Relative Strangers Page 22

  Meg twisted away, choking back a wave of nausea. Stag-gering to her feet, she grabbed at the back of the sofa when her knees refused to support her. She heard a voice and saw Margot standing in the doorway, a shotgun braced on her shoulder.

  "I asked if you're all right," Margot repeated.

  Meg sank to her knees, almost blacking out.

  Margot walked to where Slater lay in a dark red pool of blood that was soaking into the rug.

  "Is he dead?" Meg rasped, pressing a hand to the fire in her side.

  Margot felt for his pulse, then straightened to stare dispassionately down at him. "He's dead." She dropped the shotgun. "I would have been here sooner, but I couldn't get back into the house until I found a broken window in the kitchen. Sorry I didn't tell you about the shotgun earlier— didn't think about it until about three minutes ago." She gave Meg a sick smile that faded to concern when she saw her sister curled on the floor. "Christ, you're hurt." She knelt

  beside her. "Can you get up?"

  "In a minute." Meg lowered her head to the floor, trying to fight the weakness back. It would have been easy to just let go. "The handcuffs . . . how did you—"

  Margot dipped into the collar of her shirt and withdrew a paper clip. "Old habit."

  "What's that noise?"

  "Helicopter."

  "Nobody moves!"

  Margot jerked her head up as Turner Scott stepped into the room, both hands gripping a revolver. His gaze took in Slater's body, then darted around the room as if he expected them not to be alone. "Cops are here," he said, flicking the gun from one woman to the other. "One of you is my ticket out of here."

  "I'm your ticket," Margot said, rising.

  Meg pushed herself up until she could lean against the back of the sofa. Her head wouldn't stop whirling. "Don't."

  Turner fastened his gaze on Meg, but Margot said, "She's hurt. She'd only slow you down."

  "Yeah, but they won't shoot her," Turner said. "You're one of us." He gestured at Margot with the gun. "Help her up."

  Meg smiled, thinking reality had slipped away because she could swear she saw Ryan, his arm in a sling, his face sweaty and pale, creeping through the French doors behind Turner. That was impossible, of course. Ryan was dead.

  But Margot saw him, too, and as she looked at him, she knew she'd given him away.

  Turner spun and started firing. Ryan hit the floor and rolled, no longer conscious of the pain in his shoulder, bullets tearing holes in the rug in his wake.

  With a snarl, Margot launched herself at Turner, but someone tackled her from behind and rolled with her up against the wall. She recognized him in an instant as her cabin neighbor. Confusion paralyzed her.

  Turner fired again, his shots wild, and Meg, seeing Ryan vulnerable as he staggered to his feet, forced herself up. Turner didn't see her lurching toward him, or if he did, he didn't consider her a threat. She managed to grab his shooting arm and thrust it up. He shoved her away, and she stumbled. Catching the back of the sofa, she somehow stayed on her feet. He swung the gun toward her.

  Ryan roared as he drove into Turner and took him out with one punch. Then, wobbling to his feet, he took two long strides to Meg, dragged her against him and hugged her close. "Thank Christ," he breathed against her neck.

  Meg was too stunned to put her arms around him. She could smell him—wind and soap—but she couldn't believe it.

  He eased back far enough to kiss her, his lips urgent and trembling, then gathered her to him again.

  "I thought you were dead," Meg gasped against his throat. Her fingers sank into the front of his shirt, felt the warm body underneath. "You're here."

  Setting her back from him, he searched her eyes. They were glazed with shock, and his stomach rolled with concern. He heard Nick and Margot getting to their feet as he started looking Meg over. Rage nearly blinded him when he saw the knot at her temple. "Who did this to you?"

  She gave him a goofy smile, happier than she had ever been. He was here. Alive and holding her. "I can't feel my knees."

  Her eyes rolled back, and she fainted.

  Chapter 31

  Meg opened her eyes reluctantly. Feeling no pain or fear, she seemed to be drifting on a soft cloud. She let her lids drop again.

  Ryan, perched on the edge of the bed, his hand covering hers on top of the white sheet, saw her eyes flutter and leaned in. "Hey," he said.

  Hearing his voice, she forced herself to blink some of the muzziness away and try to focus on him. "Hi." She frowned at the sight of his arm in a sling and brushed the tips of her fingers over it. "Your arm. Are you okay?"

  He grinned, reveling in her concern. "I'm terrific. What about you?"

  She returned the smile. "Great." She floated for a mo-ment, realizing that they were not on his yacht as she had as-sumed. Feeling his palm against her cheek, she turned her head into it, sighed. "Where are we?"

  "Hospital. You're a mess, but you're okay." Brushing hair off her forehead, he rolled with the emotions that tumbled through him. "Nick's okay. Margot's okay."

  Tears began to roll back into her hair. "Dayle—"

  He shushed her with gentle fingers against her lips. "I know. I'm sorry, Meg."

  She gripped his hand, reluctant to let go. "I thought you were—"

  "I'm not. I'm right here, and I'll be here when you wake up. Sleep now."

  She drifted off.

  The next time she surfaced, she came fully awake, con-scious of aches and pains but clearheaded for what felt like the first time in days. She grimaced when Ryan helped her sit up.

  "You've got a busted rib," he said. "But that's the worst of it now." On impulse, he kissed the top of her head. "The doctor worried that knot at your temple would give us some trouble, but apparently you have a very hard head."

  "As if you didn't already know that."

  Chuckling, he gave her a drink of water and waited while a nurse came in and checked her vitals. When they were alone, she smiled at him. "Guess I'm going to live."

  "You about gave me a heart attack wondering after you fainted on me."

  "Sorry about that." She had tons of questions but had no idea where to begin.

  Ryan tangled his fingers with hers. "Think you're up for some visitors? Nick and Margot have been wearing down the tile pacing the hall."

  The way he'd said their names had her arching a curious brow. "Nick and Margot?"

  He grinned. "I'm no expert, but I think they like each other."

  "Really? Exactly how long have I been out of it?"

  He consulted his watch. "Since last night."

  And he hadn't slept a wink from the fatigue she saw in his eyes. "You're not taking care of yourself," she said.

  "I'll do better now, I promise." The truth was, he hadn't been able to function since the feds had airlifted her to the hospital in their helicopter.

  The door opened, and Nick stuck his head in. "Hey, great, you're awake." He stepped into the room with Margot, his fingers curved around her forearm. And Margot didn't seem to mind.

  Moving toward the bed, Margot smiled. "How're you doing?"

  "Better now." Reaching out, Meg clasped Margot's fin-gers.

  Margot looked down at the gesture that was at once warm and not the least bit self-conscious. Emotion welled into her throat.

  Meg said, "Ryan? This is my sister Margot. She saved my life last night."

  "I've already thanked her from the bottom of my heart," Ryan said.

  Margot nodded, squeezing her sister's hand in return. "Everyone's been very generous." Her smile turned tremu-lous, and she swiped at a tear before it could embarrass her. She wasn't used to the kindness of relative strangers, but she'd take it any day.

  Meg tilted her head, wondering what it was about her sister that looked different.

  Ryan said, "Kelsey's working on a deal with the feds for Margot to testify against Jake Calhoun, the hit man who killed Beau. The details are still being worked out, and she's not off the hook entirely, but she earned
big-time brownie points, of course, when she saved your pretty behind."

  They laughed, and Meg realized what was different about her twin. She had never seen her smile, had never heard her laugh.

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