Her Own Best Enemy (The Remnants, Book 1) (23 page)

Wheeze...drip...wheeze...drip. He dropped back to his stomach. The rhythmic wheeze grew louder and sounded like a ventilator or...he pressed his ear to the vent...or shallow breathing from an asthmatic child.

His heart caught then accelerated, prickles of relief and keyed up energy coursing up his spine. “Hey. Psst.”

He waited for a response.

Nothing.

“Anybody in there?” he tried again.

Damn it, still nothing.

He was so sure. It had to be—

“Ryker?”

The wheezing stopped cold for a moment. Then started up with renewed intensity.

Bingo.

“Ryker. Hey. Buddy. Is that you?”

“Who wants to know?”

Though the boy’s faint voice held a good dose of mistrust, it was the sweetest sound Keith had ever heard. He squeezed his eyes shut, stunned to feel a stinging behind his eyelids.

Not now. C’mon King, keep your distance. It’s what you do best.

He swallowed the raw ache. His throat throbbed as he measured his words. “Come over to the vent down here a minute.”

Scuffles grated against the concrete. “Yeah?”

“How’re you doin’, kid?”

“What’s it matter to you?”

“It matters a great deal to your mom. She’s worried sick about you. Came all this way to find you. She’s with me now.”

“Mom’s here?” Ryker’s little voice filled with hope. He paused, then suddenly the mistrust returned to his voice. “I want to talk to her.”

“She’s...sleeping right now,” Keith said, unwilling to freak Ryker out over the fact that Grace had been drugged. “She needs the rest.”

“How do I know she’s really there? You could be lying.”

“Would I really be down here, risking a permanent imprint of a vent on my cheek if I was lying to you?”

“Maybe. What does my mom look like?”

Keith bit back a smile. The kid wasn’t taking any chances. “She’s tall and pretty with green eyes, short light brown hair and has done nothing but worry over you for the last week.”

“Yeah,” Ryker wheezed. “Good guess.”

“What would it take to convince you?”

“When’s my mom’s birthday.”

“Hell—heck, I don’t—” Keith squeezed his eyes shut, pinching the skin between them. What had it said on her driver’s license? “Umm...March fifth?”

“What about her favorite color?”

“Kid, can’t we just—”

“Her favorite color.”

Okay, he had to admire the kid for his persistence, but now it was starting to get annoying. How the hell did he know Grace’s favorite color? He’d never asked her—and yes he’d be man enough to admit it—he wasn’t liable to notice.

He blew out a frustrated breath and suddenly an image of her in a deep purple dress confronted him. The one she’d worn to their winter formal. He blinked. Wow. Why hadn’t he remembered that before?

Why hadn’t he remembered how he’d seen her in the gym that night the moment she’d walked in and felt punched in the gut? And while he stood there, dumbstruck, his friends had rubbed their hands together in anticipation as they plotted how they’d humiliate her. It was the first time he’d realized the danger of his self-proclaimed vow of detachment. But the damage had already been done.

“I’m waiting.”

Ryker’s words snapped Keith back to the present, to the dark, dank, musty room, where his cheek still rested against the cold concrete, and Grace lay motionless on the inadequate cot across the room.

His stomach twisted. Grace. He had to make amends.

Now, what had Ryker asked again? Oh, yeah. Favorite color.

“Purple?” Keith choked the answer out, emotion clogging his throat. He cleared it and tried again. “Purple.”

“Hmmm.”

Oh, yeah. That response was the equivalent of a dead on bulls-eye.

“So, what do you say, kid? Can you trust me?”

Ryker offered no immediate answer. Seconds ticked by before he finally said, “I’d still like to talk to my mom.”

Driven by a sense of urgency that burned in his veins, Keith jumped up from his position on the floor. “Okay, let’s see what we can do.”

He scanned the room. In the darkened shadows of the far corner, boxes were stacked along the wall, an old metal desk shoved in front. He shoved the desk aside and yanked open the first box.

A desk lamp.

He pushed it under the desk and checked the other boxes. All held various forms of office equipment. But behind them...

He thrust the rest of the boxes in the direction of the desk and slowly, uncovered a boarded up door. Keith fought back the urge to shout hallelujah. He leapt to the vent where he huddled down in front of it.

“Ryker, I think I found a way to get you over here. Do you see a door in your corner?”

Keith waited while Ryker presumably checked it out.

“Umm...I don’t see one.”

“What about a bunch of junk? Boxes and stuff?”

“Yes!” Little feet padded away from the vent then returned. “I can’t move them.” His voice grew frantic and his wheeze more prominent. “They’re too heavy!”

“Hey, hey, slow down. I’ll get ‘em. You just sit tight, okay?”

“All...all right.”

Keith moved to the door. He touched the rough two by fours nailed across it and tugged. They were nailed down tight. How much noise would he make kicking them down? Better not risk it. He found another piece of lumber and wedged it beneath the two by fours.

“Hang tight, Ryker. I’m coming.”

He put pressure on his makeshift lever, loosening the nails on first one side then the other. He tore the first board away and kicked it across the floor. He did the same for the remaining boards until he could get at the flimsy door.

He twisted the knob. Locked.

He’d have to kick it down. “Stand back, buddy.”

“’Kay.”

With one well-aimed kick Keith splintered the thin door. He yanked it open, cleared away the debris and pushed through the clutter on the other side.

Ryker’s wide, wary green eyes, so like his mother’s, stared back at him through the lenses of his dark brown glasses. His wavy brown hair was a tousled and matted mess, his jeans and T-shirt sported a big monster truck, the vibrant red color faded by the dirt that smudged both the shirt and the pants.

“You...,” relief and uncomfortable tenderness washed over Keith, making it difficult to speak, “You okay, kid?”

Ryker blinked behind his glasses and nodded. His gaze shifted as he tried to see around Keith. “Mommy?”

“She’s fine.” But Ryker didn’t wait for Keith to show him. The boy shoved past him.

“But what about you? You hurt?” Keith demanded as he followed him into the other room.

Ryker shook his head then launched at Grace in an all out run. With a limp. The kid was just as damn stubborn as his mom.

“Mom!” Ryker threw his arms around her. “Mommy!” He shook her. When she didn’t respond he shot a glare at Keith. “What did you do to her?”

“Nothing.” The poor kid was royally freaked, and Keith found himself desperate to reassure him. He knelt to the floor in the hopes he’d connect with the kid better on the boy’s level. “The guys that grabbed you? They gave your mom something to make her sleep. She’ll wake up soon, good as new.” He held up two fingers. “Scout’s honor.”

Ryker wheezed. His hand shot up to cover the cough that burst from his mouth. The rattle in the boy’s breath worried Keith. How severely was the lack of medication affecting Grace’s son? He hoped she’d wake up soon to answer that question.

Keith sent Ryker a reassuring smile.

Ryker tipped his head. “Were you a boy scout?”

Keith smothered a laugh. A boy scout? Yeah. Right. He’d been the furthest thing from a boy scout, getting into trouble wherever and whenever he could, hoping to catch someone’s notice. Luckily he’d eventually learned if you wanted attention, bad behavior wasn’t the way to go about it.

Ryker chewed on his lip, waiting for an answer.

Keith hesitated. It would be so easy to comfort the kid with a little white lie, but Ryker deserved a straight response. “Nope. I was a bully when I was younger. But when I joined the Army, they showed me a different way. An honorable way. So, I live by that code now. It’s kind of like the scout’s code.”

Ryker stuck his hand in his pocket, his eyes a curious mix of interest and wariness.

“Come here.” Keith held out his hands, palms up. “I just want to see if you’re okay. Nobody’s going to hurt you.”

Ryker shuffled to him, his chest rising and falling with every wheezing breath. He took another step forward and winced.

“What happened to your leg?”

“I...tripped.” He bowed his head. “On the...on the boat.”

“Can I take a look?”

Ryker nodded and plopped down next to Keith. He resisted the urge to run his hand through the boy’s matted hair.

“Okay, let’s see what we got.” He moved to Ryker’s ankle and peeled back his muddy sock. He touched the tender skin. There was a little bruising, a little swelling, but it’d fade. “It’s a sprain. Hurts, but you’ll be good as new in a couple days.”

Ryker didn’t acknowledge him. Keith rolled the sock back in place and patted the boy’s leg.

Silence stretched between them. Hell, what did he know about kids? He’d never been much of a kid himself. By the time Keith was ten he was taking care of his own meals and setting his own bedtime.

Ryker fidgeted next to him, rubbing his hands in his lap, his mouth set into a serious line. The kid had to wonder what was going on. Had to be nervous, despite the fact that his mother was ‘sleeping’ a few feet away.

Keith blew out a breath. He didn’t want to upset the boy. So what did he do? He’d never been big on socializing, never learned that particular art. He’d been a loner who found that the power of a deck of cards in his hands eased the ache in his heart.

Cards.

He patted the pocket of his cargo pants. Yep. Still there. He yanked on the Velcro then pulled the deck free.

“Cards?” He held the deck for Ryker to see. The boy shrugged. “You ever play?” Keith asked.

“No...well, Go Fish and Old Maid.”

Keith nodded, though he’d never played a game of Go Fish in his life. He shuffled the deck, keeping an eye on Ryker. He snapped the deck back in place then fanned the cards in front of Ryker.

“Pick a card.”

Ryker hesitated, narrowed his eyes.

“Look, kid, I’m not the enemy here, okay? I just thought we could do some card tricks.” He paused then slid the deck into one pile. “But, if you’re not interested—”

“Will you teach me?” Ryker shook a lock of hair out of his eyes then pushed the glasses higher on his nose. “You know, to do a trick?”

“You bet.” There was something about the boy’s gesture that made Keith want to hug him. “But first, you have to see if you can figure out how it’s done.” He fanned the cards out once more. “So, pick a card.”

Ryker picked a card from the deck. He peeked at it and a small smile tipped the corner of his mouth.

Keith raised a brow. “Got a good one?”

Ryker nodded.

“Okay, now put it back.”

Ryker carefully slid the card in the middle of the deck.

Keith pushed the cards together, shuffled them and split the deck. “Here we go. Your card is...” He plucked the top card off the pile. “A three of diamonds.”

Ryker’s brow puckered into a frown. “No.”

“No?” Keith made a great show of picking up the deck, examining it. He scratched his head and frowned. “Hmmm. Something must’ve gone wrong. Let me try again.”

He shuffled the deck, pulled the top card. “Ah. A two of clubs!”

Ryker pressed his lips together and shook his head.

Keith pulled the next card. “Jack of hearts?”

A small smile appeared on Ryker’s face. “No.”

“Okay, wait. I got it.” He pulled another card. “Six of spades. That’s gotta be it.”

Ryker snorted. “Nope.”

“Ten of clubs?”

Ryker’s grin widened and a giggle escaped. “Nuh uh.”

Keith pretended to think for a minute. “Are you sure you put your card back?”

“Yep.” Ryker laughed.

Keith gave him an exaggerated grimace. “Some magician I am. I can’t even—wait a second...you said you put your card back.”

Ryker’s eyes widened at Keith’s tone. “I did. Honest.”

“Then what’s it doing here?” Keith reached out and pulled Ryker’s card from behind his ear. “Ace of hearts, huh? That is a good card.”

“Hey! How’d you do that?” Ryker grinned, his eyes lighting with a green fire behind his glasses.

“You want to learn?”

Keith gave the card to Ryker, an ache piercing his chest.

Why did it feel like he’d just handed the kid his own damn heart?