Richard stepped closer.
But the ties gave way.
Come on, you bastard. One step closer.
She didn’t know what she would do, only that she had to do something.
Footsteps echoed outside. Faint. Fast.
Richard didn’t notice.
He crouched in front of her. His eyes were cold and dead. Like Atlanta all over again, only worse. “You’re not walking out of this. Sign the papers while you still have fingers.”
Her fingers slipped the last of the knot loose.
She spat in his face.
Richard reeled back. He raised a hand to strike her.
And outside someone shouted, “Breach!”
Finnand the guys had just finished casing one building when the sound of a gunshot ripped through the air.
They froze for a second, then sprinted toward the source, two buildings down.
“Breach!” Chase shouted.
They hit the door hard.
Richard scrambled to his feet, a gun in his hand.
“Put it down, Cummings,” Finn barked. “Or you’ll have so many holes in your body someone will mistake you for a damn colander.”
Richard blinked, startled. His gaze flicked to the team moving behind Finn. He slowly dropped the gun and raised his hands.
“I surrender.”
Finn didn’t hesitate. He crossed the room in seconds and dropped to his knees beside Lainey. She was half out of the chair, rope still tangled around one wrist, her skin raw and bleeding.
God. Her face. One eye swollen. A bruise on her cheek.
“You’re safe,” he said softly. “I’ve got you.”
Lainey looked up at him, eyes full of pain and relief, and then she collapsed into his arms.
He caught her, held her tight to his chest, and rose to his feet. He didn’t look back at Richard. Didn’t have to. The sharpooftold him everything. His team had it covered.
Police sirens wailed in the distance. Chase had given Liam a heads-up before they left. The sheriff’s office could take care of the bastard.
Finn promised his son that he’d bring his mother back.
And Finn Ryder always kept his promises.
CHAPTER 49
The small conferenceroom at the Haywood Lake Country Club smelled like polished wood and old money, with the lingering odor of cigar smoke drifting in from the open window.
Councilman Daniel Cho sat at the head of the mahogany table, pushing down the panic clawing its way up his throat and wishing he was anywhere but here. Months ago, this club represented everything he aspired to: membership in the exclusive club, money to throw around on overpriced scotch and Cuban cigars (he knew a guy), and a beautiful woman on his arm who turned heads.
