Ricochet (16 page)

“Hey, beautiful.” Josh’s deep voice cut into their conversation.

The muscles in Rachel’s shoulders tightened like guitar strings. She looked away from Nathan’s
I-knew-it
expression. “Hey, Josh.”

“Come here, you.” He stretched his hand down to her, and she took it, pulling herself to her feet. But then he embraced her, the way he used to before she’d had
the talk
with him—a long conversation during their last job together, explaining how she felt about relationships. She’d assured him her mind wouldn’t change anytime soon and asked him to stop the romantic gestures, the sweet names, the touching. And he had.

Until now. Because he’d seen or sensed something between her and Nathan. And because he knew she wouldn’t make a scene in front of this group.

She returned the hug, because anything else would have been awkward. His body was like a rock—much like Nathan’s, she realized in that moment. And he smelled good, like expensive cologne, understated and spicy. He always smelled good. He always dressed well. Always had a fresh haircut. Never swore around her. Opened the door for her everywhere they went. Waited for her to sit before taking a chair.

There had been times when she thought she might have returned his affection, but work always interfered with finding out. Work and the fact that he was looking to put a ring on someone’s finger.

“It’s been too long,” he said. “When I saw Renegades’ name on the job, I wrestled it away from the other guys.”

“You liar,” she teased. “Jax already told me you were the only one available.”

“Damn.” He pushed her back by the arms, grimacing. “Caught.”

She smiled.

“You look great,” he said.

God, this was uncomfortable. “You too.”

She turned and gestured to Nathan, who’d gotten to his feet and picked up the beer bottle and phone Rachel had left on the pool deck.

She dragged in a deep breath to ease the tension building in her chest. This was it—meeting of the two men who could…would…make or break this stunt. Which would make or break this budget. Which would make or break Renegades’ success on this film.

Rachel was fully aware this was not the disarming of a nuclear weapon, but Renegades’ success was her success. And after her recent failures, this success felt monumental.

“This is Ryker,” she said. “Ryker, Josh.”

There were enough undercurrents going on here to pull Ryker into a head-over-ass spin.

In Ryker’s world, Marx would have been tagged with a nickname like “pretty boy” for his face. Maybe “Harvard” for his preppy style. But the expression on Marx’s face, the look in his eyes, gave Ryker a whole different perspective. He saw intelligence. Cunning. Ambition. And the kind of soul-deep confidence that came from competing and winning. He might have been law enforcement at one time. Or maybe an Ivy League sports star.

Or maybe, he was just an arrogant asshole.

Marx stayed close to Rachel, confirming the claim he’d already made by greeting her with
“beautiful”
and that hug.

“Ryker,” he said. “You’re the blaster.”

He offered his hand and a polite smile, but challenge rolled off Marx in waves.

“Not officially…yet.” Ryker handed Rachel her phone, and took Marx’s hand for a shake. “We’re still lining up the ducks.”

“Great.” He grinned down at Rachel. “I’m sure Rachel’s told you I value precision.”

He shot a look at Rachel and hated—
hated
—the way her smile for Marx illuminated her face the same way the pool lit up the night. “Something like that.”

The emotions tightening his chest were foreign and uncomfortable. He’d never identified with jealousy, but right now the skin along his spine prickled, and if he had hackles, they’d be up.

“Great beer,” Marx said, glancing at the bottles still in Ryker’s hand. “Ever been to their brewery?”

“No.” He tilted the bottles, looking over the labels. “One of those things Troy said we’d do while I was here.”

Marx slid his hands into his front pockets. He was Ryker’s height but had a way of rolling back on his heels that made it seem like he was looking down at others. “You’re in luck. It’s only about twenty minutes from the bridge site. Great restaurant, all the beers on tap, brewery tours.”

Rachel shifted on her feet. Her hands were clasped, fingers flexing and releasing. Troy sauntered slowly toward them across the lush lawn, his gaze watchful.

Those uneasy signals verified Ryker’s assessment of Marx.

“Sounds great,” Ryker said. “I’ll make a point of stopping by when I’m there.”

“When were you planning on going up to the site?” Marx asked. “I’d like to coordinate, be there to go over things with you.”

Rachel was right to be concerned. Ryker could already see problems hovering.

“We haven’t pinpointed a starting date yet,” she said. “But we’re close.”

But Marx never took his gaze of Ryker. “I like to work with the crew on these big stunts.” His tone was friendly but firm in an attempt to set the groundwork for authority. “Getting firsthand views of exactly how they plan on executing each phase helps the insurance company feel secure, and in turn keeps the rate as reasonable as possible.”

“I understand,” Ryker said, keeping his tone just as firm. Just as authoritative. Marx needed to understand—right now—Ryker wouldn’t be bowing. “And I’m all for working as a team. But when I’m working on something new, and of this caliber, I need to be 150 percent there
.
No interruptions. After I get acclimated, we’ll set up a time to meet.”

The man must not have been rebutted often, because he stared as if Ryker had answered in Swahili. Beside him, Rachel rubbed her temple.

Marx’s lids lowered. His jaw slid sideways. He was about ready to challenge Ryker again.

“We have plenty of time to work out all those details,” Rachel said. “Ryker just got into town—”

“Just last night,” he added, his gaze purposely on Rachel.

“So,” she continued smoothly, while managing to shoot him a glare from those pretty eyes, “naturally, there’s a lot of background to get him caught up on. He hasn’t had a chance to look at the geologist’s survey yet, or the engineer’s report, or the topography map—”

“Yes, I have,” he countered easily. “I read them all this afternoon.”

“Well…great.” Her attention turned back to Marx. “We’re going to be spending the next few days ordering equipment, interviewing the crew—”

“I’d like to participate—” Marx started.

“You can do a follow-up interview if you feel it’s necessary,” Ryker said. “But initially, it’s my decision. I have to work with them. They have to work with me. We have to trust each other. There’s nothing more important when dealing with explosives. I’m going to be the one who makes that call.”

Marx’s blue eyes turned smoky with irritation. “Your military is showing.”

The haze started to gather. That darkness that came over him now whenever he thought about or had to talk about his work. But Ryker made a point of smiling when he said, “Thank you.”

“Troy tells me you’re army EOD.”

“I am.”

“On leave?”

“Yes.” Normally, in this situation, he would have answered
yes, sir.
But the
sir
just wouldn’t roll off his tongue for this guy.

“How long have you been with EOD?” Marx asked.

A few yards back, Troy had stopped to watch and wait.

“Four years,” he said.

“And before that?” Josh asked.

Ryker hesitated. His rebellious side urged him to tell this guy what he could do with his inquisition, but loyalty won out. “Rangers.”

“Rangers,” Marx said with a note of both respect and surprise.

Rachel’s head turned sharply. “
Rangers?
”

Her
you-asshole
tone made Ryker wince. Just a little. But his memory of her reaction to his Rangers tattoo—
That’s a sports team, right?”—
still made him smile on the inside.

“How long?” Marx asked, his expression suspicious.

“Eight years.” Before the guy could ask the question Ryker knew would come next, he answered, “Infantry four years prior.”

Josh considered that, holding Ryker’s gaze. “Sixteen years in.”

“Yes.”

“That’s another thing we haven’t had time to go over,” Rachel said. “But we just finished talking about it, and I’ll get you all his credentials in the next few days.”

Marx smiled down at Rachel in a way that made Ryker’s hands fist. “I’m not worried, honey.” He refocused on Ryker. “Does your CO know you’re doing this? Because you’ve only got four years left to full retirement. You wouldn’t want—”

“I assure you, I’m following my CO’s leave instructions to the letter.” Anger licked Ryker’s gut like fire, but he forced himself to relax so he didn’t make this a confrontation. Yet. “If my leave status is a problem, we should get it out in the open right now.”

“Not a problem for me or Renegades unless your background check or credentials don’t hold up,” Marx said with a negligent lift of one shoulder. “But if word of you messing around with explosives for civilian purposes reached your CO, you could be risking…” He paused an extra beat. “Oh…but that’s what EOD is all about, right? Risk.”

The insinuation of carelessness crossed the line. Marx had just made this a confrontation.

Ryker took one step forward, bringing him within six inches of Marx’s face. The other man remained perfectly still, as if he’d expected Ryker’s aggressive move.

“Every risk I take,” he said, voice low and deliberate, “every risk my team takes, is
carefully
calculated
.”

Troy came up beside them. “Dinner’s on.”

Ryker stayed put. Maintained eye contact. And when Marx didn’t back down, Ryker knew there was more to this guy than his façade of risk assessment.

Rachel stepped close, and Ryker expected to feel her touch, but when she moved in, her hand went to Marx. “I know you like salmon, Josh.” She turned him toward the house by the arm, finally breaking the intensity, smiling up at him. “I marinated it in olive oil, lemon, garlic, and ginger.”

“Sounds amazing,” Josh said, covering Rachel’s hand with his.

Ryker turned his back on the sight and stared at the pool, a hole burning through the center of his body. This was fucked. This was why he’d stuck with club rats and bar chicks. Because Marx reminded him of everything he wasn’t. And Rachel’s choice just reinforced Troy’s mantra to leave her alone.

When Rachel and Marx were halfway up the lawn, Troy stepped close. “What the fuck was that?”

Ryker cut him a glare. “What?”

“
That
. You’ve never given a rat’s ass about competition for a woman before.” Anger brightened Troy’s usually subdued brown eyes. “I’m not going to tell you again.
Forget about her.”

Ryker was not going to get into this with Troy here or now. He turned toward the house, but Troy fisted Ryker’s shirt and yanked him back around.

Fury snapped like a whip, and he knocked Troy’s arm away, meeting his gaze directly. “You are fucking with the wrong person. At the wrong time. Do you hear me? Mind your own goddamned business.”

“She
is
my business. Literally. And she’s not your type anyway. She’s not a fucking club chick, okay? She’s not fast and she’s not easy.”

It took everything Ryker had not to laugh. Rachel’s wild side was obviously a tightly held secret. He wished the fact that he’d experienced it didn’t thrill him. Wished he didn’t want more.

“You know what else she’s not, Troy?” he asked, not waiting for an answer. “She’s not Giselle.”

Troy’s expression froze. The color drained from his face so fast, Ryker was about to grab him before he hit the ground. But Troy struck back with a bite first. “Where’d that come from? What does that even mean?”

“It means I know why you’ve got this ridiculous protective urge toward her. She instantly reminded me of Giselle when you two were bickering in the office today. Her mannerisms, her expressions, the way she couldn’t handle you touching her neatly organized stuff. You’re obviously—“

“Rachel’s nothing like Giselle.” His gaze filled with fresh anger. “This has absolutely nothing to do with anyone but Rachel and you. This is about keeping you from getting Rachel all into you and then heading halfway around the world again. She’s the backbone of Renegades. In the six months she’s been with us, she’s straightened out all our books, maximized our marketing, handles the risk assessment, the stunt insurance, everything. She handles
everything
, and she takes care of all of us too.

“Renegades needs her. Now more than ever. Marx is a pain in the ass, but he’s good. So good the insurance company trusts him implicitly. If he signs off on a stunt, we get a ridiculously low rate. And, you saw that.” He gestured to where they’d just been standing, “Rachel makes the man melt. She crosses all the T’s and dots all the I’s just the way he likes, they get along great, and he’s been trying to snag her for months.”

Months.
Did that mean she’d been fucking him casually for months? How many guys did she have going at once?

Ryker shoved the thoughts aside and stepped back. “And you don’t want me getting in his way.”