Chapter Ten

The room was dark and musty, with a single window shedding a small beam of light onto the worn carpet. Logan's heart raced as he watched the man drag Dixie out of the room, fear gripping his chest and making it hard for him to breathe. He struggled against the ropes binding his wrists, but they held tight, cutting into his skin.

Desperate to escape, he scanned the room for anything that could help him break free. His eyes fell upon a letter opener on the desk next to the wall. Swearing under his breath, he tried to scoot his chair closer to the desk, each movement sending waves of pain through his body. His ribs screamed with agony from being shot, and since being beaten, he was sure they were now broken. He forced himself to be still when he heard footsteps downstairs, knowing that Dixie was being taken to her house.

With a determined grimace, Logan continued to maneuver the chair toward the desk, pausing frequently to catch his breath and ease the searing pain in his body. When he was finally close enough to reach for the letter opener, he swore.

"Now what the hell do I do?" he whispered to himself as he used his head to nudge the tool closer to him until it fell onto the floor behind him.

Frustration boiled within him as he realized he couldn't reach the opener with his bound hands. He had to make the chair tip over in order to reach it. Taking a deep breath, he rocked the chair side to side until the chair toppled over with a loud thud. Gasping for air, Logan stilled himself until he was sure no one was coming up the stairs.

Sweat beaded on his forehead as he reached out with unsteady hands and finally managed to grab hold of the letter opener. With shaky fingers, he brought the sharp blade against the rope and began sawing at it frantically. It felt like an eternity, but finally the rope gave way and fell from his wrists, then he untied his ankles.

Gasping for breath, Logan slowly rose to his feet and clenched his teeth against the throbbing pain coursing through his body. He knew he had little time before his captors returned, so he frantically searched the room for any useful items. Disheartened by his findings, he hurriedly left the room, determined to find Dixie and rescue her at any cost.

As he cautiously descended the stairs, Logan scanned his surroundings for any signs of danger. He couldn't see anyone else in the house.

Pressing himself against the wall as he heard approaching footsteps, Logan breathed a sigh of relief when the man entered another room and closed the door behind him. His mind raced as he considered his options without a weapon. He had lost his gun at Dixie's house during the attack. Did the attackers take it or was it still lying somewhere? He couldn't be sure.

Making his way down the rest of the stairs, Logan spotted a flower vase and quickly grabbed it, using it as a makeshift weapon. He waited for the man to reemerge from the other room before striking him over the head with all his might. The man crumpled to the floor and Logan wasted no time in disarming him, grabbing the gun from his waistband and aiming it at him.

"Get up," Logan barked as he kicked the man's side.

The man groaned and swore under his breath. "Son of a bitch. I'm a dead man now."

"Do I look like I care?" Logan retorted coldly as he kept the man at gunpoint. "Who else is here?"

"No one. There are only three of us besides Cortez."

"So, they all left you here with me, thinking I was helpless with my hands tied?" The man nodded and Logan couldn't help but smirk. "How did that work out for you?"

"Man, he's going to kill me."

"I can't help you there. Now get upstairs." Logan gestured with the gun and followed the man up the stairs and back to the room he had been held in. He made the man sit in the chair, tied his hands and ankles, and picked up the letter opener from the floor. A wicked grin spread across his face as he walked out of the room with it, ready to take on whoever dared to stand in his way.

*** *

Dixie sat in the back of the car; her eyes glued to the passing scenery as fear gripped her. She couldn't stop thinking about what might happen to her and Logan. When a sheriff's SUV cruiser drove by them in the opposite direction, she held her breath, but he kept going.

"Is he turning around?" Cortez asked from beside her.

"No, we're safe," reassured the driver.

But Dixie couldn't shake off her terror. Why hadn't they turned around? How was she going to get out of this situation? Her main concern was for Logan's safety.

As they pulled into her driveway, Dixie could feel herself hyperventilating with fear. She couldn't move until Cortez signaled for her to get out. The driver warned her not to try anything, threatening to kill her if she did.

With trembling hands, Dixie stepped out of the car, looking around for any sign of help, but no one showed up. A single tear rolled down her cheek, which she quickly wiped away in anger. The yellow crime scene tape surrounding her house only served as a reminder of the dangerous situation she was in and whether or not she would ever see Logan again.

When the driver grabbed her elbow, Dixie instinctively jerked away, but another man immediately caught hold of her and led her inside.

Once they were all in the house, Dixie stood against the wall as they rummaged through every room. One man kept a close eye on her, making it impossible for her to even consider running away. She noticed that his hand was always hovering near his gun.

Meanwhile, the others were tossing things around and flipping over furniture. Dixie silently prayed that they wouldn't find the journal, but if they didn't, what would they do to her?

When she finally moved away from the wall and walked into the living room, she saw that the desk had been overturned and its drawers were scattered all over the floor. But they quickly moved on, and Dixie couldn't figure out where or how the journal could have remained hidden.

When she caught Cortez watching her, she nervously roamed around the living room. She stepped into the small dining room and noticed a wine bottle on the floor. She looked at the men, but none of them seemed to be paying attention to her as they searched through everything. With a quick glance over her shoulder, she saw that only one man was close enough to her now, the same one who had been keeping watch since they arrived.

She edged closer to the bottle, nudging it with her foot. She had no idea what she planned to do with it, but she felt like she needed to do something to protect herself. With a heavy sigh, she realized that picking up the bottle would only make matters worse for her. So instead, she walked away from it. Dixie knew if she picked it up, the men would be able to take it from her before she could use it as a form of defense.

Dixie cautiously stepped back into the hall, her gaze immediately drawn to the man who was watching her. Deputy Nevada Shelton stood beside him; his gun pressed firmly against the man's temple. He pressed his finger to his lips, signaling for her to remain silent, before gesturing for her to leave the house.

As she walked outside, Dixie's heart raced as she took in the scene before her. Sheriff Sam Garrett stood with Deputies Mark Shaw, Brody Morgan, and Paul Dixon, all armed and ready. Sam motioned for her to get inside his SUV cruiser.

Relief washed over Dixie as she climbed inside and shut the door. She burst into tears, knowing that she was finally safe. But her thoughts quickly turned to Logan, still in danger from Cortez and his men. She tapped on the glass of the cruiser, catching Sam's attention, and he opened the door.

"I didn't think you saw the car when you passed by."

"It was Nevada, not me. He recognized the car but kept going to let them think he didn't see them, but pulled off the road, called it in, and we all came here."

"What about Logan? They have him at a house with another man," she cried.

Sam's expression hardened as he considered their next move. "Do you know the address by chance?"

"No, but I could take you there," Dixie offered eagerly.

"Okay..." Sam trailed off when a truck pulled into the driveway. "Looks like he got away." He nodded toward the truck .

Dixie jumped out of the cruiser and ran toward Logan as he emerged from the truck. Relief flooded through her as he caught her in his arms, grunting from the pain he was in.

"Are you alright, baby?" he asked, concern etched on his features.

"Yes, are you?" Dixie replied tearfully.

"Yeah," Logan said with a reassuring smile.

"How did you get away?" Dixie asked, clinging tightly to him.

"I'll tell you later. Right now, we need to stay back while they get Cortez and his other man," Logan explained urgently.

Dixie nodded in understanding as she watched Nevada lead the man out of the house and into a cruiser. The group of law enforcement officers then made their way inside the house, and she could hear shouting but thankfully no gunfire. A few minutes later they emerged with Cortez and the other man in tow.

Dixie wrapped her arms around Logan again, her tears flowing freely. He held her close, placing a gentle kiss on her forehead.

"It's okay now. They've got them. You're safe, Dixie," he murmured soothingly.

She watched as they put the men into separate cruisers before turning to see Sam approaching them looking thoroughly pissed.

"Want to tell me what the hell you're doing here, Logan?" Sam demanded.

"I got away," Logan explained defensively.

"Got away from what exactly, Logan?" Sam retorted sharply.

"Cortez's men," Logan replied .

"And how did you manage to be with Cortez's men? Because I swear, I remember telling you to only come back to work if the doctor allowed it." Sam raised an eyebrow in disapproval. "Did he?"

Logan hesitated before reluctantly admitting, "No sir, but—"

"Don't," Sam cut him off sharply. "You are suspended for two weeks without pay. You disobeyed a direct order, and I will not have my deputies not following orders. You're damn lucky I don't fire your ass."

"I'm sorry, Sam," Logan said contritely.

Sam sighed heavily before continuing. "Look, Logan, I understand why you did it. When Tessa was in danger, I did the same thing. But that doesn't make it right. You will need to come into the department and make a statement, but you will leave your badge and weapon with me. Are we clear?"

"Yes, sir. I dropped my weapon when I was shot, but I didn't see it—" Logan stopped at Sam's look.

Sam's expression darkened as he glared at Logan. "So, you came here right after leaving the hospital?" he growled.

"Yes," Logan confirmed. "Sam—"

But Sam held up his hand, silencing him before turning and walking back toward his deputies.

"I don't think I've ever seen Sam that mad," Dixie commented, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Me neither. And I hope to hell I never do again," Logan replied with a shake of his head. " Damn, suspended for two weeks without pay..."

****

"Since you have some time off, could you help me clean up my house?" Dixie asked with a smile.

Logan chuckled. "Sure, I can spare some time. But you can't stay here."

"I know," Dixie said, tilting her head. "Do you have a spare bedroom I could use?"

"No, unfortunately not," Logan replied apologetically.

Dixie laughed. "Seriously? In that huge house of yours, there's no spare bedroom?"

"Not that I can recall. I guess you'll just have to bunk with me."

Dixie huffed but then said, "If that's what it takes, then so be it."

"Why don't we come over tomorrow and clean up? Maybe we can even find the journal."

"Okay," Dixie agreed, shivering slightly as Logan wrapped his arms around her.

"It's okay now, it's all over," he whispered reassuringly.

"I thought you were dead when he shot you. I wanted to die too, Logan."

"If I hadn't been wearing a bulletproof vest, I probably would have died. I knew you thought I was dead when you saw me again."

"I was so relieved to see you alive but then they beat you. I was so scared."

"The beating wasn't as bad as getting shot for me. My ribs were cracked from the impact and I'm going to have a lot of bruises. Hell, the ribs could be broken now."

"Well, at least your face won't be the only thing bruised now," she teased.

"You're funny. Let's go to my place and talk."

"Okay, I'm ready for that."

"Good. Come on, darlin'." He took her hand and led her to his truck. She climbed in and he closed the door before getting into the driver's seat.

"Did the hospital give you any pain medication?"

"Yeah, but I haven't picked it up yet."

"Okay, we'll stop at the pharmacy on our way to your house. You're going to need it. Where's the prescription?"

"In the glovebox."

"Got it. Why don't you let me drive?"

"Excuse me? Let you drive my truck? Are you serious?"

"If you think you can stop me, go ahead and try," Dixie challenged.

Logan chuckled. "Fine, you win."

"You slide over, and I'll go around."

As they drove to the pharmacy, Dixie kept glancing over at Logan and could see the pain etched on his face. His lips were tightly pressed together, and his skin was pale. She parked in front of the pharmacy, quickly ran inside and had Kinley fill the prescription for her before paying for it. Dixie also purchased a bottle of water from the vending machine before returning to the truck. She handed Logan a pill and water before driving back to his house.

"Take it now. "

"Yes, ma'am. I hate taking these pills, but I know they're necessary." He tossed the medication into his mouth and took a long sip of water before closing his eyes and letting out a sigh.

As Dixie pulled the truck up to his house, he reached for the door handle but winced in pain.

"Wait. Let me help." Dixie quickly opened the door and rushed over to his side. She wrapped her arm around his waist and assisted him up the porch steps and into the kitchen.

She guided him to the living room and helped him settle onto the sofa, then lifted his feet onto it.

"Sit up so I can take off your coat."

"Where's my hat?"

"Don't worry, cowboy, it's fine. It's in the truck. I'll get it after I get you settled."

"We need to talk, Dixie. And we should do it before this pill kicks my ass."

"Let me hang up our coats and make myself some coffee. If the pill starts to kick in before I get back, we can have our conversation later." Dixie watched as Logan nodded and closed his eyes, then headed to the kitchen to make herself a cup of coffee.

When she returned to the living room, she set her cup on the coffee table and removed Logan's boots, draping an Afghan over him for warmth. She leaned down and placed a tender kiss on his forehead.

"Go to sleep, baby. I'll be right here," she whispered before settling into the recliner to watch TV.

****

Logan winced in pain and cursed under his breath.

"Damn it," he muttered.

"Do you need another painkiller?" Dixie asked.

He looked at her. "How long have I been asleep?"

"Almost four hours. That pill really did a number on you."

"Shit. Next time, I'll only take half." He attempted to sit up.

"Let me help you," Dixie offered.

After some struggle, Logan managed to get into a comfortable position that eased the pain slightly. He let out a heavy sigh.

"Are you hungry? I could make us something to eat."

"Do you have to work tonight? It's Friday."

"I called Scarlett and took a few days off."

"Oh, okay. Yeah, now that you mention it, I am hungry."

"Let me cook dinner for us. I saw you had some fish thawing in the fridge."

"Sounds good. I need to use the bathroom." He slowly made his way to the bathroom with Dixie's assistance. When he returned to the living room, he winced as he sat back down.

After they ate dinner in the living room, Logan took a deep breath.

"Dixie, I fell for you the first time I saw you. I knew who you were—"

"At the bakery?"

"Yes. I didn't expect to meet you so soon, but fate had other plans. I knew then that I couldn't take the case. I called my boss and told him about my attraction to you, but he wouldn't let me off the case. I understand why; bringing in a new agent after we had already met would have raised suspicions. So, I was determined to get close to you in order to get information on your father." He shook his head. "But from the moment I saw you, I thought you were the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen, and I knew I was going to fall for you. I even told my dad that I was way too attracted to you. He reminded me that it was my job, and I had to do it. I knew he was right, but the thought of hurting you tore me apart. In the past, I've had to get close to families to gather information, without caring who I hurt. But with you, the idea of causing you pain killed me. Every time I said, ‘I love you' to you, I meant it."

"So, you were specifically sent here to meet me and get information on my father," she whispered.

"Yes. I was to get close to your father so I could be welcomed into his home, and the only way to do that was to get close to you, but falling in love with you was never part of the plan. And when I arrested your father, it devastated me hearing you say that you hated me and would never forgive me. It just tore me apart. That's why I left Clifton behind and only returned because of my dad's illness."

"You recognized me at the bakery. How?"

"The FBI had a photo of you. I knew I was in trouble as soon as I saw it. I tried to get someone else assigned to the case, but since I was from Clifton, it was my responsibility. I knew the area and the people, so I could blend in."

Dixie cleared her throat. "It devastated me, Logan. To realize that you were using me. I was hurting for such a long time, and just when I thought I was moving on, you came back into my life and all the pain resurfaced."

"I'm truly sorry, Dixie. I know you don't want to hear it, but I was just doing my job. As much as I hated it, there was no other option. And even though I lied about many things, I never lied when I said I loved you. Not once." He took her hand and interlinked their fingers. "I will love you until the day I die, even if you're not in my life. But I hope you are."

"I do love you, Logan. Anytime I told you I hated you; it was to remind myself of what you did to me, but I never hated you. I hated what you did ."

"I'll never forgive myself for hurting you, Dixie. I'll make it up to you in any way you want."

"Oh, really?"

"Yes, really."

"Okay." She nodded and he frowned.

"Okay, what?"

"You're going to marry me."

Logan bit his lip to keep from grinning.

"Would that make up for it?"

"Yep."

He leaned forward then winced at the pain. "Darlin', you're going to have to come to me."

"Always," she said as she leaned forward and kissed his lips.

Logan grinned, cupped her face in his hands and deepened the kiss. She pulled back from him and gazed into his eyes.

"Let's get some rest. We'll wait a while before going to my house. You will not do anything that could hurt you."

"I'll look through that desk, but you can stay here as long as you want, Dixie. In fact, I'd love it if you'd move in with me."

"I want that too. I can rent my house to someone." She kissed him again, helped him up, then they walked upstairs and went to bed.

Logan was glad they talked, and happy she would let the past go because he knew he could never live without her. Not ever again.

A week later, Logan stood with his back against the wall, arms crossed in front of his chest. He had been waiting for this moment, and when he heard the buzzer sound for the door, he didn't move an inch. The anticipation of seeing McCarthy's face when he walked in was almost too much to bear.

Finally, the guard led McCarthy into the room. As expected, when he caught sight of Logan, he shook his head and tried to turn around. But the guard firmly placed him in the chair and looked at Logan.

"Let me know if you need anything, Logan," the guard said before leaving.

Logan nodded and watched him go before turning his attention back to McCarthy.

"What the fuck do you want, Townson?" McCarthy sneered.

Logan grinned and pulled out another chair from under the table. He spun it around and straddled it, folding his arms on top of the backrest.

"The journal," he demanded. He could see the shock on McCarthy's face that he knew about it.

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Oh, yes you do." Logan leaned closer, narrowing his eyes. "Do you even know what happened to Dixie?" he snapped.

"Dixie? What are you talking about?"

"You told your cellmate about that journal you kept with all your illegal transactions, including information on Cortez." Logan raised a hand to quiet McCarthy as he started to protest. "Your cellmate informed Cortez and he and his goons went after Dixie to get their hands on it." He watched as McCarthy's face paled. "But they couldn't find it. That's where you come in. I want to know where it is."

"What about Cortez?"

"He's going to prison, but don't be too happy about that. I'm sure he can reach you from wherever he is."

"Is Dixie alright?"

"She is now. I want that journal."

"I never had a journal. I made it all up."

Logan shot up from his chair. "I don't believe you," he growled.

"I don't care if you believe me or not."

"Well, I'll find it. And I won't stop until I do."

"Do whatever you want." McCarthy shrugged.

"Oh, I'm going to." Logan grinned. "I'm marrying your daughter. Too bad you won't be able to attend the wedding." With that, he knocked on the door and left the room with a sense of satisfaction.

****

The next day, Dixie and Logan entered her house to attempt to clean up the mess. Dixie knew that Logan's injuries would limit his ability to help, but he was determined to assist her.

"I can work on the desk," he offered.

"Okay. I'll start picking up the mess. If your ribs are too painful, take a break."

"I will. The bruises are healing faster than my ribs, so I have to be careful not to move too quickly or in weird positions."

"No weird positions? Where's the fun in that?" she teased, causing him to laugh before wincing and clutching his side. "I'm sorry, I couldn't resist."

"Just wait until I'm feeling better. I'll show you some weird positions."

"Promises, promises. I'll grab the broom. You can sit while you go through the desk." She lifted the five drawers and placed them on top of the desk, making it easier for Logan to access them without bending down.

"Yes, ma'am." Logan pulled over the matching chair and sat down carefully before beginning to search through each drawer, hoping to find a clue about the location of the journal.

"I'm so glad the tea set was still in my car. It would have killed me if it had been destroyed," she said.

"I'm glad too." Logan winked at her .

Dixie busied herself with cleaning up the mess around the room before sweeping it into a dustpan and emptying it. Then she moved on to another room.

"Dixie," Logan called out, and she hurried over to him.

"What is it?"

"I think this drawer has a false bottom, but it's really difficult to remove." He turned the drawer over to examine the bottom.

"How can you tell?"

"It just feels different from the others. It has some give that the rest don't. The bottoms of those are solid and don't budge, but this one moves slightly. It could just be from wear and tear; this is the top right drawer and probably gets used more often if you think about it. Was your mother right-handed?"

"To be honest, I'm not sure. But I use that drawer a lot since I am right-handed. I see what you mean. If it's used more often, it could wear down faster."

"Exactly. But I hope that's not the case and that the journal is hidden here." He knocked on the bottom of the drawer. "Yeah, it doesn't sound like it's empty."

"Okay, whatever that means." Dixie furrowed her brow.

"It's kind of like knocking on a wall to find a stud; the sound is different when you hit a stud versus just drywall."

"Oh! That makes sense now. You're so smart," she complimented.

"Just listen." Logan knocked on an empty drawer and then on the potentially false one, and there was definitely a difference in sound. "But if there is a false bottom, it's secured really well. No wonder Cortez's men couldn't find it."

"And the FBI didn't search through the desk because they were looking in my father's house."

"Right." Logan grunted as he tried to pry open the bottom of the drawer. "Do you happen to have a flathead screwdriver? I don't want to damage the drawer, but since I don't have my pocketknife with me, I need something flat."

"A flathead, not a four-way, right?"

Logan chuckled. "It's actually called a Phillips screwdriver, not a four-way."

"Whatever. You knew what I meant."

"Touché."

"I'll go get one." Dixie walked to the kitchen and shook her head at the mess on the floor.

She kneeled down and rummaged through the items until she found the screwdriver that he needed. She watched as he struggled to open a drawer with his hands.

"Here," she said, offering him the screwdriver. He used it to pry open the stuck drawer.

"It's opening," he exclaimed as he continued to work at it. When the drawer finally popped open, they exchanged stunned glances before Logan turned the drawer over, causing the false bottom to fall onto his lap with the journal on top of it. Dixie reached out for the journal, but Logan stopped her.

"Can you go get a pair of plastic gloves from my truck? I don't want our fingerprints on this. Just your father's. "

"Sure," Dixie replied, rushing outside to Logan's truck. She quickly retrieved a pair of gloves from the console and headed back inside. "Here," she said, handing them to him.

He carefully lifted the journal using the glove and set it on the desk, opening it up.

"Damn," he muttered.

"What is it?"

"Your father kept detailed records here. Cortez is mentioned several times. This could put him away for good. I need to call my old boss and turn this over to him."

"So then everything will be over, right? I know Cortez was arrested for kidnapping, but this will get him a longer sentence, won't it?"

"Definitely. It places him directly in the middle of everything." Logan took out his phone from his shirt pocket and dialed his former boss's number.

Dixie listened as he explained about the journal and their discovery. After a short conversation, Logan hung up and turned to her.

"He's sending someone to pick it up. And he wanted me to thank you."

Dixie laughed. "I didn't do anything. I never would have known it was there."

"I don't think any of us would have figured it out. You were, no way, included in his crimes, and we knew that, so since you weren't a suspect, we didn't go through your things."

"You do know what this means, right?"

Logan frowned. "No. What?"

"I can start planning our wedding." She grinned when his eyes widened .

"Wedding?"

"I told you we were getting married if we got out of the trouble, we were in." She shrugged. "You agreed."

"I did?" He frowned again.

Dixie frowned too. "Didn't you?"

"I think you mentioned it twice and I didn't get to answer either time."

She placed her hands on her hips and narrowed her eyes.

"You will marry me, Logan Clinton Townson."

Logan chuckled. "Yes, ma'am."

She laughed and gently kissed his lips.

"I will love you forever, Logan. I know we'll argue—" She stopped when he snorted. "But think of the fun we'll have making up."

"I'm all for that. I'll always love you, Dixie Lynn McCarthy."

"I know. Let's go home."

She helped him up and they walked outside to his truck. Dixie helped him in, hopped in the driver's side, and drove them home. She was more than ready to spend her life with him, and she knew the future would be wonderful with Logan by her side.