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Iron bands clamped his chest. He picked up the Superman doll. “Your boyfriend. What’s his name?”
“I’m sorry.”
Christ.He resisted the urge to shake the poor girl and clasped her cheek instead. “Angie, look at me. I know you’re in pain and confused, but I really need you to focus for me. The man who attacked you. What is his name?”
“Robert.” Angie licked her lips, her eyes fluttering closed again. “Jones.”
He didn’t know a Robert Jones, and it was likely a false name, but one of his SAS teammates had been Robert Linley.
There was a quick way to find out. He dialed Lachlan.
“We’re just leaving church.” Lachlan’s voice was hushed. “Can I call you back?”
“Do you still have the photograph of our troop’s first day in Afghanistan on your mobile?”
“Aye.” Lachlan’s tone sharpened. “What’s wrong?”
“Text it to me. I’ll explain in a minute.”
Ryder’s phone dinged a few seconds later. He pulled up the photo and held it close to Angie’s face. “Angie, open your eyes.”
Her lids lifted with effort.
“Is the man who attacked you in this picture?” His finger itched to point out Robert Linley, but she needed to pick him out on her own, so he was sure of who he was going after.
Linley.It didn’t seem possible from what he remembered of his teammate. But then again, after what they’d experienced with their treacherous translator during their last tour in Afghanistan, anything was possible.
Sirens wailed as the ambulance arrived. Heavy footsteps sounded in the living room.
“Ryder?” Caleb called out.
“Back here.”
Caleb and Danny appeared in the open doorway.
“Fuck,” Danny whispered.
Ryder stroked Angie’s cheek to bring her attention back to the photo. “Do you recognize anyone? I know you’re in pain. Please try. For Nathalie.”
Angie licked her lips and squinted at his phone. “You.”
Ryder tamped down his impatience. “Besides me.”
He tracked the movement of her eyes as she scanned the rows of men. Her right pupil was blown. She needed to get to the hospital.
Her gaze stilled. “There.” She lifted her hand, tapped her nail on the screen. “That’s him.”
Ryder craned his neck to see where her finger rested.
Not on the brown-haired Robert Linley. On a blond, second row, to the right.
Hadley.Bloody bastard.
Foster Hadley. The former Royal Marine turned SAS trooper. They’d never quite seen eye-to-eye, but they’d been teammates and had watched each other’s backs on missions. Hadley came from rough circumstances—Ryder remembered that much—and liked to mock Ryder’s aristocratic background. He, more than anyone, had delighted in referring to Ryder as Clark Kent, knowing Ryder hated the nickname.
“Are you sure?”
Angie gave a weak nod, her lids lowering. “Yeah.”