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Not like that night.
This alley was miles and years away from that day.
“Ryan is fine,” she said aloud to remind herself. She blinked away the fear and then swiped at the slick sweat on her brow.
She tossed away boxes and tried to ignore the skittering of roaches and the thud of another animal—cat, maybe? She hoped it was a cat.
A booted foot came into view, aimed at the sky. A very long leg was turned at a scary angle.
“Don’t be dead, don’t be dead.” She heaved a vegetable box full of rotting lettuce to the side and tried not to gag. Two more black trash bags were on top of the body—no, not body, Denver. The person. The very-much-alive person.
The alive Ryan.
She scooped up the familiar phone with the sugar skull phone case she’d given him. All the guys had the same phones and kept taking the wrong ones when they weren’t paying attention. So she’d bought them cases. Obnoxious ones. She’d picked dancing sugar skulls for Ryan. He had loved them because he was her best friend and had the same sense of humor.
The only other person who’d kept his cover had been Mal. She’d found a skeleton playing drums. He’d deemed it cool enough to keep.
And now she was babbling even more in her own mind.
Fuck.
“Don’t be dead.” She hurled three more bags away and found him slumped against the brick wall. She swallowed a sob and crouched down. His huge hand was draped over his long torso. His shirt was stained and ripped at the shoulder, his knuckles were bloody and dirty.
Then a snore ripped out of him and she blew out a hysterical laugh before she stood up and kicked his boot. “You fuck.” She shined her flashlight over his face and he winced and held up his hand.
“Ma?”
Relief left her lightheaded. “You’re going to wish I was your damn mother. Because she’s probably the only person on this earth who isn’t ready to kill you.”
“Den?”
She kicked him harder. “Who else would be looking for your stupid ass?”
He groaned. “Did you get the license plate of the truck that hit me?”
“No, because there was no truck. Just hands, if I had to make a guess.” She panned her light over his bruised knuckles and face. She had to stop herself from crouching over him and touching his face. It helped that he smelled like a cat had used him for a litter box. “Who beat the hell out of you?”
He struggled to get up and fell onto his ass. “A little help here?”
“Not until you tell me what the hell happened.”
“I got mugged?”
For a moment, her heart blipped and her knee-jerk reaction to help him kicked in, but then she heard the question mark at the end of his statement. Was he actually guessing?
His lip curled up at the corner. “I think there were two of them.”
She put one of her hands on her hip, leaving the light on his face. “Oh yeah, why is your phone still here?”
“Because iPhones are a dime a dozen?”
“Still worth money, jackass. Try again.”
He rolled onto his side and groaned as he got to his knees. “Still no help.”
She sighed and hooked her arm through his and hauled him up. He stumbled against her and she groaned. “You smell like death and trash had a kegger.”
He hooked his arm around her neck. “Close.” That damn smoky voice had started infiltrating her dreams lately. She so didn’t have time for that crap, man.
