“What are you blushing for?” he demanded suddenly.
“I’m not,” she said defensively.
“Is it your temper? I’ve always heard that redheads have a hell of a temper.”
“I’m not a redhead,” she snapped. “My hair is brown.”
“If you say so. That looks like russet to me. And you’ve got the freckles to go along with it. In fact, if you had a better personality you’d be downright cute.”
Jenny made a low growling noise in the back of her throat. “I’m not interested in your opinion of my physical attractions,” she said, and could have kicked herself. Cute, she thought. What a revolting image. She needed to keep her mouth shut, though, because once again she was sounding like a repressed virgin.
“Of course you’re not,” he drawled, and she couldn’t tell whether he was being sarcastic or not. Surely he couldn’t have any idea about her shameful crush on him? After all, she’d seen him only one other time besides their initial meeting, when she’d run into him at the DA’s office, and he’d done everything he could to annoy her and drive her away. Unfortunately it hadn’t worked.
“Too bad I’m not interested in playing your games, Ryder,” she said. “Just tell me whether you’re going to help me or not and I’ll leave you alone.”
“You almost convince me.”
She ignored him, plowing on valiantly. “I need an apartment for Soledad as soon as possible. She needs a job, and I wouldn’t mind if she had a bodyguard for the first few weeks, just until I’m sure she’s not in any danger.”
If she wasn’t so preternaturally aware of him she might not have noticed the sudden sharpening in his cool blue eyes. “Why should she be in danger?”
“She’s made enemies in her home country,” Jenny said. “And I don’t think they counted on her escaping her fate. You know she was hiding in the infirmary when your men raided the ship, and she was so terrified that you were there to kill her that you almost didn’t find her.”
“Not me, lady. I don’t do a job halfway. So what has your innocent little darling done to make enemies—she hardly looks old enough to have annoyed anyone.”
Jenny glanced at Soledad. She couldn’t understand his hostility when every other man who’d come near the young woman had been smitten. Maybe she’d been wrong all this time, and he was batting for the wrong team.
No, she always had a sixth sense about these things. Matthew Ryder liked women all right—he just didn’t seem to like her, a fact that filled her with almost nothing but gratitude.
He didn’t appear to be any too enamored of Soledad either. “She worked with the resistance back in Calliveria,” Jenny continued, “which didn’t make the government and the police force very happy. If she goes back there she’ll be arrested, tortured, and probably murdered.”
He was singularly unimpressed. “You do have a flair for the dramatic, don’t you, Ms. Parker? So let me get this straight: we need one apartment, one job, and one bodyguard, and you expect us to pay for it?”
“Your organization was the one who pulled her off that ship. When you save a life, you’re responsible for that life.”
His expression was jaded, cynical. “Then it’s lucky that saving lives isn’t usually in my job description. I’m usually the one taking them.”
It was a good thing she was unable to come up with a fake laugh at his joke because a moment later she knew he wasn’t kidding. She’d seen him with that gun in his hand, seen the bodies on the ship. She swallowed. “Are you going to help me, or not?”
He watched her closely for a long moment. “I’m going to help you,” he said finally, “simply because I want to know what you’re hiding.”
She felt like she’d been punched in the stomach, but she kept her face impassive. If she weren’t careful she would look guilty as sin, and she couldn’t give this man any more reason to distrust her.
She summoned up her coolest voice. “Why would you think I was hiding something from you? What would I possibly have to hide?”
“I’d say ‘you tell me,’ but I think it would be a waste of time. You’re not about to give up your secrets until someone makes you.”
She felt cold now, frozen. “That someone being you?”
“Maybe. It depends on just what you’re hiding and how much I need to find out. Don’t worry—for now I think it’s something stupid that has nothing to do with the human trafficking and the slime responsible for it. You’re too nice a girl to know people messed up in something like that. Unless it’s your family.”
Jenny wanted to throw up. She jerked her face up to look directly into his dangerous blue eyes. There was no expression in them—he was playing with her, though she wasn’t quite sure why.
Their eyes caught and held for a long, tense moment, and she didn’t dare back down. Finally he leaned back. “However, even your family steers clear of child prostitution and sex trafficking, at least as far as I’ve been able to discover. Even if you’re closer to them than you pretend, they’re unlikely to have been involved. So that rules out one possibility.”
It wasn’t the most reassuring thing he could have said, and she hid the shiver that went down her back at his prosaic words. Before she could say anything he rose, clearly dismissing them. “All right,” he said, bored, “you told me what you want—I’ll do my best to get it as long as you promise to leave me the fuck alone.”
She could feel Soledad’s faint tremor at the sound of the word. The girl knew that word, and knew it meant anger, danger, and trouble. “Watch your language,” Jenny said.
“Or what?” He eyed her coolly. “I don’t think you have much leverage in the situation. You can’t tell my mommy on me.”
She wanted to tell him what an asshole he was. She didn’t trust him, didn’t like him. She knew the negative feelings were mutual, but he was the only one she could go to for help. Her only solace was that there was no way he could find out what she had done that day on the freighter—only she and Billy knew.
She turned to Soledad, trying to ignore him. “I’ll take you back to my place for the time being—I’m sure Mr. Ryder will do his best to get you settled as soon as possible.” She turned and gave Ryder an even glance. “You will, won’t you.” It wasn’t a question—Ryder was someone who would use any uncertainties to his advantage.
“Your wish is my command,” he said, moving toward the door. He stood there waiting for them to precede him into the hall. At least that mama she couldn’t tattle to had taught him good manners.
They walked in silence down the darkened hall, with Jenny reaching the front door first. It had an array of locks and safety measures that looked as if it belonged in a nuclear facility, and she waited for him to start unfastening them. He did so quickly and efficiently, pushing open the door into the bright, hot midday sun of New Orleans.
“Have a good day, Ms. Parker,” he said, and she knew he was mentally saying don’t let the door hit you in the ass on the way out. She could feel relief and regret pulsing through her.
“I have every intention of doing so. I’ll call you first thing tomorrow morning to see what the plans are.”
“It depends what you consider first thing. I don’t get up before ten o’clock.”
She didn’t believe him, but she was hardly going to say so. “I’ll call at eight.” Moving past him, she stepped out onto the marble entranceway when something whizzed past her and a piece of stone went flying. For a moment she froze, looking back in confusion, and then the sound came again, like some crazed bumblebee had decided to attack. It stung the side of her head and she put her hand up when suddenly Ryder grabbed her, yanking her back into the darkened house so quickly she stumbled and went sprawling on the hardwood floor. He slammed the door behind them and Soledad quickly knelt at her side, her soft small hands touching Jenny’s face, a look of worry in her beautiful dark eyes.
And then it was Ryder’s face looming over her, looking both disgusted and inpatient. “Just how big a fucking idiot
are you?” he demanded. “Don’t you know when you’re being shot at?”
Chapter Three
“Shot at?” Jenny echoed dizzily. “Why would anyone shoot at me?” She reached up to touch the stinging spot on the side of her head, and her fingers came away wet and sticky. She didn’t have to look at her hand to know it was covered with blood, and she gulped. She’d never been good with blood, particularly her own.
“You tell me,” he said. “And it may be your little friend they were after. Whoever they were, they were a piss-poor shot. If it had been me, your head would have been blown apart with the first bullet.”
Jenny wasn’t sure which was worse, her nausea at his gruesome image or his calmly stated expertise. “Thrilled to know you’re so accomplished,” she muttered.
The bastard actually smiled. “You have no idea how talented I am,” he said. Before she realized what he was doing, he slid his arm behind her back and helped her into a sitting position. She didn’t want him touching her, but she wasn’t strong enough to sit by herself—not with a ridiculous amount of blood pouring down the side of her face.
“Am I dying?” She realized too late that it gave him the perfect opening. He was probably going to respond with “I should be so lucky.”
Once again he surprised her. “No, though you might have a hell of a headache. Head wounds bleed like crazy.” She felt the pressure against her waist as he slowly helped her to her feet. “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.”
She really wanted to stand on her own two feet, but the feel of the blood sliding down her skin and Soledad’s horrified little squeaks only added to her dizziness. She started to sink back, and Matthew Ryder simply did the unthinkable and picked her up in his arms.
“Put me down,” she gasped.
“Don’t be an even bigger pain in my ass than you’ve been already,” he said tersely, starting up the curving front stairs with Soledad keeping pace with them. “Once you get cleaned up you’ll feel a lot better.”
If she didn’t throw up first. The thought of vomiting all over him filled her with mixed emotions. On the one hand, it would be completely embarrassing, and on the other, it would be perfect revenge for his lack of sympathy. In the scheme of things she didn’t like vomiting, so she did her best to swallow her bile, despite the slight bounce as he carried her up the long flight of stairs. She just wanted to go home and go to bed, but Ryder seemed to have other ideas.
“Press your head against my chest.” His voice was matter-of-fact.
“Why should I?” The last thing Jenny wanted to do was cuddle up against him. She could already feel the beating of his heart and the warmth of his skin against hers as he mounted the stairs, and it disturbed her. She didn’t want to think of him as a living, breathing man—he was too tempting when she was much better off thinking of him as the enemy.
“Because otherwise you’ll bleed all over the goddamn carpet.” His rough voice was heartless. “We just had this place decorated, and I don’t need your blood leaving a trail up to the bedrooms.”
“Why, how thoughtful of you. I’ll do my best not to bleed on you as well.” Her voice was admirably cool.
“Too late for that.”
Having someone carry her was a strange sensation, she thought. It made her feel safe, protected, wiping out her instinctive feelings of distrust. He was so strong and warm that she wanted to burrow against him, looking for comfort, but she did her best to simply press her bloody head against his shoulder without rubbing against him. “You’re probably used to people bleeding all over you.”
“Not really. I usually shoot them from a distance.”
That left her speechless. Soledad was with them, a worried expression in her big eyes, and Jenny leaned forward, wanting to reassure her, when Ryder simply pushed her back against his shoulder, holding her there as he reached the top of the landing. “Worry about yourself, not your little waif.”
“Is there something I need to worry about?” She couldn’t keep the edge from her voice. “I thought this was just a graze.” Suddenly she began imagining all sorts of things: her head split open, her bleeding to death in his arms.
“It is. It won’t take more than a few minutes to get you cleaned up and bandaged, and nothing’s going to happen to your protégé while I take care of it.” He turned and looked back at Soledad. “Why don’t you go on ahead into the room on the left? There’s a TV in there, and if you look hard enough you’ll find the Spanish-language channels.”
“Don’t be a racist!” Jenny said fiercely. “Soledad’s English is excellent.”
“I was being practical, not a racist. She can watch PBS or soap operas for all I care. You’re more than enough to deal with right now—I don’t have the time or patience to put up with her.”
Jenny sucked in her breath, ready to tear into him when a sharp stabbing pain hit her right between the eyes, and she let out a pathetic whimper. She was going to die after all.
“I thought the headache would hit sooner or later,” he said smugly. “Don’t worry, it’s only normal when you have a bullet graze the side of your head. I’ll clean you up, wash away the blood, and find some ibuprofen for you. Unless you want something stronger—I can get you that too.”
“Ibuprofen will be just fine. As soon as it kicks in, Soledad and I will leave you in peace and head back home.”
“I don’t think so.”
“I beg your pardon?” Her eyes flew open in dismay.
“You’re not going anywhere until I find out who the hell shot at you.”
She ground her teeth. “I didn’t know you cared.”
“I don’t. I just don’t like people shooting holes in my house. That ridiculous historical committee is going to pitch a fit.”
“Knowing New Orleans, I expect most of these houses have had their share of bullet holes,” Jenny pointed out.
“True enough.” He carried her into one of the rooms, angling her body so she didn’t whack her head on the doorway, and Soledad had disappeared. Jenny closed her eyes again, the sight of the room swinging around making her dizzy, and she didn’t open them again until he’d set her down.
It was a bathroom the size of a bedroom. The giant marble tub opposite her must have been original to the house—they didn’t make bathtubs that size anymore. She was sitting on the commode, and Ryder was rustling through the drug cabinet, pulling out bottles and bandages and littering the marble vanity.
It was then she realized that he was going to have to put his hands on her—on her face. There was something unbearably intimate about it—the touching of one’s face was a gesture reserved for lovers and parents. Ryder was neither.
“I can handle it,” she said quickly, trying to dismiss him.
Ryder simply ignored her. “You won’t be able to see the extent of the wound, particularly with all that blood. Don’t be a baby, Parker. I know how to treat gunshot wounds and you don’t. Unless you’ve been more involved in the family business than I realized.”
She was past feeling fear. He didn’t know anything, he couldn’t, and if she’d felt better she would have snarled at him. Instead, she pulled herself together as best she could. “I believe my family outsources all its violence,” she said icily.
She didn’t like the cool smile on his face. “Of course you do. I expect you think the tooth fairy is real as well.”
“Don’t trust everything you hear about the Gauthiers. I won’t deny that my family is politically corrupt, but so is everyone else in this city. It’s part of its charm.” She didn’t bother to hide her sarcasm.
“For some reason I don’t find them that charming.”
“You’re a fine one to talk. No one seems to know anything about who and what you and your organization are, but you’ve made it more than clear you aren’t above using lethal force.”
If a wolf could smile he would have looked like Ryder. “You don’t need to worry about it. Unless you’re not exactly what you say you are.”
A cold chill
slid down her back. “I’m a lawyer who takes on too many pro bono cases for my own good. What else do you think I am?”
“I make it a habit never to trust anyone, counselor. Not even good little girls like you.”
Don’t let them know you’re afraid. She couldn’t remember where she’d heard that, but it made perfect sense. She was so busy being pissed off at him that she didn’t realize he was already moving his fingers through her blood-matted hair, and then it was too late to do more than freeze.
If he noticed, he didn’t say anything. “You’re a lucky girl, Parker. A fraction of an inch closer and we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”
“That’s too high a price to pay no matter how obnoxious this conversation is. Ouch!” He’d managed to pull her hair, not by accident, she decided, and her desire to snarl at him increased.
“I knew you’d think so,” he said, daubing at a tender place on her skull. She tried to think of him as a nameless, faceless EMT cleaning up her wound. She glanced down at her pale peach suit—the one she’d chosen as proper for church and lawyerly things, a well-tailored piece of armor against the bastard with his hips at her eye level, giving her a perfect view of the contours of . . .
She jerked her head away, and Ryder swore. “Hold still or you’re going to end up a platinum blond.”
Instinctively she reached up to touch her hair, coming in contact with his hand. He brushed hers away with clear annoyance. “What are you doing to me?” she demanded.
“Cleaning your wound with hydrogen peroxide. It’s not bad enough to need anything more powerful.”
“I don’t want . . .” She began in panic, thinking of her slightly drab but perfectly acceptable plain brown hair that was not, repeat not, russet or any other exotic color.
“I don’t give a fuck what you want. You’ve bled all over the carpets and all over me, and right now I own your ass. We’ll do this my way, and if your hair gets screwed up we can play girls’ sleepover and do each other’s hair. I’m sure there’s plenty more peroxide around.”