Ryan's Renovation (The McKade Brothers #3)

by Marin Thomas

  “It’s beautiful.” Anna craned her neck as they walked toward the entrance to the gaming area.

  “Dale Chihuly is a master glassblower. His creations illuminate several public areas in the hotel.” He pulled Anna to a stop and studied the layout of the floor. Finding Parnell wouldn’t be easy in the 125,000-square-foot place.

  “Wow.” Anna rotated in a circle.

  “Over thirty-five hundred slots and over one hundred sixty gaming tables.”

  Anna’s shoulders slumped in defeat. “We’ll never find him.”

  “We will if he’s here. You begin with the slots and I’ll check the tables and catch up with you in an hour.”

  She snagged his coat sleeve. “Thank you, Ryan.”

  Those big blue eyes wielded the power to make him do almost anything. “Watch your purse,” he warned.

  An hour later he spotted Anna showing a casino-lounge waitress a photograph of Parnell. The scantily clad woman shook her head, then slipped away to deliver drinks to a rowdy group of men. “Any luck?” he asked Anna as he approached.

  “No. You?”

  “He’s not here.” Ryan had questioned several dealers and not one recalled Parnell sitting at their table.

  “We have to find him.” Anna’s voice shook with worry and fatigue.

  “The odds of locating Parnell this weekend aren’t in our favor. He might be holed up drunk somewhere in a dingy motel off the Boardwalk.” Ryan shoved a hand through his hair. The man deserved to sit and rot for what he was putting Anna through.

  And what about you, Ryan? Are you any better than Parnell for what you put your family through after 9/11?

  That’s different. I didn’t choose to attack my country. I didn’t choose to get injured. I was the victim, damn it!

  Frustrated, he snapped, “Anna, Parnell’s got big problems. You finding him won’t solve them.”

  “If you feel that way, then why did you come with me?”

  Tell her the truth. She deserves at least that from you.

  “Because it’s dangerous for a woman all alone in Atlantic City.” Liar. He neglected to mention that he was hoping to sleep with her.

  “You’re right. We’ll never find him.” Tears flooded her eyes. “Let’s go.”

  Aw, damn. Now he’d snatched her hope. “We might run across a casino dealer who’s spotted him.”

  She nibbled away the remainder of her lipstick, then covered her mouth and yawned. Purple smudges beneath her eyes testified to her exhaustion.

  “C’mon. Let’s check in to a room and grab some shut-eye.” He stroked his thumb across her chin. “We’ll search again in the morning. If he’s here, we’ll find him. I promise.”

  “But—”

  “No buts.” If given the choice, Anna would prowl the gaming halls until all hours of the morning. Someone had to watch over her. Might as well be him. With an arm around her shoulders, he escorted her through the lobby. When had it become necessary for him to shelter this woman from hurt? From pain? From the unfairness of life?

  While they waited outside for the valet to fetch the Lexus, Anna suggested, “There’s a Holiday Inn on the Boardwalk.”

  “We’re staying at the Trump Plaza.”

  “Trump Plaza? The rooms are too expensive,” she argued.

  “I get a special deal when I stay at the Plaza,” he admitted. If Anna discovered McKade Import-Export paid three times her annual salary to reserve a year-round suite at the Plaza for business purposes, she’d pass out on the sidewalk.

  “I doubt I could afford a room even with your special deal.”

  Ignoring her protest, he tipped the attendant, helped Anna into the Lexus and drove to the hotel, where he parked in a reserved spot in the underground garage.

  “I’m covering the bill,” he stated, getting out of the car.

  “I’ll pay you back in installments—” she dug in her purse and removed fifty dollars, then held the cash out to him “—starting with this.”

  If he didn’t accept the money, she’d argue all night. The last thing he wanted to do was fight. Without comment, he slipped the money into his pants pocket, then removed their bags from the trunk. They rode the elevator to the main lobby. When the doors opened, Ryan suggested, “Why don’t you check the menu at the restaurant in the lounge. We may want to order a meal from room service.”

  Ryan went to the front desk alone.

  “Good evening, Mr. McKade,” James, the night manager, greeted him. “It’s been a while since we’ve had the pleasure of your company, sir.”

  Over a year, if Ryan’s memory served correct. “Evening, James.”

  “After you phoned earlier, I sent maid service to freshen up your rooms.”

  “Thank you.” Ryan glanced over his shoulder. Anna was engaged in a discussion with a couple leaving the restaurant. “I have a guest staying with me.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And, James, call me Jones. Ryan Jones.”

  The desk manager didn’t blink an eye. “As you wish…Mr. Jones.”

  “Ready?” Anna approached, offering a tired smile to the desk clerk.

  James slid two key cards onto the counter. “Enjoy your stay, and please don’t hesitate to contact the front desk if you require further assistance.”

  Ryan carried the luggage to the elevator. When the door closed behind them, Anna asked, “What floor are we on?”

  “The top.” He didn’t tell her the suite overlooked the Boardwalk. She must be starving. He was. They’d grabbed a snack at a gas station before leaving New York City, but that was five hours ago. “Does the restaurant in the lobby appeal to you?”

  “Too expensive. Besides, I hate snails, oysters…anything that lives in a shell.”

  With midnight around the corner, taking Anna somewhere nice, along the lines of Roberto’s on the sixth floor, was out of the question. “We’ll order room service.” The doors opened onto their floor and Ryan inserted the key card into the lock.

  Hoping Anna wouldn’t fuss over the luxurious accommodations, he put her overnight bag in the master suite and his things in the smaller bedroom at the end of the hall. When he returned to the living room, he found her gazing out the window at the Boardwalk. With the cold evening air and brisk wind off the ocean, no one but die-hard gamblers dared move about at night.

  Sliding his hands around Anna’s waist, he rested his chin on her head. A trace of perfume lingered on her skin and he breathed deeply. He longed to sleep with Anna. To share a bed with her. She had the perfect body for snuggling—soft and curvy in all the right places. No sharp elbows or bony hips to jar a man awake. Tonight he’d have to settle for dreaming about sleeping with her.

  He studied her reflection in the glass, watching her take inventory of the room—the velvet wallpaper that matched the material on the sofas, the plasma TV above the fireplace. The kitchenette and bar area. Her gaze stalled on the bottle of champagne Ryan assumed James had sent up with the maids.

  “What are you hungry for?” He brushed a strand of hair from her cheek, allowing his fingers to linger against the delicate skin at her temple.

  “Macaroni and cheese sounds good.” She shifted in his arms and rested her cheek against his sweater, then yawned. Ryan’s chest swelled with emotion—with a sentiment he refused to name.

  They were staying at a Trump hotel and she wanted macaroni and cheese? God, she could be so damn cute without even trying. “You unpack and I’ll phone in our order.”

  “Fine.” She rolled onto her toes, her mouth aiming for his cheek. He turned his face at the last second and their lips connected. He kept the kiss light, gentle. He didn’t want to pressure her into making love until they’d talked. Until she agreed to a simple, no-strings-attached weekend affair. Because that was all this could be.

  “I’m going to get ready for bed while we wait for the food.” She nipped his lower lip, then waltzed off.

  After phoning room service, Ryan collapsed on the couch and wondered what Anna thou
ght of the expensive suite.

  Why hadn’t his grandfather or, for that matter, his elder brother, Nelson, challenged him on this foolish waste of money? Had they feared that if they’d confronted him, he’d retreat deeper into his shell? When had his family become afraid for him? Or worse, had his selfish behavior alienated his family to the point where they no longer cared what he did?

  His throat swelled with shame. Keeping the suite allowed Ryan to pretend his life had returned to normal after 9/11, when in fact it hadn’t. The Lexus, the empty apartment, the hotel—all signs of a pretend-normal life.

  Had his grandfather been correct? Was Ryan a coward? Afraid to trust? Afraid to risk his heart again? Just plain afraid of living?

  Maybe he pretended with his life, but he wasn’t pretending with Anna—was he? He closed his eyes and rested his head against the cushion.

  Knock, knock. Startled, Ryan popped off the couch, then stood for a moment battling a wave of light-headedness. He answered the door and the hotel employee rolled the cart into the room. Ryan handed him a tip, then hurried him out.

  Stomach rumbling, he went to fetch Anna, but found her sound asleep on the bed. She hadn’t even changed into her pajamas. Sweet and innocent, she rested her cheek on one hand, her face relaxed as if she hadn’t a care in the world. He didn’t have the heart to wake her. He removed a blanket from the closet and tucked it around her, then went back to the living room, where he lifted the covers off the dishes and sniffed.

  Instead of having Anna as he’d hoped, he’d have to make do with her macaroni and cheese.

  RYAN STEPPED OUT of the shower and knotted a plush hotel towel around his waist. Then he rubbed a hand towel over his wet hair and tossed the towel into the tub. His stomach rumbled as he thought about the coffee and pastries he’d ordered for breakfast.

  After wiping the steamy mirror, he lathered his face with shaving cream. Rinse. Drag. Rinse. Drag. He’d finished one cheek when Anna’s panicky voice carried down the hall.

  “Ryan? Ryan, are you okay?”

  The blade hovered above his skin, his gaze glued to the bathroom mirror. He began to speak but a second later the door burst open. Mussed hair, swollen eyes and a sleep crease along her cheek, Anna, soft and cuddly in the morning, barged into the room.

  Soft and cuddly gave way to rigid and detached. As if the moment unfolded in slow motion, Ryan witnessed Anna’s surprised expression alter to horror when her gaze connected with his naked back and shoulder. She slapped a hand over her mouth, and he waited for her to vomit.

  A surreal fog closed around him as Anna’s image in the mirror transformed into his ex-wife’s face. How could he have been so stupid, naive, to expect that Anna’s reaction to his imperfect body would be different from his ex-wife’s? He’d hoped Anna would see beyond the puckering flesh and missing muscle—unlike Sandra, who hadn’t been able to stand the sight of his scars, let alone touch them. Evidently, he didn’t know Anna as well as he’d assumed. The realization pained him more than the disgust in her eyes.

  Then Anna’s gaze connected with his in the mirror. “I’m sorry. I thought…”

  He winced at her struggle to swallow. He yearned to comfort her. To assure her that her response was normal. To insist everything was fine. But the words became clogged in his throat.

  Forcing a calm he didn’t feel, he commanded, “Shut the door.”

  “I…I—”

  “Anna. Please leave.”

  “Sorry,” she mumbled as she fled the room. The door closed with a quiet, ear-shattering click. Bracing his hands on either side of the sink, Ryan hung his head. From now on Anna would tiptoe around him. Act as though she hadn’t seen his scars. And her already too-bright smile would blind him the next time she flashed it.

  Damn. Now he had no chance of a weekend affair. Anna was the first woman in longer than he could remember who’d awakened his body. Made him feel alive. Made him want to be intimate with a woman. Shit. Shit. Shit. Swearing didn’t help anything, but it made him feel better.

  Ten minutes later, he’d finished shaving and dressing. He grabbed his wallet. He needed time—alone. And Anna needed time to come to grips with what she’d seen in the bathroom. They would both be better off splitting up when they searched for Parnell. When he left his bedroom, he heard the shower running in Anna’s suite. He jotted down his cell phone number and a quick note telling her that he’d search for Parnell in the casinos and she should concentrate her efforts along the Boardwalk. Then he propped the note against the coffeepot, grabbed his keys and slipped out.

  ANNA WASN’T POSITIVE how long she’d been sitting on a bench outside the oldest remaining Ripley’s Believe It or Not Museum on the Boardwalk when a shadow fell across her feet. The brown loafers looked familiar. With a heavy heart she lifted her head.

  Hands in his pockets, face somber, Ryan studied the whitecaps dancing across the ocean. He sported a maroon turtleneck beneath a tweed jacket. A handsome outfit. No one would guess that his perfect clothes hid an imperfect body. She suspected the material concealed more than old injuries—the fabric hid a bruised and battered soul.

  He stood. She sat. Neither spoke. Then Ryan cleared his throat. “How long have you been here?”

  A check of her watch confirmed several hours. “Most of the morning.”

  A quick nod, then he glanced away, as if making eye contact was too painful. Can you blame him? For mercy’s sake, you almost threw up at the sight of his scars.

  “Have you had lunch?” he asked.

  “No.” She hadn’t eaten breakfast, either. As a result of her behavior this morning she’d lost her appetite.

  “You should eat.”

  Tears burned her eyes. She didn’t deserve his concern. Sniffling, she rubbed a finger under her nose. “I’m not hungry.”

  After a long moment, he expelled a haggard breath. “Move over.”

  The bench was small, and his thigh rubbed hers. Anna struggled to find the words to apologize for her inexcusable behavior. I’m sorry seemed…trite. Cold.

  A thorough analysis of her reaction in the bathroom brought her to one conclusion: she had deep feelings for Ryan. Why else would her heart have wept at the sight of his wounded flesh?

  Anna’s heart had been vulnerable to Ryan since the moment he’d arrived to work at Parnell Brothers. He unnerved her, yet he steadied her. How could a man do these two things at once? It didn’t matter that Ryan wasn’t who he’d claimed to be. She’d connected with the real Ryan—the one who wouldn’t let the world see his scars.

  Ryan had supported her when Willie had been shot. He was here now searching for Bobby because of her. When she’d caught a glimpse of the horrific damage to his body, all of a sudden her heart had doubled in size. That moment she’d understood with crystal-clear clarity that her feelings for Ryan Jones had surpassed attraction and caring—she’d fallen in love with him.

  Yes, love. For better or worse. For good or bad. Anastazia Nowakowski had fallen head over heels for Ryan Jones.

  Leaning forward, Ryan rested his forearms on his thighs and clasped his hands between his knees. “I was injured during 9/11.”

  A gasp of blood-chilling shock raced up her throat. Determined to control her emotions, she clamped her lips together. Of all the scenarios her mind had conjured, the World Trade Center attack had not been one of them. She’d imagined a fiery car crash. A backyard-barbecue accident. A camping fire. Never a September 11 story.

  She’d met several people who’d lived to tell of that horrific event. Anna shouldn’t be surprised Ryan had been touched by the same tragedy that had maimed or killed thousands of people.

  Even after six years, the terror remained fresh in her memory. She’d viewed the horrors unfold on the TV in Bobby’s office and had suffered shock, dismay, then anger that her neighbors, her city, her country, had been so viciously attacked. She’d worried about her daughter and cried for hours as she witnessed her fellow New Yorkers race through smoke-choked streets, dodging deb
ris and breathing in poisonous ash.

  Ryan survived, Anna.

  “Tell me. I want to understand,” she whispered after a prolonged silence.

  “I was in a meeting in the North Tower that morning. Sixteenth floor. When all hell broke loose, we ran for the exits. The stairwells were jammed with people…screaming, crying, shoving and stumbling over one another. I made it to the lobby.”

  The words didn’t come easy and Anna sensed Ryan hadn’t spoken about the past to anyone in a long time—if ever.

  “When I exited the building, I tripped and landed on my knees. People swarmed around me and it was impossible to get to my feet. I crawled to the curb and stood. I made the mistake of glancing up. I saw a body floating to the ground, light as a feather. At first my brain didn’t put it together. Then two people holding hands jumped from another window. The sky rained people.”

  Anna closed her eyes and swallowed the bile rising in her throat.

  “Sirens were blaring, alarms going off. Helicopters hovered overhead.” He rubbed his brow. “I shouldn’t have been able to hear that woman’s scream.” Ryan’s eyes connected with Anna’s, pleading for an explanation—anything to help him understand.

  Tears leaked from Anna’s eyes. Useless tears. Tears that couldn’t heal Ryan’s wounds. Couldn’t erase that fateful day in history. She clasped his hand, and instead of pulling away as she feared, he tightened his grip around her fingers.

  “I followed the scream and went back into the building. The woman was pinned near the stairwell. No one had stopped to help her. I managed to free her, but she couldn’t stand. I picked her up. Before I got to the doors, I heard an explosion. Heat seared my jacket, but I stumbled outside with the woman.” He shuddered. “A paramedic took her. The next thing I remember was waking up in the E.R.”

  No doubt in agonizing pain. “Oh, Ryan. You were so lucky to make it out of the tower alive.”

  His glacial stare chilled her. “Was I, Anna?”

  Chapter Ten