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Captain Leopold turns to leave, which shouldn’t have left me feeling as vulnerable as it does. However, when I face Ryker and Zane again, both men towering over me, I find myself completely and utterly overwhelmed. I mean, I’ve always been short by anyone’s standards. Five-foot-four is hardly something to write home about.

But these men make me feel tiny.

Like, stick-me-in-their-pocket-and-carry-me-around small.

You might as well call me Thumbelina.

Focus, Dahlia.

“I’m Zane.” He offers me his hand and a smile, so I take it and offer one in return.

“Dahlia.”

“It’s nice to meet you.”

“You, too. Thanks.”

Zane glances over at Ryker, who hasn’t stopped staring at me, but doesn’t say a single thing.

“How are you feeling?” Zane questions. “My sister mentioned you seemed to be doing better.”

“Sister?”

“Anastasia,” he replies with a friendly smile.

“Oh, yeah. She’s so sweet. She brought me a cup of the best coffee I’ve ever had.”

Zane laughs. “She would love to hear that.”

“I owe her more than a thank you. She sent some clothes with Captain Leopold.” I gesture down at the leggings and olive-colored sweatshirt I’m wearing.

A frustrated growl emits from Ryker, and my gaze shoots up to him. Still, he doesn’t speak.

Why do I get the impression he’s angry at me for something and that this was a bad idea?

“Anyway, I still can’t remember the last two weeks, but the doctor said my injuries were minor given the severity of the accident.” I turn to Ryker. “I have you to thank for that.”

“I had nothing to do with your injuries. I just pulled you from the water.” It’s the first thing he’s said since Captain Leopold and I walked into this place, and just hearing his voice does something to my insides as that deep baritone echoes in my mind.

“Well, you are the reason I’m alive.”

“What did the doctor say about the bruising on your neck and the side of your face?” Zane questions as he tries to hide a smile.

I reach up and gently touch the nasty purple and yellow bruise on my cheekbone. “He said I must have hit the window or something.”

Zane and Ryker exchange glances.

“Why?”

Ryker takes a deep breath. “That pattern of bruising is more consistent with a fist than a car accident. The bruising on your neck looks like finger marks.”

Panic pushes through all of the anxiousness I’d had about coming in here. A fist? A hand around my throat? “Seriously?” Eyes wide, I force myself to take a deep breath. “But why would he say it wasn’t?”

“Naïvety, likely. Unless you’ve taken a fist⁠—”

“Or seen someone take one,” Ryker interrupts Zane. Both men smirk.

“Or seen the aftermath of a beating, you may not really recognize it. Still, I’m surprised he didn’t consider that possibility. I’m sure he has people come in after fights.”