Relative Strangers (12 page)

"Mr. Kama?" Loomis asked.

Ryan looked up, realizing he had not responded to the agent's question. "I need to talk to her."

"Not going to happen. Besides, she hasn't asked to see you." Loomis stroked his chin as if checking for razor stubble. "What would you two have to talk about anyway?"

That was a good question, Ryan thought.

Dropping his feet to the floor, Loomis peered at Ryan. "Maybe you've gotten too attached to the fugitive, Mr. Kama."

Ryan rejected that suggestion. All he was attached to was getting the people responsible for killing Beau. "It's because of me that you've got her in custody," he said, still trying to reason. "Surely that counts for something."

"The FBI appreciates your help, sir, but the truth of the matter is, you're done here. It's out of your hands. You might as well go home, take a swim, get a massage or whatever it is you rich folks do when you've had a rough day. I've got it under control."

Ryan crossed his arms. "I'm not going anywhere."

"Then you'll have to wait in the break room. I have work to do in here." Loomis waved him toward the hall. "The next door on the right. Have some coffee. Relax."

Outside Loomis' office, Ryan stared down the corridor at the room where he'd seen them take Meg. Relax? How could he relax when he was the one who'd put her in such a vulnerable position?

Chapter11

Meg sat on the cold concrete, her back against the wall, her forehead resting on her knees. Her eyelids were gritty with fatigue, yet her brain kept going over the videotapes.
Margot's my sister. She has to be.
The resemblance was too striking. Perhaps they were even twins. The graininess of the black-and-white tape had made it difficult to tell for sure.

The door to the interrogation room opened, and a tall woman in a navy, tailored suit stepped into the room. She had short, blond hair and sky-blue eyes. The hand she extended was well-manicured. "Kelsey Sumner, Ms. Grant."

Meg didn't trust her. It wasn't the way she looked, but Meg thought she probably wouldn't trust anyone ever again. At least the woman hadn't called her Margot. "Who are you?" Meg asked.

"You asked for a lawyer." Kelsey, who looked about thirty, walked to the table and set down her briefcase. "I'll be up-front with you," she said. "I'm a friend of Ryan's."

Meg's shoulders sagged. She imagined a hell where everywhere she turned, Ryan Kama would be there, always in control, always taunting her. "
^T
don't have anything to say."

"Why don't you take a seat? Let's talk."

"I'm not talking to
you,"
Meg said. "I want a court-appointed attorney. Unbiased representation."

"I'm among the best, Ms. Grant," Kelsey said.

"Make that modest, unbiased representation."

"Meg . . . may I call you Meg?"

"No."

"Okay." Kelsey seemed to think a moment, her gaze lingering on Meg's neck. Something shifted in her eyes before she cleared her throat. "Do you need anything? I understand you've been here awhile."

"I need to know what happened to my friend."

"Your friend?"

"She was kidnapped by the same two men who tried to kidnap me," Meg said. "No one will tell me what happened to her."

"I'll be right back."

Meg lowered herself to a chair, tangling her hands on the table and clinging to the prospect of good news. She rose again when Kelsey returned, but she could tell by the look on the other woman's face that the news was not good.

"The FBI is doing what they can to find her," Kelsey said, her tone gentle. "I'm sorry." She paused, obviously feeling awkward. "Is there anything else you need?"

"I need out of here," Meg said.

"I can probably help you with that."

"Sure, you can."

Kelsey helped herself to a seat, unruffled by Meg's surliness. "Ryan told me you'd be stubborn."

"I'm sure he told you I helped get his brother killed, too."

"They have some pretty damning evidence, Ms. Grant."

Meg let her eyes slide closed for a moment, then opened them. She had nowhere to turn, no one to turn to. If only Dayle were here . . . "If the evidence is so damning, why would you take my side?"

"Because Ryan asked me to."

Surprise arched Meg's eyebrows, but it lasted only a moment before she realized what was happening. "That makes it
so
much easier for him, doesn't it? He can virtually guarantee I go to prison."

"He wants to help you."

Meg's legs gave out, and she sank onto a metal chair. The planet was spinning off its axis, and she was just trying to hang on. "I don't understand."

Reaching out, Kelsey covered Meg's hand on the table. "He's trying to figure it out as much as you are."

The kind gesture caught Meg off guard, and for a moment, looking at this woman's hand covering hers, she felt a connection, the forming of a bond. She supposed it was ridiculous. Kelsey had admitted that she was with the enemy. But something about her reminded Meg of Dayle, and more than anything right now, she needed someone to be on her side.

"Well, Ms. Grant?"

"He held a gun to my head," Meg said. "I'm sure you can understand my hesitation."

Kelsey gave a short nod, her face showing nothing, but Meg saw the fury, controlled but ugly, slip through her eyes. "I'd like to hear from you what happened."

"I'd rather talk to a court-appointed attorney."

"Your chances are better with me, Ms. Grant. I have a very good record."

"He accused me of setting up his brother to be killed, and now he wants to help me? Where is the sense in that?"

"I know it's confusing," Kelsey said.

"He almost got me killed." Pulling her hand away, Meg told herself it was foolish to trust this woman. Even a little.

You know what? I don't need his help. As soon as the feds

figure out I'm not her, I'm out of here. And then Ryan Kama can go screw himself."

"And while Ryan is screwing himself, what happens to you?"

"Agent Loomis already worked that angle. You people can't scare me into doing what you want."

"I'm not trying to scare you," Kelsey said. "I'm trying to get you to think about where you'll be when the feds release you."

"I'll be free."

"You'll be free all right—
free game.
The feds might verify that you're not Margot Rhinehart, but the people who are after her won't know that. And they're still out there."

Ryan sat in the break room of the FBI field office and rubbed at the ache in the back of his neck. Kelsey had been in with Meg for an hour, and the waiting was driving him insane. Loomis wouldn't talk to him anymore, so he was right back where he'd been before he'd spotted Meg at the airport. Shut out of the FBI investigation into his brother's murder. Stripped of control.

Dropping his head forward into his hands, he couldn't stop seeing the image of the thug on top of Meg, choking off her air, her hands tied together with his white handkerchief. If he and the federal agents had arrived a minute later . . .

Kelsey stormed through the door, and Ryan scrambled up in surprise. Her eyes snapped blue fire as she cornered him. "You held a
gun
to her head?"

He raised his hands, palms out. "Kelsey, Jesus, the safety was on."

"Like that matters, you idiot. What else did you do to her, Ryan? She looks like she's been knocked around. The bruises on her throat—"

"I barely touched her. You know me better than that."

Whirling away as Loomis ambled in, she leveled a threatening finger at the agent. "No one talks to my client without me being present," she snapped. "Especially you. Got it?" Turning back to Ryan, she asked, "When was the last time she ate?"

"I don't know. Not since I picked her up last night."

"That was almost twenty-four hours ago. No wonder she looks like she's about to collapse. Those bruises on her throat are nasty. There could be permanent damage."

Ryan felt his face flush with shame. It hadn't occurred to him that Meg could be injured.

Before Ryan could respond, Loomis cleared his throat. "We're letting Turner Scott go."

Ryan rounded on him. "What? Why?"

Loomis patted his front shirt pocket, looking for cigarettes but coming up empty. He settled for coffee and poured some into a Styrofoam cup. "Besides Ms. Rhinehart, he's our only link to Slater Nielsen. We let him go, a couple of agents tail him, maybe he leads us to Nielsen."

"Maybe?"
Ryan shouted.

Kelsey's hand on his arm reined him in. "Let him explain, Ryan."

"The FBI has been tracking Slater Nielsen for a year," Loomis said, sipping coffee. "We know his name. We know what he does and how he does it. We don't know where he's based, and we don't know how to get to him. And seeing as how Ms. Rhinehart is reluctant to turn on Nielsen, Turner Scott is our best bet."

"Don't you think Nielsen will be smart enough to know what you're up to once he gets word that one of his henchmen has been arrested and released?" Ryan asked.

"Perhaps. But maybe Nielsen will come after him."

Ryan saw again Turner Scott's hands wrapped around Meg's throat. "Jesus," he said. The bastard had almost killed her, and he was going to walk. "What about the woman he may have killed on the beach? Doesn't she matter to the FBI?"

Loomis pocketed one hand, jingled change. "Nielsen is the big fish here, Mr. Kama. Turner Scott, he's just a little guppy in a great big pond. We've got the opportunity to dangle him as bait and see if the big fish will bite. Even if Nielsen himself doesn't come after Scott, maybe he'll send someone else after him who's easier to squeeze. Catch my drift?"

Kelsey, a hand on Ryan's arm to keep him from lunging, asked, "What do I tell my client about the man who attacked her going free?"

Loomis gave her a humorless smile. "Tell her whatever you want. The fact of the matter is, he's out of here."

"What about her friend? Can you make an educated guess at the chances she's alive?" Kelsey asked.

"The people we're dealing with are professionals, counselor. Professionals don't leave loose ends. That's my educated guess."

A woman, who appeared to be an assistant or secretary, entered carrying a file folder. "Your fingerprint analysis is in, Agent Loomis."

Ryan held his breath as Loomis flipped open the file and scanned the paperwork inside. When the agent pursed his lips in thought, Ryan prodded, "Well?"

Loomis snapped the file closed. "She's not
Margot
Rhinehart."

Ryan didn't know whether to be relieved or disappointed. Or even believe him. "What now?"

Loomis shrugged. "We let her go."

"That's it?" Ryan asked.

"What else would you like me to do?" Loomis asked. "She hasn't done anything wrong. You, on the other hand, could be in a world of hurt if she decides to press kidnapping and assault charges."

Ryan refused to be intimidated. "There has to be something you can do, some way to protect her. Nielsen's people are still gunning for her."

"I'll offer her a safe house," Loomis said. "If she doesn't want it, it's her choice."

As Loomis left, Ryan pulled away from Kelsey's grasp. "I can't believe this crap," he said. "He's going to let her go, then sit back and wait for Nielsen to come after her. He's going to dangle
her
like bait, too."

"You don't know that, Ryan."

"Are you willing to take that chance?"

Kelsey's forehead creased with worry. "What are you going to do?"

Ryan yanked his cell phone out. "I have an idea."

"You're free to go, Ms. Grant." Special Agent Loomis looked downright contrite as he stood before Meg in the interrogation room, his hands in his pockets.

Relief turned Meg's knees to water, but she locked them straight. She didn't know what to say. Thanks for the hospitality? Bite me?

His brow furrowed as he scratched his chin, as if he were giving what he was about to say some serious thought. "You have the option of pressing kidnapping and assault charges against Mr. Kama."

Meg was tempted. Sweet revenge. But she longed to go home. Her control was already starting to splinter, and she wanted out of there before it disintegrated altogether.

"Do I have to decide now?"

Loomis handed her a business card. "Just give me a call." Then he gave her arm an awkward pat. "Please accept my apologies."

She didn't bother to try to muster a smile of forgiveness. Maybe she would have if his regret had seemed genuine.

"I can arrange for you to stay at a safe house until we find Margot Rhinehart," he said. "You'd be safer."

Meg rolled shoulders tight with tension. "How long would it be?"

"I don't know. It could be months."

"I can't sit in a safe house that long. I have a job."