Chapter 19

For an instant, Langley could only stare in stunned bewilderment. While she'd known that any of the three men accompanying them could be the conspirator, she'd never expected it to be Finn. He was Ryder's best friend.

Before she could do more than process what was in front of her, Finn slowly, carefully holstered his gun. As he raised his hands over his head, he said, voice low, "It isn't me, Ski."

The two men stared at each other. Langley held her breath until Ryder relaxed, lowering his gun a fraction.

"Who?" Ryder asked.

Finn shook his head. "I don't know. Did you see Andy Harper is leading this merry band of mercenaries? "

"Yeah." Ryder's voice was devoid of emotion and Langley realized he was still assessing Finn, not completely sold on his innocence. Her legs started shaking and she locked her knees, trying to remain steady. She couldn't falter, not now.

It can't be Finn.

Ryder said, "Harp recruited you for Bent Tree."

"He tried."

"Succeeded. You're leaving the army."

"Tried," Finn stressed the word. "My getting out has nothing to do with Harper or money, and I'm for damn sure not hiring on at Bent Tree."

There was something in Finn's voice that sounded infinitely weary to Langley and she believed him, but she remained quiet. She couldn't help the nervous glance behind where they stood. It hadn't been long—less than a minute—but damn, her anxiety was climbing the longer they remained in one place. Ryder didn't move.

"Ski, not to rush you, but Harp came with at least three men. We don't have time for this."

Ryder shook his head. "There are more in the pool house. You gonna call them?"

One side of Finn's mouth quirked up. "No, I'm here to save your ass. You can thank me later."

The scraping, squealing sound traveled from inside the building and Langley knew the men were pushing open the door to the storage room, forcing the shelving unit across the tile floor. "We're out of time," Langley interjected.

"I've got your back," Finn said. "That is if you trust me enough to let me hold my 9 mil."

Although Langley couldn't see anything on Ryder's face, she could almost feel him taking an instant to debate what to do. "Cover us," Ryder said. "We're heading for the forest. Make sure you watch your own back."

Immediately, Finn reached for his gun and Langley knew a moment of terror, but he didn't point it at her or Ryder. "I always do," he said. The squeal from the pool house became louder, the shelf sliding further. "Move!"

"Run, Langley," Ryder ordered, pointing to his right. "Don't slow down, don't look back."

She didn't wait for him to stop speaking. Langley ran before he finished saying her name.

The yard around the house and outbuildings was carefully maintained, but ahead there was tall grass. It didn't matter that it was scrubby and little more than knee high. What did matter was it offered some concealment—more than the nothing she had right now. Beyond that was the forest. It seemed impossibly far away and she focused on the grass. Just reach the grass.

Her lungs burned, her legs seemed heavy, and Langley knew she needed to pace herself. She tried to pretend it was one of the 5K races in which she'd run, but her brain couldn't make her body slow down.

Where was Ryder?

Langley wanted to turn, wanted to check on him, but he'd told her not to look back. She concentrated on running, on putting one foot in front of the other. Her thighs were screaming, her calves were cramping, she was gasping for air, and her feet—

A loud crack stopped her heart. Gunshot! That was a gunshot. But he'd told her to keep going, so Langley ran on.

Almost to the grass. She was almost to the grass.

More shots cut through the air and Langley dove into the tall grass like a running back diving for the end zone. As soon as she hit the ground, she rolled to her hands and knees, crawling forward as fast as she could.

A weight pinned her to the ground. Ryder.

"You're okay?" she asked. She couldn't see him, not flat on her belly with his body over hers.

"Fine. Stony and the mercs are exchanging fire."

Her breath rasped and she felt like she was suffocating. "I can't breathe with you on top of me," Langley said.

Ryder shifted his body and she filled her lungs with air. As her oxygen problem became less severe, she became aware of the trembling in the muscles of her legs, and the toes on both feet had gone numb. This wasn't good. "How long do we stay here?" she asked, but her question was broken by panting.

"I'd like to stay until you don't sound as if you're dying, but we can't spare that much time." Ryder seemed distracted, but Langley didn't look.

She heard another shot, but this one was at a farther distance. Her inhalation sounded serrated, more stuttered gasp than a breath.

"We need to go while Stony has them occupied. Think you can move?" he asked.

"Yes," Langley lied. It didn't matter how fatigued her legs were, her life—and Ryder's, too—depended on her running, so she'd run. She pushed herself to her hands and knees, braced herself, and stood. It was sheer willpower that kept her on her feet.

"Head for the trees," Ryder ordered from beside her.

Langley fixed her gaze on the tree line and forced herself into a jog. More gunfire, closer to their position, encouraged her to pick up her pace. She waited for another surge of adrenaline to help propel her forward, but it didn't come. She might have burned out that resource over the past few days. She'd have to count on stubbornness.

Clenching her jaw, Langley ran. She kept her eyes glued to the trees. All she had to do was reach the trees. It wasn't that far. Just reach the trees.

Her foot hit a depression in the earth and she gasped and flailed her arms. She couldn't fall. An instant later, her balance was back, but she paid a price—her left calf went into a full charley horse.

Biting her lip hard to stifle the whimper, Langley limped-ran as fast as she could. The pain was intense, but better a muscle cramp than dead.

She almost sobbed with relief when she arrived at the trees, but she kept going. Weaving her way through the trunks, Langley worked her way deeper into the grove. She wanted to rest. She wanted to rub her calf, but Ryder hadn't said she could stop, and he was the expert. A stitch developed in her side and she was breathing like a chugging locomotive, but she was on her feet.

"Whoa." Ryder took her hand, slowing her down to a jog.

"We're safe?"

"Not yet. How's the ankle?"

"Ankle?" Langley was confused.

"I saw you twist it when you nearly fell."

Shaking her head, Langley said, "Charley horse." It came out with breathlessly. "It's okay. I'll live."

Ryder made a sound that was close to a growl. "I know you'll fucking live; I'll make sure of that. And yeah, I know, don't swear at you. I need to know the condition your legs are in. It colors the decisions I make."

Ambassadors' daughters didn't break into tears, but she hurt badly enough that it was tempting to forget her training. Instead, she wrapped it around her like a shield to maintain control. "They're a bit sore, thank you for asking, but I've played field hockey with worse injuries than this."

He scowled at her briefly, she caught it in her peripheral vision, but didn't dare take her eyes off where she was going. Sweat dripped down her face, and impatiently, Langley wiped a hand over her brow. It was in the 70s and she was running in jeans and a raincoat. At least the hood had fallen off her head when she'd dived into the grass and the breeze in her hair helped. Some.

After a moment of silence, Ryder said, "I hate that lady-of-the-manor tone you take with me. If you're pissed off, then say so."

"I'm not angry." Then she remembered him telling her she didn't communicate and admitted, "I don't have enough energy for anger. It's taking everything I have to move." Langley wasn't mad, but mare de Déu she wished she could latch on to that emotion and use it to fuel herself.

"I was afraid of that," he muttered. "Why don't you walk a while? We're far enough away now that it'll be okay. "

She didn't wait for him to tell her twice. Communication . He'd asked how her legs were, said he needed to know, and she'd repeated what she'd done Saturday night when he'd caught her sitting in her bridesmaid dress. It was hard for her to admit weakness, but was she going to let that get them killed?

When she thought she could speak without having to pant between words, Langley said, "My legs and feet aren't in good shape. My toes are numb, both calves are on the verge of charley horses, and my thigh muscles are shrieking. To make it more fun, my hips ache and my right knee feels swollen behind the kneecap. I might have twisted it when I hit that depression in the grass."

Ryder looked at her sharply, and while his expression remained neutral, she knew she'd surprised him. "How much farther can you run?"

"As far as I have to." She shook her head, forestalling whatever he'd been about to say. "No, I'm not being polite or whatever you call it. Our lives are on the line. I will run until they shoot me."

He grunted and she didn't know how to read that.

Langley continued to wheeze for air and it embarrassed her. "I'm sorry. I don't know why I'm having this much trouble. I run regularly. You know that."

"It's the altitude. Tampa and San Diego are basically at sea level and Tahoe is higher than Denver."

She should have thought of that, but Langley had always been more attracted to the beach than to the mountains. "Why didn't you warn me?"

"I wasn't sure it would be a problem. Women usually acclimate better than men."

They were climbing. Langley felt it in the back of her thighs and it was the last thing she needed. At least the charley horse had eased enough that she wasn't in agony. She leaned forward, seeking some relief from the incline. "You're doing better than I am."

"My training's been more intense than yours."

Understatement. They walked a few minutes more, but she could feel Ryder revving up again, although he showed no outward sign. He was picking up on something she couldn't identify.

"Ready to run?" he asked.

Langley wasn't surprised by the question. "Of course," she said, lying without compunction. She had to run, so she would run, end of story.

It took less than two minutes before she was huffing and puffing as if she'd never worked out a day in her life. There was more sporadic gunfire and it was closer than she'd expected. Langley waited for fear, waited for adrenaline, but she couldn't feel anything except exhaustion.

Her brain did manage to piece a few facts together. The mercenaries were hunting them, and it was unlikely that they could outdistance a squad of men indefinitely since she was slowing Ryder down. He could walk without creating a trail, but that was a skill set she didn't have. She was leaving a track right to their location.

Ryder would know this—he probably knew more that he wasn't sharing—and that meant he had to have a plan for these contingencies. Langley wanted to ask what it was, but it required her entire focus to put one foot in front of the other. Forming questions was beyond her.

Sweat streamed into her eyes, making them burn, but she couldn't lift her arm high enough to wipe it away. Just run. Just run. Run.

It seemed as if it was becoming brighter. Langley started to raise her head, stumbled, and returned her gaze to her feet. But when the sun hit her fully in the face, she slowed, and after blinking away the sweat, looked around.

While she was busy running, they'd left the forest and now there was only scattered trees. A shiver went through her.

They were completely exposed to anyone with a weapon.