Play to Win

by Tiffany Snow

  Fear was a bitter taste in the back of my throat as I crawled toward the door. There was no further gunfire, but I didn’t know if it was because the shooter had left or was waiting for me to present a good target.

  The thought that someone was watching you, had a gun pointed at you, was enough to turn anyone’s knees to jelly. I got to the hallway and stood, my breath a sharp intake that caught in my chest. Should I run outside? What if he was waiting? Was it the same guy who’d been after me before?

  Sirens screamed in the distance as I stood in indecision. Oh, thank God. The cops were coming.

  Please be coming here, I prayed.

  Apparently someone was listening tonight because sure enough, the sirens pulled up outside and I heard a pounding on the front door.

  “CPD! Open up!”

  I went into the living room just as the front door burst open. I threw up my hands in the universal gesture of surrender as men in uniform streamed inside, weapons at the ready.

  “Please don’t shoot me!” That would really suck.

  The swarm of police moved around me and before I even knew what was happening, I was facedown on the floor, my hands behind my back.

  “I’m so glad you’re here,” I babbled. “He killed Ashley. He’s still outside—”

  “Woman down in the back! Paramedics!”

  I knew it was too late to help Ashley, even as two men rushed by carrying equipment. Tears leaked from my eyes and it felt like I couldn’t breathe. I was numb as I was handcuffed, watching as they rolled a gurney with Ashley’s body on it out the door. They put me in the back of a police car and we drove away.

  Chapter Seventeen

  It wasn’t until they were fingerprinting me and taking my mug shot that I realized I’d been arrested. I’d broken into Ashley’s house and had a knife on me, not to mention that my outfit, which I’d thought was so “badass,” was also a red flag proclaiming I’m Up To No Good.

  I’d never been arrested in my life and while I was trying to keep calm, on the inside I was quaking. The cop processing me took me into a tiny room with a table and two chairs. He handcuffed me to the chair, then left me alone. The heavy metal door swung shut behind him.

  Time inched by, my own panic not helping matters any. I was supposed to get a phone call, right? But so far, no one had offered. They’d fired questions at me about my name and address, but that was all.

  Oh yeah, and that Miranda Rights question about whether I’d understood.

  I shuddered. Hearing that had made this all turn more surreal. Ashley had died right there in front of me. Why? She’d done what he’d told her to do. Had Steven just been tying up loose ends? She’d been about to tell me the name of his bride.

  The door opened, cutting off my thoughts. Ryker walked in.

  “Oh, thank you, God,” I breathed. “I’m so glad you’re here.” My throat thickened with relieved tears.

  “What the hell happened?” he asked, unlocking my handcuffs. I rubbed my sore wrists. “I told you not to do anything stupid.”

  “I didn’t! I was just talking to her, and she told me Steven paid her off to scrub his files. Then someone shot her.”

  “Jesus, Sage! What were you thinking? You could’ve been killed!”

  My face crumpled. “P-please don’t yell at m-me,” I blubbered through my tears.

  Ryker cursed, then pulled me into his arms, hugging me tightly as I sobbed against his shoulder. His T-shirt grew wet as I cried. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Ashley’s slack face and the livid red wound in her chest. I’d been strong for a while now, and I couldn’t take any more. The hits just kept coming, no matter which way I turned.

  He let me get it out for a while, until my sobs had degenerated into the kind of hiccupping you do after a bad crying jag. My nose was clogged, my eyes were swollen, and my head pounded.

  “Come on,” he said. “You could use a drink, I think.”

  “Are they g-gonna let me go?” I stammered, using my sleeve to wipe my face.

  “The shot came from outside,” he said. “They know you didn’t kill her. And Flanagan owes me one anyway.”

  I kept my gaze lowered as Ryker took my hand and led me outside. Although I hadn’t killed Ashley, I’d been arrested, and that humiliation was still fresh.

  Ryker had his bike there and he climbed on first, then helped me. I wrapped my arms around his torso, glad to be able to lean on someone else for a while, even if it was just for a motorcycle ride.

  Ten minutes later, we were pulling up outside the cop bar where we’d had our first dinner together. Ryker ushered me inside and we slid onto two stools at the bar.

  “Hey, Ryker,” the bartender said. “Your usual?”

  “Better make it the hard stuff this time, Sammy. One for my friend, too.”

  Sammy nodded. Adding ice to two glasses, he poured an inch of Irish whiskey on top of each, then slid them in front of us.

  Ryker lifted one. “To Ashley,” he said in a somber toast. I lifted my glass and we both drank to a girl we didn’t know, but who had gotten caught up with the wrong kind of people.

  The whiskey went down smooth, its cool fire spreading warmth in my belly.

  “So what did she tell you before she was killed?” he asked.

  I recounted what she’d said, right up until she’d been about to tell me the name of Steven’s wife.

  “…and that’s when she—” My throat closed up and I hurriedly took another sip of the whiskey.

  “And you thought if you found out who Steven was married to, you’d be able to find her and she’d give you dirt you could use to blackmail him?” Ryker asked. I nodded, and he looked pissed. “You do realize that blackmail is illegal, no matter how justified you might think your motives, not to mention that Steven is batshit crazy enough to just kill you rather than cave meekly to your demands.”

  I nodded, disconsolate.

  Ryker sighed heavily. “I’m sorry, babe. I’m just trying to look out for you. Parker’s got this handled. Let him take care of it.”

  “He doesn’t have this handled,” I retorted. “Going to work for that scumbag is not handling it. And I have this nasty suspicion that this wife Steven doesn’t want us to find is none other than Natalie.” I waited, wondering what Ryker would say to that particular bombshell.

  His brows rose. “You think Steven Shea is Natalie’s husband?”

  I nodded. “It makes sense, doesn’t it? Why else come back so suddenly just at the same time Steven returns to take over his dad’s business? He wants Parker and guess who has a relationship with Parker already? Natalie. Think about it.”

  Ryker frowned. “I understand it looks plausible, but why would she say Jessie was kidnapped? And why make up the whole story about the dead abusive husband?”

  “To get your attention, gain your sympathy, and have a way in,” I said. “Plus gets her ten thousand dollars. Don’t forget the supposed ransom money Parker gave her.”

  Ryker downed the rest of his drink. Sammy looked his way and Ryker tapped the edge of the glass for a refill.

  “Okay,” he said. “Now, don’t take this the wrong way…”

  That never, ever boded well.

  “…but are you sure that maybe you’re not grasping a little bit at straws here? Maybe because you don’t like Natalie?”

  I gritted my teeth. Men. Always thinking it had to be personal. “You’re absolutely right,” I said calmly. “I don’t like Natalie. However, perhaps you’re so blinded by your feelings for her that you refuse to see that there’s just a few too many coincidences here.”

  “Natalie has her faults,” he said, “but I’m not ready to say she’s gone that far down the rabbit hole.”

  I took another drink, thinking. “At least think about it,” I said. “Don’t write off the possibility.”

  “I’m a cop,” he said. “I don’t rule out anything.”

  “Fair enough.”

  We lapsed into silence, drinking the whiskey and lost in o
ur own thoughts. I could hear the strains of John Cougar Mellencamp singing about Jack and Diane on the jukebox in the corner. My stomach growled loud enough for Ryker to hear it.

  “Shit, Sage,” he said. “When was the last time you ate?”

  I scrunched up my face, thinking. “Breakfast, maybe?” Hadn’t Carrie made sure I ate this morning? It seemed so long ago…

  “You know you gotta be a special kind of stupid to forget to eat,” Ryker said, signaling Sammy for a menu.

  “Shut up,” I groused.

  “Order something. And it better only have vegetables as a topping.”

  Got it.

  I ordered a bacon cheeseburger with cheese fries. Ryker ordered the same.

  “You didn’t eat dinner either?” I asked.

  “Of course I did. No reason to turn down a cheeseburger.” Ryker glanced at me. “There’s that smile. Knew it was there somewhere.”

  He was right. I hadn’t had much reason to smile lately. “Sorry,” I said. “It’s been a little rough. My dad, the company, nearly getting killed a few too many times, plus—” I stopped. I’d been about to say Parker, but realized Ryker probably wouldn’t want to discuss my love life troubles.

  “Plus Parker, you mean,” he said.

  I needed another drink for this.

  “He’s with Natalie…kind of,” I said with a shrug. “I miss him and I want this whole thing over and done with.”

  “Give it time. Things have a way of working themselves out.”

  I just looked at him.

  He snorted a laugh at my expression. “I know, it sounds like a fucking bumper sticker, but I’m serious. It’ll be okay.”

  “Whatever.” I shrugged, taking another swig of my refilled whiskey. I was starting to feel the effects, which were wholly welcome.

  Our burgers came and it was the best burger I’d had in a really long time. I ate every bite, washing it down with more whiskey. Although the grease soaked up some of the booze, I was feeling full and pretty carefree by the time I’d chomped the last of my fries.

  “Do you have a dollar?” I asked, eyeing the jukebox. Ryker handed over a bill and I eased off the stool. The room tilted for just a moment, but then I steadied myself.

  “You got it?” he asked.

  “Pfffft, yeah.” Duh. I could walk to the jukebox, no problem.

  A dollar bought four songs. Turned out, Ryker’d given me a five. “That’s…” I did the math in my head. “…twenty songs. Cool.”

  I scrolled through the list and picked as many favorites as I could find. Happily I headed back to Ryker, now nursing a beer, as No Doubt began to play.

  “Gwen Stefani? Really?”

  I stuck my tongue out at Ryker as I hopped back on my stool. “So this is weird, right?” I blurted.

  He took another swig of his beer. “What’s weird?”

  “Me. You. So we’re like friends now.”

  “Yeah,” he said. “Why’s that weird?”

  “Because.” I shrugged. “We used to…you know…” Have sex, I thought but didn’t say. Here’s hoping he could fill in the blanks.

  “Doesn’t mean we have to never see each other again,” he said. “I care about you. I think you care about me, too, right?”

  “You know I do.”

  “Then don’t think so much.”

  Excellent advice. Really, really excellent.

  “Let’s dance.” Ryker grabbed my hand and pulled me onto the tiny parquet floor that could be called a dance floor if you were really loose in your requirements. He spun me around until I was laughing and nearly falling on my ass. Then we did two shots of tequila and decided we were experts at doing the Thriller dance, even if Thriller wasn’t playing.

  I wanted to play pool, but couldn’t remember if I was stripes or solids. Ryker kept making fun of me for hitting his balls in, then the conversation degenerated into bad sexual puns about balls.

  At some point, Sammy called us a cab and we tumbled into the backseat. I had no idea what time it was and for once, I didn’t care.

  “I’m so tired,” I mumbled, leaning on Ryker’s shoulder. My eyes slipped closed.

  “You should be. It’s been a long fucking week.”

  “Thanks for taking care of me tonight.”

  “No problem.” He put his arm around me and squeezed.

  I had vague impressions of my building, the elevator, and Ryker taking the keys from me to unlock my door.

  “I need a bath,” I said, stumbling toward my bathroom.

  “You’re not serious?” Ryker called after me.

  “I need to relax.”

  “Relax any more and you’ll be comatose.”

  Hardy har har.

  A steaming tub of water later, and I felt much better. A knock on the bathroom door made my eyes pop open.

  “You alive in there?” Ryker said through the door.

  “Yep.”

  “All right. Don’t drown. I’m going to bed. I’ll go home in the morning.”

  “’kay.”

  I stayed in the water a little while longer, until my fingers began to prune. Finally, I pulled the plug and got out. I knew there were a lot of things I should be upset about, but I just couldn’t remember what. And it was a blessed relief not to be upset.

  Dragging a T-shirt over my head and pulling on some underwear, I smothered a yawn as I headed for my bed. There was already a lump there proclaiming Ryker wasn’t going to sleep on the couch, but I didn’t care. He was snoring and all I wanted was to do the same (except ladies don’t snore, of course).

  Slipping under the covers, I sighed, snuggling into my pillow. The room spun when I closed my eyes, making me think I might lose that bacon cheeseburger after all, but I was out before my stomach had the chance to revolt.

  * * *

  The pounding in my head made me groan. Damn. Should’ve taken ibuprofen before I’d gone to bed. Or better yet, not had that second shot of tequila. Or had it been the third whiskey on rocks that had done me in?

  I realized a second longer than it should have taken that the pounding was on my front door, not just inside my head.

  “Shit,” I muttered, rolling out of bed. Ryker still snored on his side. It figured. So much for those fabled cop instincts they made movies about. Real life was so much more mundane.

  “I’m coming, I’m coming,” I called out as I navigated my hallway and kitchen. Then I winced as my voice echoed with malicious intent through my head. The pounding stopped, thank God. I peered through the peephole.

  Parker.

  That was enough to put a smile on my face and I fumbled with the lock in my haste to open the door.

  “Hey!” I said, once I had it open. He looked good. Really good. A deep charcoal suit so dark it was nearly black, with a stark white shirt and silk tie in swirling jeweled shades of emerald, topaz, and amethyst. He was in a fantastic mood this morning. “You look incredible.”

  Parker smiled, that sweet slow spread of his lips that made his eyes soften and my insides turn to melted caramel.

  “Good morning,” he said, his voice a teasing lilt. “Rough night?”

  Oh yeah. I probably looked like a disaster. Had I remembered to take my makeup off? Raccoon eyes only looked sexy on models.

  “A little bit,” I said, rubbing my face and combing my fingers through my tangled hair.

  “Sage, who are you talking to?”

  I turned to see Ryker stepping out of the hallway. He was pulling on his shirt, but his jeans were still unfastened. I opened my mouth to tell him Parker was there when Parker suddenly flew past me. Faster than I could take a breath, he’d landed a solid fist into Ryker’s jaw.

  “Oh my God! Parker!” I ran toward them as Ryker shoved him away.

  “What the fuck are you doing?” Ryker spat.

  “You piece of shit,” Parker growled, furious. “You’ve been waiting, haven’t you, just waiting to get me back.” He hit Ryker again and I flinched at the sound.

  “Are you
of your mind?” I yelled. “Stop it!”

  Now they were both enraged and hitting each other. I shoved my fingers into my hair, gripping my head in helpless frustration. I couldn’t stand to see them doing this and when I saw blood, I couldn’t just watch any longer.

  Rushing forward, I grabbed Parker. “Stop!”

  He sidestepped, off-balance, and suddenly there was a blinding, smashing pain in my head. I stumbled and fell, unable to see anything. My head felt like it was going to explode.

  “Shit! Oh my God, Sage, I’m so sorry—”

  I heard Ryker, but couldn’t respond. The pain was so bad, nausea clawed at my throat.

  “Leave,” Parker snarled. “Haven’t you done enough?”

  I couldn’t concentrate on them, though I felt someone’s hands on me as I lay on the floor, my knees drawn up to my chest in the fetal position.

  “You’re the fucking asshole who did it,” Ryker retorted. “You of all people should know not to believe everything you see.”

  The nausea wouldn’t abate and to my mortification, I turned over and began dry heaving. Someone—Parker, I think—gently brushed my hair back from my face as I retched. If I stained my six-hundred-dollar rug from Pier One, I was going to be so pissed…

  When I could finally catch my breath, I said the only thing that I could think of.

  “Both of you, get out.”

  Neither of them spoke for a moment. Maybe they hadn’t heard me.

  “I mean it,” I managed, pushing myself to a sitting position. “You’re both acting like idiots. I’m not some kind of bone to be fought over. Get out.”

  Ryker looked ashamed of himself, especially when I caught him looking at my cheek and temple where he’d accidentally hit me. Parker looked…emotionless. As though whatever he was feeling and thinking had been sucked into a vacuum and locked away tight. I hated when he did that. Especially when it was obviously not true. He’d gone apeshit when he’d shown up and thought he was seeing the proverbial Morning After between Ryker and me.

  Too bad he should’ve known me better by now.

  “I’m not Natalie,” I gritted out through the pain in my head. “And I’m not playing a game. Both of you. Out.”