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.
“Fine. Let’s go.” She moved toward the garage, and he followed.
The trip back to the bar was made in silence. He wanted to talk to her, but his head felt like a mini war was going on inside of it, and he needed to puke. The hangover had him and bad.
At some point, he needed to really get through to her—when he could concentrate again. Somebody had hit Zara a week ago, and she didn’t trust him enough to take care of it.
Not that he could blame her. It wasn’t like he’d offered her any sort of relationship. Now she’d said they were done, and a shocking panic had taken hold of him. The idea of not having Zara around, her warmth and kindness, sent him back into that cold he’d been trying to escape since childhood.
Yet what could he offer her? Really? A life on the run, looking over her shoulder? Burner phones? Sick cases with psychopaths winning?
She pulled up next to his motorcycle. “Bye, Ryker.”
He grasped her arm, keeping his hold gentle. “It’s not good-bye.”
She sighed. “I don’t understand your life, and after snooping in your bag, I’m uneasy. Worse yet, I’m angry I had to snoop. We made a deal to just have some fun with no hard feelings when it ended. Let’s stick to the deal.”
The deal was to keep things casual, and yet he felt even that slipping away. “I don’t want to stop seeing you. Let’s just forget that last week happened and go back to being casual.”
She looked at him, temptation in her gaze. Oh, he could read people, and she didn’t want to end it, either. “I’m not sure.” She flattened her hands on her skirt, her lip twisting. “I’ve had fun, and I like you, but the burner phones are a huge red flag. Are you wanted by the authorities?”