Passing His Guard (Against the Cage #2)

by Melynda Price

  Tossing her phone on the bed, she grabbed a change of clothes and hurried into her shower. They had another full day of driving ahead of them, and she was already exhausted. The thought of getting home and settling in after almost two weeks on the road held surprisingly little appeal to her. What was there to look forward to?—an empty house full of painful memories that only drove home the direness of her situation. How could she feel safe knowing Moralli had someone watching her? She was behind in her other cases, having had to focus solely on Aiden these past two weeks, and the thought of all the work waiting for her when she got back was overwhelming.

  Sighing, she admitted a secret part of her wished they could steal away to Aruba or some remote place where no one would ever find them. Fuck Moralli, fuck his parents, and FML.

  So on that happy note, Ryann rinsed the shampoo out of her hair, stepped out of the shower, and put on her big-girl panties. No one said it was going to be easy—or even pleasant, for that matter—but she would see this through to the end.

  CHAPTER

  25

  The knot in Aiden’s gut tightened the closer they got to the city. He wasn’t sure what bothered him more: parting ways with Ryann or the unpleasant task of dealing with his parents tomorrow, but something wasn’t sitting right. The entire time they’d been stuck in this car, she hadn’t said a word about last night. And it wasn’t like she didn’t have plenty of opportunities.

  Not a Last night was amazing or I wish it didn’t have to end. Nada. Nor had she tried to get him to talk about his feelings or press him for more of a commitment, something he’d gotten used to women doing after they slept with him, which in part was why he’d made it an unspoken rule never to hit the same hole twice. But something about Ryann was different. Even now, he had a hard time keeping his eyes on the road. His attention kept drifting to that lush mouth of hers, or the pert fullness of her breasts, and his hard-on was depriving his brain of some much-needed blood flow.

  Last night had been amazing. Hell, he’d say it even if she wouldn’t, even if it was to himself and in the silence of his own mind. Everything about Ryann had surprised him—her openness, her passion, her unguarded trust. She’d given herself to him fully, and it’d rocked him to his very core, so why was he having such a hard time telling her? It was ironic, really, because the one woman he wouldn’t have minded having that awkward morning-after conversation with hadn’t brought it up.

  Maybe she hadn’t found last night as wow-worthy as he had. Maybe she lacked the experience to know just how once-in-a-lifetime-amazing that sex had been, or maybe she’d never intended for this to be more than a good fuck. Perhaps he was arrogant in thinking that she would be as taken with him as he was with her. She’d dismissed his warnings easily enough—maybe it had been her intention all along to fuck him and forget him.

  “You’re frowning . . .” she said, watching him from the passenger seat.

  “Am I?” he asked noncommittally, glancing at her.

  Is there something you want to talk about?”

  He shrugged. “Not really. You?” This was her chance. Speak now or forever hold your peace.

  “Are you worried about meeting with your parents tomorrow?”

  Not the thing he wanted to talk about—Not. At. All. “Not worried as much as just not looking forward to it. But since I’m here, I have some other business to take care of before I head back, so I might as well make the most of it.”

  “Where are you going to stay?”

  Her gaze darted into her lap. Those delicate fingers, with the blunt-tipped nails that had scored his back a few short hours ago, fidgeted nervously.

  “I own a condo in Manhattan. I’ll stay there.”

  “Oh . . .”

  Was that disappointment he heard in her voice or just wishful thinking? “Why?”

  She shrugged. “Just wondering. I didn’t want you to have to stay in a hotel while you were here. How long will you be staying in New York?”

  “Probably a couple of weeks. Just long enough to list my place and hopefully find a buyer. I’d like to have it sold before I go back. It’s my last financial tie here. Where do you live, Ryann?”

  “Brooklyn.”

  He frowned. “Brooklyn?” Holy hell, maybe he should ask her to stay with him. There weren’t a lot of places in Brooklyn he’d deem safe for a woman to live. “And your office?”

  “Also Brooklyn.”

  Now the lawyer in him stood up and took notice, suspicion niggling up his spine as his mind worked to fit the connections together. “Why would my mother, a woman that doesn’t set foot outside Manhattan, travel to Brooklyn to hire a private investigator? I’m sure there are plenty of them in Manhattan.”

  Ryann’s shoulders stiffened indignantly. He hadn’t meant to offend her, though he obviously had. “Maybe I’m just that good. Have you ever thought of that? I do specialize in missing persons, you know.”

  “You might be, but unless you found Jimmy Hoffa, you wouldn’t have blipped on my mother’s radar. There’s something going on that either you’re not telling me or she’s hiding.”

  “I told you everything I know, Aiden.”

  The defensive edge in her voice told him either (a) she was telling the truth, or (b) she was a damn good liar. If she was lying to him, her evasiveness today sure would make a whole lot more sense, and it wasn’t like she hadn’t done it before. And while they were talking about coincidences, what were the chances that they were both connected in some way to Vincent Moralli?

  Suspicion seeped into his veins like black, insidious poison. How could he have not seen it before? Was he walking into a trap? It was a brilliant plan, sending a beautiful woman in to snag his attention and then plead for his help to get her out of her bind with Moralli. How cleverly Ryann had snuck past his defenses and broken down his barriers. If this was a ploy, she would have played him to a tee. And to think he’d been tempted to tell her he had feelings for her. Fuck. But what if he was wrong and Ryann was just as much a victim in all this as he was? Guess only time would tell.

  “Why are you looking at me like that?”

  “Like what?” he asked gruffly, suddenly ready for this ride to be over and to get some much-needed space between him and his little felon. He couldn’t think straight around her. He needed to clear his head.

  “Like you don’t believe me! You don’t, do you? What, you think I’m working for Moralli? Is that it?” she accused.

  Seeing as he hadn’t suggested it, that was a pretty damn accurate leap not to have a thread of truth wrapped up in it somewhere. Pinning her with his stare, he said, “Are you?”

  If looks could kill, the glare she shot him would have stopped his heart cold. “I can’t believe you just asked me that. Stop the car.”

  Was she crazy? They were in rush hour traffic. It was bumper to bumper, and they were moving at a steady twenty-five miles per hour. There was no way in hell he was pulling his car over. Not that he’d have to. Just ahead, brake lights began flashing like a row of falling dominoes, forcing him to hit his own brakes a few seconds later. Just to be sure she didn’t do something crazy, he hit the driver’s panel power-control button, and not a second too soon. As the SUV ground to a halt, Ryann’s hand was on the handle and she was throwing her shoulder into the door. He winced when she slammed her tiny frame into glass.

  “Ryann, stop.”

  She shot him a glare over her shoulder and he’d be damned if she didn’t slam into it again. If she was expecting a different result, she’d be sorely disappointed.

  “I said stop. You’re going to hurt yourself.”

  “What the hell do you care? If you were worried about me getting hurt, you wouldn’t have said what you just did.”

  “Oh, come on, Ryann, try to see it from my perspective. You gotta admit it doesn’t look good. And you’ve been acting cagey as hell ever since we left that motel
this morning. I’d be a fucking idiot not to question it.”

  “And I was a fucking idiot for ever thinking you could get past my earlier actions and trust me!”

  “‘Get past it’? Who in the fuck do you think I’m doing this for, Ryann? It sure as hell isn’t for my benefit. If I didn’t care about what happened to you, I would have left your ass back in Portage! But I swear to God, Ryann, if you’re keeping something from me—”

  “I’m not! I told you everything I know! Turn right here.”

  He gave her an arched-brow glance.

  “You can take me home and keep the Escape. It’s a rental. Just have it returned by Monday.”

  When they reached the intersection, he turned right. She was throwing off some serious hostility as she navigated him to her place in Brooklyn. Perhaps he was being an asshole, but coming back here, being in this city, was really fucking with his head and giving him a bad case of déjà vu.

  He didn’t know what to say to make this better. He knew he’d offended her, but dammit, what did she have to be so touchy about? Who could blame him for being suspicious? She could hardly deny something wasn’t adding up here. Admittedly, he’d had his mind so focused on getting in her pants that he hadn’t given it much of a second thought before now.

  “Stop here. It’s the first on the left.”

  He hit the brakes, shifted into park, and the locks automatically unlatched. His pulse quickened, the invisible band around his chest tightening with dread. Aww shit . . . What could he possibly say to make this better? Hell if he knew. Relationships were not his forte, not that this was one, but dammit, it was something—something he didn’t want to just throw away over a carelessly spoken accusation, whether founded or not.

  She turned to leave, and he grabbed her arm. “Ryann, wait—”

  “You know what, Aiden, don’t bother. I’ve been dreading this all day. Did you ever stop to think that’s why I might not have been myself? I was wondering how I was going to say good-bye to you, especially after last night. But I should actually thank you. You’ve made it real easy for me. Good-bye.”

  She jerked her arm out of his grasp and jumped out of the car. There weren’t many times in Aiden’s life he’d been rendered speechless, and now was a hell of a bad time to have it happen. She yanked open the back door and grabbed her suitcase before slamming it shut and stomping up to her house. Back straight, shoulders stiff, and head held high, she dragged her suitcase on wheels behind her. When it hit the cracked sidewalk, the thing turned and crashed into the back of her leg.

  He noted a slight limp in her step and his grip on the steering wheel tightened. It took all his self-control to watch her go and not race after her. It’s for the best, he told himself. You don’t need this kind of drama in your life. She’s just like every other skirt you’ve crawled up and in a couple of weeks, you won’t even remember her name.

  Bullshit—all of it. And if he didn’t feel like a complete asshole before, he sure as hell did now.

  Ryann let herself into the house and slammed the door behind her. Don’t look back, don’t look back, she chanted, sure if she did, the result would be as disastrous as what happened to Lot’s wife. There were far worse things than turning into a pillar of salt, like having your heart torn out and stomped on by the man you’d been foolish enough to fall in love with.

  What was she thinking?—clearly, she hadn’t been. Foolishly, she’d thought he trusted her, that he’d forgiven her for the manipulation, the lies, and the roofies. Huh . . . when she put it like that, it didn’t sound quite as compelling of an argument.

  Oddly enough, she’d always prided herself on her honesty, her straight and narrow moral compass. She wasn’t proud of what she’d done, nor had she been given much choice. It was in the past, what was done was done, and if Aiden couldn’t let it go, then there was nothing more to be said. She didn’t know why his mother had hired her. By her obvious surprise in discovering Ryann was a woman, it was clear Madeline Kruze didn’t know very much about her. Ryann’s and Aiden’s connections to Moralli baffled her as much as it did him.

  But that suspicion and mistrust in his eyes had come as an unexpected blow. It hadn’t been as much what he said but what he didn’t say. She knew what he was thinking, could sense the wheels of that clever mind turning. For being such a smart man, he could sure be an idiot sometimes. If he couldn’t see how much she cared for him, especially after last night, then he was hopeless and so was a future with him. Better to learn the truth now before she gave any more of her heart to him. It was better like this, she told herself. Make a quick, clean break.

  She could still hear the SUV idling on the road. What was he waiting for? Why wouldn’t he just go?

  It didn’t matter. She was done. Flipping the lock on the door, Ryann left her suitcase right where she dropped it and made a beeline up the stairs, straight for the bathroom. What she needed right now was a hot, steamy bath. After pressing the plug into the drain of the antique claw-footed bathtub, she added lavender and rosemary oils to the water and headed back downstairs to pour a tall glass of wine.

  Exhaustion blanketed her, and every effort felt like an insurmountable task. After being up all night and traveling all day, the only thing she wanted to think about was soaking away her aches and pains and going to sleep. As she passed the front door, she tried not to look out the side window, refusing to give Aiden another minute of her attention. But the reflection of headlights caught the corner of her eye, giving her pause. She ignored the subtle tug in her heart telling her to stop. She’d be damned if she was going to give Aiden the satisfaction of seeing her staring out the window, pining away for him.

  After she got out of the tub, she’d call Madeline Kruze and let her know that Aiden was now in New York. Despite how things were left between them, she had no doubt Aiden would carry through on his agreement to meet with his mother. He knew what was at stake if he didn’t. Her job here was done. Dealing with that man was Lady Kruze’s problem now.

  Ryann shoved the cork back into the bottle of merlot, grabbed her glass, and headed up to her waiting bath. One of the things she loved the most about her family’s brownstone was the bathroom. The tub had deep sides, perfect for soaking. It was her number one stress reliever—well, that and a glass of wine—and right now she had 185 pounds of stress to unload. She glanced at her wineglass as she set it on the small table beside the tub, thinking she should have grabbed the whole bottle.

  Stripping off her clothes, she eased into the steaming water and sighed. Her muscles were stiff from the long car ride, aching from inactivity, while other places were sore from too much activity. Unbidden, the memory of last night came rushing to the forefront of her mind, ushering in a wave of soul-deep regret—not for what they’d shared together, but for the way things ultimately ended between them.

  With a half a glass of merlot warming her insides, and the lavender-rosemary scented bath warming her outside, Ryann sank deeper into the tub and closed her eyes. She thought again of her parting conversation with Aiden. The replay stung no less the second time around. Bottom line: His mistrust in her, whether founded or not, had wounded her deeply. And she hadn’t reacted well. Lashing out wasn’t typically her style, but when it came to Aiden Kruze, she didn’t know herself nearly as well as she thought she did. If someone would have told her three weeks ago that she was going to meet a man, commit a felony, and fall in love, she would never have believed it. Yet here she was, wallowing in heartache and a healthy dose of self-pity. Draining her glass, she set it on the decorative table beside the tub and slipped beneath the water. Well, shit . . . What now?

  Thump!

  The muffled sound sent Ryann bolting upright, breaking through the water with a startled gasp. What in the hell was that? Wiping her hands across her face, she cleared the water from her eyes and strained to listen, but couldn’t hear anything past the thundering of her heartbeat. Had th
e sound come from inside or outside? Was Aiden at the door? Had he refused to leave things like this between them? The thought of seeing him flooded her with a score of mixed emotions. She was still upset, and justifiably so, but Ryann regretted leaving him like she did. What had he been about to say when he’d tried to stop her from leaving the car? She really should go talk to him.

  When the knock came again, it spurred her into action. Ryann stood and quickly dried before grabbing the bathrobe hanging on the hook behind her. She slipped into the terry-cloth wrap and rushed across the hall to her bedroom to pull on a sweatshirt and yoga pants. As she descended the stairs, another round of knocking was starting again. When she reached the landing, she peeked outside but could only see the silhouette of his shadow behind the door. Grabbing the knob, she turned the lock and opened the door. “Aiden, I’m—”

  Her apology died in her throat when her eyes connected with a man she didn’t recognize. Wait, that wasn’t true. He looked familiar, she just couldn’t place where she’d seen him before. The man was tall, not quite as tall as Aiden, but what he lacked in height, he more than made up for in width. He wore a three-piece suit and a deadpan expression that faltered as his dark brown gaze took a sweeping assessment of her. His top lip curled in wry amusement, not quite passing for a grin.

  A shiver of unease needled up her spine, her grip on the door tightening. “Can I help you?”

  “Good evening, Ms. Andrews.”

  That voice . . . Oh, God help her, it was him. Instant dawning registered, the connection clicked into place, sending a surge of adrenaline flooding into her veins. Her father’s funeral, that was where she’d seen him before. Ryann pushed the door shut, but the toe of his shoe slipped inside and kept it from closing. With brute strength, the man forced the door open and pushed his way inside. Ryann let out a startled yelp and stumbled back. Turning, she dashed for the stairs, hell-bent on reaching her father’s gun, which she kept in the top drawer of her nightstand.