by Mallory Kane
“I didn’t just run off the road into a ditch, did I? This is deeper than that.”
“Don’t worry, Nicole. I promised Ryker I’d get you out of here in one piece, and that’s what I’m going to do. You just do everything I say and we’ll be having café au lait together in no time.”
“Ryker? You know Ryker?”
“I sure do. Since he was a snot-nosed kid.” The fireman grinned again and Nicole realized he looked a little familiar. “We’re cousins. My name’s Shel Rossi.”
“Shel? For Shelton?”
“Nope. I wish.” He chuckled as he pulled a tangle of yellow straps from his backpack. “This is a harness. I need you to get this part right here around your chest under your arms. Then wiggle this long strap between your legs.”
Nicole managed to get the straps under her arms, but she couldn’t lift herself out of the seat enough to maneuver the webbed strap down her back and between her legs.
“I tell you what,” Shel said. “I’m going to get this door open first, then if you’ll allow me, I can help you get the crotch strap around and fastened.”
“I don’t care what you do, Shel, as long as you get me out of here.”
Chapter Ten
Shel reached for the door handle. It took some struggling, and several times Nicole thought the car was going to go sliding backward, but finally he got the door open.
“Now if you’ll forgive me,” he said. He pushed the strap of the harness down between her back and the seat, until he’d stuffed it under her butt. “Okay, can you brace your legs and lift your butt?”
She did and he reached between her legs and grabbed the strap. Before she knew it he had it fastened to the chest strap.
“Okay. You’re all secured and ready to go. Don’t tell Ryker how much fun we had.” He winked at her. She laughed.
Then he grew serious. “I’m ready to lift you out. I want you to concentrate on not getting your legs or arms tangled in the steering wheel or the seat belt. I’ve got your harness attached to mine, so you’re not going anywhere without me. And the only place I’m headed is back up to the road. Okay?”
Nicole swallowed. “Okay.”
By the time Shel was done, Nicole felt as if her arms had been jerked out of their sockets and her legs had been tied in knots, not to mention the bruises she was sure she had from the punishing straps. But Shel’s strong arms held on to her as he half walked, half slid up the muddy slope, helped along by the firemen pulling on his harness.
Finally, more than one pair of strong arms hauled her and Shel up to solid ground. Shel unhooked her harness from his and turned her over to a waiting EMT.
“Thank you, Shel.”
“Don’t mention it. Tell Ryker to bring you around to meet the family one of these days.” The mud-covered fireman touched the brim of his hat and headed toward the fire truck.
After the EMT had determined that the scratch on her cheek and some bruises from the seat belt and the harness were her only injuries, he helped her get as much mud off her as possible, then gave her a pair of scrubs and left her to change inside the ambulance.
By the time she emerged, Ryker was loping across the road toward her. She’d barely climbed down from the back of the ambulance when he grabbed her and pulled her fiercely to him.
She slid her arms around his waist and reveled in his tight, strong embrace. “Ryker! Oh, Ryker. I’m so sorry!”
“Nic! Are you all right?” His chest was heaving and his heart was beating double-time. Beating for her.
“I’m fine now. I—”
Suddenly, he let go of her and took a step backward. He glanced around, his cheeks flushed. He cleared his throat as the emergency medical technician approached. “How is she?” he asked.
“She’s fine. Just a scrape on her cheek, and she’ll have some bruises from the rescue harness, but otherwise, she’s a-okay.”
“Thanks,” Ryker said gruffly. As the EMT headed away, he turned back to Nicole, a frown marring his even features. But before he could say anything, Shel Rossi came up. He’d shed the harness and the backpack and jacket, but he still had on the firemen’s pants with red suspenders holding them up. The white T-shirt he wore revealed a very nice, buff torso. He clapped Ryker on the back.
“Shel.” Ryker turned and held out his hand. “Thanks.”
“No prob, cousin. That’s a really nice—witness you’ve got there.”
Nicole smiled at Shel’s teasing tone but Ryker wasn’t amused. “What’s the story on the car?”
“Hard to tell. The rain’s washed away any evidence we might have found on the road—tire tracks and such. The front of the vehicle is peppered with gunshots. They’re looking for bullets or casings. But again—” Shel glanced skyward. “The rain.”
“Yeah. Who’s the detective?”
“Baron Treehorn, from Madisonville. He’s over there.”
Ryker nodded. “I know him. We’ve talked a few times.”
“I’ve got to go talk to my chief.” Shel turned to Nicole. “I sure am glad you’re okay, Nicole.”
“Thank you again, Shel. You kept me from dying of fright.”
“My pleasure.” Shel paused, eyeing Ryker. “She was incredibly brave, Ryker. Watch that Delancey temper.”
Shel wasn’t even out of earshot when Ryker turned on her.
“What the hell were you doing? I told you that you were not to go anywhere without me or Job or Bill. That meant anywhere!”
He was furious, and a little scary. Nicole swallowed hard, then stood up straight and lifted her chin. “I don’t know if you noticed, but I’ve had about all the excitement I can handle for one day, so I’d appreciate it if you’d wait until tomorrow to scream at me like a banshee. Like Shel said, watch your Delancey temper.” She felt like crying, but she channeled every bit of fear and panic and terror into matching Ryker’s anger. It worked fairly well.
Ryker’s face reflected surprise for an instant before it resumed its former furious scowl. “You almost got killed. Do you know that?” He took her arm and pulled her over to the edge of the road.
“Look down there,” he ordered her. “That mud down there is deep, and it’s worse than quicksand. A couple more minutes and neither you nor your car would have ever been seen again. I’ll ask you one more time, what the hell were you doing out here?”
Nicole barely heard his last words. She was staring down at her car, which was slowly being winched up out of the ditch. The winch’s motor shrieked, the chain creaked and a low, wet sucking sound provided a bass undertone. Her car was almost wheel-well deep in black mud.
“Worse than quicksand?” she repeated. Gone was her righteous anger. Gone was her pride at Shel’s declaration of how brave she’d been. The tears that hadn’t quite made it to the surface before emerged, and the terror that she’d managed to keep locked away while Shel Rossi was saving her life erupted like a volcano. Suddenly she was shaking all over.
She wrapped her arms tightly around herself, but as hard as she squeezed, trying to hold herself together, she still felt as if she was falling apart. A sob escaped her tight throat. Then another one. Then tears overflowed.
Ryker started to say something, then stopped and clamped his jaw. After a couple of seconds, he took a deep breath.
“Come on,” he said gently. “I’m going to put you in my car. You’re obviously freezing. I’ll see if anybody has any coffee.”
“Shel s-said we’d h-have café au lait,” she wailed, knowing she sounded like a child but unable to stop the tears or the shivers.
Ryker guided her to his car and settled her in the passenger seat. Then he got in, started the engine and turned on the heat. “You stay right here until I get back. Understand?”
Although his words were commanding, his voice was still gentle. She nodded.
“I will,” she said through chattering teeth. “Where—where are you going?”
“Just over there, to talk with the detective and see if anybody’s got a thermos o
f coffee. I’ll be back soon.”
“Okay.” Nicole rubbed her arms and hunched her shoulders. The warm air from the car’s heater penetrated the chill on her skin, making her shiver even more.
But her skin would warm up.
It was the cold knot of terror lodged beneath her breastbone that she was afraid would never thaw. Terror due to a man in a black hoodie who wasn’t going to stop until she was dead.
The heater’s blast finally began to seep through her clothes and skin. She took a shaky breath and sighed. Several yards away, Ryker was talking to his cousin Shel. Shel was obviously describing how he’d gotten the strap around her and pulled her to safety.
Then the two of them walked over to her car, where a young man wearing a CSI jacket was taking photographs. Shel spoke to the photographer, who pointed to several places on the fender as he answered. Ryker followed the two men’s words carefully. After a few seconds, he grimaced and brushed a hand over the top of his head, leaving his hair spiked.
The gesture she’d seen before made Nicole’s heart squeeze in love and gratitude. If anyone could thaw the icy block of fear inside her, Ryker could. She was safe now. Ryker was here.
NICOLE WASN’T SAFE ANYWHERE. The realization nearly paralyzed Ryker. He’d never admit it to a living soul, but the sound of Nic’s voice on the phone saying those awful words had frightened him more than anything he could remember, including the time his twin brother, Reilly, had nearly drowned trying to race Ryker in their grandma’s pool when they were six.
I need help. Her words had sliced through his heart like one of her super-sharp knives. The fear and hope and bravery in her voice had cut even deeper than that.
Then she’d said something about a gun. A gun. He’d been halfway to Baton Rouge, headed toward Angola, when she’d called. He’d turned right around and sped here, his lights flashing. He’d made a quick call to Angola to let them know that an emergency had come up and he couldn’t make the hearing. He’d already faxed them his written statement.
Then he’d spent the rest of the time trying to call her back, but she hadn’t answered. He’d prayed that the reason she wasn’t answering was because the police were there and she was fine, and not because she’d been shot or taken hostage.
He stalked over to the detective in charge. “Baron, what’s the story here?”
“Ryker,” the tall gaunt detective greeted him. “I haven’t had a chance to talk to the victim, but—”
“Nicole. Her name is Nicole Beckham.”
Detective Baron Treehorn nodded. “Ms. Beckham. From what my crime scene folks tell me it looks like she was forced off the road. See the back of her car there?” He pointed with his pencil.
Ryker had already taken a quick look at the car, but he stepped around to the rear. Some of the mud had been scraped away, and he could see the dents in the fender.
Treehorn stood beside him. “It appears the vehicle struck her from the rear twice, maybe three times. It’ll be easier to tell once we’ve washed it. I’m hoping we can get some paint transfer to help us ID the vehicle. Then there are the bullet holes.” He walked around to the front of the car and Ryker followed. “Eleven.”
Ryker had already counted them. And when he had, he’d almost lost his footing, that was how bad his knees had trembled. Seven in the frame and four in the windshield, at—he measured the distance from the road down the bank to Nicole’s car with his eyes—twenty-five feet. Thirty at most. “Damn.” It looked like a long way down there, but it wasn’t. Not for a bullet.
“Yeah. We’ve recovered a couple of casings. 9 mm. With any luck we’ll match it to a gun that’s already in the system. If we’re real lucky we’ll get a fingerprint off one of them. I doubt we’ll be that lucky though, what with the rain and mud.”
“Where do you want to talk to Nicole? Not out here.”
“No,” Treehorn agreed. “We’ll go to Beau’s, up the road. They’ve got pretty good coffee and a private room. How does that sound?”
“Good. Thanks. I’ll drive her in my car if that’s okay with you.”
“Fine by me. See you there.”
Ryker got in the car and put it in gear.
“I guess they didn’t have any coffee?” Nicole asked tentatively.
“We’re going to a restaurant up the road,” he said as he carefully turned around. “They’ll have coffee. Detective Treehorn has some questions. It won’t take long.”
She continued to rub her arms and her shoulders were still drawn up and in, as if she were trying to make herself as small as possible.
It hurt him to see her like that. So small and vulnerable. Almost breakable. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you so loud.”
A short laugh escaped her throat. “So loud?”
“Okay, I’m sorry I yelled.” He took a breath. “But damn it, Nic. You could have been killed.” His throat tried to close up on the word. He swallowed as he turned into the parking lot of the restaurant.
It was a catfish house. The dashboard clock read nine o’clock, not prime business hours for a catfish place. Then he noticed a worn sign over the door. Breakfast.
He parked the car.
“Job’s wife had a kidney stone.”
“What?” He wasn’t sure he’d heard right. “Job’s wife? What are you talking about?”
“Job had to take her to the emergency room. So he couldn’t go to the market.”
Ryker’s heart wrenched. “The guy shot eleven bullets at you, Nic. Eleven!”
Her eyes closed and she nodded. “I know. I heard them.”
Ryker’s heart squeezed so tightly in his chest that he nearly gasped. She heard them. Crouching there, not knowing if the next bullet would be the one that hit her. Not knowing if anyone could save her. “Damn it!” She cringed.
“Ah, Nic. Don’t.” He pushed a strand of hair back from her face and brushed the backs of his fingers against her cheek. “I thought—” What? He’d thought what? That he’d die if she were hurt? That he’d gotten her killed? That in that instant when he’d heard her small, brave voice asking for his help, he’d fallen in love with her?
No! What kind of thinking was that? She was a victim of a crime. His job was to protect her. That was it. That had to be it. He pulled his fingers away.
“I’m sorry, okay?” she said. “I never thought it would be dangerous in the daytime. All this is so hard on Job. I don’t want him to lose his restaurant because I can’t go anywhere without a babysitter.”
“Have you asked Job what he wants, because I’m pretty sure I know what he’d say. He’d say nothing’s more important that keeping you safe.”
“I know,” she said brokenly. “He’d close the restaurant down if he thought that would help me.”
“That may be what he has to do.”
“He will not. I won’t let him—oh, no! I forgot about the fish.”
“The fish?” Ryker shook his head in confusion. “What fish?”
“The black drum. In the cooler in my car. I was going to smoke it with alder wood for tonight’s Poisson du Jour.”
“Really? Fish? When are you going to start worrying about yourself?” A harsh chuckle erupted from Ryker’s throat. “Fish,” he repeated in disgust.
“But Job needs it for the menu tonight.”
“Job and the restaurant need to take a backseat, Nic. You’re the one everyone’s worried about. Job can get along without you for a few days.”
She clasped her hands together until her knuckles were white. “No, he can’t. The sous chef quit two weeks ago. He can’t handle everything by himself.”
Ryker saw Treehorn gesturing to him. They needed to get inside and get Nicole’s statement. “We’ll talk about this later.” He got out of the car and walked around to open her door.
“I’m not going to let you bully Job into closing the restaurant,” she declared as she got out.
“Let’s go.” He needed to get this interview over with so he could take her back to his apartment and
lock the door. He’d like to handcuff her to the bedpost to be sure she couldn’t get away, but that might be considered unlawful restraint.
BY THE TIME TREEHORN was satisfied that he’d squeezed every drop of information he could out of Nicole, and Ryker had driven back to his rented house in Chef Voleur, it was after six.
Nicole was exhausted. She’d held herself together all day with the last dregs of her energy and will. Now she felt depleted, wrung out. All she wanted to do was get into the shower and stand underneath the hot pouring water and cry.
But Ryker argued that she needed to eat something. His insistence that he knew best for her was the last straw. She snapped at him and stomped off to the bathroom.
It wasn’t until she was ready to turn off the hot water and get out of the shower that she realized she didn’t have any clothes except the scrub shirt and pants the EMT had given her. When she stepped out into the steam-filled bathroom, she saw a sweatshirt hanging on the door hook. It hadn’t been there before.
Ryker had come in while she was in the shower. Which meant he’d heard her sobbing. Her face burned. She’d already shown him what a cowardly wimp she was. Now he knew she was not only a wimp, she was a crybaby.
She pulled the sweatshirt over her head. It hung nearly to her knees and the sleeves flopped five inches over her hands. She pushed them up. The fleece shirt was wearable, and long enough that she wouldn’t embarrass herself. Because she didn’t have any clean underwear either. She quickly rinsed out the panties and squeezed them in a towel. Then she hung them on a towel rack. Hopefully they’d be dry by morning.
Rooting around under the sink, she came up with a hairdryer. She quickly dried and finger-combed her hair. Then she wiped steam off the mirror. Not too bad, although her nose and cheeks were shiny without makeup. Nothing she could do about that though.
She stepped out of the bathroom and shivered.
“Cold?”
Ryker’s voice came from his tiny kitchen, where he was making his Morning-After Eggs. Their familiar savory smell made her stomach growl. She closed her eyes and took in the dark smell of coffee and the crisp scent of toast.