Chapter 33
The house was quiet, the kind of hush that settles over everything just after midnight. Next to her, Ryan’s breathing was that of a man deeply asleep. She hadn’t slept a wink. Their earlier conversation was on repeat in her mind like a broken record.
Lord help her, she wanted to believe him when he said he’d never neglect his family. He’d said that with conviction in his voice. That wasn’t the only part of that conversation that was keeping her awake. It was also the other thing he’d said.
“Whether that family is with you or someone else.”
The thought of him with someone else made her want to find that faceless someone and tell her to get lost, that Ryan was hers.
Except he wasn’t because she was too afraid.
She could still remember birthdays when her father had promised to be there, but then he wouldn’t appear.
There was an emergency at the hospital. A patient needed him.
His pager would go off. She’d grown to hate that pager that was always on his belt.
She closed her eyes and pressed the heel of her palm against her forehead, wanting to push the memories of an absent father away. She’d taken her mother’s advice to heart and had made a promise to herself. No doctors for her. No more waiting at the window for someone who wasn’t coming.
Yet, Ryan made her want things, a home and children with him. But she’d seen this story before. Knew how it ended. What if she believed him and a few years down the road, he proved to be just like her father?
Matti turned her head into the pillow, trying to smother the tears that stung her eyes.
Afraid she was going to sob and wake him, she eased out of bed.
She headed to the kitchen to get a glass of water.
She was halfway through the living room when she froze mid-step.
What was that noise? The doorknob jiggled.
Once. Twice. Then harder. Her stomach dropped. They were here.
“Wyatt!” she screamed.
The unmistakable crack of wood splitting shot through the house.
The doorframe gave way under the force of a shoulder slam—then another—and then the door burst inward, splinters flying like shrapnel.
The sound was violent and wrong, a pop that echoed off the walls. The alarm blared, hurting her ears.
Two men stumbled inside. Meth thin, eyes wild and glassy. One held a crowbar, the other a knife glinting in the light from the moonlight filtering in behind them.
“Where’s the boy?” the one with the knife said.
Her heart stopped, then launched into overdrive as she stood, rooted to the floor. It took a few precious seconds to get her feet unstuck but finally, they were moving, and she ran to the hallway.
Wyatt raced past her, gun drawn. “Stay back, Matti.” His voice was low, lethal. Cop-mode. “Police!”
Matti froze in the doorway as the man with the knife lunged.
Wyatt didn’t hesitate. He fired, but the shot went wide as the attacker slammed into him, knocking his arm up. The bullet punched a hole in the drywall. The gun flew from Wyatt’s hand, skidding under the couch.
The knife arced toward him. Wyatt twisted sideways, catching the man’s wrist mid-swing and wrenching it with brutal precision.
The blade clattered to the floor. Wyatt drove his elbow into the man’s temple before he could recover, sending him crashing over the coffee table, one of the legs snapping on impact.
Ryan pushed past Matti, stopping at the living room threshold just long enough to take in the chaos. “Go in the bedroom and lock the door!” he barked before diving into the fray.
She didn’t move. Couldn’t. Her brother was bleeding, and Ryan… God, Ryan only had one good hand.
Crowbar guy lunged at him with a wild roar.
Ryan ducked, and the man slammed shoulder-first into the wall, cracking the drywall. But he barely reacted, meth or whatever had him jacked to the ceiling. He spun, swinging the crowbar again in a vicious arc.
Ryan dodged the first blow, but the second caught his injured wrist. He grunted in pain and dropped to one knee.
Crowbar guy lifted the weapon overhead to finish the job.
“No!” Matti cried.
She snatched up the nearest object—a glass vase—and slammed it into the back of the man’s head. It didn’t shatter. It thudded, sending a sharp vibration through her arms.
Still, it stunned him long enough. Ryan surged up and drove his shoulder into the man’s gut, slamming him into the side table. A lamp toppled and exploded on the floor. The crowbar fell from the man’s hands, clanging across the hardwood.
With a snarl, Wyatt was back on his feet, a small gash bleeding on his temple. “Doc, move!”
Ryan dived aside just as Wyatt barreled into the attacker, slamming him against the wall. A picture frame crashed to the floor.
The struggle was short and violent, fists, knees, the sharp crack of a head into plaster. Wyatt got behind the man and locked in a choke hold, unrelenting.
Crowbar guy gasped, still flailing. Wyatt tightened his grip. “Move again, and I’ll break something you still need.”
“Matti, go in Sam’s room and get those zip ties on the dresser.”
She ran and got them and brought them back to him. He secured the man’s wrists with practiced speed as if he’d done it a hundred times. He probably had.
The first attacker was still out cold, no trouble as Wyatt moved over and restrained him, too.
Wyatt glanced toward the still-wailing security alarm. “Turn off that damn alarm.”
Matti rushed to the alarm, her shaking fingers entering the code to disable it.
For a second, silence hung heavy in the room, and she leaned against the wall, the only thing holding her up. In the silence, she heard her phone ringing in her bedroom.
Ryan turned to her, panting hard, blood on his sleeve.
She gasped at seeing the blood. “You’re hurt.”
“Not bad,” he said, wincing as he flexed his wrist. “Are you okay?” His voice was rough but surprisingly steady.
Her hands shook uncontrollably now that it was over. “I… Yeah. I’m okay.”
“Next time, let me answer the door.”
A laugh escaped her. “Deal.” Her phone stopped ringing, then rang again.
“That will be the alarm company,” Wyatt said.
She ran to the bedroom, answered, and told the man on the other end that they’d been broken into, but everything was okay now. After she gave him the secret code that all really was well, she returned to the living room.
Her gaze swept over the wreckage—splintered furniture, broken glass, two bloody intruders—and at the two men who had defended her without hesitation. If the men trussed up on the floor were the ones after Sam, and she was sure they were, what was a little mess in the grand scheme of things?
Ryan wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her next to him. “I think it’s over.”
God, she hoped so. She rested her head against his chest.
Suddenly, the room was filled with cops, and the two men were taken away. Wyatt stepped over to them. “I have to go.” He looked around the room. “Sorry about all this.”
“Just tell me it’s over. That’s all I care about.” Things could be replaced, walls could be repaired.
“It’s over. At least where Sam’s concerned.”
“The man at the top, pulling all the strings, won’t come after him?” Ryan asked.
“No reason to. Sam has no idea who he is. That doesn’t mean you should let down your guard.
Just stay alert but try to get back to normal.
As for those two, my guess is that they don’t even know the head of the drug operation’s name.
Whatever orders they got were passed down through his minions.
It just means that we’ll keep on working our way up the ranks of the organization. ”
“It makes sense that Sam’s not a target anymore, but I for one will be happy when you have them all behind bars,” she said.
Ryan nodded. “Same here.”
“I’m going to be tied up interrogating these guys, but I’m going to send Cal over to help you secure your front door for the night,” Wyatt said. “You kids be good now.” He chuckled as he walked out.
“Well, I guess we can start straightening up,” Ryan said, then grimaced when he reached down with his sprained wrist to pick up the vase near his feet.
“You need to see a doctor.”
“I keep telling you, I am a doctor.” He held his wrist up. “It’s just aggravated, not broken.” He surveyed the room. “We can clean up most of this, but I’m not sure what to do about the door. I don’t like not being able to lock it.”
“One of my foster fathers is a handyman. I’m going to call him, see if he can come over.”
“The sun’s not even up. Wyatt said he’s sending Cal over, so why wake the man up?”
“Nope. Bill won’t mind. All Cal will do is nail it shut or something. Bill will make it good as new.” She gently touched his wrist. “How bad is it?”
“Won’t lie and say it doesn’t hurt, but it really isn’t broken. Just bruised again.” He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her against him. “It’s finally over.”
“It really hasn’t hit me yet. I can’t get past seeing you and Wyatt fight those two men. What if—”
He put his finger over her lips. “No what-ifs, okay? We’re both fine. Although, I’m a little jealous of your brother’s fighting skills. He was like a berserker.”
“Yeah, he was. I’m just glad he was here. If it had just been the two of us—”
He placed his finger over her lips again. “No reason to imagine what wasn’t. Why don’t you call your handyman while I make us some coffee?” He glanced around them. “We have some cleaning up to do.”
“I want to get that done before Sam comes back.”
The time had arrived to find him a family, and if the thought of turning the little boy whom she was doing her damnedest not to become attached to over to someone else made her chest feel tight, it didn’t change anything. She couldn’t allow her emotions to make a wrong choice.
It was time to find Sam a new home, one where he could feel safe and loved. It was the right thing to do, even if it felt like tearing her own heart out in the process.