Deadly Silence (Blood Brothers #1)(10)

Her man? Yeah, right. She swallowed and turned toward a series of booths. They were empty save the last one. Ryker leaned against the wall, his head back, blood on his chin. His eyes were shut and his legs extended beneath the table, showing his motorcycle boots. She hesitated and then approached him slowly, her heart thundering. “Ryker?”

His eyelids flashed open. “Zara?”

She nodded and kept her focus squarely on him. “The bartender called me.”

Ryker wiped off his chin, his gaze not quite focusing. “What the fuck?”

“Ah.” She faltered. Man, he was big . . .and drunk. She didn’t know him like this, and yet a glimmer of vulnerability showed in the man she would’ve bet had none. That drew her to him as much as the desire to help him.

His leather jacket was unzipped and showed a large rip in his T-shirt. Blood dotted his jeans from what looked like a violent altercation. What the holy hell was she doing in the bad part of town at midnight? She knew better than to be in such a place, and she didn’t know Ryker like this. “The bartender said he was going to call the cops if I didn’t come get you.”

Ryker shot from the booth, grabbing a worn duffel bag. “No cops.” He slung an arm around her shoulder and herded her toward the bar where he slapped down five hundred-dollar bills. “This should cover tonight.”

Sal took the money. “Last time, Ryker. Next fight you start, I’m callin’ the cops.”

Did he fight a lot? That didn’t sound like Ryker.

“Whatever.” Ryker turned Zara toward the door, leaning heavily on her. He turned back. “There’s a fight in the back alley—two guys arguing over a woman named Bernadette. They’re too drunk to fight, and somebody’s gonna get hurt.” He turned back to the door.

“How did you know that?” Zara whispered.

“I can hear them,” Ryker mumbled.

Zara turned her head but couldn’t hear anything. It wasn’t the first time Ryker had heard or seen something that seemed impossible. How were his abilities so fine-tuned?

More important, how drunk was he? She let him stumble them both outside, where a fresh wind pierced her with cold. She shook off the bar’s smoke. Taking him home was a bad idea. Not once had she seen him drunk or out of control, and he appeared to be both at the moment. The guy was solid muscle and could easily harm her, although she couldn’t imagine Ryker hurting a woman. Even when he’d grasped her neck the other night, it hadn’t hurt.

She opened the passenger-side door of her old compact and shoved him in. “I’ll take you to wherever you’re staying.” Without waiting for an answer, she crossed to the driver’s side and started the engine. Soft snoring came from the man at her side.

She looked at him. Long, dark lashes lay against his rugged face, and in sleep, he looked no less dangerous than while awake. Tension all but rolled off him, along with a hint of something else. Something. . . sad. She sighed and brushed his too-long hair away from his cheek. “What am I going to do with you?” she asked softly.

What was it about a wounded man that all but called for her to fix him? To heal him? Wounded tough guys were like catnip to a good girl like her. When he looked at her, when he touched her, she felt special. Ryker didn’t look at many people, and he more than likely didn’t let anybody see him like this. His draw was dangerous to her heart, and she knew it. “I’m smarter than this,” she muttered, swinging the car into the road.

They were halfway home when his voice made her jump.

“She was dead,” Ryker murmured, his head back and his eyes closed.

Zara shivered. “Who was dead?”

“The girl. Another one. He got another one, and I can’t find him. He enjoys causing them pain, and he has to be stopped. Yet another bully—this one psychotic.” Ryker scrubbed both hands down his face. “What day is it?”

“Um, Thursday.” She turned down a different road. “Is this a case you’re working on?”

“Yeah. For months we’ve been working on it.” His words slurred a little, but she could make them out.

“You and your brother?” she asked softly, feeling like she was walking on cracking ice.

“Brothers,” he mumbled. “I have two.”

She turned into her driveway and pressed the button to open the garage. Her chest gave a little hitch. “It seems like I should know that about you already.” While they hadn’t been building a relationship, he could’ve shared a little about himself. Of course, neither had she. “I have a grandmother.”

“I know,” he said. “Her name is Patricia Remington, and she lives over on Orchid Street. Is on an old people’s trip right now.”

She jerked. “How do you know that?”

“I checked you out after the first night.” His eyelids opened, and those odd greenish blue eyes homed in on her. “I know who I’m bangin’, darlin’.”

Words escaped her. Not once had she ever considered herself the type of woman who’d be banged. “You’re the one who keeps coming back for more,” she muttered.

He snorted.

Turning away, she drove into her garage, scrambling for something to say. “Why are you getting into fights in dive bars?”

“The nicer bars are too expensive to fix.” He shoved out of the car and strode toward the kitchen door, his usually graceful gait now lurching. Without waiting for her, he moved into the house and dropped his duffel bag on the kitchen table.