Читать книгу Trusting Ryan - Tara Quinn Taylor - Страница 10

CHAPTER FIVE

RYAN GOT UP in time to make it to the meeting with Scott Markovich. The kid, fearing that his stepfather would hurt his mother if he was in detention and not there to protect her, admitted that the woman had been home the afternoon the bastard had come after Scott in a way a man should never come at a boy.

She’d been drinking since early morning and had been plastered enough that her husband thought he could get away with a little on the side with her son.

He’d miscalculated Scott’s determination never to be touched that way again.

He’d also overestimated his wife’s stupor. She’d come into the room soon enough to keep Scott from killing the son of a bitch.

And she’d promised him that from that moment forward she would never, ever let another drop of alcohol pass her lips.

Scott believed her.

Ryan didn’t. As much as Scott wasn’t going to like it at first, being separated from his mother was the best thing that could happen to the boy. There was a relative, an aunt on his father’s side, who desperately wanted him.

None of that was Ryan’s business, however. His business here was almost done. A report to the prosecutor and he was out.

Another job done. A successful outcome this time.

Not something he ever took for granted.

Just as he didn’t take for granted the woman who, on Saturday night, he was once again holding in his arms.

Not because he wanted to, but because he had to. His sudden need for Audrey was not something he was comfortable with. It didn’t fit at all with his life plan. With his self-concept.

But one thing he’d learned in life—sometimes the things least understood were the most important.

“Thank you,” she said now, her voice sleepy.

“For what?” They’d been talking for more than an hour, lying there naked in his bed, the covers up around their waists.

They’d been in bed almost three hours.

“For Scott.”

He shrugged. “It’s my job.”

“Maybe.”

There was no maybe about it.

“But there’s something different about you. Something that makes you, I don’t know, more accessible. I don’t think Scott would have talked to anyone else. He’s not very trusting of cops. As a rule, every time they’ve come around, his life has been painfully disrupted.”

Because of his mother’s drinking. And because when he’d reported his stepfather’s earlier abuse, there hadn’t been enough solid evidence to charge the man with anything. And now, when Scott had been defending himself from a horror that must have seemed worse than death to him, he’d been arrested and detained on charges of manslaughter.

They were all doing their jobs. Enforcing laws that were in place to protect society, the people. So why was it so often that the victims were the ones who had the fewest rights?

With a brief flash of his birth mother, and a briefer one of his birth father—a man Ryan still struggled to accept for so many reasons on so many levels—Ryan said, “I think maybe my age helped us out this time. Most times it’s the other way around.”

He could say this here, to her. She’d understand. Audrey must have to fight many of the same battles he did, having so much responsibility, being capable of a maturity that was uncommon at such a young age.

Being forced into it by life’s lessons.

Maybe someday, he’d even be able to tell her about the circumstances surrounding his conception.

Maybe someday. Not today. Other than a few brief conversations with the parents who’d raised him, Ryan hadn’t talked about that particular case since they’d solved it the year before. Not even to the biological grandfather who was a law-enforcement icon in this state.

“How would your age have had anything to do with Scott’s ability to trust you?” She turned onto her back, her head in the crook of his shoulder, pulling his hands around her to rest across the flatness of her belly.

“Maybe it doesn’t. I just figured I’m probably closer to his age than any other detective he’s had to deal with. I figured that might have helped him relate to me a little bit.”

Her skull dug into his flesh as she turned to look up at him, grinning. “What, they give out some kind of memo at the office listing detectives’ exact ages?” she asked.

“No.” Suddenly Ryan wasn’t feeling so good. Surely she knew…he just assumed she knew. Everyone seemed to.

Shit. What if she didn’t know? His skin grew cold. Clammy. Worse than when he’d been facing that freaked-out druggie with the sawed-off shotgun the previous month.

“Then why would you say that?” she asked again. He could tell, from the frown marring her brow, the confusion in her gaze, that she was catching on to something.

And had no idea what.

Disentangling himself as gently, but as quickly, as possible, Ryan stood, skipping underwear as he pulled on his jeans and zipped them.

Surely this wouldn’t be a big deal. She’d only be what, two, maybe three years older than he was, assuming she went straight from college to law school?

Suddenly the budding relationship he’d been fighting against became something he had to have. No matter what. And another one of life’s little lessons became personal. Only by losing something—or facing its possible loss—did you realize its worth to you.

“You haven’t heard them telling the jokes about the detective in diapers?” he asked, scrambling for words.

“Nooo.” She drew the word out, sitting up and pulling the covers to her chin. “Exactly how old are you, Ryan?”

“How old do you think I am?” Now that was a mature reply. Fresh out of junior high.

“I don’t know. I thought early thirties. So…what…you’re twenty-eight, twenty-nine? That’s young for a full detective. And I guess it could make you seem more accessible to a kid Scott’s age.”

Ryan didn’t lie. Or prevaricate. Or play games. He lived life by the rules. All of them.

If you didn’t, people got hurt.

He was also a risk taker. Came with the cop territory.

He’d just never known such stark fear before when taking one.

“I’m twenty-two.”

He faced her, an unarmed firing squad of one, and knew by the look on her face as soon as he said the words that he’d risked as much as he’d feared—and lost.

AT FIRST AUDREY THOUGHT he was joking. He had to be. She was not spending the weekend in bed with a twenty-two-year-old boy. Someone had paid him to say that. Except that Ryan wasn’t the type to play mean games—not even for money. Especially not for money. If there was one thing she was sure of, it was that Ryan Mercedes could not be bought.

“Say something.” He wasn’t laughing.

He wasn’t even smiling.

Nor did he look nonchalant, as though he was playing with her. In fact, he looked about as sick as she was beginning to feel. Sick, and scared.

And young.

Oh, God, what had she done?

“You’re twenty-two.” How could her voice sound like her when she’d just become someone she didn’t know at all?

“Twenty-three in a little over seven months.”

A young twenty-two. Not even twenty-two and a half. With numbers running quickly through her head, she stared at him, horrified.

Suddenly the sparseness of his apartment was no longer admirable. It screamed at her of youth and college and just starting out. The new patio furniture didn’t make her feel warm and wanted, but rather, as though she’d come to a tea party with a child.

And lying there, naked in his bed, she felt like a sex offender. What would this young man’s mother think of her?

She had to get up. Get dressed. Get out. Except that she didn’t want him to see her naked. At twenty-two Ryan would be used to young, nubile, completely firm and unmarked coeds.

Audrey had cellulite.

And what in the hell did that matter?

She did not want to attract this kid. Didn’t want him interested in her. At all. It was gross. She was gross.

Besides, he’d already seen it all.

When tears sprang to her eyes, she wanted to die.

“Hey, Audrey, it’s not a big deal.” With her eyes closed against the wetness still squeezing its way out of them to slide down her cheeks, Audrey almost gave in to that voice.

It had been the highlight of her life for weeks. It had brought her to life all weekend long, speaking to her of needs and a beauty that transcended all the trash their jobs brought to them. She’d responded to it like a flower to rain.

“Sweetie…”

Her heart calmed at the word. Knew a second of peace. Everything was going to be all right.

Then the bed dipped beneath his weight.

And she waited to feel the touch of his fingers on her face. Her neck. Needed to feel his heart beating beneath her cheek, his arms around her, keeping her safe…

No!

No! No! No! No! No!

“Stop!” The scream was shrill. Not a sound she’d ever heard come out of her mouth before. “Don’t come any closer.” The tone was softer, but no less foreign.

“Come on, babe, it’s not as if…”

Audrey’s eyes flew open. Wide open. She held up a hand, silencing him. She knew now. Couldn’t get sucked in by that deep, reassuring tone. The sense of confidence. How could she possibly find emotional safety and security with a twenty-two-year-old child?

Or almost child, she had to amend as she looked at the man sitting on the edge of the bed, concern shadowing his gaze. Concern and a caring so deep she almost couldn’t breathe.

She knew the breadth of that chest intimately. Knew the strength in the bones and sinews. The gentleness and passion in his…

No! What in the hell was the matter with her?

His lack of chest hair wasn’t genetic as she’d assumed. It was a symptom of youth. He hadn’t grown any yet!

Good thing she knew where the bathroom was. She might need to make a dash for it if the nausea attacking her got any worse.

They’d showered together in there that morning. He’d soaped her back and breasts and…

“Don’t babe me,” she said with more strength in her voice. And some venom, too.

“You’re angry.” He sounded surprised, was sitting there wearing the most heart-wrenching frown. Compelling her to smooth it away with her fingers, followed by a kiss…

What was she? His damn mother? Needing to take care of his woes?

“Damn straight I’m angry.” Audrey swung out of bed with a heave worthy of a football team, taking the covers with her. She would not expose her old body to his young gaze again.

Ever.

How embarrassing. Humiliating.

Wrong.

“Why? I don’t get it.” He followed her around the bed to where her clothes were scattered all over the floor. Helped her pick them up.

She snatched her bra from his fingers with a sharp “Give me that.” He shook his head.

“What’s a few years’ difference in age, Audrey? We’re still the same people who’ve been making love in that bed for most of the past twenty-four hours.”

How dare he remind her of that? Especially now?

“A few years?” she screamed at him. Where had that voice come from? Taking a deep breath, she finished a little more calmly, “That’s what you call it?”

“Last time I looked a few’s three to four,” he said, standing between her and the door—deliberately, she suspected. “I figure at the most we’re looking at five or six, so if you want to split hairs and worry about semantics, then it’s one or two more than a few.”

His voice had lost some of its tenderness, though she detected no anger. Just distance. He was transforming from lover to detective again. From child to man. Audrey stared at him. She couldn’t help it.

She had to leave. Had to get away and pretend this weekend never happened. To somehow rescue her heart from the debacle she’d created.

She started to laugh incredulously.

“Five or six years?” she asked, her voice, shaky with tears, still sharp. “That’s what you think?”

He slid his hands into the pockets of his jeans. A child his age had no right to look so damned mature doing that.

So damned sexy.

“Yeah,” he said with another frown. “You just took the bar exam. On average, a person graduates from college at twenty-one or -two, then does three years of law school. That puts him at twenty-five. But as smart as you are, and being a workaholic, I figured you probably didn’t take five years to do your undergrad, so there’s a good chance you were twenty or twenty-one when you finished your undergrad and twenty-three or -four out of law school, which made the difference in our ages not that great.”

He’d given the matter a lot of thought. She didn’t really understand why the notion calmed her, but she welcomed the respite. However brief it might turn out to be.

“I graduated from college at twenty,” she told him, not sure her delivery carried the power she intended as she stood there trailing sheets and a blanket over her naked torso. “At which time I followed my mother’s dictates and worked for her until I had saved enough money to attend law school without any help from her. She’d told me she would disown me if I made a decision so obviously not right for me.”

Ryan’s shoulders straightened. Tensed. His entire body seemed to be on alert. As though he were walking into a robbery in progress. “How long did it take you to save up for law school?”

“You can’t work your first year in law school, did you know that?”

His eyes narrowed. “No.”

“I had to save a couple of years’ living expenses, as well as tuition and books…”

“But you were working for the boss, so you made a lot.” There was nothing childlike about the alert man standing before her. Nothing young or immature about the commanding tone of voice, almost as though he could will the truth to be what he needed it to be.

“My mother insisted I start out at the bottom and earn my way up just like everyone else. Character building, she said.”

She almost felt sorry for him. Except that she had to stay angry to survive this. And to figure out a way to exit with dignity.

Or, more importantly, with finality.

She just wasn’t sure who she was mad at. Herself or him. She hadn’t known. She’d assumed.

And so, apparently, had he.

Suddenly Audrey was exhausted. Needed to get this over and done with. Needed to get outside his world and find herself again.

To reassure herself that she was still there.

Intact.

That she hadn’t made a mistake that would change the rest of her life.

“I’m thirty-five, Ryan.” Her words were crisp and clear. All business. “Thirteen years older than you. Almost old enough to be your mother.”