Chapter 19

Ryan stretched and blinked his eyes open, squinting. No wonder. Sunlight was pouring in the window over the bed. Apparently he'd forgotten to close the curtains last night. By the time he got to the cottage on Pelican Lane, all he'd wanted to do was strip off his clothes and fall into bed.

He lay there, letting his body wake up, revisiting the circumstances of the trip down here. He had to give Walt credit for this. He'd pulled this off like a real superspy. Ryan had certainly felt like he was in a covert ops movie. At five o'clock in the afternoon, a black windowless van had rolled up his driveway and into his garage. The same van had made a trip earlier in the day so the assholes camped out in the street would write it off as nothing newsworthy. But, on the last trip, it delivered Rich McClellan, who Walt referred to as the fake Ryan Calhoun. Then they'd hustled Ryan himself, along with his suitcases, into the van and rolled out of the garage and into the street with the paparazzi barely paying attention.

Less than three hours later, they pulled into a driveway next to an anonymous dark sedan. They all climbed out and Walt handed Ryan a set of keys, dipping his head at the car sitting in the driveway.

"Yours for the duration. I didn't want anything fancy to call attention to you."

"Prison looks the same, with or without bars."

"This is not prison," Walt protested. "It's a nice cottage where no one will know who the hell you are. Thank god."

"Yeah." Ryan couldn't help the sarcasm in his tone. "Thank god."

"Maybe this will make you rethink your role as the ladies' man of the year and choose your women a little more wisely."

Ryan had no comeback for that because Walt was right. He didn't always choose wisely or well.

"Is there a grocery store near here or did you want me to starve to death?"

"I sent down a grocery list," Walt told him, "so the fridge and cupboards are stocked. If you need anything else there's a grocery store five minutes away." He handed him a slip of paper with some numbers on it. "The security code for the door. They don't use keys."

He helped Ryan haul his stuff inside, checked things out for himself then the two men shook hands.

"Call if you need anything," Walt told him.

"You'll keep me up to date on what's happening?"

"I will. But you need to put it out of your mind for now. I'm not kidding. Don't get online and start looking for stuff or you'll drive yourself crazy."

Ryan scowled. "You mean because of all the shit out there?" Great. Fucking great.

Walt nodded. "With you out of sight and not available for the hounds of hell paparazzi, and the magic my people can work, things should start calming down soon."

Ryan groaned. "Chased out of my own house by a nutty female. Honest to god, Walt. When I met her I thought she was a lot of fun."

Walt shook his head. "I think from now on, you ought to let me have all your women vetted before you go out with them."

"That's one solution to the problem," he growled, angry and frustrated.

Walt's eyes filled with sympathy. "Go be a beach bum for a while and let me handle things."

"I guess that's my only choice." And his own damn fault, he had to admit. Who ever thought he'd make such a poor choice of women he'd be forced to run for cover?

"And, Ryan? One more thing."

Ryan lifted an eyebrow. "Yeah? Now what?"

"Stay away from women. Can you manage that until this dies down?"

Ryan felt anger surge through him. "Sure, Walt. I'll go ahead and cancel the hookers first thing in the morning."

Walt held up his hands, palms outward. "No need to get hot under the collar. Just covering all bases. I'd think, after Marlo, you'd be on a no female kick anyway."

That was plenty close to the truth. His shoulders sagged. "I'm good. Don't worry. The last thing I'm looking for right now is another female."

"Okay. Oh, and keep your cell on at all times so I can reach you if I have to."

They shook hands and Walt headed back north.

By the time Ryan had unpacked, he was ready to crawl into bed. He was out like a light within seconds and slept without dreams, an unusual occurrence these days.

Now he lay in an unfamiliar bed in unfamiliar surroundings wondering what would happen next. Football was his life. He could do without women before he could do without the game. So, then, why had he been such a ladies' man he got himself in this fix? Maybe he could pull the covers over his head and hide there until it was all over.

Finally, urged by the call of nature, he climbed out of the bed and made his way into the small, attached bathroom. Necessities taken care of, he wandered around the cottage. Large windows in the living room and dining room let in unimpeded light and gave onto gorgeous views. Looking out the front he could see other cottages like the one he was in, most of them on stilts. In the back, two huge trees provided shade for a porch and a nice yard.

He thought about coffee but decided to go for a run first. Get the lay of the land, so to speak. He dug through his stuff for a pair of jogging shorts and a T-shirt, laced up his shoes, and headed out the door. He deliberately left his cell phone on the counter. Screw Walt. He needed to have a few hours disconnected from everything to let his head air out.

He had no one to blame for his situation. He had to face that fact. He'd enjoyed the high life, enjoyed women, and had few if any problems. If Marlo had exhibited any signs of her insanity, his ego had blinded him to it. Now his life was in turmoil and he was hiding out like some criminal.