Love on the Risky Side

by Mariah Ankenman

  The devil was an angel once, too. Evil wears many masks.

  Glancing at the small woman in front of him, he doubted an evil killer lurked inside. True, he knew nothing about her, but he had instincts. Good instincts. And they told him this woman could never kill another human being, at least, not in cold blood. Perhaps it had been an accident?

  Then why did she run?

  “I didn’t do it.” Her soft voice cracked with so many emotions, sadness, anger, fear…

  Grasping her hand, he led her to the living room. A large recliner and a leather loveseat filled the room. Though he would have liked to sit next to her—comfort her as she so obviously needed—Ryder knew he had to keep his wits about him for this confession. Sitting in close contact to Kayla, touching her soft, velvety skin would muddle his brain for sure.

  He instructed her to sit on the couch while he took a seat on the recliner facing her. Time to get answers. All of them. “Tell me everything.”

  She took a deep breath. “I live outside of Chicago with my best friend, Jen. I mean…I did…live with Jen.”

  He watched as her eyes shuttered and filled with tears, but she blinked them back, obviously pulling on strength from somewhere deep inside her to push on.

  “Jen and I met in college. We were roommates our sophomore year. She was in the nursing program, I was in early childhood education.”

  “You’re a teacher?”

  She nodded. “Kindergarten.”

  Grabbing a pencil and notepad lying on the coffee table, he asked, “Where?”

  Her body stiffened at his poised position, but she set her jaw and answered. “Bishop Hills Elementary. It’s a small magnet school in the city.”

  He wrote it down so he could check it out later. She might not like it, but he was going to check her story. If she wanted his help, he would need all the facts, listed and verified.

  “Go on.”

  She pursed her lips then continued. “I came home from work on Friday. Jen was supposed to be home, but when I opened the apartment door I felt…” She tapered off, her eyes going hazy, face pale as a sheet.

  Softly, he touched her hand, bringing her back to the present, keeping his voice as gentle as possible. “What?”

  “I don’t know.” She shifted on the couch. “Off. I can’t explain it really, but sometimes I get these strange feelings that something is wrong.”

  He understood. His gut had saved him many times over the years.

  “I called out to Jen, but she didn’t answer, so I went to her room to check on her.”

  He watched her eyes glaze over—she was back there, in that apartment where something horrible happened, seeing what she described.

  “Jen is—was—a very neat person.” She choked a bit on the words but continued. “She always made her bed. Said it was a nurse habit from making so many at work. But when I went into her room, the bed was a mess, like someone had been rolling around on it. Things were knocked over. A lamp was broken. And then I slipped in something.” Her hand flew up to her mouth as she tried unsuccessfully to hold back a sob.

  Screw this. Rising from his chair, he set the pad and pencil on the coffee table again. He couldn’t distance himself, not when she was so clearly hurting.

  The cushion sank as he took the seat beside her on the loveseat. Without a word, she turned into his chest. He wrapped his arms around her in a comforting hug. “I know this is difficult, sweetheart, but I need you to tell me the rest.”

  She sniffed, wiping her tears on his shirt. “When I looked at what I slipped in, all I saw was red. So much red. And then I saw Jen. She was lying there on the floor. Her eyes were open, but she, they didn’t look right.”

  The eyes of the dead. He’d seen them too often in his vocation. Blank, cold, wide open, but seeing nothing. You never forgot those eyes once you saw them. Never.

  “I tr-tried to help, but it was t-t-too late.” Sobs racked her body as she valiantly tried to finish her story. “There was b-b-blood in her hair…and her head, it looked like someone had smashed it in with something.”

  A burglary gone wrong? Wouldn’t be the first time a homeowner had caught a thief in the act. Most panicked and ran, but some snapped and killed. “Was anything missing?”

  Soft hair grazed his chin when she shook her head. “I know what you’re thinking. I thought that, too, at first, but it wasn’t a burglary.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because…the killer was still there.”

  “What?” Ryder’s blood turned cold. Kayla had been in the house with the killer? She could have been hurt, killed.

  He could have lost her before he even found her.

  “David Tyler, Jen’s boyfriend. At first, I was glad to see him. I thought he could help. I asked him how he got in. We always lock our door.”

  Two young women living alone together, they were smart to do so.

  Her body trembled in his arms. “He said Jen gave him a key…which she would never do without discussing with me first.”

  “I take it she didn’t discuss it with you?”

  She shook her head. “That was when I noticed the bathroom door was open, and his shirt was wet.” Her head lifted from his chest, and she glanced up at him, her eyes hard. “David is a police officer with the Chicago PD.”

  No wonder she freaked out when he mentioned he was the sheriff. If David had killed Jen, it made him a crooked cop, and tampering with evidence to point the crime away from him would be no problem for someone like that. Unfortunately, the badge didn’t mean the same thing to everyone. Corruption happened.

  “Cleaning up after the fact?”

  A nod. “That’s what I realized.” Her breath shuddered out. “I knew David had a bit of a temper. Jen talked about it sometimes, but I never imagined he’d get so angry he would hurt her or—” Her words cut off as another sob escaped her.

  Tucking her in close, he rubbed her back while rocking gently. “It’s okay, sweetheart. Everything is going to be fine.”

  “No, it won’t!” Her face shone red with anger as she pulled away. “David told me he was going to blame the whole thing on me. He made up this bunk story about how I was jealous of Jen and killed her in a fit of envy. He said his chief would never believe my word over his, and he could easily manipulate the evidence to cover his story.” Leaping up, she paced. “Don’t you see? He’s a cop, of course everyone will believe him over me.”

  “He’s a bad cop.”

  “Yeah, but no one knows that.”

  “You do, and if you let me help you, everyone else will, too.”

  The pacing stopped. She glanced at him, those blue-green eyes glossing over with tears of anger and despair. Damn, she was beautiful.

  “I can help you. We’ll dig into his past, look into the crime scene report, find something that proves what an evil bastard he is.”

  “How can we do that from so far away? Without anyone noticing?”

  Peak Town may be a one-stoplight place, but he was still the sheriff. He had connections, friends in high places he worked with over the years. There were ways of getting information.

  “You let me worry about that.”

  She took a tentative step toward him. “I don’t want to put you in any danger. You could lose your job, or David might come after me and—”

  Standing, he took the two steps separating them and placed his finger over her lips. “My job is to uphold the law and bring in the bad guy. You are not the bad guy. As for David, let him come. If that jackass so much as shows his face in my town, I’ll haul him down to the station and throw him in a six by eight until he confesses.”

  Beautiful hazel eyes stared at him; her brow wrinkled. “I don’t understand.”

  “What don’t you understand?”

  “Why are you helping me?” Her hands twisted together. “This is crazy. Why do you believe me? For all you know, I could be playing you.”

  He couldn’t stop the chuckle rising up in his chest. “First of all
, if you were playing me, why would you tell me about it? And second, judging by this ill-attempted escape tonight, I’d hardly peg you as a criminal mastermind.”

  When she started to protest again, he held up a hand. “I can help you. I promise. You have to promise me one thing, though.”

  She inched back with caution. “What?”

  Not letting her escape, he gently grasped the back of her neck and pulled her toward him again. “You can’t run, Kayla. If I’m going to help you, and I am, you have to stay here where I can protect you. And I’m going to need complete honesty at all times. Can you do that?”

  He waited and watched the play of emotions cross her face: fear, wariness, unease, and deep down underneath them all, a sliver of hope.

  Finally, she nodded. “Yes, I can do that.”

  His shoulders sagged with relief. Leaning forward, he placed a soft kiss on her forehead. “Good. Now, I need you to go back to bed and get a good night sleep. We have a lot of work to do tomorrow.”

  She hesitated, worrying her bottom lip with her teeth. “I still don’t understand why you’re helping me, but thank you, Ryder.”

  Confusion and hope swirled in those hazel eyes before she turned and started back down the hall to her room.

  She was still wary of his help. That much was clear. Hell, so was he. As an officer of the law, he should have called Chicago PD the moment she revealed herself to be a fugitive. He was putting his career, and his very freedom, at stake for a woman he’d known less than forty-eight hours.

  But his gut was talking to him, telling him she was innocent. Being framed by a bad cop with no respect for the badge—he hated guys like that. They gave all the good cops a bad name. He got into this field so he could make a difference, catch the bad guys, make sure justice was served. He’d be damned if he let this David guy get away with murder.

  Tomorrow, he’d call his sister. If anyone could dig up dirt on someone it was Julie. Then he’d call some of his old buddies from the police academy. Liam was with the FBI now. Crazy bastard owed him a favor or two.

  Ryder stared down the hall as the guest room door closed with a soft click.

  Time to call one in.

  Chapter 8

  “Tyler, what you doing here, man?”

  David Tyler ran a hand over his face, trying to hide his smug grin. It was the fourth time one of his fellow officers had asked him that. “I can’t sit at home anymore.” He injected a hint of despair in his tone.

  The standard reply he’d been giving everyone seemed to be appeasing the masses concerned with his mourning. Three days had passed since his little screw up with Jen.

  Little screw up? More like giant shit storm thanks to little Ms. Nosy Pants.

  He hadn’t meant to kill Jen. It just sort of…happened. Sometimes he forgot his own strength. The whole incident wasn’t his fault, really. It was hers. She shouldn’t have been flirting with that smarmy-ass doctor. She was his woman.

  Disrespecting, bitch.

  She’d needed a lesson on how to behave when she belonged to him, so he’d given it to her.

  His family held a lot of respect in the community. With his father’s City Council job and his mother’s charity work, the public was always scrutinizing his family. Scandals were not tolerated in the Tyler household. Jen knew that. Affairs were lapped up by the press. Sure, she said they were just coworkers, but he knew better. He’d seen them together, talking, laughing…touching. Jen tried to pass it off as a friendly touch of the arm. Social norms or some crap.

  Bullshit!

  He knew a come on when he saw it. Anger had burned, furious and righteously in his gut when he saw pretty-boy doctor touch his woman. He wanted to rip the guy’s head off and shove it up his ass. But fighting a respected neurosurgeon would create a scandal. And since he couldn’t get his satisfaction by beating the hell out of the damned doc, he taught Jen a thing or two about respect.

  “Never let a woman play you for a fool, son.”

  Wise words his father always told him. And he was nobody’s fool.

  He’d repeated those same words to Jen when she’d been crying and begging him to stop. But he hadn’t stopped. The rage had been too great, the vindication too strong. She needed to be taught a lesson, and he had to be the one to teach it to her. The lamp just sort of ended up in his hand; he didn’t remember how. When he brought it down on her head, the screams and begging had stopped. It took him a few minutes to realize Jen was dead.

  She deserved what she got. Lying, cheating bitch.

  He figured he had time to clean up, make it look like a burglary gone wrong. Then her stupid roommate had come home.

  He never liked Kayla, a nobody who worked with smelly kids all day. He hated kids. But what he really hated about her was the close relationship she and Jen shared. He could never get Jen to agree to any-fucking-thing until she talked it over with her best friend.

  “Let’s go to Mexico next month.”

  “I have to talk to Kayla first.”

  “I want a key to your place.”

  “I have to talk to Kayla first.”

  Annoying as shit.

  He almost lost his head when he came out of the bathroom and saw her holding Jen’s body. Stupid bitch was supposed to be at school. Why had she come home early?

  She ruined everything!

  For a moment, he’d thought he could still pass off the burglar story, but Kayla hadn’t bought it. The teacher had a few working brain cells. Smarter than Jen had been. Bitch had morals, too. Once, he offered to help take care of a parking ticket for her, and she refused. Said it wasn’t right to take advantage of the system that way.

  Fucking Dana-Do-Right.

  Taking advantages was one of the whole reasons he became a cop. What was the point of having power if you didn’t use it to your benefit? Another important lesson instilled in him by his father—a powerful man in his own right who knew how to wield it.

  He’d known there was no way he could pay Kayla off to keep her mouth shut. She believed in doing “the right thing.” Plus, she never really liked him much. Oh, she’d love to see him put behind bars. But that wasn’t happening. No way would he let himself be thrown in some dirty-ass cell with a bunch of thugs. Most he’d put away.

  He wouldn’t survive a week.

  “Hey, man, you all right?”

  Shaking himself out of his thoughts, David looked up to see Steve Carlyle and Jim Foster. Two officers he’d worked with a few times over the years. Okay guys.

  “Yeah, I’m hanging in.”

  They gave him a sympathetic pat on the shoulder as they walked by.

  God, this was almost too easy. Everyone was eating up this “wounded boyfriend” shit. Concocting the story about Kayla killing Jen in a jealous rage had been a stroke of pure genius. As he told the pathetic little teacher, she was a nobody with no family. Who would take her word over his, a respected cop?

  Would have been better if he could have gotten rid of her, too. He didn’t like the fact she was out there somewhere, possibly telling people what happened. He didn’t think anyone would believer her. She was wanted for murder—who would believe her? Every guilty person claimed they were innocent.

  Still, it would be better if he found her before his chief did. Take her out before she got a chance to talk. He didn’t want anyone looking into Jen’s death too closely. His story would hold. The evidence would support him, he made sure of that. But if people started looking too closely, they might find holes. He had to plug those holes, ASAP.

  The squeak of rubber soles on hard linoleum caused him to look up. Jim had come back, dumbass pity still in the guy’s eyes.

  “Chief Vic wants to see you.”

  “On my way there now.”

  David paused before the door, taking a moment to sink into grieving boyfriend mode. The chief sat at his desk as he entered the small office. The old man looked up when the door closed with a soft click.

  Chief Charlie Vickers—or Chief Vic as ever
yone referred to him—eyed him with something as close to sympathy as the hardened cop could. Forty years on the force had made the chief stone. The old guy had seen a lot in his day and didn’t take crap from anyone. He was a good man to work for. Not crooked; but he never dug too deep into any of his men’s cases, so David could work with that. The chief had a “don’t ask, don’t tell” type policy, of which he took full advantage.

  “David, I’m glad you came in today. I wanted to talk to you.”

  He had been given three day’s paid leave. Standard procedure. Suited him fine; nothing like getting paid to sit on your ass drinking beer and watching football for three days.

  “I wanted to talk to you, too, Chief.”

  His boss dug out a wad of chew and stuck it in his bottom lip. Nasty habit, but he didn’t begrudge a man his vices.

  “Look,” the old man started. “I know you want to go after Kayla Jenkins, but I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”

  “She killed the woman I love, sir.”

  “That’s exactly the reason you shouldn’t go after her.” The cracked leather office chair groaned as he sat back. Too many years behind a desk had given the old guy a gut to rival Jolly Old Saint Nick. Not that anyone would call Vickers jolly. He’d probably lock them in a six by eight for a week.

  “You’re too emotionally involved. I can’t let you work on this case.”

  He had to work on this case. He needed to know everything that was going on. Every bit of evidence collected, every lead found, and any sighting of Kayla. He needed to find her first.

  Find her and silence her.

  For good.

  “I need to be on this case, sir. Please.” He sniffed, trying to appear as if he was holding back tears, knowing any type of emotions were uncomfortable for the old guy.

  Must have been pretty convincing because Vic shifted in his seat. “I guess I can let you in,” his boss conceded.

  I should get a friggin’ Oscar.

  “But you need to work with a partner. Someone to keep you in line so you don’t go all Dirty Harry on me.”