Logan McKenna Mystery 02-Forest Park by Davisson Valerie

Author:Davisson, Valerie [Davisson, Valerie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Suspense, American Suspense, Crime Procedural, Crime Thriller, Murder Investigation, Portland, Oregon
Publisher: Vaughn House Publishing
Published: 2019-09-02T05:00:00+00:00

34

Chilled to the bone from her late-night walk back from the club, Logan kicked off her boots, stripped off her clothes, and jumped into a hot shower. She’d gotten caught in the rain two blocks from the hotel. Towel drying her hair, she decided to wait until morning to check her messages, and crawled into bed, pulling the covers up under her chin.

Damn it was cold!

While Jasper was on kissing terms with the Pacific, Portland was a good two hours inland, so lacked the moderate temperatures of the coast. Still, Logan liked fresh air, so left the window open a crack. The hum and rhythm of the city sounds floated in past the heavy curtains, lulling her to sleep just as effectively as ocean waves back home. She was out within seconds of her head hitting the pillow.

*****

Logan’s eyes flipped open.

What the . . . ?

Struggling to fully wake and get her bearings, she squinted at the alarm clock nestled under the watchful eyes of the stone owl on the small table by the bed.

4:59 A.M.

She rubbed her eyes, blinking to make them focus. She’d heard a noise but couldn’t identify it.

She rubbed her eyes again, harder this time, and sat up, quickly surveying the still dark room.

A solitary flame reached for air in the gas fireplace.

Pilot light.

Had she been dreaming? She pushed off the covers and reached for the hotel robe she’d spread across the duvet last night for additional warmth.

A loud whomp! sent her scrambling out of bed.

Impatiently pushing her hand through the tangle of the robe’s sleeve, Logan tripped on her boots as her bare feet tried to find purchase on the carpet.

“Jeez!”

She hopped over to the window, nursing a stubbed toe, and pushed back the curtains. The last of a giant fireball rose above one of the food trucks and lit up the parking lot across the street like it was day. Greedy fingers of flame reached wildly toward anything they could consume.

Logan grabbed the phone.

“911—What is your emergency?”

“Fire. I’m at the Governor, the fire is in the parking lot, diagonally across the street. There was an explosion—maybe two . . . Yes . . . Just a minute . . . It’s at . . .”

Logan searched for a street sign.

“Tenth and something . . . Alder . . . Tenth and Alder.”

She wanted to be brief so the emergency operator could do her job. Whatever information the woman needed to know she’d ask for.

Through the flames, Logan saw a man running away from the fire—low and in a zigzag pattern, open jacket flapping. He looked kind of crazy. No, he looked like the kitchen helper from the New School, GI Joe, or Gentle Joe as Glenda called him, but it was too far away to tell for sure.

“Do you need medical? Has anyone been injured?”

*****

Logan didn’t think the man she saw running looked injured.

“No, I don’t see anyone injured. I don’t think any of the food trucks were open this early.”

Cops were already showing up, positioning cars to block traffic and she heard a fire engine in the distance.

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