Ryker mumbles under his breath something that sounds suspiciously like “not the only one,” but I do have a possible concussion, so I let that slide.
I dial Thalia. She picks up immediately. “Who is this, and how did you get this number?”
“Well, hello to you too, boss,” I chuckle, then wince as my stitches stretch. Damn. Getting shot is amotherfucker.
“Cat?”
“The one and fucking only.”
“Oh, thank God,” Thalia breathes a sigh of relief, then I hear her rustling paper and slamming a door shut. “I thought they got you, too.”
“They’ve tried pretty fucking hard to get to me,” I wink at Ryker. “But thankfully, my partner and I have outsmarted them at every turn.”
“Well,” Thalia exhales. “Not every turn.”
This sends the tiny hairs on the back of my neck into overdrive. My pulse ratchets up. Something in the way she says this sends me toward my bag on a chair by the door. I removed my weapon and placed it inside the bag while the vet worked on me.
I keep my voice light. “No way, that’s some juicy gossip! Tell me more!”
“You’re not alone?”
“And you know that’s how I love it!”
“Oh, shit,” Thalia drops her voice. “You’re in danger. I don’t know what’s going on, but I do know the guy I sent your way - Carlson Pyle - was found dead several days ago. I’ve been trying to reach you ever since.”
I lean on the wall next to the chair with my gun, not taking my eyes off of Ryker. “I told you those dating apps were a hot mess! It’s like a dumpster fire, inside a train wreck, wrapped up in a rotting carcass!”
“Tell me where you are,” Thalia is practically whispering now.
I laugh and reach into my bag, grab my gun and whirl back to find Ryker standing in front of me with his Bowie knife in my face.
“Gonna have to call you back, boss,” I narrow my eyes at Ryker. “Someone brought a knife to a gunfight.”
I let the phone fall to the floor, not taking my eyes or gun sights off Ryker. He bends down, picks up the phone, and hangs up.
“What’s with the fucking knife, Ryker,” I hiss. “If that is your real name.”
“First of all. A knife is quieter,” he holds up his hands and makes a show of re-sheathing it. “Second. Ryker is my name. Sort of. It is a nickname. But I’m not Carlson Pyle.”
“Tell me something I don’t know,” my right arm is starting to shake from holding the gun without the support of my left arm, which is practically useless from the gunshot.
“Kitten…”
“Don’t. Call. Me. Kitten. Who. Sent. You?”
Ryker pauses. “Put the gun down, and I’ll tell you.”
“Tell me, and I’ll put the gun down,” I briefly consider shooting this fucker, but then I’d be without answers.
“Fine. Your sister sent me.”
“Which one?”
He shrugs. “I think all of them.”
“Youthink?”
“My name is Ryker Navarro,” he inches closer to me. “And I work for Celia Saber-Mendota at Saber Security.”
