Quicksilver Dreams (Dreamwalkers) (15 page)

Traffic, while light, was constant, which was why I didn’t think anything when a dark van pulled to the curb into an empty space ten yards ahead of where I was walking. I was in the midst of taking a deep breath and realizing, with no small amount of pleasure, that this was two workdays for me that were cut short, which was unheard of in this industry. Yet here I was, with no idea what to do.

Young Asian girl tied up in a remote village in the tropics.
Clothing ripped.
Face beaten.

The image, clear and crisp, slammed into my mind. It startled me, and I looked around. Holy crap, what was that?

Just like that.
I’ll do her just like that.

The evil voice snaked into my head, and I looked around a moment, slowing my steps to see who the sick perv was who was thinking about this. No one looked creepy enough. A couple of young teens who looked like they were ditching school; a couple of guys in business suits, looking slick and harried, deep in conversation; and a grandmotherly type walking a little Paris Hilton dog were in the immediate vicinity. The older lady walked through the shoe-store doors. The image died but left behind the bloody taste of death, violence and helplessness.

I
guess you never get too old to appreciate shoes
, I thought without humor, mostly just trying to calm my nerves. Unable to figure out where the image had come from, I continued walking, but with less enthusiasm. I had a sense that that girl had met a horrible end. It sort of took the wind from my sails.

I was nearing the van on my way back to my car when the sliding door opened. Two burly, middle-aged guys jumped out with muscles and no-nonsense expressions. One man had a shaved head and wore a beat-up, holey T-shirt and threadbare jeans, while the other had a buzz cut, old army fatigues and a white muscle shirt.

There she is.

The menacing voice stretched decrepit fingers into my mind. A tingle went up my spine. The men weren’t looking around, like they were getting ready to shop or eat. No, they had an immediate bead on me, and me alone.

The
run away
danger vibe hit me dead on. I stopped cold. I may have even taken a few stuttering steps back, but before I knew it, they rushed me!

I didn’t have time to scream. I gasped and turned to run, but a meaty hand clapped against my mouth, smelling of foul must and old onions. A tatted-up forearm encircled my rib cage. Another set of arms came around my legs. I was suddenly weightless, lifted off the ground.

Horror, fear, paralysis.

Fight!

This was a waking nightmare. The roaring sound of my blood pumping furiously deafened me. With my whole body, I bucked and scratched at the arms holding me as the men tried to rush me to the van.

Ryder!
I shrieked mentally, wishing for the mental connection, opening my mind wide to him, but there was no response. A single second dragged by. The world was in slow motion.

I scratched at the face behind me. I kicked out to slow them. Where was everybody? Anybody! But the line of cars blocked most of the physical scuffle. I couldn’t make enough noise to draw attention to myself, and they managed to make half the distance back to the van!

I bit down hard on the hand holding my mouth. I tasted blood.

“Fuck!” A voice snarled. The man snatched his hand from my mouth, which gave me enough time to scream. Loud. Shrill. Adrenaline added strength to my struggles, making it hard for them to keep a tight hold of me. I got a leg free! I kicked the crew-cut guy, using the heavy wooden platform of my shoe, but not with enough force to do any damage, which added to my crushing fear.

The little old lady with the tiny dog came out of the store several yards away. We made eye contact. Her dismay was clear, but she was so far and fragile. What could she do? A young woman was several feet behind her with her cell phone in hand, but there was no time.

“Hold her tighter,” the bald guy growled, covering my mouth with more force, leaving me no room to sink my teeth into his skin again.

I kept fighting, but they were stronger, and that’s when I knew. I couldn’t get away. I would never see the light of day again. Just like the Vietnamese girl Crew Cut had killed during a tour of Vietnam. I could see that he wanted to hurt me. Badly.

This was my death sentence. Right here. Tears filled my eyes as I realized my struggles were futile, and I was getting tired.

A roaring sound grew until a motorcycle came ripping up on the sidewalk, the rider wearing a black helmet, the engine blazing, echoing off the building. As it went by, a powerful, jean-clad leg with a heavy black boot whip-kicked Crew Cut, who was holding my legs, dead center on his face. Blood spurted like a faucet from his nose. He let go of me with a howl of pain, grabbing at his face.

My feet were free!

“Let’s go!” a male voice yelled from in the van, and Crew Cut scrambled up from the ground into the vehicle, still holding his gushing nose.

I kicked back at Baldy’s shin and tried to ram the back of my head into his nose as the motorcyclist spun around to come back at us. Immediately, he threw me down in his bid to escape. I fell heavily to the ground on all fours, crying out as sharp pain radiated up my arms, and my teeth clacked together. Baldy dove in the open door of the van as it swerved into traffic and disappeared around the next corner.

The motorcycle came toward me.

It took a moment, as I had to breathe heavily and fight back a choking ball of emotion, but I clambered to my feet clumsily, stumbling, wincing, ready to thank my savior as he pulled even with me.

“You okay?”

I recognized the harsh voice immediately.
Ryder.
His name was a soft, caressing sigh across my mind. Crashing relief, warmth and security, along with a violent case of the shakes, washed over me.

“I—I think so,” I replied tentatively, looking down at my trembling hands.

He flipped his visor up. His pale eyes were mad-dog angry, and his jaw was clenched tightly, teeth gnashing, as though he was trying to contain his rage.

“Get on.” He looked ruthless. Dangerous.

“Ryder... How did you...?”

“Get on.” He all but barked the order in a low, rough-hewn voice. He wanted to kill those guys. I could see it in the way his body thrummed with energy, taut, tense, ready for action, which was awe inspiring.

“I’m in a dress.” I looked down at myself, surprised that I’d managed to retain my purse. Feeling awkward and like I was in someone else’s reality, I slid the long strap over my head diagonally, not sure what else to do with it or what to do next. It wasn’t my finest thinking moment.

“Turn around,” he demanded, aggression still edging his nervous system.

“What?” I looked at him stupidly.

Impatiently, he turned me so I was facing away from him. He wrapped an arm around my waist and pulled me across his lap, butt first. I was sidesaddle, partly on the metal covering the gas tank and partly on his lap. Gasping with surprise, I looked into his eyes. His wrath and anxiety-ridden fear poured off him in thick, powerful waves.

The force of it blew me away. It was all for me. Raw emotion choked my throat from the realization. No one had ever worried for me before. No one had ever been driven to the edge of panic trying to protect me. He was in a killing rage over me.

His arms caged me in protectively as they grasped the handlebars.

“Hold on.” This time his voice was a little gentler, though it still sounded like it had gone over a rough patch of road.

“To what?”

“Me.”

A feeling of rightness went through me. Engulfed by his compelling, flinty green stare, surrounded by his strength, there was nowhere else I wanted to be. It didn’t make a lick of sense, considering our short and somewhat volatile history, but I was beyond judging the situation. Tentatively, I ran my shaky hands over bunched muscles outlined by his black-T-shirt-clad chest and shoulders. The familiar scent of his spicy soap gave me comfort as I leaned close.

He gunned the engine.

We shot off the sidewalk.

I kept my face pressed into his hard shoulder as we rode. It felt good to have his warm, solid body under mine. It felt good to have the air pushing through my hair and weaving itself around me. I didn’t know where we were going, but I was still too much in shock to care. The temperature was up in the high nineties, but I couldn’t seem to stop shaking.

It was only a few minutes later that we turned down a residential side street, and Ryder pulled over. After shutting the engine down and engaging the kickstand, he unclipped his helmet and hung it on one of the handlebars. I sat up and looked into his eyes. They still looked agonized.

He snarled, “I couldn’t find you.”

With no warning his calloused hands cupped my face, and he covered my lips with his. It was hot. It was desperate. It was fearful. He slanted his strong, warm lips firmly over mine, like he just couldn’t get enough, like I was desperately needed oxygen, like there was no tomorrow. He needed me. A mewling whimper escaped me. Tingles of sensation shivered over me. Nerve endings fired hotly. I didn’t want to let go. I did some grabbing of my own, my hands sliding through his thick black hair. I immersed myself in him, tasting him, needing to feel his strength.

“Dammit, Taylor,” he growled, pulling away. He was glaring at me at the same time that he tenderly wiped tears from my cheeks with an unsteady hand—tears I hadn’t even realized had spilled over. “I heard you calling me. I didn’t think I was going to get to you. You didn’t tell me where you were going, and it took too fucking long to find you. Shit.” He yanked me into his chest, and I felt his strong arms crushing me close, his hands running down my back and up over my shoulders tightly, as though I was...precious to him.

“They were going to take me.” I buried my face in his corded neck, feeling the rapid beat of his pulse. “Why? Why me?”

“We need to talk. Something’s going on here, but we need a safe place. I have a lot to tell you. Can you call in sick tomorrow? Maybe the next two days? I know a place, but it won’t be easy to just come and go.”

“I guess so.”

“Call now, because where we’re going, your phone won’t receive service.”

“Where are we going?”

“It’s hard to explain. I’ll just have to show you.”

Sniffling, I stared into his eyes, which were normally hard and steely but were now acutely distressed, a vein on the side of his forehead bulging outward as a sign of his internal upset. He was worried about me, and I figured it was time to trust, at least a little, that I wasn’t just a job to him. He’d saved me. I was here, with him, and not in some van wondering how or when I was going to be assaulted or killed.

This whole ordeal could have gone a completely different way. A way I didn’t even want to think about. I needed some answers, and I needed to make a plan.

“I’ll make the call.”

Chapter Seven

“Holy Toledo, Batman. The Joker will never find us here.”

We were at the mouth of a hidden cave, in the middle of a rocky canyon, without another soul for miles around. I’d just survived an attack on my person and was hoping for some creature comforts, like maybe a quiet restaurant with soft seating to rest on, a coffee shop with soft seating to rest on or even a two-bit motel nearby, which would also have soft seating to rest on. See my theme here?

Looking around, I saw rocks, dirt and more rocks. I was feeling just slightly disappointed by this turn of events. With a great deal of reluctance, I got off the bike.

“We could take the Batmobile out for a spin, battle the forces of evil, combat nefarious plans of mischief and mayhem and save the citizens of Gotham City.”

Ryder’s eyes were still a bit stormy when he looked at me over his shoulder, noting my not-at-all-veiled sarcasm. Even in my brooding state, I couldn’t help but appreciate how good he looked uncurling his muscular body from the bike. His midnight-black hair was sort of sexily unkempt because of his helmet, his light eyes piercing as they tried to analyze what I was thinking.

“Anyone ever tell you you’re a smart-ass?” He frowned.

“
Moi?
A smart-ass? I’ve never heard that before,” I said in a dry tone, and I ran a hand over my own helmet-styled hair, trying to pat it down. It was more a gesture of comfort and familiarity than actually thinking I could do something about my falling-down, faux-chignon, helmet-head hair. “So is this a campout? ’Cuz I forgot my sleeping bag and my toothbrush.”

“Not a campout,” he answered shortly, hanging our helmets on the handlebars.

“Ryder, that was my smart-ass way of asking what the plan is. I wasn’t expecting to have to hike in the wilderness in order to do some talking.” I gestured toward my heels.

“Be patient,” he replied, and he opened up the seat compartment to snag what looked like a flashlight and a black case the size of a minilaptop.

“I am being patient. My patience is clearly evident, because I’m still here talking with you when what I really want is a nice soft bed to burrow into for like a week. So we’re here because...”

“You’ll see. Here. Hold this.” He handed the black case to me, checked the flashlight by turning it on and off and shut the compartment.

“Shouldn’t we call the cops or something?”

“Not yet.”

“You’re very secretive,” I complained with a scowl. “Why can’t you just tell me?”

“It’s complicated, and it wouldn’t make sense to just hear it.” A troubled look swept his face a moment, like a he-was-second-guessing-himself kind of look, but then it was gone, leaving me with a mental
grrrrrr
as he walked away. Over his shoulder he grated, “Wait here.”

“Bossy,” I grumbled to his departing back. I wasn’t sure if he actually heard me, though, because he turned the flashlight on and disappeared into the cave.

I stood there in my chunky heels and ruined designer dress, feeling tired and still somewhat shell-shocked. Could I be blamed for being a little cranky when faced with rocks and dirt? I just wanted to curl up in a blanket, wearing my girl boxers and tank, and sleep for a bit while the police took care of everything. That would have fixed me right up. So how had I ended up here?

Bait and switch.
That’s what it was
, I grumbled mentally. I replayed in my mind how we’d ended up parked in an isolated canyon.

* * *

After Ryder stated that he had a place where we could talk, we’d hit the Pacific Coast Highway. It was a short twenty-minute jaunt off of Sunset Boulevard, past all the fancy homes with the vast estates and silly-looking topiaries. I, of course, was shuddering with relief that I would not be found dumped at the base of the Hollywood sign or have something equally horrifying happen to me. I was slightly uncomfortable that I had to bunch my dress up to my hips in order to swing on behind Ryder, but what the hell? I figured it for a goner anyway. It had ripped seams and ground-in dirt after I’d been thrown to the ground by my attackers.

In any case, I figured further damage to the dress was worth it, if the beautiful ocean, vast and blue, would continue meeting my gaze to the west as we made our way along the PCH.

I’d felt so helpless during my attack. It left me with a new, permanent recognition of my own vulnerability, making me fearful for my safety clear down to my bones. My lesson for the day was a horrifying revelation: if someone truly wants to hurt you, no amount of preparation is going to save you. My bubble of naïveté, where I was safe as long as I followed all the rules (be in public places with other people around, don’t go out alone after dark) was gone, which made me feel weepy, weak and wimpy.

I hated that! I needed to be strong. I couldn’t risk falling apart. There wouldn’t be anyone there to help pick up the pieces, and then where would I be?

But that was too much to think about. Instead, I concentrated on the soothing colors and rolling, repetitive motion of the waves, which allowed tranquility to descend. My overwrought emotions were calmed, allowing the horror of the afternoon to temporarily slide away on the cool breeze.

I rested the side of my helmeted head on Ryder’s back, my arms clinging to his ribs with my hands resting on the warmth of his hard abs. In a purely primitive way, a deep sense of satisfaction bloomed with the knowledge that Ryder was savagely protective of me. It was somehow giving me a sense of connection to him. Belonging.

I frowned as my internal compass flashed a yellow warning light. How could I be so cavalier? This wasn’t real. It was the situation, the life-and-death dramatics of it all, creating the feelings. Logically, that made sense. I mean, how much did we really know each other?
But I really like him
...

Disappointment threatened to cloud my fragile peace. Thinking about all this deep, introspective stuff was taking too much energy when I just wanted to relax, so I let those thoughts float off on the breeze and focused on the present. Closing my eyes briefly, I felt pure pleasure in just experiencing the ride—the bare skin of my inner thighs rubbing against his denim, my breasts pressed against his back and a motor vibrating beneath me. Very stimulating. It was the first time I’d ever been on a motorcycle, and I found it was definitely something I could get used to.

There were a number of canyon roads along the way, and it was on one of these that Ryder turned off, cutting right and heading away from the inviting sandy beach. A pang of disappointment echoed softly at the loss, but only for a moment. It was a quiet road. No other cars pulled off with us. He followed lazily along the twisting, winding route, where hills of dry grasses, green shrubs and large oak trees grew happily.

I was enjoying the serenity of nature and appreciating the beautiful scenery when, with no warning other than a terse “Hold on tight,” he veered off the paved street and onto the rolling hills! What was this? Motocross? I didn’t sign on for this!

Don’t worry.
The bike’s modified.
It can handle this.

In spite of his reassurance, my heart jumped into my throat and pounded with the force of a sledgehammer. The grinding, protesting motor was revved hard, so the bike’s tires dug into the wild ground covering and roughly launched us through the rocky terrain, kicking up bits of sand and gravel as they sought purchase. Hanging on tightly, I was white-knuckling each dip and turn, so that whole tranquility piece I’d been feeling got shot to hell.

There were several minutes of the bone-jarring ride, and I could feel Ryder’s powerful muscles flexing, adjusting, controlling the powerful, vibrating motor that sent us surging over the land. It seemed like a fight just to stay upright. The rocky part of the ride felt like it took hours, but in all likelihood, it was probably about ten minutes total before we came to a stop and shut down the engine.

It took a moment to realize that we were there, wherever “there” was.

Ryder pulled his helmet off, his thick, dark hair ruffled and damp with sweat.

“You okay?” He spoke quietly over his shoulder.

“Peachy,” I muttered, a little put off that he hadn’t warned me about what I was getting into before we started.

Unclenching my fingers from the death grip I had on him, I looked around to find that we were parked in the middle of nowhere near a canyon wall with rocky, boulder-like outcroppings and a shallow little cave. It was no wonder the ride had been so uncomfortable. There wasn’t even a trail where we were parked. There was no even ground, just rock, scrub brush and trees.

What the hell are we doing here?

With the engine off, it was eerily silent except for the quiet whisper of the breeze brushing through the leaves and bushes. We were quite isolated, and though I had to admit the setting was lovely, I had my first misgivings about being so far removed from any other people. Something about coming here was getting my Spidey senses tingling.

“This is where you wanted to go?” I asked hesitantly, pulling off the helmet and looking around as he took it from me.

Ryder turned in his seat and held my gaze. Sounding dictatorial, he demanded, “Trust me.”

He held out his hand, which was kind of symbolic. To take it was to agree to this. I stared at it a moment, noting it was large and bronzed, containing calluses and a few faint scars. With my mental shield already down from calling to him when I was being kidnapped, I tried to see if I could sense any thoughts or feelings coming from him. He was a natural at shielding himself, so I got nothing and released a deep sigh. In that moment, I decided that I’d already jumped down the rabbit hole. I needed to find the bottom in order to reach normal again. Besides, where else was I going to go?

“Here goes...” I murmured, more to reassure myself than anything because, hello, we were deliberately parking in the canyon without another soul in shouting distance.

“You’ll be safe,” he said firmly, reading me expertly. With burning eyes, he vowed, “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

I believed him.

* * *

So here I was. Waiting. Watching. Wondering. What was going to happen next? At this point, my ability to think things through logically was lost to me. This whole situation hadn’t followed a predictable process, but neither had it made sense that Frank might wish death on me.

With an ease that spoke of regular precaution, Ryder gave a sharp look around, scoping the view to make sure no one was lurking about, obviously not wanting to expose what we were doing. He strode determinedly toward one of the larger rocks next to the canyon wall. This meant maneuvering around and over different-sized rocks and boulders, which required balance and full muscle control. Expecting someone his size to be clumsier, I was surprised to discover he moved with grace and agility. He bypassed the small cave.

Reaching the particular rock he wanted, Ryder set to work moving it. It was a heavy rock, from the way he grunted while shoving it aside, his muscles flexing under his black T-shirt in a very distracting manner, but once it was gone, there was a hidden control panel embedded in the rock wall.

What... Wasn’t that surprising?

He punched in a code on the sleek, black, high-tech keypad, after which he laid his thumb against a small scanner. Very
Mission Impossible.

Then, much to my amazement, one wall of rock—which turned out to be a well-constructed rock facade—opened noiselessly, as though on a thick, well-oiled metal hinge. If I’d had to guess, I would have said it measured around six feet tall and three feet wide. Its edges were camouflaged by the actual rock crevices surrounding it. I was speechless, which I had to admit was rare for me.

What was behind door number one? The mouth of a deeper, darker cave was revealed. Ryder ducked into it briefly with his flashlight, taking a quick look around. All must have been well, because he went and moved the boulder back into place to hide the control panel once again.

“Okay. We’re ready. I need to push the bike in.” Ryder had rejoined me. Again, there was a pause in his actions. Concern? Uncertainty? I couldn’t tell. What I did note was that the longer we stood out there, the more tense he seemed to become—as evidenced by the clenching of his jaw and the deepening crease between his eyebrows—for reasons unknown.

“Are you going to push the bike in?” I asked hesitantly.

There was a hint of vulnerability to his face that quieted my smart-ass self. He stared down at the ground a moment longer. Stranger and stranger. A mystery presented itself. Did he not want me to see the clubhouse? Were there girly mags on the walls? Porn strewn about? Was I about to learn more about Ryder than he was comfortable with?

Before I could ask, he turned away.

“What the hell am I doing?” I thought I heard him mutter as he grabbed the handlebars on the bike.

I cocked my head, considering his behavior, as I observed him. It was kind of funny. The more reluctant he seemed about showing me around his man cave, the more excited I was to go in. What secrets was he hiding? What in the world could be making him so uncomfortable?

It took a few moments to push the bike through the cave opening, since he had to physically muscle the machine over a few of the outward-jutting rock groupings. Then he was striding purposefully back to me, slightly out of breath. The uncertainty was gone, replaced by a set expression. Clearly, he was determined to see this through.

“Grab on.”

I arched an inquisitive eyebrow. “Are you going to carry me in?”

“Yeah. I don’t want you to trip in those shoes,” he said, nodding briefly toward my feet. “The ground’s uneven.”

He picked me up in his strong arms, and in the spirit of being helpful, I looped mine around his neck, trying to make it easier on him. In no way was I trying to enjoy more of his personal scent by resting my head near his neck and taking a deep breath. Absolutely not. Okay. Maybe that was the case a little bit.

“You distract me,
lin’de
,” he murmured. He gave me a gentle squeeze, reminding me that he was listening.