Page 4 of Wicked Obsession

Stony crossed the room and read the message upside down. “You know there aren’t. I wonder what you did to get called to the SOCOM commander’s office.”

Special Operations Command, and the general in charge of Special Forces foreverybranch of the military. Great.

“At least it doesn’t say ASAP,” Rowland said, as if that were a consolation. “Take a shower and get dressed. I’ll grab a vehicle and drive you over.”

Although he walked as silentlyas he could, his footsteps sounded loud on the gray tile of SOCOM headquarters. The portraits along Commander’s Corridor seemed to be condemning him for the noise—Special Forces should have a soft step. Ryder was dragging his feet, though, in no hurry to reach General Wolfe’s office. Getting called in couldn’t be good.

Stony had been no help on the drive over.When Ryder had asked him if he thought Ambassador Canfield had enough juice to get him drummed out of Special Forces, Rowland had said the man had the kick to get Ryder imprisoned in Leavenworth. With friends like that… But Stony was sitting out front, waiting for him, instead of eating ribs at Big Joe’s, so there was that.

Special Operations Command was quieter than he expected—even at 1730 on a Friday evening—but he didn’t blame anyone for wanting to get their weekend started if they could. Hell, if Langley hadn’t dumped him, he’d be eager to get the fuck out of Dodge, too.

Before he was ready, Ryder found himself standing in front of General Wolfe’s office. Taking a deep breath, he squared his shoulders and entered the antechamber. He scanned automatically before closing it behind him, but he couldn’t conceal his surprise. It was empty, the general’s aide nowhere to be seen. That was wrong, and he didn’t care if it was Friday. He hesitated, torn between waiting to see if the aide showed up and knocking.

Do you really want to keep a general waiting? Especially one who’s that high up your chain of command?He didn’t have to think about that hard.

He lightly tapped on the General Wolfe’s door, and when he received permission to enter, steppedinside. Ryder was coming to attention before he saw who sat behind the desk. This was worse than he’d expected. Langley’s father. Fucking hell. “Ambassador Canfield. Sir.”

“At ease, Ryder. I’m not in the military.”

No, but he might as well be. The ambassador looked as intimidating as any four-star general, and the mahogany desk with the flags behind it—the United States flag as well as flags from each branch of the military—simply enhanced the power he exuded. “Yes, ambassador. Sorry, sir.”

“Call me James,” he said. “I’m no longer an ambassador.”

Call him James?

Hadn’t Langley told him she’d ended things?

Maybe he was friendly now because Langley could finally find someone worthy of her, and the ambassador didn’t have to worry about Ryder being in the way anymore. But if he wasn’t pissed off about the break up, why had the man traveled to Tampa? It was a three-and-a-half-hour drive from his home in Palm Beach and even flying would be inconvenient. Her father had to know Langley was attending her friend’s wedding in San Diego, so that meant he’d come here to see Ryder.

Ryder studied the older man, trying to read Ambassador Canfield’s mind, but his expression remained congenial and gave nothing away.

The ambassador hadn’t changed since Ryder had first met him in Puerto Jardin. James Canfield was tall and trim and wore a dark, tailored suit that probably cost more than Ryder had spent on his car. His hair was nearly black, much darker than Langley’s, and liberally laced with gray. There were wrinkles at the corners of his eyes and lips—Ryder’s mom had always called those laugh lines—and he had more wrinkles across his forehead. Ryder called those what-the-fuck lines, but he was pretty sure the man wouldn’t find that funny.

The ambassador’s eyes were the same chocolate brown as Langley’s, and the stab of pain was sharp and unexpected. In the next instant, the ache disappeared, replaced by unease. Something in Canfield’s gaze made his pulse speed up.

Before Ryder could ask what was going on, the ambassador stood, fastened a button at the waist of his suit coat, and moved to the front of the desk. “I’m sorry to have you summoned without explanation, but Richie was kind enough to loan me his office and the fewer people who know I’m here, the better.”

“Richie?”

“Sorry. General Wolfe.”

Ryder stiffened. His girlfriend’s—ex-girlfriend’s—father called the commander of theentire US Special Forces ‘Richie’. Oh, yeah, Ryder’d be filling sandbags as a private in some long-forgotten military outpost from now until retirement. “Why don’t you want anyone to know you’re here, sir?”

The ambassador leaned a hip against the edge of the desk and looked down for a moment. When he raised his gaze again, Ryder’s unease morphed into fear. Something was seriously wrong.

“I need your help. This morning I received a letter with a death threat directed at Langley.”

The words hit Ryder like a physical blow.

“I contacted the FBI immediately, and they’re confident it isn’t credible. They’re investigating and will track down the author, of course, but they’re not sending anyone to watch over her.” The ambassador frowned. “I’m certain they’re right, and she’s not in any danger, however, if they’re wrong—”

“If they’re wrong,” Ryder interrupted, unable to keep the savageness from his voice, “Langley is unprotected and vulnerable.”

“Yes.” Canfield nodded, concern visibly etched on his face now. “If I doubted the bureau’s judgment, I’d have hired a team of bodyguards based in California and had them in place by now. My wife wants me to hire them regardless.” He looked squarely at Ryder. “Langley hates bodyguards.”

Fuck that.Ryder managed not to say it out loud. “Send them anyway.”

The ambassador glanced down at his manicured fingernails and back up again. “Langley,” he said slowly, as if measuring every word, “has had bodyguards most of her life. When she was thirteen, one attempted to molest her.”

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