“Why would I ever want that? Unless…” He straightened, closing the space between us so fast I had to tilt my chin to keep his gaze. “You’re having second thoughts? Well, don’t let me stop you. Come on, blondie, tell me where to find the USB drive and I’ll take you back safe and sound. No questions asked.”
“What? No, not until you help me!”
“Come on, you can’t be serious!” The harsh overhead lights carved shadows across his face, making his cheekbones appear sharper. “You’re not built for this,” he went on, voice deceptively gentle. “The safest thing for you is to give me what I want, then go back to your art, and somewhat unhinged mother.”
“No,” I said evenly, “and she’s not unhinged you ignorant arsehole.”
There was a glint in his eyes, subtle, but sharp enough to chill the air around me. Ryder was dangerous, no matter how easily he masked it behind charm and careless smirks.
I was an idiot for demanding his help, but backing down wasn’t an option. I was desperate, at least until I figured out what the hell was going on. So I had to push, because someone was after mum. Someone darker. Possibly worse.
Oh God, what was I doing?
“It’s your funeral.” Shaking his head, Ryder headed for the lift, waiting for me with a touch of impatience.
I quickly followed, wary as the silver doors closed us both inside.
Shit.Please, let this be the right decision. That I haven’t just offered myself gift-wrapped to a serial killer.
The only thing keeping me safe was the stupid lie about a USB drive I knew nothing about.
The lift opened, and I waited a beat before following said possible serial killer down the neat and tidy hallway. Eyeing me over his shoulder, Ryder stopped at a door at the end. “Don’t touch my shit,” he warned.
Swallowing my nerves, I stepped inside, taking in the bachelor pad he called home. The front door opened straight into a sprawling living room with an attached kitchen. Sleek and modern, the counters and appliances were high-end and gleaming. A woven rug decorated the dark wooden floor, its tones matching the understated, masculine decor. Against the back wall, the largest TV I’d ever seen dominated the space, flanked by a lineup of consoles and an array of controllers.
Through the door on the left I could make out the bedroom; the main focus was the large bed with dark bluesilk sheets spilling across the mattress and echoing the moody palette of the rest of the flat.
“My guests don’t usually stay,” he said from behind me, making me jump. “If you catch my drift.”
I didn’t until he glanced at the messy sheets.
Ew.
“Good to know you don’t last long,” I shot back before my brain could stop my mouth.
With a click of his tongue, he backed away, turning towards a door opposite. This one was thicker, the handle heavier with a strange device.
He eyed me as he pressed his thumb to the metal, the door beeping before unlocking. I froze at the threshold, taking in the space which he’d turned into a stalker’s paradise. It was an office in the sense that it had a desk, as well as computer monitors. But even more screens dominated the room, showing footage of the surrounding building, outside his front door as well as the underground garage. I could even see his motorbike, which was perfectly parked in his space.
“What is all this?” I asked, my voice low as I turned. I’d expected clutter, maybe chaos. Not a case board worthy of a murder mystery thriller.
Photographs, newspaper clippings, and scribbled notes were pinned to the wall, bound together by frantic knots of string. The lines crisscrossed until they looked like veins, pulsing out from a single photograph in the middle.
I reached for it, not caring that the strings fell when I pulled it free.
It was of mum, holding what must be my hand at no older than two, maybe three. The picture was blurry, old, but I could see the fear in mum’s eyes.
It looked like she was running from something. Or someone.
Underneath lay a newer photo, and unlike the first, it showed only her.
“How long were you watching her?” I asked, looking up to find Ryder seated at his desk, a lit cigarette between his lips.
“Yeah, you’re not going to like the answer.” Grabbing one of the cables attached to his computer, he plugged in Cedric’s phone.
Placing the photos down, I leaned over Ryder’s shoulder. Smoke shrouded him, causing me to cough. “Those will kill you, you know,” I muttered.
The chair gave a small squeak as Ryder shifted, turning towards me. His legs spread lazily as he leaned forward, his gaze cool and taunting. He took a long drag, the cigarette tip glowing like an ember, then exhaled a plume of smoke straight into my face.
