Page 80 of The SEAL's Duchess
Empty.
He still searched—bathroom, closet, even under the bed—he couldn’t stop himself. Because sometimes people hid in stupid places, and sometimes they didn’t come out at all.
She’s not here.
Her suitcase sat open on the luggage rack, clothes neatly folded, a scarf draped over the edge. Laptop asleep on the desk, the charger light blinking soft amber. A book lay face down on the nightstand.
The room smelled of Ivy. Expensive shampoo—citrusy and clean. The scent hit him square in the chest—so sharp it hurt. For a second, he just stood there, letting it hollow him out. Proof she’d been here, breathing this air, alive and warm and real.
Why did I just let her walk?
His phone buzzed. Sarah. “Anything?”
“She’s not at her hotel. Room’s empty.” His voice came out too calm. “I’m heading to find George.”
“Ryder, I need you to stay?—”
“No.” He worked his jaw in a tight circle. “Someone tried to kill her, Sarah. I’m not sitting around waiting for them to finish the job.”
He hung up before she could argue. She’d be pissed. He didn’t care.
The clerk hovered in the doorway, pale and wide-eyed. “Is…is she in trouble?”
He looked at her, then past her, at the hallway stretching away like a tunnel. “George Lambourne?”
The clerk looked like she wanted to melt into the carpet. “He’s in a meeting—corporate suite, fourth floor. Mr. Sinclair reserved it privately.”
Ryder thanked her with a clipped nod and headed back to the stairwell.
The hush of the fourth floor didn’t belong in a small-town hotel—thick carpet, expensive art, the muted murmur of men who thought money made them bulletproof.
The conference room was at the far end, with double glass doors opening out into the corridor.
Ryder shoved through them without knocking.
Six heads turned. Suits. Fancy power ties. George Lambourne at the far end, mid-sentence, smile fading. “Ryder?—”
Ryder reached the table and pressed his fingertips on the smooth surface, needing to do somethingwith his hands. “We need to talk.Now.”
Matthew Sinclair tugged at his suit jacket and leaned forward. “I’m sorry, we’re in the middle of?—”
“I don’t give a damn what you’re in the middle of.” Ryder’s eyes never left Ivy’s brother. “Lambourne. Your sister’s in danger.Get up.”
The screech of Lambourne’s chair broke the silence of the room as he pushed to his feet, face pale. “Gentlemen.” He grimaced, hand pressed to his silk tie. “Excuse me for a moment.”
Lambourne followed him into the hallway, the door clicking shut behind them. “Will you expl?—”
“Someone cut the brake lines on Ivy’s rental. Sheriff confirmed it. She could’ve died.”
Lambourne stared at him, skin graying. “That—no, there must be?—”
“There’s no mistake.” Ryder stepped close, lowering his voice. “And if it wasn’t her they were after, it wasyou. It was your car she borrowed.”
Lambourne’s mouth opened, shut again. “She called earlier. Wanted to talk about some geological findings.” His voice shook. “I told her we’d go over it at dinner. Sinclair already showed methe geological data. It’s all fine. She sounded frantic, and it all seemed unnecessary.”
“You dismissed her?”
“No. I don’t know. Maybe?” Lambourne raked a trembling hand through his hair. “This was supposed to fix everything. The estate, the bleeding accounts, the banks circling like sharks—I thought this deal was the answer. That Ivy was just being Ivy. Overcautious. Seeing ghosts in the data.” His breath shook and fell to a whisper. “Even though she’s always the one to see the cracks before anyone else.”
