She stilled. Hurt, surprising in its sharpness, cut through her. “No.” Yanking out the cork, she turned to face him. “We said we’d be exclusive for however long we, ah, saw each other.”
He rubbed the scruff on his chin, studying her. “Part of exclusivity means nobody hurts what’s mine.”
She blinked twice at the possessive language. “I think we both know I’m not yours.” What was going on with him? She studied him closer. Lines fanned out from his eyes, and a tenseness lived in his broad shoulders. “Are you okay?”
Without moving, he seemed to withdraw. “Yes. Been on a case.”
“Is it finished?”
“No.” A vein stood out along his tough-guy neck.
Ah. Ryker was a private detective who specialized in finding the hard to find. “Want to talk about it?”
“No.”
Yeah, she’d figured. “Then let’s relax.” She poured two glasses of Cabernet and took a seat, carefully unfolding her napkin. Her toes ached in the sexy shoes, and for the first time, she wondered if all the effort was worth it. “We can have a nice dinner.”
Slowly, he shrugged out of his jacket and draped it on his chair, drawing the chair out to sit, his movements controlled and with a hint of something…violent.
Her breath caught, and she filled their plates.
“I like your hair down,” he rumbled, reaching for his napkin.
“Yet I kept it up,” she said primly. They were on even footing. This was casual, and apparently they both needed a quick reminder. Sitting back, she took a deep drink of the potent brew, almost humming when it warmed her stomach.
He lifted his chin, amusement partially banishing the irritation in his eyes. “Have I done something to piss you off?”
Her gaze dropped to the food. “No.” She wasn’t being fair. Her law firm had hired him as a private investigator on a case, and one night after going through files together and drinking way too much beer, they’d ended up in bed for the most fantastic night of her life. He’d made it clear it was just temporary, they were just casual, and she’d agreed with her eyes wide open, meeting up whenever he was back in town. “You haven’t done anything.”
“Then why won’t you tell me who hurt you?”
She sighed, her gaze meeting his. “Because that’s not what we have.”
“Oh?” One eyebrow drew up. “What do we have?”
She snorted and then caught herself, embarrassed. “We have this.” She gestured toward the food. “And sex. That’s all. Food and sex.” He’d never proclaimed to be a knight in shining armor, especially hers, so why all the questions? “My everyday life doesn’t include you. You’re a fantasy who shows up periodically for fun, and then you’re gone. Stop acting like you’re more.”
If the words affected him in any way, he didn’t show it. Instead, he reached for his wine, his gaze holding hers like a lion watching a doe, and drank down the entire glass. Setting it aside, he tossed his napkin on the table. “Are you hungry?”
“Not even a little bit.” She was more out of sorts than she’d thought.
“Good.” He pushed back from the table, stood, and moved toward her. “This is a conversation better had where I can touch you.” Dipping his shoulder, he lifted her in corded arms.
She yelped and grabbed his chest for balance. “What are you doing?” she whispered. How was he so strong? Even for a healthy guy who worked out, his strength was somehow beyond the norm. Fluid and natural.
He turned, grabbed his jacket, and strode for the living room, dropping onto her couch and setting those thick boots on her glass coffee table. The jacket had landed next to him. One arm remained beneath her knees and the other around her shoulders, easily cradling her against his rock-hard chest. His lips snapped over her jugular with just enough force to make her jump.
Then, clearly indulging himself, he tugged the clip from her hair, which cascaded down. Burying his face in the mass of dark curls, he breathed in. “I love your hair.”
She tried to perch primly on his lap and not snuggle right into him. His strength was as much of a draw as his passion. “What conversation did you want to have?”
He leaned back and waited until she’d turned her head to face him. “We agreed to keep this casual.”
“I know.” She played with a loose thread on his dark T-shirt.
“Then you started cooking me dinner.”
She blinked. “I like to cook.”
“Then you started keeping my beer on hand and lighting candles with every meal.”
She shrugged. “Candles create nice light that helps with digestion.” Could she sound like any more of a dork?
“Right.” He played idly with her hair, heat from his body keeping her toasty warm.
Flutters awakened again throughout her body, and her nipples hardened. Good thing the bright red bra had plenty of padding. She tried to shift her weight, not surprised when he kept her easily in place. “I have not asked you for anything,” she murmured, panic beginning to take hold.
“I like that about you.” He punctuated the words with a tug on her hair. “In fact, I like you.”
“I like you, too.” The words went unsaid, but that’s all they had, and that’s all they were. It was an adventure, and she was truly enjoying the ride. She knew where they stood. “Stop playing with me.”
“I’m not playing.” His gaze dropped to her lips right before he leaned in to rest his mouth over hers.
Liquid fire shot from her chest to her sex.
He nibbled on her bottom lip, kissed the corners of her mouth, lightly whispering against her. “This is playing.” The hand in her hair twisted, drawing back her head and elongating her neck. “This is not.” He swooped in, angled his mouth over hers, and took. Deep and hard, he kissed her, his mouth alone having enough power to drive her head back against his palm.
Hunger slammed through her, and she moaned low in her throat. Pleasure swamped her, head to toe, vibrating in waves as she kissed him back. Her nails dug into his chest, and she tried to move closer into him. He controlled the kiss, taking her deeper, his erection easily discernible beneath her butt.
Finally, he lifted his head, his eyes the color of a rocky riverbed beneath a stormy sky. “Who hit you?”
The simple words struck like a splash of cold water in the face. Shock dropped her mouth open. Had he been trying to manipulate her by kissing her like that? Sure, he’d been passionate with her many times, but something felt different. A wildness she’d always sensed in him seemed to be breaking free. “Forget you.” Slamming her hand against his chest, she shoved off his lap.
“Zara.” One word, perfectly controlled. He held up a hand, showing a long scar across his love line. One that he’d never explained, even when she’d asked nicely.
Her knees shook, but she backed away until her shoulders hit the fireplace mantel. Anger and panic welled up in her, and she couldn’t separate them and think, so she just spoke. “Unless we’re eating or screwing, my life is none of your business.” She was trying hard to keep her sanity and so did not need mixed signals from him. He didn’t get to act like he really cared—not that way. “Got it?”
He stood, towering over her even from several feet away. “That may be true, but no way am I going to let anybody harm the woman I’m fuckin’.”
Fuckin’. Yeah, that’s exactly what they were doing. She was so out of her depth, she’d lost sight of the shore miles ago. “Stay in your own compartment, Ryker. My business is my own, and you’re not to get involved.”
For the first time, anger sizzled across his features. “Be careful what you say, little girl. I’ll make you eat those words.”
She blinked. Sure, he’d been commanding in bed…a lot. But outside the bedroom, she’d never seen this side of him. “Don’t threaten me.”
“Then don’t be obtuse. If you think I’m going to allow a man who hit you to keep walking, you’ve lost your damn mind.” He put both hands on his fit hips, looking like a pisse
d-off warrior about to bellow a battle cry. “We may be casual, but even I have limits. A woman who cries on my shoulder after watching a stupid movie with dogs is someone who should never be harmed.”
She gasped. “It wasn’t stupid.” It was sad when Juniper had died, darn it.
“Yeah. It was one of the dumbest movies ever made, and you turned into my shoulder to cry it out.” He took a step toward her. “You don’t want to mess with me on this. Trust me. Just give me the name, and tell me what’s going on.” Another step.
She couldn’t back up any more or she’d be in the fireplace. So she held out a hand. Panic cramped her stomach, and she sucked in air and tried for anger. There it was. “I created a situation, there was an issue, and I’ve taken care of it.” The truth would change his opinion of her, and she kind of enjoyed the view from the pedestal he temporarily had her on.
“No way did you create any situation that resulted in violence.” The tone was almost mocking.
“That’s it. You don’t know me.” Her chin lifted.
Something too dark to be amusement lifted his lips. “Oh, don’t I?”
“No, you don’t.” Steam should be coming out of her ears. She reached down and plucked a high heel off. It was time to stop pretending to be somebody she just was not. “I don’t like these, and I sure as shit don’t walk around at work in them.” Her tone was two octaves higher than normal, and she couldn’t help it. Angling back, she threw the shoe at his head.
With lightning-quick reflexes, he grabbed the strap before the shoe took out his eye. “Zara.” The tone was low and controlled…like always.
“You wouldn’t like the real me.” She kicked off the other shoe, her mind buzzing and her temper flying free. Reaching under her skirt, she yanked off the G-string underwear that had been shoved up her butt, her legs wobbling when she pulled them down and over her feet. “Nobody likes these.” She flung it at his head. “I only wear them for you.”
He snatched the flimsy material with one finger, his cheek creasing.
She fought the urge to stomp her foot and look like an idiot. He wasn’t getting it. “I don’t even know where you live,” she yelled.
His phone buzzed, and he held up a hand. “Put the tantrum on hold, just for a second.” Drawing the phone out, he read the screen. Both his eyebrows drew down, and he lifted the phone to his ear. “We’ve had movement?” Then he held still. His jaw hardened even more. “Damn it. Okay, I’m going.” He paused, and his eyes darkened. “Because you just got shot. It’s my turn to go, and I’ll be right there.” He shoved his phone back into his pocket.
Her breath heated. “Who got shot?”
“My brother.”
Ryker had a brother?
He took several steps forward to grasp her neck.
She stilled. He’d never grabbed her neck before. Sure, his hold was gentle, but his hand was wrapped around her neck. “What are you doing?” she squeaked.
He leaned in, pressing just enough to show his strength. “I know you don’t wear shoes like that at work, and I know the underwear set is just for me. I like that.” He pressed a hard kiss to her mouth before drawing away. “I have to go, or I’d stay until we reached an agreement tonight. That bruise on your face offends me, and I’m done coddling you about it. You’ve got until tomorrow morning to give me the name of the guy who hit you, so I can have a conversation with him.”
Ryker released her to grab his jacket and stride for the front door.
“Or what?” she asked, her voice trembling.
He opened the door and paused, looking back at her. “Or I’ll find him myself and take him out for good.” He yanked on his jacket, looking exactly like the badass rambling man he was. “And Zara? About where I live?”
“Yeah?”
“I moved permanently to Cisco a week ago.”
Chapter
2
Life didn’t make any damn sense. Ryker leaned back against a tree and ignored the pounding rain. Blue and red lights swirled through the darkness as FBI techs hustled around the secured vacant land north of Salt Lake City, looking for evidence that wouldn’t be there. This killer was too good to leave evidence.
Being this close to any law personnel gave Ryker a gut ache, but he didn’t have a choice. At least his disguise wouldn’t reveal his true identity, although to the best of his knowledge, the FBI wasn’t after him. Yet.
Two guys wearing jackets emblazoned with yellow FBI letters finished setting up a tent to protect the body from the elements.
Ryker had caught a glimpse of the girl’s matted red hair but hadn’t gotten close enough to see her face yet. But he knew. Yeah. The body was Maisey Misopy, and he was too late again. The idea of some psycho hurting the innocent plunged him right back into his childhood, and he had to fight to keep in control of himself when all he wanted to do was punch the nearest tree.
Why did people with loved ones get killed while a guy like him, who for so long hadn’t had anybody, still walked the earth?
“How the hell did you get the news?” asked an irritated female voice from his left.
He turned to see Special Agent Loretta Jackson stepping gingerly over broken bottles and what appeared to be a dead possum. “Connections,” he said easily, raising his voice a few octaves to mask his normal tone.
She came to a halt, her battered brown boots sinking into newly forming mud. In her midthirties, she had deep brown eyes, very curly brown hair, and full lips that belonged on a supermodel, not a cop. “The family hired you.”
“No.” He smoothed down his nondescript paisley tie, which coordinated perfectly with his boring brown suit. Padding gave him a beer belly, and high-end costumery gave him a beard and mustache. Add brown contacts and a blond wig, and even the sharp-eyed agent wouldn’t be able to draw a true picture of him. “My agency is going to keep working this until the guy is caught, whether we’re paid or not.”
The family of the fourth victim had hired them two months ago, and they’d failed to bring her back home alive. Yet another person Ryker had let down.
Jackson looked around him, spotting his rented Taurus on the deserted county road. “You’re solo this time?”
“Yes.” Usually Heath handled the crime scenes, but he’d been getting too emotionally close to the case, so Ryker had stepped up. “Can I see the body?”
She zipped up her dark jacket. “Sure. Tell me how you knew about the body, and I’ll let you see it.”
“We have an alert out for any suspicious deaths of young females in the western states,” he said, giving her the truth and biting back his frustration. “When the hikers discovered this body and the local sheriff called you in, we were notified, and here I am.”
“There’s something not quite right about you guys, and I’ll figure it out after I catch this maniac.” She pushed wet hair away from her face. “If I insist on seeing your license for the state of Utah, you’ll say you don’t have it with you, right?”
“Yes.” He smiled beneath the fake beard. “Then we’ll send you copies of the license after I get back to the office.” They’d have no trouble once again faking credentials by copying authentic ones and backdating them in computer systems. Thank God Denver was so good with computers. “I’ll have my office send you our Utah credentials.”
“I’d appreciate that.” She looked toward the white tent, her shoulders slumping. “All right, one peek.”
He kept the surprise off his face as he followed her across the uneven ground toward the tent. Mountains rose in the distance, silent observers of man’s worst, and he fought a shiver.
As they reached the tent, he tugged up the flap and let her enter first.
The eighteen-year-old girl lay on her side, blood matting her hair to the right side of her face. In death, her pretty blue eyes were closed, but bruises marched down her face. Somebody had placed a sheet over her, and part of the potato sack she’d been dressed in peeked out the side.
The smell of death hadn’t permeated the
tent yet, but it would. His stomach clenched, and he dropped to his haunches next to the body. His chest ached. “God, she was young.”
Jackson nodded and reached a gloved hand to tug the sheet down. “Just turned eighteen. Dressed in burlap, like the others, and…” Pulling farther, she revealed the knife marks in the upper chest that said MINE.
Ryker sucked in air. The gouges were deep and bloody, showing the bastard had cut her while she was alive. “Sexual assault?”
“Looks like it. We’ll know more after we get her to the coroner’s.” Jackson settled the sheet back in place, her voice sober, her hands shaking.
Ryker wondered why she’d taken such a heartbreaking job. Instinct whispered the agent had some serious shit in her background.
He wanted to smooth the bloody hair back from the dead girl, to get it off her face, but he knew better than to touch something in a crime scene. “She loved playing the piano,” he murmured, forgetting to alter his voice. He’d even watched a couple of recitals from her grade school years, where she’d worn pigtails and a pretty white dress. The pain of her loved ones at losing her like this must be indescribable. “She was adorable.”
“I know,” Jackson said softly. “Did you know she volunteered at the local animal pound twice a week?”
Ryker nodded, his chest compressing. Emotion swirled through him, and he couldn’t quite grasp the anger past the grief.
“Seemed like a nice girl.” Jackson swayed and then quickly recovered.
Ryker stood in case he needed to catch her, noting her too-pale face and darkening brown eyes. “Why are you working with me?”
She threw up her hands. “This is the seventh case in six months, all family members or close friends of law enforcement personnel, and I’m at the end of my rope.” She sighed and looked years older than her probable thirty-five. “You guys have been involved since the first case, your records hold up, and I want you to share any information you get.”
He nodded, making a mental note to have Denver shore up their identities and histories a little better, because this woman wouldn’t give up until she’d figured them all out. “No problem.” The small body on the ground would haunt him forever. “Has her father been notified?”