Chapter 4 Ryker
RYKER
As I stared at Faith’s blood-covered body, a wave of protectiveness crashed over me like nothing I’d ever experienced.
The criminal defense attorney in me, the man who’d taken the bar and dedicated his life to respecting the law, screamed to call the police.
Get her to the station. Now. Start the process.
But the primal need to shield her from whatever hell had unfolded tonight was fiercer. Reckless. And winning.
Blake’s car engine rumbled outside, a low countdown timer that reminded me we didn’t have long.
I stared down at her bare, muddy feet. “Faith, how did you get here?” If she’d driven, she wouldn’t have been clutching that knife, would she have?
“I ran.”
“You ran,” I repeated.
She nodded.
“From where?”
“The forest.”
I mentally cataloged the area around the mansion. We were in a wealthy enclave of legacy estates, where new money rubbed shoulders with old. To separate this exclusive community from encroaching suburbia, dense woods circled the properties like a protective moat.
How the hell had she ended up in those woods, covered in blood?
“Blake gave me this address,” she said, shifting to reveal shorts beneath that sundress. She pulled her phone from her back pocket before I could stop her.
I stared at the device in horror. Jesus. Cell towers. GPS tracking. Once she got on their radar, they’d place her at the scene of whatever crime had occurred, and police would follow that digital breadcrumb trail right to this mansion.
If I didn’t get my arms around this situation, all of us could be dragged down with dangerous implications.
I needed to hurry.
“Stay here,” I commanded.
I jogged down the hallway, my shoes echoing against hardwood floors. In the bathroom, I rifled through cabinets until I found what I was looking for: a red first aid kit that looked like it hadn’t seen action in years.
When I returned, Faith sat exactly as I’d left her: eyes unblinking, staring at absolutely nothing. A beautiful, blood-soaked statue.
Jesus Christ.
I squatted in front of her, the first aid kit crinkling as I opened it. Blake would be better suited for this wound care, but as I’d explained, he couldn’t be here while I questioned her. And I sure as hell wasn’t asking questions without at least slowing the flow of blood.
“Faith.” Her eyes didn’t move. “Look at me.”
Finally, those green eyes met mine, and my heart slammed against my ribs. Terror. Pain. And trust. So much goddamn trust that it nearly knocked me over.
“I’m your lawyer now. Do you know what that means?”
She blinked slowly, like she was surfacing from underwater.
“It means whatever you tell me stays between us. By law, I can’t repeat a single word. Do you understand?”
She nodded.
“I need to hear your voice, Faith.”
“I understand,” she whispered, the words barely audible.
“Good.”
I pulled out a large bandage that looked more suited for a playground scrape than … whatever this was. Standing, I visually traced the source of blood streaming from one spot high above her left ear.
When I reached toward her head, she flinched away, like I’d raised a fist.
Flinched.
Our eyes locked, and an unspoken understanding passed between us. Someone had hurt her.
Was it tonight? Or was she still poisoned by some bastard from her past?
“I won’t hurt you,” I said, forcing gentleness into my voice. “May I?”
I gestured toward her head and waited for her consent.
She nodded.
“I need to find the source of the wound,” I explained. “If you’d prefer, I can call Blake back.”
She shook her head quickly, and something warm unfurled in my chest. She trusted me. Me. More than anyone else right now.
“I’m sorry if this hurts.” I carefully moved blood-soaked strands aside, my fingers gentle against her scalp. When I pressed gauze to the wound, she hissed. “But we need to stop the bleeding.”
“Okay.” Her voice was small, childlike, and it gutted me.
The real Faith was sharp-tongued, her humor cutting enough to draw blood.
You could tell her perspective on life was shaped through the clay of pain from her past. But she didn’t let it hold her down.
She leaned into new friendships. She supported her brother, and most of all, she was strong as hell.
But that woman was not here right now. The woman who sat in this chair was a shell of a human.
“Faith, we’re going to need to call the police.” Her eyes flew to mine, wide with fresh terror. “But first, you have to tell me what happened. I need to know what we’re dealing with.”
She twisted her blood-coated hands in her lap, brows furrowed in concentration.
“I …” She swallowed hard. “It’s all fuzzy.”
Okay, progress. She was talking. Focus was returning to her eyes. Maybe the pain from treating the wound had started pulling her back to reality.
“Whose blood is on you, Faith? Who is hurt or injured?”
“I … I don’t know. He was lying face down. My head hurt, and I panicked.”
Fuck.
“Let’s start simple.” I kept my voice calm, clinical. “How many people are bleeding right now, Faith?”
I was careful not to say dead or dying, but, Jesus, ticktock.
“One.”
“Male or female?”
“Male.”
“Adult?”
She nodded.
“Good. One adult male. Any chance he’s alive?”
She paused, unwilling to meet my gaze, and I felt my patience fracture.
Blake’s car engine revved impatiently outside.
“Now’s not the time to go shy on me, Faith.
” I leaned forward, keeping my voice gentle but firm.
“You don’t do this alone. Not for one minute.
But if he’s alive and we’re sitting here, playing Twenty Questions instead of calling paramedics, the charges you’re potentially facing could be a hell of a lot worse. ”
Her eyes widened in shock. “Charges?”
“You were holding a bloody knife. There’s a man who’s either injured, dying, or dead somewhere out there.” I gestured to her hands. “Connect the dots.”
She stared down at her crimson-stained fingers.
“I … don’t remember what happened.”
Every instinct I’d honed over years of criminal defense screamed warning.
I studied her face, searching for tells. For the calculated look of someone spinning a story. Was she telling the truth? Or was I staring at my greatest nightmare repeating itself?
“The I don’t remember card …” I kept my voice soft, but my jaw clenched. “Trust me, it’ll backfire spectacularly.”
Her eyes widened. “You don’t believe me.”
“Do you know how many people commit violent crimes and, when caught red-handed, suddenly develop amnesia?” I kept my tone steady, but inside, I was screaming, wanting to protect her from herself.
“Let me paint you a picture of how the I don’t remember scenario plays out,” I continued.
“While you keep that information locked in your head, police will be gathering evidence. Evidence that”—I gestured to her blood-soaked appearance—“judging by your current state, will have your DNA all over it. The whole time we could be building a defense, we’ll be wasting precious hours with this amnesia thing.
But then it’ll be too late to file the right motions, the right defense strategies.
I can’t plead self-defense if I don’t know what happened. ”
She stared at me like I’d slapped her. “I thought you would help me.”
“This is me helping you, Faith.” I moved closer. “Whatever you did, just tell me so we can get in front of it.”
I watched a fresh drop of blood slide down her cheek, and something in her expression—raw, broken, genuinely lost—made me pause.
The way she held herself, the tremor in her voice when she said she didn’t remember.
This wasn’t the calculated amnesia of a guilty person trying to avoid consequences. This was trauma.
Real trauma.
I took a breath and crouched back down to her level. “Okay. Let me try this differently.” I kept my voice steady, controlled, even though seeing her like this—her white dress soaked crimson, blood streaking her pale skin—made something primal twist in my chest. “I need you to listen to me.”
She sat, curled in on herself, like a broken doll, trembling fingers clutching the bloodstained fabric. The metallic scent hung heavy in the mansion’s air, mixing with her jasmine perfume in a way that made my stomach clench.
Time. We didn’t have enough of it.
“I know this is scary as hell,” I said, staying at eye level with her. Close enough to see the gold flecks in her green eyes, the way her pupils were still dilated with shock. “But right now, I need you to tell me everything you do remember. Fast.”
She shook her head, wild light-brown hair with auburn highlights sticking to the dried blood on her cheek. “I don’t … I can’t …”
“Anything, Faith.” I glanced toward the door, where Blake’s engine continued its low rumble. “From which direction did you run and for how long? Did you pass by any other people on the way?”
Every second that ticked by was another second closer to losing our window.
“I can call the police now to try and find the guy,” I continued, fighting to keep the urgency out of my voice. “They’ll follow your blood trail with dogs, but that takes time we don’t have. We need to get ahead of this.”
Her eyes flew wide, terrified. “I can’t go back.”
The raw panic in her voice hit me like a sledgehammer. Whatever happened out there had shattered her. This wasn’t my fierce, brilliant Faith.
My? Since when was she mine?
Focus, Ryker.
“I’m not asking you to go back.” I reached out, almost touched her knee, then caught myself. “I need you to tell me where this guy is.”
“I … I just ran.” Her hands trembled as she wrapped her arms around herself, leaving more bloody fingerprints on the white cotton.
“Think. How long did you run?”
“I don’t know.”
Fantastic. This was going nowhere fast. I had no clue how vast those woods were. Could be ten acres, could be a hundred. Could be a crime scene I needed to preserve or a man I needed to save.
“I didn’t run long,” she said suddenly, her eyes coming to life more. “If I had run far, the blood would be dry, wouldn’t it?”