Chapter 1 #2
Harper nodded and returned her attention to the brown package in the non-descript wrapping. Her name was scribbled on the top in a masculine handwriting. She closed her eyes and sensed the package. It was the same energy that cocooned her when she spoke to Ryker, all consuming. Interesting.
She ripped into the brown packing and tossed it into her garbage. A blue box sat inside. It was the kind that women fantasize about from a store where everything is overpriced and shiny.
A card was attached to the delicate white bow.
Harper sat back in the chair and stared at it as if it was a new species yet to be discovered. He’s lost his ever-lovin’ mind.
She could read the card and make sure. Yeah, she could at least read the card.
She ran her finger under the flap and slid the card out.
I have your direct line. I thought it was time that you had mine.
~R
Ryker. His name popped instantly into her mind. How had he known she would ask his name, even if he’d planned to play the game? Maybe he hadn’t.
Screw it. Harper eased the lid on the box open, gently pulled back the white tissue paper, and grinned. A can of mace sat next to a phone identical to the one nestled inside her purse. The screen was turned on. The screen saver had the word “Princess.”
She picked it out of the box and pressed a button to make the phone come to life.
A notification said there was an unread text message.
She should have put the phone back. She should have walked away.
She should have done a million things. What she shouldn’t have done was actually open the message to see what it said.
Princess,
It’s time we meet.
Ryker
“Oh, I don’t think so, buddy.” Who does that?
The phone in her hands rang, making her jump. The caller ID read Ryker. Her finger hovered over the decline button. At the last minute, she answered the call and pressed the phone to her ear.
“This is borderline stalking,” she blurted out before he could speak.
“I knew you’d be cautious, but I also know you’re curious, so I’ll make this easy for you. Regardless if you agree to meet me or not, I’ve programmed my number into this phone. If you ever need me, just call or text.”
“Why would I—”
“If you’d like to meet, LeRochelle at seven. It’s public and has security. You can bring the mace. Nothing will happen to you there. Not that I’d ever do anything to harm you.”
“You’re crazy.” And so was she for even considering it. She should have hung up and tossed the phone, but there was something about Ryker that made her keep listening.
“I’ve been called worse.”
“Didn’t your momma ever warn you about stranger danger? I could be some deranged psycho chick and you….well, you could be my boring accountant. I’d hate to have to stab your eyes with the toothpick from a fruity drink.”
His chuckle filled the line and eased her tension. He had a unique sense of stifling her unease and, what was odd, calming people. That was one of her specialties. “I’m not worried.”
“Ryker. How about we keep things professional, and I forget you ever sent this…phone.”
“You could, or you could finally, at least, have a face to put with my voice. One drink. If I’m inappropriate, you get up and leave. If I scare you, spray me with mace, and then get up and leave. If I turn out to be the accountant, poke my eyes out, and then leave. I won’t even put up a fight.”
Harper chewed her bottom lip and clenched her eyes closed as she searched for the energy in his words and the location. Nothing. She was nuts for even considering it.
“My momma is gonna be mad if you make me a statistic. I can see it now. My story will be used in an updated training video on what not to do when taking calls.” She clutched the phone tighter in her hand. “If I’m going to do this, then I pick the place.”
“Where did you have in mind?”
“The Thin Blue Line beach bar.” An off-the-wall outlandish location, but a scream in that bar would cut the cop response time to mere seconds, killing the need to write out her obituary before having to leave work.
No way was she leaving that job up to her sisters.
They’d paint her as a boring spinster cat lady.
She was allergic to cats. No obit for her, not with cops within arm’s reach.
Did they carry guns into bars? She was about to find out.
“The cop hang-out?”
“Take it or leave it, Ryker Cage.”
“You’re a smart woman taking precautions. I’ll meet you on the back deck at seven.”
“You got a thing against a crowd of cops?”
“Let’s just say, in my line of work, I stay off the radar.”
What the hell did he do? A hit man? A mobster? Did Florida even have a mob? Oh God, was he in a gang? And why was he even in town? Warning bells triggered in her mind. Why would she even think this was a good idea?
“Wait, Ryker, I…” The line disconnected and the phone went blank. She shrugged and tossed the phone into her purse, along with the note and the pepper spray.
“Smart, Harper,” she chided herself. “I wasn’t only getting personal information from a client over the phone, in two hours, I’d know his face.
” She should be kicking her ass when, in reality, she was already three steps ahead, running a mental inventory of her closet in her head.
What did one wear when meeting Mr.-Sexy-Voice-Potential-Killer-Mob-Boss?
Shoes for a quick exit or shoes to impress?
Harper picked up her phone and dialed Patricia’s extension. “I need coffee, and lots of it.”
“Sure.”
Harper hung the phone up. She had some digging to do.
If she was even thinking about meeting up with the stranger, she’d know everything about him before she left.
Twisting her hair up into a bun, she slid her pen through the strands to hold it in place and devoted the next three hours into decoding exactly who was Ryker Cage.