Banished (A Retribution Novel) (4 page)

She ignored the stinging pain in her palms and got
to her feet once again, knowing her time to get safely to shore was at a
minimum. She stood, took a few more steps and then fell again on the slippery
boulders. A huge wave splashed the rocks and hit her directly in the face. She
sputtered as she wiped the water from her eyes.

If she’d thought it was safe, she would have
jumped into the ocean and made her way safely to shore that way, but the water
near her had to be four feet deep, and she was afraid the waves would wash her
away.

Before she could stand, another wave hit, soaking her.
She scrambled to her feet and fell again. Her panic overtook her pain, and she
began crawling across the brutal rocks toward the cliffs in an effort to get
away from the water and to give her some stability.

Ryan’s shoes pounded across the dirt pathway as he
expertly maneuvered over the uneven ground. He sucked fresh oxygen into his
lungs, allowing the air to calm his raging spirit as daylight disappeared from
the day. Pummeling that sack of shit hadn’t eased his frustrations in the
least, and the loss of a potential lead was almost more than he could bear.

He’d stewed and suffered three long years in a military
prison, paying for a crime he hadn’t committed. Twenty-two months had passed since
he’d been released, and he was no closer to being absolved for his crimes than
he’d been when he’d walked out those doors.

There had to be a way to bring Guy to justice. Had
to be a way to clear his name. Doing so wouldn’t fix the rift between him and
his family—he’d never forgive them for deserting him in his time of need—but it
might soothe the raw ache inside him that seemed to never ease.

He topped the edge of the pathway and looked out
over the wild ocean, wishing he’d brought his surfboard with him so he could
lose himself in the one thing that allowed him to escape his pain.

He headed down the rocky steps to the beach,
intending to spend the rest of the daylight letting the salty air calm him,
then he’d head over to see Florence at Salty’s Bar and Grill. Most of the time,
she could talk him down.

First, he needed to tame the anger inside him so
he’d be fit for company.

As he reached the large stones the stream had
carried to the beach, he caught sight of someone wearing bright turquoise along
the rocky south edge of the cove. The lone figure, a woman with dark, blowing
hair, stood facing the ocean in a rigid stance making him wonder if she had
demons of her own. She’d better head back to shore soon, because the tide was
on its way in, and the rocks were a dangerous place to be.

His heart skipped a beat when she dropped to her
knees.
What the hell was she doing
? She stood and then a white-capped
wave slammed into her. She went down again.

Shit.

She wasn’t enjoying the tide pools. She was in
trouble. Damn tourists.

He hurried over the soft sand and then took off on
a run toward the south edge of the beach. She fell several times, and he
watched with angst as she crawled across the boulders toward the hillside.

He knew those rocks, knew how razor sharp they
could be. They’d slice right through her skin.

He slowed as he came to the first formation,
taking care to find good footholds so he wouldn’t fall as well.

“Help,” she cried when she saw him. Water had
crested the rocks where she stood as she gripped the cliff next to her.

“I’m coming,” he yelled over the roar of the wind.
“Hold onto the hillside and take slow steps this way.”

“I can’t. My shoes keep slipping.”

Jesus
. He moved across the boulders as fast
as conditions would allow. His heart squeezed each time a new wave came toward
her.

“Look out,” he yelled as a massive swell rolled
in. If he’d been on his surfboard, he would have grinned.

This one would take her down.

And it did.

She fell over, her arms flailing in the air as she
tried to right herself.

She managed to get back to her feet by the time he
reached her, though she still coughed and gasped for breath. He wrapped an arm
around her waist, and she clung to him, gripping his shirt as if it was a
safety line.

Her blue eyes were the color of a storm coming in
over the ocean. Wind and waves had matted her dark hair, and water had plastered
her clothes to her skin.

“Hang on to me and step carefully, sweetheart.”

She took a step and slipped, gripping him as
though her life depended on it.

He looked down, shocked to find her wearing an
inadequate pair of turquoise sandals. “What the hell is on your feet?”

“Flip-flops.” She glanced out over the ocean as
though checking to see how close her enemy had come.

“Good hell.” He anchored her to him, holding most
of her weight as they moved closer to shore.

He stopped as another wave rushed toward them,
making sure his feet were on solid ground. He pulled her to him. “Hang on.”

The wave smacked into his back, rocking them, but
they stayed upright. The moment it moved back out to sea, he picked his way
over the uneven rocks again.

Even when they’d escaped the more vicious waves,
he couldn’t let go of her. Her sandals had zero purchase. “I’m surprised you
were able to get out as far as you did in those shoes. Where are your hiking
boots, your athletic shoes? Don’t y’all know you don’t go anywhere but the
sandy beaches and boardwalks in those damn things?”

She glanced up at him, black mascara running down
her face in rivulets, fear owning her features. She looked like a half-drowned
homeless person with her baggy clothes and straggly hair. “I didn’t know. This
is my first time to see the ocean.”

He shook his head and glanced around the now-empty
beach. “What are you doing out here alone? Where’s your family? Your friends?
If you’re that inexperienced, you should never come out here by yourself.”

She inhaled a shaky breath. “I wanted to see the
ocean.”

He stared at her for a moment, expecting a better
explanation, but she remained silent, and it was obvious he wouldn’t get one.
“I guess you saw it all right.”

They reached the edge of the rocks. He released
her and stepped down. Turning, he held her hand, steadying her. She stepped and
slipped again, and he caught her in his arms. Bloody scratches covered her bare
arms and legs.

He held her for a moment, staring into her stormy
eyes, wondering why he didn’t let go.

“Thank you.
You saved my life
.” She gave
him a small smile that jerked his heartstrings. “You will forever be my hero.”

“Nah.” He let go and stepped back, uncomfortable
with the emotion her words stirred. “I’m no one’s hero.”

She stuck out a hand. “Violet Murphy. I need to
know the name of the man who saved me.”

Her lips reminded him of a rosebud, perfectly
shaped, a nice shade of pink. “Ryan Atwood.” He wondered about the cut near her
right ear, but didn’t mention it. Still, it looked recent.

“Thank you, Ryan Atwood. I would offer to buy you
a beer or dinner to show my appreciation, but I’m not in any sort of shape to
be seen in public.”

“No thanks necessary. I’m glad to be of service,
ma’am.” He flicked his gaze to the turquoise t-shirt plastered to her body and
then lower to the short black skirt. She had nice curves, not too skinny.

She grew awkward under his gaze and brushed at her
skirt. “I have sand all over me, and I’m soaked.”

“That you are.” He smiled, charmed by her
embarrassment. “But a little dirt never hurt anyone. I’m all wet, too.”

“Sorry about that.” She sent him an apologetic
smile.

When things grew quiet again, she glanced toward
the hillside. “I should head back to my car. The sun’s almost down.”

He nodded. “Probably should. I expect you’ve found
enough trouble for one day.”

She raised her brows and gave him a sardonic
laugh. “No doubt. Thank you again.”

With that, she turned and walked away, heading
toward the rocky steps closer to the north side of the beach. He let her put
some distance between them and then followed her.

*        *        *

Violet sensed that Ryan wasn’t far behind her, but
she didn’t dare turn to look. Still, she couldn’t erase his image from her mind.
Broad shoulders capable of protecting her from the ocean. Short, dark hair that
enhanced his good looks. If those hadn’t made him attractive enough, the
mysterious depths of his green eyes and his slight southern drawl left her
wondering if he was married or single.

She became hyper-aware of him following her, but
as far as she knew, there was only one way in and out, and he would need to get
back to his vehicle, too. Besides, she didn’t get the creep vibe from him, and
she doubted he would have saved her only to kill her. She truly owed the man
her life.

Her palms and knees stung from the many cuts she’d
received, but she didn’t dare look at them, either. She’d have plenty of time
to take stock when she found a room in a nearby town.

Her knees burned each time she bent to move up
another rocky step, but she resisted the pain. The ocean breeze cooled her skin
as blood trickled down her legs. She glanced at her palms, the abrasions there
still bleeding, too.

She had to question if it might be her time to go,
to pass to the other side where her parents waited for her. Two close calls in
as many days made her wonder. She pressed her lips together as emotion overrode
the adrenaline rush she’d received while on the rocks. She was safely back on
solid ground, and the terrifying moments of rock and ocean threatening her collided
with events from the previous day.

Anguish rumbled deep inside her as tears gathered
in her eyes. She walked faster to avoid detection. Her watery eyes made it
difficult to focus on the ground, and she stumbled a time or two. She prayed
Ryan was too far away to notice.

She came to a fork in the pathway and stopped. She
hadn’t noticed more than one path on the way in. Damn it. She took the right
side and hoped it was the correct way. The last thing she needed was for him to
catch up to her.

“Hey,” called a deep voice from behind her. She
couldn’t mistake that sweet, southern accent. “I think you’re going the wrong
way.”

She stopped and sniffed, rubbing her fingers over
her eyes before she turned. “Am I?” she asked with a watery laugh.

He waited while she turned toward him and headed
back down the path.

“I think I’m lost.” She didn’t want to admit she
needed his help again, but she wasn’t sure she’d escape the lush maze without
him.

He studied her for a moment. “I’ve seen lost, and
I think you’re a little more than that, sweetheart.” His sharp gaze held hers,
his penetrating expression somber and unsmiling.

She froze for what seemed like forever, and then
nodded as more tears began to fall.

He moved toward her and wrapped a solid arm around
her again. She leaned into him as her fragile world crumbled.

“Jesus,” he whispered as he lifted one of her
bloodied hands. “Let’s get you the hell out of here.”

They didn’t talk as they moved along the path
through the thick forest of firs and other trees. When they emerged, little daylight
remained. Only a bright red Jeep and her Charger sat in the parking lot.

“Is that your car?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Where are you headed?”

“I don’t know. I need to find lodging.” She
exhaled a ragged breath. She needed to pull herself together. Falling apart on
the side of the road in Oregon in front of some stranger wasn’t an option. “Are
there any decent places in the last town?”

He stared at her for a long moment and then
blinked. “I can’t let you go without knowing you’re okay. You need first aid
for those cuts, and you’re too upset to drive, let alone find your way on the
dark roads.”

She rubbed a hand over her wet cheeks. “You’ve been
too kind already, and I’m sure you have somewhere to be. If you could point me
in the right direction.”

He shook his head. “My house is only a couple of
miles from here. Come over. We can wash you off, make sure you don’t need any
stitches—”

“
Stitches
?”

“The shells on those rocks are as sharp as knives.
In case you haven’t noticed, some of your cuts are bleeding severely.”

She glanced down and was shocked to see how much blood
had accumulated on her legs since she’d left the beach. “I didn’t realize.” Her
voice shook.

“Two miles. I’ll drive. We can come back for your
car later.”

She should say no. He was a stranger after all.
But she was so far down on her luck, and she needed help.

“Okay.”

A hint of a smile brightened Ryan’s expression,
and he held out his arm. “Let me assist you, ma’am.”

Violet fought her emotions. She wouldn’t cry again.

The evening wind whipped about his open Jeep as
they traveled down the darkened, winding road. True to his word, he turned off
the highway a few minutes later and headed down a paved road through the thick trees.
She breathed a sigh of relief, thinking, once again, she’d entered an enchanted
forest. Everything seemed calmer and more peaceful. Her life back home didn’t
exist in this world.

No one would think to find her here.

A moment later, they emerged into an opening, and
he parked in front of a small white house with cedar shingles. A gravel pathway
led through tall grass and wildflowers to his front door.

She couldn’t have imagined a more picturesque escape
if she’d tried.

Inside, Ryan flipped on the lights, showcasing a comfortable,
if a bit messy, home. Stacks of newspapers sat next to a laptop on the kitchen
table. Shoes and a couple of discarded t-shirts rested next to the couch. Two
empty beer cans hung out with a leftover pizza container on the coffee table.

“Sorry. I wasn’t expecting company.” He grabbed
the cans and cardboard box before walking into the kitchen to stuff them in the
trash. Back in the living room, he snatched his shirts and headed down the
hall.

He returned a moment later. “Come in the kitchen
where the lighting is better and let’s get you washed off.”

Violet let him lead her into the cozy yellow
kitchen. Despite the clutter in the other room, no dishes waited in the sink,
and his counters were spotless.

He pulled a wooden chair from the table. “Sit.”

She did as he asked while he removed a white towel
from one of the drawers and wetted it at the sink. He pulled another chair to
face hers and sat. His green eyes with darker flecks reminded her of the thick
trees that surrounded them.

He stared at her a moment before he held out a
hand. “Give me your arm.”

She held out her right arm, wincing as he wiped
the warm cloth over her skin, washing away a layer of dried blood. Several
gashes began to bleed again.

“Sorry. I know this hurts.”

“It’s okay.” She watched the taut muscles in his
bicep flex as he finished cleaning one hand and arm, and then he stood and
returned to the sink to rinse the towel.

She folded her arms across her chest to cover the
shivers that had taken over her body so he wouldn’t notice, but his gaze jumped
to hers when he resumed his seat and took her other hand. “Do you drink?”

“Drink? Alcohol? Sometimes.”

He left long enough to pull two short glasses from
his cupboard and a bottle of Jack Daniels from the pantry. He poured whiskey
into one of the glasses and handed it to her. “This will warm you up and bring color
back into your cheeks.” He added some to his glass. “And since my day has been
fucked up as well, I think I’ll join you.”

She met his gaze, surprised by his revelation.
“I’m sorry. Anything I can do to help?”

He snorted. “Not unless you know how to make a man
confess his crimes to the cops.”

She lifted her brows in surprise. She’d been so
focused on her own problems that she hadn’t considered he had his own life to
deal with. “If I did, I wouldn’t be sitting where I am.”

“Is that so? Anything I can do to help?”

His response brought a laugh from her despite
their subject. “I wish. It sounds like we’ve both been screwed over.” For
whatever reason, sitting in his home so far away from hers, chased away some of
her worries.

She lifted her glass. “Here’s to messed-up lives
and heroes who come to the rescue.”

He frowned. “I told you. I’m no hero.”

She smiled. “Well, I’m telling you, you’re my
hero, so deal.” She lifted her glass and drained the contents, then gasped as
fire scorched her throat.

“Oh, God,” she croaked. “That’s potent.”

“Damn straight.” He downed his drink and then
smiled. “Gotta love good Kentucky whiskey.”

She closed her eyes for a moment, letting the heat
seep through her, relaxing her muscles and easing her worries as he began to
dab at one of the cuts on her leg. She exhaled and opened her eyes to find him
staring at her.

“Can I make a suggestion?” His southern accent
left her smiling.

“Sure.”

“Now, don’t think I’m coming on to you or
anything, but it might be easier if you soaked in the tub first. Some of your
cuts have sand in them, and it will be more painful if I try to rub them clean.
I don’t see any that look deep enough for stitches, but you should make sure
you get rid of any debris that might cause infection or impede your healing.”

“Impede?” She smiled at his choice of words. She
could tell the whiskey had hit her empty stomach and had headed straight for
her bloodstream.

“You know, slow down?” he said as though she’d not
understood him.

She straightened in her chair. “I know what impede
means, but I liked the way you said it.”

A smile tilted his lips, turning what was handsome
into downright sexy. “Should I turn on the water?”

She stood and gripped the table so she wouldn’t
stumble. “You wouldn’t believe how wonderful a bath sounds right now.”

Funny how losing everything could change a
person’s perspective. She never would have trusted a stranger in the past, but
she really needed the help and couldn’t resist Ryan’s kindness.

He headed down the hall and into the bathroom. A
sunken tub encompassed most of the small room, and she watched as he leaned
over and turned on the water. “You won’t want it too hot, though. It’s going to
sting, and you don’t want your cuts to bleed too much.”

He straightened, and she gripped the doorjamb to
steady herself.

“When was the last time you ate?” He narrowed his
gaze. “That whiskey’s hitting you pretty hard.”

“Early this morning in Utah. Some snacks
throughout the day.” Though she’d had more caffeine than anything.

“You’ve been driving all day?”

She nodded, loving the warm, liquid feeling
coursing through her body. “Pretty much.”

He scrubbed his chin. “Get in and wash off, and
I’ll scrounge us something to eat.”

“Sounds lovely.” She smiled up at him as he
squeezed through the tiny space between her and the sink. He pulled the door
closed behind him, and she turned the lock before she began to peel off her wet
clothes.

She sighed as she climbed into the tub and let the
warm water surround her. At that moment, she didn’t think she could be safer.
Kenneth had no idea in the world where she was. Even if he somehow found her
car, he couldn’t trace her to the secluded beach house on the Oregon Coast.

She closed her eyes and leaned back, ignoring the
stings that covered her arms and legs.

*        *        *

Ryan stood in the hallway staring at the closed
bathroom door. He replayed his evening from beating up the sack of shit Harvey to
the urgency of rescuing Violet from the rocks, to inviting her to his home.

There hadn’t been a woman in that tub, ever. Shannon
had lived with him for a few months right after he’d purchased his home, but
she’d left him long before he started making upgrades.

Now, here he was with a naked, half-drunk woman in
his house and no idea what to do with her. Maybe it had something to do with
saving her life and then not being able to abandon her. Or maybe the haunted
look in her eyes reminded him so much of his own expression. But he had to make
sure she was okay before he let her leave.

He tossed a frozen lasagna in the oven and set the
timer. Then he made his way into his bedroom to lose his wet pants and boots,
choosing a comfortable pair of flannel pants and a t-shirt.

Ah, hell.

He grabbed his favorite t-shirt because it was the
softest and a pair of flannel boxers with a drawstring from his drawer. She
couldn’t very well put on her wet clothes again, and he’d need access to her
arms and legs so he could put antiseptic cream and bandages on the worst cuts.

After she’d been in the tub for a good thirty
minutes, he knocked on the door. “Brought you some clothes.”

“Hang on,” she called. A moment later, the door
opened a crack, and he found her wrapped in one of his fluffy blue towels,
another wrapped around her head. She took the stack of clothes from him. “Thank
you. I really didn’t want to squeeze back into my wet things again.”

He couldn’t stop his gaze from dropping to the
small amount of cleavage revealed by his towel. A thin, red slice traveled from
her collarbone to beneath the towel. Another crossed her shoulder. He quickly
looked back to her smiling face, now devoid of all makeup, wondering what the
hell had happened to her. He doubted the rocks would have made that clean of a
slice.

“No problem.” Dark lashes framed her pretty eyes,
making him want to stare. “Dinner’s almost ready.”

By the time she’d dressed and returned to the
kitchen, he had squares of lasagna served on plates. He’d sliced up a fresh
tomato and cucumber and added a bottle of Rioja crianza he’d had on his pantry
shelf for over a year. Florence had given it to him two Christmases ago, and
told him he needed to broaden his palate beyond beer and whiskey.

That hadn’t happened yet.

“It smells wonderful.” The sight of her in his
favorite shirt with her damp hair hanging over her shoulders in soft waves hit
him hard. She sat across from him. “Did you make this?”

He met her intriguing gaze. “If by ‘making this’
you mean did I heat up frozen pasta and slice vegetables? Then yes, I made
this.”

She grinned. “It’s perfect.” She grabbed her fork
and cut into the lasagna, lifting the cheesy bite into her mouth.

He watched her, stunned by her natural beauty and
grace. She wore no bra beneath his shirt, and he couldn’t get over how much a
bath had transformed the drowned rat into someone he couldn’t look away from.

“Aren’t you going to eat?” Her question
interrupted his thoughts.

Instead, he lifted the wine bottle. “Would you
care for some?”

She laughed. “Just a little bit. I’m still tipsy
from the whiskey.”

He poured her half a glass and then filled his
own. “If you want to try some real good food, you should check out Salty’s in
Seaside. Flo makes
thee
best halibut fish and chips.”

“I might just do that.” Her smile warmed him.

“How are your injuries?”

“Okay,” she said, sticking out a shapely leg.
“This one seems to be the worst, but I’m so grateful to be safe and alive that
I really don’t care.”

He took the bottom of her foot and placed it on
his leg, leaning closer to inspect the damage. His fingertips sizzled where he
touched her soft skin, and he had to force himself to hold steady and not
caress the curve of her calf.

“You should let me bandage it though. It’s wide
enough that you’ll tear off the new scab if you’re not careful.” He met her
gaze, felt the kick in his gut again. “The one on your left arm, too. Maybe
others.”

She sighed and smiled at him. “Are you always this
kind to damsels in distress?”

He thought of the handful of women he’d let walk
into Harvey’s house, knowing how they’d exit, but allowing it anyway to serve
his purposes. He dropped his gaze as a sick feeling washed over him. “No.” He
lifted his glass and took a drink. At least he’d stopped it now.

“Did I say something wrong?” she asked after a
minute.

“No. It reminded me of what happened earlier in
the day.”

She tilted her head, giving him a compassionate
look. “Is that how you got that small bruise on your cheek?”

He lifted a hand, remembering the one good shot
Harvey had landed. He hadn’t realized it had bruised.

“Tell me about it?” she said in a soft voice.

He couldn’t. She wouldn’t understand the ugliness
that had comprised his life for the past five years. “If you’ll tell me about
that cut near your ear and the one between your breasts.”

It was her turn to drop her gaze. She carefully
picked up her wine glass and sipped. Then she glanced at him, her smile back in
place. “How about we forget what happened earlier today? Forget the world
outside this house and enjoy a nice meal with some good company?”

He hesitated. He wanted to know who’d hurt her and
why. But then again, it wasn’t exactly his business, was it?

“Agreed.” The idea of setting his past aside for a
few hours was fine with him. Tomorrow, he could pick up his burden again and
search for justice, and she could do whatever she needed to do. “Tonight, we
are two people with no pasts.”

She lifted her fork and sectioned off a chunk of pasta,
her stormy eyes now a peaceful ocean. “I think this is the best lasagna I’ve
ever tasted. You’ll have to give me the recipe,” she teased.

He grinned. “Absolutely. If you’re lucky, I might also
give you a personal cooking demonstration. And just so you know, I don’t make
that option available to just anyone.”

She laughed and took another drink of wine. “I’m
feeling pretty spoiled right now.”

“I’m sure you deserve every minute of it,
sweetheart.”

*        *        *

Violet had seriously considered telling Ryan her
problems. He seemed like a guy who might help. But really, how could he help her?
She wasn’t sure she could trust the police to help her, and until she could
figure out her next move, asking for help was pointless.

They finished dinner, and he insisted on washing
the dishes even though he’d cooked. She sat at the table and watched him while
he did. He caught her gaze a couple of times, but she quickly looked away.

Afterward, he hung the dishtowel on the oven and
pulled a first aid kit from a bottom cupboard before he sat next to her again.