by Tiffany Snow
I clutched at his shoulders, the expensive fabric of his suit crumpling in my grip. His hands moved to my arms, sliding down until he took my hands in his and stretched my arms over my head. He leaned into me, bracing my arms against the wall and holding them there.
Our fingers tangled together and his kisses gentled, teasing and seducing rather than hard and demanding. We were both breathing fast when he finally pulled away slightly.
“Tell me you know I’d never hurt you,” he murmured. His nose rubbed lightly at my cheek, his lips brushing the side of my mouth.
“I know,” I whispered, which was the longest speech I was capable of at the moment.
He stepped back, his hands slowly sliding down my arms to my sides, then settling on my waist. I lowered my arms to rest on his shoulders. His eyes devoured me, the hungry glint in them making an answering heat flare between my legs.
“Don’t leave your apartment this weekend,” he said. “Will you do that for me?”
At the moment, he could’ve asked me to pirouette naked on Lake Shore Drive and I’d have probably done it. I nodded.
“Good. I’ll see you Monday.”
He stepped away and I stared after him, nonplussed.
“Wait a second,” I said, and he halted, already almost at the door. “That’s it? You kiss me like that and now you’re just going to leave? What the hell, Parker?”
“I told you last night. I don’t do relationships.”
“Well, I don’t do friends—or bosses—with benefits,” I retorted.
Parker walked to where I stood, encroaching on my space until I took a step back and again hit the wall. I didn’t want to appear vulnerable, but there was nothing I could do.
“So you’re telling me you don’t like it when I kiss you,” he said, lifting a hand to trail a featherlight touch down my cheek. “That you want me to stop and never touch you again?” The touch of his other hand on my hip made a shiver dance down my spine.
I swallowed. I was turned on and angry at the same time at the power he had over me. “You’re using our working relationship against me,” I said.
“I’m using your body against you,” he corrected. “Let’s make that perfectly clear.” His hand skated underneath the hem of my T-shirt. I sucked in a breath as his fingers drifted over my stomach. “And if that’s what it takes to make you do what I say—to keep you safe—then so be it.” Leaning down, he pressed an openmouthed kiss to my neck. “It’s not exactly a hardship,” he murmured.
“This is wrong,” I said, but the breathlessness of those words took all the impact from them.
“I really don’t care so long as it keeps you out of harm’s way.”
I’d just reached up to hold him to me when he stepped away. A moment later, he was out the door and gone.
Chapter Thirteen
Saturday I moped. I didn’t hear from Parker, which was probably a good thing. Yet it didn’t feel that way. I felt depressed in the way you do when you keep waiting for the phone to ring and it stays determinedly silent. No calls. No texts. No nothing. He’d successfully sucked me back in to thinking that he and I might be a possibility. After all, he’d kissed me again, touched me again, and I was a firm believer in actions spoke louder than words.
I worried about Hanna. I wondered if anyone had bothered to tell Tania that her sister was dead, or if the police even knew that poor Niki had a sister.
I couldn’t sleep and was curled up on the couch, watching a Criminal Minds rerun—what a gripping life I led—when my cell rang. I didn’t know the number, but I did recognize the voice.
“Hanna!” I exclaimed, surprised and glad to hear from her.
“Did you mean it?” she asked abruptly. “That you would help me?” She sounded nervous.
“Absolutely,” I assured her.
“I need a place to stay,” she said. “I want out, but I have no place to go.”
“You can stay here,” I said, deciding not to ask too many questions over the phone. I gave her my address.
About thirty minutes later, I heard a knock on the door. It was her. “Come in,” I said, helping her inside. I noticed that she had nothing with her but her purse. I guessed she probably hadn’t wanted to take anything larger and tip off whomever might be watching that she was making a run for it.
She seemed awkward and unsure, standing in the foyer. “Are you hungry?” I asked, hoping to make her feel more at ease.
“Um, yeah. I guess.”
Poking in my fridge, I took out the leftover frozen lasagna I’d picked up last night after smelling the homemade one at Parker’s. It wasn’t nearly as good, but it would do. I heated some up in the microwave and sat down with her at the table.
“Tomorrow I’ll call a friend of mine,” I said. “He’ll know how to help you.” Normally, I’d be thinking of Parker. Not this time. Ryker would be the one I turned to for help. Parker seemed powerless against these people and I wasn’t sure if it wasn’t by choice. The thought depressed me, so I shoved it away.
Hanna nodded, her attention focused on the food. She’d obviously made an effort to be real cleaned up before she’d come here. Her hair was thick and had been brushed until it shone, the deep chestnut color a mirror of my own.
“Hanna,” I began, wanting to ask her a question without scaring her. “What was Niki planning to tell the police that would make Viktor want to kill her?” To me, it seemed it would have to have been something more than just the prostitution thing, because that’d just be his word against hers, right? And there was still that small detail of her having Parker’s business card.
Hanna finished her plate, daintily wiping her mouth with a napkin before replying. “Niki was good with numbers,” she said. “Crazy good. She worked with Viktor on stuff related to the money. You know the phrase…cooking the books.”
I sucked in a breath, my eyes wide. Okay, so that I could see was worth killing her for, especially if she’d been a snitch for the cops.
She eyed me. “What happened to you?” she asked, nodding toward my face.
The bruising was a lot better, but I hadn’t put on a bit of makeup today. “Uh, yeah, you were right,” I said. “Your neighborhood isn’t very safe.”
It seemed she needed no further explanation, or maybe didn’t want to know the details, because she just nodded, looking grim.
It was getting late and Hanna hid a yawn behind her hand, the heavy Italian food no doubt making her sleepy. I got to my feet and cleared away her dishes.
“You can have my bed,” I said, leading her back to my bedroom. “I don’t mind the couch.” She protested, but I wasn’t having any of it. I handed her some of my pajamas to wear and left her alone to go make up the couch.
As I turned off the television and lights and lay down on the couch, I realized I was really glad Hanna was here. It felt like I was doing something. Even if it was just helping one person, it was a start. I fell asleep staring at the ceiling and wondering how I could help Tania, too.
* * *
I woke up in the middle of the night, freezing. My air conditioner had kicked on, making the living room a lot colder than I’d planned when I’d made up the couch. Getting up, I tiptoed through my bedroom where Hanna was sleeping until I reached the master bath.
Leaving off the light so as not to wake her, I opened the linen closet in the bathroom. I was feeling my way in the dark—didn’t I have a quilt in this closet somewhere?—when I heard it.
The sound of the bedroom door creaking open.
Twisting to look out the open bathroom door, Hanna’s name was on my lips, but something made me keep silent. It wasn’t her. I could still see her form under the covers. I also saw two shadowy figures moving toward the bed.
My blood froze in my veins, a scream strangling in my throat. Strangers were in my apartment. Big strangers. Men who were at least six feet tall. One of them had something in his hand. The moonlight filtering through the window glinted off it.
A knife.
&
nbsp; I couldn’t think. Couldn’t even breathe. I stood, cloaked in the shadows of the bathroom, staring as the men surrounded the bed. My limbs shook with fear and I thought of the men in the bar last night. Had they found me?
But they didn’t turn my way. The one with the knife leaned over the bed. I couldn’t see what he was doing, but I watched the lump I knew to be Hanna. She moved, sharply and abruptly, her legs straightening. I heard a strange gurgling sound, then nothing. The men turned and left as silently as they’d come.
I still couldn’t move. My feet seemed cemented to the floor, my joints locked in place. Had they really not seen me? Or was it a trick? How could it be a trick when they could so easily overpower me?
Hanna.
I forced my feet to take a step forward, then another and another, until I stood by the bed.
She was still there, a silent and huddled mass underneath the covers. There was something dark on the sheets, though, and a strange smell in the air.
My hand was shaking as I reached for the lamp on the bedside table, and I gasped when its light flooded the room.
Hanna stared at me, her eyes wide and unseeing. Blood from a deep gash in her throat soaked the sheets, the pillow underneath her dark hair, the pajamas I’d loaned her.
I wanted to scream, but I couldn’t. I just stared at her. She’d been alive just minutes ago. Then men had crept in and murdered her. She’d been so close to freedom…and now it was gone.
I don’t know how long I stood there, staring at her body, before I could make my brain work again. I picked up the phone by the bed and dialed. It rang several times before a man’s sleep-roughened voice answered.
“Ryker. Help me.”
* * *
I looked away from where the medical examiner and cops were removing Hanna’s body through the foyer and out the front door. Ryker sat beside me on the couch, his arm around my waist. I clutched a glass of iced bourbon in my hands. Ryker had taken one look at me, gone into the kitchen, and returned with the drink.
“How’d they get in?” I asked.
“Picked the lock,” he replied. “It’s a decent lock, but not great. They were professionals.”
I swallowed. “Why would they kill her? She was just a prostitute, working for them.”
Ryker looked at me. “You can’t possibly think they were here for her, do you?”
I stared blankly at him. “Why else would they come?”
“Sage, she looked enough like you to be your sister. She had on your pajamas, was in your apartment, asleep in your bed. I think it’s a safe bet to say they came here for you. Not Hanna.”
Shock rippled through me yet again. It hadn’t occurred to me, not even for a moment, that I’d been the target. Guilt followed close on the heels of realization.
“Oh my God,” I said, tears leaking from my eyes. “It’s my fault they killed her.” I raised a shaking hand to cover my mouth, squeezing my eyes shut. Hanna had come to me for help and had died for it. If she’d gone anywhere else tonight, she’d still be alive.
Ryker cursed. The ice clinked in the glass as he took it from my hand; then he was folding me in his arms.
“Shh. It’s not your fault, Sage,” he said.
“They killed her,” I sobbed. “And I didn’t do anything. I just let it happen. I could’ve helped her, but I didn’t.” Guilt rushed over me in thick waves.
“Shhh, calm down,” Ryker said. “You couldn’t have helped her. They’d have just killed you, too.” His arms were tight around me, one hand cradling the back of my head.
I pulled away slightly, sniffing back more tears. The guilt I felt was now more overwhelming than the fear had been. It was crippling in a way that was the same but different from the terror that had frozen me in place.
“Let’s get you out of here.”
Taking my hand, he pulled me to my feet. My knees were shaking and threatened to give out, which made me glad Ryker still had a firm grip around my waist.
“Hey, Malone, I’m taking her home,” he said to his partner, who was standing nearby, watching us.
“You sure she shouldn’t go to the hospital?” Malone asked, skeptical.
“She’s okay, just in shock. And as of yet, they don’t know she’s not dead.”
The men shared a look I couldn’t interpret; then Ryker was taking me downstairs and outside, hustling me past the ambulance at the curb to a Ford pickup that looked like it was from the sixties—not that I was an expert.
There was a chill in the air and I shivered. I was still in my pajamas—a thin pair of cotton pants and matching camisole top. Navy blue with pink lace trim. They were my favorite, but now I was cold. I wrapped my arms around my middle.
Ryker saw the gesture and pulled his jacket from the cab of the truck. “Here. Wear this,” he said, swinging the leather over my shoulders. I pushed my arms into the too-long sleeves, then climbed into the cab. Ryker shut the door and rounded to the driver’s side. I took a deep breath, Ryker’s scent enveloping me as easily as the leather jacket had.
I tried fastening the seat belt, but my hands were shaking so badly, I couldn’t. Ryker’s hand closed gently over mine, removing the belt from my grip and fastening it himself.
I stared out the window as Ryker drove, willing myself not to blink, because every time I did, I saw Hanna’s eyes accusing me.
There wasn’t a lot of traffic at this hour so it didn’t take long to arrive at our destination. We pulled up to a house, which surprised me, as I’d assumed he’d live in an apartment. It was in an older neighborhood and was the kind of row houses they’d built thousands of back in the forties and fifties. Ryker helped me out of the pickup, but I was steadier on my feet now. He took my hand and led me up the concrete steps to the porch. The screen door creaked as he opened it; then I heard the rattle of keys as he unlocked the door. A dog barked from inside.
“Easy, McClane,” Ryker said, reaching down to grab the huge animal that lunged toward us as we stepped through the doorway. “Sage, meet McClane.”
I didn’t know a lot about dogs—had never had a dog—so the size, enthusiasm, and gaping jaws filled with sharp teeth made my eyes widen and I stopped in my tracks.
“He’s a German shepherd,” Ryker said, his hand firmly around the dog’s collar. “He was going to be a police dog, but it didn’t work out.”
“Why not?” I asked, my eyes glued to the dog’s teeth and lolling tongue.
“He was a little…overly enthusiastic about tearing apart the dummies. And he was unpredictable. Kind of has a mind of his own.”
My eyes got even wider and I took a tiny step back.
“But he’s fine now,” Ryker hastened to reassure me. “He’s a great dog, and well trained.”
“If he’s so well trained, why do you have to hold him?” Hello, obvious.
“Just until he meets you,” Ryker said. “McClane, this is Sage. Say hello.” Ryker released the collar and the dog bounded toward me.
I squeaked, retreating until my back hit the wall, but the dog had finally shut its gaping maw and was sniffing me. I stood stock-still, my arms clutched to my chest, watching McClane snuffle his way around me. It was okay, I knew enough about dogs to know he had to smell me, but when he shoved his nose into my crotch, I balked.
“Excuse me!” I pushed his nose out of the way before I even thought twice about it.
“McClane, mind your manners,” Ryker admonished.
I glanced at him. “McClane?”
Ryker looked at me as though I had two heads. “You know,” he said. “From Die Hard.”
Nope. Not a clue. The blank look on my face made him roll his eyes.
“Obviously your cinematic education is lacking,” he teased with a smile.
“Obviously.” I mustered a small smile in return, but it quickly faded.
“Is there anything I can do for you? Get for you?”
“Not unless you can turn back time so I could help Hanna rather than cowering while she got butchered fe
et from me.” My words were bitter, but it was all directed at myself. I’d never thought of myself as a coward, but here was proof that I was exactly that.
Ryker wrapped a hand around my arm. “Hey,” he said. When I didn’t turn his way, he lifted my chin so I had no choice but to look at him. “There was nothing you could have done, Sage. I’m a cop. I know. If you had tried to save her, there’d be two dead women in that apartment instead of just one.”
I wanted to believe him, but my conscience wouldn’t let me. He saw the doubt in my eyes.
“How much hand-to-hand combat training have you had?” he asked.
I shrugged. “None.”
“And what weapon did you have available?”
“Nothing.”
“There were two of them, outweighed you by a hundred pounds each, had a knife, and you thought you could have stopped them? No way in hell.”
I stared into Ryker’s eyes, the blue irises intently focused on me, and saw that it was true. He wasn’t lying. I couldn’t have stopped Hanna’s death, but that only took the edge from the guilt. It didn’t erase it entirely.
I nodded. I understood the logic, though my emotions didn’t.
“C’mon,” he said, taking my hand.
McClane moved aside and Ryker took me through the living room. It was decorated with mismatched furniture that seemed to have been chosen more for comfort than style. A short hallway led to two bedrooms—each at opposite ends of the hall—and a bathroom situated between them. One bedroom I could see contained a desk, futon, and bookshelves, but Ryker led me to the other.
“You can stay here for as long as you want,” he said.
The bedroom was uncluttered and simple, containing a queen-sized bed and a chest of drawers. I eyed the bed with some trepidation, but Ryker sensed my unease, adding, “I’ll sleep on the couch.”
“I don’t want to inconvenience you,” I said. “It’ll just be for tonight, okay?”
