They reached the front of the police station building without incident and Ryan dropped his arm from around her. “Just stand inside the door. I’ll be right in,” he said.
She did as he asked, stepping into the cool interior of the building and watching out the window as he remained just outside the door.
He stood perfectly still but with an alertness that reminded her of an animal seeking prey. He would take a bullet for her. The thought astounded her. This man had taken on the job of keeping her safe at the potential risk to his own life.
It humbled her, and a new respect for him welled up inside her. He’d told her he’d spent time in the military, so he was a man accustomed to putting his life on the line for others.
He finally stepped inside. “I hope I didn’t hurt you. I might have overreacted.”
She smiled. “I’d rather you overreact than underreact. I’ll gladly take a couple of grass stains on my clothes instead of a bullet to the body.”
“I heard that sound and I just went on automatic pilot.” His gaze still swept the square, then he took her by the arm. “Let’s get inside and officially introduce ourselves to Chief Swanson. Let me do the talking. I intend to give him as little information as possible. I don’t want him digging into your background too deeply.”
Chief Patrick Swanson was an impressive-looking man. Bald and big-boned, he exuded incredible strength. He ushered them into his office and into seats across from his desk. Behind him on the wall were not only framed awards and letters of commendation but also what appeared to be a family photo of him and his wife and five children.
Ryan introduced Britta as Valerie and showed the chief his official identification, then told him about the missing four days in her life and the fact that she’d been injected with a drug. Patrick frowned as Ryan finished.
“And you don’t remember anything that would be helpful?” he asked Britta.
“Not really,” she replied.
“I’m conducting my own investigation into this and really just wanted to let you know what was going on for courtesy’s sake,” Ryan said. “And I’d like to ask you a couple of questions.”
“Shoot,” Patrick replied.
“Have you had any other incidences of missing women here?”
“None,” Patrick replied as he leaned back in his chair. “Oh, of course there’s Camille Wells but we know what happened to her.” He frowned thoughtfully. “Then there was Rebecca Johnson. She was the daughter of a wealthy New York businessman and was engaged to Nicholas Sterling III. She disappeared five years ago in the midst of the hurricane that struck the area. I can’t imagine that her disappearance has anything to do with whatever happened to you. Speculation has always been that she was down by the shore when the storm struck and was swept out to sea.”
“Doesn’t sound as if that would be tied at all to what happened to Valerie,” Ryan replied, and stood. Patrick and Britta got up, as well.
“If you find out anything about this drug, you let me know,” the chief said. “Here in Raven’s Cliff we have zero tolerance for drugs.” He looked at Britta. “Your story is definitely an odd one, Ms. King.” He looked at her intently and she wondered if he thought she’d just partied with some people and gotten in over her head.
“Still no sign of Camille Wells’s body?” Ryan asked as they walked to the office door.
Swanson frowned. “Nothing. I’ve decided to call off the search-and-rescue teams. She obviously fell into the sea, and for all we know, the currents could have carried her body miles up the coast. Or she sank and got caught up in driftwood or an old fishing net. And speaking of Camille Wells, it probably would be a good idea if you introduced yourself to Mayor Wells as a professional courtesy. His office is on the second floor in this building.”
“We’ll do that right now,” Ryan replied. They murmured their goodbyes.
“I don’t think he believed my amnesia story,” Britta said when they left the chief’s office. “I think he believes I went out partying and something happened and now I’m pretending to have amnesia so my ‘FBI boyfriend’ won’t get mad at me.”
“If that’s what he thinks, then there’s nothing we can do about it,” he replied. “I’d prefer he leave this particular investigation to me, anyway. The fewer people who dig around in your life the better.”
As they approached the elevator that would take them upstairs, she grabbed him by the arm. “Ryan, you don’t think that, do you? You don’t believe that I partied with somebody and things just got out of control?”
Ever since he’d told her that the two of them had gotten drunk and fallen into bed with each other, she’d wondered about what had happened to her in those forgotten seven months.
“Please tell me that somehow in the time after the shooting I didn’t become that kind of woman,” she said. “Please tell me I don’t just fall in bed with any man after a few drinks or take drugs or party with strangers.”
His gaze had been so hard, so intense since the moment he’d tackled her to the ground, but now it softened. He reached out a hand and tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. “You aren’t that kind of woman, Britta. You never would have gone off partying with somebody you didn’t know. You aren’t the kind of woman to party at all.”
“Thank you,” she said gratefully. The elevator door opened and they rode up to the second floor in silence. When they exited the elevator, a sign on the wall pointed the way to the mayor’s office, along with a variety of other city departments.
Mayor Wells’s office was down a long hallway, and when Ryan and Britta stepped inside, there was nobody at the receptionist desk.
The door just behind the desk that obviously led to the mayor’s inner office was partially open, and strident male voices drifted out.
Britta started for the door, but Ryan stopped her with a hand on her arm. He put two fingers to his lips to keep her silent.
“Listen, Mayor, I know what’s going on around here. I’ve heard things, I’ve seen things. I’m not stupid,” one deep voice exclaimed.
“I don’t care what you think you know,” the other man said, his voice filled with obvious but tightly controlled anger.
“You just keep your mouth shut, you hear me? You keep your mouth shut or you won’t have a job here anymore. Now, get back to work and mind your own business.”
Ryan yanked Britta back out into the hallway just as a tall thin man stalked out of the doorway and swept past them without a second glance.
“Stay right here. Don’t move from this spot,” Ryan instructed her, then he disappeared into the mayor’s office.
Nerves jangled inside Britta as she waited for Ryan. She wasn’t sure exactly what they’d overheard, but it was apparent there was some kind of trouble in the mayor’s office.
Ryan returned a moment later and took her by the arm. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”
They rode back down to the first floor, and Britta didn’t say anything until they got outside, where the sun had disappeared behind a bank of dark clouds.
“What happened?” she asked.
“We’ll talk about it over lunch,” he said. He paused and looked around the town square. “That place look all right for lunch?” He pointed to a restaurant with a burnt orange awning that read the Rusty Bucket.
“Fine,” she agreed.
The Rusty Bucket offered a variety of fare but the specialty was seafood. Britta ordered lobster stew and Ryan chose fish and chips. It wasn’t until the waitress served their food and left their table that he seemed to relax.
“There’s definitely something fishy going on in this town,” he said as he stabbed a portion of fish with his fork.
“And no pun intended. When I went back to the office I overheard the good mayor making a phone call. Whoever he called, he told the person on the other end of the line that if they weren’t careful, all hell was going to break loose. That, coupled with the conversation we overhead, tells me something isn’t right.”
Britta frown
ed. “You think he’s on the take? You said that at the wedding ceremony you saw somebody hand him a bundle of cash.”
“Right now it’s just all speculation, but all my instincts are definitely shouting that Mayor Wells isn’t on the up and up.”
“So, what are you going to do about it?” she asked.
“I’ll pass the information on to the appropriate people, but right now I’m not interested in what’s going on in local government here in Raven’s Cliff. I just want to solve the mystery of you.”
She smiled. “I’d say that you’re far more a mystery to me than I am to you. You probably know everything there is to know about me, but I don’t know anything about you, Ryan.”
“You know what you need to know. My job is to protect you, that’s all that’s important.” His eyes were shuttered, as if to keep her from seeing inside him and noting anything personal.
“That’s not fair,” she replied. “Surely I knew more about you than that when we were together before.”
He sat with his back to the wall so he was able to see everyone who walked into the establishment. His gaze swept over her shoulder to the door, then back to her.
“I’m originally from Texas, although my home is wherever my work takes me. I already told you that I joined the Army when I was eighteen and served time before deciding that the FBI was where I wanted to be. I’ve been working gang-related crimes for the past three years.”
She didn’t want to know about his work. She wanted to know about Ryan Burton the man. “Where are your parents?”
“Last I heard they were in Texas. We weren’t what you’d call a close family.” There was a hint of tension in his voice.
“Are you an only child?”
“Yes,” he answered curtly.
“And you’ve never married?”
“Marriage doesn’t interest me. Long-term relationships don’t interest me.” His eyes took on that lazy gleam she’d begun to recognize. “You know us Texas men, we like our steaks rare and our women plentiful.”
She leaned back in her chair. “You do that on purpose, don’t you?”
“What?”
“Every time the talk gets a little too personal or uncomfortable for you, you turn on that country-boy act to distance me,” she said.
He scowled. “That’s ridiculous. That’s not an act, darlin’, that’s just who I am. Now, eat up, we’ve got more work to do this afternoon.”
Britta focused on her meal, but her thoughts raced. She wasn’t sure why, but she was relatively certain that Ryan was lying to her. That wasn’t who he was, and that made her wonder just who the man was who was supposed to have her back in all this mess.
THE THUNDER AWOKE RYAN from the dream. No, not a dream, rather a familiar nightmare. His heart thudded with the scenes from his childhood, visions that filled his mouth with a bitter taste.
He sat up, knowing that sleep would be impossible until the last vestiges of his past left his head. With the benefit of a lightning flash he reached for his jeans at the foot of the sofa and pulled them on, then raked a hand through his hair as if he could pull the memories right out of his head.
It was always the same. The nightmare began with the sounds of voices arguing, angry words spat back and forth between his mother and his father. Soon the angry words became broken dishes and slammed doors and then slaps and punches and screams.
Sometimes Ryan felt as if he’d spent the first ten years of his life hiding in the floor of his closet, praying for them to stop before it went too far, but he’d never had the power to halt the progression of violence.
He got up from the sofa and moved to the window, where he stared out at the falling rain. It had been a long time since he’d had the nightmare, and he suspected that this last one had been prompted by Britta’s questions over lunch about his parents.
He and Britta had spent the afternoon pounding the pavement around the square. They’d stopped in at the Tidal Treasures trinket shop where they’d met Lucy Tucker, the bubbly owner, who had spent time sharing some harmless local gossip.
After that they had visited several other shops, but in no place they went did anyone give an indication that they had seen Britta before or that her appearance was particularly surprising.
What he’d been trying to chase down was the origin of the gown and necklace she’d been wearing on the night he’d found her. The necklace and the gown were the only pieces of hard evidence they had. The gown had been hand stitched, and for much of the day they’d gone from shop to shop trying to find someplace that sold that particular material.
They’d also checked out the stores that sold jewelry, looking for a piece that resembled the one Britta had worn around her neck the night he’d found her, but so far no success.
He left the window and went into the kitchen where he turned on the small light over the stove and grabbed a bottle of water from the refrigerator. He twisted the top and took a deep swallow and thought about that morning he’d heard what he’d thought was a gunshot.
His heart had nearly stopped as he’d thrown himself at Britta. He’d spent months of his life keeping her safe and the thought of losing her in this damned village, the thought of losing her at all filled him with an agonizing pain.
He didn’t want her in his life, but he wanted her alive and well and eventually happy in a new life where there were no threats against her for her to worry about.
What had happened to her during her missing four days? Who had injected her with the drug that had stolen her memory of those days? And why? The questions nagged at him every minute of every day.
He was ninety-nine percent sure that whatever had happened to her had nothing to do with the Boston Gentlemen. This wasn’t about her past, rather, he had the gut feeling it had something to do about this little fishing village.
Another flash of lightning ripped the night skies, and suddenly Britta appeared in the kitchen doorway. Instantly his body tensed as he tried to ignore how achingly beautiful she looked with her hair sleep-tousled and the skimpy pale blue silk nightgown barely covering her.
“The storm…the thunder woke me, and I remembered something,” she said, her voice trembling with emotion. “I remembered somebody coming out of the fog at the gazebo at the inn. It was a man, but I can’t remember what he looked like or what he said to me. Oh, and I remembered that you love pepperoni pizza.”
He hoped she didn’t remember the last time they’d eaten pepperoni pizza. It had been in bed, after a rousing bout of lovemaking.
“I’m right, aren’t I?” She took several steps into the kitchen, the dim lighting doing nothing to hide the gleam of her smooth skin.
“Sure, I like pizza,” he agreed. What he wanted to do was yell at her to go put some more clothes on, yell at her to take off that damned nightgown and let him make love to her right here, right now. But that would be a monumental mistake.
“Did the storm wake you, too?” She opened the door to the refrigerator and grabbed a can of diet soda.
“Yeah.” He sat at the table, wishing she’d take her soda and go back to bed. Instead she joined him at the table.
“I hate storms,” she said, and tilted her head back to take a sip from the can.
The slender column of her neck invited his mouth to explore. “Yeah, well, you’ve obviously come to the wrong place,” he said, and tore his gaze from her and looked toward the window. “That’s all it seems to do in this place, one storm after another.”
“Maybe it’s just part of the curse,” she replied. “You know, Captain Earl Raven stirring up storms and working a fog machine just to keep everyone on edge.”
He was on edge, all right. The real curse was that he couldn’t forget the taste of her mouth, the weight of her breasts in his hands. He couldn’t get out of his head the feel of her legs wrapped around him as he made love to her, or the tiny mewling sound she made in the back of her throat when he kissed her behind her ear, caressed the smooth skin of her inner thigh.
He took another sip of his water, the liquid wetting his suddenly parched mouth. “I told you before, I don’t believe in curses.”
“I didn’t really, but I’m beginning to feel as if somebody put a curse on my life. I lost my whole life, not just to the amnesia, but to circumstances I couldn’t control.”
“Nobody put a curse on you. The night of the shoot-out in the hotel in Boston you were just at the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“And I was in the wrong place at the wrong time when I decided to go outside and walk to the gazebo outside of the inn.”
He couldn’t stand it anymore. He had to get away from her. The dimly lit kitchen in the middle of the night was too intimate a setting and she was unaware of her own provocative desirability.
“Are you about done?” He gestured to her can of soda. “I need to get some sleep and I can’t do that with you up and wandering the place.” His voice was more brusque than he’d intended.
Even the faint light in the room couldn’t hide the hurt that swept over her features. “Sorry, I didn’t realize I was keeping you up.” She took another sip of her soda, then carried the can to the sink, dumped the rest of the contents and threw it away.
Ryan tightened his grip on the water bottle. Distance, that’s what he needed. He breathed a sigh of relief as she murmured a good-night and left the room.
Unfortunately, distance was impossible over the next two days. Rain fell in buckets, keeping Britta and him inside the small cottage. They spent much of the first day playing cards at the kitchen table as the rain beat against the windows.
During the months they’d been together before, they’d often played cards to pass the time. This time she beat him more games than not because he was distracted by the scent of her, by the very sight of her in a pair of tight jeans and a lightweight pullover sweater that emphasized the thrust of her breasts.
He’d finally accused her of cheating, which had made her mad and sent her to her room. Which was fine with him. The less he saw of her, the better.
He now stood at the window cursing the weather that kept him trapped inside with her. She sat on the sofa behind him, her very presence creating a knot of tension in the pit of his stomach.
With the Material Witness in the Safehouse Page 8
