He seemed like a fairly reasonable lunatic. Maybe she could use logic on him. “Why can’t I call 911? The operator can alert the Coast Guard and go after the…the bad guys. You could be long gone by the time they picked them up, and I swear I won’t tell them anything about you.”
“You wouldn’t be a very good lifeguard if you did that, would you?” He clicked his tongue as he rummaged through her glove compartment. He pulled out her registration and peered at it. “You can call the cops when you get home. By that time, I will be long gone and so will that dead body on the beach.”
Her heart did a somersault in her chest. “When I get home?”
He flicked the paper registration with his finger. “Yeah. Drive back to your place and I’ll disappear in a puff of smoke or more likely a blanket of fog.”
When she’d pulled out of the beach parking lot, she’d headed in the general direction of her house since he hadn’t given her any orders about where to go. Would he really let her just go home and then call the authorities after he left without hurting her?
He was right about her responsibilities as a lifeguard. She’d have to report him and give the cops as good a description as she could. She gave him a sidelong glance—over six feet tall, muscular build, a wild, tawny mane of hair that brushed his shoulders, piercing blue eyes.
She’d have to scale back on the admiration of his masculine good looks when she gave her description to the cops or they’d think she’d fallen prey to that Stockholm syndrome where victims fell for their captors.
He glanced at the registration again before shoving it back into her glove compartment. “You live close, right?”
“Yeah, we’re almost there.” She gripped the steering wheel with clammy hands as another thought slammed against her like a sledgehammer. He’d retrieved her registration to see her address. She did not want this dangerous man in her house, but now he knew her address. “My husband, who’s six foot five and very jealous, will be home, too.”
He snorted. “I’ll take my chances.”
“Can’t I just drop you off somewhere? Why do you have to come to my house with me?”
“Just want to see you home safely.” He brushed some sand off the leg of his wet suit. “Is there a work schedule posted in the tower listing the shifts for the guards?”
“N-no.”
“I suppose the main station wouldn’t give out the guards’ names if someone called making inquiries about which guards are working which beaches?”
Her clammy grasp on the wheel got tighter. “Of course not. What are you driving at? Do you think those people in the boat will try to find out who I am?”
He lifted a shoulder, which touched the ends of his wet hair. “If they can, but it doesn’t sound like they’re going to be successful.”
“What if they come back to that beach, that tower, looking for me? Today was my last day for the summer, but I left everything wide open back there. I’m going to have to return to close up properly.”
Was he playing her to make her fear the men in the boat more than she feared him? The dying man had choked her, and the guys in the boat had shot at her. This one hadn’t lifted a finger against her. In fact, he’d protected her from the other attacks.
“I don’t think they’d do that.” But two lines formed a deep crevice between his eyebrows. “They’d have difficulty finding the beach again, and there are plenty of lifeguard towers up and down the coast.”
She chewed her bottom lip. “I don’t know about that. Imperial Beach is one of the southernmost beaches in San Diego County before you hit the Mexican border.”
“Request a transfer. They’re not going to find you.”
“They’re not going to find me anyway.” She rolled her tight shoulders. “I already told you. I’m done for the season since I only work summers. Today was my last shift.”
He patted her leg again. “That’s good to hear. And don’t return. Let someone else lock up. What’s your name anyway?”
“Amy.” She gasped and covered her mouth. How had this man lured her into such a state of naive stupidity so quickly? Next she’d be giving him her social security number. She jerked her leg, dislodging his hand.
He had the nerve to laugh.
“Don’t worry. I’m not going to use your first name against you, and I can just reach in the glove compartment to find out the rest if I want.” He combed his fingers through tangled hair. “And just so we’re even, I’m going to tell you my first name, too. It’s Riley.”
“Riley.” The name rolled off her tongue. Riley didn’t seem too concerned about the cops knowing his name. Did he think just because he had a friendly, non-threatening demeanor and a gorgeous body she wasn’t going to report this?
Even though Amy had an innate distrust of authority, Riley had placed his confidence in the wrong woman. She’d had it in for all men since she’d discovered the guy she’d been dating for two months had a wife. Scumbag.
She rounded the corner of her block and pulled up to the curb in front of her rental house. She cut the engine and dropped her hands in her lap. “You can get out now. Although how you think you’re going to be inconspicuous roaming around in a full-body wet suit is beyond me.”
“Thanks for caring.” A boyish grin claimed his face. “I have trunks on underneath—just another surfer.”
“Just another surfer carrying a knife.”
She shouldn’t have reminded him.
His fingers curled around the handle and he said, “Let’s go inside to make sure everything’s okay.”
Tension knotted her shoulders again as she climbed out of the car, groping for her backpack in the backseat. She wouldn’t be able to breathe easily until Riley left the premises and she had 911 on the line.
It took her three tries to insert her key into the dead bolt with Riley standing behind her, the heat from his body warming her bare back. And then she didn’t even need to unlock the dead bolt—she must’ve left it unlocked when she took off this afternoon. She shoved the key into the handle, turning the knob and pushing open the door.
Riley stepped in front of her, tucking her behind his broad frame. “Everything look okay?”
“How can I tell? I’m staring at your back.” Her nose practically touched the cool, smooth skin between his shoulder blades.
Riley stalked to the center of the small living room, dwarfing it with his take-control presence. Amy shifted her gaze around the objects of the room, her pulse quickening when she spotted a book on the floor by the coffee table. Her cat, Clarence, probably knocked that over before he took off for his pre-dinner prowl.
“I’m going to have a look in the back rooms.” Riley pointed to the short hallway, gripping the knife in front of him.
Amy crept toward the book and crouched to retrieve it from the floor. She glanced toward the entry that led to the kitchen and
