eight
RYAN MADE HIS WAY TO VIVIAN. She was leaning against her car, slender legs crossed at the ankle in heels that were probably meant to pound the streets outside of the DC Capitol or New York City searching for a story. Or Atlanta. Frankie’s comment about Vivian’s intent to move for a job with the Tribune came back to him.
He glanced over his shoulder at the man handcuffed and sitting in the back of Deputy Wilson’s squad car. Was that what this was all about? Ryan’s gaze returned to Vivian. Black skirt, silk camisole, shiny hair that seconds ago had been coiled around her shoulder but was now pinned up, revealing an elegant neck that . . . Ryan shook his head.
Vivian’s conspicuous beauty was like the signal at a train track crossing—warning him that she was here, passing through town, with a better destination in sight.
“How is it that trouble seems to follow you around, Ms. DeMarco?”
Vivian’s forehead creased. “You realize he attacked me, right?”
Ryan wouldn’t admit it had felt good to lay into the man who had his filthy hand clamped around Vivian’s arm or that it had taken him far too long to regain control over the anger that still had his pulse ramped up. “He doesn’t have any identification. Are you sure it’s him?”
Vivian followed his gaze. “Pretty sure. I didn’t get a great look at him that night, but I remember his eyes.”
“How did you know he would be here?”
“I didn’t.” She narrowed her eyes, seeing the disbelief he wasn’t hiding well. “You really think I’d confront the guy who attacked me at my office?”
“I’m thinking it’s a little too convenient that you came to Anderson looking for Lauren Holt and ran into the guy who attacked you.”
Indignation lit her eyes. “I’m doing my job.”
“And I’m doing mine.” Ryan, interested in why Vivian was searching for Lauren Holt, hadn’t known what to expect when he came to Anderson, but it was becoming obvious she wasn’t going to just let him do his job.
Deputies Wilson and Hodges had gathered the two other men and begun searching through their bags and backpacks, as well as a shopping cart they had with them. They were looking for the one thing that would confirm the man who grabbed Vivian was the same one who had broken into the Gazette and roughed her up.
Harold’s laptop.
It was unaccounted for. Not that Ryan believed they would find it among the man’s stuff. His bag held a lot of things—empty bottles, a single sock, half a computer science textbook, and a handful of used cigarette butts. Nothing struck him as odd, except for the wad of cash the man had stuffed in the bottom of his shoe. They wouldn’t have even found that if the shoe hadn’t come flying off when Ryan tackled the two-hundred-pound man to the ground. A move that had left his shoulder slightly sore.
“You believe me, right?” She looked up at him beneath dark lashes. “I had no idea he was here.”
Ryan cringed internally. There were only two women in his life who had the power to cripple his resolve, but now . . . with Vivian standing in front of him, those eyes . . . he began to wonder if she might be the third. His kryptonite.
“I believe you.”
And he did, but he also didn’t have any evidence other than the money, which could’ve come from dealing drugs. Or been stolen. He could’ve sold the laptop, but even pawn shops hesitated to purchase items these days without some kind of proof of ownership if they believed an item might be stolen. So if he hadn’t stolen it to sell for money, where was it?
There were enough unanswered questions to give him sufficient cause to bring the man in for further questioning, but first he had to rein in the growing concern he held for the woman standing in front of him. She’d been chasing a story and it led her to trouble. Again. Though to be fair, the break-in at the Gazette wasn’t her fault. Still, his eyes slid to Vivian, who wasn’t one to let something go.
“Who is Lauren Holt?” Ryan tried again.
Vivian’s lips parted and then pressed into a firm line.
“You do realize you’ve been attacked twice,” he said, using her own logic against her. “It’s not a wild assumption to believe it might be connected.”
“Maybe.”
She wasn’t giving him anything. “Vivian, if it is connected, then you’re stepping into a big pile of trouble.”
“Have you considered that maybe my trouble began because you’ve arrived?” She looked up at him suspiciously. “Why were you even here? Are you following me?”
Ryan swallowed, heat warming his cheeks. “I, uh—” He cleared his throat. “When you left, I was concerned. Ms. Byrdie said you were coming here to look for Lauren Holt.” He straightened his shoulders, unsure why he was explaining himself. “Doesn’t matter why I was here, only that if I hadn’t been, who knows what could’ve happened to you. And all this after I asked you not to get involved.”
“You said you were concerned for me.” Her eyebrows winged up. “Why?”
Her question sent his heart thumping in an erratic rhythm. He studied her, letting his gaze drift to her full lips. He blinked, bringing his focus back to her question. What was she asking? “It’s my job to be concerned for everyone in Walton.”
“And I appreciate that. But it’s also my job to follow the leads on a story, no matter the risks.”
“Vivian—” Deputy Wilson shot Ryan a questionable look and Ryan moved so he couldn’t see Wilson’s penetrating gaze. “It seems like you cared a lot for Harold, which leads me to believe he cared a great deal for you too.” Her gaze grew glossy and he unconsciously reached for her hand. The second her skin met his, an electrical current radiated through him, forcing him to withdraw his touch.
Ryan took a step back, putting an appropriate amount of space between them so he could stay focused. “I don’t think Harold would’ve ever asked you to put yourself in danger, no matter the story.”
He thought he caught a shift in her expression—hope—making him believe he’d gotten through to her. His eyes slipped to the scrape on her chin from the altercation at the Gazette. There would be a scar, but it didn’t mar her beauty. In fact, it only added to her spunky nature.
“Deputy Frost, we’re ready to roll.”
Ryan looked past Vivian’s shoulder to Deputy Wilson and gave him a nod. “I can have a deputy follow you home.”
Vivian shook her head. “I’m fine, thanks. Heading into the office first, but I’ll be fine.”
“Vivian, maybe you should call it a day.”
A smile tipped the corners of her lips. “Do you know your accent adds an extra syllable to my name when you say it? Viviannn.”
Deflection. Incorrigible. Or maybe flirting? It wasn’t like he had a whole lot of experience in that department. Probably wise to just stick to the job then, Ryan. “Just try to stay out of trouble.”
By the time Ryan led Otis Jackson into his holding cell, the sun had set and a fingerprint match to ones taken from the Gazette had confirmed he’d been there the night of the break-in, even if Otis had zero recollection of the crime or hurting Vivian.
It quickly became clear the man was on drugs and probably had been the night of the crime. It was also likely that the drugs were the reason nothing coherent came out of the guy’s mouth and wouldn’t until he detoxed. Ryan yawned. He was tired and ready to go home, but his thoughts remained on Vivian. Had she gone home like he’d suggested? Or was she still at the Gazette?
Forty minutes later, he had his answer. When he drove by the old bank building, the Gazette office was dark, which meant Vivian was home. He came to a stoplight and, against his better judgment, pulled up her address on his computer. It wouldn’t take more than ten minutes to run by her place and make sure all was well.
Ryan took a left and headed toward Bristol Circle. A blanket of stars covered the sky. This kind of cosmic beauty was absent beneath the glaring city lights of DC. Sure, the Metro had its own kind of historic richness, but he would miss this if he left. The quietness of Walton was what the rest of the world was missing, right? He didn’t have to chase any dreams because he was happy here. Content.
If that were true, then why was he still holding on to a handful of offers? Ryan had officially turned down a few, including the one from Breckenstone Security, but he hadn’t been able to reject the ones from the FBI, CIA, and another private security firm outside of Bethesda. Why?
His thoughts kept rounding back to Sheriff Huggins’s counsel. Was he using his family as an excuse not to leave Walton? The sheriff had been right about his mom and Frankie. They were both doing fine—better than fine, otherwise Ryan never would’ve left for Quantico when the opportunity to attend ATRT training came up. That meant his hesitancy could be the result of only one thing . . . or person. His father.
Ryan never understood what it was his father craved, only that it had taken him away. How many years had passed with Ryan sitting at the front window of their house waiting for him to return? Except he never did. Ryan figured his father had found whatever he had been chasing after, and it was better than his life there in Walton with his family.
Even if part of Ryan still hungered to fulfill his dream of protecting the nation, his father’s actions overshadowed it. His father had chased after a dream to the detriment of his family. Ryan sighed as he turned onto Bristol Circle. Was Vivian doing the same thing? Only her chase was to the detriment of her safety?
Porch lights illuminated homes settled in for the night. A child’s bike left out, a dog barking to be let inside, trash cans pushed to the curb—everything looked normal. As it should. He passed Pecca’s home and slowed when he arrived at the end of the cul-de-sac, where 1996 Bristol Circle was dark. A BMW parked in the driveway assured Ryan that Vivian was home. And probably asleep.
He was about to head home when a flash of light caught his attention. Ryan put his car in park, rolled down his window, and flipped on his spotlight, directing the bright beam onto the cottage home.
The sound of chirping crickets filled the night air. Whatever he thought he’d seen was gone. He pressed the button for his window when a muffled scream pierced the air. Vivian!
Ryan jumped out of his car and raced up her driveway. “Dispatch, 10-67 at 1996 Bristol Circle.”
The sound of crashing glass lured him onto the front porch. He drew his weapon and held it up, then pulled out a flashlight. “Hello, Vivian? It’s Deputy Frost. What’s going on?”
“Help, please!”
Ryan’s pulse jumped. He tried the front door, but it was locked. “Vivian?”
Her scream echoed, and he kicked his foot into the door. The wood splintered beneath his boot, sending the door flying open and crashing against the wall.
“What did you do?” Vivian asked.
Ryan’s gun and flashlight trained on Vivian, who was holding a frying pan in one hand and a can of spray in the other. He quickly lowered his gun but kept his flashlight on the shocked expression staring back at him. “Are you okay?”
“Yes.” Her eyes flashed to the door barely hanging on to the hinges. “What did you do to my door?”
“I heard you scream for help.” His heart was pounding. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Yes, I’m fine.”
Ryan’s brow furrowed in frustration. He radioed back to dispatch an all clear and then studied Vivian. “Why are you screaming? Why is it dark in here? And what are you doing with those? Are they your weapons or something?”
“Weapons?” She looked at the items in her hands. “Oh. Yeah. I need them to protect me from the monster hiding in the bedroom.”
Monster? Ryan passed the beam of his flashlight over Vivian’s eyes. “Have you been drinking?”
“No, I haven’t been drinking.” She mocked him. “There really is a monster in the bedroom.”
Ryan holstered his weapon, the tension he felt seconds ago lingering. “What are you talking about?”
Yeowwwl.
Ryan aimed his flashlight in the direction of the hair-raising yelp. “What was that?”
Vivian lifted up the pan and spray defensively while stepping closer to Ryan. “I don’t know,” she half whispered, half hissed. “When I came home, the lights wouldn’t turn on and I heard a noise. I screamed. It ran.”
“Where?”
“Down there.” She used the frying pan to point in the direction of the hallway. “In one of the bedrooms.”
“The first thing we need to do is get the lights back on. I’m going to check the circuit breaker.”
“And leave me by myself with that . . . that thing?”
Vivian pressed closer into him and he wanted nothing more than to stay right there in the dark with her. But he stopped his thoughts before he latched on to an improbable possibility.
“If we both leave, whatever’s in the bedroom might take off or find a new place to hide. Do you want to play hide-and-seek with it tonight by yourself?”
“No. Definitely not.”
“Okay, so you stay here with this.” He handed her his flashlight. “And I’ll go flip the switch so we can see what we’re dealing with.”
“What if he tries to escape?”
He looked at her and was instantly reminded of his sister’s favorite Disney movie, Tangled. “Nail him with the frying pan, Rapunzel.”
Vivian told him where to find the electrical box, so Ryan stepped out of the house and through the side door into the garage. With a simple flip of the main switch, the lights in the house lit up. Now to figure out what kind of monster Vivian had trapped inside the house.
“Hurry, I think I heard it move.”
Vivian stood in front of him in a tank top and running shorts, her long hair swept into a messy ponytail and her hand wielding a weapon of . . . “Is that hair spray?”
She lowered her arm. “Yes. It’s all I had.”
“You were going to knock it out and then do its hair?”
“No.” She stuck out her lip defiantly. “Spray it in the eyes so I could run away.”
Scratching and another hideously loud screech made Vivian cover her ears. Ryan started down the hallway, listening to the hissing coming from the first bedroom. He reached in and let his fingers play against the wall until he found the light switch. Flipping it on, he caught movement at the edge of the mattress. He dropped to his knees and looked under the bed. The baleful eyes of a cat glared at him.
Vivian had discarded her weapons and leaned forward, but not close enough that she couldn’t bolt if the monster charged. “What is it?”
“A cat. Feral by the sounds of it.” Ryan squatted back on his haunches. “How did it get in here?”
Ryan reached for his baton and extended it.
“You’re not going to hit it with that, are you?”
He swung his gaze over his shoulder. “This coming from the woman ready to crack its skull with a cast iron skillet?”
“That was before I knew it was a cat. Poor thing is just scared.”
“I’m not going to hit it,” Ryan said as he stood up. “I’m going to make some noise and hopefully scare it out of the room. Go open the front door and then stand in the hall so it doesn’t dart into another part of the house.”
Vivian frowned. “Maybe I should be the one chasing it out of the room.”
“No, I don’t want you to get bit.”
“Good call.” Vivian looked down the hall. “Just give me a second and I’ll tell you when I’m ready.”
Ryan kept his eye on the cantankerous cat and waited until he heard Vivian call out to him.
“Ready.”
Ryan tapped his baton on the floor. For every step he took around the room, the cat moved farther under the bed in the direction of the door and freedom.
“Hey, kitty-kitty. Time for you to leave.”
The cat hissed, ears back and teeth exposed.
Tap-tap-tap.
The cat inched out from under the bed.
“Get ready,” Ryan said before he tapped his baton quickly against the floor and took a quick step toward the cat, sending it scurrying out of the bedroom and down the hall.
“Aghhh!”
Ryan hurried out of the room to see Vivian high-stepping onto a chair with a seat cushion from the couch positioned in front of her like a shield.
“What? Where did it go? Did it leave?”
“Yes! Yes! Out the door!”
“Then why didn’t you shut the door?”
“I didn’t want to get bit.”
Ryan closed the front door and returned to Vivian. He held his hand up to her. “Aw, poor thing is just scared.”
Vivian arched her eyebrows. “You better be referring to that cat, Deputy,” she said, taking his hand. She stepped down from the chair and tossed the seat cushion onto the couch. “You’re sure that thing isn’t coming back?”
“One second.” Ryan slipped his baton back into his belt and faked a call into dispatch. “10-91a. Resident safe. Animal chased into hiding by frying pan and can of”—he found the can of hairspray—“Aqua Net.”
Vivian’s mouth gaped. “You’re awful, you know that?”
Ryan smirked. “It’s fine. We get RFI calls all the time.”
“RFIs?”
“Rabid Feline Intrusion.”
“You think it was rabid?”
It was impossible not to laugh. Vivian tried to look mad, but her scowl slipped into a smile and Ryan liked it. A lot. He needed to go. “So, if you’re fine, I’ll be going.”
“Um, before you leave, would you be willing to check out the rest of the house with me? Make sure there aren’t any more unwanted pets lurking beneath beds or hiding in closets?”
“Sure.”
Vivian followed him through the small two-bedroom, one-bath home, finding nothing else save for dust bunnies and a hole in the master bedroom’s window screen.
“That’s most likely how the cat got into the house. I’ve got some extra screen at my place. I’d be happy to fix it, make sure you don’t get any late-night visitors.”
She shuddered. “That would be great. Thank you.”
“Tomorrow? Before the games?”
“Games?”
Ryan swallowed. He’d seen the hesitation in Vivian’s expression when Pecca had invited her, but he really thought she’d go. Hoped. “Game night?”
“Oh, yeah.” Hesitation clouded her eyes again.
“You don’t have to go, ya know. Pecca will understand. I mean, she’ll probably be angry for a couple of weeks. Avoid you. Spread rumors and such, but—”
“She will not.”
Ryan smiled. “No, she won’t. But she’ll definitely corner you and demand to know why you turned down a night with the likes of me. And . . . I did save you from a rabid monster.”
Vivian’s lips slipped into that smile that made his pulse sprint. She leaned against the doorframe. “I’ll be ready tomorrow and if you show up to fix my screen, I won’t turn you away.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He tipped his hat. “I won’t be late.” He turned on his heel and forced himself to be cool. But coolness went out the window the second he got into the safety of his dark squad car. Grinning like a fool, he tapped his fists triumphantly against the steering wheel, completely ignoring the teeny-tiny warning in the back of his head telling him that chasing a woman like Vivian DeMarco might be detrimental to his heart.