CHAPTER 3
How was he even considering this?
Digger dropped his glasses onto his keyboard and leaned back. Raking his fingers through his shaggy black hair, he winced when one digit brushed over the sensitive puckered scars cradling his left eye from his temple down to his neck. The skin pulled making his eye droop slightly. He knew if he could stand the touch, he could pull the hair back on that side of his head and see the lines of scars intermingled with tufts of hair. He grimaced at the thought and subconsciously pulled the dark locks forward. It didn’t matter if his hair obscured his sight out of that eye as he had lost eighty percent of his vision in it. His left eye was the reason he’d been medically discharged from the Marines. They didn’t care about the scars, but the loss of his vision made a difference.
His musings were cut short as a sharp knock sounded on his door. He slipped the glasses back on his face. Glancing around the room, he spotted the screen containing the dossier he had put together on Garritt De Jääger for Bruiser Titus. Bruiser was a Navy SEAL, and he and his team were currently searching in Suriname for an abducted woman who just happened also to be Bruiser’s girlfriend. He hoped the information would be what they needed. In the meantime, he turned that screen off. His extracurricular activities were his business and nobody else.
“Yes?” he called out.
The door opened, and Demma stuck her head inside. “Hi, Mr. McMillan? May I come in?”
Digger motioned to the chair beside his desk. Unlike most of the furniture in the building, he opted for sensible comfort over senseless opulence. His office was for working, not entertaining.
Until today, that is.
“Yes, of course, make yourself comfortable.”
She slipped through the door and closed it behind her. Sitting delicately in the chair, she folded her hands in her lap. She studied Digger causing him to self-consciously readjust his hair to cover his scars.
“Please, don’t do that. It doesn’t bother me. I want you to be comfortable.” Demma’s dulcet tones wove around his senses. He could hear the sincerity in her voice, and he dropped his hand.
“I’m sorry. Habit.” He cleared his throat. “Since we are going to be working together, Ms. St. John, you are welcomed to use my nickname, Digger, if you wish.”
Her smile lit the room. “I like Ryker. But you have to promise to call me Demma.” She chuckled wryly. She hesitated a moment then plunged right in. “I know you don’t want to take this job. I understand you don’t work out in public. I hope you will forgive me for dragging you out of your office.” She looked down and picked at the pleat of her slacks. “I don’t trust easy, Ryker. In fact, you may say I don’t trust at all. I had an extremely bad experience when I was younger, and it led to me being in this situation now. I trusted someone and this is where it got me.” She shook her head and looked up at him. “For whatever reason, I do trust you.”
Digger was taken aback by the sincerity in Demma’s eyes. She had faith in him. He wasn’t sure why, but she did. “Most people don’t want to be seen with someone who looks like I do,” he started.
“I don’t care how you look, Ryker. I need your expertise. I need someone who will help me navigate the tricky convolutions of being blackmailed. There is information out there. Information I was assured was dead and buried. It wasn’t. That’s why I chose you. I know you will help me get a handle on this because data is what you do.” She drew in a breath and let it out slowly. “Also, I appreciate that you see me as a person and not a Hollywood starlet. I don’t need a sycophant agreeing with my every word. To be honest, until we ran into each other in the hallway, I had decided not to use Starpower, Inc. I need honest, reliable help, not surrounded by an army of yes-men.”
Digger sat back and considered what she was saying. She needed help that was evident. He didn’t know what the issue was, but it troubled her greatly. Now that he saw her face clearly, he could see the tired circles under her blue orbs. She had carefully applied makeup, but the tint was still there. There was also a tightness around her mouth which spoke of an overabundance of stress. His protective instinct reared up and he agreed before he could stop himself.
“Alright, Ms. St. John, I mean Demma. If you think I’m the best person to help you, then I’m here for you.” He put his hand up to stop her before she continued. “However, before you tell me what’s going on with you, I want to put your mind to rest. We’ll get Kathleen in here and sign the nondisclosure.”
Digger called his boss who appeared with the modified contract hammered out between Starpower and Mr. Staple. Under the scrutiny of both parties, the papers were signed. Afterward, Digger and Demma were left alone. He pulled a gadget out of a desk drawer and turned it on. “It’s a bug detector,” he laughed. “I know my office is clean, but I want you to be comfortable.”
She let out a held breath. “Thank you, Ryker.”
He completed his sweep then placed the device on the desk. Sitting back, he watched Demma as she stared at it then back to him. “It’s safe?”
Digger wrinkled his brow. Something was off. He’d done the bug sweep as a bit of a joke. He expected her to smile at the absurdity of it. Instead, she seemed relieved. He leaned forward. “Alright, Demma. Do you want to tell me what’s going on?”
She shifted uneasily in her seat. “Want? No, not really,” she whispered. “But I know I need to.” She opened her purse and pulled out a piece of paper and unfolded it. She glanced at it a moment before handing it to him. “I found this placed on the table in my dressing room. It was the first one.”
Digger turned the paper around and read it out loud. “Sleep doesn’t come easy when you hide your demons, wouldn’t you agree, Beatrice? Silence is golden, and gold is expensive. Instructions will be coming. It’ll be in your best interest to follow them.” He folded it and placed it on the table. “Who is Beatrice?”
She swallowed. “That’s me. Well, it was me. My name used to be Beatrice.”
When she didn’t volunteer more information, he frowned. “The first?”
She nodded. “I’ve gotten two more since then.” Demma pulled out more folded papers and handed them over. “One was in my mailbox, and the other was with my dinner one night. Whoever this is, he knows how to find me.”
Digger read the notes. “I have the proof. You have the money. We’ll make an exchange.” He placed the paper on top of the first and unfolded the second. “You can’t run from your past. I know people who would pay a lot of money to know what I do. Will you pay? I think so. I’ll be in touch.”
“Blackmail.” Digger’s stomach clenched at the distress on Demma’s face. “Alright, first thing is if you receive anything else from him, you don’t touch it. It needs to be dusted for fingerprints although I’m relatively sure there won’t be any.” He stared at the pages. “Are you sure you don’t want to take this to the police? Whatever this refers to could be handled by them. It may be a bit uncomfortable, but once everything is in the open, it will help to ease your worry. Nobody can hold your past over your head if it’s general knowledge. Today’s public is very forgiving.”
“No.” Her vehement reply startled him.
He glanced at her and saw her beautiful face drawn tight and her hand clenched until her knuckles were white. The little knot of anger in his stomach twisted more. He slid from his chair and crouched in front of her. Taking one of her hands in his, Digger gently stroked her fist with his thumb until it relaxed. He watched her face as her emotions played out upon it. Anger. Frustration. Fear. So much fear. He stayed still and quiet as she worked through things until finally, she looked up. The anguish and tears that pooled in her deep blue depths almost sent him reeling. This wasn’t just some spoiled diva with an unsavory tryst in her past. Whatever ghost haunted her, it was real.
“I know you are afraid,” he whispered gently as not to startle her. He couldn’t help himself, he lifted his other hand and gently touched her cheek. “I know you don’t want to talk about what is at the core of this situation. But, if I’m going to take care of you adequately...” Digger paused as the words left his mouth. Take care of you. Not protect, guard or take care of your career, but take care of you. He sighed. He’ll deal with his faux pas later. “If I’m going to do this, I need to know what’s going on. I swear to you, there will be no reports, no official documentation. I will not share one single word of what you tell me with another living soul without your explicit permission.” He paused before he continued. “Unless it means saving your life.” He winced as he added the last part, but it was the truth. Secrets took the back seat when it came to Demma’s safety. “But only if it is crucial to ensuring your life.”
She looked into his face, and he resisted the urge to hide his scars. Demma had them too, deep dark, gnarly scars that disfigured her soul, no less than his injuries did his face. If she were to gather the courage to let them out, he had to be an example. Lifting his chin, he tossed his head, sending his hair back and exposing the twisted flesh to her eyes. She didn’t blink, didn’t recoil. Instead, her eyes traveled over the bumps and valleys of red and white flesh. He saw her resolve waiver then break.
“Okay,” she whispered.