Chapter 15

Langley felt shattered. A part of her had gone deep inside, locking itself away where the pain wasn't as intense. Another part seemed to be outside herself, detached. Observing. The great room was no escape, not when Ryder had followed her. She felt trapped and there was no way to request one of his friends act as her immediate bodyguard instead, not without tipping her hand on how deeply he'd devastated her.

She stared out the windows at the lake, trying to soothe her pain with the beauty of nature, but it didn't work. A boat passed near the end of the dock and she wished she was on it, motoring away from here faster than was allowed this close to shore. Langley dropped her gaze.

A copy of The Canterbury Tales was open on her lap, but the words blurred and she couldn't read. It didn't help that Ryder paced the room. Every now and then he'd pause to glance down at his phone before resuming his path. If he was as wounded by this breakup as she felt, he showed no sign of it.

You're a fool, observer Langley pointed out. What other word describes a woman who's so stupidly in love with a man that she looks for any excuse to believe he feels the same? He said I never thought of you as a convenience and you heard I love you. Such an idiot.

She was an idiot, a pathetic idiot.

There was nothing to keep her mind occupied. Reading wasn't working, the cabin had no televisions, and while there was a theater on the lower level as well as an arcade and a bowling alley, nothing held any appeal. Or at least those things had been there the last time she'd come to the cabin. She had no idea how extensively the house had been remodeled since her previous visit.

Ryder stopped stalking around the room to check his phone again. She didn't know what he was looking at, only that Finn had appeared, the two men had conversed briefly, and Ryder's fascination with his mobile had commenced at that time.

Why couldn't he love her? What was wrong with her ?

Perhaps she was too different. She'd grown up like few others had, and she had more in common with the children of ambassadors from other countries than she shared with people who'd been raised in the United States. Until college, she could count the time she'd spent in her own country in months.

Langley didn't regret her childhood. How could she? Her parents had literally given her the world, and without being pushy, had encouraged her to embrace the different cultures to which she'd been exposed. She'd done things, visited places, and lived in countries most people only dreamed of.

There was a cost, however. She didn't fit in. She'd never fit in—not abroad and not at home—but she'd managed to surround herself with friends who liked her for who she was. There weren't many with whom Langley could truly be herself and perhaps that was why breaking up with Ryder hurt so badly. She hadn't only lost the man she loved, but she'd lost one of her best friends as well.

Blinking rapidly, Langley cursed silently for allowing her thoughts to run along this path. She wouldn't cry in front of him. Ambassadors' children didn't cry in front of anyone.

She'd spent her entire life being the perfect daughter. Some diplomats' kids rebelled, but she was close to her mom and dad and she wanted them to be proud of her. She'd wanted to be an asset to her dad's career and to the United States. No one, not even her parents, knew how stressful the perfectionism was for her, that the meticulous attention to detail had cost her sleepless nights, or the way her brain would spin as she judged her actions against standards no human could reach. Stretch goals, sarcastic Langley pointed out.

Perfection was unattainable, she knew that, but that didn't mean she stopped trying, did it? She wanted to excel at everything she did. And when she failed to meet her standards, she chose not to point that out to anyone. No one flagged their failings.

Little things, big things—you don't share any of it.

Why did it all fall on her shoulders?

Ryder wanted her to communicate, but had he ever done the same? He'd left her guessing about everything, and despite dating for a more than a year, she had no idea what he felt for her.

Yes, part of the problem was hers, she could admit that, but she'd only accept half the responsibility.

The other half belonged to Ryder.

Ryder couldn't settle long enough to sit. He'd really fucked up this time. Langley had forgiven him so easily that he'd figured he could have her back on his terms. He should have read the danger signs when she'd asked point blank what he'd meant about back the way things were before . He should have said he meant dating when he'd spoken, but that he wanted more than what they'd had previously. He should have said practically anything except what had come out of his mouth.

And then he'd made things worse.

Yeah, what he'd said was true and she did need to stop shutting him out, but there were better ways to bring it up. Instead of thinking first, he'd lashed out. He'd attacked. If he'd waited until he was calmer, until he could raise the topic in a way that wouldn't immediately make her close up, they might have been able to talk it over. Instead, Langley sat rigidly in a chair facing the lake, ignoring him completely.

Shit, he could be a dumb fuck.

The windows made him uneasy. At least she'd listened to him when he'd told her to sit as far away from them as she could get, but she'd gone hyper-polite. Definitely not a good sign. Ryder wished like hell that she'd yell at him, throw things, something. Anything.

His family shouted when they got mad. They were close-knit, always had each other's backs, but that didn't mean disagreements didn't arise. Thanks to his mom, he could curse creatively in Italian—those were the only words she knew in that language. His father didn't speak any Polish, but he could holler in English just fine. And his two brothers, fuck, when the three of them were growing up, there'd been at least one wrestling match every week because someone had pissed another brother off. As the youngest, he'd usually gotten the worst of it.

Yet Langley never raised her voice.

He tried to picture her having Thanksgiving with his family and winced. Everything was loud, it didn't matter if anyone was angry or not, and there was shouting between the grown up table and the kids' table throughout the meal. Then there was the extended family, the way everyone talked louder and louder to be the center of the conversation. Ryder stopped, stared out the windows at the lake. She'd run the other direction and wonder what the fuck he'd gotten her into. The princess and the peasant.

Langley was champagne, he was beer. Langley had graduated from Berkeley with honors, he'd dropped out of college after his first year. Langley owned a penthouse condo on Bayshore Boulevard, he lived on the air force base. Ryder could list a thousand other differences, proof that she was out of his league.

And yeah, the money was his hang-up, he could admit that. Langley honest-to-God seemed content to go out for pizza and a movie. He was the one who felt like he should be able to put her on a private jet and whisk her to New York for dinner.

Maybe he'd be worthy of her if he hadn't dropped out of college. How many times growing up had he heard: You gotta get a degree. You don't got nothing without that paper. His brothers had listened and now one was a vice president of engineering, quality, and some other bullshit at a Fortune 500 company and his oldest brother was bucking for partner in the law firm he worked at.

Ryder could go back to school. Except he didn't want to do that and he wasn't sure it would make a difference to Langley anyway. She'd never said a word about his education. His issue. Fuck. It would be easier to deal with if she was the one who had the problem.

It didn't matter. He was going to fight for her and if it took him outside his comfort zone, so be it. She might not forgive him again. She might not want to let him in. It could be that this breakup was the end. Ryder shook his head. His family might not have prepared him to deal with Langley and how she handled conflict, but they had taught him something valuable. Don't give up on love.

A pair of kayaks neared the dock and Ryder stiffened, hand going to his weapon. The mansion was set back from the lake, but not far enough for his peace of mind and he hated that boaters regularly neared the beach. It had to be driving his buddies crazy even with the sensors along the shoreline and on the dock.

The kayakers continued past and Ryder lowered his arm. Resuming his route around the great room, he glanced over at her. She continued to read that book she'd pulled from one of the two bookcases and she seemed engrossed in it. Or she was feigning interest to avoid having to interact with him. Knowing her, it could go either way.

As he passed the grand piano, he lightly ran a hand along the side. In other circumstances, he would have sat down and played. When else would he ever have the opportunity to try out a brand that started at half a mil for a basic, built-by-hand model and went higher for custom-made instruments like this one? It might be worth close to a million dollars. But things weren't different and Ryder couldn't indulge himself.

He pulled out his phone instead, standing where he was until he ran through each of the security cameras. Everything remained quiet inside and out .

There was no reason for the hair on his nape to prickle. None whatsoever.

But Ryder couldn't shake the tingling feeling. His sixth sense was usually dead-on and right now, it was whispering warnings. He ran through the cameras again, going slower this time, studying each view, but the house and grounds continued to check out okay. He closed the app.

His instincts must be wrong. There was no way they could have been followed here. They'd split up for the drive and Mako and Griff had watched their rear. The cars couldn't have been tagged with any kind of tracking device since they'd bought them after the shot and hadn't left them unguarded for so much as a minute. Langley's phone wasn't the culprit either. It was in Florida by now, and the team's phones were secure. He was jumping at shadows.

Only his gut wasn't buying it. And it wasn't completely impossible that they'd been tracked. Nothing was ever impossible.

Returning to the window, he scanned as far as he could see. Nothing. Instead of feeling relieved, Ryder tensed further. Fuck logic. His instincts had saved his ass too many times to name and he wasn't discounting them with his woman's life on the line. "Langley, we're moving. Now."

She didn't argue or question, merely put the book aside and stood. Sometimes her calmness worked to his advantage.

"We're going up to the guest room so you can get your stuff together. We're leaving here."

"What about your team?" she asked.

Ryder gestured toward the stairs, not speaking until she started walking toward them. "I'll contact them when you're packed. I know they can deploy in a hurry. I'm not sure how long you're going to take."

She didn't grimace. She didn't limp. She moved quickly, but he saw how gingerly she walked, and Ryder was reminded to factor that into the contingency plans forming in his mind. There wasn't much he could change, though, if things went to shit. He knew Langley would suck it up and deal with the pain without a whisper of complaint, but he didn't want her hurting.

As soon as they entered the bedroom, she headed into the attached bath. The crawling sensation on the back of his neck increased. He reached for his phone, but it pinged before he unhooked it from his belt. The text was short and it turned his blood to ice. Primary ext. cam 3 down 2x. The 2x told him it was the same camera that had been out of commission this morning. Once could have been an animal, twice told him it wasn't.

"Langley," he called as he closed messaging and opened the security app. "Forget your shit. We're going without it. The sniper's here."

He quickly ran through the cameras, but stopped and went backward. The tunnel entrance in the wine cellar was wide open, the barricade bar resting next to the door.

Someone had taken that bar down from the inside. Someone he trusted.

One of his friends had sold them out.