Deadly Silence (Blood Brothers #1)(11)

She stumbled as she followed him, her mind spinning.

They reached the bedroom, and he started shedding his clothes onto the floor.

Whoa. “What are you doing?” She couldn’t help but appreciate his hard chest and cut abs.

“Bed.” Remaining in black boxer briefs, he slipped beneath the covers. “Come, Zara.”

She blinked. “Wait a minute.”

“Tomorrow. Fight tomorrow.” He tossed back the covers on the other side of the bed. “In.”

She hesitated for a moment. Her rescuing him from the bar seemed to be a line she’d crossed. She’d just helped him, and he had offered to help her with the guy who’d bruised her. They were edging toward taking responsibility for each other. Was she ready for that? With him? How could she decide that when she didn’t really know him? Plus, he hadn’t called her for help—the bartender had. If she was smart, she’d end this right now.

“Bed, Zara,” he mumbled.

She was tired. Maybe a good night’s sleep would help—one more night of sleeping next to him. Then she had to do the smart thing. “Fine. But we are so talking tomorrow.” She turned off the light and quickly slid into bed.

He pulled her against him, her back to his front, and wrapped around her. “You smell good.”

She took a deep breath, snuggling into him naturally. She’d miss this. “Go to sleep.”

“I like you,” he mumbled against her hair. “You’re nice and sexy and sweet. You cook.”

Her traitorous heart warmed and thumped. “I can see we’re at the ‘I love you, man’ part of the drunken evening.” It was good to know he wasn’t a mean drunk.

He chuckled and stirred her hair. “And funny. You’re funny and sweet.”

“You already said ‘sweet,’” she murmured, really not wanting to be touched by the kind words, and yet . . .

“Because you are. I’ve never met anybody as sweet as you. No woman is as sweet as you.” He pulled her closer into his heat, enfolding her in dubious safety. “You should be protected at all costs. They’re gonna find me at some point. He’s going to find me. You can’t be there.”

“Who?” she asked, her lungs seizing.

His breathing deepened against her, and his body relaxed. “When I was at the end, drinking that last drink, you’re the one I wanted to call. Only you.” He slipped into sleep.

Her eyes opened in the darkness. What exactly did that mean? He hadn’t called her, after all. The bartender had found the phone. . . the odd one.

For thirty minutes, she tried to sleep. Ryker dropped into a deep booze-induced slumber all around her. Finally, she carefully dislodged his arm and maneuvered from the bed, turning to make sure he didn’t awaken.

He slept peacefully, his hair ruffled, his jaw relaxed. One muscled arm was out of the covers, and even in sleep, a sense of power surrounded him.

She had to know more about him and that damn phone, but if he caught her snooping through his belongings, he’d be seriously pissed. The truth seemed important to Ryker, even if he didn’t share much of it. While the smart move would be to end things with him, it hurt to think they’d end with anger.

Yet she had to know. The mystery was eating at her.

She tiptoed across the room, closing the door as she passed into the living room. This was so wrong.

Padding on her toes, she made it to the kitchen.

His duffel lay on the table next to the phone the bartender had given her. She reached for it and located the contacts. There was one. Z. Not even her full name. Just a Z. Was this a burner phone? Why would Ryker have a burner phone just for her? The only thing she knew about burner phones was from watching detective shows on television.

She looked at the innocuous bag. Oh, she shouldn’t. Yet she reached out and released the zipper.

Clothes. A pair of jeans, a couple of shirts, and some underwear. She rummaged beneath the jeans and found two guns, a knife, and three more phones.

Three phones?

A look at the contacts revealed one in each phone. One for a D, one for an H, and one that said FBI. Why would he have a burner phone for the FBI? More important, who were D and H? Women in other cities?

Man, she was tempted to dial H and D to see who they were. Instead, she quickly replaced all the contents in the duffel.

She glanced toward the quiet bedroom. Just who the hell was Ryker Jones?





CHAPTER


4


Ryker finished in the shower and drew on his clothing, then walked into Zara’s kitchen and stopped short.

She sat at the table with his duffel bag in front of her. “Who are H and D?” Her eyes were guarded and her voice low.

Shit. He shoved wet hair away from his face.

“I went through your stuff. I wasn’t going to tell you, but I did, and we’re over, so you don’t have to tell me, but I still want to know.” Her words had run together so quickly it took him a second to make them out.

“We’re not over.” The statement burst from him before he could think, and heat climbed up his throat. Was that panic? Think. He needed to think. “D and H are Denver and Heath, my brothers. We have burner phones because we’re on a case where we don’t want to be connected to each other.” He couldn’t tell her the full truth, and damn if that didn’t piss him off.