Page 87 of The SEAL's Duchess
Ryder wanted to believe that. Needed to. But the knot in his gut wouldn’t ease.
He’d promised himself he wouldn’t let anyone close again.
Too late for that now.
Ryder haddrunk six cups of terrible coffee by the time the Sikorskys touched down and disgorged their crew, looking dazed and a little blurry from the rapid evacuation.
Ivy wasn’t among them.
The Jayhawk touched down ten minutes later.
This one.She had to be withhiscrew.
The rotor wash kicked up snow and debris, the downwash powerful enough to make him lean into it as he ran toward the landing pad.
Caleb jumped out first, helping the remainder of the Vega crew out one by one, their faces shocked and pale. As the motor wound down, Jake Henley joined him.
Ben Bishop, their pilot, was last out, but the first to see Ryder. “Come to see the fun?”
Ryder scanned the workers milling around the craft. No Ivy. Or Jack. Something wasn’t adding up. “Is this everyone? Ivy was on the Vega.”
Caleb glanced over. “What?”
“She took the supply boat out at two this afternoon. Went to talk to Jack Barnes about a geological survey. She didn’t make the return trip.”
Caleb paled. “She on the S-92s?”
“No.” Ryder shook his head.
Lambourne caught up, breathing hard. “Is she—did you see her? My sister, Ivy Lambourne, blonde hair, about this tall?—”
“We got everyone on the evacuation list. All accounted for.” Caleb shook his head. He pulled a folded paper from his flight pocket, scanned it, then held it out to Ryder. “Here. Evacuation roster. Every name we pulled off, including the S-92s. Barnes and Lambourne aren’t on it. If they’re not on the flight manifest—hang on.” He turned and shouted after a departing back. “Winston?”
A grizzled man turned, shifting his kitbag on his shoulder. “Yeah.”
“The rig was evacuated properly? Everyone accounted for? Including the English woman?”
Winston narrowed his eyes. “Trying to tell me how to do my job, flyboy? Yeah, the rig is clear. No man left on board, including the woman asking about Barnes.”
“So where is she?” Ryder demanded.
“Gone.” Winston gave Ryder a slow blink. “Took the supply boat back with the rest of the day shift.”
Like hell.“You saw her get on the boat?”
“No. But she was on the manifest. Now if you’ll excuse me—” He stomped off.
“Pleasant,” Caleb muttered.
A chill skated across Ryder’s skin. “No one was looking for them. Everyone thought they’d already left.”
Lambourne made a sound—half-laugh, half-sob—and pressed his hand over his mouth. “She’s not—” His voice splintered, and he staggered back a pace. “She’s still out there. My sister is still out there, and I sent her. I told her to handle it herself because I couldn’t be bothered to listen to her.”
Bishop materialized at Lambourne’s elbow, a hand on his shoulder. “Come on, mate. Let’s get you a hot drink.” He madeeyes at Ryder. “English right? We might have some tea, yeah? Sort your head out.”
Lambourne let himself be led away, still mumbling. “I should have listened. I should have?—”
Ryder turned his attention back to the list, the names blurring together. His chest was in irons, his lungs not pulling in enough air. His hands were shaking. Somewhere in his head, he understood this was panic, that he needed to control it, but for the first time since Miranda left, he couldn’t.
