A Reason to Kill (Reason #2) Read Online Free PDF

I woke up this morning I was clothed, but only in bra and panties. How I got back to the motel and out of my clothes was a mystery, but I was alone in the room when I woke up. However, the rest of the night—gone, nada, zero memory.
    I knew I’d drive myself crazy if I didn’t find out what happened, yet, at the same time, I was afraid to find out. Eyeing Lucy, I decided to rip the Band-Aid off and ask. However, before I could, Lucy turned suddenly as we watched another set of climbers take their turn. She reached into the Jeep pulling out the camera bag. When she found the digital 35mm with zoom lens she took off across the street, so Frank and I followed. As we reached the edge of the festivities, Lucy brought the camera up and looked through the lens, zooming in on the climbers.
    “That’s Jake up next, come on,” she announced and then took off running.
    “Lucy, we need to get up the mountain,” I shouted back, but she didn’t listen and kept heading towards the speed-climbing arena.
    Frustrated and aching I turned to Frank and told him, “Move the Jeep around to the other side and I’ll go find her.”
    Nodding, Frank smiled as he looked in the direction Lucy had gone and then mumbled, “At least one of us got lucky last night.”
    I whipped around and watched Lucy disappear into the crowd, her ponytail bouncing as she sprinted towards her target. Had Lucy gotten lucky last night? I searched my memory and pulled up a picture of my young intern licking her way up a muscled body. Oh boy!
    I started shoving through the crowds of people, amazed at how many residents there were in this small town. I wouldn’t have guessed there were more than five hundred people when we arrived, but the wall in front of me proved me wrong. Making my way towards the speed-climbing arena, I looked to the right when a man shouted “Loggers to your poles,” and saw a group of men getting ready to participate in the standing chop block. From what I knew about this event, which was little, the logger who was strongest, and surest with his strikes, won. I kept moving forward, my eyes scanning the men out of curiosity. Let’s face it, hungover or not, these were still burly men swinging axes and that was hot. Therefore, being a single woman, I looked, and then I froze. At the far end was Paul Bunyan, and his six plus feet (and I’m thinking fiveish inches) of pure heavenly brawn. He’d pulled the shirt from his body (thank you, Jesus) and was now standing in nothing but his jeans, work boots and a sexy leather cuff on his wrist.
    I knew he had muscles, you couldn’t miss that about him, but seeing it in the flesh, flexing—no freaking words. Tanned from working in the sun, his chest was broad and chiseled like a statue, with a light sprinkling of chest hair. My eyes scanned down his body and saw tight abs defined like a boxers. But, his arms, the way those biceps and triceps flexed and released as he swung his axe warming up, Lord have mercy.
    In a trance from all the muscle bound goodness, I found myself moving to, and sitting on, the grass near the water’s edge to watch. Okay, more like drooling rather than watching. But the crazy thing was, for a moment, I swore he looked my direction and held my gaze as his mouth twitched in a half grin.
    When the announcer called out “Loggers ready,” I watched as he set his stance by measuring the distance to the log with his axe. Then he brought it down low, ready for his first strike. When the whistle blew, he swung with power as he chipped away strategically at the circle on the side of the three-foot smooth log. His blows were so powerful, after five swings, he moved to the other side and swung his axe again with the skill of a man who’d done it all his life. He was intimidating, seemingly godlike in presence compared to the other competitors and swung his axe with such force that he beat the others by a full thirty seconds.
    When he was finished, he picked up his shirt, handed his