Chapter 66 Pretty Women Tell the Best Lies
Ryan sighed.
“You know, you don’t always need to know every last detail.”
Chloe leaned toward him, brushing her cheek against his upper arm before looking up through her lashes.
“Please, Ryan, sweetheart? Tell me. After everything we’ve been through, do we really need secrets?”
Sweetheart?
Damn. He liked the sound of that.
With her looking up at him like that, what man stood a chance?
Ryan glanced at her.
“I killed Vince Lawson. Personally.”
“Then he must have deserved it,” Chloe replied without hesitation.
Ryan looked at her in surprise.
“What makes you say that?”
“You cared enough to speak up for a dying truck driver you’d never even met.” She smiled. “Why would someone like that hurt an innocent person?”
Ryan laughed softly.
She was observant. She’d understood that his warning to Kyle had been for the driver’s benefit.
Only minutes ago, she had been afraid of him. Now she was defending him without a moment’s hesitation.
There wasn’t much point in holding back anymore. Ryan told her what had happened with Vince.
Chloe didn’t look frightened.
Quite the opposite. Her eyes shone with excitement.
“You went in alone? Knowing it was a trap?” Her eyes widened. “That’s like walking into an enemy camp, killing the commander, and strolling back out while his soldiers are too scared to move.”
Ryan laughed.
“You watch too much television. I tell you that story and you get excited? There’s something wrong with you.”
“What’s not normal about it?”
She straightened, ready to argue.
“If they were willing to take a contract on your life, they’d done it before. Who knows how many people they hurt? They were criminals. By killing them, you probably saved a lot of people. That makes you a hero. Why would I be scared of you? I admire you.”
Ryan gently pushed her head away from his arm.
“I’m no hero. I was protecting myself. They tried to kill me once; they could have tried again. I can handle an attack I see coming. It’s the one I don’t see that worries me. So I made sure they wouldn’t get another chance.”
Chloe blinked.
“If somebody hurt me, would you go on a rampage for me?”
“Nope,” Ryan said with a smile.
Her expression immediately soured.
“Why not?”
“Why would I? You’re not my—”
“Girlfriend!” she interrupted.
“Pretend girlfriend,” he corrected instantly.
Chloe had no immediate answer.
For once, her confidence faltered.
“You could pretend it’s real.”
“Pretend it’s real?”
Ryan snorted.
“Either it’s real or it isn’t. What kind of offer is that? Pretty women like you tell the best lies.”
Chloe nearly exploded.
I’m telling you that you can be my real boyfriend! How are you this bad at understanding things?
“Here we are. Out you go. You could have gone home with your parents, but you had to ride with me. Now I’ve driven all this way. Do you know how much gas that costs?”
Before she could come up with an answer, he had ushered her out of the car.
She stood there fuming.
Is he really that clueless?
Does he honestly not get it?
Ryan called through the window.
“Your grandfather only needs acupuncture once a week now. See you next weekend.”
Chloe stamped her foot as his car pulled away.
Why are you in such a hurry?
What, do you think I bite?
That desperate to get home to your pretend wife? One of these days, I’m going to see what she looks like. I bet she’s not prettier than me.
She huffed.
Just you wait, Ryan Carter.
I’m going to make you mine.
Back in the hotel suite, the little boy was still crying. His voice had begun to turn hoarse.
Harrington’s gaze was icy.
“Dr. Harding. You’ve used your needles. You’ve drawn blood. Why hasn’t he improved at all? You said the treatment would cure him.”
Sweat beaded on Harding’s forehead. Fear flickered in his eyes.
“Mr. Harrington, there may be too much accumulated heat for an immediate improvement. The treatment should allow it to dissipate overnight. He ought to feel better after some rest. Recovery takes time.”
Harrington stared at him in silence.
Cold sweat soaked the back of Harding’s shirt.
Finally, Harrington spoke.
“Book Dr. Harding a room. He’ll examine the child again tomorrow.”
Harding’s stomach sank.
He wasn’t being offered a room. He was being kept under watch.
If the boy improved tomorrow, everything would be fine.
If he didn’t…
Harding was frightened, but he was also genuinely confused.
Why didn’t it work?
He had spent years perfecting the technique. With this kind of excess heat, the response was usually almost immediate.
Tonight, there had been nothing.
Worse, the child seemed to be crying even harder since the treatment.
Was that simply because the needles had hurt?
Or had he actually made the condition worse?
Could Ryan have been right?
What if this isn’t blood heat at all?
What if it really is a curse parasite?