Chapter 8
Eight
With a thoughtful expression, Sarah rubbed her arms. Deciding if she could trust him?
He didn’t blame her. He was still trying to decide if he could trust her.
Or rather, if he should even consider it.
She’d brought trouble with her the moment she entered the Mercy Ridge sphere, and it hadn’t let up.
In fact, if anything, it seemed to be getting worse.
Of course, he didn’t literally blame her for the mudslide, but she had distress written all over her face.
The truth would be nice, but that wouldn’t be easy to uncover with this one.
Add in that she believed her brother was murdered and this downed decades-old warplane could somehow be related?
The giant information gap couldn’t be ignored.
He wouldn’t bother pushing for details, except he needed to understand the big picture, the numerous factors—all of it that could help him prepare for what they could face.
That is, if he chose to accept this challenge.
Underneath it all, he sensed a looming threat.
Possibly big. Life and death. Yeah, big.
A very big, real, and present threat floating around her.
Seconds had ticked by, and she still hadn’t answered. Ryder, too, was contemplating it all—mainly what he should say next.
Was he in?
Or was he out?
“I told you,” she said. “My brother was murdered. My sister-in-law is in danger, and Jeremy—he’s only three—he’s in danger too.
They’re safe for now. I need to discover why Aaron was murdered and get him justice.
I need to find what someone is looking for and hand it over to trusted authorities—and I emphasize trusted—so Tessa won’t have to look over her shoulder.
So she doesn’t have to be afraid someone is going to kill her. ”
“What about you? Are you afraid someone is going to kill you? Looks like someone with bad intentions followed you right into my town.”
“Oh, so it’s your town, is it?” she asked.
“That’s right.”
“Because your great-grandfather founded it?” She arched a brow.
He’d grown up here. Felt protective. She was a stranger, and she’d sat at his mother’s dinner table. So, yeah, his town. But . . . “Let’s get back on track. Are you afraid that someone is going to hurt you? If you aren’t, then you should be.”
“I can’t afford to be afraid. But I’m cautious. Prepared.”
Barely. “That’s a lot for one person to take on.” One woman. “Why do you have to be the one to do it?”
“Who else?” Sarah stood taller, a challenge in her big almond eyes. “I don’t have time for this. I need to get up there. Get in and get out. You know the mountain. You, incredibly, have already found a piece of the puzzle. Now, are you in, or are you out?”
His question exactly. But now he had an answer.
I’m in. Oh, I’m in. What would she do if he said no? Who else, indeed? Then there was an even bigger question, though he thought he had an idea. “What’s your fitness level? This isn’t a stroll down to the waterfall.” Or a mudslide tube ride.
“I was a triathlete in college. Is that good enough?”
“In college.” He’d guess her to be late twenties. Maybe early thirties. “What about now?”
Sarah rolled her eyes and shook her head. That was no answer.
A noise drew his attention, and he held his hand up, signaling silence.
She understood and pursed her lips. He had his homework cut out for him when it came to finding out more about this mysterious woman.
She relieved the Sig from her ankle while he shut off the light in the shop.
He hadn’t been carrying. He was home. No threats to worry about .
. . at least before Sarah showed up. He peered out the shop door and caught movement.
Inside his house? Anger boiled in his gut. Did this have to do with her? Or was he getting ahead of himself? Then again—of course. Yes! This had everything to do with Sarah. What else? Who else?
“Wait here and hide.”
She said nothing, and maybe he shouldn’t have, but he assumed she’d agreed to his command.
He exited the shop, and keeping to the shadows, he crept forward.
How many intruders were on his property?
In his home? Why? If this had to do with Sarah, was Mom okay?
He should reach out to his federal agent brother, Holt, before jumping in headfirst with this Sarah Ellison business.
These thoughts rushed through his mind all at once as he approached his secluded home.
Ryder slipped into the house in stealth mode, keeping with his past training, silent as he invaded his own familiar home.
If Timber had been here, no one could have even gotten close.
The stillness inside felt completely wrong.
Easing open a drawer in the entryway table, he retrieved his Glock 9mm. Floorboards creaked down the hall.
Gun at the ready, he crept low and silent along the corridor, his eyes sharp, even in the dim lighting of the moonlit night.
A rustle alerted him to movement to his right.
A figure lunged from the shadows. Ryder didn’t evade the arm that clamped around his throat and cut off his breath.
He slammed his elbow back full force into the assailant’s gut.
The man grunted. Ryder twisted around, bringing his forearm up to break the man’s hold.
His attacker pivoted fast, knocking Ryder against the wall. And Ryder slammed his fist into the attacker’s ribs. He staggered but didn’t stop. Ryder lunged at the masked man, and they grappled—locked together, neither giving in.
“Who are you?” Ryder ground out the words. “What do you want?”
The attacker wrenched free from Ryder’s grip and shoved him. Ryder fell into a chair as the intruder bolted away into a bedroom. Ryder sprang from the chair and chased him, his boots pounding across the hardwood floor. The window was open, and the curtain fluttered.
Fury coiled in his gut. Gritting his teeth, breathing hard, he moved to the window and looked out into the night. Nothing. The guy had disappeared.
What had he wanted in Ryder’s house? With Ryder?
Or with Sarah?
Sarah!
Noise erupted from outside, near the shop . . . exactly where he’d left Sarah.