Deadly Silence

  “I’m sorry,” Ryker murmured.

  “Me too.”

  He kept his gaze on her, his eyes so damn direct. “Come here, baby. We need to talk.”

  That voice. Dark and deep…so intent. She moved toward him, her bare feet padding on the hard concrete floor. “I can’t believe Detective Norton killed Julie.” Finally, now that there were answers, the reality of her friend’s death hit her. “Or that she was doing drugs and playing with those Picalo people. I honestly had no idea.” How could she have lost touch to such a degree? Guilt swamped her.

  Ryker snagged her wrist and tugged her onto the bed. “None of that was your fault.”

  “I know.” But her friend had been in trouble, and she hadn’t even known. First, Julie had ended up with a guy who hit, and then with another who did drugs and had killed her. “But still, I had no clue. Part of me feels terrible for her, and the other part is angry that she lied to me. That she used me for drug money.”

  Ryker’s gaze softened. “It’s okay to feel a lot of different things at once. The entire situation is painful.”

  She nodded, knowing he was somebody she could truly trust. “You got shot.” Tears filled her eyes again, her heart aching.

  “I’m fine.” He pulled her, and she slid forward, kneeling next to him. “We need to leave Denver out of our reports when we talk to the police.”

  She drew in air. “I figured.”

  He smoothed hair back from her face. “Denver doesn’t exist to them, and I’d like to keep it that way as long as possible.” Ryker settled his hand over her shoulder—her entire shoulder. “All right?”

  “Do you exist?” She looked up to his knowing gaze.

  “I’m right here, aren’t I?” He caressed down her arm to take her hand.

  Warmth surrounded her palm as his enclosed hers in safety. “You know what I mean.”

  He nodded. “I do know. I exist, and I’ll make a statement to the police about Detective Norton.”

  She eyed him. “All right.”

  Smoothly, he grasped her waist and lifted her to sit astride him.

  Startled, she pressed both palms to his ripped chest. “Do not tear out those stitches.”

  “I won’t.” Determination and desire commingled in his eyes, turning them as intense as the raging sky outside. “Now we need a quick chat about who fights psycho killers and who…does…not.”

  “You were in danger, so I did what I had to do,” she returned, lowering her chin.

  “I told you to stay safe, and I don’t like repeating myself.”

  Her lips quirked, and she settled more comfortably across his hard thighs, her knees sinking into the bed. “Neither do I,” she said softly, leaning closer and nipping across his lips.

  He didn’t move a muscle but somehow took over the kiss, going deep and taking control. By the time he let her take in air, her head swam, and her body thrummed.

  After almost losing him, she realized how much she wanted to stay with him. “Let’s reach a compromise on the other issue. How about neither one of us ever deals with psychotic killers?”

  He grinned, his lips moving against hers and providing all sorts of delicious tingles. “While I like that thought, just in case, let’s agree that I handle danger and you don’t.” Before she could protest, he continued, “I’m trained, sweetheart. By everyone from martial arts experts to former soldiers to street fighters…I’ve trained hard. It’s my job, not yours.”

  If he was in danger and she had a chance to help him, she would. “Ryker, I’m fine. The plan worked.”

  He threaded his fingers through her hair and twisted. Her head lifted, and erotic pain tingled around her scalp. “You’re not listening to me,” he rumbled.

  “I’m listening but not agreeing,” she breathed.

  “If anything happened to you, my heart would just be cut out for good.” He pulled her to him and kissed her, his tongue sweeping inside her mouth.

  His sweet words warmed her heart while his deep kiss heated her a lot farther south. She moaned into his mouth and pushed closer, flattening out atop him like a kitten stretching on a boulder.

  He rolled them over, his body bracketing hers, his kiss stealing everything she was and would ever be. She kissed him back, caressing his flanks, careful to stay away from his bandages. Hard ridges and smooth muscle filled her palms, and she marveled at the strength. So much power right beneath her fingertips.

  Pushing up, he tugged his shirt over her head. “So pretty,” he murmured, kissing along her jawline. “Smooth as silk and twice as fragile.”

  She arched up into him, her eyes closing, as his lips teased hers again.

  With him, everything feminine inside her rushed to the surface—soft and powerful all at once. She melted beneath his kiss, her body settling with definite welcome. “Ryker. I was so scared you’d be hurt,” she whispered.

  “Never.” He lifted up again and looked at her, his breath hot as he smoothly kicked off his sweats. “Trust me, Zara. I’ve survived the worst already. But you have to trust me and stay out of danger. Please.”

  If there was danger, of any kind, she’d fight it with him. “I do trust you.” It was all she could give.

  His broad hands trembled as he cupped her cheeks with reverent grace. “So much beauty and intelligence,” he murmured, almost to himself, sounding thoughtful. He caressed along her jaw and down her neck, pressing against the pulse point rapidly pounding for him.

  Her thighs trembled beneath his. He slid one muscled knee up, spreading her legs. Then he leaned over her, his mouth taking her again. A claiming. She could sense it—something different in Ryker, something possessive and hot. He took her mouth. No mercy, no gentleness.

  Ryker Jones completely unleashed.

  Jolts of pleasure shot through her, and she returned his kiss, raising her knees on either side of his hips. He slowly invaded her, pushing inside, the crest of his cock unrelenting as it stretched her. She gasped against his mouth, her body arching into the hard planes of his.

  He gave no quarter, stroking inside her, each push going deeper. Every hitch stoked the fire inside her, pulsing sensitive nerves alive. The primal movements and the raw tension swelling through the room trapped her as surely as his kiss. Only Ryker could bring this to her. She softened beneath him, taking all that he gave and letting him have all of her.

  He paused as if sensing her submission. Then, with a deep growl, he started to pound. Deep and full, he filled her, over and over again, his thrusts deliberate and complete.

  She broke first, crying out his name, shutting her eyes against sparks of color. She bucked, almost violently, her body wracked with wave upon wave of fierce pleasure. He hammered harder, his breath ragged, and shuddered as he came.

  “Ryker,” she murmured, her eyelids already closing. She caressed down his back to his butt and smiled. “Mine.” With that one last, satisfying word, she drifted into sleep.

  * * *

  Ryker snuggled Zara against him, making sure the comforter covered her completely. The night’s events—all of them—seemed to have exhausted her. She slept so trustingly against him, her dark hair splayed across his arm and the pillow.

  So small and perfect…and brave.

  Not for one second had she reconsidered walking into danger for him. And he hadn’t missed the fact that she’d failed to make the promise to never do it again. If anything happened to the sweet woman, he wouldn’t survive.

  Making her happy would keep her with him, and it shocked him how much he needed her to stay.

  Not once had he considered forever with a woman before Zara had started cooking him dinner and making him laugh. Now he couldn’t imagine life without her.

  For nearly an hour he tried to sleep and then gave up, heading down to the offices. While he wasn’t surprised to find Heath poring over files about the serial killer case, he was a little taken aback to see Greg and Denver working with him. “Boys?” he asked.

  Heath shrugged. “Kid hacked
the system last night and had a bunch of questions, so what the hell? We apparently can’t keep him out.”

  Greg smiled, looking twelve years old again.

  Ryker sighed. “Fine.”

  Heath nudged Greg in the arm. “Tell him your grand plan, kid.”

  Pink tinged Greg’s cheeks. “I thought I should get a red wig, act like a chick, and draw this guy in.”

  Ryker barked out a laugh. “Are we that desperate?”

  Heath nodded, his jaw looking harder than rock. “Yeah, but first we need to find Special Agent Jackson.”

  Ryker lost the humor. “Agreed,” he murmured.

  “The airport has been cleared, and I’m taking the nine a.m. flight to Snowville,” Heath said, his duffel already packed behind him.

  “I’ll go, too,” Ryker said.

  “No. I’m going to Snowville, Denver and Greg are heading to Utah to investigate where Greg used to live, and you’re staying here to cover Zara and figure out your next step,” Heath said, his gaze direct.

  Ryker blinked. “No.”

  “Yes,” Denver countered.

  “We’ve been talking about it,” Heath chimed in. “Even though Zara’s cleared in the murder, you guys have decisions to make, and we’re giving you that time. Once either of the other cases opens up, we’ll need you. Right now take care of your woman. If I had one, I would in a heartbeat.”

  Ryker rocked back as the thought of how close he’d come to losing her hit him. Hard. Yet the idea of the three brothers going in different directions, and toward danger, didn’t sit well. “I appreciate you guys looking out for me.”

  Heath rolled his eyes. “Just take the reprieve. It’s temporary.”

  Wasn’t it always?

  Chapter

  33

  Zara finished the spicy scrambled eggs cooked by a very quiet Denver Jones. She had no illusions that Jones was his real last name, just like Ryker’s wasn’t Jones. When she’d asked, they’d both looked at her blankly.

  “Nobody ever told me,” Denver had said.

  It was the most Zara had heard the quiet computer expert say without being prodded. She smiled at him and then fought a frown as she glanced at Greg. For the first time since she’d met Greg, he refused to eat. Instead, he kept looking at the storm, which had lightened slightly outside.

  “We’re gonna drive if the airport closes again, right?” he asked the room at large.

  “Yes,” Heath said, sitting on the sofa next to Ryker, both of them eating eggs.

  Denver was in the kitchen, and Grams twittered at his side, offering tips on spices. He seemed to be genuinely enjoying himself, discussing food with her, so Zara let them be.

  Zara studied Ryker. He ate slowly, his gaze on Greg, appearing every bit as protective as she knew him to be with her. She burrowed into her warm bathrobe over her long burgundy nightgown. It was a tad old-fashioned, but it was warm, and for some reason, it amused Ryker.

  Ryker’s phone buzzed, and his head jerked back. He read the screen and gave some odd signal to his brothers.

  Heath and Denver launched into motion, both jogging toward the door.

  Ryker stood and dropped a kiss on Zara’s head before heading for the door too. “We have an alarm on a different case. Make sure he stays here until I come back,” he whispered, moving past her and quietly shutting the door.

  Greg frowned. “I hate being left here.” He walked over to the window and looked down. “This storm has to end.”

  “It will, sweetie.” Grams bustled around the kitchen, cleaning the counters.

  Lights flashed outside, and the loud hum of a helicopter pierced the noise of the storm.

  Greg frowned. “That’s weird.” He moved toward the north wall of windows.

  Lights flashed at the west windows.

  Zara turned her head. “Is that a helicopter? In this storm?”

  Greg stilled. His head swung around. “Run!” He leaped for her just as the windows crashed in on both walls.

  She screamed and ducked her head from flying glass, reaching for Greg to push behind her. But he moved faster than she could track, shoving her onto the couch and leaping over her to the other side.

  What the heck? She bounced off the leather and scrambled to her feet, her head swimming. Greg fought hand-to-hand with a man in all black, kicking the guy right under the chin. A rope hung from the guy’s belt and led outside the window.

  She swallowed and ran around the couch to help, trying to avoid the glass with her bare feet.

  A second man, also in black, stood just inside the northern windows, his hand on a rope connected to his belt. Lights flashed again outside the windows. He held something in his hands, but she couldn’t tell what it was.

  “Greg,” she screamed, running for him.

  The guy fighting with Greg punched him hard in the face, and the kid windmilled back, quickly regained his equilibrium, and charged. He tackled the guy, and they crashed to the floor.

  The guy by the window rushed forward, and Zara jumped between him and the two fighting on the ground. She planted her feet and then shot a knee up, nailing him in the groin. He grabbed her by the neck and shook.

  Pain ripped through her trachea. Her eyes watered, and she struggled, punching and kicking.

  Body armor. The fucker was wearing some sort of armor—definitely a bulletproof vest. She twisted her hips and kicked his knee twice. Thick boots protected his ankles, so she kept her aim high.

  His hold tightened, and her lungs protested. Her vision swam.

  Grams appeared at her side, flying at the man.

  He casually turned, grabbed her arm, and threw her into the counter. She hit with a dull thud, fell to the ground, and didn’t get back up.

  “Grams,” Zara squeaked, her knees wobbling. Desperate, she dug her nails into the guy’s arm, trying to loosen her neck from his grip.

  His eyes were a dark brown with glee filling them. He liked hurting her. She struggled harder while furniture crashed behind her. Was Greg okay?

  Finally the guy gave one final squeeze and swung with his free hand. His fist smashed into her cheekbone, and she flew across the room, slamming into the granite counter by Grams and then hitting the hard floor. Pain exploded through her head and her hands, followed by agony in her knee.

  Grams groaned and rolled over, opening her eyes.

  Zara pushed to her feet, her head still swimming, and turned around.

  The first guy held Greg in a headlock while the other guy pushed a needle into the kid’s arm. In less than a second, Greg’s eyelids fluttered shut, and he went limp.

  “Greg,” Zara croaked, her voice not working. She took a step forward.

  The first man turned and ran for the window, pushed off the sill, and flew into the open side door of the helicopter. It was so unreal as to be hazy.

  The guy with Greg hustled forward, all smooth muscle, and reached the window.

  “No!” Zara ran for him and reached his back, jumping on. She couldn’t let Greg go out that window. They’d never see him again.

  The guy roared and pivoted, throwing her back against the couch. He handed Greg to a man actually leaning out of the helicopter. What if they dropped him? They were a story up.

  Zara pushed to her feet, her entire face screaming in pain. Greg was safely in the helicopter. Oh God. They’d taken Greg. The guy at the window stepped through almost easily, jumping a couple of feet to the helicopter. The craft rocked when he landed.

  Shouts came from outside the apartment followed by running steps. Ryker would get there too late.

  Zara grabbed her phone out of her purse on the floor and shoved it down her nightgown, which was tight at the waist and held it in place. Then she bunched her knees. There was only one thing to do. Shutting off her brain, she launched into motion, running full bore for the window. “Phone, Grams,” she hissed. She jumped, her feet touched the sill, and she pushed off. At the last second, she turned, so when she hit inside the helicopter, her shoulders and
back took the brunt of the pain.

  Her head slammed back into metal, and darkness slashed across her vision. Her last thought as unconsciousness took over was a quick prayer that they didn’t throw her out of the helicopter.

  * * *

  “Zara,” Ryker roared, clearing the sofa table and couch in one long jump. He reached the window, and strong arms clasped him from behind. He struggled furiously, trying to get out, as the helicopter banked away and up.

  “It’s too far,” Heath said into his ear, his hold stronger than steel but his voice calm. “The helicopter door is closed now. Even if you could make it, which there’s no way, you’d just hit the side and drop. You can’t save her if you’re dead.” He waited until Ryker stopped fighting before loosening his hold.

  Ryker watched the helicopter glide up and away, his chest burning. He had never seen anything like that. “They got Greg, too,” he ground out.

  “I know.” Heath released him.

  Ryker slowly turned around to see Denver helping Grams up. She was pale but steady. “Zara jumped out the window,” she whispered.

  “Yeah.” Ryker would never forget the sight of her leaping into the storm. He’d run upstairs the second they’d heard a helicopter. Make that two of them.

  “Fucking brave,” Denver said quietly, his eyes beyond tortured. He scouted the west windows and kicked glass out of the way.

  Ryker clenched his hands into fists. “How did they find us?”

  “Don’t know.” Heath moved to help Grams to a chair not covered with glass. “My guess is they followed our trap but just watched us before striking.” He scrubbed his face. “Until now, of course. The dings from the safe house must have been a diversion so they could grab Greg.”

  Heat rushed through Ryker. “We’ll get him back. Them back.” He said the words as a vow, trying to banish the raw terror eating at his heart. His gaze caught on Grams’s desperate eyes, and it was like being kicked in the chest. “I promise,” he vowed. No way would he let that sweet elderly lady down—no matter what he had to do or become.

  Denver stood now by the door, his body alert and no doubt tuned into any more surprises from downstairs. “I’ll get on the computer right now and try to track the helicopters by satellite. We find the lost, Ryker. It’s what we do, and we’ll find them.” His tone was low and determined with a new hardness—a deadly edge.