Page 9 of Wicked Obsession

“What time’s the wedding?” Stony asked.

“I don’t know.”

“Langley didn’t tell you?”

“No, and the ambassador didn’t know when or where it was taking place.” Which was damn inconvenient. Ryder knocked again, louder this time. He hoped the women were ignoring him.

Their intelligence sergeant, Ford Pruitt, had researched for them while they’d been outfitting themselves. He’d discovered pictures of Sarah Gillespie and Mitch Armstrong, although the picture of Armstrong had been at a distance, and he’d verified Sarah’s address. But Pruitt had been unable to come up with the wedding location or time, which meant that intel was unfindable.No one was better at scooping up data than that guy.

Stony became more alert, but he didn’t say anything, so Ryder didn’t worry about it. He rang the bell again and followed it up with a knock. He didn’t want to admit the house was empty, but while Langley might not want to talk to him, her friend, Sarah, would have answered the door to tell him to go to hell, if nothing else.

Now what? Camp out here till Langley returned? Even if his instincts were misfiring and she was fine, he didn’t want to sit around doing nothing. The problem was that there had to be at least a thousand places to get married in San Diego alone.

“We have company,” Rowland reported quietly. A pause, then, “Two men, one armed.”

Ryder turned immediately.

“Can I help you gentlemen?” the man on the passenger side of the Jeep Renegade called out as he closed the door and stepped onto the curb. The driver joined him.

Ryder moved to the rail, assessing the situation in a glance. The passenger wore running clothes and was drenched in sweat, but the other was dressed up—black slacks that looked freshly pressed, dress shoes, and a crisp white shirt underneath a conservative blazer. It didn’t take skill to know who was carrying.

Both men were tall, over six feet, muscular, with brown hair and a vibe that suggested Special Forces. Or ex-Special Forces. The FBI didn’t know where the threat had come from, and if a foreign government was behind it, high-end contractors were a possibility. Of course, the groom was a Navy SEAL, and the most likely scenario was that these guys were his friends.

Despite the suit being the one with the weapon, it was the runner who seemed the most dangerous at the moment, and Ryder focused his attention on him. “Who are you?”

“I’m the guy who belongs here. You aren’t.”

There was only one person Ryder thought might make that claim. “You’re Sarah’s fiancé?” he asked, voice flat.

“What do you want?” the runner asked.

His eyes narrowed. He didn’t like the fact that the dude hadn’t answered him.

“Ski,” Rowland said softly, “the odds are they know when and where the wedding is, information we don’t have. It won’t hurt to give some info.”

Yeah, his buddy was right. “We’re looking for Langley Canfield. Her father sent us.” He paused briefly, then asked, “You with HQ1?”

“ST7,” the runner offered slowly, but in the next instant, he was moving urgently toward thedoor. “Fill me in,” he ordered as soon as he reached the porch.

Fuck that.“Where’s Langley?”

“She’s missing. So is Sarah. Now tell me what the fuck’s going on.”

Ryder felt panic shoot through him. The FBI had been wrong, the threat was legit, and while they’d been wasting time trying to get out of Tampa, the author of the letter had grabbed her. His gut had been on the money—Langley was in trouble. In the next instant, he thrust down his emotions and battle calm descended. He wouldn’t be able to help her if gave in to his fears. “You’re the fiancé?” he asked again, determined to get an answer this time.

“That’s right.”

Something felt off. “Name?” He took a closer look at the runner, compared him to the inadequate image Pruitt had found. It could be the same man.

“Mitch Armstrong,” he said immediately.

“Aren’t your clothes a little casual for a wedding, even by California standards?” Ryder asked, tone carefully bland to hide his suspicions.

“He was working off pre-wedding jitters,” the suit said.

Plausible, but Ryder couldn’t trust the guy. Langley read people with uncanny accuracy and she hadn’t liked Armstrong. He’d go with herinstincts until proven different. “What do you mean she’s missing?”

“They were at the wedding center, checking out the bridal suite. Nobody’s seen them since.”

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