Relative Strangers (6 page)

"Calling for help."
What an idiot.

"You don't even know where you are," he said.

"They can trace the call."

"The battery's dead."

She threw it at him. It bounced off his temple and clattered to the floor in pieces. Meg didn't wait to see whether it stunned him—she dove for the door.

This time, she managed to turn the knob and get it open before he plowed into her from behind. She sprawled head-long into a larger, more elaborate compartment with a door at the other end.

He flipped her onto her back, and she thrashed, kicking and screaming for help, more startled by his strength than the fear of what he might do to her. He had already shown that he had no intention of using the gun—he'd just had the perfect opportunity to shoot her in the back and hadn't.

Still, she was afraid she had pushed him too far as he leaned over her, his face red with rage, blood trickling down his temple. Grappling for the hands that pummeled his face, he captured her wrists and flattened them to the floor on either side of her head. "Be still, damn it."

Meg writhed, fighting his restraint even though she already knew she had lost. "Get off."

"Not until you calm down."

She bucked under him, arching her back off the floor. "Get off!"

"I'm not going to hurt you."

Her breath was coming in quick gasps. Fearing she would hyperventilate, he leaned his face close to hers. "Listen to me. I'm not going to hurt you."

She twisted her wrists in his grasp. "Then let go."

"You don't have a choice here. Calm down."

He sounded so reasonable she wanted to scream. "Up yours."

"You're the one making this difficult."

"Guess I just don't understand the protocol of kidnapping."

"If you can be rational, I'll let you up," he said. "Otherwise, we can conduct this conversation just like this."

"Fine."

"Fine what?"

"I'll behave," she said.

"You said that before."

"Do you want it in blood this time? You're stronger than I am. There's not much I can do to defend myself."

The color had flooded back into her cheeks, and the corners of his mouth twitched. "Yeah, you're helpless."

His amusement irked her. "Are you going to let me up or what?"

"I'm
going to get up," he said. "
You're
going to stay on the floor. I want you sitting on your hands."

"Good thinking. There's no telling what kind of damage they could do."

Another almost-smile. "You're quite the smart ass, aren't you?"

"Only in life-threatening situations," she said.

"That mouth gets you into a lot of those, I would guess."

"Are you going to get off me sometime tonight?"

He rolled away and got to his feet in one fluid motion. He had to be the most graceful man she had ever seen. Then, cursing herself for finding him the least bit attractive, she sat up.

"Sit on your hands," he said.

"Give me a chance."

"Just do it."

She slipped her hands under the backs of her thighs and glared up at him. "How long have I been here?"

"Couple of hours," he said.

"Who the hell are you? You don't kidnap women for a living."

"I didn't intend to kidnap you. I was just watching you when those goons went after you. Like an idiot, I rushed to your rescue."

He rubbed the back of his neck, asking himself what he had been thinking. But the truth was, he hadn't been thinking. He'd simply reacted. Even when he'd started following her, he hadn't been thinking. He should have called the FBI right away to tip them off. But he'd wanted to see for himself who she was, how she lived. What he'd seen hadn't made sense—the modest beach house, the practical Honda. Is that how an accomplished jewel thief lived? He'd begun to think that maybe he really did have the wrong woman.

But then the two men had jumped her and her friend, and they hadn't seemed the least bit confused about her identity. One of them had even called her by name. Margot.

Ryan knew now that it had been stupid to bargain with them, dangerous. But at the rate the FBI was going, he might never know who masterminded his brother's murder, let alone look the bastard in the eye. And that was something he wanted very much to do. He wanted revenge, pure and simple.

Meg saw the murderous thoughts slide through his eyes, and it unnerved the hell out of her. He looked like he would happily throttle anyone who crossed him. "Who are you?" she asked.

He fastened his damning gaze on her. "Ryan Kama."

Her eyes widened. She knew his last name well. When she had arrived in Fort Myers, the unsolved, two-month-old murder of the CEO of KamaTech had still been huge news. Her fellow reporters had expressed deep frustration at the lack of information that law enforcement had made available to the press. No pictures of suspects. No theories. No motives. No nothing.

Ryan saw the recognition in her eyes and felt a moment of satisfaction. "So you do know who I am."

"I know who Beau Kama was."

"He was my brother." There was accusation in his tone.

"I didn't
know
him. I only know
of
him."

How could she sit there and lie so blatantly without even blinking? But then he reminded himself that she had tricked his brother into thinking she loved him. "I know how you work, lady, so you can drop the act. The police told me all about your methods when they were pumping me for what I knew about you and Beau."

"I don't have methods."

His eyes narrowed in disgust. "You get cozy with rich men. You do whatever you have to do to get them to trust you. When they're sated and sleeping soundly, you steal them blind. Except something went wrong with Beau. None of your other marks have ended up dead. As far as the cops know, anyway."

"I don't remember a woman ever being mentioned in the coverage of Beau Kama's murder."

"The cops—and the FBI when they took over—are keeping the info out of the press. They seem to think that if you're stupid enough to think you got away with it, you'll
_m
ove on to another mark. Then, once they nail you, you can tell them all about your boss, Slater Nielsen, and how one of your marks ended up the victim of a professional hit man."

"But I'm not her. I must look like her—"

"Right. That's so easy, isn't it?"

"I'm not lying," she said.

"Of course not. You would never lie to get what you want."

Meg put shaking fingers to her temple and rubbed in a small circle. "How do you know all this?"

He gave her a malevolent look. "Hands."

"What?"

"Sit on your hands, damn it."

She obeyed, somewhat satisfied, and a bit relieved, that she made him nervous. She didn't imagine that a ruthless killer would have been so anxious.

He relaxed slightly. "I have a friend who has connections within the FBI. They've shut me out of the investigation, but not entirely."

"I don't understand what you want from me."

"You're going to help me get to the man you work for," he said. "In return, I won't turn you over to the feds."

"I'm a reporter for a newspaper—that's who I work for. I haven't even lived here long."

"Yeah, right. Are we going to make a deal or not?"

"But I don't know what—"

"Fine," he cut in. "Play it your way."

"I'm not playing it any way. You've made a mistake."

He came at her, and Meg shrank against the wall. He jerked her toward him by her shirt. "Listen to me very carefully," he said. "You're in a delicate position right now. If you don't cooperate, I'll turn you over to those friends of yours who seemed to enjoy beating up on women. And you know

where they'll take you. Follow me so far?"

Meg didn't have a clue where they'd take her, but she was certain they wouldn't give her an ice pack once they got there. She thought of Dayle, and her stomach tensed.
Please, please, be all right.
She gave a curt nod.

He didn't release her right away, his mouth dry. The subtle, musky scent of perfume clung to her, enhanced by the perspiration that dampened her skin.

She saw the tip of his tongue wet his lips and swallowed back a surge of something that could only be fear. "I understand," she said.

He remembered how she'd tasted when he had kissed her at the airport. Too good for a traitor. But that's what she was. She had betrayed his brother, and now he was dead. Ryan released her and turned away, running both hands through his hair. Linking his fingers at the base of his neck, he tilted his head back. Rage was a loosely chained beast inside him.

Meg still felt the hard nudge of his knuckles against her throat. He hadn't seemed so harmless just now, but even so, he had not hurt her. "Why did you call them my friends?"

"The one who hit you called you by name."

Wisps of fog cleared from her memory.
"Slater's gonna be happy to see you, Margot."
"My name isn't Margot. It's Meg."

"He looked you right in the face and called you by name. He told me he was there to retrieve the one that got away from his boss. That's Slater Nielsen. And you're the one who got away, so drop the act. You're not going to win this fight."

She fought to control her rising panic. There was no reasoning with him. And why the hell had those thugs mistaken her for this Margot? Had none of them ever met her? "What happens now?" she asked.

"Your friends and I arranged a morning meeting with Nielsen."

"Will Dayle be there?"

"Who's Dayle?"

"My friend. You said they got her. Will she be with them?"

"Hell if I know."

Fear returned, along with anger. "You shouldn't have let them take her. She has even less to do with this than I do."

"They wanted insurance. I let them have it."

"What does that mean?"

"I tried to get them to leave her with me, but they wouldn't do it. They wanted to make sure you cooperated with the plan to meet in the morning, and seeing as how she's a friend of yours ..."

"You bastard. You let them take her so I wouldn't give you any trouble."

"That was the idea, yeah."

She wanted to shake him, to scream at him that he'd made a massive mistake that could get innocent people killed. But she knew he wouldn't believe her. So she tried another tack. "What happens when you meet with this Slater Nielsen?"

He scowled, irritated at her questions, even more irritated that she was so adamant about denying her identity. Couldn't she see that he had her dead to rights? But then it registered what she'd asked. What would happen when he was face to face with the man who'd had Beau killed? What would he do, say? He imagined how satisfying it would be to point a gun at the man's head and squeeze the trigger. Sweet payback.

On some psychological level, he knew it was wrong to want to kill so desperately, to avenge. But he was beyond caring. Someone needed to pay for Beau's death. There had to be justice, damn it. Somehow.

He glared at his captive, telling himself that her wide-eyed fear was an act. A damned good one. He'd wondered how Beau had been so taken in by her, and now he knew. She was

a first-class actress. "I'm finished talking," he said. "Get some sleep." "But—"

"Don't make me repeat myself. My patience is gone." She was tempted to keep arguing, but he was becoming angrier and more agitated. So she decided to wait. It was sev-eral hours before morning. Eventually, he would let down his guard. And she would make another break for it.

Chapter 5

Margot stood at the customer service desk of a Sears store in Green Bay, Wisconsin, while an employee with frosted hair paged the woman she'd asked for. She considered walking out of the store and not looking back, but she didn't have anyone else to ask for help. Besides, she had already dumped the Cavalier, worried that she had kept it too long.

"Can I help you?" a familiar voice asked from behind her.

Pasting a smile on her face that felt more like a grimace, Margot turned. Before her stood a thin woman about her height dressed in khakis and a white blouse wrinkled at the waist. She wore little makeup, and her light brown hair needed combing. "Hello, Holly. Long time no see."

Holly stared at her from behind black-framed glasses with small, round lenses. "Twelve years."

The fake smile faded. Margot didn't know what she had hoped for. A smile and a warm hug? That was probably too much to expect from a friend she had more or less abandoned when they were teens. She'd assumed that Holly knew that running away had been an act of self-preservation. Inwardly, she acknowledged that she should have called long ago to let Holly know she was okay.

Margot shifted. "Look—"

"You've changed. Your hair—"