The adrenaline was gone, leaving exhaustion in its wake, which made it nearly impossible to remain standing. I kept shifting my weight from foot to foot to stay awake as the police took our statements. I watched Ryker talking with them and pointing across the street. I figured that was maybe where they’d deduced the shooter had been.
Parker came back to where I was waiting once he’d finished his round of questioning.
“You look like you’re about to drop,” he said.
I was so tired and wanted to lie down so bad, it made me want to cry. And my pretty dress was ruined. And a truck had nearly run me over only two days ago. And everything I owned had just been obliterated by a man whose new mission in life was to kill me.
As far as weeks went, I’d had better.
Parker read the misery on my face because he wrapped an arm around my shoulders and pulled me into a hug. His brand-new tuxedo shirt was torn and dirty from crawling through the debris on the floor. His body was warm against mine and I sniffed back tears, catching the faint scent of his cologne that remained.
“Sage.”
I heard Ryker’s voice and took a step back out of Parker’s embrace.
“Come on,” Ryker said, taking my hand. “You can stay with me.”
“Can I get any clothes or anything?” I asked, trying to get my tired brain to think through the logistics. “I need pajamas, and work clothes, and my makeup, and shoes—”
“Go on and take her home,” Parker interrupted me. “She’s exhausted. I’ll bring by a suitcase of her things.”
I was about to protest—the thought of Parker picking out my clothes felt weird—but Ryker was already talking.
“Sounds good. Thanks.” Then he was moving me away toward his truck, which thankfully wasn’t far away.
I didn’t say much on the ride to his place. I think I was in too much shock to really absorb what had happened. I’d nearly been killed today—again—and was heading deep into denial mode, which was the only way I thought I could cope.
Ryker reached across the expanse of seat between us and took my hand. I unlatched my seatbelt and slid across the seat, needing to be close to him. He didn’t say anything, just laid his arm across my shoulders and let me rest my head on his chest.
McClane, the policy dog academy dropout, was super excited to see me, jumping up to rest his paws on my chest as his tail thump thumped against the wooden floor.
“Hi, McClane,” I said, with a noticeable lack of enthusiasm, trying to avoid the tongue bent on licking my face. Eww.
“Off,” Ryker commanded, having to say it twice more before the dog obeyed. He had a mind of his own, hence the “dropout” rather than “graduate.”
I followed Ryker into the kitchen, not really thinking about anything at all, if I could help it. I sat in one of the four wooden chairs at his table and watched as he poured a shot of Jack into a glass, then handed it to me.
McClane planted himself at my feet, his dark eyes gazing up at me. His tail wasn’t thumping anymore, and if I didn’t think it would sound crazy, I’d say he looked worried. He was definitely subdued, maybe sensing my mood. He whined a little and rested his head in my lap. Tentatively, I laid my hand on top of his head.
“Aren’t you going to have any?” I asked Ryker, taking a sip of the liquor as he sat in the chair next to me, but he shook his head.
“I need to get back over there, see if they found anything,” he said. “They were canvassing the area for where the shooter may have been.”
I tensed up at the thought of being alone, and Ryker seemed to read my mind.
“I won’t leave until Parker gets here,” he said. “And you have McClane, too. He won’t let anything happen to you.”
“I don’t need Parker to stay with me,” I said. After some of the things he’d said and done the past few days, I didn’t think being alone together was a good idea, not that I really wanted to mention that to Ryker.
“It’ll be fine,” Ryker said gently, reaching for my hand. “Look on the bright side. You’ve survived, twice. You must have nine lives.”
“That means I’ve used up two of them,” I said glumly. Actually, probably more than that, considering. And my arm hurt. Somehow my stitches had pulled and now I was regretting not having any ibuprofen on me.
“Next time, we’ll get him.”
“There’s going to be a next time?”
Maybe he would’ve answered, I don’t know, but there was a sharp rap at the door and McClane about knocked over my chair getting to it. Ryker and I followed at a more normal pace.
It was Parker and he was carrying my suitcase.
Ryker let him in and McClane hurried to say hello. I watched, one eyebrow raised, to see how well Parker would take to the behemoth jumping on him and resting his dirty paws on Parker’s shirt.
Parker shot the dog a look and McClane stopped in his tracks, his paws skidding on the wood floor, then he settled back on his haunches, his ears perked forward and his tail thumping the floor. I frowned in disappointment. Apparently, Parker was also the dog whisperer.