Crying.
Yeah, Ryder could definitely see him as the crying type. The spineless piece of shit.
He moved toward the pavilion, paused just inside and leaned against one of the support posts. What the hell was he missing? What was it he wasn't seeing? It was there, just out of reach of his mind's eye. Something important. Something that didn't quite fit in.
He stared into the darkness, his gaze unseeing as he forced his mind to clear. As he focused inward.
Was it something from this morning, after Ninja had returned to the bungalow? No, that didn't feel right. Whatever it was had happened later. But when?
He closed his eyes, mentally retraced the events of the day, starting with tracking down Hannah. He'd searched the entire compound, only finding her when he ventured further away. There'd been nothing between here and there, nothing except lush vegetation and an old storage shed.
Was it something about the shed? No, it couldn't be. He'd looked inside, saw nothing but rusty tools and equipment. A stack of paint cans. A tarp, tossed haphazardly in the corner in the corner. There'd been a faint odor of marijuana, the smell fresh enough that he figured someone had been in there smoking recently, probably Tim.
What about later, after he'd chased down Hannah and gone with her to the sorry excuse for a building site? There'd been nothing out of the ordinary then, not that he'd seen. But he'd been watching the beach below as he worked on the fence, waiting on the authorities to show up and descend on that cave Hannah and Allison had found. If something unusual had happened anywhere else, would he have even noticed?
Maybe.
Maybe not.
Had he seen something without realizing it? Was that why the niggling sensation was pulling at him now?
Dammit! He needed to think. To figure this out. Now. What the hell was eluding him?
He pulled in a deep breath, exhaled slowly. Cleared his mind and let the day come back to him in a series of mental snapshots.
Sunlight reflecting off the water as he watched the beach.
Sweat beading his brow as he worked. Rough wood beneath his hands as he pounded posts into the ground.
Hannah, coming up and offering him water. Asking if he thought anyone in her small group could be responsible for the guns as she looked out over the horizon.
Ryder turning, studying each member of her band of volunteers.
The weasel, standing off to the side with his hands on his hips, doing absolutely nothing.
Katie Miller, her expression distracted and fearful as she slapped paint on the concrete walls under the direction of her grandmother, Eva Miller.
Cindy and Darla, the paint brushes in their hands forgotten as they bent their heads together, quietly arguing.
George Miller, fanning himself in the shade, red-faced and sweaty from overexerting himself moving paint cans.
Moving paint cans.
Ryder opened his eyes, focused on the darkness as he mulled that last bit over in his mind. Why had he had that specific thought at that specific moment?
Because Miller had a smudge of paint on the edge of his sleeve and the hem of his shirt. Yeah, because they'd been painting, that was why. It had been nothing more than a logical conclusion. Even Tim's shirt had been stained with paint. Ryder had noticed it when he pulled the man's body from the water and quickly checked for other injuries.
Not because he was under the mistaken assumption the man could be helped, but because he wanted to see if there were any signs he might have slipped or fallen.
There hadn't been any. No scrapes, no cuts, no bruises. No rips or tears in his clothing. Just the bashed-in head and the paint stain. A pale mint green, just like the stain on Miller's shirt.
Except the school they were painting was blue, not green. The only thing that had been painted green anytime recently was the weasel's bungalow—which happened to be the same shade of green he'd noticed on the men's shirts.
And the same shade of green covering the sides of the old paint cans he'd seen in the shed.
Ryder swore to himself and stormed away from the pavilion, his angry strides carrying him away from the compound and toward the storage shed. Shit. Why the hell hadn't he noticed it before?
Because he hadn't been paying attention.
Because he'd been too worried about Hannah.
Because he hadn't been looking for it, hadn't even thought it was possible. He'd fucking assumed the guns had nothing to do with anyone here.
He'd been wrong. Christ, had he ever been wrong.
The creak of rusty hinges and swollen wood echoed around him, making him wince. Had anyone heard? He glanced behind him, looking for movement in the shadows, but there was nothing there. He waited, holding himself still. One minute. Two. Still nothing.
He eased the door open a little more, slowly this time, just enough so he could squeeze through. Something sharp tore his shirt and scraped his back and he swore under his breath, angry at himself for not being more careful.
Angry at himself for not seeing any of this sooner. For not putting it together before it was too late to make a difference.
He dug the small penlight from his pocket and made his way to the back of the shed, not turning it on until the absolute last second. The paint cans were to his left, tossed in a haphazard pile. He glanced at them only long enough to confirm his suspicions then moved to the tarp.
The tarp wasn't just tossed in the corner, the way he'd first thought when he saw it this morning. It was covering something, thrown over in such a way that it merely looked like it had been tossed to the side.
He grabbed a corner and pulled it back, swearing softly when he saw dark green. It was another crate, just like the ones in the cave.
Fuck.
Questions raced through his mind. Where had they come from? What were they going to do with them? How were they getting them from here to the beach?
The only question he could answer was who. Everything else would have to be figured out by the authorities. Not the local authorities but someone else, someone who had the manpower and the resources to handle it.
Which meant it was time for another call. Daryl would just have to get his ass out of bed and start reaching out to his contacts and get something moving. Now, before it was too late.
Ryder replaced the tarp and turned off the penlight, shoved it back in his pocket then quietly retraced his steps. Was the sat phone in Ninja's bag, or did he have it on him? Didn't matter, Ryder would find out soon enough.
He eased his body through the small opening then hesitated. Should he leave it open, or close it? Close it. He couldn't risk Miller coming out here in the morning and finding it open. Maybe he'd question it, maybe he wouldn't. But he'd already killed one person—no, two, if Ryder counted the one-legged man his sister and Hannah had seen. There was nothing saying he wouldn't kill again.
He placed his hand against the door and gently closed it, wincing again as the hinges creaked in protest. There was another noise, nothing more than a small splash, the sound nearly lost in the rain.
Ryder turned but he wasn't fast enough. Searing pain exploded in his skull. There was a bright flash as lights flared behind his eyes—
Then nothing but darkness.
Chapter Twenty
Consciousness came slowly for Hannah. It tugged at her with gentle hands, urging her to open her eyes. To hit the ground running as she usually did. There was always so much to do and never enough time in which to do it.
Shower. Change. Get the coffee started before everyone else woke up. She might suck at cooking but her coffee more than made up for it.
Usually.
Go over reports. Review the schedule for the day and make sure any supplies they needed were loaded up. Make sure lunch was packed and loaded into the van—although Allison usually handled that chore.
She huddled deeper under the blankets, her usual enthusiasm dampened. She didn't want to wake up. Didn't want to hit the ground running. For once, she just wanted to lay
here and do nothing. Wanted to forget about her responsibilities and everyone who was waiting on her.
She wanted to cuddle against Ryder and let the heat of his body lull her back to sleep. Wanted to rest her head against his shoulder as her hand drifted across his chest, as her fingers played with the hair covering that gorgeous expanse of hard flesh.
He'd roll her over, his heavy weight stretched out on top of her as his mouth claimed hers. As he kissed and licked and nibbled his way down her body, the way he'd done once before in the middle of the night.
Dampness spread between her legs, surprising her. How could she want him again, so soon after everything they'd done the night before? She should be sore and tender from their lovemaking, not eagerly anticipating his touch.
It didn't matter. She wanted him. Couldn't get enough of him. His touch. His taste. The soft words he murmured in her ear and against her skin.
No, she could never have enough of him. Would never get tired of his touch. Of the way he made her feel. Yes, it was foolish, she knew that. She was setting herself up for heartbreak again.
She didn't care. She still wanted him.
That had never stopped, not in all these years. She'd been telling herself all this time that she'd been too young back then to be in love. That what she felt for Ryder was nothing more than an infatuation, one made even stronger because he'd been her first.
She'd been lying to herself all this time.
That didn't matter either. Maybe it would when he left. Maybe her heart would break for good this time when they parted ways. But she didn't want to think about that now. She had survived before, she'd survive again. Right now, she just wanted Ryder. Wanted to cram a lifetime of loving into the little time they had left.
She wanted...him.
She reached out with her hand, searching for Ryder. For his warm body. For what only he could give her. But the bed was empty, her hand closing on nothing more substantial than a cool sheet.
She swallowed back a sleepy sigh and lifted her head from beneath the covers. She blinked, yawned, blinked again. Was he in the bathroom? No. The door was open, showing her nothing but an empty room. She shoved the hair out of her face and turned her head—then nearly screamed when she saw a pair of brown eyes staring back at her.
"Allison! OhmyGod." Hannah held the sheet tight against her body then pushed herself to a sitting position. A tangle of hair fell into her face and she brushed it away, her eyes scanning the room, searching for Ryder.
He was gone.
She turned back to Allison, frowned at the broad smile on her face. "What are you doing here?"
"I came to make sure you were still alive."
"Yes, I'm still alive." The memory of Tim's body floating in the water flooded back to her and she shivered. "And that's not even funny. Not after what happened yesterday."
Allison's smile faded. "I know. I'm sorry. It's just—you're usually the first one up. I wanted to check on you, make sure everything's okay."
"Yeah. Fine." Hannah adjusted her grip on the sheet and looked around the room again. "Where's Ryder?"
"No idea. He's probably out looking around, being nosy."
"You haven't seen him?"
"Nope."
"What about Colter?"
"He's been making phone calls all morning."
"Oh." Hannah glanced out the window. Watery light filtered in through the dirty glass. Now that she was awake and slightly more coherent, she could hear the rain hitting the roof overhead, a steady pounding that filled her with an uneasiness she didn't understand. She turned back to Allison. "What time is it?"
"Almost seven."
"That late?" She scrambled out of bed, searching for her clothes. "I need to get the coffee ready, get packed so we can—"
"The coffee's already made. And you don't need to worry about packing."
"But—" A crack of lightning crashed nearby, followed by a low roll of thunder.
"The ferry isn't running in this weather, you know that. We're going to be here for a while. A few hours at least. Maybe more, depending on the storm."
Hannah sank onto the bed, uneasiness filling her. Was it from the storm? Possibly. Storms always made her uneasy. The wind. The lightning. There was something wild and untamed about them that always unsettled her. Not in a bad way—they didn't frighten her or make her want to cower under the covers or anything like that. They just made her...edgy.
Or maybe that edginess came from knowing they wouldn't be leaving as soon as they had planned. They'd be stuck here, at the mercy of the weather, with yesterday's events hanging over them.
But maybe that wouldn't be as bad as she thought. There was nothing to do here when the occasional storm rolled in. They couldn't work outside. There was no community room or anywhere to congregate. Sometimes they would go to the pavilion and play cards, or maybe a board game, or just sit around and talk—but not when it rained like this. The pavilion was open on three sides and did little to provide protection from anything more than a light rain.
Which meant they'd be stuck indoors. Not a bad place to be—if Ryder was here.
And why wasn't he here? Why would he be roaming around outside in weather like this? She asked Allison but the other woman only shrugged.
"Who knows? The weather doesn't mean anything to him, not with everything he's done. You know that."
She didn't, but she wasn't about to admit that to Allison. There was a lot she didn't know about Ryder. About the things he done in the past. About what he did now.
Maybe she could rectify that today. They could talk, really talk—if they weren't busy doing other things.
"Why don't you shower and get dressed, then meet me next door? I brought a change of clothes for you. And your poncho." Allison pointed to the pile at the edge of Colter's bed then stood. "We can figure out what we're going to do next."
"Next?"
"Yeah. You know—since we won't be working here anymore." Disappointment filled Allison's voice, the same disappointment that swept over Hannah when she thought about how completely they'd been conned. The disappointment was quickly replaced by anger and she ruthlessly pushed both emotions away. She didn't want to deal with it, not now. Not when she knew she'd be second-guessing herself in the months to come, wondering how she could have been so stupid and naive.
She nodded absently then called out to Allison before she closed the door behind her. "Are you sure I should come over there? Won't I be, um, in the way?"
Disappointment of another kind crossed her friend's face. "No. Colter was a perfect gentleman."
Hannah bit back a smile at the muttered damn him that followed Allison out the door. She shouldn't laugh, not when she knew exactly how her friend felt.
Hannah took a quick shower and quickly dressed, grateful that Allison had thought to bring a long sleeve shirt instead of a regular one. The temperature wasn't close to being cold but the rain always left her chilled and she was thankful for the thin material covering her arms.
What Allison didn't bring was a brush. Hannah dried her hair as best she could with the towel, finger-combed most of the tangles out, then pulled it back into its usual ponytail.
Ryder still wasn't back by the time she finished. Had he come in while she was showering then left to give her privacy? No, she couldn't see him doing that, not without at least letting her know. Besides, she would have heard him come in.
Maybe he was in the pavilion, getting coffee. Or maybe he was in her bungalow, talking to Allison and Colter. Or maybe he was—she didn't know where else he could be, couldn't even begin to imagine what he might be doing.
Thunder rolled in the distance again, sharpening that uneasiness that had been hovering over her since she first woke up and realized Ryder was gone. It didn't matter where he was, she wouldn't find him by sitting here and waiting.
She grabbed her poncho and pulled it over her head then headed outside. Coffee first, then she'd check with Allison. If she didn't run into Ryder by then, she'd st
art looking for him. Yes, he'd probably laugh at her for worrying. On second thought, no he wouldn't. He'd probably be upset that she wandered around by herself. Considering what had happened to Tim yesterday, that was probably a valid concern.
Okay, fine. She'd ask Colter to go with her.
The pavilion was empty when she reached it, just as she'd expected. At least there was still some coffee left. She poured herself a cup and had just taken the first sip, sighing as warmth spread throughout her, when she heard the sound of someone calling her name.
She turned, frowning when Mr. Miller hurried into the pavilion. Rain dripped from his flushed face and wet hair. He wasn't wearing a poncho or raincoat and his clothes were soaked. Not just soaked—they were streaked with mud, as if he had slipped and fell.
She placed her mug on the makeshift island countertop and hurried to meet him. "Mr. Miller! Are you okay? What happened?"
He grabbed her hand, started tugging her from the pavilion. "Oh, Hannah. Thank God. Hurry."
"What is it? What happened?" The panic lacing his breathless voice was contagious, turning the edginess into sharp anxiety. "Is it your wife? Katie? Are they okay?"
He kept pulling her, not even bothering to look at her as he dragged her away from the pavilion. "No, it's him."
"Him? Who? Kevin?"
"No, your friend. Ryder. Something's wrong. I think he's hurt."
Fear, deep and cold, froze her in place, but only for a second before it propelled her forward. She was no longer behind Mr. Miller, she was beside him, moving ahead of him in her desperation to reach Ryder.
No. Please, no, don't let anything happen to him. He's fine. He'll be fine.
He had to be fine. Hannah couldn't bear to think otherwise.
Mr. Miller veered to the right, toward the van. She didn't question him, just blindly followed, thinking only of Ryder.
Until they moved past the van and Mr. Miller reached for the sliding door. Hannah slid to a stop, confusion cutting through the panic that had gripped her moments before. She backed up, frowned when the man's hand tightened around her arm.
The Defender: RYDER (Cover Six Security Book 3) Page 17