Page 42 of A Dead Man's Pulse
“Yes, ma’am,” he replied with a grin. “And I love you too.”
“Now that you can repeat as many times as you want,” she said with a saucy smile.
He leaned over and gently kissed her lips. “I love you, I love you, I love you. But you still deserve some punishment for kneeing me in the balls.”
“Jeez . . . you mean shooting me doesn’t make us even?”
“Hey, you’re awake.”
Her gaze met Logan’s drowsy one. “So are you. I don’t know how you can sleep in that chair.”
“I’ve slept in worse places.” He stood and stretched the kinks out of his back and neck. “How do you feel?”
“Like I’ve been tenderized.” She was glad to see her lame joke made him smile as he stepped over and took her hand. Dr. Trudy Dunbar had been in to see her that morning at Ian’s request. It was a given Dakota was going to have some PTSD issues for at least a while over her experience, and the psychologist had agreed to take her on as a client after she was released from the hospital. Maybe she and Logan could have side-by-side desensitization therapy—or not.
She and Logan wouldn’t be the only ones with lingering issues over the case. Brody Evans was apparently giving himself hell for not finding something in Hardwick’s background that would point to him being a serial killer, but there hadn’t been as far as anyone could tell. He’d had a normal childhood with doting parents and two sisters, all of whom were horrified at the man he’d become. Dakota felt sorry for them—since the killer’s name had been released, his family had needed to go into hiding from the press and threats from people who thought they should have known their loved one was a sociopath.
A knock on her door had them both looking up to see her father enter the room, and Dakota tensed as she had for the past few days, every time he came to see her. She was waiting for him to say, “See, I told you so,” knowing it was coming sooner or later.
Her father nodded at Logan before turning his attention to her. “Hi. How’re you feeling?”
“Okay. Just ready to get out of here.”
A small grin spread across his face, and Dakota realized he looked much older since she’d gotten shot. “You’ve got the same energy your mother had. She could never sit still for long either.” He held up a brown paper bag as he stepped closer to her bed. “Got you some muffins. I wasn’t sure what flavor you liked, so I got a few different ones. I know how much hospital food sucks.”
It wasn’t surprising he didn’t know her preferences, but she was caught off guard by the fact he’d brought her anything in the first place. “Um. Thanks.”
He placed the bag on the bedside tray, then stuffed his hands in his pockets and rocked back and forth on his feet. Silence filled the room as the three of them stared at each other, but then her father’s gaze fell to the floor. “Listen. I . . . um . . . I know I’m not good at expressing myself—never was. I still have no clue what your mother saw in me. I . . . uh . . . I just want you to know that I’m . . .” His water-filled eyes lifted and met her dry ones. “. . . I’m proud of you, Dakota. I’m sorry I never told you that before. You’re a damn fine cop, and I couldn’t be prouder if I tried.”
Dakota’s jaw dropped as Logan gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. “Dad . . .” Tears welled up in her eyes and a lump formed in her throat. “I thought you hated me being a cop . . . didn’t think I should be one.”
“Are you kidding? No, I guess you’re not. I don’t think that at all, sweetheart. I love that you followed in my footsteps . . . I wish Gerry had too. But I was also afraid for you. In this day and age, with the blue line all having targets on their back, I worry. When they knocked on my door the other night, and I opened it to see the two captains standing there, I almost had a heart attack. I thought you were dead, and I wouldn’t let them say anything at first because I was so afraid I’d lost you.” Tears rolled down his weathered cheeks. “I haven’t been the greatest of fathers—I know that—but that doesn’t mean I don’t love you. I’m so sorry, Dakota. I’m so, so sorry I failed you as a father.”
She began to sob as she reached out with her free hand, beckoning him closer. He took it, then cupped her cheek, wiping her tears away while ignoring his own. “I’m so sorry, baby. I don’t know how, but I swear I’ll find a way to make it up to you. I love you.”
That just made her cry harder and her heart clench. “It—it’s okay, Dad. I love you too.”
With another squeeze of her hand, Logan stood and silently left the room, giving the father and daughter some time alone. When the door closed, the elder Swift gestured toward it. “By the way, he’s a keeper. But don’t tell him that.”
A half sob/half laugh burst from her lips. “I won’t.”
Epilogue
Three weeks later . . .
With one arm in a sling, and her free hand clasped with Logan’s, Dakota walked beside him in reverence of the vast size of Arlington National Cemetery. Photos and videos didn’t do it justice. A light breeze on the sunny day brought with it the scent of freshly mowed grass and the mournful notes of “Taps.” Logan raised their joined hands and pointed far up on a hill to their right, where a funeral was taking place and a lone bugler was standing off to the side, welcoming another deceased veteran to hallowed ground. As a police officer, it was the one song that never failed to bring a tear to her eye, having heard it at far too many law enforcement funerals over the years.
They’d arrived early so he could take her to watch the changing of the guards at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier, which had been breathtaking, before heading back past the parking garage toward where his teammates were buried. Tomorrow, she was going to meet his parents and sister for the first time, and she was nervous as hell since the last time a lover had introduced her to his family had been many years ago. Tara Reese had recently gotten engaged to her longtime boyfriend, and on Saturday, there would be a large engagement party for the happy couple. But today, Logan had wanted to introduce her to someone special—but he’d refused to tell her who, insisting it was a surprise.
As they followed the road past rows of white stones, Logan stopped sooner than she expected. “Is this it?”
He shook his head. “No. Just wanted to stop and pay my respects to this kid for a moment.”
Dakota read the stone. Brian Chadwick. Cpl. US Army. “My God, he was only twenty when he was killed in Afghanistan. A baby.”
“Not old enough to drink, but old enough to lay down his life for his country.” He tugged on her hand. “Come on, beautiful. Don’t want to be late.”
He’d been calling her “beautiful” since he’d noticed her frowning at her reflection in the hospital. Slash wounds and bruises had covered her head, torso, and arms, in addition to the bullet wound. The black and blue had faded to purple and yellow before disappearing altogether, while the marks from the whip were taking a little longer to heal. She’d hoped they’d be completely unnoticeable for when she met Logan’s family, but a little makeup might be needed to hide the last of them.
