“But dogs love me!” I shout as I run as fast as I can from the barking beast.
Ryker isn’t going to test the theory. He grabs my hand and practically throws me over the fence. I go flying! Suzie might not be able to fly but apparently, I can. Luckily, I was an ace at the vault and manage to land on my feet. I don’t nail the landing but no one’s judging me now.
I can hear the dog snarling on the other side of the fence. Ryker better hurry his ass over here. I see a hand on the top of the fence and then he’s there. At way over six-foot-tall, he makes jumping the fence look like a small hurdle.
He tags my hand and starts running. “We need to get out of here.”
“Why? The dog can’t jump the fence.”
“No, but a man with a shotgun can.”
My eyes widen and I look over to Ryker to see if he’s serious. I trip and nearly go to my knees. He releases my hand and rights me before grabbing my hand again. We run around the block to a large black pick-up truck.
I put my hands on my thighs and bend over as I take deep breaths. I didn’t realize I was out of shape. Of course, doing Pilates in front of my television or running like the hounds of hell are on my ass work two different muscle groups. Maybe I should add cardio to my workouts if being chased by rabid dogs is what I can expect when I’m a PI.
“What are you doing here?” I ask when I finally manage to gain control of my breathing.
Instead of answering, he clicks the button to unlock his truck. “Get in. I’ll drive you to your SUV.”
I narrow my eyes. How does he know where my SUV is parked? Well, it’s not my SUV. It’s a company vehicle I’m allowed to use during stakeouts, which is handy since I don’t own a car. I did own a car. It’s hard to escape halfway across the country without wheels after all. Sure, busses exist, but I don’t think Greyhound would have approved of the amount of luggage I took with me when I ran away.
“It’s cold out,” Ryker growls. “You’re trembling. Get in the truck before I put you in the truck.”
I have no doubt he’d pick me up and shove me inside. “Fine.” I huff and walk around to get into his beast of a truck.
Once I’m seated with my seat belt on, he fiddles with the ventilators until they’re aimed at me and blowing hot air my way. When the hot air hits me, I realize I’m absolutely freezing. I put my hands practically on top of the ventilators to warm them.
“Why aren’t you wearing gloves?” Ryker demands.
I’ve had enough of men demanding answers from me, but I’ll let him slide since he saved me and all. “I can’t take pictures with gloves on.”
He shakes his head as he puts the truck in drive and pulls out of his parking spot. He’s parked a block over from the Brown’s house.
“What are you doing in this neighborhood?”
I’m not expecting an answer, after all, he’s ignored all my previous questions, but this time he does give me one. “I’m a bounty hunter. I followed one of my skips to the area.”
My eyes widen and I swivel in my seat to gawk at him. “You’re a bounty hunter? How cool. You must have some great stories.”
He grunts in response. I guess I won’t be hearing any stories about him taking down a naked, oiled up man then. I’m not making stuff up. Hailey’s fiancé actually arrested a naked man once, although Aiden didn’t mention whether the guy was all oiled up. My imagination supplied that little tidbit. What? Chris Hemsworth is not the only hot body worth watching. Turkish oil wrestling is a thing.
Ryker pulls up next to my vehicle and stops. I take a deep breath, grab hold of my courage, and ask, “Can I buy you a drink for saving my behind?”
Despite wanting to forget every single thing my mother ever taught me, the good manners she drilled into me are too far embedded in my personality to be forgotten. It’s an automatic reflex to want to find some way to properly thank him for saving me.
I expect him to say no. Instead, he grunts. “Sure. I’ll follow you.”
I bite my lip to stop my jaw from dropping open. He said yes! Butterflies explode in my stomach. Oh wait. I don’t want a man. And I certainly don’t want a man who causes butterflies to explode in my stomach. What have I gotten myself into?
Chapter 5
Babe is not an answer to a question. Just saying. ~ Phoebe’s rules for becoming a better person
I get into my car and drive to McGraw’s Pub. I don’t want to subject the man to the uncles, but I don’t know any other bars. I should have thought of my dismal knowledge of the area before asking if I could buy him a drink. In my defense, I’ve never asked if I could buy a guy a drink before. I’m in unchartered territory here.
I park the SUV and Ryker parks his massive truck next to me. When I open my door, he’s already there holding out his hand. I look at his hand for a second before I take it. Sparks fly up my arm and through my body. I can practically see a sign flashing ‘Danger’. I yank on my hand, but he refuses to let me go. I look up to discover he’s smirking. Oh great, he knows the effect he has on my body.
What am I thinking? He doesn’t have an effect on my body. It’s the effects of an adrenaline dump is all. Never mind the effects of an adrenaline dump are usually fatigue and feeling drained and not sparks flying all over your body.
We walk toward the entry to McGraw’s with our hands entwined. The more I try to pull away, the more Ryker holds on. His body is shaking.
I glare at him. “Are you laughing at me?”
“Yeah, babe. You’re hilarious.”
My eyes narrow. “Don’t call me babe.” It’s such a throwaway term of endearment. I am done with those. Done and dusted.
He releases my hand to place his in the small of my back and guide me into the bar. And darn it, I like the feel of his big, strong hand on my body even more than holding his hand. What is wrong with me? I never have these kinds of reactions to men. There’s a reason my nickname is Ice Queen after all. Hold on. My nickname was the Ice Queen. The Ice Queen is in my past and she better stay put there.
I look around the bar and nearly sigh in relief when I notice the uncles aren’t around. Maybe they don’t live here after all. We take a booth in the corner and the waitress approaches immediately.
“She’ll have a vodka martini with Stolichnaya,” Ryker orders on my behalf.
My brow wrinkles. “What are you doing? Stalking me? How do you know my favorite drink?”
“Babe,” is his only reply. As if saying one word is a reply.
I open my mouth to berate him. It’s bad enough babe is a throwaway term of endearment, but I will not tolerate a man not paying attention to my wishes. Not anymore. The Phoebe who let men run all over her is no more.
“Princess, give it a rest.”
“Princess? I’m no princess.” And I’m certainly not his princess.
Lucky for him, Pops arrives with our drinks. He sets my martini down in front of me but keeps his eyes glued to Ryker. “You okay, Phoebe?”
I know I should be annoyed Hailey’s dad is acting like an overprotective bully, but my stomach warms instead. No one – absolutely no one – has been protective of me before, let alone overprotective.