CHAPTER 9
Digger punched in the digits to Demma’s entry and waited for the gate to slowly roll open. At least, the power was on again. He had called a contractor first thing this morning who assured him they would put a rush on her order. Sometimes, notoriety had its perks. He doubted anyone other than a first class Hollywood star would have gotten such prompt service on a Sunday. As a bonus, there were no signs of Demma’s adoring fans. Starpower knew their business. They managed to keep this entire distasteful incident out of the public’s eye.
Walking Demma to her door, he glanced at her as she dug into her purse for her keys. She was wearing the black wig again and had large sunglasses covering her eyes. Digger shook his head. She was so beautiful with her real hair spilled over his pillow and her eyes drowsy with desire. The memory of her on his bed made his body ache with hunger again. The image was the one he craved more than any other. His Demma, in all her radiant glory, drunk on their lovemaking. Lord, what this woman had done to him. It was less than a week since they had met, and already he couldn’t get enough of her. It wasn’t just her external beauty that snared him. Inside, where it truly counted, she was breathtaking. Breathtaking and his. He contemplated the ramifications of his realization. Was he falling for her? Yes, he was halfway in love with her. Already, he couldn’t imagine going back to how things were before she had crashed into his life. She had dug in under his skin, and he’d be perfectly happy to let her stay. Glancing as she pulled out her keys, he wanted to take her in his arms and kiss her senseless until he could convince her they belonged together.
“Alright,” she whispered.
He almost chuckled as her response seemed an affirmation of his revelation. Instead, he gently pulled her hand away from the door and took her keys. He drew his Colt and lifted his chin toward the door. “Let me check the house first. I want to make sure it’s safe. Stay here until I come for you.”
She clutched her purse tightly to her stomach and nodded. “Okay, Ryker.”
Demma’s eyes were on the door, and there was such trepidation in her face, he felt anger swell inside. She was afraid of her own house. Digger tamped down the fury and swore he would finish this sooner rather than later. He’d slay dragons for her like a modern day knight. He snaked out a hand, grasped her behind the neck and pulled her to him. With a savage growl, he plundered her lips, kissing her with a ferocity which wouldn’t be denied. She gasped at the wildness of his demands, and he plunged inside, taking her breath as he ravaged her mouth. Drawing back, he pressed his forehead to hers. “I swear to you, this is ending soon. Hold it together just a little longer.”
“Okay,” she whispered, her breath bathing his face. She smelled like the cinnamon hard candies she favored mixed with the cappuccino she drank on the drive. Just the nearness of her was enough to send his libido into overdrive. This wasn’t the time. Reluctantly, he let his hand fall and turned.
“Stay here,” he reminded her. “If I’m not back in ten minutes, get in my truck, call the police and get out of here.” He handed her his keys. “Don’t come in this house, under any circumstances.”
“Do you think it’s dangerous?”
“No, honey, I don’t. I need to satisfy my own caveman demand to ensure nothing is there. Just humor me, yeah?”
His comment had the desired effect. The full pink pout of her lips lifted in a dazzling smile. He was relieved to see the tension finally relax in her beautiful face. “Alright.” She kissed his mouth again and motioned toward the door. “Go be the Alpha male protector you are.”
Ryker winked at her and unlocked the door. Mentally preparing himself, he pushed it open and slipped inside.
The house was dark, and Digger didn’t take the time to turn on any lights; mostly because if there were anyone there, he didn’t want to announce his presence. Holding the Colt out in front, he carefully swept the rooms, checking every corner and closet for anything out of place. Entering the den, he shoved the white-hot blaze of fury back down at the red painted name sprayed across Demma’s possessions. He paused as he noticed a smashed picture on the wall. Stepping closer, he heard the snap of glass under his feet and looked at the destroyed item. It was Demma, smiling at the camera as she stood in front of a church. Beside it, a newspaper article praised the very generous donation she had made. He hadn’t noticed this bit of destruction last night.
Dismissing it, Digger resumed his sweep of the dwelling. Finding nothing downstairs, he silently crept up the winding staircase and stepped out onto the landing. Starting at one end, he slipped into each room, checking it thoroughly then moving on to the next. Her home shocked him. He knew most stars lived in lavish multi-million dollar houses, and Demma was not as pretentious as most, but it was still a bit of a surprise. Although she decorated the entire bottom floor tastefully, the second one was almost barren. Out of the six bedrooms that he searched upstairs, two were used as bedrooms, another one as storage and a fourth as an office. The remaining two were empty.
Pausing at the door of the master bedroom, he cautiously looked around the room. The first thing he noticed was the small, plastic night light plugged into the wall. It did not create an abundance of light, but it was enough to illuminate the corners and turn them from dark gray to a lighter slate color. A dark midnight-blue duvet lay folded at the foot of her oversized bed, and the sheets were still mussed from the last time she had slept there. Several small pillows lay stacked on the floor. Turning his attention away from her bed, he noticed one of her bedside tables contained a blinking LED alarm clock. There were also two matching dressers and a sitting area which contained three oversized chairs. At the foot of her bed was a dressing bench with a pair of sneakers tucked underneath. Against the far wall under a window sat a beat up, old cedar chest. There were a couple of hand-stitched quilts stacked on top along with a small photo album. He wrinkled his brow. The album looked out of place in the pristine expanse of her private domain.
Turning away from it, Digger made his way toward the master bathroom door but stopped a few feet away. Something glittered on the floor next to the closet doorway. Crouching, he examined a beautiful gold and diamond necklace lying in the thick pile of luxury carpet which covered Demma’s floor. Picking it up, he frowned. Had she accidentally dropped it on her way out last night? That didn’t fit with what he knew about her. She was meticulous about her belongings. Besides, why would she need to take a diamond necklace when she was only going to be gone overnight? It didn’t make sense.
Standing upright again, Digger turned to place it on one of the dressers in her room when he stopped. Directly in front of the double doors leading to what must be her closet laid a hoop earring and another necklace. This time, it was a simple chain of silver or white gold with a large blue stone as a pendant. He frowned. One necklace he could understand, but two? Something was amiss. Stuffing the jewelry into his pocket to give to Demma later, he again raised his pistol and aimed it at the closet door. Inching forward, he grabbed the handle and wrenched it open. Stepping inside, he glanced around the spacious room.
Rows of clothing hung on both sides in double layers. Digger noticed there were expensive gowns and designer clothing sharing space with discount-store brands. He couldn’t help but smile. That did seem to be exactly her style - casual one moment and Hollywood starlet the next. The room was L shaped, so he carefully edged around the corner in case someone was waiting in the alcove. There wasn’t. Instead, he found a dressing area with a bench and three walls of floor to ceiling mirrors. A table with makeup and other feminine fripperies sat facing the mirrored wall. He picked up a bottle of perfume and brought it to his nose. The scent was not overpowering, but rather light and fresh almost like morning rain. Turning the bottle over, he read the name and stored it away for the future. If he had his say, there would be many opportunities to purchase her the little things she enjoyed. Sometime between last night and now he had decided to make her his. He had no intention of letting her slip through his hands and out of his life after this nightmare was over.
Carefully, he returned the perfume bottle to her table and resumed his observation of the closet. Ryker noticed one of the mirrors was slightly off. When he examined it, he realized it was a door. Pulling it open, Digger saw rows of shoes in several levels. Ah, this was the shoe closet where she had hidden when she called him. He didn’t think it was once a panic room, per se, as the door seemed flimsy and wouldn’t hold out long against an attacker, but at least he could tell it locked from the inside. If someone hid inside and kept quiet, they could remain undiscovered. He made a mental note to talk to her about fortifying this room and making it into a real panic room in the near future. Already, he could envision many improvements which would give her more protection without losing much functionality as a shoe closet.
He backed out of the room and closed the door with the soft click of the catch engaging. Turning around, he surveyed the closet one last time and noticed a small piece of furniture in the corner on the floor next to the dressing table. The lid was open. Taking several steps closer, he was able to see slots and grooves in the top. He frowned. This was a jewelry chest, and it was empty.
Movement in the mirrors caught his eye. Whirling around, he brought his gun up, but it was too late. A shape materialized from behind a row of evening gowns and rushed forward. The hurried shot Digger had fired missed Ralph Langley and burrowed into one of the mirrors, shattering it. Before Digger could correct his aim, Langley brought a crowbar down and clipped Digger on the side of the head. The last thing that went through Digger’s mind as he crumpled to the glass covered floor was he hoped Demma heard the shot and fled to safety.
***
Demma stood on the step leading up to her porch after Ryker disappeared inside. For a moment, she had considered following him but discarded the idea. It wasn’t that she was afraid, exactly, but rather she didn’t want to needlessly worry him. He needed to focus his attention on making sure her house was safe. She smiled. It made her feel good to have someone worry about her and not just because they were being paid. Ryker would protect her even if they were strangers. It was just his nature.
Returning to Ryker’s truck, she placed her purse on the hood and leaned against the grill. It shouldn’t take much longer; he would return and escort her inside to gather a few things. When he’d first suggested on her staying with him for her safety and peace of mind, she had balked. However, at his gentle reminder of the previous night and the overwhelming terror she’d experienced, she’d consented. She wanted to be brave and face her fears, but it felt good to put her trust in Ryker. That, plus she needed to get a cleaning crew to come in and remove all the hateful paint. She cringed at the thought of anyone seeing the graffiti, but removing spray paint was far beyond her abilities.
Taking a compact out of her purse, Demma touched up her makeup. She wanted to look her best for Ryker. A gentle smile graced her lips as she recalled how he had repeatedly told her how attractive she was. Even when she had cried in his arms and knew her face was red and splotchy, he assured her she was beautiful. Glancing in the mirror, she knew she was considered pretty. Perhaps other women would become vain over such attention, but not Demma. She remembered too well how it felt to be ugly and not just on the outside.
Her eyes strayed to the long, pale scar on her neck. She remembered the day she had it surgically removed. It was the last thing the DEA had done for her before setting her free. The brand marked her as Blood Cobra property and was easily identifiable. When her handler suggested surgery to have it removed, she happily acquiesced. She couldn’t imagine going through life wearing scarves and turtleneck sweaters every day. The surgery had been painful but successful. There was still a scar running from her jaw to her shoulder to remind her, but she let it go. Monty had repeatedly tried to get her to see a plastic surgeon friend of his to have the scar reduced, but Demma refused. It was a physical lesson of how stupid she had been.
Just under the scar, a small, round faint red mark sat. She giggled. Ryker had left a love bite on her shoulder from their tryst hours ago. Touching the mark, she remembered the incredible night they had shared. He was a passionate lover, taking time to ensure she was sated and well satisfied. Even now, she could remember the feel of his wicked fingers as he brought her to bliss. The memory of his lips chasing kisses down her neck and across her collarbone brought a resurgence of pleasure through her core. And his body? He told her he had left the Marines several years ago, but he apparently kept up his exercise regimen. He was toned and fit. She had spent time tracing the contours of his muscles until she found the one place that made him laugh. The impromptu tickle fight had left the bed a mess and both of them gasping for breath. Never had a man so completely enveloped her senses. She bit her lip and sighed happily. Demma didn’t date often. In fact, she had only spent time with one man since moving to California. It hadn’t worked out due to their insane schedules. He’d hosted a very popular reality television show that filmed on the eastern seaboard. They tried for several months to make it work, but the stress had been too much. They did manage to remain friends, and she remembered their time together fondly.
Demma snapped out of daydream by a sharp crack coming from the house. She started. Was that a gunshot? She threw her compact into her purse and drew out her cell. Pressing 911, she drummed her fingers on the hood. “Come on, pick up,” she muttered.
The phone was plucked from her hand and off button pressed. She whirled around and stifled a scream. “You!” she gasped.
Her fear threatened to drown her when she heard a familiar voice growl, “Hello, Bea.”