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“Dahlia?” I call out.

No answer.

My heart pounds. Why did I let her come in alone? What if she passed out? What if⁠—

“Dahlia?” I call out again. “It’s Ryker!” Tall trees surround me, and the foliage is so thick at my feet that I can see the path she walked by following the weeds that are partially broken.

Picking up the pace, I keep pushing through. And then—a branch swings at me from nowhere.

I barely catch it, and the bark bites into my hand.

Dahlia stumbles forward, eyes wide, tears streaming down her cheeks. “I’m so sorry, Ryker. I⁠—”

But my relief is so potent I pull her in and crush her against my chest.

She’s alive.

She’s here.

“Are you all right?” I demand as I release her.

She looks up at me. Blood has partially crusted to the side of her head, her lip is split, and the blood vessels in her right eye are broken. There will be plenty of new bruising to the right side of her face, and I can only hope there’s no internal bleeding.

But I won’t know until I get her to a hospital.

“Zane is coming to get us, but we need to keep moving, okay?”

She nods. “I’m so sorry, Ryker. This is all my fault. Your truck⁠—”

“None of this is your fault,” I tell her as I cup the side of her face. “Look at me, Dahlia. None of this is your fault,” I repeat. “This is on the men back there and whoever hired them.”

“What happened to them?” she asks.

I stare back at her. I’m a man trained in violence. But that doesn’t make it any easier. “They aren’t a problem anymore,” I tell her.

Those gorgeous mossy green eyes widen, but she nods.

“Let’s get moving. It’s going to be dark in a couple of hours, and I’d like to not be out here when it is.”

We reach the edge of the tree line right as the sun begins to dip. With my weapon at the ready, I step in front of Dahlia and peer just outside. About a quarter mile up the road sits Zane’s truck.

Seeing it, and the two familiar men standing just outside, brings me a wave of relief. She’s safe. I gesture for her to follow me out of the trees, then start walking. As we approach, Zane and Mav both turn toward me, their expressions serious. It’s not until I get a bit closer that I notice three men lying unconscious in a ditch.

“Friends of yours?” I ask Mav as I lower my weapon.

“Seems they were going to try to surprise you,” he replies. “We interrupted their party.”

“I appreciate it.”

The bartender offers me a single nod.

“You okay?” Zane asks, his gaze clearly sizing up my injuries.

“We’re good.”

“We sent word to Leopold. It’s not his jurisdiction, but he made a call to that detective you had Sawyer run. Alec Ford. Based on the pictures sent our way, it’s a miracle you both walked away.”

“Amen to that,” I reply. “You get anything off of these guys?”