Ryker settled onto the sofa in Zara’s living room, his hands still cuffed behind his back. The cushions were way too soft and gave him barely enough leverage to jump up if necessary. Detective Norton was no idiot. “Why did you kill Julie?” Ryker had to get the gun from the bastard before his brothers showed up. No way was Zara stupid enough to come alone, and the second she told his brothers about the detective, they would set a plan into motion. So now Ryker needed to distract the prick. “Detective?”
Norton paced by the front window and moved a filmy curtain aside to look at the raging storm. “She was gonna tell my wife about us and about our time at the Picalo Club.”
“You created the fake badge for Zara.”
Norton nodded. “Yep.” He clearly had no intention of letting them live. He wouldn’t be confessing everything otherwise.
“So what if Julie told your wife?”
“So what?” Norton turned around, his eyes hard. “My wife is Margaret Rapperton.”
Ryker snorted. “The governor’s daughter?”
“Yeah. She would divorce my ass, and her daddy would destroy any hope of my making chief. Ever.” Norton shook his head. “Julie and I did drugs together along with a couple of other things I’d rather weren’t made public, and that bitch put it all in her diary.”
Ryker kept his gaze stoic while adrenaline flowed through his veins. “So you killed her. Just stabbed her until she bled out. A woman you’d been intimate with.” The bastard deserved to be skinned alive.
Norton rolled his eyes. “She was a great lay, and on drugs, we were flying. But then she got all clingy. We had too much meth, got in a fight, and before I knew it, she was dead. It wasn’t my fault.” His gun rested loosely in his hand. “I’d planned to frame her dickhead of a husband for her death, but you and Zara Remington kept getting in the way. This is much better, though.”
Ryker gingerly moved to the edge of the sofa.
“If you move another inch, I’m shooting you before she gets here.” Norton aimed the gun at Ryker’s chest. “Then I’ll have some fun with her before I have to shoot her in self-defense. So sad. She got caught up with the wrong guy, and look what happened.”
The man was insane. Smart but insane. “I’m not going to waste my breath telling you this will never work.” Ryker calculated the distance between them.
“Good.”
“But I will tell you that if you somehow do succeed in this, my brothers will rip you apart limb by limb. They won’t rest until they’ve destroyed you.”
Norton turned back to the window. “We’ll see.”
A noise behind the house caught Ryker’s attention. Footsteps and breathing. What the hell? Neither Heath nor Denver would make so much noise. The kitchen door opened, and Ryker instantly started coughing, trying to mask the sound.
Norton turned around and studied him.
“Swallowed down wrong tube,” Ryker gasped out.
Norton frowned and looked toward the kitchen. “Shit.” He strode by the couch toward the kitchen.
Ryker leaped up and slammed his shoulder into the cop’s side, throwing them both into a wall. Norton pivoted and punched Ryker in the jaw, smashing him into the arm of the couch.
With an explosive roar, Brock Hurst leaped from the kitchen, a frying pan in his hands.
What was the lawyer doing there? Ryker shouted a warning.
Brock swung just as Norton fired. The explosion ripped through the house. Blood bloomed across Brock’s leg, and he fell back, his mouth wide in shock.
Ryker bunched and moved. Norton pivoted and shot again. Pain burst across Ryker’s shoulder. He dropped and then jumped up, ramming his head beneath Norton’s chin. The cop’s head snapped back and hit the wall. Ryker kept going, using his head, knees, and feet, keeping the detective off balance and ignoring the blood flowing from his arm.
Then Norton slammed the gun down on his wounded shoulder. The world went black. Ryker dropped to a knee and shook his head, trying to focus. His vision cleared. He tensed to strike, and Norton rested the barrel of the gun against his forehead.
Fuck.
“Get up,” the detective hissed.
Ryker used the coffee table for balance and shoved to his feet. Norton checked him into the sofa, and he bounced, heat flaring through him. “Brock?”
The attorney was leaning against the wall by the kitchen, his face pale, his leg bleeding. He grimaced and pressed on his wound. “I came to help.”
A timid knock sounded from the front door.
Ryker angled his head to see who was outside. Zara stood there, pale and being bombarded by the snapping storm. What the hell was she doing there? He stopped breathing.
Norton leaned in. “If anybody moves, I’m shooting the bitch in the head.”