Ricochet (35 page)

“Still up there?” Ken asked, his face twisting in disbelief. “He’s the hardest damned working blaster I ever met.”

“I’m sure he’ll be pleased to hear that. Grab some dinner, Ken. He’ll show up in the dining hall soon.”

Ken stomped out of the office, letting the door slam behind him. Rachel flinched and gritted her teeth. What was it about men that made them incapable of shutting a door quietly?

She was grateful Josh was gone today, or she might have bitten his head off.

On a controlled exhale, she flipped her Rolodex to the name of a more expensive explosives supplier and punched in the number. They, thank God, had the det cord Nathan wanted. While she was on the phone, one of the chef’s assistants, a pretty, twenty-something redhead, popped in. Rachel placed her order for the det cord and requested next-day delivery.

As soon as she got off the phone, she greeted the girl. “Hi, Paige, what can I do for you?”

“Hi, Rachel. Do you know where Ryker is?” Her wide smile made Rachel want to grind her teeth. “I made a special dessert tonight—lemon merengue pie. He said it’s his favorite.”

“Really.” Rachel propped her chin in her hand, wholly annoyed Nathan had this cute little thing baking special desserts for him. “I understood he loved chocolate.”

“Oh.” Her smile dropped, and concern pulled her brow. “Oh no. We were chatting the other day, and he—”

“I’m sure he’ll love the pie, Paige,” Rachel said, feeling guilty for making the sweet thing worry. It wasn’t her fault Nathan was too delicious for his own good. “Who couldn’t love both lemon and chocolate, right?”

“Right.” She smiled again, but this time not as forcefully. “If you see him—”

“I’ll be sure and let him know.”

But the lack of sleep had caused her memory to slip today. No one could blame her if she just…forgot to mention the perky little Paige…or her lemon merengue. Right?

Paige left the office far more quietly than Ken. Rachel turned to her computer and opened a cost-analysis file to check on the budget after paying bills and placing orders today.

Her phone rang. Rachel’s nerves frayed, leaving only a thread, and she glared at the phone before snapping it up. “This is Rachel.”

“Hey, honey.” Charlie’s voice filled the line. “Has Ryker come down from the bridge yet?”

Rachel’s teeth clenched, and pain shot through her jaw.

Don’t shoot the messenger.

She glanced at the clock over the door. Nearly
six
. She propped her elbows on her desk and pressed her fingers to her eyes. Christ, she was so tired she felt brittle. She hadn’t slept at all last night after leaving Nathan standing at the truck, wanting something she couldn’t give him. Hadn’t slept the night before after the awesome sex he’d delivered and the almost-catastrophe of Jax and Josh discovering them together. Hell, she felt like she hadn’t slept since he walked into her life last week.

Last week?

How had she gotten so wound up over a man after just a week?

“Doesn’t Ryker have a phone?
And
a radio?” she asked. “Why does everyone keep calling me to ask where he is? How would I know where the man is when I’ve been trapped in this office all day and he’s been out working in the fresh air and sunshine?”

“Oooh,” Charlie drew out. “Sounds like you need a vacation, sweet pea. No worries. I’ll find the bugger.”

And he hung up. Rachel dropped the phone, and it clattered on her desk. She drove all ten fingers into her hair and growled.

Her phone rang again. She popped her head up. “Jesus. It rings even when it’s off the hook.”

The multiline system rolled calls over to the second line when the first was in use, and she snapped up the receiver, then jabbed at the button lighting up the second line. “This is Rachel, and
no
, I do not know where the hell Ryker is.”

A moment of silence, then, “Uuuum, I’m just calling to tell you that someone just passed through the gates looking for you.”

It was Tommy, the guy working night security. Rachel winced and pinched the bridge of her nose. Tears of fatigue and frustration burned her eyes. “I’m sorry, Tommy. Who is it?”

“She said she’s your sister? A Nicole, I think it was. But she doesn’t look nothin’ like you.”

Rachel’s eyes popped open. Alarm burned her chest. “What in the hell?”

“She didn’t say why she was here. I just pointed her toward the office. Sorry if I—”

Rachel didn’t hear the rest of Tommy’s sentence. She dropped the phone and stood. Through the office’s glass outer door, she saw Nicole’s red BMW sports coupe pull to a stop.

“Shit.”

Dread spiraled through her chest, kicking up anger. And by the time Rachel walked out and met her sister halfway to the office, she was on the verge of turning into a raving lunatic. Nicole’s gold hair was down, brushing her shoulders in a sleek cut. She wore a short black skirt and a hot-pink wraparound blouse that made her boobs look even bigger than they already were. Her fancy black heels were trimmed in pink leather, matching the deep shade of pink painted on her toenails, and she looked ridiculously out of place.

Rachel stopped five feet away. “What the hell do you think you’re doing? How would you like it if I showed up at your office in New York unannounced?”

“You’re always welcome, Rachel,” she said, her voice level and sincere. “You know that.”

Maybe, but that was only because Rachel hadn’t stolen Nicole’s fiancé. “You’re not welcome here. And
you
know
that
.”

She let out a breath and dropped her arms to her sides, her smooth brow wrinkling in distress. “You know this is killing Mom and Dad, don’t you?”

That stabbed at Rachel’s conscience, just the way her sister knew it would. “I guess you should have thought about how fucking Dante would screw up other people’s lives before you did it.” She was so furious, she was shaking. She took a step closer to her sister. “You have no right to come here.”

Nicole licked her full lips. “We need to talk.”

“No. We don’t. There is nothing you have to say that—”

“We’re getting married,” she blurted, yelling over Rachel. When Rachel couldn’t find her voice to respond, her sister continued in a softer voice. “Dante and I are getting married, Rachel. I didn’t want to tell you over the phone, dammit.”

She couldn’t breathe. She felt like she’d been kicked by a horse and couldn’t draw air. She managed to pull up all her shields, clawing back her emotions inside those barriers. “How thoughtful.”

“Look,” she said, appearing truly stricken. “You know I’m sorry about how this turned out. You know we didn’t mean to hurt you—”

“This is what I know, Nickie,” she said, her voice coming out hollow and dark. “I
know
your selfishness hurt the people who have always loved you and supported you, no matter what. I
know
your narcissism has divided our family. And I
know,
given the chance, you’d do it again. So don’t you dare stand there and expect me to pretend it’s all okay. Because that kind of betrayal is
never
okay.”

Her sister’s big brown eyes—the only thing she and Rachel had in common—glassed over with tears. Her brow crinkled in distress. And Rachel felt nothing—no pity, no guilt, no remorse. She was doing what she should have been doing her entire life: taking care of herself.

“I don’t understand…” Nicole sputtered.

“No. You don’t. And you never will. You and Dante will do whatever the hell you please, regardless of what I say or how I feel. So go do it. Just don’t expect my blessings, my acceptance, or my acquiescence, because
it won’t happen
.”

Rachel turned and started back to the office. Her head swam with confusion and adrenaline. Pain ripped at her from shoulders to hips. She felt torn from her family. Her very foundation yanked out from under her feet.

“Rachel,” Nicole called at her back. “Can’t we talk about—”

Rachel slammed the office door, stepped to the side, and pressed her back against the wall, where her sister couldn’t see her. She dropped her head back and closed her eyes. Tears spilled down her cheeks and anger rose in her throat.

She was sick of crying—over losing Dante, over his and Nicole’s betrayal, over her parents’ willingness to forgive at Rachel’s expense. She was sick of caring about other people so much. It wore her out, and when she needed the energy to stay strong, for herself, she didn’t have it.

The office phone rang. Nicole’s snazzy BMW passed by headed toward the exit. Instead of feeling vindicated or relieved, Rachel just felt empty.

She stalked into her office and plucked up the phone. “Rachel.”

“Hey, Rach.” Ray’s voice came over the line. “I need to get some information on tomorrow’s delivery’s to Ryker, and I can’t get him on the—”

“I have no damned idea where that man is, Ray.” The very last filament of her patience snapped. “But you can bet I’m going to find his ass and give him a ration for being out of touch.”

She disconnected and turned toward the door with a new target for all her frustration. Outside, she scoured all the main buildings—the dining room, the kitchen, his bunkhouse. No Nathan.

Turning toward the trail leading past the stockyard and up to the bridge, she muttered, “If I have to go all the way up there, Nathan Ryker, your fine ass is dead meat.”

She started that direction, eying the vehicles in the lot. She could take a truck around the back roads to get on top of the bridge, or hop a Kabota as far as it would take her along the back trail. Just thinking about tracking him down pissed her off—only adding to her fury.

At the stockyard fence, she jammed her hands on her hips and stared up at the trail. Frustration and futility sat in her chest like a rock. Movement in the stockyard caught her eye, just the flash of a white T-shirt, and she walked to the gate, peering toward a supply shed.

Nathan strode out with a roll of det cord, tossed it into the back of a pickup, and disappeared back into the shed. Her anger whipped up again. When she reached the shed, he turned with a bundle of four-foot long linear charges on his shoulder. He wore a hard hat, dark gray cargo pants, and a T-shirt—every part of him covered in dirt.

He caught sight of her by the door and stopped short. “Hey.”

That wasn’t a particularly friendly “Hey,” but what the hell did she expect after what she’d said to him last night?

“Where is your phone?” she started in. “And why aren’t you answering your radio?”

“Wait, what…?” His expression turned hopeful. “Were you trying to call me?”

“No. But everyone else in this place was.”

His eyes shadowed again, and his mouth firmed. Guilt pushed in. She was so damned sick of feeling guilty.

“I don’t have time to be your fucking secretary. That wasn’t the deal. I have real work to do, and I can’t get it done when I get fifty calls a day asking, ‘Where’s Ryker?’ ‘Have you seen Ryker?’ ‘When’s Ryker going to be back?’”

His brow pulled until two little vertical lines appeared between his eyes. He cocked his hip, pushed his hard hat up on his forehead, and put his hand on his hip. “Rach,” he said, his voice even and conciliatory, “what’s wrong?”

“Wrong?” She laughed, the sound as cynical as she felt. “I’ll tell you what’s wrong.” Her arms flew open. “Everything’s wrong, dammit. Do you see this?” She shook her hands at herself. “I’m not like this. Normally, I’m completely in control. Competent. Congenial. Look at me, I’m a lunatic. Between you and my sister, I’ve turned into that raving bitch I hate.” She paced away from him, crossing her arms. “The suppliers are out of your super-special det cord. It took me three hours to hunt it down. You aren’t reachable by phone or radio. What if something had happened to you? What if something had happened to someone else, and I needed to get ahold of you? What if—”

“Okay, hold on.” He exhaled heavily and took a step toward her, eyes narrowed. “What’s this about your sister?”

“My sister?” She turned on him. “Oh, I’ll tell you about my sister.” Her arms unfolded, and her hands started flying again. She just couldn’t hold still. “She comes all the way out here from New York, nags the hell out of me, then drives here from the valley just to tell me she’s marrying my ex. Then expects me to be happy for them. The same way you expect me to risk my job and my friendships for you.”

He lowered the bundle on his shoulder to the floor and put his hands out to her like he was calming a spooked horse. “Rachel, honey—”

“I don’t need her telling me how to feel. I don’t need you turning into Mr. Perfect with wine and chocolate and unforgettable sex.” She’d flipped. She’d gone absolutely mad. She needed to shut her mouth and walk away. Now.

She swung toward the shed door. “I’m done putting everyone else—”

Her flailing hand scraped against metal, and pain seared her skin. “Ow!”

She recoiled, jerking her hand back. Her gaze landed on a roll of chain link, the ends rough cut and sharp. Her hand burned, and she looked down at the bloody scrape running diagonally across the back of her hand. “Dammit.”

“Rach?” Nathan started toward her. “Are you okay?”

Emotion bubbled beneath her skin, so close to the surface she thought she’d explode. “Perfect,” she muttered, blinking back her tears. “A perfect end to a perfectly shitty day.”

She started out of the shed again, her self-esteem and self-respect at an all-time low.

Nathan grabbed her arm gently. “Rachel, let me see your hand.”

“I’m fine.” She pulled out of his grasp. “Just one more stupid move.”

He stopped her again, this time with both arms around her waist. He pulled her back against his body and lowered his chin to her shoulder. “Come on, baby. Take a breath.”

She released her tension, exhausted. “This is my bitch at her finest.”

“Nothing I can’t handle.” One arm released her waist, and he pulled at the wrist of her injured hand. “Let me look.”

She lifted her hand and winced at the gouge, shallow on the ends, deeper in the middle.

“We should get you to emergency,” he said. “You might need a stitch or two.”

She pulled her hand away. “We should get my
head
looked at, but my hand is fine. I’ve got first aid supplies in my room.” She twisted out of his grasp again, covered her eyes with her hand. “Look, I’m—obviously—royally screwed up.” She dropped her hand and started walking. “Just…just…wipe all that from your mind—except the part about keeping your phone on—and forget I was here.”