Chapter 41
Forty-One
The quiet hit Sarah harder than the chaos of mere moments ago when commands had been barked over radios between the federal team members as they rushed in to take control of the situation. Federal agents and Forest Service LEOs had swept the woods around them.
And now . . . the calm felt eerie.
Fifteen yards away, Ryder stood next to a man who squeezed his shoulder.
Holt, his federal agent brother? Sarah wanted to go to Ryder, but then again, she’d give him a moment with his brother.
Beyond the siblings, agents ushered a handcuffed Malcolm away, along with Tessa, her hands cuffed behind her back as well.
Ryder had shown himself the hero once again when he’d taken out that shooter—the man was going to kill her. At least, she believed he would, and in that way, Ryder now had blood on his hands, but her life had been spared thanks to his actions.
She replayed it in her mind—the moment that had changed everything.
Ryder Goodwin didn’t need Navy SEAL training to save the day.
No. He was a brave man, plain and simple, and had stood between her and the man who’d taken her brother and would take everything from her, including her life.
They’d been outgunned, outmuscled, and had no backup.
No plan except Ryder’s, and she now saw it so clearly.
His plan had been to simply—
Hold the line.
And what happened next had been raw. Real. And terrifying. He hadn’t charged recklessly. No, he’d bided his time. Waited. Read the room. And Ryder had measured odds that she couldn’t begin to process through the chaos in her head.
Tears surged at the corners of her eyes. When the second came—her life was on the line, and she knew all the way to her bones that no one was coming to save them, no rescue was coming from the sheriff’s department or his brother—it was just her and Ryder against the world.
And in that last moment—he had moved.
He’d taken the shot. Because who else was going to stand up for Sarah?
Apparently not even her. And as she watched him now, her throat tightened.
Ryder hadn’t fired the kill shot to prove anything.
He wasn’t playing the hero. He’d done it for the sole purpose of standing between Sarah and death.
And she knew in her soul that he would also stand in the way of harm that might come to Jeremy.
She recognized that now in every move of his shoulders.
Every rugged and raw edge of him. He’d carried them both through this nightmare.
Yes, Holt had finally arrived in a storm of men conducting a tactical sweep—but Ryder had already stood in the path of a bullet and taken the shot and tipped the scales in their favor.
Holt walked away and Ryder turned then, his gaze finding her and holding hers from across the short distance.
He moved toward her and was staring down at her before she could catch her breath.
There was so much she wanted—needed—to say to this man.
Everything had happened so fast. The last few moments had brought so much revelation, and she was struggling to catch up with it.
But first . . .
“I need to talk to him, Ryder. I need to talk to Malcolm. Please, ask your brother to give me that.”
Ryder nodded and led her to the ranger station—a short hike away—where multiple vehicles were parked. Holt stood next to one, giving instructions to a team member, and Ryder ushered Sarah over to Holt, then introduced her.
“I need to talk to him.” Sarah had no experience with Holt but hoped he had the same caliber of character as his brother.
“We’ve taken him into custody,” Holt said, unmoved by her request.
“I’ve been through so much and you have no idea. Please just give me two minutes. I need to—”
“Bro—give her this. It’s a simple request.” This from Ryder.
Holt opened the vehicle door and nodded. “Two minutes.”
Sarah peeked into the back seat. Malcolm sat behind the driver’s side, looking uncomfortable, his hands still cuffed behind him.
She climbed in to sit. Holt didn’t close the door but left it open while he spoke with Ryder a few feet away.
The air inside was thick with sweat, exhaustion, and maybe even defeat.
She looked at Malcolm. She had one burning question. “Why?”
He released a tired laugh. Sharp with failure. Resentment.
“You mentored me,” Sarah said. “You meant something to me. I trusted you.”
“You’re not the only one with a ghost up on that mountain.” He spat out the words.
“What do you mean? Help me to understand.” She tried to speak in a soft, unantagonizing tone, though every cell in her body wanted to rail at him.
“My entire life has been about this moment. This . . . this operation was the entire reason I went into the CIA.” He coughed. “My mother was a little girl when her father left and never came home.”
And now she started to see a pattern, a terrible truth unfolding. “Your grandfather was on that plane?”
“He was an OSS handler.”
“Just so we’re clear, you mean the OSS, as in the precursor to the CIA?”
“With a German scientist in tow. A special cargo nobody wanted to admit existed. My grandmother knew because my grandfather told her the secrets. But you don’t talk about those things. You lock them away. She raised her daughter under the weight of silence.”
“Are you talking about Operation Paperclip, a project to recruit German scientists to work in the US?”
“This was the predecessor to that project.”
“And this is why you joined the CIA?”
“My family carried the burden of it, and early on I made the decision to work for the intelligence sector. I thought . . . that if I got close enough, dug deep enough, I’d understand what happened and bring closure to the family. I wanted . . . I needed him to be a hero.” He hung his head.
For a second—a half a breath—she didn’t see the man who had betrayed and manipulated her, endangered her son, killed her brother, but instead she saw a young boy sitting on the floor and wondering why his grandfather never made it home.
Why his mother was sad, and his father .
. . he hadn’t mentioned him. Sarah wouldn’t bring him up.
Realization hit her. She couldn’t breathe.
“I . . . I was part of your plan. I was . . . you used me like I was your asset to gather intelligence from me. You knew . . . you knew who my grandfather was the entire time. Because you didn’t know where the plane had crashed.
You must even have a manifest and know his real name.
Why keep this from me? You could have told me. This could have ended so differently.”
“I didn’t know, Sarah. Your brother popped up on our radar a long time ago.
He might have been searching longer than you knew, triggering those who wanted the secret buried to keep a watchful eye on him.
Then you ended up CIA, so I pulled you into my department early on .
. . just in case. But it doesn’t matter now.
Neither of us could have changed a thing.
We were both drowning in it, Sarah. You just managed to swim for shore.
Oh . . .” He winced, the raw edge of regret flashing in his tone.
“I didn’t mean that in reference to your brother. ”
“Sure you didn’t.”
“You did the right thing, getting out for your son. But when you got out, then Tessa was in—I needed someone close to one of you, and she was already working with your brother.”
Sarah wasn’t sure she could stomach more of this. “Why then, in the outfitter’s shop, did you warn me if you sought the location all along?”
Eyes closed, he shook his head. “Maybe I had a change of heart and wanted to give you the chance, but deep inside, I knew you wouldn’t take it. I knew that me prodding you, warning you, would only make you more determined.” His eyes flashed open and stared at her.
Nausea erupted, and she wanted to look away, but she held her ground.
“When he’s old enough, tell your son to walk away. Don’t carry this forward.”
You sick man. “Why would anyone carry this mess you’ve made forward?”
“It’s never just one mission, Sarah. Never just one mistake.” Malcolm glanced out the door beyond her and gestured like he was done with the conversation.
Not so fast. Sarah was done with him. “Goodbye, Malcolm.” And she got out before anyone approached, then stood next to the vehicle, the weight of old grief, old wars, pressing down on her.
She almost regretted the conversation with Malcolm, but now she understood far more than she could have guessed or learned on her own.
Holt pursed his lips and offered a sympathetic look as he shut the vehicle door. “I’ve arranged a ride for you and Ryder.”
“Thank you. And thanks for letting me have two minutes with him.”
“It was three, and you’re welcome.” Holt walked around to the driver’s side.
She slowly approached Ryder, who waited a few paces away by another SUV, watching her. His sturdy form reassured her that she was alive and would survive long enough to hold her son again.