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Ryder came out from behind the bush and took slow, deliberate steps to the house. He mounted the three steps to the white front door.
To his left, inside blinds lifted an inch, then dropped back into place.
“Take off the jacket, nice and slow. Then remove the weapon I know you’ve got and place them both next to the door.”
Ryder shrugged off his blazer, folding it neatly. He set it on the front stoop. Next went his shoulder holster containing his Glock and an extra magazine.
“Raise your trouser legs, mate.”
A grimace twisted Ryder’s lips. He leaned down and unfastened the ankle holster with his Walther PPS subcompact and added it to the pile.
“Power down the mobile and leave it outside as well.”
Lachlan, Nathan, and the rest would show up soon. But now, Ryder would have no way to communicate with them.
He’d need to neutralize Hadley on his own.
He turned off his phone. Set it down.
The door swung open.
Nathalie sat in the middle of the room, directly in the line of sight of the door, bound and gagged. Her golden-brown eyes were wide and frightened as she stared back at him.
But she was alive.
His knees threatened to buckle from relief.
“Don’t take all day.” Hadley stood concealed behind the door.
Ryder stepped over the threshold. He needed to touch Nathalie, make sure she was unhurt, and get that fucking rag out of her mouth.
“Not so fast.” Hadley kicked the door shut with his boot, the barrel of his weapon turning toward Nathalie. “She’s fine where she is.” He gestured to the couch, staying far enough away that Ryder couldn’t strike out with his hands or feet without taking a step to bridge the distance. “Have a seat over there.”
“At least let me remove the gag.” Ryder tried to keep his voice level, but there was no mistaking the violence simmering beneath his words. If his former SAS teammate didn’t move that pistol barrel away from Nathalie’s head, he’d kill the bastard.
“We don’t need her whinging. Sit.” Hadley was on edge, his eyes feverish. A thin line of perspiration dampened his hairline.
Ryder needed to tread carefully.
He sent Nathalie an apologetic glance and side-stepped cautiously toward the couch, his focus on Hadley and the gun in his hand. Lowering himself to the edge of the cushion, he kept his weight forward on the balls of his feet. “I’m listening.”
The past few years hadn’t been kind to Hadley. His face was puffy, red. Broken capillaries scattered across his face and nose. How often had the man sunk into a bottle to keep away the demons that followed him?
How many times had Ryder woken with a shout, covered in sweat, his brain revisiting Thom Barnwell’s lifeless blue eyes? His mate Fitzy slumped on the ground, unresponsive? Or the AK-47 Nadia Haider had pointed at his chest, her finger on the trigger?
They all had their demons.
Hadley had let his consume him.
“You want her,”—Hadley gestured toward Nathalie—“alive and unharmed. I want a way out.”
“You would have gotten out if you hadn’t taken Nathalie. And beaten that poor girl,” Ryder growled, fury overcoming his attempt to stay calm.
Nathalie made a sound in her throat, stifled by the gag.
Her distress stabbed Ryder in the gut. “She’ll be okay, darling.”
He hoped.Angie had taken a hard blow to the head.