Chapter 2
A stranger’s holding my hand, but I’m hit with déjà vu.
So strange. It’s as if those rough, strong fingers have been clasped between mine a thousand times.
God. I’m losing my mind.
I lean back, forcing distance between us, but he doesn’t retreat. He’s still freaking imposing. The man is big, intent, and taking up all my personal space.
“I’ve got all day,” he adds to asking me if I will tell him what’s going on.
Alarms should be going off in my head, but they’re silent. Ryker knows how to occupy the space with control. This doesn’t feel like aggression.
What I really crave is him as a shield. Big, immovable, solid. Between me and the whole world.
Ohhhhkay. My brain must have gotten rattled by the hit I took. That’s the only explanation for not recoiling from his nearness.
In my world, men equal pain.
“It’s a big mess,” I whisper, sadness and uncertainty compressing my shoulders down. “I’m not sure I could even explain because I don’t understand it myself.”
If anything, this sharpens his focus.
I’m reminded of an animal observing prey. Only I know I’m not it. He’s after my trouble.
What a strange sensation to be the center of someone’s attention when it’s not anger.
My eyes drift closed and a breath I’ve been holding for god-knows-how-long seeps out of me.
Wow.
And then my mouth betrays me as I look up at him. “You can’t get involved any more than you have.”
Ryker inhales, his chest getting even more imposing. The fire behind his gaze turns up to blazing.
“The fuck, I can’t.”
It’s not cruel, and it’s not said with anger. It’s him making it clear that he’s capable and willing.
I blink.
No way. It sounds great now, but this is my life and Ryker will sooner or later be gone and I’ll be left to deal with it.
That will hurt worse than him never helping me at all.
He waits, and his sharp reply hovers between us until the silence is shattered by the bell announcing a customer.
The silent tension between us dissolves and he turns his head slowly toward the front. Without hesitation, he gives my fingers a light squeeze.
“I’ll take care of that.”
Ryker’s gone in the next instant and I catch the strangest exchange drifting back from the customer area.
“Take whatever you want. Here’s a box. It’s on me.”
A man replies, “You mean as many donuts as I want?”
“Affirmative.”
The pink swinging doors push open and my mysterious rescuer is back, carrying himself like he owns the place. Or the whole world for that matter.
There is no way my eyes can get any larger. “You can’t just give away product, my boss will kill me.”
He pulls out his wallet, holds up a sleek black credit card between two fingers. “If you sell out, there’s no reason to stay open.”
Without looking away from me, he uses his other arm to sweep the donuts from the counters into the trash can. “Oops. Production accident.”
A laugh escapes, surprising me. “You’re completely crazy.”
“I’m strategic.” He flips the card over between his fingers. “Now, how much do I ring up so I can get you out of here?”
Ryker doesn’t walk to a different drum, he’s not even on the same field.
I take the card, fully intending NOT to charge him.
I’ll just pretend and he won’t know until he looks at his credit card statement.
Given that my life hasn’t allowed me much control, this decision feels powerful.
I’ll repay my boss, somehow. She was kind enough to pay me under the table, I’ll find a way to make up for this.
From the front, the man calls, “Thank you! This made my day.”
Ryker flashes a grin that knocks me backward.
“See? Not hard.”
Holy sheesh. This man’s confidence is lethal.
“I can’t leave.” I slide off the counter, stepping out of his gravitational field, still in shock I let him so close.
He catches my arm gently and my first reaction is to flinch.
This freezes him, gaze falling down to where his much larger hand has captured me.
Awareness dawns followed by a gentling of his eyes.
“I don’t hurt women.”
I want to believe him.
But life has taught me otherwise. I nod back, but it feels jerky and he probably sees me shut down. A man like him reads between every eyelash flicker.
“Hang out back here,” he says. “I’ll deal with the front if there’s any product left, then I need to have a conversation with a few people outside.”
My stomach does a loop.
“Ryker,” I call, trying to stop him, but he’s already moving. His combat boots strike the tile. There’s a stretch of silence where I picture him throwing away donuts or dropping them on the floor or something equally as nuts.
Finally the bell above the door chimes again and I know he’s left the building because the air seems to snap back into place.
Oh my god. What am I going to do?
I press the ice harder to my cheek, my temper simmering alongside my confusion.
Trevor took the effort to find me to deliver his message. A man wouldn’t go to those lengths if he didn’t have a reason.
Disappearing, moving over a thousand miles away didn’t stop my trouble. It was stupid to think it would, but I assumed out-of-sight, out-of-mind.
With a groan, I let my head fall back against the wall, knocking a note off that was taped there to remind me to use blue sprinkles, not green this week.
Probably won’t matter, since I’ll be losing the job.
I’m in the same spot when Ryker returns. His expression is even more grim when he walks through the kitchen doorway, but almost seems to ease when he sees me.
“How you doing?”
“Same.”
I don’t tell him that I’m now getting over the shock of what happened and settling into despair.
He leans a hip against the counter next to me, crossing two arms that are the size of my thighs. Watches me for a long moment, but it feels like he’s holding something back.
“What are you thinking?” I ask, because if there is one person I can’t read, it’s this man.
Or maybe it’s just all men, because I sure read Trevor wrong in the beginning too.
“I’d like to get the authorities involved,” he says in a way that I feel the pressure, but it’s not harsh. Almost like he’s trying to reason with the logical part of my brain.
“No. Don’t.” Inside of me there’s a visceral, instant reaction to the idea of involving any officials. “My father’s a cop.”
Oh crap. That last part is the thing I didn’t need to say. But I don’t know what the hell is wrong with my control.
Ryker’s head tilts as he works this added information over.
“Are you telling me he’s somehow involved in this?”
“Not directly. The one who assaulted me in the parking lot is my father’s friend.”
Shame makes me look down.
“You saw me flinch when you caught my wrist. My father’s an abuser and I have no intention of ever seeing him again. Reporting this will only draw attention that I don’t want.”
Ryker’s reply is instant and downright shocking. “Then you’re going with me.”
I’m sure I look stunned, because I’m pretty sure I heard him wrong. Only he looks completely committed.
“I can’t...” I breathe, choking a little.
He lifts a brow. Just one as the line of his mouth firms to stubborn on steroids.
“Where?” I ask when I admit to myself he’s not going to budge.
“My team is stationed up at a safe house. Unless you’ve got somewhere completely secure to go, then you’re with us. The men in that Mercedes weren’t tearing out of there, they had no remorse for what happened. That says they won’t hesitate to do it again.”
Covering my mouth with my hand, I look away. He’s right.
“But my job, it’s not much, but I need it,” I half-croak, fighting to hold myself together.
“It can wait.”
“No it can’t. I’m broke.”
“If you’re worried about a roof over your head and food, then don’t. It’s taken care of.” He shoves his phone in his pocket. “Now, you got a car? My teammates had to roll out because they’re working a case. Otherwise I need to procure one.”
Not sure what universe I’m in, I walk to the keys hanging on the hook by the door. “It’s not much. Just a beater I bought a few weeks ago.”
“I’m sure it’ll work. If not, I know how to fix things.”
As in fix me?
Good luck with that.
Ryker locks up the shop, like he’s completing a military mission. When he’s cleared the parking lot to make sure there are no threats, he takes me to the small Chevy sedan, helping me inside.
“Watch your head,” he rumbles as he plants his palm on my crown to make sure I don’t clock my skull on the door.
Okay. That’s a new one and it gives me a pinch in the center of my chest. Such a little thing to do with such a big impact.
“Jesus, I never understood why they make cars this small,” he rumbles.
I watch in dismay as he adjusts the seat and steering wheel, surprisingly managing to fit.
“They make cars like this for people like me.”
“At least the steering wheel adjusts,” he says with a shake of his head. “One time when I was on deployment in Afghanistan I had to get into this fucking clown car. Never heard the end of that. Still get that photo texted to me on a random night when some fucker from the Team can’t sleep.”
That’s the most he’s said at once, and I’m staring as I try to memorize every nuance. His accent, the way his eyes dance when he’s remembering the funny moment with his Team.
The strange sensation in my face tells me I’m smiling, but it’s been so long since I’ve done it, really done it, that my face can’t seem to recall.
“Can I see it?”
He chuckles, but then he searches my eyes and his humor fades.
Lord, the way he looks at me sends a jolting electrical charge through my nervous system.
There’s a huskiness to his voice when he looks out the windshield. “If it will make you smile like that again, then yes, once we get to the house.”
Why does this feel so big?
I press a hand to my heart and lean back in the seat as he pulls out of the parking lot, turning away from town.
“Thank you, Ryker.”
“You already thanked me.”
“Well, I feel compelled to do it again.”
He shifts in the seat, his strong hands flexing on the wheel. “Thanks for not putting up a fight.”
“Did I have a choice?”
His gaze slides to me, holds a beat, then returns to the road. “You always have a choice with me. But this time it didn’t include staying there.”
Resting my cheek against the seat, I study the decisive angles of his profile. He even looks like a weapon. “That feels like a tactical answer,” I tease.
“You’re catching on.” He scans the mirror in a pattern he’s repeating.
“You looking for a tail?”
Apparently my years around the sheriff’s office wore off.
“Something like that,” the corner of his mouth hitches up before it slams back down. “If you see their truck, or anything unusual tell me immediately.”
“10:4”
He looks amused, but quickly is back to serious.
A yawn hits out of nowhere. “Is it okay if I sleep, or do you need me to keep watch?”
His eyes are soft when he looks at me this time. “You don’t need to worry about anything. I’m perfectly capable of handling the situation.”
“Are you a SEAL?”
“You heard me refer to the Teams.”
I rub my eyes which are getting heavier and heavier. “I don’t know much about them, but there’s a guy from my hometown who is one.”
“Copy. Who is that?”
“Brody Martin.”
This time he grins, fast and genuine. “No shit. I know him, that’s one wild ass fucking Texan. Excuse my language.”
For some reason his reaction is like a balm. Ryker might be a stranger, but every moment I’m with him peels back another layer of who he is.
“That pretty much sums him up,” I say, melting more into the seat. Brody’s not that different than Ryker physically, but where Ryker seems to be in control at all times, my classmate was one step away from chaos at all times.
I can’t deny it. I like what I see in Ryker. Which is crazy, because I have a BAD history of poor judgement.
In my world, recklessness and lost tempers meant living in terror. He just doesn’t seem the type.
Plus, there’s this thing about the way he drives that makes me weirdly excited.
Who knew competence could be such a turn on?
I yawn again. “Sorry. I think I’m crashing after the adrenaline.”
“That’s exactly what’s happening. Your nervous system is downshifting. Let it play out.”
He adjusts the controls on the dash, even clinical in his control of the interior temperature.
My lids are so heavy. The hum of the engine, the warmth from the vents, his steady presence beside me, it’s pulling me under.
I’m almost gone when Ryker’s hand leaves the shifter.
It moves to his hip. A slow, deliberate movement. The kind of motion that doesn’t match the casual way he’s been driving.
My eyes fight to stay open. Through the blur I catch the shift in his jaw. The set of his shoulders changing.
He’s watching the mirror.
Not scanning this time, he’s zeroed in, watching.
“See something?” I mumble, my voice thick with sleep I can’t fight.
“Close your eyes, sweetheart.” His tone hasn’t changed. But his hand stays on his weapon.