Chapter 31
Sarah was still talking—something about deliberate cuts—but her voice was just static beneath the white roar in Ryder’s head.
All he could see was Ivy’s car wrapped around that tree, steam rising from the crushed hood, her body limp, her eyes closed.
Fear was useless. Action wasn’t.
It hadn’t been an accident.
Someone had tried to kill her.
And he’d just let her walk away.
His pulse bludgeoned a punishing beat in his throat. Focus. Think. He moved, muscle taking over where reason couldn’t.
Ellie first.
He lifted her into the back seat, strapping her in with hands that wouldn’t comply. The metal buckle clinked as he fumbled. Shit.
Ellie blinked up at him, wide-eyed. “Daddy… fright?”
He took a slow breath, smiled and kissed her forehead.
“No, baby-bug. Daddy’s just—” The lie stalled on his tongue. He dropped his forehead against hers, breathing in her little-girl scent. “Yeah. Maybe a little. But it’s gonna be okay.”
He straightened, pulled his phone from his pocket, thumbed Ivy’s name.
Voicemail.
He swore under his breath and tried again, jamming the phone to his ear until the plastic dug into bone.
Same result.
Sarah said something beside him—her hand on his arm, sheriff voice turned soft—but he couldn’t hear over the pounding in his chest. The controlled part of him was slipping its leash, overridden by the man who’d rebuilt his life from ashes.
The one who’d sworn no one he loved would ever get hurt again.
Ivy’s out there. Alone. And someone had tried to hurt her.
“Ryder.” Sarah’s voice cut through the haze. “Look at me.”
With effort, he did as she asked.
“I’m heading to the garage,” she said. “Mitch is preserving evidence. I’ll call as soon as I know anything. Find her. Tell her. And Ryder—be careful.”
She was gone before he could answer, boots crunching over the snow, red and blue lights washing across his truck’s interior as Ellie waved goodbye.
Ryder was frozen for half a heartbeat, cold biting through his skin.
No Ivy.
No answers.
Only the fear scratching up his spine—that every minute he wasted was a minute closer to losing her.
He drew one breath. Then another.
Adrenaline unleashed him.
Move.
He scrolled to his mom’s number, thumb hovering. Thirty minutes out of town.
Too far. Too long.
Every minute counted.
He pivoted fast, running through options like a mission checklist.
Grace and Caleb? No, Grace was at their house. Caleb was on shift. Wyatt? He could be here in twenty if he was at home.
He exhaled, his breath shadowy in the cold air.
Benji’s diner. Warm light, laughter, the smell of cinnamon and frying butter. Louisa would take one look at Ellie and make the world right again.
Not ideal, but it was safe. He hated it anyway. Hated every inch of distance between him and his baby girl.
“Change of plans, bug.” His voice came out gravelly. He cleared his throat, tried again. “You’re going to see Louisa for a bit. She’ll make you hot chocolate. Maybe a cookie if you ask nicely.”
From the back seat came a muffled, hopeful, “Marsha-mallow?”
He almost smiled. “You drive a hard bargain, kiddo. Yeah. Marsha-mallows.”
He called Wyatt. His brother picked up on the first ring. “What’s up?”
Ryder didn’t waste breath. “Need you to pick up Ellie from Louisa’s. Run her to Mom’s. Can you do it?”
Keys jingled through the receiver. Already moving. “Done. What happened?”
“Someone cut Ivy’s brake lines.” The words tasted like rust. “Sarah’s sure but I can’t reach Ivy.”
Wyatt swore under his breath. “I’m on my way. Fifteen minutes.”
The line went dead.
He dialed Louisa next. “Louisa. Hey.”
“That tone doesn’t sound like coffee and pie, sweetheart. What’s wrong?”
“Need a favor. Big one. Can I drop Ellie off with you? Wyatt will grab her in fifteen.”
“Of course, honey. You don’t even have to ask. Is everything okay?”
“Not really.” His throat worked. “But it will be.”
“We’ll take good care of her. You know that.”
“I know. Thanks, Louisa.”
He ended the call and looked in the rear-view mirror. Ellie watched him with a serious expression that made her look older than three.
He made himself smile. “Hey. You know Daddy loves you, right?”
“Me lub Daddy.” She blew him a kiss with one small chubby hand.
Something hot and painful pressed behind his eyes. He turned away, started the engine. Snow crunched under the tires as he pulled out.
Benji’s glowed golden against the gray afternoon, windows fogged. Heat and the hiss of the coffee machine hit him like a wave as he pushed inside, Ellie in his arms.
Louisa appeared before he’d even spoken, concern written across her face. “There’s my girl!” She scooped Ellie out of his arms. “I just pulled cinnamon rolls from the oven. Think you can help me frost them?”
Ellie beamed. “Me like!”
Ryder bent, kissed her hair, breathing her in—sugar, soap, safety. “Be good, bug.”
“Lub, Daddy,” she whispered, warm breath against his ear.
He straightened, met Louisa’s gaze. One nod between them. She understood everything he couldn’t say.
“Go,” she told him gently. “We’ve got her.”
He’d walked into burning seas and breaking ships, but leaving Ellie behind like this was harder than all of it combined. He hesitated one fraction of a second longer, then turned for the door.
Outside, the cold bit hard, but the emptiness bit harder.
Find her, he told himself, jaw locked as he crossed to his truck. Bring Ivy back safe—and then come back for your girl.
The drive to the hotel took six minutes.
Felt like fucking sixty.
Ryder kept his hands on the wheel, because that’s what training demanded, but inside he was unraveling—one thought, over and over, pounding like a drumbeat.
She’s out there. Alone. And I let her go.
Every worst-case scenario he’d been trained to imagine lined up behind his eyes.
Twisted metal. Cold water. Blood blooming dark against snow.
Ivy dying while he’d been sitting in his truck talking to Sarah about his fucking feelings.
He shoved them all away, focusing on the road, on the single black line winding through the snow.
When he hit the hotel lot, he barely killed the engine before he was out, boots smashing hard onto the ice. A blast of warm air tinged with industrial detergent hit him like a wall as he stormed inside, dizzying after the cold.
The young woman behind the desk looked up, ready with a polite smile that faltered the second she saw his face. “Can I help—”
He reached the desk in three strides. “Ivy Lambourne. What room?”
“I’m sorry, sir, I can’t give out—”
“Call her room.” The edge in his tone made her flinch. “Now.”
She fumbled for the phone, dialed. Waited. Her expression shifted from confusion to worry. “There’s no answer.”
Ryder leaned forward, bracing both hands on the counter.
He dropped his voice, so she had to lean in to hear.
“Someone tried to kill her last night. Cut the brake lines on her car. I need to know if she’s in that room or out there with a target on her back.
You can either tell me, or I can have the sheriff explain it to your manager. Your call.”
The clerk paled, eyes darting between him and the screen. She scribbled fast on a notepad and slid it toward him with shaking fingers. “Third floor. Room 312.”
“Thank you.” He was already moving.
He ignored the elevator, hit the emergency stairs, taking them two at a time. The concrete walls echoed each breath, each thud of his boots. By the time he reached the third floor, his pulse was thunder in his ears.
Room 312. Halfway down the hall.
He rapped once—hard. “Ivy, it’s Ryder. Open up.”
Nothing.
He knocked again, harder this time. “Ivy!”
A door opened down the corridor. An elderly man stuck his head out, scowling. “Keep it down—”
“Sheriff’s business,” Ryder barked. The man vanished.
The clerk appeared again, panting, master key trembling in her grip. “My manager said I could—”
He took it, muttered, “You did the right thing.”
He exhaled, then slid it through the lock.
Training kicked in, and the moment the door opened, he knew.
The silence was too heavy, the air too still.
Empty.
He still searched—bathroom, closet, even under the bed—he couldn’t stop himself. Because sometimes people hid in stupid places, and sometimes they didn’t come out at all.
She’s not here.
Her suitcase sat open on the luggage rack, clothes neatly folded, a scarf draped over the edge. Laptop asleep on the desk, the charger light blinking soft amber. A book lay face down on the nightstand.
The room smelled of Ivy. Expensive shampoo—citrusy and clean. The scent hit him square in the chest—so sharp it hurt. For a second, he just stood there, letting it hollow him out. Proof she’d been here, breathing this air, alive and warm and real.
Why did I just let her walk?
His phone buzzed. Sarah. “Anything?”
“She’s not at her hotel. Room’s empty.” His voice came out too calm. “I’m heading to find George.”
“Ryder, I need you to stay—”
“No.” He worked his jaw in a tight circle. “Someone tried to kill her, Sarah. I’m not sitting around waiting for them to finish the job.”
He hung up before she could argue. She’d be pissed. He didn’t care.
The clerk hovered in the doorway, pale and wide-eyed. “Is…is she in trouble?”
He looked at her, then past her, at the hallway stretching away like a tunnel. “George Lambourne?”
The clerk looked like she wanted to melt into the carpet. “He’s in a meeting—corporate suite, fourth floor. Mr. Sinclair reserved it privately.”
Ryder thanked her with a clipped nod and headed back to the stairwell.
The hush of the fourth floor didn’t belong in a small-town hotel—thick carpet, expensive art, the muted murmur of men who thought money made them bulletproof.
The conference room was at the far end, with double glass doors opening out into the corridor.
Ryder shoved through them without knocking.
Six heads turned. Suits. Fancy power ties. George Lambourne at the far end, mid-sentence, smile fading. “Ryder—”
Ryder reached the table and pressed his fingertips on the smooth surface, needing to do something with his hands. “We need to talk. Now.”
Matthew Sinclair tugged at his suit jacket and leaned forward. “I’m sorry, we’re in the middle of—”
“I don’t give a damn what you’re in the middle of.” Ryder’s eyes never left Ivy’s brother. “Lambourne. Your sister’s in danger. Get up.”
The screech of Lambourne’s chair broke the silence of the room as he pushed to his feet, face pale. “Gentlemen.” He grimaced, hand pressed to his silk tie. “Excuse me for a moment.”
Lambourne followed him into the hallway, the door clicking shut behind them. “Will you expl—”
“Someone cut the brake lines on Ivy’s rental. Sheriff confirmed it. She could’ve died.”
Lambourne stared at him, skin graying. “That—no, there must be—”
“There’s no mistake.” Ryder stepped close, lowering his voice. “And if it wasn’t her they were after, it was you. It was your car she borrowed.”
Lambourne’s mouth opened, shut again. “She called earlier. Wanted to talk about some geological findings.” His voice shook. “I told her we’d go over it at dinner. Sinclair already showed me the geological data. It’s all fine. She sounded frantic, and it all seemed unnecessary.”
“You dismissed her?”
“No. I don’t know. Maybe?” Lambourne raked a trembling hand through his hair.
“This was supposed to fix everything. The estate, the bleeding accounts, the banks circling like sharks—I thought this deal was the answer. That Ivy was just being Ivy. Overcautious. Seeing ghosts in the data.” His breath shook and fell to a whisper.
“Even though she’s always the one to see the cracks before anyone else. ”
The conference door opened a few inches.
Sinclair.
“Everything all right, gentlemen? Lambourne? We’re waiting.”
Ryder turned his head. “Keep waiting.”
Sinclair’s smile thinned to a dark line, his cufflinks glinting like a scalpel before the first cut. He looked directly at Lambourne. “As soon as you’re ready.”
The door clicked shut.
Lambourne’s exhalation shuddered through his whole frame.
Ryder flexed his hands at his sides and cut a look through the glass doors at Sinclair taking his seat, pulling at his collar. “That man fed you falsified data. Henderson proved it. The rig’s a structural nightmare—methane pockets under the foundation, it’s unstable as hell.”
Lambourne stumbled backward, palms hitting the wall. His face drained of color. “What?”
“Jack Barnes gave Ivy the data. The real data.” Ryder sucked in a breath. “Maybe someone wanted her out of the way for asking the wrong questions. And now she’s not answering her phone, and she’s not in her room. You know where she is?”
Lambourne’s hand stilled. “God. She tried to warn me, but I brushed her off. If something’s happened to her because I didn’t listen—”
Ryder’s phone buzzed. Not a call. A text.
From Ivy.
His stomach lurched.
Going to talk to Jack at the rig. Supply boat leaves at two. I’ll be back before dinner.
He checked his watch. Two thirty.
The boat’s already gone.
“Ryder?” Lambourne’s voice was faint. “What is it?”
He turned the screen so Lambourne could see. “She went to the rig. To the Vega.”
He hit dial anyway, praying to hear her voice, to hear anything.
“Hi. This is Ivy. I can’t come—”
Shit. He killed the call.
Lambourne paced the corridor, panic bleeding through his accent. “Why would she—"
“Because she was trying to save you.” Ryder was already pulling up the Northern Marine Services site on his phone. “She went to get proof from Jack. She thought it was safe.”
“Is it?” Lambourne halted, voice small.
Ryder scanned the schedule. Supply boat out at two p.m., expected back by six p.m. Four-hour run, if the weather held.
He glanced out of the window. He didn’t like how fast the clouds were rolling in over the bay.
“I don’t know.” He pocketed his phone. “But I’m going to be there when that boat comes back.”
“I’m coming with you.” Lambourne straightened.
Whatever else George Lambourne was, he wasn’t a coward. And he loved his sister.
“Fine. Let’s go.” Ryder would wait at that dock until the world froze over if he had to.
And when Ivy stepped off that boat—when, not if—she was never walking into danger alone again.