Читать книгу Trusting Ryan - Tara Quinn Taylor - Страница 7

CHAPTER TWO

AUDREY DIDN’T WAIT around for his call. And only checked her cell phone so many times Sunday evening because she gave the number to all her clients, and if a child needed her, tomorrow could be too late.

It wasn’t Ryan’s fault she’d bared her soul like an idiot the night before. He had no way of knowing she’d shared with him more than she’d ever told anyone.

She’d come across like some pathetic victim, instead of the strong and healthy woman she’d become.

With the hundred-year-old hardwood floors of her Victorian-style cottage shining, she put away the cleaning supplies she’d hauled out and went upstairs to the treadmill. And half an hour later, panting and sweaty, headed across the hall to her home office—the only other room upstairs—and read over her files for the next day.

When everyone else in the world was relaxing, watching television, reading, napping, Audrey worked.

The kids whose lives seemed reduced to files of unfortunate facts, whose parents, for a variety of reasons, were unable to parent effectively, called out to her. They were always calling out to her.

Kaylee Grady. Date of birth, 9/29/04. That made her four years old. Audrey looked through the documents of the new case she had an initial meeting on the following morning.

Kelsey Grady. Date of birth, 9/29/04.

Twins.

Lifting the cover page, she studied the picture underneath. They were identical. Blond. With chubby cheeks—and far too serious eyes. Their parents had been killed in a car accident during a blizzard the previous February. There’d been no will. And the family was fighting over custody. They wanted to split up the girls to satisfy members from both sides.

“Over my dead body.” Audrey’s voice, usually a comfort, sounded loud in the gabled room. Loud and lonely.

And she glanced at the cell phone she’d carried up with her. Nothing. No missed calls. No messages.

She didn’t blame him for not calling.

The cuckoo clock in the family room downstairs of her 1920s, whitewashed home chirped eight times. Not meaning to, Audrey counted every one, and then knew what time it was. A piece of information she’d purposely been denying herself.

It was just that, last night, she and Ryan had crossed into new territory. Hadn’t they?

That of friends, trusted friends. Or something. It wasn’t as though they were kids, playing the dating game. They were mature adults. Getting to know each other. Sharing a moment in time.

A phone call would have been nice. That was all.

HE WAS STILL working the eleven-to-seven shift. Not because he had to—no, Ryan Mercedes had all the right contacts in all the right places, whether he wanted them or not. He was on the night shift for one reason only.

A selfish reason.

Working nights allowed him to keep his distance from everyone in his life. Having to sleep when family gatherings happened, when an old school mate suggested going out for beers, anytime he was issued an invitation that got a little bit too close, he could always bow out with the excuse that he was working.

The night shift let him operate in a different world. A world where everyone slept—except those few who were working as well, or those who took advantage of others’ sleep to commit crimes against them.

The downside was, when he came off shift Monday morning, he was completely exhausted and wired at the same time. He’d been awake all day Sunday having dinner with his birth parents—he hadn’t seen two-month-old Marcus Ryan in over a week, and his biological cousin, Jordon, a fatherless young man Ryan had met the previous summer who seemed to gravitate to him, had been visiting from Cleveland. Then he’d visited his adoptive parents to watch the Reds game on television with his dad.

He hadn’t been to bed since Saturday night. And that session hadn’t contained his most restful sleep with the continuous interruptions of vivid dreams of a certain lady in the bed with him.

He’d never had a woman in his bed at the condo. Never had a woman in his bed, period.

So why was one suddenly appearing there, uninvited?

He wanted to think she was unwanted, but his body wouldn’t let him go quite that far.

He settled for…uninvited.

And still, nearly thirty-six hours after she’d left his apartment, he was thinking about her.

He was on shift again that night, Ryan reminded himself as he drove slowly through the streets of Westerville, cell phone in hand. Two kids were waiting for the school bus on the corner of Cleveland Avenue and Homeacres Drive. Usually there were three. The shorter girl was missing.

Ryan made a mental note to take the same route home tomorrow. And the next day. If the girl was still missing by the end of the week, he’d stop and ask about her.

In the meantime, he had to sleep. And sleep well. He couldn’t do his job on adrenaline alone. His instincts wouldn’t be as sharp. Lives could be at risk.

He had to get some rest.

“Hello?”

Her number was on speed dial only because a couple of her clients were under his investigation.

“Audrey? Is this a bad time? Did I wake you?”

Seven-thirty in the morning was early to some people.

“Of course not. I’ve been up a couple of hours.”

Well, then… “Are you at work? With someone? Should I call another time?”

“No, Ryan.” She chuckled. “This time is fine. I don’t have to be in court until ten-thirty this morning, and my breakfast meeting canceled.”

Canceled. She was free for breakfast. Unexpectedly. The thought of asking her to meet him somewhere for a quick bite sent alarm signals up his spine. Where was the harm in two friends having breakfast?

They both had to eat.

“So what’s up?” she asked, bringing to his attention the length of time he’d let lapse while he blubbered over the idea of asking her out to eat.

Shifting in his seat, adjusting the pistol digging into his thigh beneath the brown tweed sports jacket he wore, Ryan thought about the case he’d been working on for most of the night.

Focused on the life he’d chosen to live.

The juvenile who’d beaten his stepfather to a pulp, claiming that it was self-defense. He’d claimed some other pretty horrendous things, too.

Reviewing four hours of witness testimony, tapes, doctors’ reports and police records had netted Ryan no more than they already had.

“The prosecutor’s going to charge Markovich.”

“No way.” He heard the drop in her voice and felt as if he’d failed not only the fifteen-year-old boy whom he’d believed, but Audrey, too.

“The kid’s testimony has too many holes,” he said. “He contradicts himself on four separate occasions.”

“But there’s a doctor’s report that proves he was molested.”

“At some point in his life. Not necessarily by his stepfather.”

“He nearly killed the man, Ryan. A fifteen-year-old kid, especially one as sensitive as Scott, doesn’t suddenly get violent unless something pretty vile is going to happen to him.”

“I know.” He was missing something. He just didn’t know what. “But it’s not my job to be the lawyer,” he reminded himself as much as her. “I check out the facts, make the arrests, collect the evidence, then I’m done.”

“You aren’t, though, are you?” The soft question surprised him.

And then it didn’t. He’d called her, hadn’t he?

“No,” he admitted. “The kid’s lying about something, but not about why he unhinged on his stepfather, I’m sure of it. Unless I can find out what else is going on, the kid’s going back to detention. Maybe for a long, long time.”

“They aren’t charging him as an adult, are they?”

Ryan wasn’t sure. But he’d heard a rumor that they might. He let his silence answer for him.

And because he’d called to escape the sometimes hell of his job, he asked another question that had been plaguing him on and off for more than a week.

“Why do you relate so much to The Mirror Has Two Faces?”

The woman was gorgeous. Not only the classic beauty of long blonde hair, long legs, great figure and big brown eyes, but also the sensitivity that shone through those eyes, especially in one so young, the job she’d chosen to do when, with her law degree, she could be making a mint, made her irresistible.

As a friend only, of course.

“I don’t know.”

It was one of those “I don’t know”s. The kind that really meant, “I don’t want to tell you.”

“I think you do.”

“Maybe.”

“So tell me.”

Another long pause.

“I told you why I like Bruce Almighty.”

“Because you have power envy.”

The more commonly used p-word in that phrase sprang immediately to mind, and Ryan was grateful that Audrey couldn’t read his thoughts.

Glad, too, that they were on the phone and not where she could see the reaction hearing her voice was having on that p part of his anatomy.

Turning, he pulled into the parking lot of his complex. Parked in the covered lot and headed around to his door. His place was only a one-bedroom, but it was two stories with a private patio that looked out over a golf course.

“So why do you?” Delilah, the cat he had because he was gone too much to have a dog, wrapped herself around his legs as he let himself in and dropped his keys on the table by the front door.

“Why do I have power envy?” she asked, the amusement in her voice sending another surge of blood beneath his fly.

With Delilah under one arm, like the football he’d never carried in high school, Ryan entered the kitchen, looking for the opened can of tuna in the fridge.

“Why do you relate to The Mirror Has Two Faces?”

“You’re like a dog with a bone, you know that?”

“Yeah.”

“Don’t you ever get sidetracked?”

“Not often.”

Delilah munched from the can. Ryan snagged a chunk of the white fishy meat, dropped it in a bowl and looked for the mayonnaise. Not bacon and eggs, but it would do.

“I’m waiting,” he said.

“What are you doing?”

“Eating.”

“Eating what?”

“I’m not telling you until you tell me why you identify with that movie.”

“Fine.” The word was clipped, but her tone wasn’t nearly aggrieved enough to convey any real irritation. “I’ve always thought that kind of relationship would be perfect.”

“What kind? The kind where they end up dancing in the street?”

“No.” Her voice had quieted. Lost the playfulness. “I’d love to have a best friend, a significant other, someone to come home to, without messing everything up with sex.”

Not what he’d expected to hear. Where was his opportunity to tell her that she was gorgeous? That she had no reason to think herself anything but beautiful? It was all about what you saw in the mirror, right? The way you see yourself, as opposed to how others see you.

“So get a roommate.”

“Roommates leave. Get married. I want a lifetime companion.”

He couldn’t believe she meant that. “A sexless one.” Hell, everyone knew that part of the movie was crazy. Even the stars of the movie found that out.

It didn’t work. Couldn’t work. Unless maybe one of the parties was gay…

“At least one where the relationship isn’t based on sex,” she said slowly, as though choosing her words with great care. “If, after we’ve lived together for a while, we decide we want to do that some time, that would be fine. As long as we both want it. And it isn’t a big deal one way or the other.”

The woman was nuts. Sex, not a big deal? She couldn’t really expect any guy with blood in his veins to live with someone as beautiful as she was and not burn up with a need to make love with her. Could she?

“So you’d do it once?” he asked, out of morbid curiosity. “Or do it once in a while?”

“I don’t know.” She drew the statement out. “That’s the whole point. Whether we ever did it or not wouldn’t matter. If we both wanted to, we could. If one of us didn’t want to, no big deal. The relationship would be based on mutual respect. Trust. Great conversation. Just enjoying being together.”

If one of us didn’t want to. Alarms went off in Ryan’s head. The kind he’d honed to perfection.

“Are you gay?”

The question was inappropriate. Disrespectful. Uncalled for. And not what he’d really wanted to ask at all. He just didn’t know how to find out what he suddenly needed to know.

“No. But that’s a typical guy response.”

“I’m a guy.”

But not a typical one.

“I’m not gay.”

“But you’ve been abused, haven’t you?” He wasn’t pleased with himself, with the words. His tone had lowered enough that maybe she hadn’t heard him.

“If you’re asking if I was raped, the answer’s no.”

Thank God. Thank God in heaven. Shocked at the emotion pricking at the back of his throat, his eyelids, Ryan grabbed a carton of juice from the refrigerator and took a huge swallow.

“But you’ve been in a relationship where you had sex because you felt like you had to.”

“That’s kind of a personal question, don’t you think?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, I told you why I liked the movie. Now I want to know what you’re having for breakfast.”

Fair enough. But he figured they both knew she wasn’t getting off the hook permanently. “Tuna.”

“You made a sandwich?”

“No. Just tuna.”

“With dressing?”

“Nope. Couldn’t find any.”

“You’re eating tuna out of the can.”

“Ate. It’s gone.” Thanks to Delilah. She wasn’t great at sharing.

“And that’s all you’re going to have?”

“I’m on my way to bed,” he reminded her, trying not to remember the images of her that he’d taken to his repose the last time he’d been there.

“What time do you get up?”

“Depends on the day.”

“Today.”

“I’m planning to crash until I wake up. No alarms. Which means I’ll probably make it until around three.” If he was lucky.

If not, he’d be up in an hour. Even with room-darkening curtains he couldn’t lie in bed during the day if he was awake. There was always someone to see, or talk to, who wasn’t available in the middle of the night.

Like the cable company that was supposed to be adding Sportzone to his monthly service—had charged him, but failed to turn on the games.

“You think you’ll want some breakfast then?”

“I’m sure I will.” If you could call stale bread and peanut butter breakfast. He hadn’t been to the grocery store. Saturday nights were usually reserved for that because it was the only time of the week the place wasn’t milling with people.

“I make a mean omelet.”

Ryan’s blood started to pump harder again, all signs of exhaustion taking a hike. Had she just invited him to her place?

“I’m glad to hear that.”

“I have a seven-o’clock meeting tonight, but nothing after court this afternoon. If you’d like to stop by, I could show you my ham-and-cheese.”

“Okay.” Sure. He crossed one scuffed wing-tipped shoe over the other. Nonchalance was called for.

He just had to find some.

“If you want to, that is,” she added in a bit of a rush. “I mean, you’ve provided dinner the past two Saturday nights. I thought I should return the favor.”

He’d ordered pizza.

“That’d be great,” he said with a tight rein on himself. Don’t make anything out of it, Mercedes. The woman’s beautiful. And not interested in sex. Or you. Or she’d be interested in sex.

And he wasn’t interested, either. His obsession with her was a blip. Like the flu.

“It’s not a big deal,” she said. “I mean, I’m just offering one friend to another.”

“Hey, Audrey.” He added a teasing chuckle to his tone—he hoped. “It’s fine. I’m a bachelor. I never say no to homemade food. No strings attached.”

“Good. Fine.” The confidence had returned to her voice. “Say, around five, then?”

Five was fine. That left him seven and a half hours to get his libido under control and forget that he’d ever had one intimate thought about a stunningly desirable guardian ad litem.

He was not the least bit interested in a long term relationship.

And one thing was certain. Audrey Lincoln was not a woman a good man had casual sex with. She was the type of woman he loved.