Concealed Affliction (11 page)

“I fucked up, beautiful. I get that. I apologize. Now fucking forgive me and let me learn from it, just like I forgive you with your up and down shit. We’re learning here Elle, can’t learn until you make the mistake. Forgive me.”

I take a long hard look at the beautiful man in front of me. Whether the old bird’s think his tattoos make him look like a prison inmate or not, he’s the most attractive man I’ve ever laid eyes on; his dark hair and black eyes, his tanned skin complemented with art. Ryder is an incredibly perceptive man who has sacrificed his life for others without a second thought.

My father may not be alive today, but he’d be proud of me sharing my life with someone such as Ryder Callaghan. He’s selfless, and he’s caring, regardless of the shitty ways he’s proved that. If there were a way for my father to track me while I was a teenager, he would’ve done so. However, cell phones were still incredibly new back then and GPS trackers in vehicles were null and void.

“I don’t ever want to be referred to as ‘the old ball and chain’ Ryder. That’s not my goal here. I also don’t want you to think of me as the woman who sticks her nose where it doesn’t belong. What I need you to understand is that you’re the only person in this whole damn country who knows who I really am, so when you take off for a job that your men are not even aware of, well that puts up a few red flags for me. The biggest flag being I’m not ready to go back to Canada yet, and you could very well send me back there.

“I’m still wanted for questioning Ryder, and when I don’t know what you’re up to, and your men don’t, that makes me wonder who it is I can trust. It makes me wonder who’s lying and what is really going on here.”

He puts his hand on my leg and looks shocked at what I’ve said.

“What do you mean ‘my men’? Who’s been around here Elle?”

I’m a little shocked that this is his question. Regardless, I answer.

“Nobody has been here Ryder. I spent some time training with Denny, he mentioned you being with me in Indy, and I informed him you left before I did for work in Chicago. To say he looked surprised would be an understatement. However he never elaborated on the subject at all and I didn’t ask. I saved my questions for you.”

Ryder pushes his chair away from the table and begins pacing the deck, one hand on his hip, one scrubbing his face. I hate second guessing myself, and I know he’s a good man. But I have every right to ask what I did. I’m practically here illegally; I’ve certainly been here long enough. I know little of his work or this mystery job in Chicago. His explanation seemed legit enough, but I’m still curious as to why he was so secretive about it.

“Is this how it’s going to be Elle? You not believing what I say, and you asking my men my whereabouts?”

I too stand up out of my chair and stomp over until I’m standing in front of him, pointing my finger at his chest.

“Don’t you fucking dare. I just told you I didn’t want to seem like I’m sticking my nose where it doesn’t belong. I didn’t prod Denny for information, I answered a question that he asked. Or more like a statement, seeing as he said you were ‘with me in Indy’ to which I corrected him and said you left early for Chicago.”

Angry eyes stare back at mine.

“Well I was in Chicago, I didn’t fucking lie to you Elle. I’m not always going to be able to share my work with you, seeing as the majority of it is confidential. And I won’t tolerate you talking about me with my fucking men, Elle.”

I stand as tall as my sandals will let me before I lean into his face. This conversation is getting us nowhere.

I thought I had anger issues? Apparently I’m not the only one.

“Remember that part of me telling you I didn’t want you to think I stuck my nose where it didn’t belong?”

Since he’s still a lot taller than I am, he leans down so our faces are inches apart.

“I’m not fucking deaf, woman.”

I seethe at his words, spitting my own right back.

“Good, because you won’t need to worry about that tonight when you go to bed. Alone.”

I turn away from him and head for the house. I reach out for the door, swinging it open as I look over my shoulder. He’s standing there, fuming, staring back at me.

“And take that fucking tracking shit off of my truck.”

With that last parting shot I slam the storm door and lock it. I know it won’t do much good considering he has a key, but after this morning he’d be pretty goddamn stupid to surprise me again in my own house, unless he wants a bullet planted in his ass.

Chapter Eight

I slept like shit.

I tossed and turned all night regardless of the amount of wine I drank. One bonus to that I suppose is when I don’t fall asleep, I don’t have nightmares. 

Knowing I can’t put off the grocery store much longer, and not wanting to lie in bed and stew over my argument with Ryder, I pull my sorry ass out of bed and head for the bathroom. I don’t want to sit on my porch this morning, I just need to keep busy.

I’d like to say I’m genuinely upset that I slept alone last night, but I’m not. Being alone is something that I’m used to. Do I enjoy a warm body to sleep next to? Of course. However, that body belonging to someone who tells lies is something I won’t tolerate.

Ever.

The day is mild but cloudy, so I throw on a pair of torn skinny jeans with my high brown boots and a loose black top. Once again, my attire is paired together with cuffs, a knife in my boots and a gun in my bag.

I put on a pair of hangover sunglasses and give Norma a pat on the head as I exit the house, travel mug in hand filled with my morning brew. I descend the steps, scanning my surroundings on the way to my truck. Ryder’s big Ford is not parked in his driveway, not that I expected it to be. If he and his men were in fact getting back to work today, it would make sense that he’s not home. With that in mind I head for town. I plan to contact Denny today to see if we can make alternate arrangements for working out.

As much as I was comfortable working out with him in room 201, he did say that it’s rented out to his crew. That means Ryder must’ve done the renting. Not wanting him to get his panties in a twist because I’m working in his room with his men, I hope to make other plans.

I turn up the heavy rock station on my stereo and begin the drive toward town, trying not to fret too much over how much of a prick Ryder was yesterday. The thing that really gets me is he knows I don’t just sit around and ‘shoot the shit’ with people, much less ask about their personal lives, so his blow up about me speaking with Denny confuses me.

What about when he got pissed at me for picking up and leaving the first time? All that shit he spewed at me about not actually asking him for an explanation? He was furious I took his ex-fiancé Anna’s words over his own.

So, shouldn’t he be giving me some sort of credit now? Seeing as I sat him down and asked him about Chicago, as opposed to jumping to conclusions? I may have done so in my mind, but I definitely gave him the chance to explain himself. Which he did, a little. Just not enough for me to believe that he’s actually telling me the whole truth. Especially after his blow up. To me that just screams guilty conscience.

I pull into the Green Grocer and grab an abandoned cart from the parking lot. I’ve pretty much exhausted my supplies at home, so I begin at the first isle, working my way through them all to pick up what I need. I grab everything from ketchup to eggs, then somewhere between the papayas and bananas I hear his voice, only he’s not speaking to me.

“You’ll need to find someone else. I have contracts lined up here on the East Coast that can’t be put off.”

I don’t mean to eavesdrop, but I can’t help but overhear the conversation taking place from somewhere behind me. I turn around to see how far away he is, and recognize the back of his head by the meat counter.

“I did what you wanted me to do. Our contract is finished.”

He pulls his phone away from his ear and sticks it in his pocket. Not wanting to linger any longer, I toss my handful of bananas into the cart and head for the checkout.

I’m loading my seven bags of groceries and two bags of alcohol into the back of my SUV when his voice washes over me.

“I turned the tracking notifications off.”

I close the hatch on my truck and begin to steer my cart to the return spot, but not before glancing through my sunglasses at Ryder. He’s dressed in jeans, a dark t-shirt and boots. I may be pissed at him but I can still admit he looks good.

“Good to know.”

I park the cart and walk toward the door of my truck where Ryder is standing.

“I shouldn’t have been angry with you like that yesterday, Elle.”

His hands are in his pockets and his sunglasses are on his head. I like that I’m able to see his eyes, and I appreciate him apologizing. The only problem is I just don’t want to deal with it right now.

“No, you shouldn’t have. I guess we both have anger issues.”

I reach the handle for the truck, opening it and climbing into my seat.

“Elle, I’d like to talk.”

I close the door, and look at him through the open window. I let out an exasperated sigh and slightly shake my head. Maybe I can’t do sex
and
emotions? As much as I thought I could make this work between us I realize I’m losing sight of what’s most important, which is finding the other twin and solving my case.

It wouldn’t be the first time sex has clouded my judgment, as well as my priorities. It is the first time however that emotions have been in the mix. The only way I’m going to get this straightened out is by solely working with Ryder and not sleeping with him. It’s obvious I can’t do both, or at least not right now.

“Ryder, we only do one thing well together, and it’s not talking. So either we stick with fucking each other senseless, or we only remain friends. It’s clear we can’t do both.”

He reaches out and places a hand on the mirror.

“I think you’re wrong, Elle.”

“Well then Ryder, you have a few days to figure out how to prove that. Not to be a bitch, but I’m tired and I don’t want to deal with it right now.”

He eyes go soft before he replies.

“You having more nightmares?”

I shake my head and put the truck in gear.

“You going to tell me more about Chicago?”

He nods his head reluctantly, not willing to answer, and moves away from my truck. Clearly he too has shit he needs to work on, if yesterday’s outburst is any indication.

* * *

“Damn, you don’t fuck around.”

I watch Denny take in the beauty that is the third floor. After Ryder’s blow up the other day, I took it upon myself to call and book my own room at the Mannick Building. I discovered that the third floor has smaller rooms, but cater to a classier clientele.

The size of the room is only about a third of the one that Ryder’s men use downstairs. To the right when you walk in is a counter with fresh fruit and juices, accompanied by two comfortable black chairs and a table. The middle of the room is made up entirely of mats, and the left side holds a few workout machines and a weight set. It’s not what I’m used to, but it’s more than I need. The furniture smells new, and the glass wall behind the table and chairs gives a great view of the water.

It’s perfect.

“I’m a straight shooter Denny. I told you on the phone that Ryder could have an issue with us working out together. He doesn’t want me anywhere near his work life. So, if at any time you feel like this could fuck up your work relationship with him, you let me know. I rented the room. You’re supposed to be off work hours, so I’m hoping we can still make a go of this.”

Denny turns around from checking out the juice bar and leans back against the counter, crossing his arms over his broad chest. He’s in a white short sleeve shirt and long black shorts. His biceps are bigger around than my thighs. Oddly enough I still have no fear around him.

“Not sure what’s going on between you two, and it’s not my business. Much like what I do on my free time is not Ryder’s business. I respect him Elle, and I enjoy working with him. But what I do outside of work is my choice to make. Not his.”

I take a long hard look at the good looking, large man in front of me and nod my head.

“Good answer. Now, let’s hit the mats so you can kick my ass. Brock used to leave me with bruises. You barely gave me an excuse to have a bath last time.”

A deep laugh graces my ears, not quite as beautiful as Ryder’s, but enough to make me smile a little.

“Alright girl, center of the mat. And don’t bitch if you can’t walk tomorrow.”

I think about the last time I couldn’t walk, but it involved being pounded into a different type of mat with a different man.

I pull my mind out of the gutter and proceed to getting my ass kicked.

Chapter Nine

If my stiff and sore body is any indication, Denny well and truly kicked my ass yesterday. I don’t regret a single minute of it, seeing as I slept like a rock without any nightmares.

Ryder texted me last night while I was in the bath, asking if I was ready to speak with him. I told him when he saw me awake and on my porch in the morning that he could come over.

I brush my teeth and wash my face before heading out to the lounge with my coffee. I haven’t been smoking as much recently, but I bring them out with me knowing this conversation with Ryder could spark my need for them.

I sit down on the lounge and watch Norm waddle her way toward the water. The sun is out today but the weather is a little cooler, a sign that fall is approaching. The lower temperatures don’t bother me much anymore. It gives me the opportunity to dress in clothing that completely covers my body, avoiding the need for decorative scarves and bracelets.

I hear footsteps approaching and turn my head to see Ryder making his way toward me, coffee in hand. He’s dressed in loose running pants and a white short sleeve shirt that makes his tan skin stand out. His long dark hair is bedroom messy, which will make this conversation more difficult as I remember waking up with that same hair in my bed not too long ago.

He climbs the steps and comes to sit on the lounge, not up beside me this time. He sits at the foot of it. I appreciate the small moment of silence to memorize his profile again.

“You want to start, or do you want me to?” he asks.

Typical Ryder, well, typical on a good day. Thinking about me, and what I’d like first.

“I think we have two options Ryder. I need your help, you know I do. I don’t ask for help often, so please don’t take that lightly. The other option is for you to distance yourself from my personal life, and me from yours. Meaning our relationship would be that of neighbors who occasionally fuck each other.”

His head whips around fast to face mine.

“Not fucking happening, Elle.”

I sadly shake my head.

“There’s no other option for you Ryder. I’m going to be selfish about this and tell you that I need your help, more than I need your dick. You said it yourself we’re both learning this relationship stuff, so let’s put it on the back burner while we figure my case out. We’ve already proven we can’t do both without tearing each other’s heads off. Keeping myself alive is more important than sharing a bed with someone right now, Ryder. If that doesn’t work for you then we toss it all aside and just share each other’s beds while I figure it out on my own.”

His frustrated black eyes stare back at me while he shakes his head, his posture tight.

“Why do you get to be the one to make the decisions here Elle? Why do you get to give me ultimatums?”

I soften a little, and settle my greens on his blacks.

“Because my life has an expiration date Ryder, and it’s not like yours that includes wrinkles, grey hair and grandchildren.”

His eyes close and he tilts his head down. This man has looked defeated in front of me so many times, I’m starting to wonder if I’m doing him more harm than good. Surely a regular woman with a normal life couldn’t put this much stress on a man.

I remind myself he too has left me stressed, and that whatever way we move forward will be for the better. At least right now.

“I don’t like it Elle, I don’t. But it doesn’t sound like you’re giving me any other option.”

I reach out and put my hand on top of his.

“This is the way it needs to be right now, Ryder.”

He grabs my hand and brings it up to his mouth, placing a kiss on my palm.

“I still think you’re wrong, and you never said I had to agree with you, because I don’t. I hope to prove you wrong, Elle. I fucked up the other day and I’ll probably do that a lot.”

He takes a deep breath and runs his hands through his hair before continuing.

“I’ll help. You know I will beautiful. But don’t think it’s going to be easy for me.”

I know what he means, and this is what it comes down to. Sex. It’s what it always comes down to. This is his way of letting me know that he’ll have a hard time not getting it from me, and maybe even that he’d find it somewhere else.

I decide that it’s no longer my place to ask him exactly what he means by that and give him a small, reassuring smile.

“I think this is the time we rip the band aid off, so if you don’t have plans today, I suggest we dive right into it.”

He studies me a few moments longer than necessary before standing up.

“No plans. I’m going to go grab a shower and a bite to eat. Meet you back here in an hour?”

I nod my head.

“Sounds good.”

Chapter Ten

I sit at the old wooden table that Tom Morgan and his dear late wife used to share dinners at. They probably smiled and told each other about their day around this table, most likely over a nice home cooked meal.

There will be no smiles around this table today.

Ryder is sitting in his usual spot at the head of the table, and I’m to his right, facing out the window toward his house. The mood is somber, and despite my want for a glass of vodka to accompany the task ahead of us, I know I need to keep a clear head.

“I’m not going to dive right into what happened in the basement, because at this point I don’t think it’s relevant. You’ll see enough from the photos and you’ve already seen my body.”

Out of habit he reaches over to squeeze my leg, but it ends up being more of a pat before he corrects himself.

“What I think is important is for you to look at all the information gathered so far, and do whatever it is you’d normally do to try and figure out who the second attacker is. My being wanted for questioning back in Canada is a moot point at the moment. I’m not asking you for help to get me out of that, I just need your help to find out who’s after me.”

I push the two inch thick folder containing the rest of the things he hasn’t seen toward him. The things he noticed were missing when he first discovered my dark secret spread out on my old kitchen table back in Indy.

“I’ll do what I can and use whatever resources I have to help you, Elle.”

I absorb the sincerity in his eyes before nodding my head, and letting the folder go. He gives me a small, reassuring smile before opening it up.

Ryder heaves out a long breath deep from his lungs and rests his hands on the table, now clenched tight into fists.

I know what he’s looking at, the first photos are of Andrew’s shrine. A wall approximately twenty-feet long by ten-feet tall covered in photos of me, along with notes of my schedule. When I went to work, who I hung out with, what time I usually went to bed at night.

The first few photos are of the full wall. The next photos he’ll see are the close ups on that wall. I wait for him to turn the pages and see the woman I once was; the one with the big smile on her face. The one that walked around without a care in the world. The woman who once swayed her hips when she walked, not because she wanted to flaunt herself, but because she had pride in who she was, what she did.

She was a hard worker, a good mother and a damn good friend to those closest to her. She was pale-skinned, with long wavy light blonde hair and sparkling green eyes. She was everything this new miserable bitch is not, and her name was Jayne O’Connor.

I watch him look at photo after photo. I watch his hands clench and unclench. I watch him grind his teeth, and fidget in his chair.

He turns the page and I see the photo of my daughter and I playing on the swing set in our backyard. Both our smiles are big, we were laughing at Norma who wouldn’t stop barking every time Lilly squealed because she was being pushed so high. Next to that photo is one of me at Frank’s bar, dancing with a man I used to spend time with.

They were both nice photos, if it weren’t for the words ‘dirty whore’ written over both of them. This is where I noticed a pattern. The candid shots of me meeting with work clients, or photos of Laura and I at lunch, didn’t have those two words angrily written across the top.