Caridad Pineiro - Darkness Calls

David kept his bead on her attacker and Diana approached the bouncer. “You know this man?”

“That’s Ryder Latimer. He’s the owner of the club. Came out to make sure nothing funny was going on,” the bouncer explained.

Diana sighed harshly and glanced at her partner, who lowered his weapon, holstered it and then spoke softly into the wire, calling off the imminent arrival of reinforcements.

She walked up to the man and noted he bore an imprint below his left eye from one of the blows she had inflicted. Her satisfaction was tempered by guilt, the burning pain across her cheek and the pounding in her head. “I guess we all need to talk.”

“I guess we do at that,” he said, and turned on his heel, barking a command to the bouncer on his way to the door of the club.

David and Diana remained behind, staring after him in surprise. The bouncer moved his head in the direction of the door and held out his hand. “After you,” he said facetiously.

Diana gritted her teeth to hold back her comment. A mistake. The movement sent a shaft of pain up the side of her face and into her skull. She moaned, and David reached out to steady her as she swayed.

“You need to see a doctor,” he said as she closed her eyes and battled the swirling dizziness in her head. She reached for the wall and instead encountered a rock-hard body.

Opening her eyes, she met the sharp-eyed gaze of her unwitting assailant, who actually seemed concerned. It was the last thing she thought as she passed out into his arms.

She tried to open her eyes, but the glare of the light forced them closed. Reaching for her forehead, she grasped both sides of her head and cradled it gingerly.

“It’s about time you came to,” Ryder said, and the words ricocheted around her skull, causing more pain.

Somehow she found the grit to face him. “Haven’t you done enough?” she said, surprised that all she could muster was a whisper. Each movement of her jaw brought fresh waves of pain. She moaned, and a moment later she was rewarded with the chill of an ice pack against the throbbing side of her face and the gentle pass of his hand across her brow.

“Lean back and try to stay still. I called for a doctor,” he said, and Diana chose not to argue with him. If she argued, the pounding punishment in her skull would outweigh any satisfaction she might get.

A footfall alerted Diana to the entry of someone else. Diana opened her eyes to mere slits. An elegantly dressed young woman came into the room, followed by David.

“Your friend is finally awake,” she said, and Diana assumed this was the doctor the club owner had called. The woman’s voice was soft and cultured, colored with the accents of exclusive prep schools and money. Despite her easy tone, Diana’s pain increased.

“Easy,” her assailant murmured, and stroked a gentling hand across Diana’s forehead once more. The tips of his fingers were rough and yet somehow comforting.

“Ryder, you never cease to amaze me. Is this another lady you’ve charmed?” the physician teased.

Diana wished the doctor would shut up and examine her. “Please. Let’s get this over with,” she whispered. A second later the doctor pried open one of Diana’s eyelids, flashed a light in her eye, then repeated the same with the other eye. It was a small penlight, but it had the strength of a laser, burning away what little was left of Diana’s brain cells.

“Open those eyes and tell me how many fingers I have up?” the doctor asked.

Diana slowly eased her eyes open, letting them adjust to the light. It took a while, and she had to force herself to focus so she could count the fingers the physician was wiggling in her face. “Three,” she growled, then closed her eyes and leaned back against the cushions of the couch.

“She’ll live, Ryder, although she’s got a slight concussion,” the young woman proclaimed. “Next time, try to take it a little easier on the ladies. I thought you considered yourself a gentleman.” The doctor stowed the penlight in her pocket and reached into her bag. She took out a small foil packet of medicine and handed it to David.

“Here are some meds for your partner. She should be watched overnight. If there’s no one who can—”

“My brother can do it, David. I don’t want to go to any hospital,” she replied.

The young woman nodded and glanced at Ryder. “See you later, Ryder?” she asked.

“I’ll be by, unless the agents need to keep me for some reason,” he replied, but David shook his head.

“Great, then. Thanks for your help, Danvers,” Ryder said. The doctor walked from the room, mumbling under her breath as she did so. The calming, pain-killing chill of the ice pack returned, however, and Diana wondered why this man was being so solicitous. And why she was wondering what kind of relationship he and the good doctor shared.

She opened her eyes. This time it took only a few seconds for her to focus on his too-handsome face, which was filled with concern—and a trace of guilt. “It seems as if we should know each other’s names by now,” she said.

It was amazing that such a small hint of a smile could transform the harsh planes of his face, brightening his dark countenance. She sensed he didn’t smile often. “Ryder Latimer. Proprietor of this club. And you two would be—”

“Special Agent Harris.” Her partner walked up to Ryder, who sat on the edge of a low coffee table beside Diana.

Ryder stood as the other man approached and they shook hands. He sat down once more and faced her.

“Diana Reyes,” she answered, and held out her hand. He took it in his, and when he noticed the dull rose across her knuckles from their earlier fisticuffs, his lips thinned into a tight line. Smoothing a finger across the fresh marks, he gazed at her, his face hard. His touch sent a wave of heat skittering up her arm. “I’m sorry about hurting you,” Ryder said softly.

“You were watching me,” she pressed, disturbingly aware of him. This close, his face was striking, undeniably masculine. A sharp, straight slash of a nose. Those dark, nearly black eyes that made her feel as if she could sink into their depths to rest. And his lips—full and well-defined…

Maybe it was the blow to her head that was distorting her sense of things, but it seemed she had seen that face before. That she knew him somehow…and knew she could trust him.

“I read the papers the other morning,” he started with a shrug. “I was worried the killer might be here—”

“Maybe because of your clientele and the bar’s motif?” asked David, sitting on the couch by Diana’s feet.

Ryder shifted to face him, his legs spread. He rested his forearms on thick-muscled thighs and steepled his hands. He had capable hands. Large, with blunt fingers. Diana had to tear her gaze away from the sight of them. She was a sucker for men with strong hands.

“There are all kinds at the club,” Ryder answered. “For most, it’s a way to cut loose and be a little different.”

“Why did you follow me?” she asked, although she was quite certain he had been in the alley before she arrived.

“I didn’t. I was already out there. Beat you down from the catwalks.”

He caught her off guard with his answer. She had been expecting him to lie. Needing time to regroup and get a fresh perspective, she peered at her partner past the pack of ice she still held to her face and said, “I think I’d like to talk to Mr. Latimer in the morning. Bright and early.”

“First thing in the a.m.?” Ryder questioned, dread in his voice.

“Not an early bird, I gather,” Diana replied as she rose and handed him the half-melted ice pack.

“You can’t even begin to imagine,” he answered, and as Diana met his gaze, she sensed there was a wealth of meaning in those simple words.