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He was too big. Too strong.
Need air.Spots winked in her vision.
She tried to scream.
Then, nothing.
What the bloody hell was taking so long?
Ryder prowled the corridor outside Angie’s apartment, his fingers clenching and unclenching in a restless rhythm. Nathalie had been calm when she opened the door to ask him to give her more time, but the way she’d told him she loved him?
It was almost as if she was saying goodbye.
He couldn’t shake the feeling deep in his gut something was off.
His phone rang with a call from Danny. “Hey, man. Caleb and I were at the range. We’ll head your way.”
“Good. Text me when you get here. Nathalie’s trying to get her receptionist to file a police report against her boyfriend. The bastard smacked her around.”
“The British guy?” Danny asked. “What a piece of shit. She talked my ear off about him the other day when I covered for you at Williams.”
British.
Ryder’s world tilted on its axis.
He whipped around, stared at Angie’s door. “Get here as fast as you can. Come armed.”
Racing back to the door, he pounded on the metal. “Nathalie! Open up.”
He turned the knob. She’d left it unlocked, but the security chain was still latched. Ryder pulled his Glock from beneath his coat and lifted his leg, executing a front kick that ripped apart the flimsy chain.
Weapon raised in a firing position, he swept the tiny living room.
Nathalie’s yellow handbag was on the end table next to the couch.
The sliding glass door was open.
A faint moan drew him to the compact dining room. Angie lay in a crumpled heap next to the table.
A cold, insidious knot formed in his stomach. “Nathalie?”
He stepped onto the balcony. A ladder leaned against the outside railing.
No. Christ, no.
“Nathalie!” He shouted her name, knowing it was too late.
No movement. No people or vehicles.
“Fucking hell!” Ryder slapped the concrete wall. Fear froze his lungs and threatened to cloud his thinking. He beat it back. Panicking wouldn’t help find Nathalie.
He leaped back into the apartment and dropped to his knees next to Angie, dialing 911 on his mobile. “I need an ambulance.” He gave the operator the address and hung up when she tried to keep him on the line.
Crimson streaked Angie’s temple where the blow to her head lacerated skin. Her lids fluttered, then opened to slits as if the light in the room was too much for her to bear.
Ryder crouched further. “Angie, where’s Nathalie?”
“My head hurts,” Angie groaned. She shifted to her back, drawing Ryder’s gaze to the blue and red plastic toy at her hip.