Page 73 of The SEAL's Duchess
Sarah checked her watch and blew out a breath. “Okay. Shift time.” She pulled her gloves back on, each finger deliberate and slow. Hand on the door handle, she paused. “I’m saying this as your big sister, not as your sheriff. If you love her, Ryder, say it. Don’t let her get on that plane without knowing.”
“And if she still chooses England?”
“Then at least you tried. But if you keep your mouth shut?” She pinned him with her big sister stare. “You’ll whine about it for the next decade, and I’mnotlistening to that. So just tell her.”
She pushed at the door, letting in another rush of frigid air. “Oh, and little brother?”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t let your fear talk you out of something good again. You’ve done enough of that for one lifetime.”
He grabbed a Kleenex from the dash, balled it and tossed it at her. “Copy that.”
She smirked and hopped out, but before she could close the door, her radio crackled. Sarah paused, one boot still on the running board, and unhooked the radio. “Sheriff Meyer.”
Her posture straightened instantly — the teasing sister gone, the sheriff in her place.
“You’re certain? Deliberate cuts?” Her face went hard as she looked back at Ryder. “Don’t let anyone touch it. I’m on my way.”
She ended the call and stood there for a second, hand still on the door. When she looked back at him, her expression had changed—cop face stripped down to raw concern. She clipped the radio back onto her belt. “It’s Ivy’s rental. The wrecked one.”
Ryder’s pulse slammed high, instincts hitting before the fear had time to form words.
“What about it?”
Her hesitation was too long. A sharp pang sliced his gut.
“Brake lines were cut. Sabotage.”
30
Snow swirled around Ivy,every step crunching through a fresh layer that hadn’t been there last night.
Ryder was right.
Her coat was too thin for this weather—she’d packed for business meetings, not Alaska in winter. She wished she still had his jacket, the one he’d loaned her that first day when the cold had cut deep.
The memory of last night re-surfaced. His dirty blond hair, the gentleness with which he touched her, the vulnerability in his eyes. How he’d taken care of her in a way no one ever had and how he softened around his daughter and didn’t give a damn what anyone thought.
This man who saw her.
God help her, she was falling for him. Had already fallen, if she was being honest with herself.
But there was no time to think about Ryder right now, no time to figure out what any of it meant or how they’d bridge an ocean when she had to stop George from making the biggest mistake of his life.
She pulled out her phone and tried George’s number again. It rang four times before going to voicemail.
“George, it’s me. Call me back as soon as you get this. It’s urgent. About BlackRock.” She ended the call and kept walking, her boots leaving tracks in the virgin snow.
At the hotel, the woman behind the front desk looked up with a practiced smile. “Miss Lambourne. There’s a message for you.”
Ivy’s pulse jumped. “From my brother?”
“Yes, ma’am.” The woman handed over a folded piece of hotel stationery.
Ivy unfolded it, George’s familiar scrawl filling the page:
Ives,
