Page 49 of Call Sign: King
Thankfully, the head of hotel security stepped up next to the two men still staring each other down. “It’s okay, Jim. This is Mr. Helms. I’ll vouch for him. You can let him through the blockade.”
The cop broke his stare down with Ryder to bark at the security dude instead. “You aren’t in charge here either.”
Ryder could hear the clicking of the cameras, no doubt capturing every second of the men’s showdown for the front page of every gossip rag in the English-speaking world. Hell, one of his wife’s super fans was probably live streaming to Facebook right this minute. Every second he spent standing within zoom lens distance of the cameras made Khloe’s situation worse.
Risking a shoving contest, Ryder stepped sideways, and proceeded toward the revolving door. He kept his ears perked, listening for the sound of the officers chasing him down and was grateful when no one followed. Apparently, the policeman in charge had believed his threat.
Once inside the lobby, Ryder quickly scanned to see if any of his team was still there. He found Michael at the front desk, speaking with hotel management. Not wanting to get mixed up with those conversations, Ryder just nodded in Michael’s direction as he passed by on his way to the bank of elevators where he encountered his next roadblock.
“I’m sorry sir, but the guest elevators are closed off while the forensic team completes their investigation.”
Fucking great. Ryder turned in the direction of the stairwell, prepared to walk up the fourteen flights of stairs.
The police officer shouted at his back. “You’ll need to take the south staircase if you’re trying to get upstairs. The north stairwell is closed off.”
Of course, it was. The kidnapper had taken that route as his escape.
Anxious at how much time he’d wasted already, Ryder took off jogging in the direction of the other end of the building. He took two steps at a time, rushing to get upstairs as quickly as he could. He was out of breath by the time he got to the police officer standing guard at the fourteenth floor. If he were honest with himself, as annoying as it was having to keep stopping to check in with the police, he was grateful they were keeping the crime scene locked down from the prying press.
“Ryder Helms,” he said to the policewoman standing guard. “It’s my team…”
She cut him off. “I’ve been expecting you. Someone by the name of Dakota came out to tell me you’d be here any minute.” She was already reaching to pull open the door to let him pass.
A fresh wave of anxiety washed over Ryder as he approached the suite, that until that very morning, he’d been sharing with his wife. Anguish slammed him hard as he wished he’d stayed with Khloe’s detail. How fucked up was it that he’d moved to the shit motel in some misguided attempt to keep her safe.
Maybe if he’d been with her, he could have stopped her from being taken.
Or maybe you’d be dead already too, asshole.
Ryder didn’t have time to wallow. He was too busy weaving through the small groups of uniformed police officers, fire fighters, and EMTs — some in the hall but even more in the suite.
Once past the tiled foyer, a quick scan of the large two-story living space told a grim story. Crime scene investigators gathered around two red spots on the carpet, photographing and taking evidence samples of where he assumed Tank and Reaper had been downed.
The dining room table where the group had enjoyed sharing meals together was askew and Ricky’s neatly organized work desk was tipped over completely — papers, folders, and Khloe’s color-coded copy of the script strewn across the floor.
As upsetting as the scene was, Ryder dreaded going into their attached bedroom the worst. Less than twenty-four hours ago, he’d been in the king-sized bed, making love to his wife — his biggest worry had been trying to be quiet so the entire team didn’t hear them having sex. How quickly life could do a one-eighty. The change was jarring.
“I’m glad you’re here,” MacGyver said from next to him.
Ryder bit his tongue to keep from retorting how much he wished none of them were here. If only he could be back in Malibu, arguing with Khloe about eating her dinner or some other trivial bullshit he used to think was important. None of that mattered now.
Sensing Ryder’s inability to formulate words, MacGyver pulled Ryder by the elbow until they were semi-secluded in the far corner of the room. “I have Arrow stationed with the crime scene investigators working the scene down on the fifth floor. We rushed to collect blood and fingerprint evidence before they even arrived, knowing they’d lock down the scene once they got here. Because we were in pursuit, we saw him brush blood against the wall and door which gives us a ninety-nine percent probability the DNA belongs to our perp.”
For the hundredth time that day Ryder realized how lucky he was to have the kick-ass team he did here with him working the problem. If anyone could find out who was behind today’s kidnapping, it was his team.
“I just finished sending the fingerprints off to Bing electronically, but after doing a bit of research, we decided it would be fastest to get a courier to deliver the blood and fiber samples to the lab at The Bunker. Axel called in a favor with someone he knows, and the courier has already left for the airport. Bing should be able to start running the DNA through our databases by midnight.”
“Good,” Ryder squeezed out, grateful MacGyver was doing most of the talking.
“There is one thing I didn’t send to Bing. It’s something I’m also hiding from the police.”
Ryder’s phone rang.
Fuck. It was Chip Marshall — better known as Santa Claus to the BSO team. It was Chip Marshall’s money that bankrolled the startup of their global network of mercenaries, and it was Chip Marshall’s influence pulling strings in Washington that had made Black Sky Ops the go-to team governments and militaries around the world turned to.
MacGyver must have seen who was calling as he said, “You should get that.”
Ryder was less sure about that. Now was not the time for talk of budgets.
