Ryder

by Diana Gardin

  “Remember that Jacob owns this building. We get the penthouse. Only the Delta Squad team and Jacob have the penthouse code. It changes each time someone needs to use the place.”

  He ends this sentence with a grin, and the elevator doors open into the foyer of the most gorgeous space I’ve ever seen.

  I mean, if I had all the money in the world and could choose where I’d live, it’d be this condo. This one. Right here.

  Just inside the foyer is a contemporary-styled two-story great room with windows from floor to ceiling. As I stare, openmouthed, at the gorgeous view of the sound and horizon beyond, Ryder steps up beside me.

  “Don’t worry about exposure,” he murmurs, his voice a deep rumble that settles inside my bones. “Those windows are so darkly tinted that no one can see anything happening in here.”

  I nod, turning slowly to take in the room, the white walls with modern art, brushed steel finishes on all the hanging light fixtures and appliances.

  “There’s a balcony,” he continues.

  My attention focuses in that direction, and I catch sight of a metal porch encircling the entire first floor, loungers with teal cushions sitting in the sun and a table with four chairs under an umbrella.

  “But I’d rather you not go out there alone.” Ryder’s words imply that it’s a request, but his tone tells me that it’s no such thing. “Remember, no matter how amazing this place is, you’re here for a reason. And it’s my job to make sure you stay safe.”

  I salute him and continue into the incredible kitchen. Commercial-grade appliances with a huge concrete counter island. Navy blue cabinets with white stone countertops. I can’t keep my eyes from bouncing from one luxurious, beautiful finish to the next.

  “I’m gonna cook my ever-loving pants off in this kitchen.” It’s an announcement more for Ryder’s benefit than my own, but it’s true all the same.

  When I look at him, he’s leaning against one of the pillars separating the living space from the dining area and kitchen. There’s a crooked grin on his face as he stares at me, the expression in his eyes dark and unreadable. “That right? There’s going to be cooking without pants?”

  My cheeks flame. “You’re not from the South, are you, Ryder?”

  His eyes flare. “What’s with the ‘Ryder’ business?”

  Instead of answering, I step around him and wander down the hallway toward the…master suite? The bedroom is large and airy, featuring a vaulted ceiling with white beams and decorated in ocean-themed colors with a king-sized bed right in the middle. The bathroom is equally beautiful, with finishes similar to the kitchen. My gaze lands eagerly on the Jacuzzi tub before slipping over the glass-enclosed shower. And all of a sudden, I realize that this is my home for the foreseeable future, but I won’t be living here alone. My conversation with Indigo back at NES headquarters drifts through my head, and I swallow the doubt creeping back in. If my friend told me that I could trust Ryder, then I can. As difficult as it is for me to do that, I have to try. My heartbeat thuds in my chest and my breathing takes off as I whirl and race back down the hallway.

  I find Ryder exactly where I left him. He comes off the pillar immediately when he sees the look on my face, eating the distance between us in two strides and placing strong hands on my shoulders. The heat of his palms warms me instantly.

  “What is it?” His gaze searches my face before he moves me behind him and scans the hallway from which I just came.

  “No, no.” My voice is breathless. “It’s just…where’s the other bedroom?” I swallow, my whole body becoming flushed with slowly spreading heat.

  Ryder turns around slowly, hands still on my shoulders, assessing my expression. “There’s two more bedrooms upstairs. I don’t feel comfortable sleeping a floor away from you when I’m supposed to be protecting you, though. So you’ll take the master, and I’ll take the couch.”

  He doesn’t ask me if I’m okay with those arrangements, he just says it like that’s how it’ll be. I frown. “That doesn’t seem fair. Why don’t we just both sleep upstairs?”

  He shakes his head. “Negative. I want to be close to the front door and the windows on the first floor. But don’t worry, we’re on the highest floor of this building, so we’re safe, Frannie.”

  Frannie. It’s the first time I’ve heard him say my name. I changed my last name when I moved to North Carolina, but I’ve kept my first name. I always went by my full first name, Francesca, in Oklahoma, but my nickname suits me so much better. And hearing it roll off Ryder’s tongue is…whoa.

  “Yeah. Okay.”

  Ryder rubs his hands together. “We have a fully stocked kitchen here. How about we get settled and then either you get those pants off and start cooking, or we find some takeout menus?”

  3

  RYDER

  The following morning, I leave an NES man stationed outside the penthouse’s elevator door. It isn’t ideal, but staying in top physical shape is a part of my job and I won’t let a day go by without working out. Although I didn’t originally want this job, there’s something about Frannie Phillips that makes her case seem even more important than a normal assignment. I can’t put my finger on why, though.

  After I finish up at the building’s gym, I wrap a white towel around my neck and head back to the penthouse. I pause outside the private elevator doors, where Bain stands. He’s wide awake even though it’s barely six a.m., his feet planted wide and his arms folded across his chest. His black T-shirt with the NES logo mirrors the one I’d probably wear later today if I weren’t going to the hospital with Frannie. As it is, I want to fly under the radar as much as possible while I’m out in public with her.

  “Everything okay in there?” I jerk a thumb toward the private elevator that leads up to the penthouse.

  Bain lifts his chin once. “Haven’t heard anything from up there. Thought about going up, but didn’t want to scare her. I know there’s no other way into the condo than this elevator, so I waited right here.”

  Patting him on the shoulder, I punch in the code press the button that’ll take me upstairs. “Good man. Thanks.”

  He doesn’t answer, instead pressing the elevator button across the hall that’ll take him down to the lobby. “No problem. Your team is here to support you in this. It’s why we’re here.”

  The doors close in front of him and I step into my elevator. Bain’s probably the guy I’m closest to on my team, but you can get only so close to a dude like him. He’s got skeletons, the deep and dark kind that no one can touch. We’ve all got them, but he’s a special case, and none of us know the extent of what he’s been through. At least my team knows that I lost my sister to a drug overdose and that my issues spark from that. None of us know exactly what Bain sees in his nightmares.

  When the doors open I’m greeted by the sight of Frannie whipping around the kitchen like a little hurricane.

  Damn sexy.

  And it shouldn’t be, because she’s wearing navy blue scrubs, but damn if that cotton fabric doesn’t fit to her curves in just the right places. Her black Nikes don’t make a sound as she bounces around the kitchen, and the smell of frying bacon assaults my nose and makes my mouth water as my feet carry me forward.

  Her back is to me, and I take a second and watch her. She’s in her own little world, whirling from stove to sink to coffeepot. I was dead-on when I compared the woman to a storm.

  I’m walking toward her when she turns. Seeing me, she drops a pan back onto the stove with an iron clatter before whipping her body to a drawer and pulling out a pistol. Turning to face me fully, she points the gun at my chest. Her features are rigid in a tumultuous mask of fury and fear, but recognition dawns as I raise my hands into the air and bark her name.

  “Frannie! It’s me. Easy, now.”

  I stand completely still while she looks at me, and I allow myself to assess the way she’s holding that pistol. It’s a Ruger LCR, .22 caliber. It’s the perfect size and weight for her to wield, and she knows exactly how to c
arry it. She has it aimed at my chest, eyes wide open, and there isn’t a hint of doubt in her stare.

  I’m staring at a woman who, despite her doe-eyed, innocent look, knows exactly how to use a firearm.

  She lowers it to her side and there’s a visible release of air leaving her body as she exhales. “Jesus Christ, Ryder! Don’t sneak up on me like that! I almost shot you.”

  Fury lances through me, at the exact same moment my dick takes a very vested interest in the woman standing in front of me. Ignoring my misguided cock, I stalk toward her, enter her space, and pluck the pistol out of her hand. Placing it back in the drawer, I put my arms on either side of her and lean down until my face is inches from hers. Her pupils dilate as her eyes widen a fraction, her chest rising and falling against my own.

  “What. The fuck. Are you doing with a gun?”

  She takes a few deep breaths in and out before she answers. Finally, her sweet breath hits my face with her words. “I have a crazy-ass husband who’s currently hunting me down. Do you think I’m not packing? What’s wrong with you? It’s registered, they both are. And I know how to use them.”

  I take a big step back, staring at her, electricity jolting through my body like I’ve been hit with shock paddles. “Did you say ‘both’? You have two guns here? And you didn’t bother to tell the guy who’s protecting you?”

  She shrugs. “I don’t really know you that well, and it didn’t exactly come up yesterday.”

  I blink. Once. Twice. And then I turn around and pace away from her, my hands smoothing over the short hair on top of my head. When I turn back to face her, I’ve taken a few deep breaths. “Let’s try this again. Where is the other gun hidden, Frannie?”

  Her face is calm. She eyes me just before turning around and flipping off the gas stove where the bacon is frying. “In the nightstand drawer. That’s where I always keep one of my guns. And I always keep the other in the kitchen. Unless I leave the house, of course. And then it’s in my purse.”

  I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Do you have a concealed weapons permit?”

  She nods.

  “Jesus fuck.”

  She rolls her eyes, and I have the strongest urge to pin her against that kitchen counter and press my lips and my body against hers until her eyes are rolling for a much different reason. Until my name is on her lips because she wants to feel every inch of me inside of her, pleasuring her, making her feel things she’s never felt before.

  She gestures toward the food. “My shift starts at seven. We’d better hurry up and eat, or I’ll be late.”

  We sit at the kitchen island and eat the best breakfast I think I’ve ever had, and then she waits for me while I jump in the shower.

  We’re getting ready to head out the front door when she goes back to the kitchen. My voice is firm when I call her name. “Frannie.”

  She stops midstep, looking over her shoulder.

  “You don’t need it. You have me.”

  She hesitates, and her face doesn’t convey a whole hell of a lot of confidence. She reaches out and snatches the firearm out of the drawer, sliding it into her purse before following me to the elevator. We ride down to the garage level and climb into the BMW.

  She ignored me. How am I going to protect a woman who thinks she can do a better job looking out for herself?

  Gritting my teeth against the frustration weighing me down, I start the car.

  “How’d you learn?” I ask the question as we’re pulling out of the condo’s garage and into the main parking lot.

  She’s staring out the window into the steely light of early morning. “Learn what?”

  “How to use a firearm.”

  She’s still not looking at me, but she sounds like she’s been anticipating the question. “It’s not hard. It’s just practice and routine. I took lessons when I moved here. I made a choice to get away from Eli, and part of that choice was learning how to protect myself. Eli Ward is ruthless. I knew a new location wasn’t enough. So I went to a gun range and took lessons. Turns out I’m kind of good at it.”

  Recollecting her stance in the kitchen earlier, I tighten my grip on the wheel.

  It’s not that I don’t want her to be good with a weapon. I’ve seen that crazy son-of-a-bitch husband of hers in action. Last month, NES was part of a task force that involved the FBI. The task force was investigating a luxury car theft ring and Eli Ward was the head of it. Apparently, the man had a home base in Oklahoma while he traveled to the East Coast to steal cars and sell them to international buyers. Lawson went undercover with Indigo, while she was still a detective with the Wilmington Police Department, to gather intelligence and find out when the auction was going down. During the course of the investigation, it came out that Frannie was Eli’s wife from Oklahoma and that she was on the run from him. Unfortunately, Eli got away…but only after he had Frannie kidnapped and almost killed Lawson.

  “Yeah. You seemed well-trained. But I want you to know that even though I’m glad you have those skills, you can also count on me to protect you. I’m here to keep you safe. Do you trust that?” There’s more urgency to my tone than I intend. Trust is a sacred word to me…something I can’t negotiate. I don’t want it; I need it.

  She turns to face me, and when I glance at her, those sky-blues are burning into mine. “I don’t trust anyone but myself. Not anymore. Eli Ward was someone I trusted. Someone I loved. And he took that and turned it into something ugly. When I close my eyes, I still see his fists as they punch me. His boots as they kick me. I don’t know if that’ll ever go away. I’ll never allow someone to hurt me that way again. And if it takes carrying a gun to make me feel safe, that’s my business.”

  I see the cold, detached determination on her face, and it feels like I’ve been punched in the gut. The world around me goes dark, like all the light’s been sucked into a vortex.

  Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

  I’m sure in that moment that I’m looking at a woman who is but a fragment of who she used to be.

  And it’s all because of that bastard who forced her to retreat. Who taught her that people couldn’t be trusted.

  That when she gave her love, it would be returned with a fist instead of tender touches and loving words.

  And for that? I want to kill him. I want to end his life.

  I don’t even know Frannie Phillips. But I know one thing for sure.

  She deserves a whole hell of a lot better.

  We’re only ten minutes from the hospital where she works, so I swallow the emotion attempting to geyser its way up my throat and try to make small talk. “So you like being a nurse?”

  Frannie pulls a strand of her hair between two fingers and tugs. She’s more animated now that we’re no longer talking about Eli or weapons. Apparently, nursing is something she’s comfortable discussing. “It’s what I always knew I wanted to do with my life. A way I could help people by getting in there and doing something. I love it.”

  I’ve read her file, learned her backward and forward, so I already know the answer to my next question. But I ask it anyway, because I like the way she’s lit up talking about her job. “What department do you work in?”

  She grins. “I’m an ER nurse.”

  “Isn’t that…a lot of blood and shit?”

  Looking at her, you’d expect her laugh to be a light, tinkling sound. Like a fairy or an angel or something. But it’s not. It’s deep, sexy, and throaty, and it makes my body respond in ways I wish it wouldn’t.

  “Yep. All the blood and gore. I wouldn’t trade it. There’s a rush working in the ER you don’t get working anywhere else. And yeah, some days it’s nothing. A lot of mundane stuff. But on the crazy days…it’s what I live for.”

  I nod. “I get it. Living for the crazy, I mean. I love my job, don’t get me wrong. But the day-to-day isn’t the best part. The best part is the stuff that most people wouldn’t do for a million dollars. The dangerous stuff that puts lives at risk. The shit that saves lives.”

  We st
op at the red light at the intersection right before the hospital, the big brick building looming before us, and she turns her head to face me. Our eyes lock, and a strong cord of understanding strengthens between us. A sense of familiarity rights itself right there, cementing, firming, becoming permanent.

  We stare at each other, not knowing what to say, or not needing to say a damn thing.

  Something in my soul calls out to something in hers, and it’s a goddamn moment. Unlike anything I’ve ever experienced before.

  A horn blares behind me, and I jolt, realizing the light has turned green. Frannie startles the same way I did, bouncing in her seat, and I ease through the intersection and into the hospital parking lot. Following her directions to where I should park, I try to control my breathing.

  I’m not sure what the hell just happened, but this bodyguard gig isn’t as easy as I thought.

  In fact, it might just be the most difficult mission I’ve ever been assigned.

  4

  FRANNIE

  When I walk Ryder past the ER waiting room, he arches one of his thick brows. I shrug one shoulder and keep my steady pace, scanning my badge to open the big double doors.

  We bypass two of my nursing coworkers, who give Ryder curious looks before we reach one of the less conspicuous patient waiting rooms at the back of the floor. There’s hardly ever anyone back here; it’s mostly used as a place to take families of patients who are being triaged during overflow situations. We’re a large hospital with plenty of room, and during a weekday we don’t often get a huge crowd, so I figure Ryder will be fine here during the shift.

  Bored as hell, but fine.

  “I’d let you hang out in the staff lounge,” I tell him with a tiny twinge of guilt, “but I’d rather not have everyone asking questions about you. I try to keep a low profile here, you know?”

  Ryder looks me over carefully, peering into my face as if searching for weak spots in my armor that he can poke through. “Why? You don’t make friends with your coworkers?”