The shotgun pellets splatted into the gunman’s leg and the dirt around him. He collapsed in a heap, screaming in agony. Ryker had no idea what had caused Pettersen to fire. Had she expected the man was about to shoot her? Had she simply taken the chance?
Either way, Ryker wouldn’t let the moment slip by.
He grabbed Erling’s arm and wrenched forward. Tumbled to the side. If he’d been standing, the aim would have been to take Erling off his feet and toss him over Ryker’s shoulder. A perhaps impossible task really, given Erling’s size and weight. But Ryker was no slouch, and he had enough strength, enough momentum and determination and know-how, to pull Erling’s body mass with him. Erling, so intent on maintaining the hold rather than anything else, ended up on the ground, on his side, Ryker next to him, the choking grip still tight… but not as tight as before.
Erling growled in anger, went to renew the hold. He should have considered Ryker’s intentions instead. Ryker lifted his elbow and sent a stinging blow into Erling’s ribs. The grip on his neck weakened. Another hit. Another. A crack accompanied the third one. Perhaps a broken rib. Perhaps not.
Ryker finally pulled the arm off and jumped back to his feet, his vision blurred from effort. His lungs ached. His head throbbed… He battled through it.
Erling went to get up. A kick to his chin kept him down.
‘Ryker, here.’
He looked up and caught the flying shotgun and pointed it straight at Erling to halt any further attempt by the big man. Ryker looked across. Pettersen renewed her position, her own shotgun pointed at Berg. Berg, who didn’t look in the least bit concerned.
Just really, really mad.
‘You…’
He seemed to lose whatever insult he’d planned and ended up shaking his head despondently.
‘Henrik,’ Ryker said. ‘Where is he?’
‘I already told you. He’s not here.’
‘You also told me he was your son. So it’s not as though shit doesn’t come out of your mouth.’
Nothing from Berg. Ryker took that as confirmation of the lie.
‘He’s not here,’ Berg said after a few moments of silence.
‘Then you won’t mind showing me around the house.’
Berg glowered.
‘Well, go on then,’ Pettersen snapped, though it wasn’t clear who she was speaking to. ‘I’ll keep an eye out here.’
Did Ryker really want to leave her alone with Erling and crew? Not that they had much fight left in them… But it would only take one to make a move…
‘Come on then,’ Berg said before calmly turning and walking away. As though he remained in charge. The man certainly had gall.
Ryker kept his eyes busy as they walked, Berg two steps ahead. He saw no movement in the trees or within the clearing. He was almost certain everyone with Berg had already been involved in the fight. Almost certain, but he still needed caution. They reached the front entrance. Berg didn’t pause. He opened the door and stepped inside. Ryker moved in behind him. A quick glance over his shoulder. Pettersen remained in place, in control.
Berg stopped and turned.
‘So?’
‘Room by room,’ Ryker said. ‘Keep it slow. Keep your hands where I can see them.’
Berg turned and got to it. Ryker followed his every step. Berg remained calm and somewhat nonchalant, but as the seconds passed Ryker also realized Berg had no secret plan. No ambush.
The second-to-last room they came to was a bedroom. Ryker jumped in surprise when he realized someone was in there already. His finger twitched on the trigger before he processed the woman, slumped in the corner. Handcuffed to a radiator.
‘My wife,’ Berg said without apology. ‘It’s a long story.’
‘You might need to try harder than that,’ Ryker said.
‘I haven’t laid a finger on her,’ Berg said. ‘The Russians attacked us both tonight. We were lucky to get away from them alive. Now they have my son. I will get him back.’
Ryker ignored that comment. Was Berg really intent on holding that line?
‘None of that explains why she’s handcuffed in here,’ Ryker said.
Berg sighed. ‘Darling, will you please tell this man what happened?’
She lifted her head. Her eyes were bloodshot. Her hatred clear. She said nothing.
‘Release her,’ Ryker said. ‘Release her now.’
Berg glared. ‘And then what?’
‘I don’t give a crap. She can put the kettle on. She can run through the forest to wherever. But I’m not leaving her like that.’
‘You don’t even know her.’
‘Do it now.’
Berg sighed. ‘The key is in the lounge.’
The only room they hadn’t been to.
‘After you,’ Ryker said.
They moved on through. Ryker became aware of increased chatter outside. He moved to the window and pulled aside the sheet that acted as a curtain and peeked out. No problem. Pettersen had the crew lined up on the floor, on their knees, hands above their heads. She wouldn’t be able to watch over them indefinitely, alone, but she wouldn’t need to. Ryker was almost done.
‘Here’s the key,’ Berg said.
He tossed it over. Ryker didn’t make an attempt to catch it. The key clattered off him and to the ground.
‘You do it,’ Ryker said, intent on keeping both hands on the gun as long as he could.
Berg grumbled but didn’t move. Then, ‘I told you he wasn’t here.’
‘Where’s Wold?’ Ryker asked.
‘Why would I know?’
Berg’s phone vibrated in his pocket. Ryker wondered if it was the very man himself.
‘Can I take that?’
Ryker thought for a second.
‘If anything other than a phone comes out of your pocket, the shot will be to your balls. Got it?’
Berg paused. Then pushed his hand into his pocket. Drew out his phone. His face turned. Disgust.
‘Who is it?’ Ryker asked.
‘Who do you think? The Russians.’
‘Answer it. Put it on speaker.’
Berg hesitated but then did so.
‘We have him,’ came the drawl through the tinny speaker. ‘We have the boy.’
‘Where?’ Berg said.
‘At your factory. You have one hour or he’s dead. And then we’ll come back for you and your wife and finish what we started.’
The line clicked off.
Berg looked at Ryker. They held each other’s eye.
‘So?’ Berg said.
‘So get the key. Free your wife. Then we go and get Henrik back.’
‘We?’
‘Unless you want to go alone?’
Berg shook his head and scoffed. ‘This is a crazy fucking night.’
‘You got that right,’ Ryker said.