a little bundle, and Ryder longed to toss her in his truck and rush her to safety.
But she had a baby now. And a life here without him. He couldn’t carry her away.
He had to stay and protect her. He needed to fix the mess he’d inadvertently caused. “Hey.” He set a careful hand on her back and rubbed the pad of his thumb against her shoulder blade. “I know you don’t have any reason to believe this, but I’m not the same as I was before. My head’s clear. My priorities are straight. I’ve never been better at what I do, or knowing who I am. I can catch Sand this time, and when I do, I’ve got enough evidence to form a pretty strong case against him for his first murder.”
She rolled her head against her knee until her face came into view. Her lashes were wet with tears. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” He curled a swath of her hair around his finger and tucked it behind her ear, keeping his eyes fixed on hers, begging her to see the truth. He could and would protect her at any cost.
Kara nodded. “Okay.”
“Good,” he whispered, emotion choking the word. He opened his arms and she fell right in, collapsing against his chest and curling into the curve of his side. Kara believed him. Despite everything they’d been through, and despite seeing him at his worst, she trusted him to protect her and her baby. That meant something. His heart swelled with joy and hope for a different future. “I won’t let Timothy Sand hurt you,” he said, stroking her soft vanilla-scented hair. “That’s a promise.”
* * *
SQUEALING TIRES BURNED a hole in the comfortable silence and Kara’s limbs went rigid.
She yelped as Ryder swiftly shoved her aside. He leapt away from the couch before the raucous sound had ended. “What is it?” She jumped onto her feet a split second behind him, but Ryder was faster, already out her front door and jogging down the street. A pair of glowing red taillights were barely visible in the distance.
Kara shut the door and locked it. She grabbed the baby monitor from the counter and found a place at the front window where she could watch whatever happened next. Should she call West? Or make a run for the nursery to collect her baby?
Outside, Ryder strode confidently through the night, gun in one hand, cell phone in the other.
Maybe he would call West.
He stopped at a large SUV parked catty-corner from her home and holstered his weapon. He turned in a small circle before lifting something from the vehicle’s windshield.
Kara strained to see what it was.
Ryder made another call and headed back in her direction, moving slowly at first, then breaking into a jog.
As he passed beneath the motion light over her driveway, the mysterious object came terrifyingly into view.
Someone had left Ryder a badly charred matchbook.
Kara unlocked the door and stepped away as Ryder turned the knob. He walked back inside unbidden, a sadly appropriate metaphor for their relationship. All he had to do was show up, and she let him in. He dropped a black duffel bag onto her floor, apparently planning to stay awhile. She shook her head, silently scolding herself for the naive flutter of excitement. Ryder Garrett might offer protection from whatever he’d gotten her into, but he was dangerous for her heart. Just seeing his face had quickened her pulse, and the way she’d felt while briefly in his arms tonight had brought an unwelcome rush of nostalgia.
Nice as it was to think things could be different, she couldn’t allow Ryder’s presence to shift her world in unfair ways. And she couldn’t afford to let her foolish heart distract her from the real reason Ryder had shown up at all.
“Well?” she asked, wrapping goose-pimpled arms around her middle and eyeballing the charred matchbook in his hand.
He rubbed the sleeve of his black jacket across his forehead. “Can I borrow a baggie?”
Kara glared at him before marching into the kitchen.
Ryder followed, tapping away at his phone screen with the thumb of one hand, while carrying the ruined matchbook, reverently, in the other. The crazed look on his face tilted her stomach.
“Is that from him?” she asked, as if the answer wasn’t obvious.
“I believe so, yes.”
She swung the pantry door open and tried not to vomit. Kara had been afraid of many things in her life, but never for her life. Certainly not for the life of her daughter. Her gut clenched more tightly at the thought.
“Here.” She thrust an empty sandwich baggie in his direction, half terrified, wholly pissed. “Will this work?”
“It’s fine.”
“Are you sure?” she snapped. “Because as far as I know, it’s only meant to hold the innocuous parts of my lunch. Not the charred remains of a serial arsonist’s blatant threat.”
Ryder dropped the matchbook into the baggie and zipped it shut. “Don’t sell him short. He’s also a murderer.”
Kara’s jaw dropped.
Ryder grimaced. “Sorry. I just can’t believe this is happening.”
That makes two of us.
When Kara had woken this morning, her biggest concern was fitting back into her pre-pregnancy wardrobe before school started next month. She’d feared having to buy more clothes on an already tight budget and leaving her baby for the first time since seeing her sweet face in the delivery room.
Now, thanks to some evil twist of fate, she and Casey were on a lunatic’s radar when the man he truly wanted was in her kitchen unpacking what looked like an overnight bag.
Cruel fate had to keep twisting that knife a little deeper. Taking Ryder from her, then returning him only because his criminal obsession had visited. Now, to require that he stay with her, in the home they’d once shared. Kara rubbed the heated skin above her heart, unable to soothe the deep ache.
“Ryder.” She placed a hand on his shoulder as he unearthed a small fingerprint kit and gloves from a compartment beside a change of clothes.
Her hand slid off as he set up a makeshift workstation on her countertop, unhearing, then adjusted a lamp to shine on the area. The efficiency of his quick movements was all too familiar. Kara recognized the stiff posture and focused expression as he entered what she’d grudgingly called “marshal mode.” A chill slithered down her spine, sending a mass of ugly memories to the surface. The gut-churning recollections of watching helplessly while her fiancé became consumed rolled her stomach.
“Ryder,” she repeated, using her teacher voice this time.
His face jerked in her direction, and a look of shock raised his furrowed brows. Had he already forgotten she was there?
“Yeah?” he asked, seeming to return to himself.
