you do not know her as well as you think.”
I am frozen, pinned in place by Caleb’s eyes. There is something in them. That in itself is unusual. But what I seeis... an apology? Despair? Farewell? Something I cannot place. Something dark and tragic and definitive.
Caleb moves toward Logan, who shifts his grip on the gun, jams the barrel against Caleb’s cheekbone.
“I’ll repeat myself one last time, Ryder. Shoot me now, or leave me alone.”
“That’s all you have to say for yourself?”
“You killed one of my most loyal employees, a man I’ve known many, many years. I returned Isabel to you as I promised, unharmed. And you barge into my place of business, into myhome, kill my friend, threaten me. What do you want, Ryder? Do you even know?”
“You, dead,” Logan snarls.
“Then kill me. I am unarmed.” Caleb speaks barely above a murmur. I have to strain to hear him.
“Logan, don’t.” I take a step, reach out. For Logan? For Caleb? For both? I don’t know.
“Get in the car, Isabel.”
“On this, your boyfriend and I agree. Get in the car, Isabel.”
I ignore both of them.
Caleb turns his attention back to Logan. “You won’t shoot me.”
Logan pulls back the hammer. “Oh no?”
“Do you know what it would do to Isabel, if she watched you murder me in cold blood?” Caleb is unmoving, allowing Logan to keep the gun pressed barrel to cheekbone. “And ask yourself, Logan, why you’re here. Is it because I took her from your home? Is it really about your dog? Or is it personal? This is aboutyou, Logan. It’s about you and me. I got you put in jail. I set you up. I lured you in, waved a few million in front of you, and you took the bait, hook, line, and sinker. You spent five years in a white-bread federal pen and now you want revenge. You probably won’t even admit it to yourself, though, which is why you’repinning this on me. Acting all outraged. But it’s revenge, Logan, plain and simple.”
“Shut up.” Logan jabs with the barrel, cutting open Caleb’s cheek. A rivulet of blood runs unchecked. “SHUT UP!”
“You’re unhinged, Logan. You think you’re in control? You think you’ll get away free? You’ve already shot one person. I haven’t reported it yet. I might not. Len is not a man anyone will mourn, save perhaps for me. And an investigation wouldn’t do any good. Having you arrested wouldn’t do me or Len any good, nor Isabel. But you still murdered him. I have reason to hold a grudge against you for that.”
“He shot at me first.”
“Because you threatened him. He is—was—not a man to take such a thing lying down.” Caleb’s chin lifts. “I’ll ask you again: What... do... you... want?”
“Logan, let’s go.” I take a step toward the men.
“Get back, Is. Stay out of this.” Logan lowers the gun, turns away, shoves it into his waistband.
Pauses for a moment, a thumb at the corner of his mouth. And then he pivots, swings his fist, and punches Caleb so hard I hear bone crack against bone.
Caleb flies backward, head rocking on shoulders. Logan follows, fist swinging again. But Caleb isn’t down. A stagger, a stumble, and then a pivot, and Caleb plants a fist in Logan’s belly, stopping his rush.
The fight is short and brutal. Both men are hard, powerful, and unafraid to bleed. I watch, cringing, as they batter each other with fists, knees, elbows. Both are bloody. I can only watch, weeping.
For Logan.
But . . . for Caleb, too.
Because despite it all, I cannot say with any certainty that I didn’t love Caleb.
They are on the ground, rolling. Caleb’s knee jerks up, buries in Logan’s gut. It’s enough to buy Caleb time to roll away, and somehow, when Caleb sways upright, Logan’s pistol is leveled at its owner.
Logan is gasping, gagging, coughing. Bleeding from the nose, lips split. Caleb isn’t in any better shape, but Caleb is the one upright, wielding the pistol.
