Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

RILEY

Of course I'd jumped into the car belonging to the man I stole from. A serial killer might have been a better option after all. This would all have been over quicker, and I'd be certain of where my fate lies. Pointing him in the right direction doesn't go as well as I'd hoped. Everything looks different in the dark and when I'm not solely focused on trying to find a place to hide. We must've been circling the woods for hours, with flashlights he plucked from his medical bag in the trunk. Brick was right about two things: he's a doctor, and he drives a nice car.

"We'll be out here all night long at this rate," he growls. "Are we close yet?"

"I… We should be."

Dragging my tired feet, I sigh, stomach knotting. He's going to turn me in, isn't he? What if he does that whether I find everything or not? It doesn't matter how many times I try to backtrack, I can't find the stack of branches I piled over the hole and every tree looks the damn same. Yawning, I rub my eyes and shine the flashlight on him without realizing.

"We'll try again in the morning. We'll be able to see better in the daylight, and maybe some much needed sleep will help jog your memory."

My eyes blink rapidly. "What do you mean in the morning? Where will I stay?"

"In my guest room."

I'd remember seeing a guest room if he had one. Was it hidden somewhere or is he fucking with me?

"Let's get going before you pass out and I have to carry you all the way to the house."

Too tired to argue, or run when I think he's not looking, I follow him through the trees and back to the long dirt driveway. At least, I think it's a driveway. Whatever the fuck it is, it's much longer than I remember, and I nearly trip on my own feet as I'm entering the house. Grabbing on to my arm, Sam steadies me against him and that's another thing Brick was wrong about. Not only is he not on a work trip, his name also isn't Lance. Did he really go on a date with this man?

"This way." He steers me toward the kitchen. "When's the last time you've eaten?"

"I… Not since breakfast." My stomach grumbles at the mention of food.

"Sit. I'll fix you a sandwich." He lowers me onto the chair and stares down at my hand, wearing a worried expression. "That's a nasty cut you got there. I'm guessing that's from the remodeling you did to my back-door window."

I flex out my fingers, the wound opening and fleshier than I remember. "Yeah. It's not too bad."

"Doesn't look that way to me. You don't want that getting infected. How about, after we eat, I give it a look over? You might need stitches."

"Yeah, okay."

I don't realize I'm as thirsty as I am hungry until he sets a water bottle in front of me. Wrapping my fingers around the plastic, I drain it in one go, my tongue and throat refreshed with every gulp.

"Someone was thirsty." He chuckles and the nice, sweet stranger from before is back. I'm not sure he fully left but was more a mixture of two sides. The good and the... maybe not bad, but disappointed? I expected more anger than what I've gotten. Shouldn't he tie me up or hit me or something? I stole from his house. Any normal person would have taken me to the police station by now, but he must really need back what I've taken from him first.

What happens when I find it? I'd rather not know. I can't sit behind bars again. It's been a long time since I have and I'm not ready to go back. That's what will happen, won't it? He'll get everything back and then turn me in.

"What would you like on your sandwich?" He takes out a knife and holds a tomato still on a cutting board.

"Everything but mayonnaise." I scrunch up my nose and he nods.

"No mayonnaise. Got it." He smiles, the way someone would at a friend they invited over for dinner. So casual and natural. "Lettuce and tomato okay then?"

"Yeah. Bread preferably toasted, and mustard if you have it." Shuffling in my seat, I lower my head, worried I've made too many requests.

"Sure thing. You can help yourself to more water if you'd like. You drank that first one pretty fast. How long were you walking for out there?" He chops the tomato into thin, perfect slices. So quickly and skillfully, if I might add.

"Thanks, and I think two hours or so." Hand pressed to the back of the chair, I stand up slowly, but my spinning head has me quickly falling back down.

His brow furrows and he grabs another water from the fridge. "Chances are you're dehydrated. I'm guessing you haven't drunk anything since breakfast either."

I shake my head, taking the cold bottle from his hand, the condensation sticking to my skin. "I try not to eat or drink too much before a job. Saves me time and prevents unnecessary stops."

"A job, huh? Is this something you do often?" Walking to his pantry, he shakes something from a small box into the palm of his hand.

"As often as needed. We can't all be rich doctors."

He tosses a packet onto the table, cocking his head. "No, but I wasn't aware there were only two options in life."

Looking down at the table, I examine the wrapper, twisting it in my fingers. It's electrolytes. Him choosing what he did makes sense, the same way what I do for a living does for me. He enjoys taking care of people, and I've developed a need for the thrill of getting caught. As different as the reasons might be, we both thrive at what we do. Practically live for it. I've inconvenienced this man and made his day harder, yet he can't help but do what he's good at. What he was meant for.

"Not everyone had as many as you."

"You don't know anything about what I had," he grinds out, going back to chopping, slicing the knife into the lettuce with a heavier hand than he did the tomatoes. Finally, a little anger. Still, he holds his composure, the control vibrating off his body. My heart beats faster, my limbs weakening as I add the white powder to my water.

"You're right, I don't. Apparently, most of what I thought I knew wasn't correct. You weren't supposed to be home and so..."

"So, what?" He holds the knife still, his hand so damn steady. Those green eyes hold me in place, specs of gold catching in the light.

"I pictured you differently is all. Speaking of pictures, you don't have any on your walls or shelves."

He studies me carefully, pulling a plate down from the cabinet. "I don't take many. Never have the time, I guess. I'm also never here long enough to find decorating worth it, and I was supposed to be out of town, but my meeting was canceled at the last minute."

My breaths stutter. Brick really didn't plan on him being home. One thing he'd been honest about.

"You don't have any glass bottles either." I hold up the water, ghosting it over my lips.

His forehead bunches, and though his eyes stay on me, his hands never stop working as if on autopilot. He could chop veggies and prepare a sandwich with a blindfold on. It all comes from having to constantly multitask I suppose. "Why would I?"

My shoulders lift slightly. "I don't know. Just seem like the type who would."

"What else did you have wrong, or think you have wrong?" He carries two plates in his hands, slowly approaching the table.

"I didn't see a guest room, but you say you have one. I never miss things like that."

"You will if you don't know where to look." His eyes hold something strange in them as he squeezes into the chair beside me, sliding my food over.

"Where is it then? Hidden behind some fake wall?"

He laughs. "You'll see soon. Eat. You can tell me more later."

Growing quiet, I sip my water and turn toward my food. Is there some hidden shed in the back yard? A pool house I missed? I mainly focused on his living space, and didn't give other areas much thought because I was running short on time. It mattered more than I realized. The last thing I wanted was to be trapped in a garage and cornered by the cops. Does it make a difference if that's who I'll end up with anyway?

Eyes heavy and struggling to remain open, I take larger bites of my sandwich, and it tastes so damn good. The perfect amount of turkey and cheese. Juice from the fresh tomatoes wetting my lips and the lettuce crunching between my teeth. No one has ever made me food before. Not when I was growing up or during any of my relationships. Almost as if I've purposely chosen people I couldn't ever depend on. They'd only overshadow what I could do for myself with what they had to offer before shortly taking it away.

I didn't need anyone, and never fully wanted to because whenever I let them in a little, I got burned—leaving an everlasting sting that triggered a shield around my heart and mind. But damn, does it feel good to be taken care of. There are people who are touch starved and then there's me... I'm not sure what to call it. I hate how this hunger is surfacing so quickly, especially with a man who's not only a stranger but also someone I robbed. Exhaustion is getting to me is all, clouding my brain and leaving me vulnerable.

Drowsiness sets in faster, and I can barely hold my head up. What the fuck. So relaxed, with swimming vision, I press my hands to the table with the fear of crashing face first into my empty plate.

"Now for that finger. I'll go get everything I need, and we'll make it all better." His voice makes him sound like he's speaking inside a tunnel. "You going to be okay while I'm gone?"

I nod slowly, my tongue too thick for me to form actual words. I look down at the bottle of water, my eyes squinting. Did he drug me? No, that can't be right. I'm the bad guy here, not him. He only wants his stuff back. Nothing about him screams dangerous, but my skin prickles and my heart picks up when he leans in closer to me anyway. "Good. We'll get you settled on the couch anyway to be on the safe side. You've had a really long day."

His smile is less welcoming the more I see it. Shoving his arm under mine, he lifts me to my feet, and I lean on him until we reach the couch. "Easy. I got you. You'll get to sleep soon, I promise. Something tells me it's been a long time since you've had a good night's rest."

It really has been. All I do is worry and overthink, to the point where I dream about my to-do list and everything going wrong. I don't have to dream about that last part tonight because it's now my reality—only it doesn't feel as bad as I've pictured it. His hands on me, and the way he lays a knitted blanket over my body while shoving a pillow under my head, feels too nice. Yes, too nice is definitely the right way to describe it.

"I'll be back."

"I'll be here," I say in an almost too quiet voice.

Leaving me alone in the living room, he rushes to his bedroom, and I doze off a little, waking up to him bandaging my finger. The kiss he presses to the tip has to be all part of my imagination, or maybe I'm still asleep.

"All done. Not too bad, huh? You were the perfect patient. Probably the best I've had in a long while." Standing up, he removes his gloves.

"Am I going to the guest room now?"

Holding my stare, he shakes his head. "I think you're comfortable enough here for now. Get some sleep. We'll be getting up as soon as the sun rises. We both have a big day tomorrow. Night..." He lingers, waiting for me to respond with my name, so I do.

"Riley."

"Night, Riley." He turns to leave and then stops, craning his neck. "Oh, one last thing. How do you like your eggs?"

"Over easy," I say, slurring my words a little.

"That makes things easy then. So do I." He smiles and slowly makes his way back to his room, carrying all his supplies.

I can't read this man no matter how much I try. It's possible he drugged me and is holding me captive here as some form of punishment, but all I can focus on is that he's making me eggs in the morning and cared enough to ask how I want them. He cared. For me. And nothing about feeding me and keeping me warm is part of his duties as a doctor. If he drugged me, he had every reason to. I'm a criminal sleeping in his house and he's... he's the doctor who cared for me.

My doctor … No, that can't be right.

Before I can question it some more, everything darkens around me.