Chapter 1

Ryder let loose with a series of jabs against the heavy bag. His boxing gloves made a satisfying thwack as leather met leather, but the bag didn't move, not with his buddy, Finn "Stone Man" Rowland holding it in place. Ignoring the sweat running down his face, Ryder took a few more jabs, hoping that something, anything would make him forget Langley.

He didn't have to close his eyes to see her—the glossy brown hair that fell past her shoulders, the full lips that tipped up at the corners, and those eyes. They were brown—sometimes light, sometimes dark depending on what she wore—but it was the spark he saw when he stared deeply into them that made his chest ache. He tightened his jaw and jabbed at the bag harder, trying to drive the memories away. Running hadn't done it. Weightlifting hadn't either. He didn't know what the fuck to try next if some boxing didn't do the trick.

Three days. Three days since she'd ended things, and it felt like an eternity already.

The breakup had been a shock. He'd always known he wouldn't be able to keep her, that one day Langley would walk away from him. Ryder thought he'd been prepared, that he'd hear her words and calmly say goodbye, but Tuesday had shown him how wrong he was. He'd been about as far from cool as he could get, but damn it, somehow, when he wasn't looking, she'd woven herself into every millimeter of his life.

Changing to uppercuts, he went at the bag harder, grunting at the impact his hands took despite the padded gloves. Langley. All those conversations they'd had late at night, lying side by side in bed. Sometimes they were silly, sometimes they were serious, and sometimes they'd been mundane. No matter what the topic, he'd always enjoyed those moments with her.

Ryder's lips curved as he thought about her accent. Not American, not British, not French, not anything he could pin down. She maintained it was mostly Kiwi from her time living in New Zealand, but she didn't sound like any of the NZSAS guys he'd met. Whatever the accent was, it had always been uniquely hers.

Something else he'd miss.

Scowling as he realized he'd been doing nothing except think of Langley, Ryder tried to wipe the sweat from his brow with his forearm. It didn't do much. August in Tampa was too fucking humid for the gym's air conditioner to keep up with.

He needed a mission. Too bad the dumb fucks up the chain of command had put the one his team had been training for on hold. Indefinitely. Ryder gave the bag another flurry of jabs. Damn them. Jorge Torres might be headquartered out of Puerto Jardin in South America, but he was an international arms dealer, and he could have been involved in the sale of US military weapons to terrorists. The weapons that had been used to kill four men from the Third Special Forces Group in Niger.

That news about his mission being postponed had come down yesterday, and then today—to make his life more fun—Captain Nguyen had told the team he didn't want to see any of them near this place for the weekend and dismissed them at 1500. Technically, this workout in the team's gym violated his order, which was why he and Rowland were the only ones here.

The weekend. Two days with nothing to do except think about Langley. Her smile, her laugh, the way she kissed him, the little sound she made when she took him into her body—

"Ski?"

He could see her brown eyes go unfocused as he moved—

" Ski?"

The way her breath would catch when—

"Pienkowski! You okay, man?"

Ryder shook his head and brought his thoughts back to the now. "Yeah, why?"

Stony released the bag and stepped to the side. "Because you were standing there, looking blank."

"I was thinking about something. Hold the bag—I want to get in a few more rounds."

"No." Rowland crossed his arms across his chest. "You've been at this since the captain dismissed us. Let's call it a night and find some food. Mako texted that everyone's headed over to Big Joe's for ribs."

"You go ahead." Ryder looked around until he spotted the small, red bag hanging from its platform. "I'll use the timing bag."

Instead of moving, his teammate stood there and stared at him, his face expressionless. That was how he'd earned the nickname Stone Man, Stony for short.

Rowland could be fucking annoying. He was chameleon-like—he could conceal his emotions completely, shut down whenever he wanted, and he could morph into any role in an instant. Which was why he was brilliant when the team went undercover. His dark blond hair was already shoulder-length for their delayed mission where he was supposed to play the part of a mercenary and gunrunner. Ryder was a supporting player. Not that he wanted to do what Stony did. Hanging out with the scum of the earth and lying to them convincingly? His acting wasn't that good.

"Go eat barbecue," Ryder said.

"I will, but first let's talk about what the fuck is wrong with you."

Ryder opened his mouth and then shut it without saying anything. It took too much energy to lie, and maybe he did want to talk about it. Stony was quiet, but he saw a lot, and he had his head screwed on straight. "Langley broke things off when I took her to the airport."

Rowland didn't react. "What happened?"

Grabbing the Velcro on his left boxing glove with his right glove, Ryder pulled it open. "Damned if I know." He kept his voice flat and tried to sound careless, as if the breakup hadn't shredded his insides. "One minute she's inviting me to all this shit, including parties at her parents' house, and the next minute she's telling me we're finished."

He couldn't read Stony's expression. "What? "

"I didn't realize I was friends with a fucking moron."

Ryder was too surprised to be offended. "What does that mean?"

Instead of answering directly, Rowland said, "Tonight, most of the team will be at Big Joe's with their wives and girlfriends. Let's say Langley wasn't in San Diego. Let's say she was in town and hadn't ended things. Would you have brought her to dinner or would you have shown up alone, had a quick bite, and then taken off to spend time with her somewhere else?"

"She wouldn't have been comfortable."

"How do you know? Have you ever invited her to any of our team gatherings and had her tell you that? Or is it that you're more comfortable keeping her away from us?" Stony shook his head, forestalling what Ryder had been about to say. "Would you have asked her to join us at Big Joe's if she were here?"

Pivoting without a word, Ryder went and stowed his boxing gloves.

"Half the team doesn't realize you're involved with someone. That's why their wives keep trying to set you up," Rowland called from across the room.

"It isn't half the team," Ryder disagreed.

"Close enough. Lurch is bringing Hannah tonight. He's been going out with her for six weeks. How long have you been dating Langley?"

Stony damn well knew Ryder had been seeing Langley for more than a year. "That isn't why she called it quits. Langley doesn't realize that our team is big on get-togethers."

"Maybe not, but I've run into you guys around Tampa three times, and she sure as hell noticed the way you cut the conversation short and hustled her away from me. Griff and Mako said you did the same thing with them. The surprising thing isn't that she had enough. What surprises me is how long she put up with it. That woman is no pushover."

True, his hellcat wasn't a doormat—princesses usually weren't—but he had a hard time believing that she'd ended things over a few invitations. Rowland was smart, but he didn't know everything. Before Ryder could figure out how to respond, his phone went off and he retrieved it to check messages.

Report to General Richard Wolfe's office.

Looking up from the text, he asked Stony, "You didn't get a message?"

Rowland unclipped the phone from his belt and looked. He shook his head.

This wasn't about the assignment to Puerto Jardin being back on then. The entire team would have had their phones blow up at the same time if that was the case. Ryder frowned. He'd kept his mouth shut when the mission had been postponed, so there was no fucking way this was a reprimand. "Tell me that there are two generals named Richard Wolfe assigned here."

Stony crossed the room and read the message upside down. "You know there aren't. I wonder what you did to get called to the SOCOM commander's office."

Special Operations Command, and the general in charge of Special Forces for every branch of the military. Great.

"At least it doesn't say ASAP," Rowland said, as if that were a consolation. "Take a shower and get dressed. I'll grab a vehicle and drive you over."

Although he walked as silently as he could, his footsteps sounded loud on the gray tile of SOCOM headquarters. The portraits along Commander's Corridor seemed to be condemning him for the noise—Special Forces should have a soft step. Ryder was dragging his feet, though, in no hurry to reach General Wolfe's office. Getting called in couldn't be good.

Stony had been no help on the drive over. When Ryder had asked him if he thought Ambassador Canfield had enough juice to get him drummed out of Special Forces, Rowland had said the man had the kick to get Ryder imprisoned in Leavenworth. With friends like that… But Stony was sitting out front, waiting for him, instead of eating ribs at Big Joe's, so there was that.

Special Operations Command was quieter than he expected—even at 1730 on a Friday evening—but he didn't blame anyone for wanting to get their weekend started if they could. Hell, if Langley hadn't dumped him, he'd be eager to get the fuck out of Dodge, too.

Before he was ready, Ryder found himself standing in front of General Wolfe's office. Taking a deep breath, he squared his shoulders and entered the antechamber. He scanned automatically before closing it behind him, but he couldn't conceal his surprise. It was empty, the general's aide nowhere to be seen. That was wrong, and he didn't care if it was Friday. He hesitated, torn between waiting to see if the aide showed up and knocking.

Do you really want to keep a general waiting? Especially one who's that high up your chain of command? He didn't have to think about that hard.

He lightly tapped on the General Wolfe's door, and when he received permission to enter, stepped inside. Ryder was coming to attention before he saw who sat behind the desk. This was worse than he'd expected. Langley's father. Fucking hell. "Ambassador Canfield. Sir."

"At ease, Ryder. I'm not in the military."

No, but he might as well be. The ambassador looked as intimidating as any four-star general, and the mahogany desk with the flags behind it—the United States flag as well as flags from each branch of the military—simply enhanced the power he exuded. "Yes, ambassador. Sorry, sir."

"Call me James," he said. "I'm no longer an ambassador."

Call him James?

Hadn't Langley told him she'd ended things?

Maybe he was friendly now because Langley could finally find someone worthy of her, and the ambassador didn't have to worry about Ryder being in the way anymore. But if he wasn't pissed off about the break up, why had the man traveled to Tampa? It was a three-and-a-half-hour drive from his home in Palm Beach and even flying would be inconvenient. Her father had to know Langley was attending her friend's wedding in San Diego, so that meant he'd come here to see Ryder.

Ryder studied the older man, trying to read Ambassador Canfield's mind, but his expression remained congenial and gave nothing away .

The ambassador hadn't changed since Ryder had first met him in Puerto Jardin. James Canfield was tall and trim and wore a dark, tailored suit that probably cost more than Ryder had spent on his car. His hair was nearly black, much darker than Langley's, and liberally laced with gray. There were wrinkles at the corners of his eyes and lips—Ryder's mom had always called those laugh lines—and he had more wrinkles across his forehead. Ryder called those what-the-fuck lines, but he was pretty sure the man wouldn't find that funny.

The ambassador's eyes were the same chocolate brown as Langley's, and the stab of pain was sharp and unexpected. In the next instant, the ache disappeared, replaced by unease. Something in Canfield's gaze made his pulse speed up.

Before Ryder could ask what was going on, the ambassador stood, fastened a button at the waist of his suit coat, and moved to the front of the desk. "I'm sorry to have you summoned without explanation, but Richie was kind enough to loan me his office and the fewer people who know I'm here, the better."

"Richie?"

"Sorry. General Wolfe."

Ryder stiffened. His girlfriend's—ex-girlfriend's—father called the commander of the entire US Special Forces ‘Richie'. Oh, yeah, Ryder'd be filling sandbags as a private in some long-forgotten military outpost from now until retirement. "Why don't you want anyone to know you're here, sir?"

The ambassador leaned a hip against the edge of the desk and looked down for a moment. When he raised his gaze again, Ryder's unease morphed into fear. Something was seriously wrong.

"I need your help. This morning I received a letter with a death threat directed at Langley."

The words hit Ryder like a physical blow.

"I contacted the FBI immediately, and they're confident it isn't credible. They're investigating and will track down the author, of course, but they're not sending anyone to watch over her." The ambassador frowned. "I'm certain they're right, and she's not in any danger, however, if they're wrong—"

"If they're wrong," Ryder interrupted, unable to keep the savageness from his voice, "Langley is unprotected and vulnerable."

"Yes." Canfield nodded, concern visibly etched on his face now. "If I doubted the bureau's judgment, I'd have hired a team of bodyguards based in California and had them in place by now. My wife wants me to hire them regardless." He looked squarely at Ryder. "Langley hates bodyguards. "

Fuck that. Ryder managed not to say it out loud. "Send them anyway."

The ambassador glanced down at his manicured fingernails and back up again. "Langley," he said slowly, as if measuring every word, "has had bodyguards most of her life. When she was thirteen, one attempted to molest her."

Ryder growled, the sound low in his throat. Some bastard had tried to rape Langley? Why the hell hadn't she told him?

For a moment, the two men shared a glance—one of understanding—and the ambassador continued, "She managed to scream, and he was stopped quickly, but despite years of therapy, they make her extremely anxious. I don't want to put her through that when I'm 95% certain the FBI is correct."

"You want me to go to San Diego and keep her safe."

"Yes."

"You do know that Special Forces isn't allowed to operate on US soil, right?"

Ambassador Canfield's lips curved slightly. "I'm aware of that, but if you took leave and flew out there as Langley's boyfriend, then it's not a mission."

"And if I happened to bring some buddies with me who were also on leave…" Ryder let his voice trail off .

"Exactly. There won't be trouble getting time off approved. General Wolfe is aware of the situation and will ensure you and a few of your friends will be able to stay with my daughter for as long as needed."

Ryder frowned. "Have you talked to Langley, sir?"

"She texted her mom and me when she arrived in San Diego, but nothing since then."

"I meant have you told her about the letter, but I'll take your response as a no."

Now the ambassador's smile was genuine, if a bit rueful. "I thought you knew her better than that. This is a case of it being better to ask for forgiveness than permission."

He wasn't able to smile, but Ryder managed a nod. "She believes she can take care of herself."

"I made certain she had training, but she doesn't have the experience to handle this if the threat turns out to be genuine."

Ryder had trained her, too, but some rudimentary skills didn't give her the expertise to deal with this—especially not if the attack came from an experienced adversary. At this point, he had to assume the person was highly trained. To do anything else would put Langley at risk. "What about logistics?"

"I have a private plane waiting at the airport, fueled and ready to take off for San Diego the instant you give the word." Ambassador Canfield reached inside his suit jacket and pulled out a thick envelope. He held it out, but Ryder shook his head.

"I'm not taking money to protect Langley."

"You can return whatever you don't use, but I want you to have cash to cover any contingency that might arise while you're guarding her. There's also a credit card in your name with no limit. It will take a while for anyone to track charges on it. I won't have her safety compromised by you making a charge on your own credit card."

Reluctantly, Ryder took the envelope, opened it to see what he was dealing with, and blew out a long whistle. "Holy fuck." Realizing what he'd said, he cleared his throat and apologized, "Sorry, sir."

The ambassador waved it off. "Outfit yourself with whatever you need—you can save the receipts if it makes you feel better, but I want my daughter protected at any cost."

Ryder nodded, but his brain was busy making lists of what he wanted to bring. The private jet meant no security checks and no need to worry about carrying pistols or other assorted firepower. He knew who he was bringing with him. Rowland was a no-brainer and he was sure Griff and Mako would agree to come along, too .

"Ryder," the ambassador interrupted his thoughts. "Keep Langley safe."

"I will, sir, no matter what it takes." She might not want him anymore, but for damn sure, he wouldn't allow anyone to hurt her.