Heists and Vengeance

Twenty-Nine

Ryder

Ryder was wrenched from his dreams by the sound of screaming.

He sat up straight, looking around wildly for the source of the shouting, but it took his bleary eyes a minute to adjust to the darkness. Pulling the blanket off himself, he stumbled around the room for a few seconds, before realized that the screaming was coming from Lana.

He ran to the lamp and flicked it on, ready to attack whatever it was that had scared her, and frowned when he realized that they were the only two people in the room. He looked at her again, more closely and realized that she was still asleep – she was having a nightmare. He approached her cautiously, noting the screwed shut eyes, the gasping breaths, the sheen of sweat on her brow.

What was he supposed to do? Well, he figured that the first thing would be to try and wake her up before she in turn woke up the whole yacht. He stepped up towards the bed and knelt down by her side. Lana was still screaming, her arms now thrashing around.

He placed a hand on her arm and leaned close, until his lips were right next to her ear. "Lana," he whispered. "Lana, wake up!"

There was no response, nothing to signal to Ryder that she'd heard him. He tried again, calling her louder and louder nudging her arm. Finally, after the fourth try, she froze and her eyes flew open.

It took her a few minutes for her to get her bearings, and some more for her to be able to find the words to speak. Finally, when she seemed to trust herself enough to make coherent sentences, she looked up into his eyes.

"Sorry for waking you," she whispered. Ryder let out a short surprised laugh. That was what she was worried about?

"Don't worry about it," he'd replied looking at her with a stupid grin on his face. He felt suddenly self-conscious – her screaming had pulled him straight from bed, giving him no time to brush his wild hair or brush his teeth. But Lana didn't seem to care.

He stayed for a few seconds more before rising to return to his 'bed'. But, as soon as he stood, Lana grabbed his arm with a sudden desperation.

She stared up with her large brown eyes. "Don't leave," she whispered. And so he didn't.

He moved to the other side of the bed and slid into the cool sheets, and turned to face Lana. She shifted as well, so that she was also looking at him. They stayed like that for a while in silence, not touching each other, just staring.

Ryder's eyes roved over ever highlight and contour of her face. The lamplight washed over her face, giving it a warm undertone. The familiar shade of brown of her eyes...the fullness of her lips...the angle of her jaw...no wonder he couldn't tear his eyes away from her.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he whispered to her, breaking the silence.

She was quiet for a long time, and Ryder wondered if she'd even heard him. Just as he opened his mouth to ask again, she rolled onto her back and sighed.

"My parents didn't want me to become a journalist," she said, and paused, as if waiting for Ryder's reaction.

"Oh," was all he could say.

She nodded. "It wasn't just that...they didn't even want me to leave home."

Ryder raised his eyebrows, but made no comment except for: "And where might home be?"

"Preston Valley, Idaho." She gave an embarrassed, self-conscious laugh. "I'm not even from Plexmont. And I mean, moving from a small town in the West to one of the biggest cities in New York...it was a big change."