by Tiffany Snow
Ryker’s hand on my arm had me turning to look up at him.
“These men are trying to kill you. I’m guessing they’ll know soon that they got the wrong woman. I can protect you here.”
The thought that I now needed protecting startled me. I hadn’t thought about it, what the men would do when they found out I was still alive—if they really were after me. Suddenly, I felt light-headed.
“Sit down before you fall down,” Ryker said, taking my arm and easing me down onto the bed. “You need a drink. I’ll be right back.”
I sat on the bed.
It didn’t take long before he was back, sitting next to me on the bed. He had another drink in hand that he pressed into mine. I took a deep swallow without even looking to see what it was and whiskey burned a path down my throat to my stomach. Ryker didn’t say anything as I drank more until the glass was empty; he just took it from me and set it aside.
“I’m scared,” I said, and it felt like a confession. I thought I’d been afraid before, in New York, but now it was here and it was in my home and it was in my bedroom, and I was terrified.
“I know.”
Ryker reached for me and it seemed as natural as anything to let him put his arms around me and pull me onto his lap. I rested my head against his shoulder. He made no move to leave and I didn’t mention it either. I didn’t want to have to confess how scared I was even to be alone. It made me feel weak.
The scent of him was comforting to me, as was the warm strength of his body against mine. His palm drifted down my back and up again in a soothing gesture. I closed my eyes and before I knew it, I was asleep.
* * *
Screaming woke me. My own. My eyes flew open and I sat straight up in bed. I was drenched in sweat, my chest heaving, and my face wet with tears.
“It’s okay. You’re okay.”
Ryker was there. He’d been lying on the floor—not the couch—and now he sat next to me on the bed. I threw myself into his arms and held on tight around his neck.
“It was just a nightmare,” he said. “You’re okay. I’m not going anywhere. You’re safe.”
Gratitude and relief coursed through me and my body relaxed ever so slightly. The nightmare was still fresh in my head. The men had been there, standing over me. One had reached for me and blood flowed. I realized my throat was slit and I couldn’t talk, couldn’t cry for help. The only sound coming from me was a wet gurgling.
I shuddered just thinking about it, and Ryker’s arms tightened around me.
I don’t know how long we stayed like that, until I finally relaxed completely and my head rested on his shoulder. He didn’t move to leave the bed and I didn’t ask him to. Eventually, I fell asleep in his arms and this time, no nightmares plagued me.
* * *
Sunday morning I was awakened by a heavy weight on my chest and something wet on my cheek.
My eyes popped open and I screamed.
McClane barked, his doggy breath fanning right into my face from where he was parked on top of me. Ryker sat straight up, took one look at my face, and yelled at McClane to get off the bed. He did. Reluctantly. And I could breathe again.
“Holy shit,” I gasped, my heart hammering.
“Sorry about that,” Ryker apologized, lying back down beside me. Somehow, we’d gotten underneath the covers, and the bed that had seemed so large last night suddenly felt half the size with him in it. “He doesn’t sleep in on Sundays.”
“So I gathered.”
Ryker’s lips curved in a smile and his gaze wandered over me. His jaw was shadowed even more than usual and I noticed he wasn’t wearing a shirt. I swallowed, wondering how bad my hair looked, not that it seemed he cared. I’d seen that look in a man’s eyes before. My heart was still racing, but now for an entirely different reason.
“I’ll just…go find some coffee,” I said, sliding from underneath the covers. Not that I didn’t really want to stay there with Ryker, who looked way better first thing in the morning than anyone should have a right to look, but it was really soon to sleep with him. Right? Right. And bad circumstances, and morning breath, and about a dozen other reasons that seemed to pale in significance against the sight of him half-naked in his bed.
I had no toiletries with me, so I used a finger to scrub toothpaste onto my teeth and borrowed Ryker’s brush to tame my hair. After splashing some water on my face, I knew it was as good as it was going to get.
Searching through the kitchen turned up a coffeemaker and coffee grounds, and I started a pot while I heard the door close to the bathroom. McClane padded into the kitchen, his nails tapping lightly against the hardwood floor. He stared at me, tongue lolling. He was so huge, his head came to my hips.
“So what am I supposed to do with you?” I asked. “Is there a cat around for you to chase, or a small suckling pig in the fridge for your breakfast?”
McClane plopped his butt on the floor, his tail thumping. Maybe he was smiling at me? It was hard to tell with all the sharp, white teeth.
“Hey, boy, let’s go outside.” Ryker appeared and it seemed McClane knew what those words meant because he was up and out the open back door like a shot. Ryker closed it behind him.
“Did you find the coffee?” he asked.
I nodded. “Yeah. I put a pot on.” This felt awkward, like the proverbial morning-after, but without the sex, which seemed grossly unfair. He’d showered and changed into jeans and a white tank, an unbuttoned short-sleeve shirt thrown on over that. I guessed he wore layers to conceal his holster. His dog tags were centered on his chest and the sunlight glinted off the metal.
“Tell you what,” he said, “we’ll have breakfast, then I’ll take you back to your place for some clothes, and then we’ll go do something. Get your mind off it.”
“Like what?”
“Something. You’ve had a shitty week,” he said with a shrug. “A change of scenery will do you good, trust me.”
I really couldn’t disagree with that, and the prospect of spending the day with Ryker made butterflies dance in my stomach, which also made me feel guilty. Hanna was still dead.
“Oh no you don’t,” he said. “I can see it on your face. You’re still feeling guilty. Don’t. It wasn’t your fault.”
I nodded, knowing that I could tell myself that until I was blue in the face, but it would be a while before the guilt abated.
“Can I help do something?” I asked, wanting to change the subject. “Can you cook?”
“I can cook breakfast,” he said, bypassing me for the fridge. “That’s probably the one meal I can cook.”
I glanced out the back door to the patio and saw a really nice high-end grill. “And barbeque, right?”
Ryker’s arms were full of eggs and a package of bacon when he turned around.
“I’m a total cliché,” he said with a shrug, depositing everything on the counter. “I can cook eggs and grill a steak. That’s about it.” He grinned, the dimple in his cheek on full wattage. “How do you like your eggs? Scrambled or scrambled?”
I laughed. “Scrambled is good.”
He nodded, but I caught him glancing at my chest before he turned away. My camisole pajamas didn’t leave a lot to the imagination, not that there was anything I could do about it. But hey, I had nice boobs, and I didn’t mind Ryker looking. I was doing my own share of looking, too.
His arms were absolutely maxed out. His biceps bulged, straining the cotton of the T-shirt, and even from where I stood a few feet away, I could see the outline of the veins in his arms standing out in prominent relief underneath his skin. The sign of a man who worked out hard.
I wasn’t one of those women who pretended not to be impressed by a man’s physique. I loved a well-built man. Ryker said he was a cliché? Well, so was I. I was definitely impressed by a strong man. Sue me.
And a man who could make me breakfast.
The eggs were perfect, as was the bacon, and Ryker chatted with me while we ate. I asked him about his job and he told me
a couple of hair-raising stories about drug pushers and gangs he’d been a part of taking down. It was engrossing and I barely noticed him feeding McClane bits of bacon as he talked.
“Weren’t you scared?” I asked, after he’d told me about getting cornered by some gang members who’d found out he was an undercover cop.
He shrugged. “Yeah, but it’s the kind of fear that brings everything into sharp focus. Like a hit of adrenaline tinged with terror. It can help you survive.”
I shook my head. I couldn’t imagine living like that, but Ryker seemed to love the rush of danger. Hmm. Probably not good for a relationship.
“I’ll clean up,” I offered, but he waved me away, setting the dirty dishes in the sink.
“I’ll do it later,” he said. “Right now, I’d rather get out of the house.” I caught him looking at my chest again. “Before I take you back to bed, and it wouldn’t be to sleep.”
My face heated and I didn’t reply. Probably because climbing back into bed with Ryker sounded like a pretty damn good way to get my mind off things.
He turned to McClane. “Okay, buddy, I’m taking the lady home. Be good. Don’t eat the couch.”
“Do you have a shirt I can wear over this or something?” I asked.
“That’d be a crime, but I’ll allow it,” he teased. “In the chest of drawers there’s some T-shirts. Help yourself.”
I headed back to the bedroom while he continued piling dishes in the sink. I wasn’t going to complain. I hated doing dishes.
The top drawer was what I pulled out first, quickly discovering that was not where Ryker kept his T-shirts, though I did take a longer-than-appropriate glance at his boxer collection.
Okay, moving on.
I crouched down and pulled at the bottom drawer instead, which seemed stuck. I frowned, yanking harder, then fell back on my butt when it finally opened.
Jackpot! A pile of T-shirts.
Grabbing one, I pulled it on over my head and it came halfway down my thighs. I was just pushing the drawer back in when a corner of something glass caught my eye. Curious, I reached underneath the pile of T-shirts and pulled out a picture frame.
I held it up to see and my jaw dropped open.
It was a photo of Ryker, but he wasn’t alone. A woman was with him, his arm around her shoulders and her arm around his waist. But that wasn’t what was making me stare in stunned astonishment.
Parker was there, too, standing on the other side of the woman.
All three were smiling and laughing, looking into the camera. As though they were the best of friends.
The woman was pretty and young. She had short blond hair that just brushed her shoulders. Petite, she only came to shoulder-height on the men.
Natalie. It had to be.
What had happened to make things go so wrong between them? How had her death torn Parker and Ryker apart? I would have thought, from looking at the picture, that they’d have both mourned her and been there to help each other through it.
I heard a step in the hallway and hurriedly replaced the picture and shoved the drawer shut just as Ryker stepped into the room.
“Find something?” he asked.
“Sure did. Thanks.” I forced a smile, my thoughts churning with the mystery that was Parker, Ryker, and Natalie.
I followed him outside and a few minutes later we were heading to my apartment in his pickup. The windows were down, and my hair teased my face as the breeze tossed it with invisible fingers. He drove with one arm draped over the wheel, his long legs stretched out in front of him.
“So did you buy this somewhere?” I asked, looking around the interior. It was an antique, yes, but very well cared for. The upholstery on the bench seat was perfect, as was the dash. Not a speck of dust anywhere.
“I bought it when I got out of the Marines,” he said. “It was a piece of junk. But I fixed it up. Took me a long time. It’s a hobby, fixing up old cars and trucks. I have another one I’m working on now.”
“Motorcycles and vintage automobiles?” I asked.
He turned his smile full wattage again. “I know. Cliché.”
I may have sighed a little. With his heavy boots, mirrored shades, and the dog tags dangling around his neck, Ryker had the bad-boy thing written all over him. But when he smiled, he was pure charm and boy-next-door.
Going back inside my apartment altered my mood drastically. Ryker removed the crime scene tape so I could get in, then walked with me to my bedroom.
I stopped short at the door, my horrified gaze drawn to the blood-soaked bed. I’d blocked out how much blood there’d been, but there was no hiding it in the bright sunshine streaming through the window.
Tears stung my eyes even as my stomach rolled. “Oh God,” I whispered, trying to swallow down the bile in my throat, but it was no use. I made a beeline for the bathroom, making it to the toilet just as my stomach heaved up the breakfast Ryker had made me.
To my mortification, Ryker was there, handing me a damp washcloth as my stomach finally eased. I flushed the toilet, then sat on the lid. My hands were shaking as I wiped my face.
“Why don’t you shower and pack up the things you’ll need from the bathroom,” he suggested. “I’ll pack your clothes.” There was an empathy in his voice that made me feel a little better about losing it like that.
I nodded, deciding a man packing my clothes was a better alternative than me being in the same room where Hanna’s blood still stained the sheets. “Okay. Thanks.”
I showered, blew my hair dry, and packed my makeup as quickly as I could. By the time I was done, Ryker had loaded my suitcase. I followed him out into the living room, appreciating the way he kept his body as a buffer between me and the bed as we left the scene of Hanna’s death behind.
“How much did you pack?” I asked, staring at the bulging suitcase.
“Enough,” he said with a shrug.
I didn’t ask how long I’d be staying at his place. I just knew I needed a few days to figure out what I was going to do, if I’d stay here or move into another apartment. Part of me wanted to move out—how could I ever sleep in that bedroom again? But the other part of me loved my apartment and hated to think I’d have to move, which also seemed somehow an insult to Hanna’s memory. I didn’t know how to feel, so I was just grateful I’d been given some time to figure it out.
I was reaching for the front door when it suddenly burst open, startling a squeak from me. I was jerked back and shoved behind Ryker. His gun was in his hand as he faced the intruder.
But it was Parker who came through the door.
Chapter Fourteen
Parker didn’t even seem to notice Ryker, just took one look at me and stopped in his tracks.
“Sage,” he said, his voice a heavy rasp. “I thought you…” But he didn’t continue. He was pale and dressed haphazardly in jeans and a button-down shirt that hadn’t been tucked in and wasn’t even buttoned all the way.
His eyes drank me in, so intent I couldn’t look away.
“Whatever deal you made to protect her isn’t working,” Ryker said, his tone hard. It broke the spell and Parker’s gaze shifted from me to him. “You’ve fucked something up, or they think you’re going to. They thought they’d make their point by killing her.”
“Fuck off,” Parker growled at him. “This is none of your—”
“Wait a second,” I interrupted. “You told me to stay in my apartment all weekend, and that’s where they came. Right here.”
Neither Parker nor Ryker said a word, but I swore the temperature dropped ten degrees.
“You told her to stay in her apartment,” Ryker repeated, his voice ice cold. “How convenient.”
“I wanted her to go to her parents’,” Parker bit out. “She refused to go.”
“So it’s her fault that you’ve put her in danger?”
Parker didn’t answer. Instead, he turned to me and said, “Come with me.”
“Fuck that, dipshit. She’s staying with me until this is ove
r.” Ryker sounded angry and looked like it wouldn’t take much for him to attack Parker. Parker’s fists were clenched and he was staring at Ryker as though hoping looks alone could kill. I swallowed hard.
They both looked at me, waiting for me to make a decision. I glanced first at Parker, then at Ryker. I knew which one I wanted to choose, and I knew which one I should.
“Parker, I appreciate you coming here, but Ryker’s a cop. I should stay with him.”
It was logical, but also maybe a little part of me was still hurting from Parker’s rejection and I wanted to hurt him back. Not big of me, but it was there nonetheless.
“There you go,” Ryker said, satisfaction lacing his voice. Slotting his fingers with mine, he slid on his sunglasses, grabbed the suitcase, and pushed past Parker.
Parker’s eyes were on mine as I went by, and I couldn’t hold his accusing gaze. All I could see inside my head was the picture of Parker, Ryker, and Natalie, and wonder whether history really did have a strange way of repeating itself.
* * *
I’d changed into shorts and a T-shirt, not having any idea what Ryker had planned to take my mind off things. I definitely needed a distraction. Choosing Ryker over Parker had me feeling a guilt that clung like a sweater charged with static electricity.
“We’re going to a…fair?” I asked him, rounding the front of the pickup where he’d parked next to a line of other cars in a field-turned-parking lot.
“You sound like you’ve never been to one,” Ryker replied, taking my hand in his.
“I haven’t,” I said.
Ryker stopped in his tracks and faced me. Sliding his sunglasses down a notch, he peered at me over the rims. “You can’t be serious.”
I shrugged. “Not really high on my family’s To Do list.”
“It’s awesome. You’re gonna love it.” He resumed walking.
“I guess I’ll have to take your word for it,” I said.
“Fried foods, of every kind imaginable. Beer garden. Tractor pull. Pig races. Rides. Games. What’s there not to like?”
“What kind of fried foods?” I’d had a funnel cake once, years ago at Disney World, and it had tasted like heaven on earth. “Do they have funnel cakes?”