Chapter 39
LOUISE
To say the drive back to Ryder’s castle on the hill was hair-raising would be a gross understatement.
We slid off the road once—he handled it, of course—and had to stop twice to clear fallen branches.
A drive that should have taken twenty minutes stretched into over two hours.
Winter Storm Barron was going out with a bang.
Ryder, like a storm of his own, made it abundantly clear he had no interest in discussing the pendant. He didn’t speak, didn’t look at me. His mood was vile.
By the time we finally reached the house, it was past seven and fully dark. The moment we stepped inside, Ryder disappeared into the library without a word.
I didn’t follow.
Whatever that pendant meant, it had gutted him—and I wasn’t about to poke the bear. So I headed to the bedroom, peeled off my wet clothes, and changed into a pair of new skinny jeans and a fitted cashmere sweater—courtesy of Ryder and Damsel in a Dress.
It was, without a doubt, the tightest outfit I owned.
I spun in front of the mirror, surprised to find I liked what I saw. The jeans hugged me in all the right places, lifting what needed lifting and smoothing what needed smoothing. Who knew a little structure could go a long way?
Refusing wine, I opted for tea and padded into the kitchen, casting a glance toward the library as I passed.
Dark. Empty.
He’d vanished again.
I stood at the counter, nursing my mug, watching the snow swirl past the windows and wondering if I should wait for him—or eat alone. Minutes ticked into an hour.
By nine, my patience thinned. I set the mug down and went on the hunt.
The house was quiet. No Ryder in any room, no movement in the windows. He wasn’t here.
Where had be gone?
Finding a flashlight handy in the utility closet, I stepped out into the night, bundling up in one of Ryder’s heavy coats from the rack.
Faint boot prints dented the snow, trailing around the side of the house.
I followed.
The wind nipped at my cheeks and clawed through the trees as I traced the tracks along the fence line. The house shrank behind me, swallowed by the darkness.
The footprints led to the stables.
Inside, it was warmer—still cold, but protected from the wind. The scent of hay, leather, and horses hit me instantly.
Liberty’s stall was empty.
Prudence snorted softly as I approached.
“Hey, beautiful girl. Have you seen the king of the castle? ” I rubbed her white-striped nose. “Did he come in here?”
She nuzzled against my hand.
I looked around. Liberty’s saddle was missing. Prudence’s hung in the back of her stall.
Considering, I tilted my head to the side. “Wanna go for a ride?”
Prudence let out a snort that I took as a solid yes.
It took thirty damn minutes to figure out how to strap on the saddle, and I had no idea if I’d done it correctly. Then I grabbed the bridle and convinced her to take it, arranging the reins on her neck. Thank goodness she knew what she was doing.
Stepping back, I studied my work. Looks right to me. I grabbed the saddle horn and tested my weight on the stirrup. When it held, I figured it was good enough, and I pulled myself on.
It took a few deep breaths to settle my heart.
I grabbed the reins. “You probably remember me clinging onto your neck for dear life during our first moments together. Not anymore. I’m going to be strong, and you’re going to walk as smoothly as you did the first time. Got it?”
The horse dipped its head.
“Good. Because something is wrong with your grumpy master, and we need to figure it out.”
I tapped my heels against her sides, and as slow and steady as before, Prudence stepped out of the barn. Gripping the reins with one hand, I pulled the flashlight from my pocket and aimed it into the darkness with the other. Hoof tracks led into the woods.
“We’re going to follow these tracks, okay?” I tugged to the right and tapped my heels again.
We set off, following the tracks along the field and eventually onto the trail that led into the trees. The woods were an inky black and icy cold. The beam from my flashlight illuminated only a few feet ahead, just enough to continue following the tracks.
What the heck is Ryder up to?
Upward, upward, upward we climbed, and I realized it was the same mountain he and I had jogged that morning. Finally, we crested the top. A thin beam of yellow light penetrated the darkness in the distance.
Ryder.
I pulled Prudence to a stop, slid off, and tied her reins to a nearby tree. Keeping my light low, I slowly stepped through the snow, following the hoof tracks as my heart raced.
Liberty was also tied to a tree, and I ran my fingers along his side as I passed him. The hoof tracks turned into boot prints. Whatever Ryder was doing, he obviously meant to be alone. I had no idea what I was about to walk up on.
I followed the prints through the clearing where I’d captured the sunrise on my camera hours earlier. The prints cut through a small patch of trees to a smaller clearing, this one with unobstructed views of the surrounding mountains.
I froze.
Ryder sat in the snow before two gravestones, legs folded beneath him, his entire body hunched over, head in his hands. The beam of his flashlight cast a dim halo around him, but the man himself looked like a shadow. His shoulders shook.
I wanted to turn back, to give him privacy. But I couldn’t move. My legs felt bolted to the ground.
The sorrow coming off him—it wasn’t just visible. It was tangible. I could feel it in the air, thick and suffocating. The kind of pain that gutted a man, that reshaped who he was.
He lifted his head, and I held my breath. Slowly, he looked over his shoulder.
Our eyes locked and we stared at each other with snow and darkness between us. At that moment, I saw the real Ryder.
A broken man. A lost soul.
His gaze lingered on mine, hollow and aching, before he turned back to the graves.
I stepped forward on quiet feet, drawn by something beyond understanding, and stopped behind him to silently pay my respects to the two souls I didn’t know, but somehow knew had shattered this man’s life.
Gently, I placed my hand on his shoulder.
He didn’t flinch.
We stood like that, surrounded by snow and silence, and sadness.
And then, after what felt like eternity, Ryder spoke. His voice was low and ragged, and what he said next would haunt me for the rest of my life.
“I asked her to marry me, twelve years ago. She said yes.” His voice was raw.
Weak. “Her name was Maci. The next day, she moved in with me.
The day after that, I left for a job in Colombia.
I remember smiling the entire flight, feeling like my life was finally mapped out.
I was one of those guys, those old souls, who always wanted to be married, have kids, the white picket fence.
To me, the idea of a family was the key to success in life.
That, I thought, would be real happiness.
I felt lucky, relieved, happy. I felt like I had something to build on, if that makes sense. Something bigger than me.
“When I came back from Colombia, things were different. She’d rearranged my house, thrown out half my stuff.
Redecorated. We started arguing.” He paused.
“We’d only dated six months before I asked her to marry me.
It wasn’t long before I left for another trip.
This time, I was gone for three weeks. I came back and found her in bed with the guy she’d dated before me.
I kicked the guy’s ass and told him if he ever touched her again, I’d kill him.
She groveled, begged me to stay, so I did.
I wanted to make it work. I wanted the dream of a wife, kids, dogs.
I wanted it all, and I thought she did too.
“She said it was hard with me being gone so much, so I took time off away from Astor to try to make things work between us. Things were good for a while. Five months. We even set a date. Then the fighting started again. Nonstop. I couldn’t take it.
I broke the engagement hours before I left for another job.
Told her we’d discuss our relationship and living situation when I got back.
I didn’t want to throw her out with nothing.
“The job was in Venezuela. I called her when I landed, but lost reception not long into the trip. That mission was tough. I spent six nights in the jungle, tracking the leader of a militia group who was plotting an attack on the US. The mission was successful, and after a week, I was on the next flight out. I called her from the airport before I left but didn’t get an answer.
It was late, though, so I assumed she was asleep.
“It wasn’t until she didn’t answer when I landed that I had an instinct that something wasn’t right. I called her over and over the entire drive home, each mile feeling like ten. It was exactly nine fourteen when I pulled up to my house.”
His head dipped.
“The door was unlocked. She always locked the door. I raced up the stairs to the bedroom…”
He paused, his shoulders rising and falling with deep breaths.
“She was on the floor, in front of the bed. Her skin was ghostly pale. Her eyes were open but there was no life in them. Her head was turned toward the door, like she’d been waiting for me to save her when she took her last breath.
Her nightgown was around her waist. She was naked underneath, her legs spread apart.
Her neck was covered in purple bruises—and so were her hips.
Maci had been raped and strangled to death in my bedroom. ”
My entire body froze as my heartbeat roared in my ears.
“I checked for a pulse.” He shook his head.
“Stupid. Anyway, I checked for a pulse and called the cops. The rest is kind of a blur. I remember watching Jessica, the medical examiner, check her over, so methodically as if Maci weren’t even human.
Just an object to search. I watched them zip her into the body bag.
That was the last time I saw her face, exactly twelve years ago today.
Five days after that, I murdered Leon Ortiz, the man who raped and murdered her.
I was arrested hours later and thrown into jail, where I remained for the next ten years of my life.
My lips parted. I was absolutely speechless.
“The headstone on the left is hers. The headstone on the right is for the baby she was carrying in her stomach when she was murdered.” His gaze shifted to mine, the pain so vivid that goose bumps broke out over my skin.
“Maci was nine weeks pregnant. I didn’t know.
She’d kept it from me because we were so volatile.
She’d had the blood test to confirm the sex.
I found the papers. She was pregnant with my baby. My son.”
Uncontrollable tears rolled down my cheeks as I looked at the small gravestone that honored Ryder’s baby boy.
“The night I asked her to marry me, I gave her a ring and a necklace. The ring is in my safe. The pendant that we found in Hollow Hill, the pendant that’s now in my pocket, is hers. Was hers. I gave it to her. She wore it every day—and it wasn’t around her neck when I found her body.”