Relative Strangers (27 page)

Away from Ryan.

She bucked on his shoulder, beat her head against his back. Even when his shoulder ground into the tender part of her abdomen, she continued to squirm. Unfazed, Turner carried her down the steps and to a dark blue van parked in the driveway. He pitched her carelessly into the back of it.

Meg rolled, gained her knees and lunged for the doors as he climbed in. Hooking his hands around one of her elbows, he dragged her farther into the van, then, gripping her shoulder, forced her forward and down. "On your stomach," he ordered.

She was no match for him, even if her hands had been free. But lying still was too much like giving up. As he turned to shut the doors, she flopped onto her back and kicked at his butt with both feet. He stumbled forward, smacking his head on the door. Calmly, he closed the doors, but when he faced her, his cheeks were bright red. Blood streamed from a split in his lip where she had struck him earlier.

"Big mistake, bitch," he said, and backhanded her.

Her head snapped to one side, but she clung to consciousness by a thread. If she let go, Ryan would die.

Dillon got into the van and started it. He glanced back as he steered the van into traffic. "Get rid of the gag. I have
some
questions."

Her brain worked sluggishly as Turner loosened the ban-danna and removed the gag. The moment it was gone, she started bargaining. "I have money. Tons of it. It's all yours if you—"

"Shut up," Dillon said.

"All you have to do is call help for him. We don't have to go back. Please, he's going to bleed to—"

"Turner?"

Turner leveled a gun at her head.

"See Turner's gun?" Dillon asked.

Meg steeled herself. If Ryan died, she had nothing to lose anyway. "Use a pay phone. It could never be traced to you."

Turner raised the gun as if to strike her and Meg braced for the blow.

"No!" Dillon shouted. "We need her conscious if we're going to get our hands on those fucking emeralds. Sit down. When I'm done, you can play."

Turner obediently sat on the wheel well and grinned down at her, his tongue flicking over his lips.

She watched him, aware of the way her shirt had bunched up to reveal bare skin. A sick new dread crawled through her.

Dillon said, "Where are the stones?"

She kept her gaze on Turner. "I'll tell you if you go back and help Ryan."

"It's too late," Dillon said.

Her senses sharpened, and she shifted on an elbow so she could see the back of his head, Turner's threat forgotten. "What do you mean it's too late?"

"Just what I said. It's too damn late."

"No." A crushing pain paralyzed her, as if a steel pole had been driven through her chest. Closing her eyes, Meg's muscles went slack.

Ryan was dead.

Chapter 21

"Looking for me?"

Margot whirled, her breath jamming in her chest when she saw Slater Nielsen standing before her in the hallway outside his study. "How did you—"

"Did you honestly think I wouldn't adjust my security systems after training you to evade them all these years? You were tripping silent alarms all over the place. Very sloppy." He let his gaze rove over her, as if he had missed her. Then, smiling, he gestured toward his office door. "Please, be my guest."

She entered his office, feeling him watch her every move. Its decor—a heavy mahogany desk, dark brown leather sofa and chairs, gleaming hardwood floor and a mural of a sailboat on a glass-like lake—was the same yet seemed different. She had never entered this room with the conviction that she would not leave it alive.

Behind her, Slater put a hand on her shoulder to stop her. "If you wouldn't mind."

His hands were brisk and thorough as they moved over her arms, down one jean-clad leg and up the other. He discov-ered the gun she had tucked into the waistband at her back and took it. "Have a seat."

Calm washed over her as she lowered herself to the sofa. It was out of her hands now, and she was relieved. She no longer had to worry about whether she would be able to pull the trigger when it was time.

"Welcome home, Margot," Slater said.

He had changed slightly. The wrinkles at his eyes seemed more pronounced, and his thick, dark hair had more gray in it. His body, however, looked trimmer than it had three months ago, more toned. The designer suit he wore fit more snug in the shoulders, looser at the waist. His blue eyes, a startling icy hue enhanced by the tan he maintained year-round, were framed by long, black lashes that Margot had often envied. He had a tiny dark mole on his cheek where women preferred a beauty mark. Her gun looked small and ineffective in his large hands.

"I trust you had an uneventful trip here," Slater said.

"Can we cut the bullshit?"

He arched a salt-and-pepper eyebrow. "I never considered our relationship bullshit, Margot."

She glanced away, long enough to get her nerve back. "Is it the emeralds you want?"

"You think all this has been about emeralds? I thought you had outgrown your naivete."

"Then what? What do you want from me?"

"Margot, honey, I never wanted anything from you that you weren't willing to give. Twelve years ago, I gave you choices, and you made them."

She rose, intending to confront him face to face. But when she stood in front of him, dwarfed by his superior height, she retreated to a pair of French doors that opened into a flower garden. She gazed through the panes at carefully tended red roses, protected from the harsh sun by large shade trees. "You gave me a lot, Slater, but you never gave me choices.

You told me what you wanted and I did it."

"I don't recall you ever questioning what I was asking you to do, my dear. How did you get a conscience?"

She turned. "You sent me after the wrong set of emeralds."

Some satisfaction nudged her at his frown. He put his hands, along with her gun, into his pockets and rocked back on his heels. "Well, that brings us to what happens now, doesn't it? We both know that resuming the relationship we had before Mr. Kama is impossible." He pursed his lips. "You once asked me why I chose Beau Kama, and now I'll tell you. He was a test."

"What do you mean?"

"I suspected that your heart wasn't in the game anymore, that perhaps you were growing tired of me. So I tested you with a rich, handsome man who was also, of all things, a nice guy. You were right when you questioned my choice of target. Mr. Kama didn't fit the profile, and you fell for him the moment you met him. You can't imagine how angry that made me, Margot."

His smile didn't touch his eyes as he crossed to her. Withdrawing a pack of cigarettes from an inside jacket pocket, he shook one out. "Cigarette?"

Margot started to refuse, then accepted it. She needed something to distract her from the realization that she had stumbled into his trap, killing the man she loved along the way.

Slater produced a lighter that he had once told her was solid gold and lit the cigarette for her. She sucked the air into her lungs, narrowing her eyes as she focused on the buzz and its accompanying calm.

Slater watched her, waiting for her to exhale. After the smoke swirled through the air between them, he said, "Now, the options are somewhat muddied. You've been flirting with death for a while now. Defying Mr. Bloodhound was not a bright move and unlike you. He's still in jail, in case you're wondering."

"I hope he rots there."

"He just might." He waved a dismissive hand. "But we were talking about you. Coming out of hiding concerns me, Margot. I had no idea where you were. Did you know that?"

"I figured as much since none of your thugs were pounding on my door."

"Yet here you are, trying to sneak into my home with a gun." He paused as he sauntered to a bar stocked with ice and the finest Scotch. "Drink?"

She shook her head.

"My conclusion," he went on, "is that you've resigned yourself to your fate. You know I can't let anyone get away with double-crossing me because then my other employees might be tempted to be less loyal." He splashed liquor into a glass and swirled it before sipping. "What it boils down to is this: How do I deal with you when what you expect is for me to kill you? We both know how much I like to behave in unexpected ways." He smiled as warmly as he was capable, showing perfect white teeth.

Margot had felt those teeth gently nibbling at her bottom lip and even at her breasts, but now they looked like they could rip open her jugular.

"Why don't you sit down, Margot? You look a bit pale."

"I'll stand."

His smile widened. "Do I need to tell you how much I'm enjoying this, Margot?"

The way he kept using her name aggravated her.

"The key, naturally, would be to take something from you that you care about," he went on. "Mr. Kama filled that bill

nicely, but I didn't get to see your face when you found him, so I feel a bit cheated. Would you like to know the alternative I have in mind?"

Margot held her breath, cigarette forgotten.

"I've found her, Margot. Just like you asked me to. About the same time that Mr. Bloodhound tracked you down in Wisconsin, I sent Turner and Dillon to Fort Myers Beach to collect your sister. Of course, I let them think they were collecting you. Why bother to explain the finer points to a couple of half-wits? Unfortunately, your sister proved to be a bit slippery. There also was a nasty shooting incident in which one of my associates got a bit overzealous, but luckily for all of us, she pulled through that. Overall, I've expended quite a bit of manpower keeping track of her for you."

She couldn't respond, rooted to the floor.
Meg is safe. He's bluffing.

Slater went to his desk, picked up an ashtray and crossed to her. He waited while she stubbed out the cigarette, so close she heard him breathing. "Now," he said, "the logical thing would be to bring her here so the two of you can meet. Would you like that?"

A bluff. Please, God, let it be a bluff.

He chuckled. "You're not answering, but your face is saying no." He leaned in. "Doesn't that defeat the purpose of me spending my hard-earned money to have your sister found for you?" His lips were poised less than an inch above the curve of her cheekbone. "I'm not getting much feedback here."

"What did you do?" she asked in a husky voice.

"What did
I
do? This is about what
you
did, Margot." His lips brushed her cheek.

She flinched back. "She doesn't have anything to do with this."

238

He nodded, thoughtful. "True. She's an innocent. But you're not. And you care about her."

"I don't even know her."

"But you asked me to find her. You planned to care. And anyone you care about has everything to do with this. Death would be too easy for you."

"You're . . . you're—"

"At a loss for words?" he asked. "See? You do care."

The telephone rang. He moved to answer it, and Margot had only a moment to be relieved he was on the other side of the room before he fastened an intense stare on her.

"I see," he said into the phone. Watching her, he opened the top drawer of his desk, placed her gun inside and closed it with his hip. "I'll have someone meet you at the dock." He hung up. "Turner tells me he and Dillon will be making a special delivery very soon."

Chapter 28

Ryan regained consciousness in the emergency room. Disori-ented and weak from loss of blood, it took him several tries to communicate to the medical staff that he didn't give a damn that a bullet was still lodged in his shoulder, that what he wanted more than a painkiller was to know who brought him in.

"An ambulance, sir," the nurse said, a picture of patience.

"Was there a woman with me? Dark hair, green eyes—"

"No one was with you, sir. A neighbor called in the emergency. I'm going to give you something to calm you down."

"No. Get me a phone."

"Sir—"

"I need a phone, damn it." He grabbed her wrist before she could shove a needle into his arm. "Get. Me. A. Phone."