Reveal (Wicked Ways #2)(92)

His laugh rings out through the house. I wasn’t sure he was even capable of having one. “We all have to play games sometimes to get what we want.”

I stare at him, blinking, slack-jawed. “So he’s in the clear?”

Abel twists his lips as he weighs how much to tell me. “Not exactly. But that’s a start.”

Two hours later—after we’ve gone through everything I have, including my own phone records showing calls from that same number of Carter’s, saved voice mails recorded from one of his burner cell numbers—I’m finally all alone in my house.

By then, the desire I have to chew Ryker out has dissipated.

It’s still there all right . . . but it’s being stifled by some major exhaustion and the elation that I just might have gotten myself out of being bait for the FBI to use to lure Carter Preston.

I refuse to be collateral damage.





CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

Ryker

“Where are you?” I jolt at the sound of her voice. Guilt springs up at being here without her knowing.

“I’m out of town. A quick business trip. Why? Are you okay? Do you—”

“We need to talk when you get back.” The high of hearing her voice crashes down when she says the words every man dreads being told.

Especially after the odd week between us that sewed doubts into every part of me, no matter how hard I wanted to grab her shoulders, shake her, and beg her to tell me what was wrong so I could fix it.

Or at least try to.

But the one thing I know for certain is that she’s not bored with me. That she hasn’t written me off. I felt the exact opposite from her the other night when I told her I loved her. I know she feels the same way, even though she never uttered the words.

And while that might seem simple to most, that’s huge to me.

“Okay. What about?” I ask, trying to keep my thoughts and voice upbeat.

Her lack of an answer—rather just a sound—only adds more uncertainty to whatever’s going on with her.

“You’re okay, though, right?”

“You paid off my debts.” The sudden chill to her voice makes me smile. Now this? Her anger and defiance and independence? This I can handle. This I was expecting at some point.

I had it all planned out, what I was going to say when she realized it. Reasons and explanations and how now she’s free and clear with nothing standing in her way to keep Priscilla from giving her Lucy.

I wanted to take care of you.

I wanted to help fix the screwups I seem to keep making that continually put your getting Lucy at risk.

I wanted to see your face without the lines of stress etched into it, without the fear in your eyes, without the constant pressure to right your sister’s wrongs.

But I know better than to say any of those things. I know better than to assert the you’re vulnerable bullshit she’ll buck back against.

Instead, I take the path of least resistance.

“I did? Hmm. I guess I must have had my accountant pay the wrong bills.”

“Ryker, this isn’t funny. It’s crap. I can’t accept this. I can’t—”

“It’s not like you can tell them you made an oops! Guess it will have to stay as is.”

“You looked into me. You snooped through my finances to know where my debt lay. You invaded my privacy—”

“You’re right. I did. I’m sorry.” Well, shit, that was easier to admit than I thought it would be. But now it’s the silence that follows as she digests what I did that unnerves me.

“I’m not okay with that.”

“Understandably,” I say. “When I get back to town, I’ll open all of my finances for you to look at if that makes you feel better. That way we’re both on the same page.”

“Ryker . . . that’s not what I’m asking. That’s not—I am not a kept woman. I will not be a kept woman.” I can hear the fury in her voice, and my smile widens.

There’s a bit more of my girl back.

“I’d like to see anyone try.” I laugh. “We both know kept isn’t a word anyone would ever use to describe you.”

“I—you can’t—this isn’t—you don’t understand what this looks like—” She huffs in frustration. It takes a lot to make Vaughn Sanders speechless, and I’ve succeeded.

“What does this look like?” I ask.

“I can’t accept this.” But this time instead of defiance and anger in her voice, there’s a waver and then a break on the last word. Then a sniffle.

“Vaughn? What’s wrong?”

“It’s just too much. This is all too much.” I can’t tell if she’s crying, and I’m pretty sure if she is, she’ll just deny it if I ask.

“I just wanted to give you something no one has ever given you before.”

“Money?” The word is two drawn-out syllables.

“Yes, but it’s so much more than that. It’s me telling you I believe in you. It’s me telling you that you’re worth it. It’s me wanting you to know that I think you’re going to be an incredible mother to Lucy. It’s me wanting you to look in the mirror every day and instead of trying to figure out if you’re Vee or Vaughn or a server at Apropos or a madam, you know that you’re you—a little bit of all those people mixed together to make up one incredible woman.” Her hiccupped sob fills the line. “Oh baby, please don’t cry.”