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“Ryker, I can do it.”

“No.” My hands are trembling as I turn away, but Dahlia grips my arm. I can’t bring myself to look at her, can’t see yet another injury on her beautiful face. How many times am I going to fail her before they finally succeed and I lose her?

“I’m fine, Ryker. Please. I can grab my clothes.”

“I will get your clothes, Dahlia,” I say softly. “Just sit.” I move toward the little dresser and open the drawers, pulling out some leggings. After I hand them to her, I go into the closet and grab the closest t-shirt.

Then, I set it on the bed beside her. “I’ll be right outside the door.”

She nods. Her gaze is a million miles away. The pain? Or is it further proof she’s injured beyond what I can see? “Okay.”

Even though I don’t want to leave her, I force myself to put one foot after the other and step outside, closing the door softly behind me right as Presley reaches the top of the stairs.

“I’m sorry, Ryker.” The torture is evident on his face, the blame he carries.

It’s a look I know quite well.

“It’s not your fault. Thank you for taking him out.”

“He shouldn’t have gotten through. He was a new hire last month. I vetted him myself. Apparently, he was easily bought.”

“It’s not your fault, Presley.”

He’s quiet for a moment. “Is she okay?”

“She will be.” She has to be. “Your buddies down there, they good guys?”

“The best. I volunteer with search and rescue. It’s how I met them.”

“The body?”

“Mason is taking care of the investigation. He’ll dig into the guy’s financials and get it taken care of. He’s got the coroner on his way now.”

I run a hand over my beard. When I heard her scream—I’d been asleep. Thought she was sleeping, too.

“Please let me know if I can do anything.”

“Did you get the car pulled around?”

He nods. “I’ll drive so you can sit with her.”

“Thanks.”

“Of course.”

“Ryker?” Dahlia calls out.

I don’t wait for Presley to say anything else before I push open the door and head into the room. Dahlia is sitting on the edge of the bed, wearing the blue leggings and t-shirt I’d grabbed for her. She smiles over at me, but it doesn’t reach her eyes.

“Come on, let’s get you to the car.” I grab a clean blanket from the back of the couch, then wrap it around her shoulders and lift her into my arms. Without another word, I head out into the hall.

“I’m so sorry, Dahlia,” Presley says.

“It’s not your fault,” she assures him. “Honestly, it’s not.”

“I will do what I can to make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

“Thank you,” she replies with a half smile.