It’s tempting to refuse. Ryder is a predictable sort of ruthless and he will lash out if cornered.
“Fine,” I concede. “But you follow my lead.”
Noah starts to protest, but Holly silences him with a look. “When do we go?”
“Now.”
The drive to Fairbanks is quiet. Holly sits beside me in the truck, obviously stewing in her entirely justified combination of anger and determination, while I keep to my typical silence.
“Tell me about Ryder,” she says after we’ve been driving for twenty minutes in silence.
I keep my eyes on the road. “What do you want to know?”
“Anything that might help me understand. I thought he used to be your friend.”
Ryder is definitely not a friend, but somehow more than that and less. Defining our relationship might be the most difficult thing anyone has ever asked of me.
I consider how much to share. My time overseas with Ryder isn’t something I discuss—not with anyone. But Holly isn’t just anyone anymore.
“We served together,” I begin, the words feeling strange in my mouth after years of silence. “Not just in the same unit. We were on a specialized team. Extraction, primarily.”
“Extraction?”
“Getting people out of dangerous situations. Sometimes Americans. Sometimes assets.” I pause, choosing my next words carefully. “Sometimes targets.”
Holly processes this. “You were special forces.”
What we did doesn’t have a name I’m allowed to tell her, but close enough. “Something like that.”
“And Ryder?”
“Was good at his job. He’s the reason I made it back home, dragged me a few miles through the dirt after an IED blew off half my face.”
Holly waits for me to continue, not pushing. I appreciate her patience.
I take a deep breath, trying to find the right words. There are too many details I can’t give her, and even more I don’t know myself. “But when I finally saw him again, something had changed him out there. He came back…ruthless. Fixated. Someone I didn’t recognize.”
“And now he’s poisoning a town for profit,” Holly says, anger threading through her voice.
“Looks that way.”
Greythorn Industries is located in a small and unassuming office building in the center of downtown. Something tells me that the modest location is only temporary as Ryder works toward whatever diabolical goal will take him on to bigger and better things.
We breeze past the unmanned reception desk and take a creaking elevator up to the fourth, and top-most floor. A bare lightbulb flickers before the doors open and I briefly wonder if we’re about to to be stuck inside.
A plastic placard with Ryder’s name is pasted next to a set of double doors. Just before I push them open, I turn to Holly with a warning look. “Let me do the talking.”
She gestures for me to go ahead, mouth in a thin line.
No promises. Got it.
Ryder sits behind a massive and shiny desk that looks brand new. His back is to a wide glass window featuring distant snow-capped mountains. The inside of the office is tastefullydecorated in shades of black and dark wood. It has obviously been recently renovated, at odds with the shabbiness of the rest of the building.
I feel like I’ve just entered the lair of the most low-rent Bond villain ever.
“Ghost,” he says, rising from his chair. “What a surprise. And you brought the lovely Holly. To what do I owe this pleasure?”
I meet his gaze steadily. “We need to talk about the springs, Ryder.”
