“If you’re worried about a roof over your head and food, then don’t. It’s taken care of.” He shoves his phone in his pocket. “Now, you got a car? My teammates had to roll out because they’re working a case. Otherwise I need to procure one.”
Not sure what universe I’m in, I walk to the keys hanging on the hook by the door. “It’s not much. Just a beater I bought a few weeks ago.”
“I’m sure it’ll work. If not, I know how to fix things.”
As in fix me?
Good luck with that.
Ryker locks up the shop, like he’s completing a military mission. When he’s cleared the parking lot to make sure there are no threats, he takes me to the small Chevy sedan, helping me inside.
“Watch your head,” he rumbles as he plants his palm on my crown to make sure I don’t clock my skull on the door.
Okay. That’s a new one and it gives me a pinch in the center of my chest. Such a little thing to do with such a big impact.
“Jesus, I never understood why they make cars this small,” he rumbles.
I watch in dismay as he adjusts the seat and steering wheel, surprisingly managing to fit.
“They make cars like this for people like me.”
“At least the steering wheel adjusts,” he says with a shake of his head. “One time when I was on deployment in Afghanistan I had to get into this fucking clown car. Never heard the end of that. Still get that photo texted to me on a random night when some fucker from the Team can’t sleep.”
That’s the most he’s said at once, and I’m staring as I try to memorize every nuance. His accent, the way his eyes dance when he’s remembering the funny moment with his Team.
The strange sensation in my face tells me I’m smiling, but it’s been so long since I’ve done it, really done it, that my face can’t seem to recall.
“Can I see it?”
He chuckles, but then he searches my eyes and his humor fades.
Lord, the way he looks at me sends a jolting electrical charge through my nervous system.
There’s a huskiness to his voice when he looks out the windshield. “If it will make you smile like that again, then yes, once we get to the house.”
Why does this feel so big?
I press a hand to my heart and lean back in the seat as he pulls out of the parking lot, turning away from town.
“Thank you, Ryker.”
“You already thanked me.”
“Well, I feel compelled to do it again.”
He shifts in the seat, his strong hands flexing on the wheel. “Thanks for not putting up a fight.”
“Did I have a choice?”
His gaze slides to me, holds a beat, then returns to the road. “You always have a choice with me. But this time it didn’t include staying there.”
Resting my cheek against the seat, I study the decisive angles of his profile. He even looks like a weapon. “That feels like a tactical answer,” I tease.
“You’re catching on.” He scans the mirror in a pattern he’s repeating.
“You looking for a tail?”
Apparently my years around the sheriff’s office wore off.
