“Yes.”
He couldn’t even imagine that type of pain. The girl’s father was a bounty hunter who’d raised her by himself. Maisey had been kidnapped from a college in Spokane, held for a week, and then dumped in Utah. The killer tortured the kidnapped victims, which in turn tortured anybody who loved them. It was beyond cruel. He needed to be taken down and brutally. “So far the guy has taken women from Washington, Oregon, North Dakota, Idaho, and Utah.”
Jackson nodded. “Yes. If you find any sort of lead, I expect you to give me a call. I have your numbers to find you.”
He tugged out a new business card. “We’ve relocated to Wyoming.”
She took the card, her eyebrows rising. “Because of this case?”
“No. It’s a nice place, and we need a home base,” he lied, wishing he could offer some sort of comfort to the agent. But there was no comfort while the killer still walked. “Keep in touch.” Turning on his heel, he left the tent and headed for his car through the rain, which was rapidly turning into freezing snow.
“Ryker?” she called, peering out of the tent. “I don’t mind you doing research, but stay out of the line of fire.”
He turned back. “We’re not looking for the line of fire.”
“We both know your choosing Wyoming as a new office base isn’t a coincidence.” The wind blew rain to cover her pretty face, and she shoved hair out of her eyes. “I want to know what your plan is now.”
To get the hell away from the FBI. “I’m heading to the airport and back to work…after drinking a bottle or two of Jack Daniels.” Without waiting for an answer, he left the dead girl and his latest failure behind him.
Chapter
3
Night, Grams.” Zara hung up the phone after a nice call from her grandmother, who was on a seniors trip to various casinos in the Pacific Northwest. So far Grams had won nearly twenty dollars.
The woman was a wild one. Zara grinned. Her grandmother had raised her from the age of ten, and they still talked every day. When Grams was at home in town, they got together for coffee or dinner several times a week. When Zara had told her about buying the uncomfortable G-string to wear for Ryker, she’d laughed her head off.
Zara hummed softly to herself as she finished her once a week routine and slipped into bed. She’d painted her fingernails a pretty pink, her toenails a darker pink, and her face green with an avocado mask. After an early childhood of moving constantly with her flighty mother before Grams had taken her in, she needed a home base, and she’d created a lovely one where she could ground herself in rituals. She loved her beauty regimen almost as much as she needed a good routine.
Did Ryker have any routines?
She stopped humming. No more thinking about Ryker, darn it. The badass kept popping into her head even after nearly a week of no contact. He hadn’t shown up, hadn’t called, and obviously hadn’t thought about her.
Her phone rang, and her breath caught. She fumbled for the light and grabbed her phone, reading the caller ID to see it was her friend Julie, not Ryker. Her shoulders slumped, and she shook her head at her silliness. It wasn’t her place to worry about him or whatever case he had left so quickly to work on. Zara kept the disappointment out of her voice as she answered. “Hi, Jules. Everything okay?”
“Everything is fine.” Julie sighed. “I was just lonely and thought I’d give you a call.”
Zara sat up. “Are you sure you’re all right?” They’d been friends for nearly eight years, although they’d lost touch for a while. She didn’t have many friends, and Julie was somebody she actually trusted. “You can stay here, you know?” She didn’t like the dive motel Julie was shacked up in.
“Jay will look there, and you know it.”
“I know. Well, maybe.” Zara pushed hair away from her avocado mask. Julie was hiding out in a motel until her divorce from her dickhead of a husband became final. Zara tried to keep her voice gentle without the anger. Julie had faced enough anger from her ex and needed support. “I get paid next week and can help you out some more.”
“I hate that. You shouldn’t have to loan your money to me.” Julie’s voice wavered. “I will pay you back.”
Zara batted away tears for her hurting friend. “I know. As soon as you get your settlement, you’ll be rolling in it.” She forced humor into her voice. “Well, if you pass your competency hearing next week.”
“Can you believe that? Talk about dirty pool,” Julie growled, finally sounding angry and not defeated.
“I know. Your husband is an ass.” That he’d convinced a judge that Julie needed a competency evaluation before the divorce could go through was unthinkable. Of course, it was Zara’s law firm that was coaching Jay, which made the entire situation even worse. “It’ll be okay.”
“How’s your face?” Julie whispered, her voice cracking.
“I’m fine. Next time teach me not to get in between you and Jay the asshole when you’re fighting.” Zara almost touched the bruise across her cheekbone but remembered about the avocado. “The bruise is almost gone.”
“I’m so sorry,” Julie said, choking up. “I don’t think he meant to hit you.”
Zara shrugged. “I’m not sure, to be honest.” Jay had found Julie at another dive motel when Zara had been visiting, and he’d rushed her. Zara had moved between them and taken the hit. “Either way, I wish I could turn him in.” But if she did that, she’d get fired for helping the opposition, and she needed her job.
“Once the divorce is final, we’ll egg his house.”
Zara laughed, her spirits rebounding. “That would be fun. It’s a date.”
“All right. Enough about me. How’s it going with Hottie McHottiness?”
Zara lost the smile, and her shoulders slumped. “I think we’re almost over.”
Silence ticked for a few seconds. “I’m so sorry to hear that. You’ve been happier since you’ve been dating him.”
Zara shook her head. “We’re not dating. It’s casual, which is what we both wanted, but I think it’s getting a little odd, you know? We have to either go forward or stop, and neither one of us is willing to go forward.”
“Are you sure? He sounds like the total deal.”
Zara snorted. “Because he delivers multiple orgasms?”
“Hell yeah.”
She laughed again. “I don’t know a thing about him. He was here the other night, and he mentioned he had a brother. I didn’t even know that.” She plucked at a loose thread on the bedspread. If Ryker wanted something serious with her, he would’ve at least mentioned family.
“Oh. Maybe if you made the effort, he would, too? It’s time you stopped holding yourself back. Not all guys will leave like your dad did or die like your mom did.” Julie cleared her throat.
Zara breathed out, her mind spinning. “Maybe not, but Ryker’s a leaver.” No way would the tough private eye be a soccer dad or attend ballet recitals. Zara wanted kids and a stable home someday, and Ryker just didn’t fit in that picture. She couldn’t think about it any longer. “Anyway, let’s concentrate on you.”
“For now.” Rustling sounded. “All right, get some sleep. And Zara?”
“Yes?” Zara settled down into the pillows.
“I, ah, I could use that loan for a couple of bills when you get paid. I promise I’ll pay you back.”
Zara reached up and switched off the light, hurting for her proud friend. “Of course. Night.”
“Night.”
Zara turned over and set the phone on the nightstand. Poor Julie. Her husband had turned into a total prick who liked to hit. Why were so many men assholes? Her own father had disappeared when she was three, and she’d learned at eighteen that he’d died a few years after that in a tractor accident. Who the heck died in a tractor accident?
Her eyelids fluttered closed, and she dreamed about chocolate and rivers before the phone jerked her out of the nice sleep. “Julie?” she mumbled as she answered.
“Um, no,” a raspy male voice sa
id. “This is Sal from Sal’s? On Sixth?”
She blinked and sat up. The dive bar on the other side of town? “Huh?”
“Sal’s Bar. Ryker lost this phone in the fight—”
“Fight?” She flipped on the light, her heart roaring to life. “Is he okay?”
Sal cleared his throat. “Define ‘okay.’”
Zara swung her feet to the floor.
“Listen, lady. I found this phone, and your number is the only one on it. Either come down and get him, or I have to call the cops. Enough is enough,” Sal muttered.
“I’ll be right there. Don’t call the cops,” she breathed. “Just give me a few minutes.”
“You’ve got ten.” The line went dead.
Ryker had been fighting in some bar and she was the only contact on his phone? That seemed like a bad thing. Was he hiding her from somebody? No way was he married. Now she had to pick him up at a bar? Well, didn’t that bring back memories of several of her mom’s boyfriends? Zara hurriedly dressed in yoga gear and washed the face mask off before pulling her hair into a ponytail. How could her number be the only one on his phone?
A quick glance outside showed a dry but probably cold night. She yanked on tennis shoes and a jacket before heading into the garage. Was this a mistake?
Probably.
The drive through town took fifteen minutes, and she breathed out as she pulled to the curb in front of the dingy bar. A battered Ford was in front of her and a few Harleys behind her. The street was fairly deserted with no police cars. Good.
Jumping out, she hustled through the dark door. Smoke and the smell of tequila hit her a second before she winced at the loud rock coming from a jukebox in the back. Round and scarred tables littered the peanut-shell-covered floor, and at this hour, only a few diehard drunks slouched in chairs. Two broken chairs had been tossed in a corner. A long bar ran the length of the north wall, and a bald man sporting an outrageous mustache wiped down glasses. She moved toward him.
His sober brown eyes raked her. “I’m thinkin’ you’re Z.”
“Z?”
The bartender shrugged. “There’s just a Z in the phone contacts.”
She tried to make sense of that. “All right. I’m Z.”
He handed over a nondescript black phone. “Your man is toward the back. Get him out of here.”
Her man? Yeah, right. She swallowed and turned toward a series of booths. They were empty save the last one. Ryker leaned against the wall, his head back, blood on his chin. His eyes were shut and his legs extended beneath the table, showing his motorcycle boots. She hesitated and then approached him slowly, her heart thundering. “Ryker?”
His eyelids flashed open. “Zara?”
She nodded and kept her focus squarely on him. “The bartender called me.”
Ryker wiped off his chin, his gaze not quite focusing. “What the fuck?”
“Ah.” She faltered. Man, he was big…and drunk. She didn’t know him like this, and yet a glimmer of vulnerability showed in the man she would’ve bet had none. That drew her to him as much as the desire to help him.
His leather jacket was unzipped and showed a large rip in his T-shirt. Blood dotted his jeans from what looked like a violent altercation. What the holy hell was she doing in the bad part of town at midnight? She knew better than to be in such a place, and she didn’t know Ryker like this. “The bartender said he was going to call the cops if I didn’t come get you.”
Ryker shot from the booth, grabbing a worn duffel bag. “No cops.” He slung an arm around her shoulder and herded her toward the bar where he slapped down five hundred-dollar bills. “This should cover tonight.”
Sal took the money. “Last time, Ryker. Next fight you start, I’m callin’ the cops.”
Did he fight a lot? That didn’t sound like Ryker.
“Whatever.” Ryker turned Zara toward the door, leaning heavily on her. He turned back. “There’s a fight in the back alley—two guys arguing over a woman named Bernadette. They’re too drunk to fight, and somebody’s gonna get hurt.” He turned back to the door.
“How did you know that?” Zara whispered.
“I can hear them,” Ryker mumbled.
Zara turned her head but couldn’t hear anything. It wasn’t the first time Ryker had heard or seen something that seemed impossible. How were his abilities so fine-tuned?
More important, how drunk was he? She let him stumble them both outside, where a fresh wind pierced her with cold. She shook off the bar’s smoke. Taking him home was a bad idea. Not once had she seen him drunk or out of control, and he appeared to be both at the moment. The guy was solid muscle and could easily harm her, although she couldn’t imagine Ryker hurting a woman. Even when he’d grasped her neck the other night, it hadn’t hurt.
She opened the passenger-side door of her old compact and shoved him in. “I’ll take you to wherever you’re staying.” Without waiting for an answer, she crossed to the driver’s side and started the engine. Soft snoring came from the man at her side.
She looked at him. Long, dark lashes lay against his rugged face, and in sleep, he looked no less dangerous than while awake. Tension all but rolled off him, along with a hint of something else. Something…sad. She sighed and brushed his too-long hair away from his cheek. “What am I going to do with you?” she asked softly.
What was it about a wounded man that all but called for her to fix him? To heal him? Wounded tough guys were like catnip to a good girl like her. When he looked at her, when he touched her, she felt special. Ryker didn’t look at many people, and he more than likely didn’t let anybody see him like this. His draw was dangerous to her heart, and she knew it. “I’m smarter than this,” she muttered, swinging the car into the road.
They were halfway home when his voice made her jump.
“She was dead,” Ryker murmured, his head back and his eyes closed.
Zara shivered. “Who was dead?”
“The girl. Another one. He got another one, and I can’t find him. He enjoys causing them pain, and he has to be stopped. Yet another bully—this one psychotic.” Ryker scrubbed both hands down his face. “What day is it?”
“Um, Thursday.” She turned down a different road. “Is this a case you’re working on?”
“Yeah. For months we’ve been working on it.” His words slurred a little, but she could make them out.
“You and your brother?” she asked softly, feeling like she was walking on cracking ice.
“Brothers,” he mumbled. “I have two.”
She turned into her driveway and pressed the button to open the garage. Her chest gave a little hitch. “It seems like I should know that about you already.” While they hadn’t been building a relationship, he could’ve shared a little about himself. Of course, neither had she. “I have a grandmother.”
“I know,” he said. “Her name is Patricia Remington, and she lives over on Orchid Street. Is on an old people’s trip right now.”
She jerked. “How do you know that?”
“I checked you out after the first night.” His eyelids opened, and those odd greenish blue eyes homed in on her. “I know who I’m bangin’, darlin’.”
Words escaped her. Not once had she ever considered herself the type of woman who’d be banged. “You’re the one who keeps coming back for more,” she muttered.
He snorted.
Turning away, she drove into her garage, scrambling for something to say. “Why are you getting into fights in dive bars?”
“The nicer bars are too expensive to fix.” He shoved out of the car and strode toward the kitchen door, his usually graceful gait now lurching. Without waiting for her, he moved into the house and dropped his duffel bag on the kitchen table.
She stumbled as she followed him, her mind spinning.
They reached the bedroom, and he started shedding his clothes onto the floor.
Whoa. “What are you doing?” She couldn’t help but appreciate his hard chest and cut abs.
“Bed
.” Remaining in black boxer briefs, he slipped beneath the covers. “Come, Zara.”
She blinked. “Wait a minute.”
“Tomorrow. Fight tomorrow.” He tossed back the covers on the other side of the bed. “In.”
She hesitated for a moment. Her rescuing him from the bar seemed to be a line she’d crossed. She’d just helped him, and he had offered to help her with the guy who’d bruised her. They were edging toward taking responsibility for each other. Was she ready for that? With him? How could she decide that when she didn’t really know him? Plus, he hadn’t called her for help—the bartender had. If she was smart, she’d end this right now.
“Bed, Zara,” he mumbled.
She was tired. Maybe a good night’s sleep would help—one more night of sleeping next to him. Then she had to do the smart thing. “Fine. But we are so talking tomorrow.” She turned off the light and quickly slid into bed.
He pulled her against him, her back to his front, and wrapped around her. “You smell good.”
She took a deep breath, snuggling into him naturally. She’d miss this. “Go to sleep.”
“I like you,” he mumbled against her hair. “You’re nice and sexy and sweet. You cook.”
Her traitorous heart warmed and thumped. “I can see we’re at the ‘I love you, man’ part of the drunken evening.” It was good to know he wasn’t a mean drunk.
He chuckled and stirred her hair. “And funny. You’re funny and sweet.”
“You already said ‘sweet,’” she murmured, really not wanting to be touched by the kind words, and yet…
“Because you are. I’ve never met anybody as sweet as you. No woman is as sweet as you.” He pulled her closer into his heat, enfolding her in dubious safety. “You should be protected at all costs. They’re gonna find me at some point. He’s going to find me. You can’t be there.”
“Who?” she asked, her lungs seizing.
His breathing deepened against her, and his body relaxed. “When I was at the end, drinking that last drink, you’re the one I wanted to call. Only you.” He slipped into sleep.