Daniel knows quite well who his assistant is. What games is he playing?
If Ryan detected a hint of coyness in Daniel's voice, he didn't let on. Keeping his expression inscrutable, he replied in the same smart-ass tone.
"Call my office, and you will find out. Now, if you would excuse me, gentlemen."
Ryan walked off, still clutching my hand in his. His firm grip was what alerted me to the fact that he was pissed; otherwise, his expression remained blank.
"Mr. Blackwell, you can run tonight, but do understand that avoiding me will not help your family. I suggest you do the right thing for your family and speak to me now."
Ryan stops abruptly at Daniel's words and turns to face him.
"Mr. Goodman, you are severely mistaken, as I do not run from anything. Then again, I will not waste my time at the beck and call of an officer who believes that because he serves the law, he can abuse it.
Ryan's voice was so frosty that I felt the frost bite.
"You do not want your superior to receive another call about you overstepping your boundaries, do you?"
I looked up at Ryan, and the look in his eyes terrified me. He looked like one ready to decimate his enemy, and the smirk tugging at the corners of his lips?
They look so dangerous and sexy at the same time. My heart skipped in reaction.
Damn! He is hot when he is being super Alpha.
From the little distance between us, I saw Daniel's nose flare up, and his countenance change. He openly glared at Ryan with hostility, not bothering to hide his feelings for my boss under the veil of steel professionalism.
There is definitely a history between these two. Daniel never told me about any personal quarrel with Ryan.
"Are you threatening me, Mr. Blackwell? I am sure you know it is an offense to threaten an officer of the law."
Ryan shakes his finger at Daniel with a click of his tongue, with a conceited look on his face, like a man who knows that he is untouchable.
I guess we know the Ryan we are getting tonight.
"You are wrong, officer. I do not make threats; I make promises," he says in a steely voice, and then turns around to open the car door for me.
Daniel let us leave without saying another word.
We drove towards my house in silence that felt a little uncomfortable. I was dying to know what Ryan thought about the officers' visit.
Does he know why they came? Would he suspect me? And why the hell did Daniel not tell me they were coming?
"Do you think the officers are here because of that night?" I turned sideways to look at Ryan.
Ryan doesn't reply to my words right away, but keeps his focus on the road ahead. It's dark around us, lit only by the headlights of passing cars.
"Which night?" He responds with no inflection in his voice, as if he genuinely has no idea what I was asking. He didn't even look at me or seem nervous.
Damn his poker face!
I guess we're playing the dumb game tonight. Maybe I should have kept my mouth shut. I don't want to overplay my hand, but I also want to know if he thinks I blabbed.
I did blab. But the real question isn't whether I talked to the cops; it's: does he know? And is he on his way to dump my dead body in some ditch under the guise of sending me home?
I glance around through the window to make sure we're still heading to my place before returning to the conversation.
I already started it. It would be weird to stop now.
"You know the night I'm talking about. The night you took me to your sister's apartment."
Ryan looks at me with a strange expression. He eyes me as if I've lost my mind, his expression totally dismissing my words.
I know my memories are real. I'm twenty-eight, not senile, and what I saw that night is permanently etched in my mind. So why does he look at me like I'm high?
I narrow my eyes at him. If he's trying to make me feel crazy, it won't work.
"I remember taking you to my sister, but I'm not sure why the cops would be interested in that," he says casually, his attention flicking back to the road.
I keep staring, looking for signs he's bluffing, but his face stays unreadable—no twitch, no blink to give away what he's thinking.
Damn, he's good!
Maybe shocking him would crack his mask. I hate not being able to read him. I growl inwardly, feeling frustrated.
"I'm talking about your sister killing someone," I blurt out, my voice a bit shaky from frustration.
His expression changes quickly. His face hardens, and I can see the tension in his jaw from clenching, and he is clinging to the steering like he's trying to squeeze the life out of it.
Maybe I should have kept my mouth shut.
I feel fear rising, afraid of his reaction. It's clear I've broken his unreadable mask, but instead of feeling victorious, I want to jump out and run.
"Do you have proof?" He asks in a low voice, almost too quiet to hear. I've learned in these weeks working with Ryan: when he's really angry, he lowers his voice to a deep, calm tone that's even more intense than usual.
I gaped at him. He can't be serious. What does he mean by 'do I have proof'? I was there. He doesn't have to keep gloating about the fact that I don't have proof. I sulk inwardly, my face sinking on my chest.
"No," I answer in a gloomy tone.
"A word of advice, Miss Spencer, don't say anything you can't prove. You might get into trouble for it."
Miss Spencer! What is with the formality? He just had his tongue down my throat a few minutes ago. And is he threatening me? His tone wasn't threatening, but with him, you can never tell.
Despite circumventing my question and my rising frustration at not getting a straight answer, I couldn't leave it alone.
"Are you not worried?"
Surely, a normal human being would at least be nervous if the police came poking around and one of their family members committed a crime. Still, he looks so composed and calm, like his family member committing murder is just an everyday thing.
From the tales I've heard about his family, it wouldn't surprise me if that is the case.
"What do I have to be worried about? Cops are always fishing for something with my family, and they always come up empty-handed."
"Still," I tried to argue, and he turned his head in my direction, freezing with a chilled look. "Drop it, Lyra."
So he does know my name. For a second, I thought I was his school teacher.
"The police inquiry is my concern, and I will handle it. You don't need to worry about it," he tells me flatly, with a note of finality in his voice, but I am like a dog with a bone, refusing to let go unless I get a satisfactory answer.
"What if they question me?"
"And why would they do that?" Ryan stares at me as if he suspects something, and I find myself recoiling from his probing stare.
"I'm just saying they could try to reach you through me. I am your assistant, after all,"
I mutter under my breath.
"You needn't worry about the cops getting to you. I will make sure that doesn't happen, but if it does, you will be responsible for your words."
I stiffened at his words, perceiving a threat in them. Maybe I am wrong, but I am too annoyed by his high-handed attitude and the conceited assumption that he is untouchable to care.
"Are you threatening me?" I asked, my eyes narrowing at him. And again, he gives that look that makes me feel like a two-year-old.
"And why would I do that? You are no threat to me," he responds softly, and his serious expression tells me he actually believes his words.
I don't know whether he believes I am non-lethal to him because he trusts me or because he thinks I am so inconsequential that I can't cause him any damage. Neither of these interpretations sits well with me, but I didn't have any comeback, so I sat the rest of the ride in a swollen silence.
When we got to my apartment, he went to unbuckle his belt and get out of the car, but I stopped him. "Don't bother, I can get to my apartment on my own," I tell him frostily.
He doesn't argue, and I leave after muttering a thanks to him for driving me home, a thanks I wasn't feeling at the moment.
I am so furious with him that I feel like kicking something. I can feel him watching me, and it adds to my annoyance even as it makes me self-conscious.
I quickly hurried into the lobby of my apartment building to avoid his intense gaze, and I threw myself against the wall, suddenly feeling very drained.
I closed my eyes as I fought for composure.
What kind of an egomaniac am I dealing with?