Play Dead (30 page)

“Shit!” he bellowed and dropped her.

Her tailbone hit the carpeted floor and fire shot up her spine as if she’d been seared by a blowtorch. She ignored it; she didn’t have time for pain. Flailing with both arms, she found his ankles. He grabbed her hair, but Hayley bit him again. This time she hit the fleshy part of his calf. Since he was in shorts, her teeth sank into unprotected skin.

“Stop it, bitch!”

He yanked harder on her hair, but she didn’t let loose. Warm blood—his blood—poured into her mouth. Yes! Yes! She silently applauded herself and bit with even more tenacity. She would spill his blood on the white carpet for the police to find and analyze.

He hauled her to her feet, kicking and thrashing. She had a clump of bloody skin in her teeth. She spit it in the direction of his face—she hoped.

“It’s over.” His words were calm but his breath was coming in ragged gasps. “You’re dead.”

The cold steel muzzle of a gun pressed into her temple. She closed her eyes.
I love you, Ryan. Love you, Aunt Meg. Take care of Andy.

Her life was finished.

P
EERING INTO
the yacht’s salon from the windows on the main deck, Ryan drew the gun from the waistband at the small of his back. For a gut-cramping second, the earth froze. He saw Laird McMasters’ head coming from the cabin area. The bastard hadn’t spotted him! Ryan choked back a curse.

He’d expected to find Chad Bennett, since he was the owner, but the attorney didn’t seem to be around. Ryan motioned for The Wrath to stay low and circle to the other side of the boat where there was a second entrance from the deck to the luxurious living area.

Was Hayley still alive? Her body was slack but Ryan didn’t see any blood or signs of strangulation. His pulse beat erratically and the gun trembled in his hand.
Get a grip!

Suddenly, Hayley was flailing in McMasters’ arms—kicking and biting and scratching at his face.
Go, Hayley!
Arms, legs, hands flew in all directions at once. The tumult was an unfocused attack with limbs thrashing wildly but it worked. Laird was caught off guard.

“Shit,” screeched Laird and he dropped Hayley.

She hit the floor with a thud that made Ryan flinch. She hadn’t broken her back, had she? No. Not at all. She grabbed McMasters’ leg and ferociously gnawed his calf with a bite worthy of a lioness.

Ryan took aim, ready to shoot the prick and save Hayley the trouble. Aw, hell! Why had he told The Wrath to go around to the other side of the boat? He could see him at the window on the opposite side of the salon. Right in his line of fire. If Ryan’s shot missed by less than an inch, he might kill The Wrath. But on the plus side, Hayley’s unexpected attack had distracted McMasters. He still hadn’t noticed Ryan, and he had no clue The Wrath was behind him, easing into the salon’s doorway.

“Stop it, bitch!” hollered Laird.

Hayley had a death grip on the jerk’s leg with both arms and her teeth. She’d ripped a sizable gash in his leg. There was no sign she intended to let go. Laird grabbed Hayley’s long mane of hair. After several vicious jerks with both arms, he hoisted Hayley to her feet by her hair, a piece of his flesh still in her mouth. She spit it in his face.

Quick as a snake, McMasters drew a gun from the pocket of his cargo shorts. Shit! Shit! The Wrath was still in the line of fire. Ryan couldn’t risk shooting. He silently cursed himself for not taking more time at the range. A trained sniper could make the shot.

“It’s over.” Laird’s ragged breathing distorted the words. “You’re dead.”

Ryan launched himself into the room, gun pointed at Laird, roaring, “Let Hayley go.”

“What?” Laird sounded incredulous at seeing Ryan, but he didn’t release Hayley or lower the gun pointed at her temple.

“R-Ryan. I-is-s that…you?” Hayley croaked out the words.

She must have blood in her eyes or something. Couldn’t she see it was him? Maybe the ordeal had her in shock.

Blood pooled on the floor, gushing from the ferocious bite on McMasters’ leg, but he didn’t seem to notice. The Wrath had moved into the open doorway behind the lunatic. Still no clear shot, but at least McMasters’ attention was riveted on him. With luck, Ryan and The Wrath could overpower him.

“Let her go. The police are coming.” This was a fact. The Wrath had called Wells as soon as they realized the Sunseeker belonged to Chad Bennett and was probably at his home on Harbor Island. They’d been wrong about Chad, but at least help was coming.

“Get out of the way or I’ll kill her.” McMasters sounded calm but fireworks flared behind his eyes and his tight expression revealed his anxiety. He inched forward, dragging Hayley with one arm. Ryan held his ground, his gun still aimed at Laird’s face. McMasters’ gun was still flush against Hayley’s temple.

“Watch where you’re going,” Ryan yelled. Not that he gave a crap if McMasters tripped over the huge glass coffee table that had to be some outrageously expensive decorator’s idea of chic. But any jolt could cause Laird to accidentally squeeze the trigger.

“Move!”

“Are you nuts? You can’t get away.” Ryan heard the distant wail of a siren. It sounded as if it was coming from the water, which meant it was the Harbor Patrol. He wasn’t sure those officers were armed. They usually encountered speeding or inebriated boaters—not gun-wielding lunatics.

“Y-you’ll never get Surf’s Up now.” Hayley’s voice was almost unrecognizable.

“Is that why you want Hayley dead? Gimme a break! Of all the stupid-ass ideas, this beats them all.” It was im
possible to argue with a sick mind, but Ryan kept talking as The Wrath moved up closer behind Laird. If the fighter grabbed or hit him, the gun might go off. Christ Almighty! The Wrath was smart. Surely, he realized the danger to Hayley.

“Laird’s after our name and my father’s custom molds,” Hayley said, her voice still not normal. And she wasn’t looking at him, either—just gazing wide-eyed in his direction. Could scopolamine sprayed in the eyes blind you?

Laird McMasters smile flickered. “Hayley’s smarter than she looks.”

“Can’t you hear those sirens?” Ryan struggled to keep his tone level. “They’ll catch you. Let her go.”

“No. She’s my insurance.” He sounded almost cocky now, which was truly frightening. Didn’t the guy know when to give up? “I’ll be on a plane and out of the country in no time.”

It was possible, Ryan realized. John Wayne Airport was ten minutes away. The private field adjacent to it had lots of planes. It was a short flight to the Mexican border.

“I’ll let her go when I refuel in Mexico,” Laird said in a tone that sounded reasonable, lucid.

Ryan knew better than to go for it. His FBI training had stressed one thing. Never let a hostage be taken to another place—no matter what you’re promised. Criminals say anything to get away. Nine times out of ten they killed the victim. Anyone insane enough to plant a bomb just to get a business couldn’t be trusted to keep his word.

“No way! Let her go. I’ll give you time to get to your car,” Ryan said, certain Laird must have his car parked in front of the house a short distance away.

“Fuck off—” Laird’s curse was obliterated by The
Wrath’s swift karate chop to the back of the neck. His gun dropped out of his hand, his other arm released Hayley. His eyes glazed over and he slowly began to crumple.

Hayley scuttled forward like a crab. Ryan rushed to her and dropped to his knees, his gun still trained on Laird.
Crash!
McMasters collapsed onto the glass coffee table and it shattered. The nutjob was out cold.

“Are you okay?” Ryan asked Hayley over the sound of sirens coming up beside the yacht.

“I—I can’t see anything.” She felt his face.

“It’s okay. We’ll get you to the hospital. I’m—”

“Holy shit!” roared The Wrath. “I think he’s dead.”

Cradling Hayley in his arms, Ryan turned and saw Laird bleeding now from a cut on the side of his head. He’d hit the sharp corner of the glass-top coffee table with all his weight. A death-blow.

M
EG RUSHED INTO THE
E.R. waiting room without waiting for Conrad to follow her in his wheelchair. There was a crowd of people, but she spotted Ryan standing with Trent and Farah in the far corner. Feeling light-headed, she hurried across the room, ignoring the pain in her knees.

“Meg,” Ryan called as soon as he saw her. “Don’t be upset. Hayley’s going to be okay.”

She gasped with relief and slowed her pace. “Thank God.”

Ryan met her and put his arm around Meg’s shoulders. “What happened? All that Wrath person said on the phone was that Hayley had been taken to the hospital.”

“He saved Hayley from Laird McMasters,” Ryan told her.

“Laird!” Meg’s mind reeled as if short-circuited. She’d
believed the Fordhams were behind this mess—not a man that they never even considered. Now it registered that Trent and Farah were here and looking more concerned that she could ever have imagined.

“Ryan isn’t taking the credit he deserves,” Farah told her as she and Trent joined them. “He figured out where Hayley had been taken.”

“I have to see her,” Meg cried.

Ryan hugged her, saying, “The doctors are treating her right now.”

Meg didn’t want to wait, but Conrad wheeled up and put his hand in hers.

“What happened, son?” he asked Ryan. “We heard Hayley had been kidnapped, then suddenly she was at the hospital.”

Meg listened, clutching Conrad’s hand, as Ryan explained about the scopolamine that had been sprayed in Hayley’s face.

“I’ve never heard of it,” Meg said. Trent and Farah said they hadn’t, either.

“Isn’t that the active ingredient in Transderm patches for motion sickness?” Conrad asked.

“That’s right,” Ryan said. “Patches have minute amounts of it.”

“Isn’t it the stuff called
burundanga?
” Trent wanted to know. “They put it on business cards and anyone who touches it blacks out. Then they’re raped or robbed but can’t remember anything about it. I hear it’s used a lot on tourists in South America.”

“That’s an Internet myth.” Ryan sounded exhausted. “Scopolamine can be in a pill or liquid form, but powder doesn’t penetrate the skin and cause the same reaction.”

“The EMTs who took Hayley away were impostors.
It was part of Laird’s elaborate scheme.” Rancor sharpened Trent’s voice. “He even went so far as to have someone call me and say ESPN was coming to film so I wouldn’t be in the booth but out looking for them.”

“He was very clever. Conniving.” Farah’s lips thinned with anger. She explained about the shoe and the escape on the yacht.

“Why?” Meg asked, unable to fathom any reason Laird would have done this.

“He wanted Surf’s Up,” Trent said.

“What?” Meg turned to Conrad. “That doesn’t make any sense, does it?”

“No,” Conrad agreed. “It doesn’t.”

“There must be another reason,” Meg insisted.

“No, it makes sense—in a convoluted way,” Farah said. “With Surf’s Up and his own company combined, Laird would have the best custom-board molds available and a brand-name surfers respected. Add that to his own business—”

“You’re forgetting Laird’s company doesn’t have the reputation for clothing designs and the new MMA stuff that we do,” Trent added.

“Still, to go to all the trouble to make a car bomb and stage an elaborate hoax is…so farfetched,” Meg concluded.

“Not really,” Farah said. “He hoped to sell the combined company to one of the big guns like Water Expo or he could arrange an IPO. There’s a lot of money involved—millions.

“An Initial Public Offering?” Meg couldn’t help sounding skeptical. “In this market?”

“IPOs are staging a comeback,” Farah assured her.

“Well,” Meg replied, still not convinced. “When the police question him, I bet they discover another reason.”
Personally, she thought Laird had been attracted to Hayley—for years—and couldn’t stand being shunted aside yet again after Hayley went out with him last year after she broke her engagement to Chad.

Suddenly she was aware of everyone looking at her. “What’s wrong?”

“The police aren’t going to be questioning Laird,” Farah said. “He’s dead.”

Meg gazed at Ryan. She’d known from their first meeting that this was the man for her Hayley. He’d killed Laird to save her.

“I didn’t kill him. No one did,” Ryan said quietly. “It was an accident. The Wrath clocked him with a karate chop to the neck. Laird blacked out, fell and hit the coffee table. The blow to his head killed him.”

Meg’s shoulders sagged as she tried to imagine the scene. “Where was Hayley during all this?”

“He’d been holding a gun on her,” Ryan answered. “She got away from him when The Wrath hit him.”

Meg listened while Ryan provided additional details of her niece’s ordeal. She almost laughed when he told her about how Hayley fought back and bit a chunk out of that maniac’s leg.

“There’s just one problem,” Ryan concluded, his voice filled with concern. “Hayley’s temporarily blind.”

“What?” Meg couldn’t believe anything else could possibly happen to Hayley. Hadn’t she suffered enough? “How? Why?”

Ryan explained blindness was a side effect of a scopolamine overdose. Laird had used way too much in the solution that he’d persuaded some girl to spray in Hayley’s face. “It should wear off in the next day or so, and she’ll be able to see again.”

“O
H
, H
AYLEY
,
SWEETHEART
,” Hayley heard her aunt say, tears in her voice.

It was late in the afternoon. Hayley had spent hours being prodded and checked physically. She’d taken heaven-only-knows how long to give a statement about the kidnapping. Most of her memory was fuzzy before waking up in the boat.

“A-Aunt-ie, don’t cry. I—I’m okay.” She’d heard the catch in her hoarse voice and realized she, too, was close to tears. Her composure had been a fragile shell since Ryan had gathered her in his arms. She felt safe with him, knowing Laird was dead and no longer a threat. But how protected could she feel when she couldn’t see anything?

Aunt Meg hugged her and Hayley could feel the dampness of her aunt’s cheek. She was a second mother, Hayley decided. She was one lucky girl.

A jumble of rustling noises and whispers filled the hospital room where Hayley was on a bed. Her world was still darkness. The doctors guaranteed her sight would return in another day or so, but in the interim, her other senses were becoming sharper. There were more than two other people in the room. More than three, her ears assured her.

“Wh-ho’s there?” she croaked out the words.

Aunt Meg had released her. Hayley could feel her weight on the bed and knew her aunt was sitting down beside her. Another arm slipped around her. From the strength of the grip and the woodsy scent lingering in the air, Hayley knew it was Ryan.

“Don’t strain your voice,” he told her. “My father, Trent and Farah are here with your aunt. They were worried about you.”

“I’m so sorry,” Trent said, sounding genuinely upset. “I never thought Laird would do something like this.”

Hayley was tempted to say that Trent blaming her for not wanting to sell the business had contributed to the problem, but she didn’t. Laird was certifiable. Who could have predicted the lengths he’d go to in order to take the business away from them?