“Get away from my table you stupid Neanderthal.”
“Watch who you call names.” Ryder straightened his shoulders and focused his seriously pissed-off gaze on the bastard. “You don’t want me as an enemy.”
Smythe cowered into the booth. “Do I need to call the manager?”
Fucker couldn’t even stand up for himself. Ryder shook his head. “I think you got the message.”
He stalked out without a single hitch or stagger. He’d given the man more warning then he should, but no way could he watch another woman fall prey to the psycho. Rose joined him in the truck a few minutes later.
“Way to blow your cover, shithead.”
Ryder shrugged. “Did you get the woman out of the restaurant?”
“She got herself out of the restaurant. No help necessary.”
“Good. You stay on Smythe. I’m going back to the townhouse to see what’s what. If they setup a meth house at the last place, we can assume they’ll do the same there. When I’m done, I’ll head back to the motel.” Where he and his wife would have a little chat.
The FOR SALE sign was gone, no longer needed now that Lauren had signed the last of the paperwork. Smythe and company had apparently thought of everything. Ryder passed one of his neighbors in the parking lot.
“Sorry to hear you’re moving,” the man said. He worked on post. Callahan, maybe?
“Me too.” Ryder didn’t offer an explanation.
“I have to head back to post.” Callahan shook his hand. “Let me know if you need help packing the U-Haul.”
“Sure thing.” Ryder waited for the man to drive off before walking around back and hopping the fence. He climbed to the back balcony and jimmied the sliding door open to get inside. He walked the silent house. She’d left the drapes hanging. It had taken her a week to decide on the right colors to match the comforter. The sight of the curtains hanging in the derelict house stirred up uncomfortable memories and more than a little guilt. He’d liked setting up house with her. Neither had had a stable home life as kids. She’d wanted to put their stamp on the place and after the failed last deployment, he’d jumped in with both feet.
They spent more time in the furniture store and the lumberyard than they did the bedroom. Ryder shook his head. No, not really, but they had traipsed from place to place, buying every little thing to turn the nondescript townhouse into a home. Now the furniture was gone, but divots still gouged the carpet showing where they’d had the bed and dresser. Ghosts followed him down the stairs. The sun cast a shadow of red and blue on the stairwell. The stained glass she’d found at an antique shop still hung in the high window. She probably hadn’t been able to reach it when she’d moved out.
The downstairs smelled empty, a little musty and dusty. Abandoned. There were nails still in the wall where she’d hung artwork. A ragged edge of paint marked the line between the dining room and the kitchen. They’d been painting the day Madigan called. He’d dropped everything and went to help. And left Lauren to clean up the mess.
Ryder rubbed a hand over his eyes. The right thing was to stay with his wife and protect her from assholes like Smythe, but the only way to truly protect her was to stay the fuck away. He was the dangerous one. When the sheriff had shown him pictures of Madigan’s wife and kid, Ryder had gone absolutely still. He’d seen the horror of war, but the crime scene photos were pure evil. If what they’d done to Ryder when he’d transferred to Team Fear endangered Lauren, if for one second he thought he could do damage to the woman he loved, he’d end himself. He hadn’t been able to go back to her, knowing that the same thing that fucked with Madigan’s brain swam through his blood.
But he’d left her unprotected. Was this empty, soulless house the cost? Ryder drifted through the shadows, opening doors and cabinets, finding nothing left of the hope they’d tried to build together. It was his first and only home, and he’d only stayed four months. Lauren deserved so much better.
Ryder punched the steel door leading to the garage. He wondered what she did with his tools and the paint. He opened the garage to find a pile of supplies sitting where her truck usually parked. He stalked into the dim, cold space. Black plastic covered the small windows in the garage door. The garage door opener had been disconnected. In the center were stacks of supplies. Heavy plastic and more of the same shit he’d found at the meth house the night he found Lauren.
Someone was moving into their house of broken dreams, and they were bringing a full lab. Ryder snapped pictures with his smart phone and sent them to Rose, and then he retraced his steps to the front door. The lockbox was missing from the front knob, because Smythe and associates didn’t want anyone walking into their shady business. Ryder’s heart slammed into his chest. He needed to find Lauren, because whoever was setting up shop meant business, and Lauren didn’t fall into line with Smythe the way the other victims had. She was wearing a big fucking target and once again, he’d left her alone.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
As the day cooled and the sun slanted towards evening, Lauren dropped into the bar to pick up her paycheck. She and Debi had depleted her tips when they went to lunch and the mall. Debi talked her into a new pair of boots, which she needed like another ride in the trunk of a stolen car, but according to Debi, recovery from a bad relationship required a spree. Food. Shopping. Booze. In that order.
They’d blown through her cash at the mall, so Lauren needed her check to pay for the final step in her recovery plan. The manager was tending bar this afternoon, so Lauren headed straight for him. Debi waited in the car, afraid he’d call her in if things were busy. The bar traffic looked steady with a few military guys, students, and a rowdy group of cowboys sitting at the bar. Nothing Frank couldn’t handle himself.
When Frank finished pouring a whiskey for the guy at the other end of the bar, he headed her way. “What happened to your face?”
“Oh, yeah, that.” No wonder the gal at the shoe store gave Lauren that bless her heart look. Lauren touched her jaw, which was the body part that wouldn’t stop throbbing. “Car accident—”
“Did you hit a Mack truck?”
“Not exactly. I need the next few days off.”
“Sure. You try to serve beer looking like that, you’ll blow your tips to hell.”
“Thanks, Frank. That’s what I was worried about.” The sarcasm came naturally. “Do you have my check?”
He dug through the file box beneath the cash register and pulled out an envelope with her name. The amount made her bank account cry. “Do you have enough in the register to cash it for me?”
The rolls on his belly bounced when he laughed. “I think I can count that high.”
She signed the back of the check and grabbed the very small stack of bills he laid on the bar. “I’ll give you a call to let you know when I’m back on the schedule.”
“If you’re more than a week, I’ll have to hire someone new.”
“You’re all heart, Frank.” She pocketed the money and headed for the door. A couple guys in the corner booth called her over by name. When she stepped closer, she recognized the soldiers who’d bought drinks for the coeds. Baby Face Joe was missing—he’d found his college girl—but the other three sat in the booth sucking back draft beer. They looked similar, same height and breadth, same high and tight haircut. Actually, they were big for guys their age, but they couldn’t hide their smooth boyish faces.
“I’m not working today,” she said before they could ask for another round. “But I can call your waitress over.”
“Wait.” The guy on the end grabbed her arm, his grip deceptively strong. The hair on her arm stood on end, and panic pounded her chest, but she took a deep breath. Just because two losers had attacked her the other night didn’t make all men assholes. The soldiers seemed decent, but she still extricated her arm from his grasp.
“Sorry.” His faced flushed pink. “We were just wondering, if, uh, you’ve seen the girls from the other night.”
Geez. “Sure, they slipped me
a note in history class.”
“Sucker.” The guy next to him jabbed an elbow in the soldier’s rib. “She burned you, Hedrick.”
Hedrick’s face went from pink to flaming red. “If you see them—”
“Sorry, I’m not a messenger.” She turned, but the soldier hopped out of the booth and followed her several steps.
“Ma’am.” Hedrick didn’t grab her this time, but rather dogged her steps. His height surprised her. She’s always seen the soldiers seated in the booth, but he dwarfed her, standing nearly as tall as Ryder. Her heart rate jumped. “Please.” He hunched his shoulders. “We had a good time the other night, and I don’t have a way to get ahold of Anna.”
Lauren stopped at the entryway. “I can’t give you her number.” And man, she sounded heartless. Not every soldier was a jerk. Just the one she’d married. Despite the guy’s size, Hedrick seemed sincere in a sweet Midwest way. One more pout from his puppy dog eyes and she caved. “Check with your friend Baby Face. He may have a way in for you.”
“Really?” The guy’s dark brows lifted. “No wonder he wasn’t in the barracks today.”
Lauren smiled. “You boys stay out of trouble.” She walked out the door and straight into hard-packed flesh. “Sorry.” She looked up into Ryder’s hard eyes. “Or not.” She pushed off his chest, but he grabbed her forearms and held on. Hedrick was easy to brush off, but Ryder’s grip was immutable. The boy inside was just as tall, similar weight, but Ryder sent her heart into near convulsions with a touch. He wasn’t even skin-to-skin, but rather rubbed her forearms through the leather jacket.
Lauren took a deep breath. Theirs was an unhealthy cycle she needed to break.
“Why didn’t you stay in the motel room?”
“Hi, Ryder, how are you? Great, my day was so-so after waking up alone, but yeah, thanks for asking.”
His eyes narrowed. “The motel? Why did you leave?”
The wind picked up, sending a chill shivering up her body. “So you actually went back to the motel?”
A tick twitched in his right cheek. “Of course.”
“Pardon me for doubting you.” She resorted to sarcasm to put a little distance between them. His warmth so close weakened her resolve. She needed to stay away from the man who would surely be the emotional death of her. Even so, he had gone back to the motel room.
“We discussed this yesterday. Stay down, stay safe.”
“I was taking care of myself long before you showed up, and I’ll be taking care of myself when you leave.” Her voice hitched on the last phrase. God help her, but she didn’t want Ryder to leave.
“It’s about your safety. I’m not being a jackass.”
“Sure you are. Stay. Sit.” She shrugged, but the back of her eyes stung. “I’m not a dog, Ryder, and I’m certainly not staying locked in room without food and water. Even jail feeds you.”
“That’s not—” He let go of her arms. “I was worried.”
“Right.” Lauren stepped back. “As you can see, I’m fine.” She stepped around him, but he followed to Debi’s car. “What do you want, Ryder?”
“You.”
Lauren bit back the sarcastic response. She peeled off his jacket and handed it to him.
“It’ll get cold when the sun goes down,” Ryder said. “Keep the jacket.”
And have his scent surrounding her? “No thanks. I have plans, so whatever you have on your mind, it’ll wait.”
“We followed Smythe. Ran a background check.”
Curiosity wasn’t enough to keep her with Ryder. Her shields were in tatters. She needed time to shore up her defenses before she spent any time alone with her husband. Her heart couldn’t afford another night like the last one. “Good for you. If you’ll excuse me—”
“I learned some things today. It’s not simply about Smythe anymore.” Ryder moved in front of her. “We need to talk.”
“Not today we don’t, because believe me, you don’t want to talk to me right now.” She’d seriously lose her shit if he didn’t let her go.
Debi stepped from the car, but stayed tucked behind the driver’s door. “Problem?”
“Nope. Ryder was just leaving.”
“O-kay.” Debi looked between the two.
“I need to talk to my wife.” His emphasis on the word wife spiked her heart rate.
“Not tonight, Ryder.” Debi stepped around the car and escorted Lauren to the passenger side. Lauren scooted into the seat.
Debi settled between Lauren and Ryder. “It’s girls night, and you are definitely not female.”
Ryder peered around Debi. “Lauren, it’s not safe. Those men tracked you for days. They know your habits, your schedule. They know you’re staying with Debi.”
Chills raced up her bare arms. The reminder of the kidnappers did an effective job of shutting her down. “I appreciate your concern.” Or was he manipulating her with fear? She jumped back out of her seat. “You know what, I really don’t appreciate your concern. Damnit, Ryder. I woke up in an empty bed. Again. Because leaving is your freaking M.O.”
“I didn’t leave you,” Ryder said. His eyes narrowed in confusion. “I had work.”
“Which you didn’t bother to tell me. The room looked like you sent a cleaning crew to erase all evidence you’d ever been there.”
“Habit.”
“Nice habits you have. Tells me everything I need to know. You ditched me in the motel room without a word. No note. No way to contact you. Didn’t give me a way to leave, or even eat for that matter. What did you expect? That I’d stay?” She arced her arms wide, unable to keep the anger inside. And if she were honest, it wasn’t anger, but hurt. After the soul-stealing night of hot monkey sex, Ryder had packed up and moved out. “I’m not some grunt you can order around.”
“Baby—”
“Call me that again and I’ll castrate you.” She bit down the words wanting free—the anger and the hurt and the merciless tears—because she’d already decided. No tears today. Dang it. Grinding her teeth aggravated her aching jaw. “Ryder, now is not the time.”
The muscle twitching beneath his high cheekbone was the only sign of emotion. His eyes were empty and his muscles loose and relaxed. She hated when he was all cool and calm. “Be pissed at me, Lauren. But you can be angry and still use that massive brain of yours. You need protection.”
Lauren wanted to deny him, but the bruises hadn’t faded yet. The circle around her eye throbbed like a bad tooth. Still, tonight was not the night for them to get into it. She was too volatile and he was too smooth. “You can keep watch. From outside. But I swear to God, Ryder, if you even think about talking to me before noon tomorrow, we’re done.” She took her seat and slammed the car door. Debi backed out of the spot and into traffic. Ryder stayed this time, his eyes shadowed with the secrets he held inside. Lauren turned so she didn’t witness his eyes following them down the road.
“Damn, girl, you’re hard.”
“I’m not feeling particularly soft right now. And I really don’t want to think.”
“Margaritas?” Frozen margaritas were Debi’s specialty.
“Absolutely.” Lauren rubbed the groove in her ring finger where her wedding ring ought to be. “Diamonds are nice, but margaritas are forever.”
Lauren settled into Debi’s sofa, feeling emotionally adrift and ready to sink. The more she drank, the more she doubted, the deeper the cushions cradled her backside. Another drink or two and she’d be up to her neck in microsuede.
“You know what we’ve never done?” Debi rose from the couch and wove a crooked path to the farm kitchen. The walls were still her mother’s sunny yellow and the cabinets were older than both women combined, but the homey kitchen boasted plenty of windows and sunny vibes.
“What’s that?” Lauren’s brain was moving at the speed of a lumbering ox. She glanced at the clock on her phone. Ugh, why did she stay up this late when she wasn’t working at the bar?
“Taken a girls’ trip. Vegas, New Orleans, hell,
at this point, a drive to Tucson would suffice.”
“We couldn’t both get time off from the bar, because Frank has no heart.”
“I could convince him.” Debi winked from across the room, but Lauren was seeing two of her.
“A trip is not on my horizon. Between the townhouse, teaching, and writing my dissertation—not to mention working at the bar—my time is not my own.”
“Hmm.” Debi measured ingredients into a blender, her bartender hands steady, even if her legs appeared to wobble a bit on her very stylish and impractical black heels. “Exactly why you need a trip.”
The blender crunched the ice, making conversation impossible unless they wanted to yell. When the racket stopped, Debi brought a fresh salt-rimmed glass filled with liquid courage. Tequila. Her stomach revolted with a lurch Lauren pushed down. What were they talking about?
Debi slipped off her heels, losing four inches in height, but the sudden movement made Lauren’s head spin. Three margaritas in—or was it four—and Lauren was having a hard time following the conversation. Instead, her thoughts turned to Ryder, who was no doubt watching the house from a secure location. The flush rising up her chest was either pissed-off female, or thoughts about the man who got her off three times last night. Shoot. The relaxed muscles were probably a testament to the second and third orgasms, not the liquor.
Lauren licked the salt off the rim before swallowing a huge gulp of frozen margarita. A brain freeze numbed her entire head. The good thing about tequila? No pain. “Ryder’s going to leave,” she blurted, because the emotional pain didn’t ease with alcohol. “When he figures out what happened with the townhouse. And the kidnapping.” She took another sip. “He’s going to bail. Hit the dusty trail. Adios muchacha.”
Debi climbed over the back of the sofa to sit. “Did he say that or are you projecting?”
“He said it. Clear as day.” How had he said it? You’re better of without me. The words stabbed her heart. Who was he to tell her what was in her best interest? The last six months without him had not been better. They’d been infinitely worse.
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