Chapter 3
RYAN
The first thing Ryan became aware of was pain.
Not the sharp, screaming agony that had consumed him before he passed out after the escape. This was different. It was duller and more manageable. It was the kind of pain that medication could mostly handle but not quite eliminate completely.
The second thing he became aware of was the steady beeping of machines somewhere to his right.
The third thing was his father’s voice, low and worried, speaking to someone Ryan could not quite see.
Ryan tried to open his eyes, but his eyelids felt like they weighed about a hundred pounds each. He managed to get them halfway open, squinting against the fluorescent lights overhead that seemed impossibly bright.
“Hey,” Ryan croaked, his voice coming out as barely more than a whisper. His throat felt like he had swallowed sandpaper. “Dad?”
The conversation stopped immediately, and then his father’s face appeared in his field of vision, leaning over the bed. Mitch’s eyes were red-rimmed and exhausted, his hair sticking up in odd directions like he had been running his hands through it repeatedly, but he was smiling.
“Ryan,” Mitch said, and his voice cracked slightly on the name. “You’re awake. How are you feeling?”
“Like I got hit by a truck,” Ryan managed. “What happened? Where am I?”
“You’re in the hospital,” Mitch said. “You reopened your surgical wound during the escape from that farmhouse. You lost a lot of blood. You have been in surgery and sedated for the past several hours.”
The escape. The farmhouse. It all came rushing back. Tessa and Jackie and the giant and the drugged water and running through the woods and then the pain and the blood and Tessa’s face above him in that pickup truck bed.
“Tessa,” Ryan said, trying to sit up. “Is she okay? And Jackie?”
Pain exploded through his side, and he gasped, falling back against the pillows.
“Easy,” Mitch said, putting a hand on Ryan’s shoulder as he slid his phone onto the nightstand. “Don’t try to move too fast. You have stitches holding you together, and the doctors want you to stay still for at least the next day or two.”
“But Tessa,” Ryan insisted. “Is she alright?”
“She’s fine,” Mitch assured him. “She got a concussion and needed some stitches in her forehead from when she fainted, but she is okay. Jackie is fine too. They’re both safe.”
Relief flooded through Ryan so intensely that it almost hurt. Tessa was okay. She was safe. That was all that mattered.
“I need to see her,” Ryan said, already trying to figure out how he could get out of this bed without tearing his stitches open again. “I need to talk to her.”
“You can talk to her when you’re recovered,” Mitch said firmly. “Right now, you need to focus on healing. The doctors said you’re lucky to be alive, Ryan. You lost over two liters of blood. If we had gotten you here even ten minutes later, it might have been a very different outcome.”
Ryan heard the fear in his father’s voice, the barely controlled emotion that Mitch was trying to hide behind practical concern.
He knew that tone. Had heard it before, years ago, when Grady died.
When Mitch had sat beside another hospital bed holding another son’s hand and trying to process that he was gone.
“I’m okay, Dad,” Ryan said softly. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”
Mitch nodded, not trusting himself to speak for a moment.
Then he cleared his throat and straightened up, putting some distance between them.
“The doctors want you to rest. No getting out of bed. No, trying to help with the investigation. No doing anything except lying there and letting your body heal. Understood?”
“But we need to figure out who did this,” Ryan protested. “We need to find whoever kidnapped us before they try again. We need to protect Tessa and Lori and everyone else.”
“We will,” Mitch said. “But you’re sitting this one out. You nearly died, Ryan. I’m not going to let you risk your life again when you can barely stand up.”
Ryan wanted to argue, but the truth was, he felt like a weak kitten. Just the effort of having this conversation was exhausting him. His side throbbed with every breath, and his head felt fuzzy from whatever medication they had pumping through his IV.
“Fine,” he grumbled, knowing he was not going to win this argument. Not right now, anyway. “But you have to promise to keep me updated. I want to know what is happening.”
“I promise,” Mitch said. “Now, is there anything you need? Are you in pain? Should I call the nurse?”
“Water,” Ryan croaked. “My throat feels like the desert.”
“Let me go find a nurse and see what you are allowed to have,” Mitch said, already moving toward the door. “I’ll be right back.”
Ryan watched his father leave the room, then let his head fall back against the pillow with a sigh. His side was burning, a deep ache that the medication was only partially masking. He felt nauseous and dizzy, and so tired he could barely keep his eyes open.
But Tessa was safe. That was what mattered. Tessa was alive, okay, and safe.
He just wished he could see her. Wished he could take back the way he had pulled away from her in that basement, the cold professional distance he had put between them. She had been trying to hug him, trying to show him she cared, and he had shut her out completely.
Because he was hurt. Because she had rejected him in that park, had thrown his past relationships in his face, had essentially told him she didn’t trust him not to hurt her daughter the way Mark Green had.
And that had stung. It had cut deeper than he wanted to admit.
So when he’d woken in that basement, he’d put up barriers.
It had seemed like the right thing to do at the time.
But now, lying in this hospital bed, Ryan realized it had been exactly the wrong thing to do.
Tessa had been scared and traumatized and was trying to reach out to him, and he had pushed her away.
He needed to fix that. He needed to tell her that he understood why she had reacted the way she did in the park.
That he didn’t blame her for being scared or for wanting to protect her daughter.
That he still loved her and wanted to be with her if she would give him another chance.
Ryan would prove her wrong. That he could be trusted and that he’d never intentionally hurt her or Maggie.
But first, he needed to get out of this hospital.
Ryan was contemplating whether he could disconnect his IV and sneak out without anyone noticing when he heard his father’s phone ringing on the nightstand beside the bed.
He turned his head to look at it, wincing at the pull in his side. The screen was lit up with an incoming call. Lori’s name displayed across the top.
Ryan reached for it groggily, his movements slow and uncoordinated from the medication. His fingers fumbled with the phone, nearly dropping it, but he managed to get a grip on it and swipe to answer just as the ringing stopped.
The call had gone to voicemail.
“Oh, blast,” Ryan muttered, staring at the screen.
Then a text message notification popped up on the screen, and Ryan’s heart stopped.
Mitch, sorry to trouble you, but Tessa has been taken again.
The words seemed to pulse on the screen, and for a moment, Ryan could not breathe. Could not think. Could not process what he was reading.
Tessa has been taken again.
No. No, that was not possible. His dad had just told him Tessa was safe. That she was fine. That she was okay.
But the message was right there in front of him, stark and undeniable.
Tessa has been taken again.
Ryan’s heart started to pound, and adrenaline surged through his veins, overriding the pain and the medication and the exhaustion.
He threw back the covers and swung his legs over the side of the bed, ignoring the sharp protest from his side.
He had to get up. He had to get out of here and help find Tessa.
He pushed himself to his feet, and the world tilted sideways. Nausea rose in his throat, and the burning pain in his side exploded into white-hot agony. His legs felt like they were made of water, barely supporting his weight.
He took one step toward the door and nearly collapsed.
That was when his father came back into the room carrying a small plastic cup filled with crushed ice.
Mitch stopped in the doorway, his eyes going wide. “What the heck are you doing? Ryan, get back in bed right now.”
“No,” Ryan said stubbornly, gripping the edge of the bed to keep himself upright.
The room was spinning, and he was pretty sure he was about to throw up, but he forced himself to stay on his feet.
“I have to go. Lori messaged you. Tessa has been taken. She’s been kidnapped again, Dad. I have to help find her.”
Mitch’s face went pale. He set down the cup of ice and grabbed his phone from Ryan’s hand, quickly pulling up the message. Ryan watched his father’s expression shift from shock to anger to grim determination.
“Lori,” Mitch said into the phone as he dialed, his voice tight. Then he glared at Ryan. “Get back into bed, Ryan.”
The phone must have connected because Mitch was already talking. “Lori, what happened? When was she taken?”
Ryan could not hear Lori’s response, but he could see his father’s jaw tightening, could see the muscle jumping in his cheek. Whatever Lori was saying, it was bad.
“I’m on my way,” Mitch said. “Lock the doors. Don’t go anywhere. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”
He hung up and turned to Ryan, who was still standing and gripping the bed. His father’s expression brooked no argument. “You get back in bed. You’re sitting this one out.”
“No way,” Ryan said, reaching for the IV line in his arm. If he could just get this thing out, he could get dressed and get out of here. “Tessa needs help. I’m not going to just lie here and do nothing.”