by Herron, Rita
It had seemed immediate. Or hell, she’d probably seen her on TV and criticized her methods.
Or . . . maybe she was intimidated by you.
No . . . that woman wasn’t intimidated by anyone.
Ryker and the agent started toward the door, and Marilyn cursed again. She’d never been possessive of a man, but seeing Ryker with Caroline Manson disturbed her. What if he decided he enjoyed working with her? What if he wanted to make it a permanent arrangement?
What if he gets fed up with you and tosses you away?
Her father hadn’t wanted her. And until Ryker, no other man had either.
Sure, the two of them had simply been fooling around. Had kept their relationship physical and friendly, both in and out of the bedroom, but not serious.
But she liked having Ryker around. He made her feel safe. Cherished. Desired.
Sometimes she thought she might even be falling in love with him . . .
She’d felt vulnerable though when he’d seen her with that baby. Had he sensed how much she secretly wanted a child of her own?
Guilt slammed into her again. She didn’t deserve a child because she hadn’t saved Deborah Darling’s baby.
Ryker cut his eyes toward the door, and she inched away from the glass so he couldn’t see her. They would be leaving soon. She had to make a run for it.
She buttoned her jacket, wishing like hell she’d thought to bring an umbrella, then clutched her shoulder bag and dove outside into the downpour. The steps were slick and she nearly slipped, but managed to make it to the landing. Water soaked her hair and clothes, and her wet shoes sucked up an inch of rainwater as she sprinted toward her car.
A truck flew past, and she had to jump back to keep from getting sideswiped. It was raining so hard she could barely see. She checked the street again. Satisfied it was clear, she darted across the two-lane road and hit the pavement in the parking lot running.
Several other cars were parked in the lot, and she darted between two rows, but just as she reached the clearing, a dark sedan flew at her.
She threw up her hands to warn the car in case he didn’t see her.
But the car barreled straight toward her. Marilyn screamed and dove to the side to avoid getting hit, but the front bumper skimmed her leg and she pitched forward onto the wet pavement.
“You’re aware she’s lying to you,” Caroline said curtly.
Ryker maintained a neutral expression. “Let’s just focus on the case.”
She studied him for a long minute, then folded her arms. “All right. What Libby said about the Darling girls getting back at those guys might not be anything, but—”
“It might lead us to the truth. If they were responsible for Jeremy’s accident and hurt Preston Richway, those guys had motive for murder.”
Caroline frowned. “Which would mean that Howard Darling is innocent.”
Darling was anything but innocent. Ryker removed his phone from the clip on his belt. “Let me see if I can locate Jeremy.”
“I’ll see what I can find on Preston Richway.” Caroline settled her tablet on a table by the window and began to search.
Ryker phoned the precinct, and asked their information specialist to research Jeremy Linchfield. She texted him Jeremy’s home address which doubled as his office.
He gestured to Caroline that he had it, and she closed her tablet. “My associate is searching for Richway.”
Ryker checked the address in the text. “Jeremy doesn’t live far from here. Let’s go.”
They walked together to the exit, and Ryker ran through the rain to his car, then pulled up to the curb to pick up Agent Manson.
He couldn’t help but think about Marilyn as the dark clouds rumbled. More than once, she’d awakened him screaming during a storm. He’d encouraged her to confide in him about what had happened to traumatize her, but she’d completely shut down.
Was she okay now?
Annoyed with himself for worrying about her when she was keeping secrets, he drove in silence to Jeremy’s house. It was a small bungalow outside of Savannah but in close proximity to the cultural events, restaurants and bars the town offered.
The rain collected in puddles on the tiny lawn, but the white wooden house looked in decent shape. A beige van was parked in the driveway, and a handicap ramp on the left led to the front porch.
He and Caroline climbed the front steps, and she knocked on the door. Water streamed down the gutters and dripped off the porch roof. A minute later, they heard a lock turning and the door opened.
A man about Ryker’s age with sandy brown hair and a short beard greeted them from his wheelchair.
Caroline introduced the two of them. “We’d like to talk to you about the disappearance of the Darling sisters.”
A frown deepened the lines around Jeremy’s mouth. “That was a long time ago. Why are you asking about them now?”
Ryker gave him a deadpan look. “Because the skeletal remains found at Seaside Cemetery belonged to the oldest two sisters, Deborah and Candace.”
Jeremy’s fingers tightened around the arms of his chair. “That’s too bad. But like I told the sheriff back then, I wasn’t friends with those girls. And I don’t have any idea what happened to them.”
“We realize you weren’t friends,” Caroline said. “That’s why we’re here.” She gestured toward his wheelchair. “We heard the sisters wanted revenge against you and Preston Richway because you rejected them.”
A muscle ticked in Jeremy’s jaw. “That was high school stuff.”
“Maybe,” Caroline said. “But it raises questions about your accident.”
A haunted look passed across Jeremy’s face. “I don’t want to talk about my accident. Now, please leave.”
Ryker tried to inch his foot inside the door, but Jeremy slammed it in their face. The sound of the lock clicking indicated their conversation was over.
Ryker’s gut tightened. He wasn’t finished with Jeremy though. They’d hit a nerve with the man.
And Ryker intended to uncover the truth.
As soon as he got in the car, he phoned the captain and updated him. “I need a search warrant for the Darling property.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” Captain Henry said. “About Marilyn—”
“I’m on it,” he said, then hung up.
As soon as he dropped Caroline at her car, he intended to find the woman and make her talk.
Marilyn shuddered as the car raced from the parking lot, tires spewing rain. For a second, she was in so much shock she couldn’t move. She’d landed on her hands and knees, and lost one shoe as she’d fallen. Drenched in rain, she pushed herself up to her feet and stared after the car, wishing she’d seen its license plate, but the car careened away.
She scanned the parking lot for witnesses, but didn’t see anyone walking or near their vehicles. Trembling, she snatched her shoe and hobbled to her car. Her leg throbbed, and her shoulders ached from the impact of the fall.
Her hand shook as she aimed her key fob at the car and hit the unlock button, and she kept her eyes peeled in case the car returned. When the lock clicked, she opened the door and collapsed inside.
That hadn’t been an accident. The car had driven straight toward her.
Dear God. She dropped her head against the steering wheel, struggling to breathe. Someone had just tried to kill her.
Chapter Fourteen
Marilyn had made a lot of enemies on the job. She’d received threats before, but no one had actually tried to murder her.
Did the attempt on her life have to do with the Darlings or Eaton? Or had someone she’d angered over the Keepers’ stories decided to come after her?
She considered calling the police to file a report, but she hadn’t seen the driver or gotten the license plate of the car. Besides, Ryker was the police.
&
nbsp; If she talked to the cops, it would be him.
She’d tried to redeem herself by painting Cat Landon and Carrie Ann Jensen in a sympathetic light. They’d both suffered and had been desperate for justice. Their victims had deserved what they’d gotten.
Some protested that no one had the right to play God or dole out punishments for personal reasons. But after covering those stories, she’d realized there were shades of gray.
She was still trembling as she started the engine and veered onto the street. The rain had slackened, although deep puddles stood along the road, slowing drivers.
Nerves on edge, she searched the streets for the vehicle who’d nearly hit her, but fog made it difficult to see more than two cars in front of her. Shivering from her wet clothing, she flipped on the defroster and heater, blending in with the clogged traffic.
She needed a hot shower and some hot tea—or something stronger. She turned to go home, but at the moment, all she could think about was being in Ryker’s arms.
Besides, if someone wanted her dead, they might know where she lived. She wasn’t ready to face another attack, not today anyway.
Horns honked as a truck pulled in front of another car, and her tires ground through the water on the streets as she made the turn toward Ryker’s. Night was setting in, the sky darker because of the storm. She blinked against oncoming headlights.
It took her over ten minutes to reach Ryker’s place, but she used the time to calm herself in case he was home. He hadn’t been happy with her at the library. She dreaded facing the distrust in his eyes.
But she couldn’t imagine being with anyone else tonight but him. She wanted to crawl into his arms and curl up against him, and forget what had just happened.
Ryker dropped Agent Manson at the precinct with the agreement they’d resume the investigation the next day. Hopefully by then, they’d have contact information on Preston Richway, and he’d have the search warrant for Mr. Darling’s house and property. The forensic team might have details to share as well. Maybe they’d located the syringe or a needle in the garbage outside or on Eaton’s property. And hopefully they’d found someone’s prints besides Marilyn’s.
He texted his mother that he’d call her later about time for a dinner. Tonight he had too much on his mind.
Itching to talk to Marilyn, he drove by her apartment. Confronting her in person would give him the advantage. He parked on the street in front of her building, climbed out and hurried to the entrance. The lofts had been built in an old warehouse and blended brick, industrial elements and reclaimed wood to create a modern yet historic feel that fit with Savannah.
Ryker liked the style, but couldn’t quite swing it on a detective’s salary, so he rented an apartment a few blocks away. He entered the security code for the building, then rode the elevator to the second floor and hurried down the hall to her unit.
As he rang the bell, he replayed their conversation at the library, trying to pinpoint anything he’d missed.
No answer.
Dammit, she was probably avoiding him. Or hell, maybe she’d caught a lead and was onto something.
Irritated she wasn’t including him, he punched her number, but the phone rang and went to voice mail.
Body taut, he rode the elevator to the first floor. He checked the streets for her car, but nothing.
The wind picked up, rainwater trickling off the awning of the building as he jogged to his car. Tired and hungry, he drove to his apartment, parked in the deck and climbed the stairs to his floor.
Night had fallen, more storm clouds rumbling as if they’d set in for the night. He’d make a quick dinner, grab a shower and call Marilyn again.
His instincts jumped to alert as he unlocked his door. The light in the bathroom was on.
He hadn’t left it that way.
He reached for his gun, visually sweeping the room. A raincoat and purse were on the side table by the door. Marilyn’s.
She was here?
The sound of the shower running echoed from the bathroom. Surprise fluttered through him along with arousal. Just thinking of Marilyn naked and wet made his body harden.
But anger hit him.
He balled his hands into fists, tamping down his libido. Did she plan to seduce him in hopes that he’d forget she was lying to him?
Jaw clenched, he hung his wet jacket on the coat rack by the door, then crossed the room to the bathroom.
He’d turn the tables on her and prove he was immune to her ploy. Or at least partially immune.
Resolve made, he left his gun and holster on the nightstand, then opened the bathroom door and stepped inside. Steam from the hot water drifted through the interior, coating the mirror and glass shower door.
She must have heard him because suddenly the shower door swung open. His heart hammered at the sight in front of him.
Marilyn was naked and wet all right. But she didn’t look as if she’d come to seduce him.
Her eyes were red and swollen from crying. Fuck.
Not only did she have that bruise on her wrist, but bruises and bloody scrapes marred her legs, knees and her hands.
What the hell had happened to her?
Marilyn had hoped to regain her composure before Ryker arrived. She hated being vulnerable.
But emotions had overcome her in the aftermath of the attempt on her life, and once the tear gates opened, they flooded.
Ryker’s dark eyes raked over her, quickly assessing her, and his jaw clenched. She grabbed a towel and hurriedly wrapped it around herself. Being naked made everything worse.
She’d planned to hide the bruises and scrapes, but now he’d seen them.
Ryker exhaled sharply, started to reach for her, then seemed to think better of it as if she might push him away.
“What happened?”
She swallowed hard to control the tremor in her voice. “Someone tried to run me down in the library parking lot.”
“What?” Anger exploded in that one word, and he rushed forward and tenderly touched her cheek. “Are you okay?”
She nodded. She was alive but far from okay.
His look softened. “God, Marilyn.” He tilted her hands up to examine them, then stooped and looked at her knees and leg. His jaw clenched. Then he removed his robe from the hook on the wall and gently helped her into it.
Tears blurred her eyes again at his tenderness. He didn’t speak again until he’d led her to the den, turned on the gas logs in his fireplace and poured them both a drink.
Her hands trembled as she cradled the highball glass and lifted the bourbon to her lips. The first taste of the whiskey soothed her throat which was raw from crying.
Ryker fingered her damp hair from her face, then tossed back his own drink. His gaze met hers afterward, a myriad of emotions playing in his dark eyes. Eyes she could get lost in.
“Tell me exactly what happened.”
She strove for a steady voice. “Right after I saw you, when I left the library and crossed to my car, I heard an engine, then this car drove straight toward me.”
Silence, thick with tension, stretched for a minute. He stood, went to the bar, grabbed the bottle of bourbon and brought it to the coffee table. He poured himself another shot, then set it on the table and looked at her again, his eyes filled with questions.
He’d first reacted like a lover. Now the detective in him was taking over.
“What kind of car was it?”
She sighed. She’d never understood how victims claimed they didn’t see anything or didn’t remember what happened, but she understood now.
“Marilyn, close your eyes and think.”
She did as he instructed. The memory of the incident returned, choking her with fear again. “A dark sedan with tinted windows, but it raced away before I could get the license plate.”
“Did you file a
police report?”
She shook her head. “The car was gone. What could they do?”
Disapproval flickered in his dark eyes. “They could issue an APB for the fucking car.”
“But I didn’t get a good description,” Marilyn said. “And I . . . just wanted to get out of there and go home.”
Except she hadn’t gone home. She’d come to Ryker’s.
His look softened, and he finally did what she’d wanted all along. He drew her up against him, wrapped her in his embrace, and held her tight.
Ryker had vowed not to allow his personal feelings to interfere with his job, but Marilyn could have died today. He closed his eyes and savored the feel of her in his arms.
He faced danger every day. Marilyn had made enemies, had been threatened before, too. But she’d always held her own.
Tonight was different though.
She sighed against him, her breathing raspy, and he rubbed slow circles around her back to soothe her. “Shh, it’s okay, I’ve got you,” he murmured.
Outside, the storm heated up again. Thunder crackled and rain pounded the roof.
Marilyn startled, then shivered and burrowed into him as if she wanted to crawl inside his skin and hide. He’d let her if it were humanly possible.
She felt small and vulnerable, nothing like the strong, gutsy woman who stood up to tough criminals and refused to back down when she wanted an interview or the truth about a story.
He leaned back against the couch, and cradled her in his arms, then dropped kisses into her hair and whispered more nonsensical assurances that everything would be all right.
But he would find out who’d hurt her and make him pay.
“Do you have any idea who did this?” he murmured against her ear.
She pressed her hand against his heart, and he was sure she could feel it thumping erratically.
“I don’t know, I’ve pissed off a lot of people,” she finally whispered.
He chuckled wryly. “That’s for sure. But have you received any threatening phone calls or emails or texts?”
“Nothing recently.”
