Relative Strangers (13 page)

"What about a long vacation out of the country with friends or relatives?"

Meg felt the despair well up. How could she turn to friends when Dayle, her dearest friend, might be dead because of this? Feeling the agent's expectant gaze, she said, "I'll figure something out." For now, she just wanted out.

Loomis gestured toward the door. "I'll have an agent drive you home."

She didn't have to be invited twice to leave that claustrophobic room. In the hallway, she spotted Ryan at the other end and froze. He was talking on a cell phone, one hand pressed over his ear to block out noise. Beside him, Kelsey tapped her foot and looked stressed.

"Is there another exit?" Meg asked.

"Afraid not," Loomis said. "It's a small office. One way in, one way out."

Squaring her shoulders, Meg reminded herself that Ryan had no power over her anymore. In fact, if anyone held the power now, she did. All she had to do was tell Loomis she wanted to press charges.

She walked by Ryan without a glance, though she felt his intent gaze on her. She was surprised he didn't make one last effort to persuade her to help him continue his search for Margot. But perhaps now that he knew she wasn't Margot, it didn't matter to him what happened to her. That worked just fine for her.

As Loomis paused to speak with Ryan and Kelsey, Meg walked out of the FBI office into bright afternoon sunlight. Breathing deep, she tried to ease the tension that made her muscles ache, feeling the exhaustion in her bones.

The sound of a racing engine brought her head up, and she stumbled back as a police car roared to a stop in front of her. Two officers piled out, guns drawn. "Police! Get your hands up!"

Meg was too stunned to move as one of the officers seized her arm and shoved her forward against the car. In an instant, he'd snapped handcuffs on her wrists. "You have the right to remain silent. . ."

Chapter 12

Meg couldn't believe she was in yet another claustrophobic interrogation room, this time at a Naples police station. The cops seemed to be taking their time verifying with the FBI that she was indeed Meg Grant and not their missing jewel thief. Meg suspected the delay had much to do with Ryan's influence.

As if her thoughts had summoned him, he stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. Meg rose, shaking with rage. She pictured herself landing a punch on that square jaw. Her hand clenched with anticipation. "You have a lot of nerve," she said.

Ryan kept his face neutral, but his stomach lurched at the sight of her. Purple shadows marred the skin under her green eyes, her complexion ashen. The pallor made the bruises encircling her throat all the more prominent. Shoving back the guilt, he said, "Someday you'll thank me for saving your life."

"You arrogant son of a bitch. You called the cops."

"You're safe here," he said. "You wouldn't have been safe going home."

"So you had me arrested a second time? I was questioned all over again. The same damned questions. I suppose you couldn't be bothered to let the police know that the feds have cleared me?"

"I'm afraid the feds and the police aren't cooperating on this case," he said.

"How convenient for you." Her voice broke, and she moved as far away from him as the tiny room allowed.
Jesus, don't lose it. Not in front of him.

She heard him pull out a chair, heard the metal squeak as it took his weight. "The thing is, just because Agent Loomis said you're not Margot Rhinehart doesn't mean you're not."

She faced him. He was sitting on the edge of the chair, his elbows braced on his knees. "This is unbelievable," she said.
"You
are unbelievable."

"The feds cut Turner Scott loose. Did you know that?"

"No." She rubbed at her eyes, so tired she didn't even care.

"They let him go because they're hoping he'll lead them to Slater Nielsen," Ryan said. "I think they're doing the same thing with you. And I think Agent Loomis told me you're not Margot to get me off his back."

"I've got news for you," she said. "The cops are going to tell you the same damn thing. I'm not her."

"Frankly, it doesn't matter who you are. You look enough like her to help me get to the people who killed my brother."

"And what makes you think I'd be stupid enough to do that?"

"I don't think you're stupid at all," he said. "But you might be desperate."

Meg glared at him so hard her eyes burned. "I'm not desperate."

He smiled, as if to say, not yet. Straightening in the chair, he crossed his legs. "The district attorney is a good friend of mine. I can pull strings to get you out of here. Probably within the hour."

"I see. But you wouldn't let me just walk away."

"No," he said, "I'd protect you from Nielsen's henchmen."

"In exchange for what?"

He picked at a piece of imaginary lint on his knee. "You're going to help me avenge my brother's murder."

She leaned against the wall at her back, needing its support. "Vengeance is against the law, Mr. Kama."

"Justice isn't."

"What if I refuse?"

Ryan shrugged, forcing as much boredom into the gesture as possible. "Arranging a hit on a woman in a jail cell probably wouldn't be that difficult for a man as powerful as Slater Nielsen. With me, at least you've got a shot at surviving." Pausing, he gave her a grim smile. "Feeling desperate yet?"

Yes, she thought, and trapped, and there was nowhere to run. She fought down the rising panic. "You know I'm not her."

"I
don't
know that. Not for sure. And the fact of the matter is, I don't care."

"This is blackmail."

"Not really. If it works right, we both get what we want."

"You get vengeance," she said. "What do I get?"

"Your life." He stood, pushing the chair back under the table. "I'll give you some time to think about it."

Alone, Meg dragged a hand through her hair, feeling the filth and longing for a shower. She didn't know what to do. Ryan was right. She wasn't safe here. She wasn't safe anywhere. But how was she supposed to help him get to Slater Nielsen when she didn't know anything about the man?

The door opened, interrupting her thoughts, and a police officer said, "Your lawyer's here."

Meg straightened from the wall, expecting Kelsey Sumner. Instead, a man she had never seen before sauntered in.

He grinned when he saw her. "Hey, Mags."

In the precinct break room, Ryan dropped onto the ratty sofa next to Kelsey. Defeat was a lead weight on his shoulders.

"Any luck?" she asked.

Shaking his head, he zeroed in on the Styrofoam cup in her hand. "Is that coffee?"

Kelsey handed it to him. "It's weak, but it'll do the trick."

He swallowed a gulp of the bitter brew. "She's not budging," he said. "I guess I can't blame her. She's been through hell."

"You've put her through hell," Kelsey said.

He glanced at her. "I'm not the only one. I didn't sic Nielsen's goons on her."

"And if she's innocent?" Kelsey asked.

"It doesn't matter. She's involved."

"It does matter, Ryan. You know it does."

He dropped his head back against the sofa and scowled at the water-stained ceiling. "Damn it, Kelsey. Don't you think I know that?"

A woman in uniform stuck her head in the door. "Isn't one of you supposed to be Margot Rhinehart's attorney?"

Kelsey rose. "I am."

"She's got another lawyer in there talking to her now," the officer said.

Ryan sprang to his feet. "Who is he?"

"Don't know. He just said he's her attorney."

The woman left, and Kelsey said, "Nielsen must have sent him."

"But how did he know?"

"Turner Scott's been gone a couple hours," she said. "Or maybe Nielsen has an informant in the precinct."

Ryan crumpled the cup in his hand. "She's not safe in there with that guy."

Meg warily faced her visitor.

He wore a not-that-cheap suit, clean white shirt open at the throat and an expensive gold watch. His hair was greased back and in need of a trim. Wire-rimmed glasses slid to the tip of his nose, and as he looked her up and down, he pushed them up with the middle finger of one hand. Meg couldn't tell whether he made the gesture deliberately or if it was just how he repositioned his glasses.

"How's it going, Mags?" he asked, grinning. She'd expected to see the flash of a gold tooth, but his teeth were straight and white.

"Who are you?"

The grin widened. "Told them my name's Jimmy Buffett. Stupid cops didn't even blink."

"I'm not Margot." She wondered how many more times she'd have to say that.

"You can drop the game. It's just us."

"I've never seen you before," she said.

"No one's watching."

She leaned her hands on the table. "Look at me. I'm not her."

"You knew it would come to this, Mags."

"Look at me, damn it."

"I'm looking. Jesus." He gave an uneasy laugh.

She held his gaze. "Look at my face. Her face is thinner than mine. Look at my hair."

"Yeah, whatever. Look, he sent me to get you out of here,

so maybe there's a chance."

"A chance what?"

"You know. Maybe you'll be okay."

She pounded a fist on the table. "I don't know who you are. I don't know who
he
is. Are you talking about Slater Nielsen? Is that who
he
is?"

His eyes shifted from side to side as if she'd said something she never should have dared to say. "Jesus, what's wrong with you?"

"What happens?" she demanded.

"What?"

"If I go with you, what happens?"

"Is this a trick? Are trying to trick me, Mags? Are you wired?" He shifted around the table fast, and his hands were on her, moving over the knit of the tank top that covered her ribs and down to her waist in a quick, rough frisking.

She shoved him back. "Get away from me."

Glancing at the door, she expected a police officer to bound through it to protect her. But it remained closed, and apprehension clamped down. What was she supposed to do if the guy got violent? Would anyone hear a scream for help? Ryan had said Slater Nielsen was powerful enough to have her killed, even in police custody.

Her pulse, already charging, became a deafening thud in her ears. She was on her own. Ryan was not here to protect her, and despite every punishment she had wished on him, she missed him.

Jimmy Buffett was straightening his jacket. "No one else will help you out, Mags. He took care of that."

"Who took care of it? Slater Nielsen?"

He winced as if she'd said something very bad again, then stepped closer to her, lowered his voice. "If you turn me away, you're sending a message. You know that."

She narrowed her eyes. "What message?"

"Mags, come on." He adjusted his jacket again.

Could he be wearing a shoulder holster? Surely the police would have checked him for weapons. "Tell me what you mean," she said.

"It's time to choose a side. You know the rules, Mags."

"I'm not Mags! Look at me!" She wanted to grab him by the collar and shake him, but she kept her distance, gauging how many paces she was from the door. Was it locked?

He didn't react, as if he were used to a woman who resembled her having a similar temperament. "He's not going to like your attitude."

"Get out."

He stepped back. "Excuse me?"

"Get out of here or I'll tell them so many lies they'll detain you into the next century."

"Mags—"

"I'm not kidding, asshole. Get the hell out." She pointed at the door, praying he couldn't see her shaking, praying he couldn't see her certainty that he would take out a gun and shoot her dead in one motion.

Jimmy Buffett squared his shoulders, at a loss for what to do next. "He won't like this."

"Tell Slater Nielsen he's after the wrong woman."

"Christ, Mags, why do you have to be so difficult?" He reached into his jacket, and she charged him, screaming for help and thinking only that he couldn't shoot her if she were on top of him. They had hit the floor and rolled up against the wall by the time the door slammed inward and two officers barreled in.

The first one lifted her off of him, and Jimmy Buffett scrambled to his feet, his hands raised above his head. "Whoa whoa whoa. I was just getting a mint. Jesus."

"We're done here," Meg said.

The officers were leading her visitor out the door when Ryan and Kelsey came running. "What's going on? What happened?" Ryan demanded.

"She jumped him," one of the cops said.

Ryan glanced at Meg, saw she was pale and shaken but otherwise fine, then focused on the man secured between two cops. "Who is she?"