beside him. “What I need is for you to be beside me.” I sigh and walk to the side of the bed, hesitating. “I promise I won’t bite.”
I sit on the bed, bringing my feet under the sheets and then Ryker pulls them up over my bare legs. His fingers graze my thigh by accident and I bite back the desire.
“Whiskey, you’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, wrapping my hair behind my ear. “You might not believe it, but I’m glad we met.”
I close my eyes, reveling in his touch. No other man has ever made me feel so many emotions like he does. “This was easier when you were being an asshole.”
The look of regret etched on his face reflects how I feel about leaving him. I’m so torn inside. Guilt that my dad is sick, yet I want to stay here makes me a horrible daughter.
“They released Addison.”
My spine straightens and I grab his hand, hoping she’s not in any trouble because of me. “That’s good, right?”
“It is. She said when she ran the picture, the system glitched. There was information for a second, but it erased before she could read anything. That’s why she called Max when she saw men asking for her. But she had to give them the picture.”
“That’s fine. It was only a picture of my family.” But it means she was being interrogated because of it. I fall against the padded headboard. “We should call whoever and tell them where I’m at. They can ask me anything.”
Ryker wraps his arm around my shoulder and pulls me into his body. “We’ll figure it out tomorrow. Let’s try to sleep.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Aspen
“They’re here,” Max says, looking out the window to the vehicle that just pulled up the driveway. Ryker and I push off the couch and stand. Ryker’s hand grips mine, tight. I squeeze with a single nod, reassuring him I’m okay. But I’m far from it.
This morning Max agreed to call the CIA and tell them where I was. He wasn’t on board with it, but I told him either he did it or I did.
“Aspen, think about what you’ll say before you answer his questions,” Max warns. “You don’t want them to use your words against you.” I exhale, readying myself for something I can’t imagine.
“We’ll be right here,” offers Ryker.
“Hmm,” Max says to himself when he sees the guy walking up. He opens the door wide for the man to enter. A draft of frigid air follows him in. “Richard, good to see you.” Relief floods my body. He knows him.
They shake hands. “Max Shaw, always a pleasure.”
As soon as the man’s eyes land on me, they widen. “Gabriella,” he mutters in surprise and then clears his throat. He straightens his spine and tugs at his sleeves peeking out from under his black suit jacket. I take a step backward as his wrinkled glare burns holes in me.
My gaze jumps from Ryker to Max in confusion. Max watches the man for a beat before correcting him. “Richard, this is Aspen Foley.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.” He scrambles and attempts to flash a warm smile, but it seems forced. “She reminds me of someone.”
“Richard, I’m surprised you’re here alone,” Max says, glancing outside at the lone black SUV. “The Director of CIA rarely makes house calls.”
The man slides his hands inside his suit pants pockets. His attention travels back to me, making my skin crawl. I don’t like the guy’s aura and I’m not sure why.
“The nature of the visit is sensitive and because of national security, it’s above your clearance.” His voice hardens, a direct jab at Max, yet his eyes stay pinned on me.
“Ms. Foley, can you confirm that the picture Mrs. Addison Roberts was in possession of was of you and your family?” I nod and his lips form a straight line. “I’m going to need you to come with me for questioning.”
“What? No,” Ryker clips, taking a step in front of me. “Why can’t you question her here?”
“Ryker,” Max warns, shaking his head. He’s telling him I don’t have a choice. And I’m the one who called this meeting.
“It’s fine. I’ll go. I have nothing to hide.” With one quick squeeze, I let go of Ryker’s hand. This will be a quick visit, especially if it’s about my mom. I don’t even remember her. Without that picture, I wouldn’t know what she looked like.
Max’s house disappears in the mirror. The man doesn’t talk, not really. He mumbles to himself more than anything. His