Vivian Arend - High Risk

“Ted, not here—” Marcus’s attempt to slow down the train was destroyed by the very insistent man.

“I have the news report from the team that found him earlier today. Seems there’re some irregularities. Have you been contacted yet by the state police to find out if you can help answer their questions?”

“What irregularities? Where did you get this information?” Becki had Marcus’s hand in a tight grip, but she was moving now, stepping across the room to Ted’s side. Another flash went off, and Becki glared at the cameraman. “Call off your hound and let’s go somewhere private to finish this.”

Marcus tugged her back. “Don’t talk to him. We can go. We can make the calls ourselves to find out what the ass is up to.”

She pressed her lips close to his ear and whispered rapidly, “But if we get him out of the room, he can’t continue to mess up David’s event.”

He didn’t give a damn about the fund-raiser right then. All his energies were aimed in one direction—getting Ted away from Becki as soon as possible. “Let’s take this outside, Ted.”

Ted lifted his hands in protest, then pointed toward where the Lifeline crew had all risen to their feet, standing at attention. “Just wanted to get a reaction from the team as well. Since Becki’s been training them.” Ted checked a paper he pulled from his pocket. “How do you feel learning that Dane’s safety line appears to have been cut?”

She’d gone numb. There was a faint ringing in her ears but beyond that, nothing.

Becki leaned her forehead against the window of Marcus’s truck and stared at the lights flashing by, the water on the streets reflecting the streetlamps and creating a far too beautiful setting compared to the pain rippling inside.

Dane.

A soft touch landed on her shoulder as they paused at an intersection. Marcus squeezed her briefly before taking the wheel again. “We’ll make some calls. Find out what happened.”

She nodded. “I know.”

“I should have shoved that damn reporter’s notebook up his ass the first time I met him,” Marcus growled lightly as the truck moved forward. The slick of water being spun from under the tires and the windshield wipers stroking back and forth merged into a rhythm and gave her something to cling to.

She wanted to smile, to tease back that she figured Ted was plenty afraid of Marcus now, after he’d hauled the man from the room and given him hell.

She couldn’t. All that consumed her were images that stacked and fell apart, never creating the correct picture, teasing her with their incomplete story.

They’d found Dane’s body. That alone would have been enough to give her pause. She might have shuddered briefly to a stop but made herself keep moving because that was what you did. People died on the mountain, and you kept on. She’d mourned Dane, stopped asking why , and over the past couple of months slowly accepted that she might never know the truth.

Hearing how they’d found him had been blunt and definitely announced to be hurtful.

Dane’s safety line had been cut.

And now, the questions were all out there again. What had happened? Why couldn’t she remember?

Oh God, had she done the unthinkable?

They stopped and she sat there, unable to move. All the while as Marcus guided her into the house and slipped her into a chair by the fire, she was only borderline aware of what was happening. She closed her eyes to shut out the pain, but it refused to leave her alone, haunting her.

“Becki.” Marcus’s voice cut through, but she didn’t want to answer. What would he do? What would he think? Opening her eyes, would she discover that he had a look of sympathy on his face, or distrust, or . . . ?

She wasn’t sure what emotion she expected from him, or which would be the worst.

Dane’s rope had been cut. The one that had held the two of them together.

“Becki—you’re in shock. I’m going to get you warmed up, and then we’ll talk.”

He undressed her— when had they gone to his room? —and helped her into sweatpants and one of his oversized sweaters. Something sweet and warm passed her lips, and she swallowed instinctively.

Tea. Marcus’s magical blend.

Then she was nestled against a strong chest and being held. Protected. The phone rang and they ignored it, Marcus stroking her hair as she clung to him, holding on tight.

“Should we answer?” she asked, choking out the question through a tight throat.

“Tomorrow is soon enough. David and the team know how to reach me if there’s a real emergency. This call isn’t important.”

“I’m not going to fall apart. I’m not,” Becki insisted, knowing even as she said the words they would seem ridiculous.

“You’re going to be fine,” Marcus agreed. “But you don’t have to hide anything from me. Don’t have to be strong 24/7. I won’t judge.”

“God, I wish I could remember .”

“You will,” he reassured her. “When you’re ready. In the meantime, whatever you need, take.”

She didn’t know what she needed. To scream her frustrations at having huge, vital gaps in her past? To punch and hit Ted for deliberately choosing the worst possible time and place? Part of her was even tempted to curl into a ball and pretend none of it had happened. Not the news announcement that night, not the accident eight months ago. Never learned to climb, never left the farm . . .

A sense of the ridiculousness of that last thought struck her, and a snort of derision escaped. Okay, maybe not that far back.

A wave of mental exhaustion was settling in and turning everything darker than it should be. The one thing she was sure of in the middle of all the other doubts was that she trusted Marcus.

Maybe more than she should, but trusting him was the only thing left solid and firm.

“I don’t want to feel. I don’t want to think,” she admitted. “And having this reaction almost pisses me off more than not knowing what happened.”

Marcus shifted under her and cupped his strong fingers around her chin. “I get it. But right now? If you want to pop a couple of pills and sleep, no one will judge you for it. We’ll make calls tomorrow when you’re fresh.”

She searched his face, but there was nothing there accusing her or judging her. “I can’t go back to the dorms. . . .”

“I never expected you to. You’d already promised to spend the night with me.”

Their passionate interlude seemed a million miles away, hazy and more like a dream than reality. “Well, I thought I should double-check. The game changed tonight.”

Marcus shook his head. “A new hand got dealt, but we’re still in the same game. I want you here with me.”

She nodded. “Thank you.”

Becki grabbed her cup and sipped the tea, soaking in the warmth, her fingers icy cold on the ceramic. “Marcus? You have anything to help me sleep tonight? I hate taking shit, but . . .”

He rose and led her into the bathroom. “Again, there’s nothing you can ask for that will make me judge you as lacking.” He held out the box to her, retaining his grasp until she looked into his eyes. “I’ve been there. Needing to be cared for. Let me help you.”

The fact that his life hadn’t been picture-perfect, that he knew how the world could change in an instant, made him perfect for her right then and there. She took a pill and swallowed it with a bit of water, staring at the face of a stranger in the mirror.

Marcus took down her hair, trailed his fingers through the strands. Handed her a face cloth to wash away the fancy makeup she’d taken such pains to apply. All the while Becki floated in a haze. The sleeping pill slowly overpowered even the numbing confusion in her brain.