Chapter 18
Ryker sat in the passenger seat of his Range Rover for the very first time. He’d never allowed or needed anyone to drive him anywhere in it. But he was happy to share it with Lori. Living in Chicago, she didn’t have a need for a vehicle. Her loft apartment was right in the heart of the city, so she either walked or took public transportation.
They stopped at the hotel to clean out her room so Christie could have it. There was only an informal breakfast and Jessica, Fiona, and Christie had offered to cover for Lori at the signing and make sure readers were taken care of.
“If I know those three, they’ll be there until afternoon signing books and talking to other authors.”
“You can join them if you like.”
“Nope. I think I’ve had my fill of signings for at least a couple of months.”
“You were amazing; you know that, right? I plan to write a big exposé on the whole story and will be casting you as my amazing heroine.”
“I didn’t do anything the others wouldn’t have done.”
He shook his head. “Not true. The others wouldn’t have made me fall in love with them.”
“So that’s your take on it, huh? I made you fall in love with me?”
“Absolutely. It’s all your fault. I was just helpless against your charm and beauty.”
There was a moment of silence before they both started laughing. He loved the way she laughed. It wasn’t some little ladylike trill or giggle. It was full-throated and came from deep inside her, and sometimes, if she really got tickled, according to Slade, she snorted. He was looking forward to that. He was looking forward to so many things.
“You got awfully serious all of a sudden. Are you okay? Should I take you back to the hospital?”
“No, babe. I’m fine. I was just thinking about the future.”
“Anything you care to share?”
“Yep. The whole damn thing.”
She waited, and then realization seemed to dawn on her about what he meant.
“People are going to say it was awfully fast.”
“I don’t care.”
“Some will say you’re after me for my money as an illustrious author. You should know I do okay…”
“And others will say you’re a cute little gold digger, because I’m loaded.”
“I thought the paper…”
“The paper is something I do, or did, for my uncle. He felt it was my legacy. I felt I owed it to him.”
“Even if your father was responsible for his wife’s death—and I don’t think he was—you owed your uncle nothing.”
“Thanks for saying that—that you knew my dad wasn’t responsible—because he wasn’t. A white squall can take out the best of sailors. Until I had you safe in my arms at Annette’s store, I’ve never been sorry my parents went down together. I always thought that was the way they’d want it. But tonight, when they were taking us to the hospital, I wished my mom was still here. She would have loved you so much. You need to know that.”
“I think I would have loved her, too. I know for a fact that I love her son.”
He leaned over and kissed her cheeks. “Not half as much as he loves you.”
“I’ll wait until you’re feeling better to arm wrestle you over that one.”
Once they were home, Ryker held the door open for her as she stepped into his place. He’d been kind of glad the hotel had only been able to find three rooms. He’d been wondering how he was going to get Lori here. He wanted her here, in what he knew would be their place and their bed. He wanted her to be comfortable, wanted her to like it here so even if they chose to live their lives somewhere else, they would always have this place as a vacation home or retreat.
He led her through the house to the big primary bedroom. “You can explore the house at your leisure, but right now I want you naked in my bed.” He was feeling a bit possessive.
“You do, do you? I distinctly heard the doctor saying you needed to take it easy, and that in an hour or so, that shot of painkillers was going to wear off and you’d need to take something that would pretty much put you out.”
“Then we’d better get busy.” Lori took off her clothes, folding them neatly on the dresser. Ryker walked over and placed them in the drawer. “You’re not a visitor here.”
He helped her into bed and let the moonlight play across her skin. She was the single most beautiful thing he’d ever seen, and he committed that vision to memory, as he never wanted to forget. He leaned down and kissed the lump on her head where she’d head-butted Lockwood.
“It doesn’t hurt much. I’m fine,” she said with a serene smile. “I do think, however, I’d like to have a stapler like the one I nailed Annette with for my office.”
“Where do you plan to have that office?”
“Wherever you are. I’m a writer. I can write from anywhere. If you don’t want to run the paper, don’t.”
“AP has been asking me to become a bureau chief. I’d have my choice of locales, but the paper has been in my family…”
“Then hire someone to run it. Some young, hungry kid who will use it as a steppingstone for his next adventure, and then he can hire someone else. Make that your legacy: helping people find their way. But don’t feel like you have to give it up for me.”
He nodded. She understood. Of course she did. “How about if I write this story first and we figure it out as we go along?”
“Sure. Maybe use our trip in September to see if we want to live abroad for a while.”
“That’s an excellent idea.”
“Ryker?”
“Yes, Lori?”
“Would you just shut up and kiss me?”
He joined her on the bed, rolling her onto her belly so he could kiss the nape of her neck, nibble on the lobes of her ears and nip and lick his way down her spine. She laughed and sighed and moaned and he drank it all in as the music of the night. Her fingers flexed in the bedclothes, and he could smell her arousal. One thing about his girl, she was responsive as hell.
“Is there anything else you want?” he rumbled seductively.
She rolled to her back. “Yes. I want your cock. I want it so bad I might just die from the wanting.”
He rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Authors. It’s all about the drama with you.”
“And with you newspaper men it’s all about the facts and nothing but the facts.”
“Damn straight.”
“Bullshit,” she said with a grin. “I’ve read several of your pieces and the language you use is so evocative and just almost lyrical that I can see and feel places I’ve never been to.”
He loved the way her nipples were puckered into tight peaks and the way her areola was a dusky color compared to her skin. He circled each breast with his finger, running it around the edge, starting at the largest part and making concentric circles down until he strummed her nipple with his thumb. Then he traced the centerline of her body, teasing her belly button before letting his fingers find her pussy, circling the entrance before sliding a single finger inside her while his thumb rode her clit.
“Ryker,” she moaned.
Chuckling, he added a second finger and used both to stroke her gently, curling them up so that they caught her sweet spot and made her gasp. Leaning over, he replaced his thumb with his mouth and sucked her clit, pushing her over the edge into a climax as she cried out.
“That’s my sweet girl,” he said, rolling over to cover her body with his and settling himself into the place reserved only for him.
She reached up and stroked his hair. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
She clung to him as he kissed her deeply, spearing her mouth with his tongue as his cock thrust deep. She moaned against his mouth as her pussy quivered all up and down his length. Nothing and no one had ever felt as good, as pure, and as sensual as she did. Again and again, he drove deep and then pulled back only to plunge to her depths again. Each time he did so, her fingers flexed along his back.
Her legs wrapped around him, and she undulated her hips to match his rhythm. Relentlessly he stroked in and out until she was clawing at his back as her orgasm started to take her. He felt the base of his spine tingle as his balls drew up. As she fell over into the abyss of ecstasy, he thrust home, grinding against her as he emptied himself into her.
For the longest, sweetest moment he couldn’t move and rested his body on hers. She nuzzled him as he lay his head on her breast, knowing that it didn’t matter where they decided to live. They would always be each other’s home.
* * *
Over the next few weeks, Ryker and Lori dealt with the fallout from Cobain’s death. There were arraignments, hearings, depositions, and the like. But through it all, they were together. There had also been Ryker’s story, that had been picked up by every wire service in the world and had been optioned by HBO for a limited run series.
Lori and Ryker found they liked working together. They could go for hours working on separate projects and be perfectly happy without saying a word to each other. Ryker had proposed for the time being that they find a partner’s desk and put it in his office in town. He’d even allowed her to redecorate the entire space, admitting when she was finished that she should be the decorator.
They spent their nights in each other’s arms, exploring their deeply sensual natures and glorying in finding their own soulmate. After one spectacular evening that had started in front of the fireplace and ended in their bed, Lori woke to find Ryker was not lying next to her. Lazily, she reached for his pillow and found a note saying he’d gone for breakfast and would be back shortly.
She rolled out of bed and went into his shower, marveling at all the showerheads and body sprays. There was even a steam option; it was a wonderful way to warm up when they came in from outside. When she was clean, she looked through Ryker’s things and found a big, loose knit sweater with a V-neck that came to mid-thigh. She pulled it on and headed out into the main room of the cottage.
It was lovely. One side was dominated by an enormous stone fireplace. Opposite there was an open kitchen with lower cupboards, a huge island, and open shelving along the top. Sitting in the middle of the table there was what appeared to be an 1876 Sholes Glidden typewriter. She had seen one being auctioned off by Christie’s when she’d been researching vintage typewriters. The reserve bidding price was more than thirty thousand dollars. It was a gorgeous thing with green and black enameling and floral and other decals. It had a lid that covered the keyboard, but it could be held up by a kind of hook when the keyboard was in use.
No wonder the ones in Annette’s shop hadn’t held much allure for him.
Sitting in the typewriter carriage was a beautiful piece of what she was pretty sure was handmade paper. Sitting on top of that so she couldn’t see what was written on it was what looked suspiciously like a ring box. She picked it up and examined it. It looked like a very old ring box, and she remembered what he’d told her about his Rolex and how it had been passed down through his family.
She looked around; there was no note telling her she shouldn’t open the ring box, so she did and damn near dropped the thing. She gasped. The platinum ring inside was exquisite. She was no expert, but she was pretty sure it was also incredibly expensive. The engagement ring itself had matching guard bands on either side, presenting a stunning centerpiece of a large marquise brilliant cut central diamond, flanked by two tapered baguette diamonds. The guard bands had channel set baguettes.
“Hey, you,” Ryker said, as he stood in the doorway, coffee mug in hand. She glanced toward the kitchen island and saw breakfast waiting. “It was my mother’s. I wanted you to see the whole thing, but you don’t get to wear the guard bands until we take our vows, and you don’t get to wear any of them until you answer the question in the typewriter.”
Grateful for something to do other than stare at him, she looked down. There on a piece of handmade paper, typed with one of the world’s oldest typewriters, was a very simple message of fifteen characters and three spaces:
Will You Marry Me?
“Hmm,” she said, twisting slowly in the morning sun. “Let me think about it.”
Carefully, she put the ring box back where she’d found it, before launching herself in his direction and leaping into his arms. He barely had time to set his coffee mug down before catching her as her legs circled his waist.
“I’m going to need to hear verbal confirmation of your answer,” he laughed.
“Yes,” she said, kissing him. “Yes.” Another kiss. “A thousand times over, yes!”
* * *
Baltimore, Maryland
Fifteen Years Ago
Deep breath. Stay calm.The warehouse was on fire, and she had to get out. No, more than that, she had to get Bryson and then get out. They had followed the suspects into the warehouse—a sucker’s play. The leaders of the cartel had set them up. As soon as they entered the door closed behind them and from up on the stacked boxes, Martel’s goons had opened fire. Both she and Bryson dove for cover. She was hit in the thigh; she wasn’t sure about Bryson.
Christie heard movement along the catwalk. “I’m going to leave you two lovebirds here to die tragically in the fire. It will be such a sad story. But with your deaths all of my problems will go away. Don’t worry about perishing from the flames, the explosion will be what kills you.”
She could hear his laughter as he moved through toward the back of the warehouse where she was sure he had a boat waiting. But that didn’t matter. She had to find Bryson. She managed to find him behind a stack of boxes and pallets. He wasn’t moving and blood gushed from several wounds.
She wasn’t going to lose him. They had too much to share in the life they’d been planning. Death was not going to take him away from her.
“Bry? Baby?” she said desperately. “Can you move?”
“No. I can’t walk. Get out. Martel wasn’t lying. There are explosives all over the building. You have to get out and run as fast and as far as you can.”
“I’m not leaving without you.” She depressed the button on her shoulder that activated her emergency radio. “Officers down. Officers down. Request immediate backup and paramedics to this location. Be advised; building is on fire and has been rigged to explode. Bombs have been activated. No idea on the length of the timer.”
“Christie, get out. If I mean anything at all to you, you have to.”
If? They were about to die and he’s still questioning my love? I am so going to kick his ass when he’s better.
“That’s not happening, Moss.”
He groaned. He knew she only called him by his last name when she was pissed.
“Crofton. I outrank you, and I’m ordering you to get out.”
She tugged at the collar of his police jacket, dragging him along the cement floor toward the door that would lead to the outside and their car. If she could roll him into it, she could hopefully get them out of the blast zone and to the hospital. Her head hurt, but she couldn’t be concerned with that right now. Now she only had thoughts of survival.
Bryson groaned and tried to swat at her, but he was in no position for that to be effective and she paid him no mind. Step-by-step she got them closer to a chance at life. Just a few more feet and they’d be at the door. She prayed they were too arrogant to lock it—sure that they were wounded and unable to get themselves to safety.
She tried the lock, and it didn’t give. “Goddamn it!” she shouted and slammed both fists on the door.
It didn’t open, but it gave a little. In the distance she could hear sirens. She had to get them out. She let go of Bryson’s collar and slammed her shoulder into the door. The force made it groan but didn’t make it open. Shit. She hit it again, putting all of her weight behind it, and damn near fell through the thing when it burst open.
Reaching back, she reached down, placed her arms under his and locked her fists together and began dragging him out. She had barely made it to their car when the paramedics, the bomb squad, and their fellow officers showed up.
“Christie, let go. I’ve got him. Danny? Get Christie. The bomb squad wants us and the paramedics beyond the potential blast zone.”
Bryson was taken away from her by two paramedics she knew well. The last thing she saw was him being loaded into their vehicle and being whisked away. She was pushed inside the back seat of a police car, the door slammed behind her, and the driver jumped in and sped off.
She raised herself so she could see out the rear window. She watched as one of the bomb techs ran back to their cargo van, waving at everyone to get away. The relative silence of the night was split as a loud boom signaled an explosion that looked like fireworks. Only they weren’t, and she knew it.
“Anyone else hurt?” she croaked from the backseat.
“No, ma’am. Everybody got away clean. The harbor fire boats are already fighting the fire and fire trucks are on the way.”
“There’s a deserted private airport just this side of the Potomac. That’s where Martel is heading. Send armed units and SWAT to that location.”
“I’m just a patrolman; I can’t order that kind of thing.”
“Fuck!” She depressed the button again. “Request armed units and SWAT report to the Pearson Airport just this side of the Potomac. Murder, drug and corruption suspects are attempting to flee the jurisdiction. Consider them to be armed and dangerous.” Christie laid back, trying to catch her breath, before dragging herself back to a sitting position. “Now, officer, are you going to get me to that airport, or do I have to get out and hitchhike?”
“Ma’am, dispatch said to get you to the hospital.”
“I outrank dispatch, and I’m overriding their instructions and giving you a direct order. Take me to that airport or so help me god, I will make it my life’s work to get you kicked off the force and will blacken your name so badly no one will ever hire you.”
The kid seemed to think about it and then, muttering something that sounded a lot like ‘ball-busting bitch,’ he headed to the airport.
Bryson Moss, Christie Crofton and the whole Mystery Writers’ Murder Club will return later this Spring with MURDER IN THE AFTERNOON.