Quicksilver Dreams (Dreamwalkers) (35 page)

“Sy, this is Taylor. She needs to stay with us for a while.” Ryder’s voice held a tinge of impatience. He crossed his arms, emphasizing his muscular biceps and broad chest, which were outlined by his T-shirt. Though he appeared to be leaning casually against the built-in entertainment unit, his gaze was razor sharp, watching us.

“Hallelujah! There’s going to be a woman in this man cave. I guess I’ll have to stop burping and scratching now.” Sy continued to hold my fingers, rubbing them gently with his free hand, something that Ryder zeroed in on with a scowl. Sy continued on, happily oblivious. “Don’t worry. I’ve had all my shots, so I’m harmless.”

“Thanks for letting me impose on you.” I tried to reclaim my hand, but he continued to hold it tightly, even massaging it a bit, though winking as if to let me in on a joke.

Was he trying to piss Ryder off? Because it was working.

“You are welcome. And if you need anything, please let me know. I want you to feel comfortable here. Our casa is your casa.”

“She’s got the idea. Back off, Clark,” Ryder warned gruffly, his expression taking on a killing look.

Sy must have had a death wish, because he only laughed. “Two words, Ryder. Buzz. Kill.”

“That’s fine. We’ve got work to do.” Ryder pushed away from the edge of the shelving unit. “This thing is coming to a head, and we’re running out of time.”

I wanted to believe there was a hint of jealousy going on, but really, it was more likely that he just wanted this episode of
Taylor’s Madhouse
to get resolved so he could get his life back without feeling like he was compromising his integrity. If nothing else, I could definitely count on his sense of right and wrong.

The tone of the conversation shifted.

“Ranik?” Sy’s carefree expression became alert and sober instantly. It was an unreal transformation to observe. There was a hard edge to his features that matched Ryder’s.

“Yeah. He’s trying to take her out. Hired guys to grab her off the street a few days ago.”

“He’s a slippery bastard.”

“We need to coordinate information. Get Wes out here and see what he’s got. I can feel we’re close, but something’s missing. Something critical that we’re not seeing.”

“Tech room, ten minutes?” Sy reached for a T-shirt that he’d draped on the back of the couch and slipped it on.

“Yeah. Let me get Taylor settled, and I’ll be up.”

“On it.”

In the next moment, I found myself being pulled down a hallway and through a door to what was obviously a master suite, as the room was large and a few items of male clothing were draped across the bed. Ryder snatched them roughly and tossed them into a doorway that was likely a walk-in closet.

Easily twice the size of my room in my apartment, Ryder’s had a king-size bed that graced the center of the room, which had a wonderful view of the ocean. The opposing wall was mostly made of glass. It reminded me of Ryder’s room on Te’re, which brought a host of other memories that I wasn’t ready to deal with. I had a brief impression of caramel-colored wood floors with beautiful, moss-hued Persian rugs, cherrywood furniture and pale, neutral walls before turning my attention back on Ryder, sensing aggressive energy. He tossed my bag on the rumpled, unmade bed and faced me, scowling.

There was something on his mind, his black eyebrows drawn together, giving his chiseled features the impression of being even more angular and rough-hewn. He wasn’t a pretty boy like Sy. No one would mistake him for being a pretty male model, but he was so damn hot in a rough-looking way, and he just exuded power, strength and dominance. His vibrant eyes held me. There was danger behind them. I was ashamed to admit they still excited me without having to do more than flick over me. I didn’t know if he was going to pin me to the wall and ravish me (which, stupidly, I would probably have let him do, if the tingles in my womb had anything to say about it), or if he was angry about something.

He grimaced, his sensually curved lips flattening into a tight line.

“What?” I asked warily, wondering what was coming next.

“Nothing,” he said flatly, though his eyes still held a burning intensity. I could see him mentally backing off, shutting down. “Make yourself at home. Closet is through there and bathroom is through there.” He motioned toward the two doors in the room. “We’ll be on the third floor, if there’s an emergency.”

And then he left.

Chapter Seventeen

It was all so abrupt.

I just stood there looking at the empty doorway for a moment, feeling somewhat abandoned and thinking,
WTF?
He was just going to dump me off here with a bad attitude and leave, like I was just some kind of bothersome bug or unwanted relative. Not that I needed him to take care of me, but I’d only been in his house five minutes, and he was already out the door.

I knew things were going to be weird. I was an animal, after all, right? Brausa were animals. My breathing hitched a moment as I considered that. Now that he wasn’t in the immediate vicinity, I could think more clearly. I could truly ask the question of whether this was the best solution. Who knew how long it would take to actually catch Frank, Ranik, whatever his name was, and I didn’t want to live my life in limbo. Maybe I needed to find a new apartment. Start over in a new town. A new state. A new country, even. No, not a new country. I’d be forced to learn a new language, and I just wasn’t good at that.

Dammit!
He
had invited
me
here. I hadn’t asked to come here. I might have had limited options, but I would rather have risked my apartment and just called the police for protection than been treated like an imposition. I’d been made to feel like one all my life. I hated it.

On top of that, he was assuming I was going to sleep in his room. It hadn’t even occured to him that I might want to discuss this, that I might not be comfortable playing house. Which probably meant that he likely thought I was just some easy ho-bag who would go along with his wishes in a docile manner. Why? Because he was a big man with a deep voice? Or maybe he was used to women who simpered and sighed and batted their eyelashes at him all day because he was a big strong man. Well, whatever the case, he had another think coming. That was for sure.

Riding the wave of my own indignation, I grabbed my bag and walked back down the hall. There was another bedroom, smaller, with a queen-size bed and cute little side tables. I dumped my bag on the bed and looked around. There were two other doors in the room, one of which was a small walk-in closet. Nothing was in there, so I figured this was likely a guest room. The other door, when I cracked it open, revealed a large bathroom. It connected the master bedroom and this room. I’d have to remember that and lock both doors when I went in to shower.

Feeling proud of my initiative, I unpacked my work clothes and hung them in the closet. I cursed as I realized I’d left some shoes and accessories behind in my apartment that I would need for the next few days. And I needed my car, so I could get myself places without having to beg a ride from Mr. Stony Face.

Shit, shit, shit! My car!

It happened to have been left overnight for two nights now, around the corner from the Ivy. It had likely been towed at this point, which meant another few hundred to get it from an impound lot. That was an extra few hundred I didn’t have! They would probably need all my insurance forms and registration. I wondered if those were still in the glove box or back at my apartment. Couldn’t anything go my way? Even a little thing? Something?

Feeling completely overwhelmed with defeat, I had tears burning my eyes, and I needed to sit on the bed as waves of mental fatigue ambushed me. How much longer? When could I come out of the rabbit hole and know that all was well again? I had never complained that my life was boring. I had never been one to seek adventures. I was feeling so done!

But giving in to despair was truly a luxury, particularly for someone without money, so I rubbed my eyes, took a deep breath and stood up again. It would only get done if I did it, was my motto. If I needed to figure out public transit from this location, then that’s what I would have to do, no matter how much that would suck.

It only took a few minutes to finish putting my things away in the closet and bathroom. Below the double porcelain sinks were cabinets where one side was virtually empty, so I stuck my makeup bag and blow dryer in with a few other odds and ends. I walked back through to the living room and took a deep breath, looking around to see where it was I would be staying for a few days.

The condo had a great open floor plan encompassing both dining and entertainment. The kitchen was all stainless steel, with granite counters that had veins of blue and gray running throughout. Tiles on the backsplash behind the stove picked up the blue color, while the entire flooring throughout the condo was the same beautiful hardwood. A rustic wooden table sat on a light-colored throw rug that had an intricate pattern of blue threads running through it, and of course, the large sofa with the soft brown, buttery leather faced that gigantic entertainment center that took up most of the north-facing wall. To top it off, another amazing view of the ocean could be seen out of a set of sliding glass doors that led to the balcony.

I decided to investigate.

The blue undulating waves continuously rolled toward the shore. The soothing view mixed with the fresh salty breeze, and I was able to relax somewhat, considering there was still a guy who wanted to kill me. I was able to forget about all that briefly, watching the activity taking place just two floors down.

The boardwalk in Venice was always packed with a combination of tourists and bohemian personalities, but it was particularly true in the summertime. People were three and four deep, gathered around outdoor shops that lined the beach selling all variety of things, from tie-dyed T-shirts and berets in reggae colors to music, incense, jewelry and art. A man in all-silver clothing and body paint danced robotically to loud funk music from an old-style ghetto blaster for tips, while another man did on-the-spot caricatures of patrons in chalk and pastels.

Bermuda shorts—wearing, souvenir-toting foreigners with digital cameras had a good time watching and taking pictures, while in the distance, hundreds lined the beaches, laying out in next-to-nothing bikinis to catch that perfect shade of seasonal bronze on their skin. Occasionally, mixed in with the coconut tanning oil was the smell of reefer.

Ryder and Sy owned the second and third floors of the three-story building I was in. The first floor, however, was one of the permanent businesses on the boardwalk. It was a little French-inspired coffee shop, and if smell was anything to go by, it was probably delicious, which reminded me that I was definitely ready for some food. My stomach had begun growling sometime after twelve in the afternoon, and it was now almost two. In the excitement of the morning, I’d forgotten to eat.

I did, briefly, think about poking through the fridge, but PTSD kept me from actually doing it. People say things like “Make yourself at home,” but really, it’s easier said than done. I had my hand slapped too many times by my aunt or grandmother on a number of occasions as a child, because I dared to “make myself at home” when I lived with them. I’d always had to ask permission first.

So you could understand why, even though I was totally starving, I would never go into Ryder’s fridge, particularly after he acted like he couldn’t get away from me fast enough. Honestly, this was likely not going to work out. Maybe I could call my cousin and see if she had any familial feelings toward me. At least enough that I could hang with her until this problem got resolved.

But I was starving! I needed to go out and get something.

Unsure of what to do and unwilling to be helpless and reliant, I figured it wouldn’t take long to run downstairs to the little restaurant. In fact, I could be helpful and properly appreciative of the protection and support Ryder and Sy were providing by getting us all sandwiches and coffees. I could just leave a note or something.

I grabbed a paper towel from the roll in the kitchen, grabbed a pen from my purse and wrote a quick note that I left on the granite counter. It would have to do. Snagging my purse and phone, I started to pack my smartphone into its holder when I realized it needed to be charged. I hadn’t charged it the previous two nights, being that I was on a different planet and all, so I needed to plug it in now, which I did. There was a plug next to the nightstand in the guest room, and I was able to leave it there, where it was already programmed to serve as an alarm tomorrow morning for work. My everything phone. My one luxury. I loved it.

I slung my purse over my shoulder and went downstairs.

The restaurant was very quaint, rustic and casual. Small, bistro-size tables graced both inside and out space, each containing miniature glass vases with a fresh rose. The glass case had all kinds of this-will-equal-more-time-at-the-gym pastries and sweets that were calling to me. Evil things! Pure evil! My good angel must have been prostrate with hunger on my left shoulder, totally failing me, because my little devil took over on my right shoulder, telling me that I needed to grab a chocolate croissant as dessert for later. I got in the line, which felt extraordinarily long, but which also gave me time to thoroughly analyze the menu options. A black chalkboard behind the cashier sported a simple menu of sandwiches, wraps and salads, all of which looked tasty. I chose some turkey-and-cheese sandwiches, thinking that would be generic enough for everyone’s tastes, and I happily paid for it with my credit card.

It took fifteen minutes for all of the food to be ready, so I took a quick stroll along the boardwalk to peek in at the different shops and vendors, wanting a few moments of normal before reentering my alternate reality of other planets, mind reading, dreamwalking and people trying to kill me.

When the food was ready, I liked the ambiance of the restaurant so much that, figuring the guys were probably still working in their secret room, I went ahead and decided to eat comfortably at a table on my own. I hadn’t had any alone time in days, and I needed the peace. Letting down my wall to see if being completely open helped me to be successful, I practiced my telepathic abilities—shamelessly listening in on thoughts and feelings, justifying it by telling myself that I needed to practice, that I wasn’t doing any harm and that I needed to experiment with this amazing ability. Yeah, right. It was actually just fun, but no one was giving up any good gossip, so I started thinking about my to-do list.

My car had to take priority. Was there anything I could sell? Did I have anything valuable? Maybe I could put up a few of my nicer shoes and clothes for sale online. It wouldn’t have to be too many, as I only likely needed a couple hundred dollars. Was the car even worth it? Would it just be easier to use public transportation? That would save me gas money, insurance and registration fees. Hmm. Verifying where the car was would probably be most important. Maybe I could call the police for that. I did have to get back to work tomorrow. It would do me no good to get fired at this point.

Feeling like I could breathe again, I grabbed my purse, trashed my sandwich container and grabbed the food bag for the guys.

I was feeling pretty good again, in control, until I went back upstairs.

Sy met me at the door with fiercely drawn eyebrows that eradicated his dimples completely. He looked worried and impatient. Obviously, something was wrong. “Taylor, where have you...” Sy broke off with a groan. “I can see where you’ve been. You went down to get food.”

“I left a note.”

“You did?”

“On the counter. Where’s Ryder?” I glanced around with a sense of foreboding. He felt gone.

“Out looking for you.”

“What? Why? I went to get sandwiches. I haven’t been gone all that long. Maybe forty minutes at most.” I sounded defensive to my own ears. My blood pumped with a frisson of alarm.

I was enveloped in feelings I hadn’t experienced since the last time I was living at my aunt’s house, reliant on her lack of goodwill. PTSD once again. Ryder wasn’t like my aunt. I knew that, but even knowing that, I couldn’t make myself breathe evenly.

“He tried to call you, but there was no answer.”

“I left it on the charger.” I set the bag of food on the counter in the kitchen, bewildered by the circumstances. It wasn’t my fault my phone needed charging. It hadn’t been my idea to haul me off to another planet without my full consent. It hadn’t been my idea to have me come here.

“I’ll call him, let him know you’re here.” Sy grabbed his phone off the countertop and stepped away.

“Where did he think he was going to find me? Where the hell would he even start to look? How absolutely ridiculous! I’m a grown woman!” But I was talking to the air. Sy had dialed the number and was speaking quietly by the hallway opposite the one where Ryder’s room was located. I wondered if that was Sy’s wing of the condo.

After a moment, he stepped back with a tense smile on his face, which clued me in that Ryder was likely not a happy camper. “He’s coming back. So...uh...what did you bring?”

Now I was really nervous.

“I hope you guys like turkey and Havarti.” I pulled the takeout containers out of the bag, setting them on the dining room table to keep busy.

“You won’t find me complaining. Thanks a lot.”

Sy grabbed one of the containers and took a seat, but his attitude was highly circumspect. It was like he knew I felt like a big, sloppy, emotional mess on the inside and didn’t want to get splashed by it. He grabbed up half the sandwich and bit into it heartily, which was somehow calming for me. Still, he kept a watchful eye on me, like he was analyzing me.

“I wanted to do something to show my appreciation of you guys letting me crash here. I really try not to impose on anyone for anything, you know? Can I get you something to drink? That was something I forgot to pick up.”

I was talking too quickly, and too brightly, but I couldn’t seem to help myself. The wait was building back the stress I’d just released. I could sense a big blowup coming. My aunt and my grandmother had been pros at stringing me up for something or nothing, depending on the kind of day they were having and whether or not they needed stress relief, which usually looked like unleashing tirades at me or put-downs against me, my mother or both of us simultaneously. So many times I wished I could have been wherever she was, not at all blaming her for not wanting to be around, though I missed her terribly.