Chapter 9

Ryder locked the door behind the cops and released a long, silent sigh. They were free to leave town, although Rio had been skeptical about their story. Who could blame him? If the SEALs hadn't gone in first, if Langley hadn't gotten herself out of the house, they'd be answering a lot more questions than they'd faced tonight. What had him pissed off, though, was the man had been an asshole with Langley. For fuck's sake, she'd been a damn victim and instead of treating her gently, he'd been flat, cold, and as suspicious of her as he was with Ryder and his team.

The team deserved it. His hellcat hadn't.

He turned, almost walked into the couch, and grimaced. Mac's house was small—two bedrooms, two baths, around 1100 square feet. Or less. It felt smaller than that because of the oversized, brown-leather sectional, the bar-height dining table on one side of the living room, and the fact that the home had been built before open concept had become the norm. On the plus side, it was set back from the street and the house itself was secure.

The subdivision was another story. It butted up against some foothills that offered too much concealment for Ryder's peace of mind and the front of the house faced those hills. He didn't care that they were a good distance away; it made him uneasy. It was one night, he reminded himself. They were out of here first thing in the morning.

It sank in slowly that his buddies were standing, staring at him, arms crossed over their chests. "What?"

"You better check on Langley," Griff said.

Ryder's heart began to beat faster. "Why? Are her injuries worse than you told me?"

Griff shook his head, but it was Rowland who answered. "The shower hasn't come on and she excused herself before Rio started questioning us."

"Maybe she fell asleep."

"Maybe," Mako said, "but she showed signs of someone who isn't going to wind down for a long time after that adrenaline spike."

"She was damn insistent about showering right away," Griff added .

That was true. She'd asked him to bring her bags into the master bedroom, and when the detective had finished asking her about what had happened, she'd hobbled off to clean up. Ryder hesitated. Langley had been full-on ambassador's daughter while dealing with Rio—that had been brought on by his attitude—but it signaled she had her self-command back. The woman who'd held onto his hand in the SUV was likely gone and the woman who'd broken up with him there in her place. She wasn't going to want him to check on her.

"Ski," Stony said, "if you don't go and make sure she's okay, we will."

None of them knew her well enough to read her. They'd never figure out whether or not she was all right. "I'm going."

He made no effort to quiet the sound of his footsteps on the hardwood floor as he walked down the hall to the bedroom. After the day she'd had, the last thing Ryder wanted to do was startle her. When he reached the door, he tapped lightly. "Langley, is everything okay?"

"Fine."

"Are you dressed?"

"I'm fine."

"That wasn't what I asked." Her lack of response had him slowly opening the door. She sat at the foot of the bed, wearing her bridesmaid dress, and her face was pinched. The expression immediately smoothed away, but he only needed that split second to know something was wrong. Ryder went into the room and closed the door behind him. "Wanna lie again and tell me you're fine?"

Her chin came up, but she remained silent.

For a moment, he did nothing but stare at her. Langley appeared pathetic, but even coated in dirt with cobwebs in her hair, he thought she looked beautiful and regal. "Are your wrists bothering you?"

"No, they're fine, thank you."

She'd said fine again, but this time he didn't think she was lying. "Is the problem with the dress? You sat down, and now you can't stand up?" He was guessing.

"That's a problem, yes." The New Zealand was strong in her accent right now.

Ryder ran a hand over the back of his neck. She'd said a problem, but not the problem. What other—? The shoes. Those fucking idiotic shoes. "It's your feet."

"I'm not used to wearing heels this high," Langley admitted. She pulled up the bottom of her skirt to display the shoes.

"Why do you still have them on?"

Her smile was anything but amused. "I'm afraid of how badly it will hurt once I remove them. I'm frightened that when I flex my feet, I'll have charley horses in both calves. Ryder," she said softly, raising her gaze to his, "I ran in them. The balls of my feet, my toes…" She trailed off with a shrug.

"You didn't break anything, did you?" He came deeper into the room and crouched in front of her.

"I don't believe so, no. I've been wearing them, though, for more than twelve hours. I was sitting for most of that time, but I'm not certain that means much."

"Yeah, not with your foot arched like that." Ryder studied the architecture of the shoe and shook his head. He nearly asked her why the hell she'd worn those fucking things, but she'd go polite on him if he said something like that, and it didn't matter. "If I guessed your lower back and hips were hurting, too, would I be wrong?"

"My knees as well, but those are aches more than pain."

Which was Langley-speak for she was in agony because of her feet and calves. "I could try rubbing your legs and see if that loosens up the muscles for you. Okay?"

"Yes."

To say her calf was tight would be understating it. The muscle was damn-near seized. His fingers got caught in the back of the skirt and Ryder had to push the fabric out of his way. Langley didn't make a sound as he massaged her, but her eyes were closed and she clutched the blankets hard enough to turn her knuckles white. "Am I hurting you?"

"I think it's helping. Please continue."

Ryder did, but he didn't like causing her pain. To keep her mind off it, he started talking. "Sometimes, Langley, you amaze me. I watch what you accomplish and think, wow, how'd she do that? Like escaping from that house tonight. Other times, I watch you and get pissed off over the chances you take. Like trying to go back into that house to rescue your friend." He felt her stiffen. "I know. You thought there was no one else there to do it. I understand, but that doesn't mean I don't get frustrated."

"Would you leave a friend of yours behind?" Her voice was tight, but Ryder chalked that up to the pain she was in.

"That's different."

"No, it's not."

"It is," he insisted, "because I wouldn't have gone off half-cocked and rushed inside without a plan. That's exactly what you were doing. You didn't think about tactics. You didn't think about stealth. And even though your only weapon was a piece of rotted wood, you were going to charge inside, damn the consequences." Ryder looked up and met her gaze. "You know what would have happened if the kidnapper hadn't been dead, if we weren't there, if the SEALs weren't there?"

Her lips tightened, but she didn't respond.

"What would have happened is the kidnapper would have shot you as soon as you went in the door. You'd be dead and your friend would be in the same situation that she was in already. Damn it, you need to think before you act."

"I do think."

"Not tonight you didn't." Ryder struggled to keep his tone neutral because if he became accusatory or angry, she might not listen. "I know adrenaline can make people feel superhuman, but I'm asking you to temper your impulses with some careful, clear-headed thought before you take action."

"I heard the gunshot as I went out the window. What if Sarah had taken the bullet?"

"So the smart thing was for you to get shot too?"

Langley hissed in a sharp breath as he rubbed a particularly tight part of her calf. When she had her voice back, she said, "Stop twisting what I say."

"I'm not twisting anything. I'm pointing out what the probable outcome would have been." He worked on her shin. "Of course, you had no way of knowing the gun went off because your friend was enacting her own harebrained scheme. I hope to hell Taggart is chewing her out for trying to disarm the kidnapper."

"The detective said she made her move while the man was asleep."

Ryder shook his head. "While her ankles were bound. No wonder the two of you are such good friends. How does your calf feel?"

The question caught her off guard and it took her a moment to switch gears. "Much better."

"I'm going to try taking off the shoe. Brace yourself."

She nodded. "I'm ready."

Moving slowly, he eased the shoe from her foot and scowled when he got a good look. There was blood covering her toes and bruising underneath two of her toenails, turning them black. She was barefoot, but socks wouldn't have made a difference. How the fucking hell had she continued to function without complaint? "Holy shit, hellcat."

"That bad?"

"It could be worse." He started to massage her foot. "After you shower, we'll have to see about an ice pack." Langley made a hiccupping sound, but he was pretty sure she'd tried to swallow a sob. "I'm sorry. I don't want to hurt you."

"I know." Her voice was definitely thick. "Keep going."

He did, and when he'd finished with her left, he moved to the right calf and foot. They weren't any better, and this was one instance when he was glad Langley had tight control of herself. Ryder didn't see any bruising on the ball of her foot, but her reaction every time he massaged there made it plain that it caused her a lot of pain. When he had her muscles back to a more normal level of tension, he asked, "Do you want to try standing?"

"No." Her smile was lopsided. "I suppose I should, though. I'll need help."

Straightening, he took both of her hands in his and said, "Let me know when you're ready."

Her fingers clutched at his briefly, and then with a nod, she said, "Pull." Her face went pale. "Mère de Dieu," she whispered as she gained her feet.

Langley's knees started to buckle, and Ryder wrapped his arms around her and held her tightly. "I got you, hellcat. Hang on to me as long as you need."

"I hate being weak." Her hands clutched at his waist.

"You're not weak, you're human, and you put your body through a lot of abuse today." And she continued to push herself. It was hard to reconcile this tenacity with the formal gown and her aristocratic accent.

It took a while before Langley eased her hold on him and said, "I think I have this now. Let's see if I can stand on my own."

Cautiously, Ryder released her and moved away, but he stayed close. She wavered and then balanced herself. One step, though, and she wobbled again. "I'm okay," she said, when he made a move to catch her. "It's the mermaid cut of this raspberry nightmare."

"And the six inches of skirt wrapped around your feet," Ryder said as he took in the full scope of the issues the dress caused her.

"Get me out of this absurd thing, will you please?"

The request showed exactly how much Langley trusted him not to be an asshole. It humbled Ryder, especially now that he knew what had happened with one of her bodyguards in the past. "Sure," he said, his own voice a little rough. He moved to her back, but all he saw was dress. "Where the hell is the damn zipper?"

As she looked at him over her shoulder, she managed a ghost of a smile. "It's hidden under the chiffon. Dig around toward the top. You'll find the pull."

He located it, but he had to keep shifting more and more fabric to keep the zipper moving south. "I thought the bride was supposed to have the complicated dress," he said as he finished opening the back. Langley didn't respond, but pushed it down, trying to get it off. Ryder helped her until there was a crimson—make that raspberry—puddle on the floor. Lifting her free, he put her back on her feet and watched to make sure she remained steady.

When she did, Ryder faced a new issue. Langley hadn't been the only one who'd dealt with fear and adrenaline tonight, and seeing her in nothing except a pair of panties reminded him of a very primal way to prove they were both alive. Clenching his hands into fists, he took a giant step backward and reminded himself that he'd seen her in less many times.

He'd also made love with her many times and knew how damn good it would be with her. She trusts you, dumbass. "I'm going to check if there's any ice to put on your feet for after you shower," he said. "If you need help, holler."

Ryder barely waited for her nod before he escaped from the room.

Langley sat on the end of the bed and fiddled with the sock beside her. The blinds were partially open, and the early morning sunlight gave her a clear look at her surroundings. The bedroom was small, the large bed taking up nearly the entire width, and it had pale sage walls. From what she'd seen of the house, the man had lived here alone because it was a very masculine space with a lot of oversized furniture. It was also immaculate, something she appreciated more than ever after her time as a hostage in the cockroach cottage.

Her stomach growled. She was starving, but there wasn't any food in the house. She'd been promised breakfast on the road, and if she wanted to eat soon, she had to move. Her bags were in the Explorer, the men were ready to go, the only thing she needed to do was slip on a pair of socks and her tennis shoes.

But the idea of putting anything on her feet was abhorrent. She gazed down at them.

They looked horrible and felt worse—no wonder Ryder had said holy shit. She could hardly walk, a fact she was attempting to hide, but she suspected it would become obvious when she tried to make it to the vehicle. Her balance wasn't helped by the lack of sleep, either. She'd been wired the entire night, and even if she had been tired, the throbbing in her feet would have kept her awake.

If she asked, she knew Ryder would carry her barefoot to the car, but she was determined to make it under her own steam. Besides, she'd be sandwiched between two big men in the back seat again, and while they'd try to be careful, it would be too easy to get her feet stepped on. No, she had to put on shoes.

And she would. In a minute.

The detective had assured her that Sarah was fine, but Langley wished she could see that for herself. Ryder was hellbent on protecting her, though, and he wouldn't take her anywhere someone might expect to find her. That meant her friend's house was out of the question.

Langley frowned. Mitch was out there. Somewhere. He might be dangerous. The kidnapper had said enough that surely the police were investigating him, he must realize that. But a man like that didn't disappear quietly and her friend was the perfect target.

Her sigh was nearly silent. There was nothing she could do about it, not right now, and according to the cop, Brett Taggart was with Sarah. The man was a SEAL and Langley trusted that he'd look after her friend despite their breakup—the same way she had faith that Ryder would defend her despite their own split.

Thinking of Ryder reminded her she needed to get moving. Grabbing her sock, she pulled it wide and eased it over her toes. The whimper escaped before she could swallow it. Her low-cut running socks were normally comfortable, but the spandex made it cling, and that hurt. A lot. Reluctantly, she drew it over her heel and released it. She swallowed a gasp as the top of her sock hit the blisters her stilettos had left behind.

She eyed the tennis shoe distastefully. These were her most comfortable pair—she'd run 5Ks in this style—but damn, she hated the thought of putting them on.

Langley heard the front door open, and if she didn't get moving, Ryder would be here to check on her. Then she'd have to put on her shoes with an audience. As she did with the sock, she pulled the upper part of the shoe as wide as she could and tied the laces as loosely as she dared. She tested it out from her sitting position. Her heel slipped a bit, but they wouldn't come off or make walking more difficult than it already was.

Wiping away a stray, unwanted tear, she put on the other sock and shoe, but stayed where she was. Damn, she didn't want to put weight on her feet.

There was a light tap on the door, and before she could say anything, it opened. Ryder leaned his shoulder against the jamb and studied her for a moment. She wasn't sure what he saw, but his expression became concerned. "Are you okay?"

Uncertain she could pull off a full smile, Langley curved her lips instead. "Fine." He didn't look convinced. Sobering, she admitted, "Look, we both know my feet and legs hurt and that I haven't slept in twenty-four hours, but my injuries are minor, and the detective assured me that Sarah was well. Considering what could have happened yesterday, I am fine."

After a moment, he nodded. "I'll help you up."

Langley hesitated when he reached her and held out his hand. When he was taking care of her, it was too easy to forget why she'd ended things. Too easy to lie to herself and pretend she meant something to him. Ryder would be this solicitous with any ex-girlfriend—it was the way he was made. As long as she kept that in the front of her mind and didn't let herself fall into fantasy, she'd be fine.

She took his hand and let him pull her to her feet. There was nothing she could do to hide the grimace, but she released his hand immediately.

Ryder patiently walked with her as she headed toward the front door. She was slow and extremely unsteady, which was no doubt why he was frowning as he stayed by her side. When they reached the front door, he held it open for her. She eyed the steps. There were only two short ones to reach the walkway, then it was flat the rest of the way to the curb where the Explorer was parked. She could do this.

As she teetered, Langley grabbed the railing, but she made it down the stairs. It was smooth sailing from here, she told herself .

Picking up her pace, she kept her eyes glued to the open back door of the SUV. Or as she thought of it, the goal. Once she reached there, she could get the weight off her feet. She might be able to prop them up on the center console of the front seat. She simply needed to reach the car.

Her shuffling gait annoyed her, and she was moving with the steadiness and grace of someone on a three-day bender, but it was the best she could do, and she was almost there.

Ryder hovered, and she tried not to be annoyed. She could fall at any moment—her balance was that precarious—but she hated to be viewed as delicate. "You're doing great, hellcat. You're nearly halfway."

Halfway? That was it? Damn.

Watching her shoes, Langley forced herself to continue putting one foot in front of the other, and when she felt wobbly, she held her arms out like a tightrope walker. Perhaps she was swaying like a sapling in the wind, but she hadn't needed Ryder to catch her. She felt great satisfaction when the house's walkway met the neighborhood sidewalk. Now she truly was almost to the SUV.

She raised her gaze, but that was a mistake.

The sidewalk wasn't completely level and the toe of her tennis shoe caught a raised section of concrete. She couldn't maintain her balance .

As she started to fall, a sharp report echoed through the tree-lined street.

Ryder's arms wrapped around her before she hit the ground, but instead of helping her stand, he dragged her to the car and threw her in the backseat.

He piled in after her, pushed her head down, and covered her body with his. "Drive."

Mako took off, wheels squealing.

That had been a gunshot. Someone had shot at her.