Relative Strangers (23 page)

She was too calm, and that worried him. Especially when he saw the way her hand trembled when she dragged it through her hair. "How do you mean?" he asked.

"How can you ask that?" She choked down the hysterical edge that crept into her voice. "She's my sister. My
twin
sister. Your brother loved her."

"And look where it got him," he said.

"It's not so cut and dried anymore."

"What are you saying?" he asked. "She's forgiven for what she's done because she's the sister you never knew you had?"

Sinking onto the bed, she drew a pillow onto her lap and hugged it to her. And grappled for a reason to believe that somewhere along the way she and Ryan had misjudged Margot, perhaps had misinterpreted her actions. "We don't know her side of it."

"Like hell we don't. She works for Slater Nielsen, and one of her jobs was to set up my brother. Whether killing him was part of the deal or not doesn't change the final result. Beau is just as dead. Because of Margot. Maybe she didn't kill him

herself, but she is responsible. You can't argue with that."

She couldn't. A dull ache began to pound in her temples, and she rubbed at them. There was too much to think about. And she was still so tired.

Ryan stared at the top of her bent head. He understood her well enough to know what she'd meant when she'd said, "This changes everything." She wouldn't turn her back. It wasn't her nature. Not when Margot needed help. Not when Meg would see their blood as a moral obligation to be the one to do the helping, regardless of Margot's guilt. That's what family was about. He had used the same logic when he searched for Beau's killers.

Looking up at him, Meg blinked back tears. The grip she had was tenuous, and she didn't want him there when it slipped. He would be kind and soothing, and that would only make it more devastating. "I need some time alone."

His face hardened, first with anger, then with hurt. "You're not going to shut me out."

"I just need—"

"Me," he cut in. "You need me."

"Ryan, Jesus—" She pressed the heels of her hands to her forehead where the headache was raging. "I can't do this."

"You can't do what?"

She squeezed her eyes shut. "Please."

Kneeling in front of her, he tugged her wrists down from her face. "Why are you hiding from me?"

She tried to pull away, but he held on. "I'm not hiding," she said. "Let go."

He released her and stood. "I want you to go home."

She glanced up at him, surprised. "What?"

"You heard me." He saw the temper flare in her eyes, watched with relief as it seared away the shock. "Until I can handle it," he said.

"I just found out for sure that Margot is my twin, and you want me to go away so
you
can
handle
it? Of all the arrogant, chauvinistic, selfish—"

"Wait a minute—"

No, you wait a minute." She bounced off the bed, forcing him back a step and kicking a pillow out of her way that tumbled to the floor. Pacing at the foot of the bed, she struggled to control her anger. It was as if she was a puppet on a string, and he was her master. She had been the puppet most of her life. Her father had pulled the strings, repeatedly had done the very thing that Ryan was trying to do now. She'd be damned if anyone ever controlled her again—

The inner tirade broke off when Ryan whirled her around. She was startled at first, then pushed at his chest. "Back off."

Seizing the wrist she flung out at him, he jerked her toward him. "Listen to me, Meg. I'm asking this of you because I care, all right? I couldn't stand it if something happened to you. Something did happen, and it was ugly. What I felt was ugly. I couldn't live with it if you . . ." He trailed off, his cheeks paling. "God help me, I can't even say it."

The breath left her as if he had tossed a light punch to her stomach. He cared. A lot. She knocked a loosely clenched fist against his chest, appalled when tears began spilling down her cheeks. "Bastard," she whispered, covering her face with her hands.

Pulling her against him, he stroked a hand over her back, feeling the shudders that shook her. His own eyes welled up, and he blinked the emotion back. "It's okay," he murmured against her hair. "We'll work through it."

The soothing words and the gentle hand on her back were foreign to her. Even when she'd been a child, comfort had not been offered with so little effort. The kindness shredded her defenses. And when she was defenseless against the emotion she had been holding in since her parents, and then Dayle, had been taken from her, she broke.

Ryan felt her body convulse against him. Concerned, he pulled back, but she curled her fingers into the front of his shirt. "Don't leave me."

The ragged pain in her voice tore at him, and he swept her up in his arms, frightened by how she wept, startled to see such raw emotion in a woman so strong.

Sitting on the bed, he cradled her on his lap, soothing her in a low voice, until she lay curled against him, spent.

Sniffling, she wiped at her face. "As a general rule, I'm not normally weepy. In case you're wondering."

He caught her chin and angled her head back so their gazes met. "Your world has been turned upside down more than once. I'd be worried if you weren't emotional."

He knew the right things to say. She turned her attention to a button on his shirt to avoid becoming a blubbering idiot again. "You made me mad on purpose."

"You give me too much credit."

"What are we going to do?"

She'd said "we." The tightness in his chest loosened. "We can't do anything right now. The FBI hasn't found Margot."

"But eventually they will."

"I'm certain of it. And I'm also certain that we're not going to figure it out all at once. You're tired, Meg. You need sleep."

"I sleep best with your help."

Smiling, he eased her back on the bed. "If you get the urge to drift off, let me know."

She curved her arms around his neck and pulled him down for a long kiss. As he trailed his lips down her throat, she caught her hands in his hair. "I don't think drifting off is an option."

Chapter 22

Margot sank her toes into sand that held the morning sun's heat. It felt good, and she allowed herself to enjoy it. She didn't expect that there'd be many more mornings like this— sitting in a faded wooden chair outside the cabin of a Captiva resort on the shore of the Gulf—before she was forced to do what had to be done.

Kill Slater Nielsen.

She wondered what it would be like, how it would feel. Would she be relieved when it was done? Or sad? What would happen afterward?

The best-case scenario: She would walk away, physically unscathed, to create a new life with a new name, a new past. She would do her damnedest to raise Beau's child to know the difference between right and wrong. She would be an ex-emplary mother, honest and caring, an upstanding citizen.

However, she wasn't naive enough to think that she would actually get away with killing Slater. Perhaps, if she was caught, she could claim self-defense. Perhaps she could say she had been forced, threatened, terrorized. Perhaps a jury would take pity on her.

Closing her eyes, she acknowledged that if she were caught, Beau's child would most likely be taken from her, to be raised by strangers. She might never know him, might never hold him. The thought was horrifying, but she accepted the risk because she had no other choice. Turning herself into the police now would make her an easy target. She would have no control, no protection. At the very least, she had to stay alive long enough to bring Beau's child into the world, and the only way to do that was to eliminate the biggest threat.

It occurred to her now that if she did get caught, then per-haps her sister could take in Beau's baby.

"Come here often?"

She looked up with a sharp intake of breath. The sun was shining directly into her eyes, and she raised a hand to shield them. He wasn't a Slater thug. No man who worked for Slater would wear a Milwaukee Brewers baseball cap, khaki shorts, red polo and sandals. His smile was friendly, the skin around his dark eyes crinkling as if that smile was his most frequent facial expression.

Undaunted by her lack of response, he said, "I'm in the cabin next door. Just checked in for the week." He extended his hand. "I guess we're neighbors. For a while anyway."

Staring at his hand, Margot was unsure of how to respond, so she didn't. She didn't have time for a new friend anyway.

He let his hand drop to his side. "Well, it was nice meeting you." He started to turn away, but paused. "If you change your mind, get lonely, or whatever, I'm next door. I, uh, I'm alone, too."

An alarm went off in her head. "How do you know I'm alone?"

He seemed surprised that she spoke but recovered quickly. "The guy at the check-in desk mentioned it."

"Why would he do that?"

A
broad smile
curved his lips. "Hell if I
know. Maybe he
thought I'm a great-looking guy and I'm alone, and you're a beautiful woman and you're alone, perhaps . . . you know."

For an unguarded moment, she smiled, liking him in spite of herself. "The guy at the check-in desk is playing match-maker?"

"Well, he's right, after all. Are you vacationing?"

"Not really. You?"

"Naples resident," he said. "Just like to get away every once in a while, and this is a good spot for it. Where are you from?"

"Doesn't matter."

"No problem." He helped himself to the chair next to hers. "Mystery appeals to me."

"Don't get comfortable."

"Wouldn't dream of it," he said.

"You look like you're getting comfortable."

"Would that be so terrible?" Tipping his cap back, he grinned. "Want me to leave?"

"Yes."

He didn't look the least bit disappointed. "But I just got here."

"Look, I'm not interested in—"

He held up his hands in a placating gesture. "Neither am I. Just making conversation."

"Whatever." She stood to go, brushing at the sand that clung to her shorts. She hesitated before turning her back on him. "Good-bye."

"If you change your mind, just holler. I'll be just next door. Name's Nick Costello."

Chapter 23

Meg couldn't resist stretching like a cat on the towel spread across the deck. Sails snapped in the wind. Through slitted eyes, she saw clouds lining up along the horizon like mountain peaks. It was almost too cool, but the sun warming her skin kept the goose bumps at bay.

"Morning."

She smiled, arching her back in the white bathing suit that Kelsey had included in the clothing she had brought for her. She had only to turn her head to see Ryan idly rubbing his tummy, his shorts unbuttoned at the top.

"It's about time," she said, reaching for the sunglasses that lay nearby. Sitting up, she considered the ripple of his stomach muscles as he lowered himself to the end of a chaise. His eyes were sleepy and soft as he yawned.

"How're you feeling? Did we overdo it last night?" he asked.

She smiled, touched by his concern. "I'm okay."

"Just okay?"

"Pretty okay. You know, sometimes it's a little hard to tell at first." She closed her eyes, suppressing a smile when his cool shadow fell across her body.

"Hard to tell at first, huh?" he asked, lifting the sunglasses from her face.

He swooped down, his mouth muffling her laugh. She wrapped arms damp with moisture and tanning oil around his neck, releasing a moan as his lips left her mouth and explored the place where her pulse throbbed in her throat. His hands catching in her hair, he nibble-kissed his way across her face, neck and shoulders. When his mouth came back to hers, he tasted of oil and salt and passion, while his fingers tugged loose the knot that secured her swimsuit at the back of her neck.

"Is this
all
you can think about?" she asked, laughing.

"At the moment." He pressed his mouth to her breast and closed his teeth around the nipple through the cloth.

Air lodged in her throat at the erotic sensation. "Shouldn't we go below?"

"There isn't a soul around. Just you and me."

He lowered his head to kiss her, but she held him off. "What about low-flying helicopters?"

His chuckle vibrated against her body as he ran his hands back up into her hair.

"And hot air balloons," she added.

His mouth settled on hers with an urgency that dragged her into aching awareness. Winding her arms around his neck, she pressed against him, already frantic for him. But he braceleted her wrists and pinned them to the deck. "This time, you're just going to take it."

She released a shuddery laugh. "What?"

"I'm going to love you, and you're not going to do anything but let go."

She started to protest, but he drew her arms over her head where he captured both wrists in one hand.