He huffed a quiet laugh. “Welcome to law.”
“Is this what they teach you in law school? How to create an environment that sucks out your soul?”
“That’s first semester.” He moved toward the door, clearly ready to go. “Soul extraction is a prerequisite.”
I followed, but the image of that barren office stuck with me. Burrowed under my skin.
I would do something about this. I didn’t know what yet, but something. It wouldn’t be much compared to everything Ryker had done for me, for Knox, for everyone who crossed his path.
But it would be something.
Before we reached the door, Ryker paused at his assistant’s desk. “I need you to start the whiteboard on the Morrison case. Timeline, victim history, every piece of evidence we have so far. I’ll fill in the gaps after I interview Ms. Morrison this afternoon.”
There was that word again.Interview. Like I was a witness. A suspect. Not the woman he’d kissed in my kitchen.
“Also,” he added, lowering his voice, “any word from Danny on the surveillance footage?”
The woman shook her head. “Still nothing. He says it’s like hitting a brick wall everywhere he turns.”
Ryker’s expression flickered. Just for a second, but I caught it. Concern. Maybe even suspicion.
“Tell him to document every dead end,” Ryker said. “Every refused request, every missing file. If someone’s blocking us, I want a paper trail.”
“Got it.”
He turned back to me, and just like that, the mask was back in place. Calm. Controlled.
“Ready?” Ryker asked, pausing at the office’s front door, prepared to drive me to my chosen location—the group home, which was currently empty.
I nodded, swallowing against the sudden thickness in my throat.
That small, traitorous voice from the kitchen was back, whispering about trust. About what it might feel like to tell someone the truth. Even just part of it.
The problem was, I didn’t know if I could. But ready or not,Ryker needed answers. I’d have to show him at least some of the parts I’d kept hidden.
Even the thought of showing him anything real made my stomach drop. Because once he saw who I really was—even just glimpses—everything would change.
When Ryker finally knew the real me, would he stay? Or would he become just another person who decided I wasn’t worth the trouble?
God, please don’t let him reject me.
Not him.
23
FAITH
I’d been staring at Ryker’s forearms for the last five minutes.
Not my finest moment, but also not my fault. The man had one tattooed hand draped casually over the steering wheel while the other rested on his thick thigh. Dragons coiled around both forearms, intricate and dark, winding up toward his biceps.
Dragons.
Of course Ryker had dragons inked on his skin. The man spent his entire life slaying them. Other people’s dragons. Fighting battles that weren’t his, defending the defenseless, charging into fires most people would run from.
The tattoos enhanced every shift of muscle as he drove, every flex of his fingers on the wheel. It was hypnotic. Distracting.
His lips curved. “See something you like?”
