Chapter 7

Ryder leaned back in the bucket seat of the Explorer and grimaced. Dread sat heavy on his chest. He'd created a mantra to try to keep himself from diving too deeply into pessimism and it had been running on an almost infinite loop through his head since they'd left the service station. Langley is strong, smart, and alive. It wasn't helping. The sun was pretty much gone and they had shit. Any minute now, one of his buddies would suggest they call it for the day and start again tomorrow, but damn it, he didn't want to leave her with the kidnapper overnight.

If she was still breathing.

He tried the mantra again.

Before he finished the first repetition, an alert popped on his phone, lighting up the SUV, and Ryder grabbed it from the cup holder next to his thigh. There was a single app he'd allowed to give notifications—the one keeping tabs on the tracking device they'd attached to the Jeep. He had to clear his throat before he could speak. "Trammel's moving."

"Guide me to him," Mako said.

Voice quiet, Ryder gave directions. The SEALs had found the kidnapper—he'd stake his career on it. The knowledge allowed him to find his battle calm, the thing that had been eluding him from the moment he'd discovered Langley was missing. He was going to get her back and it would be tonight. He refused to believe anything else.

They'd nearly reached the Jeep when the tracker went stationary again. "It stopped," Ryder reported. "We need to ease in slow."

"Copy that," Bryce said.

The area was almost desolate, something Ryder hadn't expected close to a major city in SoCal, and dark enough that they nearly missed the Jeep. It was empty, pulled completely off the road on the right-hand side. Mako parked behind it, then killed the lights and the engine.

As they scrambled out of the SUV, Bryce popped the hatch. They quickly donned their vests and comm gear. "We could use a few night vision devices," Ryder complained quietly as he checked his weapon. It was his fault they didn't have any. He hadn't wanted to spend the ambassador's money on something he was sure they wouldn't use.

"We'll get by without them," Rowland said. "Let's find where they went in."

Nodding agreement, Ryder said, "Mako, Griff, take the left side. Stony and I will check over here."

It didn't take long before Griff signaled. The track was overgrown, but the vegetation showed signs of being recently crushed by tires. "Want to bet there's a white Chevy Impala at the end of this path?" Griff asked.

"Not taking that wager," Rowland said, tapping on his phone. "Google Earth shows a house that direction. I'm estimating less than a mile."

Taking a look at year-old imagery didn't give Ryder up-to-the-minute intel, but it did allow them to make plans. "Stony, you take the east side of the house. Mako, you have the west. Griff and I will take the front."

"What about the back?" Bryce asked.

"That'll depend on how many SEALs there are and what they're doing. Let's roll."

Without NVDs, they couldn't make out much of the landscape. It wasn't night, but it was dark enough to hide detail. The drive was rutted, pockmarked with holes that could turn an ankle, and vegetation to hide them. It forced them into a measured lope and Ryder struggled to keep his pace steady. He wanted to reach Langley now, but racing down the track and coming up on the backs of another Special Forces team that didn't know they were there was a good way to get shot.

It seemed like they'd been moving forever, and if signs of the weeds and tall grasses being tamped down weren't obvious despite the encroaching darkness, he might have questioned if they'd lost the trail.

They reached a curve, and Mako and Stony split off to come in on the sides of the house. He and Griff gave them thirty seconds then continued moving toward the front.

They were forced to slow down, to move stealthily as the house came into view. The structure was falling apart, and in spite of the lack of good light and the tall grasses growing around the building, he could see gaps in the siding, patches missing from the roof. It was dark, not a single light. No electricity was a given in an abandoned house, but wouldn't the kidnapper have a lantern or two burning? Maybe this wasn't the right place.

Griff's hand signal caught his attention. The Impala they'd spent the afternoon looking for was parked to their right, mostly hidden by a thicket of brush. He nodded.

He thought he saw motion near the porch. The kidnapper or a SEAL?

Using what cover there was, he and Griff eased their way closer to the house. A figure made his way up the stairs. This time Ryder gave the signal to his teammate. Something in the way he moved made Ryder think it was Taggart.

What—

The sharp report of a gunshot sliced through the night. Griffin locked his hand around Ryder's biceps, stopping him before he could do more than take a step forward. At the same instant, the SEAL kicked in the door. Another crack of breaking wood came from the rear of the structure.

Taggart entered the house and Ryder tried to shake off his buddy. He tightened his grip.

"We can't go in," Griff said, voice less than a whisper. "It's too risky."

Shit, he knew that. The danger wasn't only to his team, but to the hostages as well. Friendly fucking fire. It pissed him off to be on the outside, to be forced to wait. What if Langley had been the one to take the bullet? Damn it.

Rowland's voice came across his earpiece. "Langley escaped through a window. "

His eyes closed. She was alive.

"She's headed your way, Ski."

"Copy that." He couldn't do anything about the thickness of his voice.

Seconds later, she came into view. For a moment, he drank in the sight of her. She was running a little awkwardly, but she was in a full-length dress. There were no signs of a major injury, and he was able to take a deep breath.

In the next instant, he realized Langley was headed for the front door, a makeshift club in her hand. Shit, she wasn't escaping—she was on a fucking rescue mission.

Silently, he chased after her, stopping her headlong dash by wrapping his arms around her from behind. She reacted instantly, nothing princess-like in her fierce response, and he tightened his hold before she could drive her elbow into his tactical vest. It would hurt her more than it hurt him. Whispering hotly, he said, "Damn it, it's me. Ryder. Stop fighting."

She sagged against him, but in the next instant, he felt her muscles firm and she pivoted in his arms. "You scared the hell out of me." Her voice was as soft as his.

They were face to face, and he took a second to drink in the sight of her. He couldn't make out much, not when it was essentially dark, but he could see the spark in her eyes. Damn, she could be a handful. Ryder grinned—he couldn't help it.

Langley tried to twist free, but he'd expected that and tightened his hold. At least she had the good sense to not yell—not that he'd ever heard her raise her voice before, but there was always a first time. "Let me go," she hissed barely loud enough for him to hear. "Sarah's in that house, and there was a gunshot. I have to save her."

"Relax. There are some Navy SEALs in there right now trying to get her out, and I guarantee they don't want your help. Come on, we need to get you out of here."

She shook her head. "I want to make sure Sarah is okay."

Fuck, she was stubborn. She'd argue with him the entire night if he let her. Ryder bent, put his shoulder into her stomach, and hoisted her into a fireman's carry. Griff came up as he turned to haul her down the drive. "Tell Taggart I have her," he ordered quietly, and without waiting for a response, he started jogging toward the road.

Langley was feeling slightly sick from bouncing on his shoulder, and she nearly lost her balance when Ryder set her back on her feet. She had to grab his forearms to keep from falling .

"What is it? Where are you hurt?" he demanded.

Hurt? She'd gotten a head rush from the rapid change in position, but— Oh . She realized why he'd asked. "I'm fine. It's these shoes." Hanging onto him, she raised a foot, letting him see the five-inch heel. Or try to see anyway. It was fairly dark.

"It's a miracle you can walk in those things. How the hell were you running?"

Waving away the question, Langley posed one of her own. "Are there really SEALs rescuing Sarah?"

"Yes, I promise. Griff's there, too. He can take care of a gunshot wound if he needs to."

She felt the blood run out of her face and turned to look toward the house. Griff was a medic for a Special Forces team. He no doubt had experience with bullet wounds.

"If you try to head back to that house," Ryder said, voice low and dangerous, "I will throw you over my shoulder again and keep you there until I know everything is finished."

"I'm not planning to return to the house." With the rough terrain and her heels, she'd never make it anyway.

"Bullshit."

Ryder didn't say anything else, and while he was looking at her, his attention was elsewhere. Something caught her eye, and leaning forward, Langley spotted the earpiece he wore. Someone was probably speaking with him.

While he was occupied, she took in her surroundings the best she could. He'd crossed the road from the driveway and deposited her on the turf side of an Explorer. Another SUV was parked in front of them.

She felt wired, and if she was wearing more comfortable footwear, she'd be pacing to work off some of her nervous energy.

As soon as his focus returned to her, she asked, "To whom were you speaking?" She lightly tapped her ear with two fingers to cue him in on why she'd asked. "Did he say how Sarah was?"

"That was Bryce and no, he didn't mention Sarah. The only one who might know something is Griff, since he stayed behind to let them know I have you."

She nodded. "Okay, but shouldn't Jonah have contacted you to tell us the SEALs have Sarah safe by now?"

"You realize you're the only person who can get away with calling Griff by his first name?"

Langley frowned. "Answer my question."

"You've been spoiled by knowing Army Special Forces." Ryder's voice said he was teasing her. "These are Navy guys. Give them more time to get the job done. "

Although he was trying to lighten her mood, Langley couldn't smile. "Not funny. Not when Sarah might have been shot."

"Relax. Adrenaline is skewing your perception of time."

Perhaps it was, but the house was nearly a mile from the road—she'd watched the odometer as she'd driven the route earlier that day—and Ryder had run that distance with her over his shoulder. "If I were to guess that about eight minutes had passed since you began jogging down the drive, how far off would I be?"

His shrug looked uncomfortable, but Langley couldn't see Ryder's face clearly enough to read him. "You're close," he admitted.

"Wouldn't you expect this situation to be resolved in a matter of minutes?"

"There might be a standoff," Ryder suggested, but he lacked conviction.

Langley took a step toward the road. That was as far as she'd planned to go, but he must have assumed she was heading for the house. He grabbed her wrist. The hiss escaped before she could stop it.

Ryder held onto her hand with one of his and with the other, pulled a penlight from his vest. He shone it on her arm. "Holy shit," he breathed as he looked up to glare at her. "Why the fuck didn't you tell me you were hurt? "

She stiffened and pulled her hand free of his. "Don't use that word with me, Ryder Pienkowski. I did what I needed to do. I'm not hurt, only scraped up a little."

"Damn it, how many fu—" he stopped short, then resumed "—freaking times did I make you practice breaking those flex cuffs?"

"I know. I thought I could wiggle free. You taught me how to do that, too."

He opened his mouth, shut it, and took a deep, audible breath. Then, with careful precision, Ryder turned off the penlight, placed it in his vest, and in a move she hadn't expected, hugged her tightly. She felt his lips moving against her hair as he said, "I thought I'd lost you, hellcat. You took about twenty years off my life today."

Until he'd put his arms around her, Langley hadn't realized she'd needed him to hold her like this. She wound her arms around his waist and accepted the comfort his touch gave her. "It hasn't been my favorite day either."

But Ryder had come to San Diego. He'd come to rescue her. That had to mean he loved her, right?

The five-hour flight, getting his friends together to join him, finding her. None of it would have been quick or easy, but he'd done it for her. Warmth spread from her chest and fanned out through her body .

Before she was ready, Ryder stepped back. She started to protest, but he drew his weapon and moved in front of her, the Explorer between them and where he pointed his gun. She became confused when he lowered it until Nevada Bryce appeared on the other side of the road. He must have talked to Ryder over the earpiece.

Nevada grinned when he spotted her. "Hi, Langley. It's good to see you alive and kicking."

"Thank you. Do you know anything about Sarah?"

"Sorry, ma'am," he said, shaking his head. His attention shifted to Ryder. "I'm going to retrieve our hardware from the Jeep. No point giving the SEALs our electronics."

Langley was puzzling through that when Nevada walked over to the car parked in front of the Explorer, reached in the wheel well, and pulled out something. She didn't know what it was and didn't ask because Finn Rowland appeared.

His lips curved—the biggest smile she'd ever seen from him—and said, "I told Ski you were one tough woman, but even I didn't expect to arrive as you were escaping. What took you so long to get loose?"

She knew he was teasing her, but she was unable to joke in return. "I had to wait for dark," she said truthfully .

Finn turned to Ryder. "Shouldn't Langley be in the SUV?"

"Yes," he said. "Do you want to help her get in?"

"I'm not getting in the car until I know how Sarah is." She scowled at both men and shifted her weight until it was distributed more evenly.

"It's okay," Finn said. "Stand down. No one is going to wrestle you into the vehicle."

Langley couldn't tell whether he was teasing this time, but before she could ask, Jonah Griffin arrived. As if that was what everyone was waiting for, the men started to move. Nevada opened the driver's door and got behind the wheel. Finn climbed in the back and Ryder looked at her and opened the other rear door. He gestured for her to get in, but she ignored the invitation.

"Jonah," she said the instant she could speak to him without shouting, "is Sarah okay? Was she shot? Did you have to treat her?"

"Sarah's fine," he said. "When I left, she had tingling in her legs from being cut loose from her restraints, but that's apparently the worst of it."

"Apparently?" she asked, ignoring Ryder's second gesture ordering her to get in the car.

"I didn't see her myself, just talked to one of the SEALs." Jonah opened the front door. "He's the one who gave me the status report."

When he got in the vehicle and closed the door, Langley had two choices—stand out here and holler through the window, or climb in the back and quiz him while they drove away. And they were leaving, because Nevada had started the engine. She wanted to see for herself that Sarah was okay, but it dawned on her that the guys were in a hurry because the police would be coming soon and Special Forces wasn't supposed to take action in the US. They'd meet up with Sarah and the SEALs later. Right?

She eyed the running board of the Explorer and looked down at her skirt. This wasn't happening. "Ryder, I can't raise my leg high enough to get in, not in this gown."

His lips twitched, but he didn't say anything, simply swung her into his arms and put her on the seat. She glanced behind her and saw that the back was loaded with gear. Lots of it. In the next instant, Ryder nudged her over with his hip, settled beside her, and closed the door.

"Let's roll, Mako," he said.

As they pulled away, Langley did some calculation. She and Sarah had been kidnapped at 9:45 this morning. It was unlikely anyone had noticed until after ten, when the ceremony had been scheduled to start. How long until the guests had realized it wasn't merely Sarah having cold feet?

No doubt it had taken a while, but even if they had known immediately and called the police, it was a five-hour flight to San Diego without any layovers. The very earliest Ryder could have arrived would have been 3 p.m. if he had a private jet fueled and a pilot on standby. Commercial? Not a chance, not with security. A realization dawned—travel time to the airport. No, 3 p.m. was impossible, and 4 p.m. would be optimistic.

According to the dashboard clock, it wasn't 8:30 yet. Technically, it was conceivable for the men to get here and find her, but her instincts said no.

The timing simply didn't work.

Langley ran through the timeline in her head again, but came up with the same answer. Then she factored in a second problem—how had Ryder heard about her kidnapping?

The police would have contacted her mom and dad, not her ex-boyfriend, and her father would have hired someone located in San Diego to find her. He'd know time was of the essence—she could be killed before the Green Berets were able to reach California.

So why were Ryder and his three closest friends here with enough gear to invade a small country?

It wasn't because he knew she'd been taken hostage and he loved her too much to stay in Florida, waiting for the police or someone her father had hired to find her. That was a disappointing realization—she choked up thinking about it—but Langley was done lying to herself about Ryder. She played through every scenario she could come up with, but only one made sense.

"When did my dad receive the threat, and how serious is it?"