Chapter 2

Langley rested her palm over her stomach, trying to still the roiling. If she didn't speak up soon, she'd be forced to object to the wedding during the ceremony.

Never make a scene. Never make anyone feel uncomfortable or awkward. Keep your thoughts to yourself.

When one member of the family was in diplomatic service, the entire family had roles to play. The wrong facial expression could cause an international incident, and it wouldn't have mattered that she was a child. Why hadn't she done the smart thing and confronted Sarah days ago? As soon as she'd met Mitch, Langley had known Sarah was marrying a man she didn't love. Instead, she'd wasted time trying to subtly encourage her friend to share what was happening. That had been an abject failure. Nervously, she pushed at the pins holding up her hair and tried to find the right words to introduce the topic.

She regretted not saying something immediately. She regretted cancelling her trip to visit Sarah in April because Ryder had just returned from a months-long mission and she'd wanted to spend time with him. If she'd realized then that he didn't love her, Langley would have come to San Diego, and perhaps she could have stopped the wedding before plans had gotten underway. She took a step toward Sarah and immediately added another regret to her list—wearing five-inch stiletto heels. Her feet already hurt.

The bride's room at the Wedding Knot was cramped, the furniture worn, and the carpet threadbare in places. The unfortunate thing was that it looked nicer than the actual facility did. If Sarah had been marrying someone Langley liked, she would have offered to pay for a better location, but Mitch had been worse in person than over the phone, and within minutes of meeting him, her instincts had set off the red-alert klaxon.

Enough, Langley! She had to stop delaying. The wedding was scheduled to begin in twenty minutes, and if she dithered much longer, she would be forced to make a public spectacle. Her friend gazed into the mirror, but Langley didn't think she was looking at herself .

"Sarah."

No response. "Sarah?"

As Langley watched Sarah's reflection in the mirror, she saw something in her friend's eyes that frightened her. "Sarah!"

"I'm sorry. I was woolgathering." Her friend smiled, but it looked forced.

Woolgathering? Not a chance. "Sarah, for God's sake, what's going on?" When her friend did nothing but stare back at her, Langley took a deep breath and forged on. "Something is really wrong here. You tense every time Mitch comes near you. You haven't invited a single guest. You didn't even invite me ." Leaning forward, she took the fabric of the wedding dress between her fingers. "This isn't your mother's wedding gown, and you've had your heart set on wearing that since I've known you. What's going on? Don't tell me nothing. I know you. Everything about this wedding is wrong."

The panic and pain that flashed across her friend's face made Langley feel horrible about pushing, but it also told her she was right to do it. Sarah couldn't marry Mitch. "I'm your friend, you can tell me anything."

"I can't." The words sounded raw, Sarah's voice almost a croak.

Shaking her head at how slow she'd been to figure it out, Langley asked, "Is Mitch forcing you to go through with this because of something Sean did?" Another epiphany struck. "Is he using drugs again?"

Sarah didn't answer, but she didn't need to. When her friend had made bad decisions for herself in the past it had always been because of her brother. "You can't keep sacrificing yourself for Sean, Sarah. You've put him first since your parents died. He's what? Twenty, now? Twenty-one? Either way, he's an adult. It's time for him to take responsibility for his own actions and accept the consequences for whatever he did."

"I know, but this time it's different."

Before Langley had a chance to rebut that, the door burst open and crashed into the wall. She jumped, teetered precariously on her heels before regaining her balance, and stared at the man who'd entered. He was gaunt, almost emaciated, his blond hair was thinning, and—Langley tensed—the expression in his eyes seemed crazed.

"Can I help you?" Sarah said, sounding amazingly calm.

"You're Sarah? Mitch's bride?" The questions were hurried.

"Mitch? You must have the wrong wedding facility."

He pulled out a large gun. "Right." He snorted. "Then why are there so many of his fucking SEAL mates down below? "

Langley's gaze sharpened, and she pushed aside her fear. Think first, feel later—when it was safe. They wouldn't be able to get past him, not when he stood squarely in front of the door, and if the crash hadn't brought someone running to see what had happened, she doubted anyone would hear a scream. The Wedding Knot might be rundown, but it was solidly built, and the chapel and guests were on the other side of the building, as far away from the bride's room as they could be.

"What's this about?" Sarah asked. The barrel of the gun pointed directly at her and Langley's breath caught in her throat.

"This is about Mitch refusing to pay me what he owes me. This is about me, using you, to make sure I get my half of the cut." He looked at her, eyes wide, fevered. "And her, too. Hell, two broads is better than one."

She'd known Mitch was bad news. Known it, damn it.

"I want you to head toward the door. Slowly. Out in the hall, go right, toward the back stairs." The wild-eyed man moved closer. "I'm a fucking good shot. If you try to run, you'll be dead before you take your second step."

As Sarah tried to negotiate with him, Langley silently cursed. Rule number one—never, ever, under any circumstance, leave the primary location with a bad guy. The secondary location was always worse for the victim. The advice was to run in a zigzag, that the odds of a shooter hitting something vital were small.

Only she couldn't run.

Not only did her raspberry-colored shoes sport skyscraper heels, but her dress was mermaid cut with a court train. It had never occurred to her when she'd bought the gown that she might get kidnapped for the second time in her life, especially when most of the wedding guests were US Navy SEALs.

It didn't take a genius to guess that the gunman didn't want to leave any witnesses behind and that was why he was taking her along with Sarah. She was extraneous, an unneeded complication. How long would he allow her to live after they left the wedding facility?

"Get real, lady," the man said, ending the conversation. "We're going down the back stairs to the car I have stashed below. Your bridesmaid is going to drive, while you and I ride in the backseat with my buddy Mr. Sig Sauer here." He waved the gun enough to make his point. "After we're holed up, all nice and friendly, I'll call your husband-to-be, tell him the wedding's been postponed. If he wants you back, he'll bring me my half of the cut. Now move."

Sarah reached out and clutched her hand and Langley returned the squeeze, trying to offer her reassurance, but they were in deep trouble. Mitch wasn't going to pay any ransom—there wasn't a doubt in her mind on that. Her father would cover whatever the amount was, but Langley wasn't certain she should mention it.

"Leave it." The man shoved Sarah forward when she tried to grab her purse, and Langley frowned. Her hope had been that someone would ping the GPS on their phones and locate them that way, but they were going to be forced to leave those behind.

"Move faster," he ordered her sharply.

"Sir." Langley took a deep breath and played up the Kiwi in her accent, hoping he'd mistake it for British. Many Americans unconsciously respected someone who spoke in an Oxford English voice. "I'm afraid my shoes make hurrying difficult." Reaching for the fabric below her knees, she raised her skirt to her ankles, letting him see her incredibly stupid stiletto heels.

"Take ‘em off."

"Then I'll move slowly because a great deal of my skirt will drag on the floor and wrap around my feet." Langley wasn't lying. The hem brushed the carpet already and the court train was a potential nightmare without her shoes.

He swore at her. "Move as fast as you can."

She did as ordered, because he had the gun pointed at Sarah. If there was a chance any of the SEALs would spot them, she might have dawdled, but their room was over the kitchen and Langley didn't believe that would happen. It was too early for anyone to check on the bride.

Obstacle two was maneuvering the stairs. Langley's thoughts echoed the gunman's muttered curses—she was every bit as aggravated by her attire as he was. Hanging onto the railing with one hand and as much of her train as she could with the other, she carefully made her way down. She knew he'd become angrier when they reached his car, and she wasn't wrong.

"What the fuck is the problem now?"

"My dress is tight to my knees. It's not easy to enter a car in a garment like this." It was why she'd changed clothes in the bride's room. If he'd burst in an hour earlier, she'd have been wearing jeans and running shoes.

"You better figure it out fast, lady."

Sit and swing. Langley half fell onto the seat, almost slid out, but grabbed the steering wheel in time to prevent that. She rocked, giving herself momentum to swing her legs into the Impala, then pulled her train in before it became stuck in the door. As he got in the back with Sarah, she took a second to adjust the seat. Her hands visibly shook. Langley clenched them and released a quiet breath as she worked to regain control. Feel later .

With her nerves steadier, she tried to hike up her skirt to make it easier to move her feet between the accelerator and brake, but the satin didn't have any give and she only managed about an inch before she ran out of ease. This was going to be a challenge.

"Drive," he ordered, and in the rearview mirror, she saw the gun pressed into Sarah's side, positioned in a way that would make it nearly impossible for someone in another vehicle to spot the weapon and contact the police.

For an instant, she met her friend's gaze and tried to make her own reassuring. Tough to do when she wasn't certain herself that they'd get out of this alive. Then, not willing to risk the kidnapper's wrath, she put her foot on the brake and pushed the button for the keyless start. The engine roared to life.

"Don't do anything stupid. I got the gun trained on your friend. I'll fucking kill you both if I have to. Won't bother me none."

Langley didn't doubt it. "Which way do I go?" she asked as she neared the exit.

"Turn right and don't try nothing funny. Do the speed limit, use your turn signal, and follow the traffic laws."

With a nod, Langley flipped on the blinkers and turned onto the road. Keeping her gaze moving, she searched for a police car. If she could only find a cop, she'd come up with a way to catch his attention without risking Sarah.

"Head toward Pomerado," the kidnapper ordered.

She hesitated. "Um, sir?"

"Wait, don't tell me. You don't know where to go."

"I'm only visiting," she said, trying to sound as foreign as possible. Langley's heart pounded faster and she squeezed the steering wheel.

"Shit, you're fucking worthless."

He spouted off a series of instructions, and despite her anxiety, she made sure she listened. Being useless was a good way to get killed, and she'd already proven herself to be a liability. Langley recited the directions back to him, and when the guy grunted, she released a quiet sigh.

Driving was difficult, her nerves were screaming, and there wasn't a cop in sight. Honestly, where were the police when she needed them?

They were near Sarah's house, she recognized the area. If she turned left there—

The traffic light went yellow, and she barely caught the brake with the toe of her pump, but her heel became trapped in the train. She wouldn't be able to reach the accelerator if she didn't get it loose, and Langley didn't want to think about the kidnapper's reaction to people honking at them because the light was green while they remained stopped.

Shifting her leg, she tried to free herself from the chiffon. Her toe slipped off the brake.

The car moved into the intersection.

Her eyes went wide and her heart leapt to her throat and lodged there. The kidnapper started yelling at her. Threatening her, threatening Sarah.

With a hard yank, she got her shoe free and stopped the car inches away from the oncoming traffic.

A sob welled up, but she swallowed it. Ambassadors' daughters don't cry in front of others—especially their kidnappers. "I'm sorry." She had to fight to prevent her voice from trembling. God knew the only reason he couldn't see her hands shake was because of the death grip she had on the steering wheel. "I'm sorry."

"You did that on purpose," he accused.

"I didn't. I swear. It's the shoes. My foot slipped."

"You're thinking I won't kill your friend here. You're thinking if I do that, I ain't got any leverage, but you know, I can hurt her without killing her. One more fucking mistake and I will hurt her bad, got it?"

"I have it. I'll be careful. I promise." Oh, God. A sob escaped as a soft hiccup.

You can do this. You've performed under pressure many times in the past. Not this particular kind of pressure, but nonetheless high-stakes situations. Lock down the emotions. Act now, feel later.

The light went green, and she concentrated on moving her foot smoothly from brake to accelerator. Despite her internal pep talk, Langley continued to shake as he guided her into an area that appeared remote. She hadn't realized there was a part of San Diego that was this undeveloped. They continued driving.

"See that pole up there on the left?" he barked from the backseat after what seemed like forever.

"Yes."

"Right past it, there's an entrance. Turn in there."

Langley leaned forward, trying to spot anything that resembled a road or driveway, but nothing leapt out at her. She couldn't miss it. She couldn't risk angering the man another time. She couldn't put Sarah in jeopardy. Her pulse throbbed wildly against her throat, and she swore she could feel the rush of blood in her veins.

There was nobody behind them, and she slowed the car further. She barely saw it in time. To call that overgrown track an entrance was pushing it.

The unpaved drive was rutted, and they bumped along it. Langley tried to avoid as many of the holes as she could, afraid the man might accidentally squeeze the trigger on one of the bounces, but it was hard to do when the path was littered with them.

She was about to take a chance and ask him how far he wanted her to drive when they came around a curve and she spotted a house. That was their destination, she was certain. Langley kept the car moving slowly.

As they got closer, the tears welled again, and she blinked them away impatiently. The structure was single-story, large patches of shingles were missing from the roof, revealing the wood below, and the porch leaned slightly to the right. Overgrown bushes and tall grass obscured much of the front, but she could see that some of the siding had gaps—perfect entry for mice, rats, and insects of various kinds.

Boards covered the windows, but they appeared almost as old as the house, charcoal in color from years of weathering and dirt. It looked like something straight out of a horror movie, the site where the teenagers went to party and ended up dying at the hands of a psycho killer.

Langley looked around again, but there were no other signs of civilization.

The experts were right. The secondary location was always worse.