Her pulse thudded once, hard, in answer.
She pushed to her feet, shoulders back, meeting Sinclair’s gaze without flinching. “Send the data. Until then, there’s no deal.”
George groaned, running a hand through his hair. “Ivy—please. You can’t just walk away from this. Not when it’s right in front of us.”
But she was already moving toward the door. Her damp sleeve clung to her wrist as she smoothed it down, forcing her hand to look steady when her pulse was anything but.
“Goodnight. George. Matthew.”
The storm clawed at the glass behind her. Whatever BlackRock was hiding, it was already breaking loose.
Sinclair might fool George.
He might fooleveryone else.
But he wouldn’t fool her.
12
Ryder stared at his phone,thumb hovering over the call button.
George Lambourne’s number glowed on the screen—a number he’d sweet-talked out of Walt Patterson with some story about Coast Guard safety briefings. The lie sat heavy in his chest, but what choice did he have? He couldn’t exactly admit he was tracking down Ivy because she’d gotten under his skin.
His grip slipped on the case.Christ. As a SEAL, he’d made life-or-death calls to command while pinned down by sniper fire, and those had felt easier than this. Calling Ivy’s brother had his pulse hammering like he was sixteen again, working up the nerve to call Susie Kelly’s dad to ask permission to take her to homecoming. Except this was worse. This wasn’t a hardware-store manager with a shotgun by the door. This was the freaking Duke of Lambourne.
What am I doing?
But Ivy’s face last night—the way disappointment flickered before she masked it—played on repeat. She’d been so careful, so understanding about his job, as if she was used to people leaving. He couldn’t leave it there.
Ryder hit call before he could chicken out.
“George Lambourne speaking.”
The accent hit him immediately, like a damn BBC narrator. Ryder cleared his throat. “Uh, sir, this is Ryder Meyer. From the Coast Guard. We met the other day when I accompanied you and your sister, Lady Ivy, out to the Deepwater Vega.”
A pause. “Ah yes. The man with the jacket.”
Ryder blinked. “Sorry?”
“My sister made quite a point of returning your jacket in person yesterday morning,” George's tone was polite but laced with amusement. “I assumed the garment must have been very special.”
The tops of Ryder’s ears burned. “Uh—just standard issue, sir. Nothing special.”
“If you say so.” Another pause, long enough to make Ryder wonder if he was about to get knighted or shot. “How can I help you, Mr. Meyer?”
Ryder forced himself on. “I wanted to follow up on some of the safety protocols we discussed for the oil platform. I thought it might be helpful to consult with your sister. Ivy seemed quite knowledgeable.”
“Indeed. Ivy has expertise in those matters.” George let the words hang, then added, “And you wish to consult her again?”
“Yes. About the protocols.” Ryder dragged a hand down his thigh. “Do you know where she is this morning?”
Jesus, he was rambling now, but there was no turning back.
“She mentioned the library on Third Street. Researching documents.” A pause. “Though if you require your jacket back, Mr. Meyer, I believe she’s already returned it.”
Ryder closed his eyes.He’s enjoying this. Her brother is actually enjoying this.“No, sir. Just the protocols.”
“Of course.” George’s voice warmed with open amusement. “I’m sure Ivy will appreciate your thoroughness.”
