Chapter 9

She had definitely been followed. When she left the office at seven minutes to seven, she had shaken off what she thought was paranoia and told herself that the unobtrusive-looking brown sedan across the street had nothing to do with her. That had played out for about three miles on the highway.

She had started to breathe easier when she glanced into her rear-view mirror and did not notice the vehicle behind her. But she had done the stupid thing of veering off the main road and taking a shortcut. Now she knew she was being followed. The car was several feet behind her and gaining, very soon, it would be on her bumper.

Swallowing the lump of fear that had lodged inside her throat, she clamped her hand on the steering wheel and tried to reach around the back for her cell phone. Suddenly, remembering she could make the call from her car, she tapped the app on the steering wheel and searched for Michael's number.

"Ry?"

Uttering a sigh of relief when he responded, she glanced up into her rearview mirror to see the vehicle still behind her.

"I think I am being followed."

"Where are you?"

Stifling another sigh of relief that he did not ask unnecessary questions, she looked around for a street sign or marker. "It's a dirt road leading off of the highway."

"You are on your way home?"

"Yes. I made a stop at that international market to get some -"

"I know the place. I am at the precinct, but I will see who is nearby. Can you describe the vehicle?"

"Brown sedan - I cannot see the license plate."

"Can you see the occupants?"

"Two men in the front seat. I cannot see their faces. I noticed the vehicle parked across the street when I was leaving, but I didn't think-"

"It's fine. I have located some officers nearby, and they are on their way. Keep talking to me."

"Thank God," she said feelingly. "I cannot speed up by much because of the loose dirt."

"Which means they cannot go any faster either." He assured her. "I just checked, and their ETA is in five minutes. Shit."

"What is it?"

"I am sorry, Ry. I am operating the phones, and there is a pile up on the intersection-"

"Go on, I'll be fine."

"They should be there shortly. Please call me when they arrive, and keep all your doors locked."

"I will. Thanks."

She hung up and concentrated on driving. Pressing her foot on the accelerator, she urged the vehicle to go faster, ignoring the trembling of her hands on the steering wheel. Where the hell were the officers, and why weren't there any sounds of sirens?

She had just made the left turn when the vehicle behind her burst into speed and, with one complex motion, shoved her into the embankment. The impact was not strong enough to deploy her airbag, pushing her into the ditch.

Shaking off the grogginess and fear, she tried to twist the wheel to the left to move the vehicle back onto the road.

With her heart beating hard inside her chest and her insides turning to liquid, she pressed her foot on the gas, which only managed to dig the wheels into the ice and spin her car further into the ditch.

A quick, furtive glance out her window confirmed what she already suspected. The men were out of their vehicle and approaching hers. Uttering a cry of alarm, she frantically gave the car some more gas, not sure what she was doing.

The black metallic shape in the man's hand gave her the impression that he was carrying a gun and about to finish the job.

"Come on!" She whispered tearfully, trying to move the vehicle and give it some traction against the ice.

Putting the pad of her hand on the horn, she pressed down hard, the sound splitting the stillness of the air and causing her assailants to pause. Using the distraction and still keeping her hand on the horn, she tried again to move the car out of the ditch.

"Move!" she shouted, pressing gas frantically. The vehicle lurched forward and then slid drunkenly back into the hole. She felt helpless as she realized the men were approaching again.

The air was suddenly split by the sound of sirens, and the men turned around and ran for their vehicles. Letting go of the steering wheel, Ryleigh leaned back against the padded seat and closed her eyes, her entire body trembling.

*****

Micheal rose slowly as the man came striding into the waiting room, a grim expression on his face. "Well?" he demanded curtly, without a proper greeting, but Michael had not expected any civilities under the circumstances.

He was shaken to the core and still trembling from the impact of the news and the near miss. The officers he had sent to her rescue had called an ambulance even though she insisted she was okay and had told him where they found her.

"She is being examined. I am Michael-"

"I know who you are. Thanks for calling."

"Of course." He watched as Flynn Zimmermann strode over to stare out the window and noticed the knot of tension in his stance.

"Who is responsible?" The harsh voice had Michael cringing for a second.

"We are not certain. The sirens scared them off."

Flynn turned to look at him. "Them?"

Forcing himself not to flinch from the man's glittering eyes, he nodded. "Ry called while she was going home and told me someone was following her. She described the vehicle but could only distinguish two men in the front seat. She was unable to see the license plate."

"Does this have anything to do with the case she is working on? Maurice Daley?" Michael shrugged restlessly. "I am not certain."

"What about tire impressions?"

"The ground is icy, and they could not come up with any."

"Where is this bastard now? And what are you doing about this?"

"We cannot tie -" Michael almost sighed in relief as the door was pushed open, and two doctors entered the room.

"How is she?" he asked the more senior of the two.

"Not suffering from a concussion, thank goodness. Just a few cuts and bruises on her face and torso, and she wants to go home."

"The baby?" Flynn clipped.

"Ah, yes." The man cleared his throat and straightened his shoulders as he recognized who it was. "The fetal heartbeat is strong. We did a thorough examination and spoke with her doctor. Everything is fine."

"Are you releasing her?"

"She is insisting on going home."

"I will take her." The tone of his voice left no room for argument, and Michael nodded.

"I will just go and talk to her for a minute."

"Do that," Flynn told him curtly.

*****

"How angry is he?"

"Let's just say that I would not want to be those two men who tried to get rid of you earlier." Dragging a chair towards the bed, he sat and examined her face. "You don't look the worst for wear. Now," He took her hands in his. "Now, suppose you tell me what the hell is going on? I thought you dropped Daley's case."

Her eyes shied away from his to stare at the plain cream wall of the private room. "Not quite."

Her eyes flew back to his face as he took out a breath. "So, Daley is trying to make a point."

"Some point," she muttered. "I dug up some new evidence against him, and we have a new witness."

Michael stared at her so long that she started to fidget. "What?"

"Your one-track mind is going to be the death of you."

"Thanks." She mumbled.

"The man is dangerous."

"I already know that."

"And still, you persist in trying to get an arrest and conviction. Is it ego or just you doing your job?" he asked her bluntly.

"What do you think?" She flared.

"I don't know what to think. This guy is serious to the point of sending men after you.

Who is this person who is brave or foolish enough to want to come out and testify against him?"

"His former girlfriend. She wants revenge."

"I see." He stared at her for another few humming seconds. "Has she been compromised?"

"She said he has been around more than usual and asking strange questions."

"Then the answer to that is yes. Have you called her recently?"

"No. Considering that I was almost sent to my death and was rushed to the hospital, I have been swamped. And I hope that in doing your ‘duty, ' you did not call my mother."

He grinned at her. "No. I just made one call."

"Why did you?"

"Because it seems like things are heating up between you two."

"It's not."

He just sent her a look that spoke volumes. "The man striding into the waiting room is far from being just someone uninvolved. He is very involved, and I am sure he will have much to say when he gets you all to himself."

A shiver found its way up and down her spine. "I need to go home."

"He is waiting to take you." Rising, he pulled her up with him and against him as he hugged her fiercely. "Don't frighten me like that again," he said gruffly.

"I will try my best." She hugged him back.

*****

But Michael was wrong. The drive from the hospital to her place was accomplished in absolute silence.

Aside from enquiring how she was feeling when he entered the room, he did not say anything else to her. She supposed it was his way of making her feel like utter crap, and it was working. She found herself wishing he would turn the music on to fill the silence in the vehicle.

But one look at his granite face warned her that saying anything would set him off. Settling back, she turned her head to stare out at the passenger side of the vehicle. The shock of being the victim or almost a victim of intended violence had not set in yet.

She refused to think about what had happened and had put it at the back of her mind for now. The roadway was slick and shiny from the rain that had fallen earlier to wash away the snow accumulated over the last two weeks. A glance at her watch showed it was almost eleven P.M., yet the traffic was still heavy.

Her eyes snapped open when he turned to take them to her neighborhood. She just wanted to sleep and try to forget what happened, but something told her that would not occur.

She was pushing the car door when he came around and opened it, taking her arm firmly. Securing the vehicle, he guided her up the steps and onto the porch, waiting until she had disengaged the alarm before pushing the door open.

"Would you like some tea?" His deep voice was scrupulously polite as if two strangers were meeting for the first time.

"Yes. Thanks." she would have refused, but her stomach felt queasy, and the dizziness started.

"I will bring it up."

"I don't mind-"

"Go upstairs." She saw the tight leash he had put on his temper, slipping slightly, and decided not to argue.

Without another word, she made her way up the stairs.

Flynn waited until she cleared the stairs before turning on his heels and entering the kitchen. His movements were jerky and uncoordinated as he filled the kettle and slammed it onto the grill.

When he received the call, he had been talking on the phone with an associate who was tying up a business deal. He had cut the man off without warning or apology.

At the hospital, he had felt the acute fear gnawing at him and the helpless rage surging through his body. She was still pursuing the son of a bitch, even though he had ordered her not to.

She was still trying to be a fricking hero at what cost? Dragging the cupboard door open, he took a selected mint and tore at the package. She could have been killed, had come close to being murdered, and all because she had some misguided notion that it was her duty to clean up the scum off the earth.

Turning off the flames, he poured the steaming water over the pouch and added a spoon of honey. He was so mad at her that he had no idea what to do and how to behave.

He put the cup on a tray and scrounged around for some saltines, added that, and went upstairs.

She was sitting up in bed with several pillows behind her. She had changed into a peach silk-colored nightgown, her hair bundled on her head. And she looked so vulnerable he almost forgot that he was hopping mad at her. Almost. Marching over, he placed the tray over her lap and moved away to sit on the sofa, facing the bed.

"You sound saltines." picking up the cup, she blew on the tea and took a sip. "Thanks." He nodded curtly, bending down to remove his boots before stretching his feet.

Looking around for something to break the uncomfortable silence, she asked about work. The anger emanating from him could be felt all around the room, but she was not sure she could handle that right now. She was on the verge of tears and was determined not to cry in front of him.

"How was work?" she asked brightly as she picked up a biscuit and started nibbling.

Amber eyes stared at her for a few seconds, their golden gaze making her uncomfortable.

"You want to know about my day?" His voice was soft, deceptively so.

"Yes. You were the one who said we should - we can have a conversation." "Work was great. The specifications for the offices were not up to scratch, and the moldings were not to my liking. The columns-" he paused and stared at her.

"Would you like me to go on? Tell you about wood splicing or the concrete work that had to be redone because of some structural damage. I was in several meetings as well. Would you like to hear about them?"

"Yes." She nodded, forcing a smile on her lips and pretending she did not hear the hint of anger in his deep voice. "What were the meetings about?"

Tugging the black silk sweater over his head, he dropped it carelessly next to him and flexed his shoulders as if trying to eliminate the tension. Her heart jolted at seeing the bulge of muscles in his arms and shoulders. He was still wearing his white undershirt, and the material appeared molded to his flesh.

"One was with my board of directors." He indulged her, of course, just biding his time and wondering if this was something that would serve to diffuse the awful anger he was feeling. "They want more time to decide what to do about the buildings we are trying to acquire."

"And?" She was actually caught up in the discussion, hoping that he would just forget how upset he was.

His thick eyebrows lifted, and just when she thought he would not respond, he did. "We are still trying to sway them to our side. Now, how about we talk about your day?"

"I think we should concentrate on yours. It's-" her voice tailed off as he rose, the catlike grace of his movements mesmerizing her as he approached her.

"Are you finished?" He gestured towards the cup she was holding.

"Er- not quite." She grabbed at it as a diversion. "It's delicious. Just the right amount of honey. Was it one spoon or two?"

He did not deign to respond but sat at her hip, his eyes holding hers. "Finish it."

"It's still hot. It will take some time-"

She stopped when he simply took the cup from her hands and put away the tray.

"How was your day?" he asked softly.

"Look." Taking a deep breath, she shied away from looking at him. "I am feeling tired-"

"How was your day, Ryleigh?" His hand came up, and before she could move, he clamped his fingers on her chin, holding her captive.

"I- it was - You are hurting me." She lied.

"I asked you a question, and no, I am not hurting you. Are you going to answer?"

"You already know." She whispered. "Just - just leave me alone. I am tired."

"I was on a conference call when your friend called me."

"I never asked him to," she said defiantly. "He had no right-"

"He had every right." His fingers tightened on her chin. "I hung up immediately before ending the conversation and almost killed myself getting to the hospital."

"You didn't have to come-" She cried out softly when he yanked her head upwards.

"Who wants you dead? Or should I hazard a guess? You are still working on the case, aren't you?"

"What if I am?" She blazed.

"I specifically asked you to give it up."

"You ordered me to, and I don't answer to you. I-" Her voice tailed off again at the murderous look on his face.

She was about to drag her face away from him when her defenses crumbled. Before his very eyes, he watched as her eyes brightened with tears before they started rolling down her cheeks. Suddenly, his intense anger slipped away, and with a muffled groan, he gathered her into his arms, rocking her as a mother would her baby.

Burying her head in his soft white shirt, she allowed the tears to fall. The shock of the attack rolled over her, and the thought of how near she had come to being murdered made her cry even harder.

"I am sorry." She gulped between tears, her fingers racing over the bunched muscles of his arms and going to his broad shoulders. "I am sorry."

"Hush," he whispered hoarsely, his hands roaming over her back and pressing her against him. He felt the shudder racing through his body at the thought that he could have lost her. The magnitude of that was only just now materializing. Clutching her against his chest, he buried his face in her hair, inhaled her scent, and kissed her neck.

Lifting her face from his chest, Ryleigh stared at him for a second before using her hands to cradle his face. Bringing his head down, she kissed him hungrily, sending white-hot darts of passion straight to the core of him.

"Ryleigh," he whispered hoarsely as he braced her back against the pillows. "Ryleigh-" He untied the string of her nightgown and took it off, hands racing over the bruises on her chest, fingers trembling.

"I am going to kill him for doing this to you," he told her thickly.

"Flynn-" Her hands came up to wander over the hard planes of his face.

"Let me get out of my clothes-"

"You are upset."

"I am mad as hell," he corrected. Slided off the bed, he quickly removed his clothing before lying next to her.

"Make love to me." She whispered.

"Try and stop me." Reaching for her, he brushed back the hairs from her face and leaned over to kiss the dampness from her cheeks. His lips were tender, his large body half on top of her. He was already hard and bursting with desire. But she was still bruised, and he was going to have to take his time, even if it killed him.

Sliding his arms around her, he settled her on top of him, amber eyes blazing with passion. "We shouldn't-"

"Yes." Solving the problem, she reached between them, her fingers curling around his erection. Sliding down on the thick heat of him, she arched her body as he drove in deep.

"It feels so good," she whispered, her fingers curling into his chest hairs.

His hands settled on her hips as he eased into her slowly at first, his teeth gritted as he tried to control the need to go faster and more profound. But she took control away from him when she started to ride him. With a tortured groan, he followed suit, his control destroyed.