Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
S iv leaned against the SUV, watching people pass by.
She’d visited some bad places, all across the world.
Every city had their dirty, gritty areas full of suffering, but she didn’t think she’d ever get used to it.
She watched some people shuffling into a cheap, single-room-occupancy hotel across the street.
She’d learned that these types of hotels were common in the Tenderloin, and provided cheap housing for people who had nowhere else to go.
She blew out a breath. She’d lost it with Ryder the night before. He wasn’t hers, and she had no say over what he did. Or who he did.
An oily taste coated her mouth as she pictured that pretty, lush bartender coming on to him.
Siv was mad at herself. He’d been upset, hurting, and she’d lost her temper with him.
She blew out another breath. She hated not being in control. She hated feeling all churned up like this.
Some girls walked past. They were young, barely in their teens, but wearing tight dresses and too much makeup. They shot her curious looks before joining some dangerous-looking boys at the end of the street.
She needed to focus on her case. To find Robbie’s killer, they needed to find Scratch. She’d smooth things over with Ryder, then keep things professional. Get the job done.
That’s when she saw Ryder striding down the sidewalk. Her heart did a little pitty-pat. Dammit .
He was in well-worn, dark jeans, and a gray T-shirt that lovingly hugged his firm chest. The sleeves cut into his muscular biceps, and she clocked that interesting tattoo wrapped around one of his arms. The overlapping scales and other flourishes were a piece of art.
His green gaze locked on her and he gave her a small smile.
She felt it in her belly. Damn, why did her body react so strongly to this man?
“Hey.” He stopped in front of her.
“Hey.” She pulled in a breath. “Look—”
“Siv—”
They both spoke at once.
His smile widened. “Ladies first.”
“Look, I had no right to get mad at you last night. I just wanted to clear the air.”
He held his hands behind his back, his gaze on her face. “Siv, I know I said some things that triggered you, and that woman at the bar—”
“Is none of my business.”
He stepped closer and his cologne hit her. A hint of lime, sharp and sexy, just like him.
“It’s totally your business since we’re going to be a couple.”
Her thoughts scattered. “What?”
“You and me.” That dangerous smile curled his lips. He whipped a hand up.
He was holding a clear container and inside was a bun. It looked like the blueberry ones from Flour and Branch.
It was her favorite. She’d developed a thing for them.
He held it out. “My apology. Unnskyld .”
He mangled the Norwegian word for sorry. “We aren’t a couple. We’re working together.”
“Uh-huh.” He lifted the dessert.
“Ryder, listen to me. I’m not getting involved with any man.”
He opened the box and pressed the pretty little treat into her hand.
“We’re already involved,” he insisted.
She cursed under her breath. “You’re so stubborn, Morgan. I think your head is harder than a block of ice.”
He smiled. “Eat your bun. Then we’ll go and find Scratch.”
Well, she couldn’t let a delicious bun with cream cheese frosting go to waste. She took a big bite.
He watched her, with way too much satisfaction on his face.
Flavor exploded in her mouth. Mmm , so good. She swallowed. “This doesn’t mean anything, Morgan.”
“Sure, it does. By the way, I looked up some other Norwegian words.”
She raised a brow.
“ Faen . You used that last night. Naughty, naughty.”
“I bet you say fuck all the time.”
“ Dritt . That one rhymes with the English version.” His smile was wide. “ Helvete . Hell. I like that one.”
“You actually pronounced that well.”
He gave a little bow. “Next up, I’m learning some endearments, so stay tuned.”
She shook her head.
“Now finish up. We’re going to head to Hot Zone.”
“What’s that?” she asked.
“A popular gathering spot for the homeless. A bit of a tent community.”
Once she’d finished the bun, they headed down the street. Tents lined the sidewalk, and the stench of urine was overpowering. Trash was littered in piles and she saw numerous discarded needles.
“It’s sad,” she said.
“It is.” He slid his hands into his pockets. “A complex situation with no easy solution. People like to think if you just did this or the politician just did that , it would magically solve everything. But if you actually spend time here, live here, or work here, you know it’s not that easy.”
She glanced his way. “It gets to you.”
“Of course, it does. All I can do is help as many people as I can at the clinic. And remind myself that I can’t save all of them.”
They reached the Hot Zone. The tent encampment was on a wider section of sidewalk, with a few trees running down the center. The tents were a multitude of bright colors, but it didn’t add any cheer to the place.
As she looked around, Siv watched drugs change hands. Small groups of older people, most with unkempt clothing, huddled together. Younger ones with woolen hats pulled low, despite the warm day, talked in low voices. One man had cardboard tied to his feet as makeshift shoes.
She saw a couple of teenaged kids, too. Far too young to be out alone. They stuck together, their watchful gazes scanning their surroundings.
“There’s Nico,” Ryder said. “He sometimes hangs with Scratch. Let’s see if he knows where he is.”
Siv stayed quiet and let Ryder take the lead.
She got endless suspicious looks, but everyone seemed to like Ryder.
He got smiles, and even some flirtation from an ancient woman with no teeth.
He flirted back. The man just couldn’t help himself.
She realized now the flirtation was built into his DNA.
But the man was smart and a good paramedic, and she knew he could be serious, as well.
A realization hit her as she watched him. He also used the charming demeanor like a shield. She cocked her head and watched him. A shield to not let people too close, or let the situation get to him too much.
He glanced at her. “What?”
“Nothing.”
“Most people haven’t seen Scratch for a while.”
She really hoped Scratch hadn’t also died in some back alley.
“Backdoor Bob said he saw him earlier today. Scratch was acting weird, in a rush. He was over near the clinic.”
She raised a brow. “Backdoor Bob?”
Ryder grinned. “It isn’t dirty. He collects doors.”
She blinked. “Right.”
They headed out of the Hot Zone. Ryder led them to another street, packed with tents and makeshift shelters. There was a small gathering of people, many spaced out and high. A few were leaning against a wall, barely conscious.
Face grim, Ryder crouched and checked several of them, pressing his fingers to their wrists. “Pulse rates are steady enough.”
“They’re all high as kites.”
Ryder knelt in front of a woman. “Angel, it’s Ryder.”
The blonde woman blinked. It was impossible to tell her age. She could have been anywhere from twenty to sixty.
“Have you seen Scratch?” he asked.
The woman blinked slowly, smiled. She was really out of it.
“Yes.” Angel giggled. “Right behind you.”
There was no one behind Ryder. Siv sighed.
But Ryder glanced back over his shoulder. A man had just appeared at the end of the camp, walking quickly, with agitated movements.
Ryder rose.
The man was thin, with baggy jeans hanging off his lean hips. His dirty-blond hair stuck out from under a ball cap, and he had a scraggly, thin beard. He looked like he was in his twenties.
The man saw Ryder, and his face drained of color. He turned and took off at a half run, half walk.
“Scratch?” Siv asked.
“Yes,” Ryder replied.
They broke into a run, and so did Scratch. The man moved fast, like a frightened rabbit. He darted down the sidewalk, and when he reached a chain-link fence, he scrambled over it like a monkey.
“Shit,” Ryder bit out.
Siv picked up speed. She gripped the fence, climbed, then swung herself over the top.
She landed on the other side, right in front of Scratch.
The man’s nondescript, brown eyes widened. She gripped the front of his shirt and slammed him against the fence.
“I didn’t do nothing!” He was sweating.
Ryder climbed the fence—all strength and easy moves. He dropped down beside her.
“We aren’t going to hurt you,” he said.
Scratch blinked. “Oh, ah, Ryder. Hey.” The man wouldn’t meet Ryder’s gaze. “Tell her to let me go.”
Ryder nodded and Siv released Scratch.
The man straightened his flannel shirt.
“You okay, Scratch?” Ryder asked.
The guy was pale and sweating hard. He ran a hand under his nose. “Yeah. Been sick, but feeling better now.”
Ryder frowned. “You need to go to the clinic. Get checked over.”
“Yeah, yeah, maybe I will.” He was nervous, shifting his feet.
“I heard that you and Robbie were working a job.”
Scratch froze, his face stricken.
Ryder sighed. “You know Robbie is dead.”
“Oh, God.” Scratch looked at his scarred boots. “Yeah, yeah. Poor Robbie.”
“Who hurt him, Scratch? Who did this?”
Scratch pressed his hands to his face. “Poor Robbie. This wasn’t supposed to happen.”
“Tell me,” Ryder insisted.
Scratch shook his head wildly. “I can’t say. I don’t want to die.”
Siv watched. The man was terrified.
Ryder grabbed Scratch’s arm. “Let me help you.”
“No one can. Those people—”
Siv straightened. Ryder did, too.
“What people?” Siv asked.
Scratch made a sound. “Can’t say anything. They’ll kill me.” He pushed away from Ryder.
“Scratch—” Ryder sidestepped.
“I gotta go.” The man paused. “You’ll…take care of Robbie?”
Ryder sighed. “Yes.”
“Good. Good.” Scratch’s shoulders sagged.
“Go to the clinic, Scratch. Get checked out.”
“Okay.” His voice was in the silent whisper. “Trelaskin.”
Then he ran.
Siv frowned. “Trelaskin? What does that mean?”
“I’ve no idea.” Ryder’s jaw tightened. “But we’re going to find out.”
* * *
Ryder drummed his fingers on the dash as they drove back to the Norcross office.
“Stop that,” Siv said.
He stopped the tapping. “Sorry. I’m thinking.”