Chapter Six
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Ryker grabbed his go-bag from the backseat of his truck, slinging it over one shoulder with a quiet grunt. It was second nature to have the bag ready, and it was packed with everything he’d need if a night turned into a week, if safety became strategy.
He met Emma at her SUV, and they didn’t bother with small talk. They were both running on fumes and instinct, the silence between them filled with everything they didn’t need to say.
Her place was in town, but just barely, in a newer development on the east side, where the streets still smelled faintly of fresh pavement and sawdust. Some houses were already finished, lights glowing warm behind curtained windows, but several lots were still under construction, skeletons of future homes rising from dirt and rebar.
Ryker scanned the area as they pulled in. Good sightlines. Quiet. But a little too easy for someone to blend in and watch from the shadows.
Emma hit the remote and the door of the attached garage lifted with a low mechanical hum. She pulled inside and killed the engine, shut the garage door, and the sound of sleet tapping gently on the roof faded into stillness.
The house was a modern craftsman, all clean lines and muted tones, charcoal siding, deep wood accents, matte black fixtures on the garage and front door. It suited her. No frills. Sharp edges, but still inviting.
Inside, it had that just-moved-in feel. Open floor plan, high ceilings, pale oak floors, and minimalist furniture that looked like it had been chosen for function, not show. The place still smelled like new paint and varnish and fresh drywall.
A few unpacked boxes sat against one wall in the living room, labeled with Sharpie: Books, Photos, Kitchen Stuff I Might Not Need. Her coat closet door was open, a jacket and two pairs of boots inside, as if they hadn’t quite found their place.
Ryker set his bag down near the entryway, his gaze drifting across the room. “You planning on finishing unpacking anytime soon?”
Emma locked the door behind them and arched a brow. “Not if I keep getting shot at.”
Fair enough.
But even half-settled, the place had her fingerprints all over it. Order, quiet, control. And tonight, for the first time in a long time, it wouldn’t be empty.
Emma led him down the short hall, flicking on a light as they passed the laundry room and coat closet. She opened the door to the guestroom and stepped aside.
“Here,” she said. “You’re right across from me. Try not to snore.”
Ryker gave her a look but didn’t rise to the bait. He walked in, dropped his go-bag on the neatly made bed, and gave the room a quick glance. Neutral tones, clean lines, and a dresser that hadn’t seen much use. Functional. Comfortable. Like the rest of the house.
Without another word, they crossed to the home office.
It was tucked into a corner near the back of the house. One window, blinds pulled halfway down. A simple desk, laptop, lamp, and a single bookshelf that held a handful of procedural texts, case binders, and a framed photo of her academy graduation. No clutter. No wasted space.
Emma immediately lowered the blinds the entire way. Something he would have done if she hadn’t. He hadn’t gotten a good look at the backyard, but it was usually a weak spot when it came to security. He didn’t want to give a sniper easy targets if the asshole decided to take shots at them again.
“I want to take a closer look at the photos Charlotte sent,” she said, already pulling out the USB cable and connecting her phone to the laptop.
Ryker nodded and took out his phone. While she transferred the photos, he tapped out a quick message to one of the night deputies, Griff, who was pulling late shift.
Need Dr. Maris Colvin brought in tomorrow. Interview. Discreet pickup if necessary.
He added the basics and hit send.
They needed answers. About the photos. About the therapist’s connection to Ethan. About whether her name belonged on their suspect board.
When Ryker finished his text, he moved to the desk and dragged the extra chair closer. It gave a low scrape across the hardwood as he sat down beside her, their shoulders brushing lightly.
She didn’t shift away.
Emma opened the first file with a few quick taps on the trackpad. The soft hum of the fan filled the space between them, underscored by the quiet, steady rhythm of her breathing.
Ryker didn’t speak.
He didn’t need to. His focus was locked on the screen, on the woman in the background of the photos, Dr. Maris Colvin, watching Ethan like he was her whole world one minute, and then like she wanted to bury him the next.
He could feel the questions stacking up. Not just about Ethan.
About her.
And how deep she was in this.
Ryker leaned in a little closer, his eyes narrowing on the screen as Emma flipped to the second image, the one taken mid-argument.
“In a way,” he said quietly, “this photo has all our top suspects.”
Emma glanced at him, but he kept his focus on the screen.
“There’s Ethan,” he went on. “Dr. Colvin standing behind him. And Janette, front and center on his phone.”
Emma didn’t respond, but he could feel the shift in her posture, the slow tightening of her jaw.
Ryker pointed to the edge of the image. “And there,” he added, tapping gently against the glass, “is Charlotte. Reflected in the mirror behind the buffet table.”
Emma zoomed in, and sure enough, Charlotte’s faint reflection was looking back at them. Her phone was raised, snapping the photo. She was watching the fight unfold, her brother unraveling in front of a crowd, and still, she kept taking pictures.
Ryker shifted his attention back to Emma. She hadn’t said a word, but the look on her face twisted something hard in his gut. Shock. Betrayal. Anger so deep it looked like it had rooted in her bones.
She blinked, slowly, her mouth pressed in a tight line, and Ryker hated that he couldn’t do a damn thing to erase what she was feeling. All he could do was sit next to her while the worst parts of her past came back to life on a screen.
He turned back to the photo, zooming in tighter on Charlotte’s reflection. What he saw made his stomach turn.
“She’s smirking,” he said. “Look at her mouth. Right there.”
Emma did look, and her frown deepened.
Ryker sat back slightly. “She wasn’t just documenting the moment. She was enjoying it.”
Ryker stared at the smirk frozen on Charlotte’s face in the mirror. It wasn’t subtle, and it wasn’t accidental. There was something almost gleeful about it, like she was watching a show she’d waited a long time to see.
“I thought Charlotte wanted you and Ethan together,” he threw out there. “So why the hell is she smiling like that?”
Emma didn’t look at him. Her eyes stayed on the screen. “She never thought I was right for him.”
The words landed with a dull weight, like they were something she’d carried for a long time.
“And I wasn’t,” she added, almost as an afterthought. But there was no doubt in her voice.
Ryker stayed quiet, letting her work through it.
“Charlotte probably was happy we broke up,” Emma went on. “At least at first. Thought it was the best possible thing. Thought she’d been proven right.”
Her tone shifted, still calm, but with something sharper underneath. “But then she saw what she believed it did to him. The downward spiral. The vanishing act. Charlotte believed Ethan was gutted. Crushed. Emotionally wrecked. And possibly dead by my hand.”
She finally turned her head, met Ryker’s eyes. The flicker he saw there wasn’t grief. It was fire. “But I don’t think he was heartbroken. I think he was furious.”
Ryker held her gaze. “And that changes everything.”
Because a broken man might disappear.
But an enraged one? He builds a plan.
Emma stayed quiet for a long stretch. The laptop screen dimmed slightly, going into idle mode, but neither of them moved to touch it.
Ryker kept his eyes on her. He could see the war going on behind hers, the guilt, the weight she was carrying, even though none of this was her fault.
Finally, she turned toward him, her voice quieter than before. “I’m sorry you’re in danger because of me.”
Ryker let out a breath, half exasperated, half something else entirely. He shifted in his chair, leaned an inch closer, and gave her a look that said You should know better by now.
“Okay,” he said, “new rule.”
She blinked, caught off guard. “What?”
“Every time you say you’re sorry for something that isn’t your fault,” he said, his voice low, “I’m going to do something about it.”
That clearly got her attention. “Do what?”
Ryker leaned in, just enough to feel the heat between them shift, tighten. Her eyes met his, sharp and guarded, but something flickered beneath the surface. Not fear. Not doubt.
Heat. Just like his.
“Haven’t decided yet,” he murmured, voice low and rough. “Might be reckless. Might be something I shouldn’t do… like press my luck and kiss you.”
Emma didn’t move at first. Didn’t blink.
Her pulse ticked at the hollow of her throat, and Ryker tracked it, felt it as if it was syncing with his own.
She gave a short, almost disbelieving breath of a laugh, barely there. Then her lips parted, and her voice came quiet but sure.
“I’d probably kiss you back,” she muttered.
Ryker’s jaw tensed. That wasn’t hesitation in her voice, it was a green light, and it hit him like a jolt straight to the chest.
But she didn’t lean in. Didn’t close the space.
She left it there, his move.
And hell if that didn’t make it harder to resist.
He didn’t. Not entirely.
Instead of pulling back like he’d meant to, Ryker leaned in, just enough to bridge the distance. His hand came to rest lightly at her jaw, and he pressed his mouth to hers, barely a kiss, more breath than pressure.
Warmth, sharp and sudden, flared between them. Her lips parted the slightest bit, and his instinct was to deepen it, take the moment further, slip into something slow and hot and entirely French.
He would’ve.
But his phone buzzed against the desk with a sharp ding, breaking the spell like a slap of cold air. Ryker pulled back, just enough to look into her eyes. And damn if that heat wasn’t still there, burning brighter than before.
Ryker swiped his phone off the desk, already muttering under his breath, “Griff has the worst damn timing in the history of bad timing.”
Emma leaned back slightly, her breath still catching, lips just barely curved in the ghost of that almost-kiss.
But Ryker’s mood shifted fast as he read the message.
He straightened. “Griff has two updates.”
The heat in the room cooled instantly. Emma’s focus snapped back, sharp as a blade. “Go ahead.”
“The lab tested the ring,” Ryker said. “Ethan’s DNA was on it.”
Emma’s eyes narrowed, and her mouth drew into a tight line. “That DNA could’ve been left years ago.”
Ryker nodded. “Yeah. I thought the same.”
She was trying to stay objective, trying to think like a cop, but he saw the tension creep back into her shoulders.
“And the second update?” she asked. “Do they know who the body is?”
Ryker hesitated. Just a beat. But it was long enough for her to catch it.
“Is it Ethan?” she asked.
He shook his head. “No.” He watched the flicker in her eyes, hope maybe, or confusion, but what came next shattered that. “The body was Lionel Ruiz.”
Emma went still.
Ryker silently cursed, knowing just how deep this was about to cut.
She didn’t speak right away. Didn’t even blink. Just sat there, as if her brain needed an extra second to process what he’d just said.
Lionel Ruiz. The man she fought to free. The case that unraveled Ethan’s credibility. The trigger that might have brought all this to the surface.
Her voice, when it came, was a whisper. “No.”
But Ryker knew better.
This wasn’t denial.
It was devastation.
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