Lost in Her

by Sandra Owens

  The woman who tried not to need anyone let out a sigh, one that sounded like relief. For a moment there, he’d thought she was going to refuse his offer, and when she did, he was going to run right over her refusal. Thankful it hadn’t come to that, he leaned forward and took both her hands in his.

  “Whoever’s doing this wants to scare you. You get that, right?”

  “I get it,” she said as she stared down at their joined hands. “And he’s doing a damn good job of it if you want the truth.”

  “Charlie,” he said and waited for her to look up at him. “I’ll kill him before I’ll let him hurt you. We never got to finish our phone sex, and no asshole’s gonna take that away from us. Okay?”

  Giving him a little smile, which was what he’d been going for, she nodded. “Okay. What do we need to do?”

  The trust in those blue-gray eyes about floored him, and he felt a very male need to be a hero to her. “We need to make a list of everyone you suspect.” He reached over and grabbed a notepad and pen from the nearby desk.

  Thirty minutes later, he sat back and eyed the short list of three names. With each one, he’d urged her to tell him why she might suspect that person. He no longer wondered if she was alone in this world. She had been. But now she had him.

  “Okay, cherub, there’s nothing more we can do about this tonight, so I’m going to follow you home. You need to get some rest. Tomorrow, I’ll start doing a little investigating. Okay?”

  A soft sigh and a weary nod told him she was tired, and seemed to be grateful he was taking charge. He stood and pulled her up, then wrapped his arms around her and held her close for a few moments. The only reason he didn’t scoop her up and carry her to her car was because he knew it would embarrass her in front of her coworkers. Instead, he tucked her under his arm and walked with her back into the hangar.

  “Gary found some red paint that almost matches your plane,” Haydon said as they approached.

  She pulled away and went to her plane, then bent at the waist and peered underneath. Apparently, she was more than pleased with the result as she practically threw herself at Gary and hugged him.

  Without taking his gaze from her, Ryan asked Haydon, “Do you trust him?”

  “Who? Gary?”

  Ryan nodded.

  “He would never do anything to hurt Charlie.”

  For her sake, he hoped that was true. It was obvious that she really liked both men, but Ryan would hold his opinion of them until he checked them out. In his line of work, he’d learned never to trust anyone, and Kathleen had taught him a new lesson. Even those you believed you could trust would betray you.

  Charlie backed out from under her plane. Just seeing the pentagram painted over and gone from sight eased her mind. “Thanks, man,” she said, giving Gary one more hug.

  His cheeks turned pink, and he shrugged. “Not that I believe in any of that shit, but it was creepy, you know?”

  Yeah, she knew. Whoever was out to get her had apparently given up on trying to damage her plane and had turned to trying to mess with her mind. Was it a coincidence that it was happening right before the upcoming air show? Aaron had waited too late to get his application in—something she used to do for him—so he wasn’t on the program. Instead of blaming himself for that, maybe he worked it around in his mind until he could reason out blaming her. But to want to kill her?

  As she turned from Gary, her gaze fell on Ryan. Although talking quietly to David, he focused his attention on her. What was he thinking? That he’d gotten more than he bargained for where she was concerned? Did he think she was nothing but trouble? If so, both her stepsister and stepfather would agree with him. Her stepfather was counting on wearing her down until she recanted her testimony, so she didn’t think he wanted her dead. But Ashley? She would be ecstatic if Charlie disappeared from the face of the earth.

  The man patiently waiting for her, though, was the only person orbiting her world right then that she trusted. As she paused to take him in, it occurred to her that she’d never been tempted before to literally drool over a man, but that one, sheesh, she could give a slobbering hound dog a run for his money. With those awesome colored eyes, the broad shoulders, trim waist, and lean hips, he was definitely Hot Guy. One side of his lips curved up as if he knew she was drinking him in, and he winked.

  How sexy was that? A smile that she was sure was high-school-girl silly curved her own lips, and she went to him like a woman in a trance.

  When she reached him, he pulled her to him and tucked her up under his arm, a place he seemed to like her being, and she loved it there. Aaron had never tucked her next to him as if she were the most important thing in his life.

  “Ready to go home, cherub?” he asked.

  “Yeah, I’m tired.” And she was. Of whoever wanted to see her dead, of a stepsister who hated her, of a stepfather who wouldn’t leave her alone, and of an ex-boyfriend who had never held her close the way Ryan did.

  Even though she told him he didn’t need to follow her home, he insisted. As his headlights reflected in her rearview mirror, she thought back to the moment when she became aware of him under the plane, squatting next to her. She had almost fallen on her butt from the surprise of hearing his voice near her ear.

  A part of her had wanted to send him away, the part that had been forced to take care of herself from the time she was fifteen years old. The other half, the side she hadn’t known existed until then, wanted to lean into him and put her troubles into his obviously capable hands. And as she’d felt the comforting heat of him next to her, she couldn’t bring herself to tell him that she didn’t need him.

  When she pulled into her driveway, she expected him to blink his lights and go on his way. Once again, he surprised her by pulling up behind her, turning off his car, and walking up to her door. She didn’t miss how he scanned the area around them, his body reminding her of a sleek jungle cat, tense and ready to pounce. Once he seemed satisfied that all was well, he opened her car door.

  As he liked to do, he tucked her into him, but this time she had the impression he was making himself a body shield. Not since her father had died had anyone, including her mother, acted as her protector, and tears stung her eyes that it was a man she barely knew who had stepped into the role.

  Her efficiency apartment was up one flight of stairs, and when they came around the corner and she saw her front door, she stumbled. The pentagram painted in ominous black was just too much, and she tried to back up.

  Ryan tightened his arm around her. “Give me your key,” he said.

  It was then she noticed the gun he held down by his right leg.

  “Whoa, cowboy, do you really need that?”

  “Let’s hope not.”

  Her hands shook as she dug into her purse, and that just pissed her off. Seriously, who drew pentagrams, anyway? Pretend witches? She’d never met one in her life, and the only person on her list of suspects who would play this kind of game was her stepsister.

  From the first, when Charlie’s mother and Ashley’s father had decided their relationship was serious enough to introduce their daughters to each other, Ashley had made it clear she found Charlie lacking and had reveled in screwing with Charlie’s mind. Sometimes it had been to steal a page of homework, always from the middle so Charlie wouldn’t notice; other times, she would invite Charlie places, then leave without her.

  The worst was the day she had asked if Charlie wanted to have lunch with her and her friends. When a smiling Charlie brought her tray to their table and took a seat, every girl picked up their lunches and walked away. Kids at the nearby tables snickered, and dying of embarrassment, she had forced herself to stay seated and eat her food while wishing the floor would open up and swallow her. Yes, Ashley was her prime suspect, but if it was her stepsister, she had to have help.

  Once Ryan opened her door, he put an arm out, blocking her way. “Let me go in first. You stay right behind me.” With his gun still down at his side, he stepped inside and stilled.<
br />
  Not expecting him to stop, Charlie ended up with her nose pressed against his spine. Sheesh, the man smelled yummy. Not only that, but his back was washboard hard. She had the urge to slip her hands under his shirt and run them over all those taut muscles. Giving in to the need to touch him, she put her hands on his waist, right above his jeans. There wasn’t an ounce of fat on him and she’d bet her small savings account that naked, he’d look just like those hot guy pictures women posted on Facebook, the ones where the guy had the V-line that women called sex lines.

  His hand settled over one of hers. “Cherub, I’ll take a definite rain check on your exploring my body, but now’s not the time. Pay attention.”

  Embarrassed, she snatched her hands away.

  He chuckled. “You can put your hands back on my waist if you want, A mhuirnín.”

  Whenever he called her that, she felt as if she’d stepped into a romance novel where there was always a happy ending. It wasn’t going to happen, and she’d best not forget that. Still, she put her hands back over his shirt, very much liking them there.

  “Is that your bathroom?” He lifted his chin toward the only closed door in her efficiency apartment.

  “Yes.”

  He stood off to the side when he opened the door, and brought up his gun with the familiarity of one who was accustomed to using a weapon. An alpha warrior type had never been on her hot guy radar screen before, but this one might change her mind about what it took to be on her hot guy list.

  He turned and gave her a look that brooked no argument. “Pack whatever you need for the next few days. You’re coming with me.”

  “I’m fine staying here.”

  His eyes glittered with a hardness she’d never seen in them before. “No. You’re not. Are you going to pack a go bag or should I?”

  Huh? “What’s a go bag?”

  After swiping his hand over his face, clearly signaling his exasperation with her, he sighed. “Sorry if I’m going all macho on you, but you can’t stay here. Not if whoever’s painting witches’ symbols on your plane obviously knows where you live. Pack enough stuff for a few days, okay?” He put his fingers under her chin and lifted her face so that she had no choice but to look at him. “Please.”

  The man wore macho well, but it was the soft please that had her giving in. He was right, though, whoever the creep was knew where she lived. Besides, Ryan had a gun and she didn’t. “I guess a motel’s better than staying here.”

  “No motel. You’re coming home with me.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Ryan toed Mr. Bunny out of the doorway as he led Charlie into his apartment. She moved to the center of his living room, crossing her arms over her chest. “Not one more word that you’re imposing,” he said when she opened her mouth. Like he was going to put her in his car and drop her off at some motel. He bit back a smile when she snapped her mouth closed and glared at him.

  On the drive back, he’d debated the sleeping arrangements. His apartment was a one bedroom, and his preference would have been to have her in his bed, but not when he thought she might jump out of her skin if he touched her.

  “I’ll take the couch, and you can have my bed.” He’d purposely bought an oversized sofa that would fit him for stretching out and watching weekend ball games. Besides, he was used to sleeping on any surface from the rocky ground to the hood of a Humvee.

  “No. I’m small. I’ll sleep on the couch.” She marched over and sat in the middle as if claiming the space.

  Well, that answered that. She had no intention of sleeping with him. Although he wanted to argue that she should take his bed, the defiant lift of her chin kept him quiet. “Okay, I’ll get you a pillow and throw.”

  At some point, they had lost the easy camaraderie that had existed between them earlier. Whether it was because she was upset over her plane, or that she resented his pushing his way into her problems, he didn’t know, as she wasn’t talking. After snatching the extra pillow from his bed, he grabbed a blanket from the linen closet.

  “Here you go. The bathroom’s down the hall on the left. If you’re hungry or thirsty, help yourself to anything you can find.” Realizing his words were coming out clipped, he took a deep breath. She was so petite, and the cover and pillow he’d tossed at her almost buried her. “Is there anything you need, Charlie?” Like talking about what you’re thinking or just letting me hold you?

  “No thanks, I’m fine.”

  It sounded like a dismissal, and he could take a hint. “I guess I’ll see you in the morning then.”

  “Okay.”

  “Goodnight, cherub.”

  “Nite.”

  At the hallway, he almost said to hell with it, went back and scooped her up, and carried her to bed with him. But she’d made it clear she didn’t want his company, so he forced himself to keep going to his bedroom. Mr. Bunny hopped along beside him, and he picked the rabbit up, closing the door behind him. After tossing his furry pet onto the bed, Ryan changed into a pair of loose sweatpants. Laptop in hand, he nudged Mr. Bunny over and settled on top of the covers.

  With the three names of the people she suspected, he started with the ex-boyfriend. Aaron Gardner had no priors that he could find, and bringing up his Facebook page, Ryan studied the man’s photo, memorizing his face. “Cocky bastard,” he muttered. In the picture, the man stood next to his stunt plane, wearing a flight suit and reflective sunglasses. There was something about his pose that told Ryan he thought he was hot shit. Scanning Gardner’s posts, Ryan’s already low opinion took a dive to the basement. In almost every one, there seemed to be only one goal—attract women.

  What had Charlie seen in the man? Ryan had gone as far as he knew how to go, so he picked up his cell phone and called the Buchanans’ number.

  “I’m naked in the hot tub with my wife, so keep it short,” Jake said in greeting. “What’s up, Doc?”

  Ryan shook his head at the old joke. “Are you ever going to get tired of asking me that?”

  “Probably not.”

  “I was afraid of that,” Ryan said, laughing. “I need to talk to your wife.”

  “Yeah? Why?”

  “Just put her on the phone. She can tell you why after she hangs up.”

  Whenever they needed to dig up information, Maria Buchanan was their go-to person. If she couldn’t find something on a computer, then it wasn’t there. After telling her what little he knew of the three people on Charlie’s list, he thanked her and went back to his own search.

  Ashley Whitmore’s Facebook photo showed a pretty, young woman with shoulder-length light brown hair. Her brown eyes had a hard glitter to them, though. Her lips seemed to be sneering, as if she looked down on those around her. Maybe it was his imagination, influenced by the way she had treated Charlie. Even so, Ryan took an instant dislike to her. Her posts were all about hair, makeup, and clothes—pretty much what Charlie had told him held her stepsister’s interest.

  It was difficult to pin attempted murder and curses on her, however. How would a woman who had bullied Charlie into doing her homework for her be smart enough to know how to sabotage a plane? Unless she had an accomplice. There was always that possibility, so he wouldn’t rule her out. Other than a minor accident report, he couldn’t find any dirt on her.

  The last one, Roger Whitmore, Charlie’s stepfather, wasn’t on Facebook. No surprise there as he was in prison. Ryan read the newspaper reports of the arrest and subsequent trial. The pictures of him coming and going from the courthouse were of a man Ryan guessed women would find good-looking. Charlie had told him Whitmore was thirty-five when he’d been arrested. His full head of sandy-blond hair touched his collar, and he had the look of a man who worked out. On his right, holding his hand, was a woman Ryan was sure was Charlie’s mother, an older version of Charlie. On his other side, also holding his hand, was Ashley.

  Charlie was nowhere in sight in any of the photos. He made a mental note to ask her about that. Had she been separated from her family? It was ob
vious the man’s wife and daughter supported him, which meant even Charlie’s own mother had chosen her husband over her daughter.

  “Who held your hand, Charlene?” he murmured.

  Ryan tried to find the trial transcript, but wasn’t sure where to look. He yawned and glanced at the clock to see it was after midnight. It was past his bedtime, and knowing Maria would find the transcript, he shut down his laptop.

  With his hand halfway to the lamp to turn it off, he paused. Was Charlie comfortable on the couch? Mr. Bunny, curled up next to Ryan’s side, squeaked, then made a little snoring noise. Ryan glanced at the rabbit and wondered what he was dreaming that made his nose twitch as if there were a dozen carrots dangling just in front of his face.

  “Silly wabbit,” he said. Quietly chuckling, he eased out of the bed so as not to wake Mr. Bunny.

  At the end of the hallway, Ryan paused and observed his girlfriend. Was she still his girlfriend? He wasn’t sure anymore, not after the way she had brushed him off. She was awake, sitting on the couch. The TV was on with the sound muted. He glanced at it to see what she was watching. Bull riding? With a grin at how she continued to surprise him, he decided she belonged in a bed. With him.

  Charlie’s gaze flickered to the eight-second clock off to the side of the screen as the rider flew up and his body flipped end over end. Dang, one more second and he would have made the bell. Chase Outlaw was up next—sheesh, that couldn’t be his real name, but it was a kickass bull rider’s name—and he would show them how it was done.

  Without her even noticing his approach, Ryan was suddenly in front of her. He scooped her up, and then lowered his body with her cradled in his arms, and punched the Off button on the remote.

  She wrapped her arms around his neck. “What are you doing?”

  “Taking you to my bed.”

  Okay then. Charlie had thought because he’d first said he’d sleep on the couch, that he didn’t want her in his bed. That had left her floundering, asking herself if he’d already tired of her. If he had, she wouldn’t blame him. She was a hot mess of trouble.