Ice?
As in methamphetamine?
“Yeah, it’s completely escaped her,” Raiden continued. “She thinks the girl is helpin’ her out. Hanna’s got no part in it. I end this with her tonight, we’ll meet, plan the takedown.”
I end this with her tonight.
Oh my God.
What?
How?
What?
“She trusts them. Whacked,” Raiden carried on. “Motherfuckers are using her. Thinks they’re her friends. She’s got no fuckin’ clue.”
I pushed the door and hurried inside. I somehow had the presence of mind to tiptoe in because the bathroom was tile, the hallway carpeted, muting my footfalls and he obviously didn’t know I was there.
The door swung closed behind me. I put my back to the wall beside it and deep-breathed.
Holy Moses, Bodhi and Heather were using my shipments to transport drugs.
Holy Moses! How would they even do that?
And why?
And…
And…
For some reason, Raiden was out with me to ascertain my part in this hideous scenario.
He wasn’t into me.
He was using me.
Like Bodhi and Heather.
My friends who I rode trails with, snowboarded with, laughed with.
Using me.
“Oh my God,” I breathed, pain searing through me, the heat white-hot, leaving devastation in its wake.
I wasn’t an idiot. I was…
I didn’t know what I was.
A moron.
A loser.
I shoved my bag under my arm so I could put my hands over my face and I pulled in huge, broken breaths to control the tears clawing at the backs of my eyes.
A new dress.
Excited laughter with my best friend.
Shoes that I’d have to knit five afghans to pay for.
And all because I was a moron.
Thoughts assaulting my brain, it took everything I had to pull myself together.
Raiden couldn’t know I knew. I had to pretend. I had to finish this stupid, stupid date.
Then I would end things tonight.
Then I would take care of business.
Then I would learn my stupid lesson.
A narrow life was better.
Books. Movies. Friends I’d had since junior high who I could trust. A great-grandmother who adored me. An ornery cat who liked me occasionally. A job I enjoyed that was free of the drug trade.
That was it.
The rest of it…
No.
I had no idea I’d been smart before. I had no idea I’d been living the right life.
I had no idea.
Now I did.
“Shit,” I whispered.
I rushed into a stall, took care of business then left the restroom carefully. Checking the back hall, which was empty, I stealthily moved out and saw Raiden at our table. I skirted the main area of the restaurant, walked outside and took in huge lung-fulls of crisp, mountain air, coming up with a plan while doing so.
The wine had gone to my head. I was a bit tipsy and more headachy.
I needed to go home.
I squared my shoulders and swallowed my tears. I turned to the front door, walked in and moved to the table, Raiden’s head coming up when he saw me, his brows snapping together at my direction.
God, he was gorgeous.
Amazing.
Phenomenal.
Using me.
“You okay?” he asked as I sat.
I drew in one more breath.
Then I turned to him. I took him in and felt my dream take its final, shuddering breath before it died…
And I lied.
Chapter Six
Last Chance
The drive home was silent. The whole time I looked out the side window.
That wasn’t strictly true.
The drive home was silent, except once we were in the Jeep on our way home, Raiden asked, “This happen often, headaches comin’ on this fast?”
“Yes,” I lied.
Raiden left it at that.
I spent my energies holding myself together.
This took a lot of my energies.
Therefore, by the time we got to my house, I was exhausted.
Raiden parked, and as he was shutting the Jeep down, I swiftly unbuckled my seatbelt, threw open the door and climbed out as gracefully as I could.
I was hoofing it double time to the front door when my efforts were foiled by Raiden’s hand closing around mine.
He slowed my dash and dug into his jeans pocket, got out my keys, stopped us at the door and let us in.
I took two wide steps inside, unfortunately dragging him with me. I tugged my hand free of his and turned on him, hand up.
“Thanks for letting us in. I’ll take those now.”
I avoided his eyes as he deposited my keys in my hand, my fingers closing around them instantly, and my hand dropped.
“Hanna, you gonna be okay?”
I looked up at him.
Raiden Miller in my foyer.
A dream come true then turning straight into a nightmare.
“I’ll take some ibuprofen and I’ll be fine,” I lied.
I wouldn’t be fine. Not for ever and ever.
“Can you hang on a second?” I went on to ask. “Before you go, I want to give you something.”
“Sure, honey,” he replied gently.
Raiden Miller calling me honey.
Gently.
Total nightmare.
I looked to my feet, tucked my hair behind my ear and hurried to the stairs. “I’ll just be a sec.”
I rushed up the stairs on the toes of my sandals.
I’d had the idea on the way home. It didn’t make sense at all, but the instant I had it I knew I had to do it. And I never knew I had to do anything the instant I had the idea, so I decided I was going to go with it.
I ran to my bedroom door and tossed my clutch and the keys across the room to the bed. Then I dashed to the spare bedroom where I kept my finished afghans and found the one I was looking for. A fluffy, black, loose weave cashmere already tied in a wide, dove gray satin ribbon with my signature tag on it. Heavy cream cardstock, and on it, in black, handwritten in the calligraphy I taught myself from a book after painstaking hours of copying, Made special… by Hanna.
I hastened down the hall, slowed my step at the stairs and again avoided looking at Raiden while I descended.
But I walked right up to him and held out the throw.
“I want you to have this.”
“Jesus, baby,” he murmured, his voice deeper than normal, and I looked up at him.
He was staring down at the afghan, his face strange.
He looked stunned, moved, pleased.
Really.
He was an amazing actor.
His eyes came to mine. “I can’t take this.”
I jerked it toward him. “Take it.”
He lifted a hand then dropped it and held my eyes. “It looks like a five hundred dollar one.”
“It’s a seven hundred and fifty dollar one.”
He did a slow blink. “Come again?”
“Cashmere,” I explained then jerked it at him again. “Please take it.”
“Hanna—”
“Take it.”
“Honey—”
“Please,” I whispered, my voice suddenly husky, “take it.”
He studied me closely as he took it then abruptly his head jerked down, and, as if he didn’t know his mouth was saying the words, he stated, “Fuck me, it feels like heaven.”
“Cashmere,” I repeated and his eyes came back to mine. “I had a nice night,” I continued, moving directly to the door, opening it then standing wide so he had plenty of room to get through. “Thank you.”
He looked at my feet then out the open door then at me.
He hesitated what seemed like days before he walked to me and stopped close. Too close. I had to tip my head way back (even in four inch heels!) and he had to dip his chin way down.