Page 139 of Reveal

He tackles me from behind with his entire body. My screams fill the room as I kick and claw and fight while his maniacal laughter echoes around us.

And then, as if I’m in a dream, Carter is off me.

There’s a roar in my ears I can’t comprehend from where I’m lying facedown against the carpet, one heel on, one heel off, the cool air of the room sliding over my bare skin.

Everything seems to go in snapshots of time.

Everything feels so very fuzzy. So very slow.

The textured carpet against my cheek.

The tenor of Ryker’s voice. At least I think it’s Ryker’s voice, because it sounds like him, but with a rage I’ve never heard before.

My body being sore. So very sore. My fingernails broken. My knuckles raw.

The sight of my wig lying partially under the bed. The black hair so dark against the light carpet.

The heat on my cheeks from where my tears have streaked down them.

And then I know it’s Ryker.

His voice saying my name.

His hands cradling me as he picks me up ever so gently and sets me on the bed.

His arms wrapping around me and holding on like he’s so very afraid to let me go.

“I’m here. You’re okay. He’s never going to hurt you again.” These words are on repeat on his lips. The repetition of them is almost as soothing to me as the feel of his arms.

There is more commotion in the room or hallway or somewhere close enough I don’t see but can hear. The click of handcuffs. The groans of pain. The Miranda warning being recited.

“Please tell me you’re okay?” The break in Ryker’s voice all but snaps the hold I have on my own sanity. But he doesn’t lean back, he doesn’t look me over, almost as if he’s wary of discovering truths he’s afraid to acknowledge. That he didn’t get here in time.

“I’m okay,” I whisper, my voice hoarse from screaming. “I’m okay.” I repeat it again, almost as much for my sake as it is for him. “I’m okay.”

His fingers tense, and then there’s a hitch in his breath as he pulls back his own emotions. As he fights the same fear I have. As he realizes this is all over now.

CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

Ryker

“Can I take her home now?”

The detective looks my way and holds up his finger for me to wait one more second.

I don’t want to wait one more second. I want to get her the fuck out of this hotel room with its yanked-down curtains and knocked-over vase and broken lamp. All reminders of what that bastard tried to do to her. All reminders of how hard she fought.

And that has nothing on the rage I feel when I see the huge red welt on her cheek or the pieces of her clothing ripped apart on the floor.

I’m antsy and can’t sit still and can’t stand, and all I want is my arms around her so I can physically touch her and feel that she is here and whole and a little shaken but untouched in every other way.

With his digital camera in hand that documented every bump and bruise that mars her, he moves my way. “You guys can head out, but I have to stay while they process the scene. The FBI agents in charge are also headed in right now.”

“FBI?” I startle at the word. “What does the FBI want with this?” I rack my brain and can only make assumptions.

“I had the same question when Ms. Sanders asked me to contact them.” He shakes his head. “I got off the phone with them a few moments ago, and it seems the senator was under investigation for some things. Ms. Sanders here was the one who gave them the information to bring him down.” His smile is tight, his expression stoic, as my mind races out of control. “You didn’t hear that from me, but it might help to explain things a bit more.”

I stare at him as if I’m really listening. As the past few weeks and Vaughn’s sudden changes in demeanor run through my mind. Is this what was going on the whole time? Was she a pawn in this game of theirs?