“Okay.” Her voice squeaked with the terror he knew she was feeling.
The connection ended, and for a split second, he was afraid the intruder had found her. He forced himself to calm. The drive from Brentwood to her house in Sherman Oaks took most of an hour due to the Saturday night clubbing traffic snarling the roads. When he arrived, relief washed over him to see the gate open and the yard covered in blue and red flashing lights. He slid his gun into the center console and exited his truck. Jogging to the door, he was stopped by an officer.
“This is a crime scene. Please step back.”
Ryker dug his ID from his wallet and showed it to the officer. “Ryker McMillan of Starpower. Ms. St. John is our client. She called me and asked me to come over.”
The cop took the ID and studied it. He snorted. “Publicists.” Thrusting it back into Ryker’s hand, he waved him into the door. “Don’t touch anything.”
Ryker entered the foyer and paid no attention to the other officers milling about the space. Following the sound of voices, he found Demma in a den talking to a detective. Her face turned toward him, and she gasped then lurched into his arms. He held her tightly as she trembled.
“Shhh. I’ve got you, Demma. It’s alright. Shhh.”
“What did I tell you, Jim?” A voice behind him muttered conspiratorially. “Beauty and the Beast. Mick and Jerry, Paulina and Ric, Catherine and Michael. It never fails. The beautiful girls always end up with the ugly guys.”
A guffaw followed. “If that were true, you wouldn’t still be single. And for the record, Michael Douglas isn’t ugly. I met him once a few years ago at a restaurant. Nice guy.”
Ryker ignored them. He was used to rude comments. He didn’t have time to worry about them. Instead, he glanced around the room. There were words sprayed on the walls, the floor and even on her furniture. The same word over and over in bright red paint with rivers of drips looking like blood.
Beatrice.
“Didn’t the alarm sound?” Ryker asked.
“They cut the power,” one of the officers answered. “There’s graffiti everywhere. It looks to me like some kids got the wrong house. They didn’t even take anything.”
He didn’t correct the detective. They had gotten the right house, and they did steal something vital. Demma’s sense of security was gone, and he doubted it would return. At least, not until this insane nightmare was over.
CHAPTER 6
“Are you sure you wouldn’t be more comfortable in a hotel room?”
Demma shook her head and looked around Ryker’s small apartment. “This is fine. Unless you don’t want me here.”
Ryker closed and locked the door before turning to meet her gaze. “I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t want you.” He paused, and the words tumbled out. “Here; I mean if I didn’t want you here.” He turned away and fiddled with the lock on the door. When he looked at her, she could see the faint tinge of pink on his cheeks. She pretended to ignore it.
He motioned toward a huge sofa facing a wall that contained nothing except a crazy large screen television. “Have a seat. Would you like something to drink? I don’t have any wine, but I’m pretty sure there’s soda, juice and maybe even a beer or two.”
“I’m good, Ryker. Thanks.”
She slipped out of the denim jacket she had grabbed on the way out after the police left. He took it from her and hung it up in the closet by the door. She smiled at the domestic gesture. “Military discipline coming out?”
He chuckled. “Yeah, some habits never break. A place for everything.”
“And everything in its place.” She finished as she dropped gracefully on the edge of the oversized brown sofa and looked around. The room was mostly bare, with a single small side table joining the sofa and television. The hardwood floor was bare, and only a single remote control marred the pristine tabletop. It suited Ryker’s personality perfectly. His home was unencumbered and functional.
Ryker pressed the remote control into her hands. “Make yourself at home. I’m going to go change out the sheets.” He picked up the small bag of clothes she had packed. “I’ll take this to the bathroom. It’s the first door on the left. In case, you want to take a shower or a bath. There are clean towels on the shelf next to the tub.”
He turned, and she stopped him with a word.
“Ryker.”
“Yeah?”
She placed the remote on the table, stood and took a few steps toward him. Giving him a wan smile, she blinked several times. “Thank you. Thank you for everything you are doing. I know this goes beyond what your contract stipulates. I was going to go to my friend, Monty’s place, but he’s got company. And...” she hesitated. “And I don’t feel secure with anyone other than you.”
It was true. The only time Demma felt safe since this whole thing had started was when she was with him. When she called Monty earlier, he had insisted she come over, but the second voice in the background made up her mind for her. She politely demurred. Ryker had offered to bring her to his home for the night, and she had jumped at the chance.
“You’re welcome, Demma. You can stay as long as you need.” He paused and frowned as if not believing what he had just said. “So, then, I’ll just get that bed changed.” He pivoted and strolled to the bedroom after dropping her bag off in the bathroom. She followed.
The bathroom was plain, painted white with a molded tub and shower unit, small sink vanity, white tile floor and a single light overhead. It was tiny but adequate. Demma glanced longingly at the tub, thinking how good it would be to soak, but it was already late, and she didn’t want to cause Ryker more disruption. Instead, she closed the door and stared at her reflection in the mirror. Tonight, she had substituted her normal blonde wig for a short bob of midnight black. She removed it and dropped it onto the vanity, staring at it. In a way, it perfectly represented how she felt. So far removed from who and what she was. Her fingers ran through the strands, and she sighed. “Layers and lies, fake upon falsehood,” she murmured. Raising her face, she searched for the person she had once been. Her own eyes looked out at her. She left the blue contacts at home. It was the first time she had, except for the time when she’d gotten an eye infection. “Who are you?” she murmured to her reflection. There was little of the girl she had once been. This woman was a stranger even in her familiarity. She turned away.
Thirty minutes later, clad in her favorite pajamas she scrutinized herself once again. The same face stared out at her. Again, a feeling of disjointed unfamiliarity struck her. She had pulled her dark brown hair back and secured it low on her head with an elastic band. It was the only way she could wear her natural hair and cover the burns on her head. Her eyes were still drawn, and the dark circles underneath were more prominent without the thick concealing makeup she normally wore. She looked like shit, but she approved of this version more. At least, this one was real.
Exiting the bathroom, she was surprised to see a bed made up on the sofa with pillows and a blanket. She frowned. “Ryker?” she called out.
“In here,” came the reply from behind her.
She moved past the bathroom to a doorway on the right. Glancing in, she saw Ryker sitting at a desk with a sketchpad in his hands. The sight surprised her. She didn’t know Ryker drew. Instead of interrupting him, she watched him for a few minutes as his fingers flew over the page. Every once in a while, he would tip his head to the side and wrinkle his brow to study the paper. His face was washed in the soft light of his monitors as he worked on the drawing. She folded her arms over her chest and leaned against the doorframe. When he chewed on his bottom lip, she chuckled. He looked serious.
The sound caused him to whip his head up, then he immediately relaxed. He smiled warmly. “Hey. Everything alright?”
She nodded and pushed away from the door. “Yeah.” Taking a few steps into the room, she stopped in front of his desk. Motioning toward the sketchpad, she teased, “A man of many levels. I didn’t know you drew.”
Ryker c
huckled. “I dabble. It’s a stress reliever for me. Is everything alright?”
She wrapped her arms around herself. “Yeah, thanks.” Hesitating a moment, she motioned toward the hall with her head. “I saw the couch made up for bed. I thought you had a second bedroom.”
Ryker leaned back and closed the pad. Sliding it into the crack between desk and wall, he swept his hands wide. “This is the second bedroom. I use it as a computer room.” He opened the middle drawer of his desk and dropped a handful of pencils inside.
Demma’s brow drew into a frown. “I didn’t know. I don’t want to run you out of your bed. I’ll take the couch.” She started out of the room.
He stood and hurried around the desk. Taking Demma’s elbow in his hand, he stopped her. “No. I’ll sleep on the sofa. I end up on it half the time anyway. I’m used to it.” When she started to shake her head, he cupped her cheek with his hand. It was warm, and the gentle pressure soothed her rattled nerves. “Demma, it’s no inconvenience, I swear. I’m still a little keyed up, so I’ll watch TV for a while. You need some rest. Go on, I swear, it’s a nice comfortable bed, and you’ll sleep well. Promise.”
She capitulated with a huff. “Alright.” It was one more thing she owed Ryker. When she had called him tonight, she didn’t expect to end up in his home or his bed. She closed her eyes and nuzzled against the tender warmth of his palm before opening them again and reluctantly pulling away. Her stomach clenched as she turned. She didn’t want to leave him, not even long enough to get some much-needed rest. He was fast becoming her rock, and she was relying on him more and more every day.
“Demma?”
Her name on his lips caused her to stop and glance over her shoulder. “Yes?”
He raked his hand through his hair, exposing the injured side of his head. Demma saw his face morph through a dozen emotions. He took a step forward, and she thought he was going to take her in his arms again. Instead, he let his hands drop. “I...” He blew out a breath and shrugged. Whatever he was going to say was discarded. “Good night,” he finished lamely. “If you need me, just call out. I sleep light.”
Her heart fell. She could tell that wasn’t what he wanted to say, but she let it drop. Instead, she gave him a weak smile. “Alright. Good night Ryker.”
She padded across the hall to his bedroom. The sound of the door closing was loud in the bare apartment; an apartment that was as empty as her soul felt.
CHAPTER 7
Digger’s eyes snapped open. He glanced around the living room, trying to discern what had brought him out of a sound sleep. The inky shadows still covered the hard wood floor and raced up the bare walls broken only by slashes of pale gray from streetlights coming through the window blinds. He rose up on one elbow and listened. Silence. He was just about to lie back when he heard it again.
“What do you want? Leave me alone!”
Demma’s pained cries had him bolting upright in an instant. He cursed mentally at leaving his weapon in the console of his truck. But then, he hadn’t thought anyone would be stupid enough to break into his home. Moving stealthily through the room, he paused only long enough to pull a six-inch knife from the butcher block on the kitchen counter. It wasn’t his Ka-bar, but it would have to do.
The door to his bedroom was closed. Digger reached out and touched the knob, checking to see if Demma had engaged the lock. She hadn’t. Taking a couple of deep breaths, he slowly let them out. His hesitation ended when he heard her scream, “No! Stop it, don’t touch me!” In an instant, he flung the door open and rushed inside.
There was a faint light coming from the far corner, down low. It cast the room in a slight glow, turning the normally black corners into a muted gray. She must have brought a night light with her from her house. How terrified did an adult woman have to be to sleep with a light?
The first thing he noticed was that Demma hadn’t spread her things about the room but rather kept everything stacked neatly in the corner on her one suitcase. The second thing he saw was Demma writhing on his bed, the covers tangled around her long legs. Her pajama top had pushed up under her breasts exposing the expanse of her flat tummy. The blanket hung half off the bed, and one pillow lay on the floor. She moaned as her hand clenched the sheet and her head whipped from side to side. “No!” she screamed as she kicked and fought against an invisible assailant.
The sound spurred Digger into action. Placing the knife on the dresser, he sat on the side of the bed and tenderly touched her sweaty brow. “Demma,” he whispered.
She groaned. Tears leaked from her eyes as she pulled away. “Zach! Run Zach!”
He dropped his hand to her shoulder and tried again. Shaking her gently, he said, “Demma, wake up. You’re having a nightmare.”
This time, she heard him and came awake with a shriek and batted at his hands. “Get away!” she yelled as she crawled back away from him.
He saw the terror on her face as she tried to flee. It damn near broke his heart. “Shhh. It’s me. It’s Ryker. You’re safe. You’re at my house, remember. It’s ok, honey.”
She stilled and blinked at him blearily. “Ryker?”
“Yeah, honey. It’s just me.”
She cried out his name and leapt into his arms, wrapping her own around him tightly. Cupping her slight form against his, he pulled her closer until her bottom sat on his thighs. Digger pressed her head to his shoulder. He felt the hot splash of her tears on his bare skin as she sobbed. Tightening his grip, so she didn’t fall, he gently rocked her while she wept. When her tears finally ceased, she sat up, but he wouldn’t let her pull out of his lap. Instead, he soothingly slipped his fingers through her hair and tucked the strands behind her ear. She looked at him and wiped at her nose with the back of her hand. “I must look a mess,” she said with a hiccup.
He shook his head. Even with red rimmed eyes, cherry nose and pink splotches on her face, she looked freaking amazing, and he told her so. She guffawed and tried again to slide from his arms. He tightened them instead. “You’re fine,” he told her and pressed his lips to the side of her face.
The action surprised them both. For a brief moment, Digger thought Demma was going to slap his face, but instead, she shocked him to his core.
Demma St. John wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him.
***
The kiss lasted only a few moments, but the heat of it seared her soul. Demma didn’t know what possessed her to kiss him. One moment Ryker was soothing her with a light peck on her cheek, the next she had grabbed him and pressed her lips to his. His shock only lasted a second before he took charge. His tongue teased the seam of her lips, and she gratefully let him in. He branded her mouth with his as his tongue danced with hers. In the scorching fire of their meeting, the cold fingers of terror receded. When he retreated, she licked her lips and curled against his chest. The welcoming strength of Digger’s arms told her she was safe. She snuggled into his embrace and squeezed her eyes tightly closed. She needed to cleanse the horror of her dream from her mind. It had felt real.
Demma could still smell the stench of the meth lab as she wiggled out of the window. In her nightmare, there was no explosion, no escape. Instead, Slater had caught her and dragged her back inside to be tortured and raped. Zach was restrained, tied to a chair with wire ties and forced to watch as each member took his turn defiling her. When they were through, Slater cut the ties away and told Zach to leave and never come back. As he turned, she saw Ellis raise a gun. She screamed at Zach to run, but it was too late. His body bucked forward and slammed into the wall, smearing crimson across the grimy surface. As her cousin lay there bleeding out, she felt something cold and hard against her throat. “Nobody leaves the Cobras. Blood in, death out,” Slater hissed as he slit her throat.
She drew back as the memory faded and dropped her gaze to Ryker’s chest. There were more scars here, but not as plentiful as the ones on the side of his face. Demma’s fingers traced the map of lines from his shoulder down to his left pec causing hi
m to shiver. Once again, she wondered what had caused these injuries. She knew intimately how excruciatingly painful burns were. The debridement entailed scrubbing the dead skin daily. She shuddered at the memory. The treatment was almost worse than the initial burn.
She touched one puckered ridge next to his collarbone. His fingers clasped her and pulled them down to his chest over his heart. “That’s still extremely sensitive,” he murmured.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered and tried to pull back.
He stopped her. “I didn’t say you had to leave.”
“Alright.”
They sat in silence for several moments. “Ryker?”
“Yeah?”
“Will you... will you tell me how you got hurt?”
She heard the sound of Ryker sucking on his teeth. For a moment, she thought he was going to deny her. But then, he began to talk.
“As you know, I was in the military. I was sort of pushed into service. You see, computers have always come easy for me, and it was just a big game for me to see what I could do with them. By the time I turned thirteen, I was building my own systems. At sixteen, I discovered the dark web and taught myself how to hack. The summer I graduated from high school, I was getting ready to enter college. Imagine my parents’ surprise when a couple of federal agents knocked on our door. I hadn’t taken as much care as I thought in one of my little hacking kicks and left a marker. It was traced back to me. The Feds were more impressed than annoyed. I hadn’t done anything other than seeing if I could get into a secure system. To be honest, it was getting a little boring, and they realized it. I had a choice to make; go into the military or face charges. I chose the Marines.” He shook his head as he recalled the pride on his dad’s face the first time he returned home wearing his dress blues.
“Fast-forward four years. I loved my time in the service. They taught me a lot of stuff, but it wasn’t all glamorous. I got a few cushy assignments and dealt with all levels of data. Ironically, the post that got me kicked out was little more than babysitting.”
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